The Cloud Folk shot upward like arrows aimed at the dark clouds, somehow staying on top of their strange craft as easily as if they were standing on solid ground. Faster and faster they sped until they were a blur, but as they neared the clouds, a group spun away at the last moment and Scirye saw they were the ones with children. The rest plunged straight into the polluted mist before the vapor had a chance to draw away.
Soon, white threads began to intertwine with the dark smoke until stripes of white and black wrestled one another like snakes fighting to the death. No sooner did the Cloud Folk seem to be gaining the upper hand than the blackness was reinforced with more poisonous gases and ash spewing from the erupting volcano.
“I’m going to use my pu voice now,” Pele warned Scirye and the others, “so cover your ears.” When they obeyed her, Pele began to sing.
Even with her hands over her ears, Scirye could hear the harsh notes explode from Pele like rocks ejected from a spouting crater. At the same time the goddess moved her hands like agile sparrows. There was a sharp contrast between the ugly sounds and the graceful gestures. Scirye barely had time to think about it before the island cracked beneath them and lava spewed upward, falling again in thick, glowing droplets that covered the surrounding black stones with bright red polka dots.
The crevices spread like the threads of a spiderweb, racing across the crust. As lava oozed out of the fissures, the whole island seemed caught in a fiery net. Rifts widened into chasms into which the remaining buildings tumbled in bursts of flame. Suddenly there came a loud, rumbling crash that sent the sea heaving beneath the rafts, and they looked down to see that a huge chunk of the island had fallen into the sea.
The island began to break up like a dry, brittle pie crust. More and more sections splashed into the ocean as the lava fountained upward in gooey, fiery curtains and steam rolled toward the sky with the hiss of thousands of serpents. The earth was reclaiming its own.
The war was being fought simultaneously in the air, the sea, and on the land. Beads of perspiration formed on Pele’s face as she struggled to destroy the island quickly while Kamapuaa tried to stop the destructive tidal waves created as the island broke up. Up above, the Cloud Folk did their best to cleanse the sky.
Finally, all that was left of the black smoke was a bank of fluffy white clouds and all that remained of the island was a great column of steam rising from the spot where the island had once stood to mix with the white clouds overhead.
The sea beneath them sparkled in the late afternoon sun with gilded scales, and the Menehune were already paddling the rafts across the placid surface toward the other islands.
“That’s that then,” Pele said, slapping her palms together in satisfaction.
Bayang swung her head around on her long neck. “Excuse me, Lady, but it’s not finished until we catch Roland,” she reminded the goddess politely.
“True, true,” Pele agreed. “You’re going to Nova Hafnia?”
“I’m afraid my wings would tire before I reach there,” Bayang explained. “Roland said he was going on a ship. He probably had one anchored nearby so all the dragon had to do was get him there and then sail off safely.”
Pele scratched her cheek thoughtfully. “That figures.”
Despite her desire to catch Roland, Scirye couldn’t help tilting her head back to watch the Cloud Folk’s graceful descent and listen to their contented tune; it filled her heart with ease and delight. Her happiness only increased as the Cloud Folk gathered around Pele once more.
“It was a hard fight, but our homes are safe now,” declared the man with the necklace.
The goddess bowed deeply. “Thank you. But I need to ask one more favor now.” She nodded to Scirye and her companions. “These friends need to go faraway to the ice and snow.” She motioned to the north. “Can you help them get there?”
The chief regarded Scirye and the others. “You have the most peculiar friends, Lady.”
“They will catch the man who made the island and then broke it.” Pele gestured toward the place where the island had been.
“That man did something very evil,” the chief said gravely, “so we will gladly help them.” With a twirl of his wrist, he held a dozen yellow stalks. Soon others were also holding up more so that they seemed surrounded by golden whiskers.
“Now,” the chief said, and threw his stalks into the air. The others copied him until the sky was full of them.
Then the Cloud Folk began to sing a different tune, busy and happy as birds building a nest, as bees gathering nectar from a field. The stalks swirled about, darting toward one another, dipping and bobbing, almost as if in some complex dance.
