Heirs of Mana Omnibus

by Matt Larkin

  “Easy,” Aukele said. “You’ve been out a long time.”

  “Where are we?”

  “Almost to Mau‘i, named after the Firebringer himself. Kana stayed behind with his brother to help Hina deal with rising tensions. The situation there is a mess.”

  Pele groaned again, forced herself to sit, and swayed a little. “Where’s Lonomakua?”

  “Namaka took him.”

  “What? No! We have to go back for him.”

  “Later, when you’ve regained your strength. There’s a volcano on Mau‘i, Haleakalā. You can soak up its mana and grow strong enough to save him, maybe.”

  Pele growled. “And if Namaka decides to sacrifice him to the ‘aumākua before that?”

  Aukele spread his hands in obvious sorrow. “Then neither of us are poised to stop her, are we?”

  “I’ll stop—”

  “Face reality, Pele. Every time you’ve had a head-on confrontation with Namaka, the two of you have devastated the landscape and she’s come out ahead. Our only chance of survival at this point is to get as far away from her as possible.”

  A flush of anger lit her cheeks and, despite herself, Pele considered jabbing a burning finger into his chest. Searing him, for his impudence. How dare he speak to her thus? How dare he imply she could not stand up to her sister?

  Worse, still, was the niggling fear … what if he was right? Namaka had just soundly beaten Pele, even when Pele was on the offensive and should have had the advantage.

  With considerable effort, she forced her arms to her sides, forced herself to release the tension welling within her. Lonomakua had taught her that, had showed her how to calm herself by seeking a quiet deep within the corners of her own mind. And when she failed—the world burned.

  That, of course, was one other reason why she had lived in a volcanic crater. There, she could let her emotions loose. Let them rip to the surface, bringing with them the fires of creation, the burning heart of the Earth. It was through those fires that new earth was born, new land created from molten stone. Once, in a fit of mindless rage after Hi‘iaka had pushed her too far, Pele had screamed at Haumea for abandoning her daughters. Had cursed the akua and the ‘aumākua. The volcano had seethed with her fury, erupted with it, darkening the evening sky and blanketing its slopes in waves of lava.

  The whole island had trembled before her anger. The lava didn’t burn Pele, of course, although Lonomakua had warned her not to let herself get buried in it. He’d known kupua like her, he said, and one had suffocated, trapped beneath tons of molten rock.

  That day, all of Uluka‘a must have seen the explosion. Lonomakua, even in Namaka’s domain at the time—would have seen the eruption, felt its effects. And still he said nothing of it on his return. Maybe the kahuna understood, perhaps better than her parents ever had. Instead, he had merely encouraged her to join him in further meditation. Pele did not like meditation. All that sitting around and thinking about not thinking was torturous.

  “I felt better,” she had blurted. “After the eruption.”

  He shrugged. “You kept your anger inside so long and so bitterly, it had to find release somehow, and through it came a measure of catharsis. But there are other, less destructive ways to deal with your emotions. To release them before they boil and writhe beneath your skin.”

  It would have been easy to dismiss his words. She had so wanted to do so back then. How could anyone understand the pain, the coiling, seething anger trying to consume a kupua like her? He was, however, one of those rare kāhuna with the ability to harness his mana, to turn it into something real. Not like hers, of course. Not on that scale. But he was calm, and, more importantly, calming, endlessly patient with her. All the things Haumea and Kū-Waha-Ilo ought to have been.

  And now, Namaka had him. She’d captured the one man who had ever helped calm Pele, helped her control her powers and her emotions when so many teachers had turned their backs upon her, called her turbulent and unteachable. But Lonomakua had come and told her tales of Maui and his quest to claim the First Flame. His lessons, his endless patience, his insistence on becoming the father she had never had, it had changed her, helped her to tame the raging inferno in her breast and put it to use.

  And Lonomakua had warned her not to indulge her lust for Aukele. He’d told her, as if speaking of prophetic insight born of pyromancy, to alter her course. She had not listened, of course. Restrictions chafed, even coming from her favored kahuna.

