Then the goddess snapped her fingers again and they were standing in modern Honolulu with tourists bumping into them and cars honking in the street.
Pele handed the pile of feathers to Leech. “Don’t lose these,” she warned, “because you only mess with Pele once.”
Leech carefully stowed them away in his pocket. “I’ll guard them with my life.”
Scirye couldn’t help shivering. She had never heard of a spirit so powerful that she could remake the world. That was far more dangerous than one who threw thunderbolts.
“Don’t worry. I’m not fed up with the city.” Pele winked. “Yet.”
“H-how did you do that?” Scirye stammered.
“I know who I am.” Pele clenched her fingers into a fist. “That’s my power.” She opened her hand again to reveal the empty palm. “If you don’t know who you are, you’re really nothing.”
“Well, how do you …uh… discover who you are?” Scirye asked.
Pele put a hand on her shoulder and her palm felt hot but reassuring. “I think you’ll find out when you carry out Nanaia’s plan.”
As they walked on, following the elderly goddess, Leech worked up enough nerve to speak to Scirye directly. “Are you scared about your mission from Nanaia?”
“Who wouldn’t be?” Scirye admitted.
Leech scuffed his heels against the sidewalk thoughtfully. “There’s her and there’s Pele and this Roland guy. They wouldn’t get involved if they weren’t all playing for high stakes. Usually a guy like me wouldn’t even be allowed in the door, let alone sit at the poker table.”
Scirye thought she saw a traffic light’s shape flicker and change for a moment into the shape of a tree with strange red and green fruit before it transformed back again. “I wish I knew why she chose me. I don’t feel special.”
“Well, you look normal”—he grinned reassuringly—”for someone walking around in a funny costume and a sweatshirt under her coveralls.”
Despite the warm air, Scirye hugged herself. “For now, I think we ought to try real hard not to cross either Pele or Nanaia.”
“A wise strategy with any goddess,” Kles agreed.
Scirye
The goddess’s path wandered away from Waikiki, the hotels and big stores giving way to smaller buildings and houses where the locals lived in trim little houses with palm trees instead of oak or pine and fragrant plumeria instead of roses in the well-tended gardens. The more traditional kept ti-leaf bushes at the corners of their boundaries for good luck. Even here the little bungalows flickered between wooden boards and woven grass walls.
Some braver souls called out polite greetings but most simply bowed to the goddess.
Once Pele left the sidewalk and climbed the front steps of a house where a man was eating a plate of rice and pork as he sat on his porch. Without a word, she helped herself to a handful and stuffed it into her mouth, chewing as she wiped the grease on her muumuu.
The man made no complaint but presented his lunch to her as reverently as if the plate had been heaped with gold. She shook her head, though, and went back to the street, resuming her stroll but pausing every now and then to take whatever she wanted with all the assurance of a goddess accepting offerings from her worshippers. It might be a flower from a window box or prying a polished hub cap from a Studebaker. She might have the imperious attitude of a divinity but she had the taste of a magpie attracted by shiny or brightly colored objects.
Still Pele shuffled on, taking them down seedier streets where pawn shops and pool halls began to replace the grocery stores. Here both businesses and homes had bars on the windows and the people dressed more shabbily. However, even here they treated Pele with respect and did not object when she helped herself to a scarf, a pair of red plastic chopsticks, and various other things that had caught her eye.
By the time they reached the edge of Chinatown, they were all carrying some of her loot. Here awnings shaded the pavement from one end of each block to the other. In the cool shadows, restaurants and souvenir shops jostled one another for their attention. On the second story, above the awnings, were verandas where people sat fanning themselves.
Pele stopped by a beaten-up little cafe with a sign on which was painted a seagull and the words, “The Salty Bird.” It was hard to tell whether the seagull had always been gray or if years of dirt had collected on its white feathers. On the window were fading letters proclaiming it the home of the “Hot Barbecue.”
Leech followed her inside and a grumbling Koko shortly after him. Scirye stepped to the side to make room for them and Bayang. The cafe was even dimmer than the jungle had been, and Scirye blinked instinctively as her eyes tried to adjust.
