by K. D. Keenan
Chapter 23
The plane touched down at Hilo International Airport. Chaco and Sierra collected their baggage at the terminal building which, though not huge, was gigantic compared with the dollhouse-sized terminal in Kaunakakai. Then they rented a car and began driving to the Kohala Peninsula.
The windward side of Hawai‘i was indeed jungle, lush with giant bamboo, tall-canopied trees, vines, ferns, and flowers. It was a beautiful drive, with the ocean often visible to their right, and an occasional distant waterfall to the left, draining water from the mountains of the interior.
Neither Chaco nor Sierra said much during the drive. Sierra fretted over how they would ever find Kama Pua‘a on this huge island with its dense jungle and difficult terrain. She wondered why Chaco was so quiet, and turned to ask him.
And smiled. Chaco, eyes bright, was sitting in the passenger seat and staring eagerly out the window. A half-smile curved his wide mouth, and he radiated energy, happiness, and enthusiasm. This was her Chaco, not the mopey wet blanket she’d been hanging around lately. He wore his tan vest over his bare torso, leaving long, nicely muscled arms exposed. If the vest was uncomfortable in this hot, humid climate, he didn’t seem to mind. He wasn’t even sweating.
After nearly two hours of driving, they came to the area Auntie thought was the most likely possibility for Kama’s residence.
“Waipio Valley and Pu‘u O Umi Natural Area Reserve,” read the sign, and Sierra turned off the main road and followed signs to the reserve. She knew she and Chaco would be breaking many of the Reserve’s rules—if not all of them—and she apologized silently to—whom? The god of park systems?
She didn’t want to leave the car where rangers or others might discover it, so she took her time finding a secluded place to park under a stand of thickly canopied trees. They spread branches and debris over the car to further assure it wouldn’t be spotted. Then she hefted her pack—Chaco had no pack, as he planned to undertake the journey as a coyote—and stood, staring at the dense undergrowth in front of them.
Chaco morphed as soon as he left the car and plunged into the heavy vegetation without hesitation.
“Wait, Chaco!” she cried. “I can’t get through this stuff as easily as you can.”
Chaco returned, tongue lolling. “Sorry. I forgot how pitifully slow and awkward humans are.”
“Really? How soon you’ve forgotten your brush with mortality,” retorted Sierra. “Slow down.”
The rest of the day was, to put it mildly, a slog. Following Auntie’s instructions, they traveled well away from trails, buildings, or other signs of human presence. The untrammeled vegetation was dense. Sierra had to work hard to avoid leaving an obvious trail of destruction behind her, so it was slow going indeed. Despite the sweat and liquefied sunscreen stinging her eyes, she was able to note and appreciate unfamiliar birdcalls and admire the exotic flowers. Once, she saw a long-legged yellow spider with a colorful “happy face” pattern on its upper abdomen. She recalled her encounter with Kóhk'ang Wuhti—Spider Grandmother—during her earlier adventures and passed by carefully without disturbing its web. Chaco, in the meantime, slipped through the undergrowth on four legs with incredible ease, never cracking a twig or making the branches slap in his wake. Panting and crashing behind him, Sierra tried to keep him in sight, but often she couldn’t see so much as the black tip of his tail among the bushes, ferns, and vines.
The terrain was every bit as rugged as predicted. When the lush growth wasn’t the issue, with vines and roots entrapping Sierra’s feet, she had to work around soft bogs for fear of literally bogging down in the deep mire. Jagged lava rocks threatened to trip her—and because the rocks were frequently covered with mosses or ferns, she sometimes didn’t realize they were there until it was too late to avoid them. A map might have been helpful, except for the fact there was no map to wherever Kama Pua‘a was living, and there were no maps documenting this off-trail and entirely illegal expedition.
The weather, which had been threatening, decided to carry through with its plans. It grew dark overhead, followed by grumbling thunder, flashes of lightning, and the torrential downpour of a tropical storm. Within seconds, Sierra was soaked to the skin. The footing, treacherous to begin with, became even more difficult, encrusting her boots in mud. Surfaces that had been reasonably firm became slippery, slowing her progress still further.
Chaco reappeared by her side, looking worried. “I can’t let the rain wash the earth out of the vest,” he panted. “I’ve got to find shelter!”