  Pele shook herself. She was too easily prone to such brooding and it never brought her anything but trouble. At the moment, she had a more immediate task. “We have to get him back, Aukele. I cannot lose Lonomakua. Not him.”

  The man sighed. “I imagine that’s how Namaka felt about her other two husbands.”

  Pele winced. He meant the bitch might sacrifice Lonomakua to spite Pele, knowing what he meant to her. But did Namaka realize what the kahuna meant to her? Surely, she knew they were close, that he had taught her pyromancy and helped her learn to control the Art of Fire. But did she understand the depth of their relationship? Probably not. Namaka never understood depth of any sort.

  “Mau‘i is near,” Aukele said. “Its coastline is dotted by countless small villages, and a few lie even farther inland. The kings here also control Lāna‘i, in theory, though in practice, that island is haunted by denizens out of Pō. I’m told Queen Poli‘ahu has traffic with the spirits.”

  “And she is based on Lāna‘i?”

  “No, on Vai‘i. There the most kings dwell, and I think the fighting remains the fiercest, torn between Poli‘ahu’s supporters and the new dynasty.”

  Then that might be where Pele eventually needed to base herself. If she was to claim control of an island, of a dynasty, she’d need to erode support for this Queen Poli‘ahu. Besides, Pele had sensed numerous volcanoes on Vai‘i.

  Before any of that, though, she needed to draw in mana as Aukele had suggested. She’d soak in the vapors and power of Haleakalā and then she would find out what Namaka had done with Lonomakua. She’d not abandon her … well, whatever he was, he was part of her ‘ohana, a title Namaka had now lost for herself.

  Fire is life.

  Lonomakua had been fond of saying thus in his days and nights tutoring Pele. The implication, she had observed, was that in stealing the sacred flame from the gods, Maui had stolen for mankind the means of controlling their own lives. An observation for which Lonomakua had favored her with a wry smile and offered no other answer.

  Now, Pele walked past the sacred flame burning inside a heiau, this temple dedicated to Lono, but with a ki‘i statue representing Maui as well. Indeed, as Pele had walked along the shore of Mau‘i, she’d noticed numerous ki‘i masks dedicated to various gods who watched over the peninsulas, cliffs, and promontories.

  “The nearby village is Hana,” Aukele said, “and Queen Hinaikamalama rules from here. She’s commonly called Hina, like my sister, also no doubt named for Maui’s wife. My nephew Niheu tells me she has thrown in her lot with Poli‘ahu, though, so we might do better not to reveal our identities here. This whole area is famed for its natural splendor, from waterfalls to the Sacred Pools in the south.”

  Pele nodded absently, though behind her, she was quite certain Hi‘iaka paid rapt attention to every detail Aukele offered about the political situation. The climate on Mau‘i mattered, yes, especially insofar as it related to that of Vai‘i, but Pele had already decided to eventually build her kingdom on that island. It was there she would delve deeper into the landscape of politics and there she would make herself known as the God-Queen. Most likely, she would need to first kill this Queen Poli‘ahu who galvanized the people against the new migration.

  “I want to know about Kapo,” she said after a moment. “Send someone to investigate in Hana. Trade with the town, but, by all means, don’t reveal our real identities.”

  “Let your sister do it, and I’ll send a guard with her. A young girl, even an escorted one, will arouse less suspicion.
Besides which, she has a clear nose for digging up information, does she not?”

  Hi‘iaka snickered behind them, and Pele frowned. Sending her little sister into a village controlled by a potential enemy did not much appeal, but Aukele did make a kind of sense. His presence, or Pele’s, might more easily get back to Namaka. She doubted her elder sister had anyone watching for Hi‘iaka.

  “What about us?” Pele asked.

  Aukele pointed into the jungle. “Haleakalā lies inland. We’ll have to follow the coast a while, past the Sacred Pools, then we can turn into the mountains and begin the climb. Maybe two days?”

  “Fine. Leave the rest of the men here in the camp, send Hi‘iaka with a guard to Hana, and you and I leave immediately for the volcano.” The sooner she absorbed the mana, the sooner she could go back and save Lonomakua from Namaka. And finally kill her accursed sister.