When Scirye saw the triangle start to appear, she realized the Cloud Folk were weaving the stalks together. The triangle grew in size until it was a huge delta-shaped mat some thirty feet along at its base. Smaller triangles rose perpendicular from the tail and its belly like fins. Across the top was a large boxlike frame woven from more stalks.
As the notes of their song died away, the Cloud Folk clapped their hands together in delight at their creation. Their applause was enough to shove the air raft about until several men and women caught the sides to anchor it.
The chief gestured for Bayang to rise above the triangle, and when she had done so, he pointed to the air raft’s middle where there were loops to hold onto. “The wind will carry you where you want to go, but you must stay in the center and not go near the edges.” He indicated the frame. “While you are inside here, you will be as cozy as if you are in a hut.” Then he floated over the largest loop. “Use this to steer.”
Then he drifted over to the edge of the wing so he could grip it in his two hands. “Remember this word,” he said, and spoke a string of syllables. Instantly the mat began to fold itself a portion at a time until it was a little triangular box resting on his palms. “This package is very small but very heavy. Whatever you do, never say the folding word while you’re still flying on it.” Finally he pronounced another group of syllables and the wing unfolded itself until it was as large as ever. The Cloud Folk came in to hold it in place again.
A dozen of the Cloud Folk left straw baskets on the wing, taking care not to overload one spot and tip the wing over. “Food for your journey,” the man explained.
“Thank you,” Bayang said.
Pele bent over Scirye so that the girl was engulfed in the drifting smoky strands of the goddess’s hair. “Hey, Smart Girl,” she said, hugging Scirye. “You come visit Auntie, okay? We have more fun again, eh?”
Scirye wasn’t sure it was wise to want to see such a powerful but whimsical spirit again, but it was probably even more dangerous to refuse her invitation. “Yes, um, Auntie.”
Pele kissed Scirye on the cheek. “Bring da bad boys, too.”
“Hey, thanks, Auntie,” Koko said. “Any chance you could take your nephews to some diamonds? Ow!” he cried as the tip of his ear caught fire. As he and Leech patted it out, Koko yelped, “I thought we were friends.”
“But not that friendly, kupua.” Pele laughed.
Two large men floated alongside Bayang and gripped each other’s wrists to form a cradle. Pele slid down the dragon’s side and into the living sling where she kicked her legs like a child on a swing.
Other Cloud Folk picked up the hatchlings from Bayang’s back, but the man who tried to take Koko was having trouble.
Kles circled nearby. “You’ve got a bit too much ballast,” he said to the wide-hipped creature.
“At least I won’t get blown away by the next breeze,” Koko grunted, “like a certain feather duster I know.”
The chief gestured to another of his people, a man with huge arms who swung down to help the other. Each took one of Koko’s forepaws and hauled him through the air like a sack of potatoes.
The cloud man carrying Scirye in his arms glided over the wing. Scirye hesitated, seeing how flimsy the straw mat looked. You’ve been afraid this whole trip and managed. So she hopped onto the wing
, half expecting to rip a hole in the fabric and plunge into the ocean. She was surprised and relieved to find there was only a slight springiness to it; stepping on it was like walking across a blanket on a sandy beach.
“Come on,” she said, motioning to Leech. He dropped down a moment later.
“Bombs away!” Koko said, and plopped next to them. The wing swayed only slightly.
“Careful, you idiot,” Kles scolded as he perched upon Scirye’s shoulder. “You could tilt this wing too much. And what would happen to Lady Scirye?”
Scirye tried to keep the peace. “Easy, Kles. Someone would catch me. We’ve gotten this far only because everyone’s worked together.”
“Yes, that’s right. We’re a team,” Leech agreed, and glanced at Bayang. The dragon had shrunk to about the height of the hatchlings and was landing light and graceful as a leaf on the wing near him. “Even old enemies.”
“Who are new friends,” Bayang agreed, furling her wings.
As she looked at the others, Scirye felt a glow inside that grew steadily warmer. They had shared their tears and laughter and even risked death for one another. They were like family now, a brave family. “Nothing can stop us when we’re together.”