On one side, stools rose in front of a counter like tall, immovable toadstools, and on the other side, worn tables and chairs squatted in wooden stalls like strange beasts. A man sat in a corner strumming a ukulele, and though Scirye did not know what the Hawaiian meant, the melancholy tune suggested it was about someone very, very lonely.
Sizzling sounds were coming from the kitchen, and when a man in a dirty apron opened the door to peek out at them, the smoke from the oven rolled into the restaurant itself.
Pele simply waved a hand at them. “They’re with me,” she said.
The man rolled his eyes as if this was the weirdest thing that Pele had done in a lifetime full of odd behavior.
That was when Scirye’s eyes made out the telephone sitting on the counter. Suddenly she felt a pang of guilt. Screwing up her courage, she asked the goddess, “May I call San Francisco? My mother’s in the hospital.”
“There’s a pay phone near the restrooms,” the man croaked in a voice like a giant frog.
“I… I don’t have any money,” Scirye said.
“No long-distance calls,” the man snapped, but when Pele stared at him, he shoved it toward Scirye. “Go on. But don’t take too long,” he said sullenly.
Sulking, the man disappeared into the kitchen again, returning to the process of turning food into lumps of charcoal.
Anxiously, Scirye picked up the cone-shaped receiver and put it against her ear. When she had dialed, she spoke to the operator. It took a few minutes but she got through to the consulate, where she learned her mother had returned from the hospital, having just been released two hours ago.
“Hello?” Lady Sudarshane asked and Scirye suddenly wished she were safe in her mother’s arms that instant.
“This is Scirye,” the girl said eagerly. “Are you all right?”
“Thank Nanaia that you’re alive!” Lady Sudarshane exclaimed, relieved. “The police have been turning San Francisco upside down looking for you, and then there was this absurd phone call from the airport that made no sense. Where are you?”
“Uh, well, in Honolulu,” Scirye said awkwardly.
“This is no time for one of your fibs, young lady,” her mother said anxiously. “You’ve had everyone worried.”
“Honest, Mother,” Scirye said. For a moment she held the receiver toward the musician, who had kept playing his ukulele. Then she spoke into the telephone again. “Hear that?” she asked, feeling foolish that her proof was so weak. “You have to believe me. I’m in Hawaii.”
“But how—?” Lady Sudarshane began and then caught herself. “No, never mind. You can tell me all about it when you get home, dear.” She was relaxing now. “Just tell me where you are and I’ll contact our consulate in Honolulu to pick you up.”
Scirye didn’t know where to begin talking about what happened. She had felt the terrible deep sorrow of seeing Nishke die, and the fear and anger and relief of having survived three battles. And how many people could say they had given fashion tips to a goddess?
She certainly didn’t feel like the girl whose head had once been filled with all those ridiculously romantic notions about heroism. And the rude people at home, who had once seemed so significant and hurtful, now seemed silly compared to the monsters she had encountered.
With a heavy heart, Scirye said
, “I’m sorry, but first I have to find the ring.”
Kles, who had his ear pressed to the receiver, heard everything her mother had said. “You should listen to your mother,” the griffin scolded.
“Are you there too, Klestetstse?” Lady Sudarshane asked. “Oh, of course you would be. I think you’re a better mother to Scirye than me.”
“That’s not true,” Scirye said, trying to protect her mother’s feelings.
“Thank you for fibbing, dear.” Lady Sudarshane sighed. “I’m sorry for getting so involved in my duties that I neglected you. The Princess Maimantstse sent Klestetstse so you wouldn’t be so lonely. But we’ll start over again. You and I will spend more time together from now on, all right?”
Scirye fiddled with the phone cord uncomfortably. “I’d like that. It’s just that I… I made a promise to Nanaia if she would help me get even for Nishke and find the ring.”
“Nanaia would never expect someone as young as you to keep a vow as major as that,” Lady Sudarshane argued urgently.