Chaco morphed back into his human form and they looked for a sheltered space beneath the trees. The storm let up, and they were able to find a fairly dry campsite. Sierra pulled her small tent from her backpack, and they began setting it up.
“Only one tent?” he asked, looking at her slyly with one eyebrow raised and a wide smile. His face was alight with cheerful mischief, and Sierra was struck again by the change in her friend. Attractive didn’t begin to describe him. He was glowing with good health and happiness, and she realized abruptly that she was beginning to feel rather warm and yearning in parts that had no business yearning after anyone but Clancy.
“Right. As you have frequently told me, you can sleep outdoors as a coyote without difficulty.”
“Yes, but that was when I didn’t need this vest,” he returned. “I can’t sleep in the rain in this vest. I’ll lose my mana again.”
Sierra had to concede this, but still, the tent was very small. And it would rain again tonight, she was sure. “All right,” she said grudgingly. “You sleep in the tent. I’ll sleep under the tarp. I can’t get any wetter than I am already.”
“Why can’t we both sleep in the tent?” he asked with a mischievous grin, his eyes dancing. “I don’t want you to get cold.”
She was cold. They had agreed not to use a campfire because it might tip off rangers—or others—to their presence. Bringing a camp stove—even a packable one—wasn’t an option either. Sierra had the only pack, and it was bulging with needed supplies. She carried basic food that did not require cooking, so they would have to live on cold rations the whole time. But she certainly longed for a campfire now, shivering in her wet clothes.
“Okay,” she conceded. “We can both sleep in the tent. But!”—as Chaco’s eyes lit up with a feral gleam—“We will sleep. Just sleep. And stay warm. Agreed?” Chaco agreed without further argument.
As they munched their peanut butter sandwiches, Sierra realized they had forgotten something.
“Chaco! We totally forgot to bring a fish and a chicken to offer to Kama. We were supposed to buy them in Hilo. Damn it! Oh dear, we can’t go back now. I mean, I just can’t face it. We’ve come too far.”
Chaco appeared unperturbed. “I wouldn’t worry about it. We have ‘awa and the chants, and there’s several bananas in your pack,” he said.
“What if that’s not enough?”
“I’m an Avatar. I can use my mana to call to his mana. We’ll find him.”
Sierra was not as certain, but she either had to accept his assessment or slog back through the jungle and deadfalls for many miles to get a chicken and a fish. So she accepted his word, and after applying yet another layer of insect repellent, went inside the little tent. Chaco squeezed in after her and fell asleep instantly. Exhausted, Sierra followed suit. She awoke once to the roar of heavy rain, but the canopy of trees overhead prevented it from swamping the tent.
The next morning, she awoke to the delicious smell of fresh-brewed coffee. Completely disoriented, she peered out of the tent, to be greeted by Chaco with a steaming mug of java.
“I thought we weren’t going to build a campfire,” she said groggily. “And I didn’t pack any coffee for obvious reasons. How did you get this?”
“Just a little trick of mine,” he answered with a smile.
Sierra reached for the mug and slurped at it. It was hot. Mugs were another item she hadn’t packed. “Why didn’t you use that trick when we were marooned in Kama�
�s valley? I could really have used some coffee then.”
Chaco looked at her, one eyebrow cocked. “Short memory,” he said.
“Oh. Right. You still didn’t have your powers back.”
“No mana, no coffee.”
“What else can you do? I still don’t know exactly what you’re capable of.”
“I never know until I try,” he said cheerfully.
The rain had stopped, but the forest was saturated. The trees dripped continuously, and the soft growth underfoot was sodden with water. The skies were still gray and pregnant with moisture. After a quick breakfast of gorp and apples, Sierra shouldered her pack with a grunt and Chaco morphed back into coyote form. “I have a feeling about this direction,” he said, plunging into a tangle of vines among some tall hardwood trees, plumy tail waving behind. Sierra followed, muttering under her breath.