Koko clapped his paws together. “Ha! When we catch Roland, he won’t know what hit him.”
“Hmph,” Kles said, folding his forelegs across his chest. “I still wouldn’t loan any money to a certain ‘teammate.’“
Insults rolled right off of Koko. “I guess you’re out of luck, teammate,” he called up to Bayang.
“It’s no use, you know,” Bayang advised Kles. “He’s too dense to know when you’re trying to annoy him.”
“Maybe a well-chosen rock then,” Kles said thoughtfully.
“Kles!” Scirye ordered. “Be quiet.”
Pele pulled out five strands of her long, curly hair, muttering a spell over them and then handing them to the five friends. “Keep these. They’ll help keep you warm when you reach the north.”
More Cloud Folk clustered around the wing, gripping its sides. At a command from their chief, they began to guide the wing upward until they reached a point where columns of hot steam still rose from the sea. The wing billowed in the mist, as if trying to tug itself free from the grip of the Cloud Folk.
“Good-bye,” Scirye called down to Pele. “And thank you.”
“Good-bye, good-bye. Don’t forget your Auntie!” Pele shouted, blowing them a kiss and then waving both her hands enthusiastically.
Surrounded by Cloud Folk, they rose steadily toward the white clouds that stretched from horizon to horizon as if someone had torn a covering from a giant cotton mattress. And then they were plunging upward into it, mist brushing their faces like wet washcloths. For a long time, it was impossible to see, so they were all grateful when they broke through the clouds at last and the sun could bathe their faces in its golden glory. Wisps of mist trailed behind the friends’ ankles like white ribbons.
Somewhere, one of the Cloud Folk broke into song, and the others joined in as if welcoming the sun. None of the companions could understand the lyrics, but the Cloud Folk’s joy was unmistakable.
As the sun touched the upturned faces of the Cloud Folk, they began to glow as if they were filling with sunlight and their clothes shimmered as they rippled in the air. Every eyelash seemed sharp and clear, and the song swelled until it was triumphant.
More and more of the Cloud Folk swept all around, holding onto the wing’s edges, carrying it higher and ever higher, so high that the clouds below lost their bumps and seemed to flatten out instead like a woolen carpet.
Suddenly the wing was almost ripped out of the Cloud Folk’s hands and they began to bob up and down with the straw wing.
“Who summons Naue?” a voice roared. “Who calls the hero of the skies? Who disturbs the mightiest of winds?”
“Windbags, more likely,” Koko muttered to the others.
“Careful,” Leech said, holding a warning finger up to his lips.
Unconcerned, Pele kicked her legs up and down like a girl on a swing. “I do, Naue. These are my friends.” She motioned to Scirye and the others on the straw wing. “Take them to the top of the world. Oh, and tell them when they’re at Nova Hafnia, eh?”
“I, Naue, the greatest of the air rivers that sweep around the world, hear and obey, goddess,” boomed the wind.
Despite all his skill, the chief was having trouble maintaining his balance as his platform bucked underneath his feet. But he fought to stay near them so he could give some last-minute instructions. “When you decide to leave Naue, don’t try to fight your way out of him. Angle the straw wing downward gradually as you would cross a swift current.”
Bayang took her place by the wing’s control loop, holding it like a pair of reins. “Thank you. At worst, I’ll manage to carry everyone the rest of the way on my back.”
The chief shook his head. “I wonder if you’ll be thanking us at journey’s end. But the goddess asked us to help you, and we have obeyed.”
And then he was dropping away from them with the rest of his people, moving diagonally across the great currents as they continued to sing.
Naue swept them away so swiftly that the Cloud Folk dwindled into mere white specks above the gray clouds, and Naue’s boisterous, confident song replaced the Cloud Folk’s lovely tune.
“I am Naue,” he sang. “In races, I am the swiftest. In wrestling, I am the strongest. I know the secrets of the stars. The sun and moon are my friends. I am the chosen of the goddess. She trusts only me to carry her precious friends. I bear them like treasure, like gold, like jewels.”