  “It was in those days that Maui bound and wrestled the manifested sun god La, who had dominated this island.” Aukele pointed toward the mountain ahead. “The volcano, Haleakalā, means House of the Sun, and it was on that peak that Maui fought La.”

  Pele huffed along upon the rapidly rising slope. Aukele had always loved to talk, to tell his tales and spin mo‘olelo for any who would listen. Perhaps he loved the sound of his own voice, but she had to admit, when he spoke, a person wanted to attend him. She would want the story to go on and on, long into the night.

  When Aukele had first visited her palace, the whole court had gathered as he recounted better-known tales of Maui from before the Firebringer left for Sawaiki. Tales like the one he told today were known only in passing, from those few who had returned to Kahiki in the generations since.

  “Maui fashioned a lasso—some say from the hair of his beloved Hina—and used it to snare the legs out from under the sun god. The two of them, burning brightly, fought at the summit for a night and day, and when it was done, Maui cast the sun god down and warned him to cause no more strife for the Sawaikians.

  “Now, as I said, back then, menehune still roamed freely, and they blessed the Firebringer for driving back the sun which so harmed them.” Aukele had this habit of emphasizing his lines with wild gesticulations, as if caught even by his own vocal magic. A thought that brought a faint smile to Pele’s lips. Could the kupua entrance himself with his tales?

  “Tell me about the menehune,” she said.

  “Ah, the elder people. Some say they came here from Pō, after the Deluge, and they ruled Sawaiki alone for centuries. Milu, perhaps even for thousands of years! But the Kahikians who followed Maui found them and soon came into conflict with them. Maybe defeating La was Maui’s attempt to appease the menehune, but either way, the new Sawaikians eventually drove the menehune into the wild places—the dark forests, the caves beneath the islands, the places where neither sunlight nor the encroachment of mankind could reach them.”

  “You’ve never seen them.”

  “Ah, no, few have and lived to speak of it. They say the menehune are shrunken, twisted, people of the Earth. Their misshapen bodies are forever wracked with pain and it makes them cruel. I have heard it told that the first Nightmarchers arose from the menehune’s wars with the Sawaikians.”

  Now, Pele had to extend her hands for balance as they climbed the volcano. Its power pulsed beneath the ground and thrummed up through her shins, offering delicious warmth. Even this close, already she felt mana flowing into her faster than before. At the summit, she would become a goddess once more.

  “You are convinced these spirit people still exist?”

  “So the stories go, and, having seen for myself mo‘o, why should I doubt other spirit races exist as well? I have a theory that some of the spirits dwelling on Lāna‘i are, in fact, menehune, as well. Who knows, perhaps one day we will see these people.”

  Pele frowned at that. Mo‘o were an example of the problem, actually. Such beings possessed enough mana to prove a threat, even to a kupua like her. It sounded as if the menehune had vanished from the land centuries ago, though, so perhaps they would pose no obstacle to her attempt to establish her own dynasty on Vai‘i. Still, any kind of spirit people offered a potential worry.

  Aukele cleared his throat. “You seem deep in thought.”

  Pele paused, finding a stable rock to rest on. “Why did you come with me? When we left Kaua‘i, why did you accompany me, Aukele? I harbor no illusions of love between us, and lust would only carry us so far.”

  The man threw up his hands and sighed. “My wife is trying to kill us.”

  “Right now, I think Namaka cares more about me than you.”

  “Nevertheless, her rage has run all out of control. We wronged her, you and I, but now, I cannot trust that she will not take out her frustrations upon entire villages. Why then would I wish to live in a village where people I cared for dwelt? I’m … I’m at loss, Pele. If I could go back and …”

  “Not think with your banana?”

  He groaned. “Yes, that. But more than that. For my part, I wish Mo‘oinanea had never sent me to Uluka‘a.”

  Pele sneered at him. “And for my part you think I should have cowered before her. Bowed down and asked her forgiveness.” The very thought of that sent the mountain beneath them rumbling.

  It felt Pele’s indignation. How dare this man suggest that she should allow Namaka to cow her? How dare he imagine the Sea Queen above the Flame Queen?

  “The two of you and your pride, it cost us all so very much.”