The going was even harder than the previous day. Chaco headed steadily uphill, leaping crevasses that Sierra had to negotiate with painstaking care, making their progress even slower. He sailed up rough pebble scree on four agile legs, while Sierra slid and scrambled behind. It was at the head of just such an ascent that Sierra paused for breath, wiping torrents of sweat from her face—and stopped. She listened, trying not to breathe hard or make any noise. The forest was quiet. No birdsong, no sound of Chaco’s claws scrabbling at rock, or branches swaying in his wake. Even the wind had died.
“Chaco?” she called. There was no answer. She waited for a few minutes, then called again. Nothing. Panic began to grab at her throat, choking her, and she fought it down with as much strength as she could muster, even bringing her mana to bear on it, golden ribbons twining around her heart and lungs, calming her. Her heartbeat and breathing slowed.
She proceeded cautiously in the direction she had last seen Chaco take. Black lava was close to the surface here, extruding as jagged ridges from the green growth struggling to conquer the primeval rock. Though the ground was steep, there were trees and vines even here, making it hard to see. Chaco was nowhere in sight.
He’s a big coyote, she thought. Chaco can take care of himself. But she still felt apprehension prickling along her spine. She knew that even an Avatar was not entirely invulnerable, given the right circumstances.
Sierra picked her way carefully across the rocks. She glimpsed a clearing where no trees stood, and headed for it. As she emerged into the clearing, a black hole abruptly gaped in front of her. The lush growth surrounding the opening had shielded it from her view. Sierra stopped and peered into the hole. It looked like a gigantic wormhole in the lava. It was a nearly perfect circular tube, at least ten feet across, slanting down into the earth and darkness. It was steep, but not too steep to be able to walk down it.
She called down into the tunnel, dreading that Chaco might have fallen into it. Or that he had gone into the tunnel to explore, only to tumble down a hidden crevasse. “Chaco,” she called again, her voice quavering a little. Her voice echoed down the rocky tube.
Then she heard a scrabbling sound deep inside. Before Sierra could fling herself back and away from the opening, a creature charged up the hole toward her. As she screamed and tried to throw herself aside, the thing collided with her. She sprawled on the soft growth around the opening with the breath knocked out of her as the creature disentangled itself from her embrace.
“Sierra! This is it! This is the place!” cried Chaco, dancing on all four paws with excitement and stamping repeatedly on her legs as she struggled to regain her breath. “We found it!”
Sierra took a few moments to allow the adrenaline to clear her system before she spoke. When she did, there was still an edge of exasperation in her voice. “Get off me! Why the hell didn’t you answer me, idiot? You scared me to death.”
“Oh, sorry about that,” he said. “I didn’t hear you.” Being in coyote form, he licked her sweaty cheek in a conciliatory manner. “Yum. Salt. Yeah, this is the opening. It’s perfect!”
“Why is it perfect? How do you know this is the place?”
Chaco sat on his furry haunches and cocked his head, amber eyes alight. “This is a lava tube…”
“How do you know it’s a lava tube? You’ve never been here before.”
“It’s a tube, and it’s made out of lava.” Sierra had to concede these points, so she nodded.
“Anyway, the portals between the worlds—I mean the world of Avatars and the human world—are usually in caves. Remember where you first met Quetzalcoatl?” Sierra nodded. That memorable meeting had been in a deep cave in the eastern Sierra Nevada range of California.
“That is, if the Avatar in question is an earth power. Kama is the pig-god, and that’s about as earthy as it gets. Further down in the lava tube, I can sense the portal—the opening—into Kama’s world. Bring your pack, and let’s get going.”
Without another word, the coyote jumped up and sped into the blackness of the tube. Sierra followed with a great deal less enthusiasm. She had on good hiking boots, but she still had to negotiate the steep sides of the tube with two legs, not four. Her pack was overloaded—the unfortunate effect of having two people but only one pack. Occasionally it would throw her off balance by banging against a protruding rock as she struggled to move forward and down. The floor of the tube was not only steep, it was filled with rubble that had an unnerving tendency to slip and slide under the thick soles of her hiking boots. As daylight faded behind her, she pulled a flashlight out of her pack and switched it on. The walls of the tube were gray-black volcanic stone that swallowed the beam of her flashlight, but now she could see where she was going.