And as the sun warmed Scirye’s sides, she felt as irresistible as the wind sweeping them northward. Neither Roland nor his dragon would escape them the next time.
Afterword
At the time that I began writing this novel, I had no idea that Afghanistan was planning to send its treasures, including many precious Kushan artifacts, on tour. Nor did I realize that they would be exhibited at the Asian Art Museum in San Francisco. It was one of those odd coincidences that happen every now and then.
My thanks to my editor, Susan Chang, who suggested a novel on the mummies of the Silk Road. Some of these mummies, dating from as far back as 800 B.c., looked like Caucasians with red hair, and had cloth woven with a technique that was characteristic of the Celts of Europe. In 2007 National Geographic sponsored DNA testing that discovered they were of mixed ancestry.
Some historians think that the mummies belong to a tribal confederation known as the Yueh-Chih, who occupied part of what are now the modern Chinese provinces of Kansu and Sinkiang. Many also believe that the Yueh-Chih spoke an Indo-European language called Tocharian, which I’ve used as the model for Scirye’s Old Tongue.
Enemies eventually forced the Yueh-Chih upon a long trek that looped around the mountains. During the migration, one group came to dominate the other tribes and created the Kushan dynasties. As they expanded their territory, they took over the lands that had belonged to the Greek kings (descendants of Alexander the Great’s generals).
They left behind the amazing Gandharan statues—Western historians emphasize the classical Greek style of the sculptors and conveniently forget who commissioned the works of art in the first place. But I think the Kushans’ real talent was in ruling the many disparate peoples who made up their empire.
Recent excavations of burials in the Russian steppes have found women warriors who belonged to the group of people known as the Sarmatians. I’ve based Lady Tabiti and the Pippalanta on them.
Next, a word on seaplanes. Before World War II, seaplanes were the most economical aircraft because they could land on any calm body of water instead of expensive concrete runways at an airport. However, multiple airports and runways were built for the war effort and they were then turned over to civilian use in peacetime. Seaplanes then fell out of fashion. Treasure Island in San Francisco Bay really was built to house a seaplane port for Pan America. During 1939 a
nd 1940, it also hosted a world’s fair. When Japan attacked Pearl Harbor, the U.S. Navy took over the area and converted it to a military base.
I should also say something about the evolution of Roland’s island, Houlani. I’ve been fascinated by volcanoes and their creation ever since I saw a documentary on Surtsey in a college class. This was a volcanic island that suddenly rose off the coast of Iceland in 1963.
I should add that Leech is based on Lee No Cha and his pagoda-carrying father, whose story appears as part of the Feng-Shen-Yen-I.
Also, for readers who know of the Greek moon goddess, Selene, the Kushans depicted the moon deity as male and called him Salene.
Finally, a word of thanks to the staff of the Pacific Grove Library, who were so helpful in obtaining books and materials.
If you’re curious about some of these topics, here are a few of the books I consulted for my research:
Douglas Q. Adams, A Dictionary of Tocharian B (Amsterdam: Rodolpi Bv, 1999).
Elizabeth Wayland Barber, The Mummies of Ürümchi (New York: W. W. Norton, 1999).
Craig G. R. Benjamin, The Yuezhi (Turnhout, Belgium: Brepolis Publications, 2007).
Robert Decker and Barbara Decker, Volcanoes (New York: W. H. Freeman, 2006).
Nathaniel B. Emerson, Pele and Hiiaka (1915; Rep. Rutland, Vermont: Charles E. Tuttle, 1978).
Sturla Fridriksson, Surtsey: Evolution of Life on a Volcanic Island (New York: John Wiley & Sons, 1975).
Fredrik Hiebert and Pierre Cambon, editors, Afghanistan: Hidden Treasures from the National Museum, Kabul (Washington, D.C.: National Geographic, 2008). (Note: This is the official catalog for the exhibition of art during its American visit.)
J. P. Mallory and Victor Mair, The Tarim Mummies (New York: London: Thames & Hudson, 2000).
Buddha Rashmi Mani, The Kushan Civilization (Delhi, India: B. R. Publishing, 1987).
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