The Scirye of a week ago would have been glad of an excuse to get out of some unpleasant chore, but not the Scirye of today. How to explain that to her mother? “I wish I could,” she said, feeling as if she were stumbling about in the dark, “but I think the theft is part of something very important. That rich Mr. Roland is behind it all.”
Her mother paused as if she were finally sensing the change in her daughter. “I don’t care how big you think the plot is. Come home.”
The concern in her mother’s voice touched Scirye, but she glanced at Kles, then Bayang, Leech, and Koko. They had fought beside her. She was responsible to them as well as her mother. “It wouldn’t be Tumarg to leave it to someone else to do.”
“As a Kushan, I understand Tumarg but”—her mother’s voice almost broke into a sob—”as a mother, I don’t care. I’m scared for you, darling.”
I’m frightened, too, Scirye thought, but I can’t hide from it, either. And that made her sad because she knew she had to refuse her mother’s pleas. “I’ll be home just as soon as I can.”
Her mother’s voice rose with anxiety. “Please, Scirye,” she begged. “Listen to me.”
The same proud warrior who had defied monsters and a dragon had been reduced to pleading with her. Miserable, Scirye clutched the receiver, unable to speak.
Her mother managed to choke out, “We’re… we’re burying Nishke tomorrow.”
If Scirye caught a Clipper back, perhaps she would be able to make it. Tears streaked down her cheeks.
Pele perched upon a stool next to her. “Take a minute. Think,” she suggested kindly as she held up a hand. A package of peanuts detached itself from a rack against the wall and floated into her palm. Ripping it open, she shook some peanuts into her brown palm and held out the package, giving it a little shake so that the peanuts rattled inside the paper. “Here. Don’t make a decision on an empty belly.”
The last thing she wanted was peanuts, but it wasn’t wise to turn down a gift from Pele.
Kles fluttered down from her shoulder and fetched two peanuts. “My lady thanks you.” With slow beats of his wings, he rose to the level of Scirye’s mouth and fed her like a newly hatched chick before he returned to shoulder, where he tried to dry her face.
Scirye chewed automatically as she felt the ache in her soul.
“What do you really want to do?” Pele asked. “Go home where it’s nice and safe? Or go with me and maybe die.” She began to crunch the peanuts between her few orange-stained teeth.
Scirye couldn’t help staring. Up until now, she had always thought every goddess was a serious, elegant lady like Nanaia. A goddess would have a nimbus of divine fire about her head and shoulders, not a tangled bird’s nest of gray hair. And Scirye had certainly never expected to be sharing a bag of peanuts with one in a rattrap of a cafe.
As the girl rubbed her fingertips together, Scirye thought that of all the odd creatures she had met so far, Pele was the strangest and the most terrifying—and yet sitting beside Pele right at this moment, Scirye had also never felt more alive, never more Tumarg. This had to be what it meant to brush up against the divine: to feel like you were part of the magic itself.
Accompanying Pele was doing the right thing and scuttling back home like some frightened kitten was all wrong.
The girl spoke into the receiver again. “I don’t want to hurt you, Mother, but I think if I went home now, I’d be a coward.” Scirye’s voice caught. “Good-bye, Mother. I love you and Father.” She started to hang up before she could change her mind.
Before she did, though, Kles’s head darted toward the mouthpiece. “I’ll watch over her, Lady.”
Lady Sudarshane’s tearful voice sounded tinny in the receiver. “I’m … I’m counting on you.”
A new wave of homesickness and guilt washed over Scirye as she finished hanging the receiver on the holder.
Pele patted her hand sympathetically. “You’re growing up. It’s what all mamas want and what they also hate.”
“I don’t like it much, either,” Scirye admitted ruefully.
Leech was watching her curiously. “I always felt sorry for myself because I was an orphan, but if it hurts this much, maybe I was better off not knowing mine.”
Bayang was more practical. “Your mother will have the Honolulu police searching for you,” she warned.
Pele gave a bubbly chuckle. “They’ll never follow where we’re going.”