  She felt it, when the flames sprang up in her hair, even as she rose to glare at him.

  Aukele took a step back, arm warding against the heat Pele must now be radiating.

  For a bare instant, Pele considered grabbing hold of him, throttling him, and burning him to ash. The unworthy thought disgusted her, and yet, there it was. The desire to hurt him. To singe him. “I strongly suggest you go wait for me at the base of the mountain. I’ll be some time.”

  Aukele worked his jaw a moment, then nodded and turned, heading back down the slope alone.

  Pele watched him go, glowering at his back, imagining it bursting into flames. He did not understand.

  Maybe no one did.

  7

  “So,” Kamapua‘a said, scratching at his beard and staring down at Makani. “What you’re telling me now is—if I’ve got this shitting right—you just went and did what I extrapifically told you not to go and do.”

  The bandit shrugged uncomfortably, looking about the jungle like some shitting tree would offer him the answer. They stood just outside their camp and Kama knew others were watching them. “Well, not exactly.”

  “On account of you didn’t actually kill the shitting villagers?”

  “More on account of extrapifically not being a real word.”

  Well now that was just silly pig shit. “So the villagers are shitting dead, then?”

  “Yeah, boss. I mean, not all of them, of course. But the village was loyal to Hakalanileo. And they resisted and all.”

  Kama scratched at his chin some more. Then he threw his arm around Makani’s shoulders. “See, my friend, the way I see it is this: You can poke a boar with a stick and it’ll get mad. Maybe chase you a bit.” Kama squeezed a bit until his man let out a wheeze. Wereboar strength was good for that sort of thing. “You, my friend, didn’t just go and poke the boar anywhere, though. You went and raked the stick over its shitting balls. Now, do you know what happens when you rake a boar’s balls? I’m guessing you don’t know, or you wouldn’t have done it.”

  “Boss …”

  Kama pushed the other man away to arm’s length. “No, you don’t. Why don’t you go out in the jungle and find a boar and rake its balls and see what happens? That way, we’ll be able to predict Hakalanileo’s response to having a bunch of villagers eaten.”

  “We didn’t eat them!”

  Kama ignored that. Hardly the point. “Fine. You can’t find a boar? I’ll show you a shitting boar.” He stripped off his malo and waved his cock around in the b
reeze. “Here’s some boar balls, my friend. Go grab a stick and rake them. Go on, I’ll wait. Let’s find out how it goes for you.”

  Makani looked studiously to the side, flushing and smelling all embarrassed and shit. It was easy to forget the effect such manliness could have on mere mortals.

  Still, Kama’s ire was real enough, and deep inside, he felt the animal stirring with it. The Boar God could get out if Kama let himself get too upset.

  Instead, he stooped to grab his malo and wrap it around his waist once more. “All right, then, well, done is done. You can’t unrake a ball and you can’t unrile a boar.”

  A glance told him the rest of the bandit crew were now all staring at him with open mouths. Kama wasn’t quite sure why. Probably couldn’t have even heard a word he said from way over there.

  Kama shook himself, then cleared his throat. Silly boar, getting all caught up like that. “We’re gonna have to be ready for war, is what we’re gonna do. Maybe even lay an ambush for Haki’s men. We should try to set it before dark. I mean, I can see in the dark, but you can’t.” He cocked his head. “Mortal.”

  “I have a hard time telling when you are in earnest.”

  “Earnest?” Kama shrugged. “Never been there, far as I recall. But I know a pile of pig shit when I smell it, and you went and stepped us in it.”

  He led the way into the jungle, not bothering to look back to see if Makani and his crew followed.

  The men shuffled about, setting snares and booby traps through every reasonable path through the woods. Haki hadn’t known where to find them so far, and that had kept them all safe from Kama’s shithole of a brother-in-law. Haki himself was about as threatening as a broken twig, but he had a lot of men.

  Plus, that weird woman who controlled water. Definitely a threat, though Makani assured him the woman had left Kaua‘i. Shame, though, Kama would have loved to make piglets with her.

  Either way, Haki’s folk had cornered him once before. Killed so many the Boar God had just … Kama shook his head.