Chaco ran ahead with ease, but circled back frequently to check on her progress. At one point, he found her hesitating at a large crack in the floor of the tube. It was just wide enough to make Sierra wonder if she really could jump across it, or if she were risking a broken bone. Despite the flashlight, she couldn’t see how deep it was.
Chaco morphed back into a young man, his dark hair falling into his eyes. He stood on the far side of the crack and said, “Toss me the pack. I can help.” She heaved the pack at him. He caught it and placed on the floor of the tube. Then he held his long arms out to her and said, “Jump. I’ll take care of you.”
Sierra teetered at the edge. Chaco’s hand was just out of reach, so she couldn’t grasp it for support. She felt panic rising again, and sternly quelled it with her mana. She took a deep breath, gathered her courage, and leaped.
It felt as though she were flying, not jumping. She sailed easily across the gap and Chaco folded her tenderly into his arms. She thought for an instant that he might attempt more, but he kissed the top of her head and released her, instantaneously morphing back into his coyote shape and racing back down the tunnel. After a moment to reorient herself, Sierra followed.
The sensation of flying stayed with her for several moments. “Did you use your mana to help me across just then?” she asked.
“Uh-huh,” came the reply from ahead. So there were many things her personal Avatar could do if he put his mind to it, she thought. What else can this guy do?
The tube twisted and turned, finally opening out into a large space. Chaco was waiting for her there, tongue lolling, a coyote grin on his furry face. Sierra’s flashlight showed the ceiling of this space was perhaps thirty feet above their heads, and the walls were several yards apart all around. The tube continued at the far end of this space.
“Are we going any further?” asked Sierra. She hoped not.
“Nope. This is the portal. Get out the ‘awa and bananas. Let’s do the chants now,” he replied, morphing into a man again.
They arranged three bottles of pale ‘awa on a mat Sierra had brought for the purpose, and laid the bananas beside it. They sat on either side of this offering and began to sing the chant Auntie Keikilani had taught them to bring their presence to the attention of Kama Pua‘a. Sierra stilled her mind and allowed her mana to expand, sending the glowing, colored ribbons trailing about the lava tube as though the
y were fingers seeking an opening in the glassy rock. She closed her eyes, allowing her consciousness to expand, looking for Kama.
“Aloha, my friends. What are you doing here?” boomed a familiar voice. Sierra opened her eyes. She was no longer in a lava tube deep beneath the earth. She was sitting in a thatched lanai, cushioned by many woven palm frond mats. The jungle surrounded the lanai—but what a jungle! There were more flowers than Sierra had seen since coming to Hawai‘i. There was no trace of the storm that had soaked her and Chaco the day before and threatened them again as they began their second day of hiking. There was a rainbow shining with brilliant colors in the blue sky overhead—Sierra later found that the rainbow lingered, unfading and immortal, shining night and day. Kama stood before her, grinning from handsome ear to handsome ear. He lifted the bottle of ‘awa and drank deeply, then offered it to her. Knowing the polite thing to do, Sierra flinched inwardly, took the bottle, and drank before handing it off to Chaco, now in human form. Chaco did likewise.
“I recognize you now, Avatar.” Kama inclined his head to Chaco and his embroidered vest. “You regained your powers, I see.”
Chaco nodded and smiled, but didn’t explain.
“Kama,” Sierra began, but he interrupted her.
“I don’t know why you came to see me, but we must celebrate!” he exclaimed. He turned, lifted a large conch shell to his lips and blew. A long, shuddering moan went out over the forest. People began gathering. They were clad in kapa cloth, as was Kama, with geometric tattoos on face, arms, and legs. They shone, as did Kama (and Chaco, too, for that matter) with an inner glow that made their brown skins alight with energy and life. They were all beautiful. Not one of them showed signs of illness, injury, or age.
Then came the Menehune, at least a hundred of them, bearing platters of cooked and raw foods of all sorts—fish, ‘opihi, seaweed, coconut, octopus, plantains, fruit, and bowls of purple poi. Sierra noted that no pork was present at this feast, of course. Drummers began to beat rhythmically on small gourd drums and dancers began to sway, accenting their dance by clicking smooth stones held between their fingers like castanets. Chanting accompanied the dance, and Sierra understood it perfectly. They were singing a song of aloha—a loving greeting to welcome guests.