“That’s just what I’m afraid of,” Koko groaned.
Scirye
Pele led them through another doorway into a basement. As they descended the rickety steps, the wood and plaster walls gave way to dirt, and the air was warmer. With a snap of her fingers, a small flame danced once again upon Pele’s fingertip.
In the flickering light, they saw they were in a basement with a floor that sloped downward at a slight angle. Against one wall was a table and an old boiler with assorted boxes and crates stacked haphazardly. But most of the cellar was lost in shadow.
“Leave my stuff there.” She used her free hand to point to an old card table. “And don’t forget my feathers.”
Obediently, Leech deposited the cardboard and the new feathers on top of the table as Pele nodded to Bayang. “You change now, mo-o. Maybe no time later, eh?”
Normally, clothes were part of Bayang’s magical disguise so she could change them as well as her shape. But she was in the airport coveralls and they ripped as she transformed into her true shape.
Leech and Koko’s eyes went wide. Knowing Bayang’s identity was one thing, but actually seeing her true form was another.
Scirye thought the photos of dragons had never done them justice. Even in the dim light, Bayang looked beautiful. Her dark green scales seemed almost as black and shiny as obsidian, but there were little flecks of gold speckling the pebbled surface and her steel-tipped claws gleamed as if she burnished them regularly. Her slender body managed to look graceful and powerful and deadly just standing still.
Scirye found herself wishing that she could be a dragon, too.
Pele glanced shrewdly between the new deadly Bayang and the small human boy called Leech. Then she shuffled over toward him as he watched her uneasily. Pursing her lips, the goddess flicked a fingernail against an iron armband.
Ting.
The sound reverberated like a bell.
“Yes,” she said, a broad smile spreading across her face. But she struck it again to be sure. “Yes, it is.”
Remembering how Pele liked to extract tribute, Leech covered up the ring and stepped back. “Please don’t take them, Your High Auntie-ness. I’ve had these since I was born.”
Pele held up her palm. “I wouldn’t think of it,” she said and glanced at Bayang. “And neither should anyone else.” Then she faced the boy again. “This,” she said, tapping the armband a third time, “is a powerful weapon.” She pointed to the disks decorating the top. “And these will let you fly.”
“Really?” Leech
asked in amazement.
Putting her hands on her hips, Pele jerked her head at Bayang. “Isn’t that so, mo-o? Don’t lie. True facts should go with a true shape.”
Bayang
“I’m not sure what you mean,” Bayang said reluctantly. She wasn’t afraid of helping Leech find his true powers because she was sure he wasn’t a threat to dragonkind. Rather, she didn’t want him to discover her original mission.
Though Pele only came up to Bayang’s chin, suddenly the goddess seemed to loom over her. “We might need him for the battle,” Pele said.
“Need who?” Leech asked, puzzled.
Pele pointed a dirty finger at the iron armband. “We need that.”
“They’re just something I’ve always had,” Leech said, fingering them. “It was with me when I was found as a baby and brought to the orphanage.”
Pele shook her head. “You still got no luck with your family, do you?” She turned commandingly to Bayang. “Tell him.” The brown eyes seemed to swell until Bayang felt she had fallen into cups of molten chocolate.
Bayang was unable to resist. “When a person dies, they’re born again in another life. Thousands of years ago, you were once a hero known as Lee No Cha.” Against her will, the dragon indicated the iron armband. “As Pele said, you can fly with part of it and fight with the rest.”
“Really?” Leech asked in amazement. “But how do I use them?” He poked, prodded, and rubbed the armband.
Aware of Pele’s stern eyes upon her, Bayang directed him. “Take the flying disks off the armband and then spit on them.”
Leech looked skeptical, as if he suspected them of playing a practical joke on him. But when he pulled at the disks, he was surprised when they came off in his hand. “So what am I supposed to do now? Am I supposed to clean them?”
“Spit on them!” Pele commanded. Her voice resonated in the cellar; the sound seemed to fill the boy’s head.
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