“Now, that’s the Pele I know.” She stepped forward into her mother’s welcoming embrace. Pele gathered her daughter into a powerful hug.
“I have missed you, kaikamahi’ne. You’ve been too long from your home, from the islands and the power of Kilauea.” Pele took in Kalama’s face. She brushed a wayward lock of hair from Kalama’s eyes.
“I know. I’m sorry. I did come as soon as you called.” Kalama pulled back from her mother’s embrace.
She’d been on the side of a mountain, thousands of miles away. Her mother’s voice, regal and strong, had drifted on the breeze. Two words had caused Kalama to bolt upright on that desolate mountainside. Help me. As a fire guardian it was her duty to protect Kilauea, but as Pele’s daughter her duty was stronger.
“You are home now. That is all that matters.” Pele’s smile was weary, the happiness of their reunion not reaching her eyes. Despite the goddess’s youthful appearance, lines of worry creased the corners of her dark eyes. Kalama was surprised by what she read in her mother’s face.
“Mom, what’s going on?”
“I suppose I should tell you. Do you remember the earthquake that shook my islands several years ago?” Pele turned away from her and began to pace back and forth.
“Yes. I read about it. 2006. Wreaked tons of damage on Oahu and here on the Big Island. Kona was hit pretty hard if I remember. The hospital and Hulihe’e Palace were pretty messed up.” Her mother’s question confused her. Something as mundane as an earthquake never bothered the Goddess of Fire. Most of the time, her volatile anger was the cause of the shaking earth.
“In addition to the destruction on the land, something happened in the sea. The quake released your aunt, from her prison.”
Air rushed from her lungs. Blood roared in her ears and she felt lightheaded. She sank down to the sofa, her legs made of jelly and no longer able to support her weight.
“This is bad, Mom.”
“She’s after me and my islands.” Pele sat down beside her on the couch and placed a comforting arm around her shoulders.
“Why does she hate you so much?” Kalama had never met her aunt, the Goddess of the Sea, but she had grown up understanding that Namakaokaha’i had chased her mother across the sea from island to island. Kalama had heard the story of how the sisters had battled in hand-to-hand combat on the island of Maui. They’d fought for days on the western slope of the mountain Haleakala. Namakaokaha’i had torn the body of her mother apart and broke her lava bones into pieces and spread them across the mountainside. Kalama had been to the site many times. It was called Ka Iwi O Pele, or The Bones of Pele.
“There are many stories I have never told you. Stories about your aunt…your father.”
“About my father?” Kalama whispered. Pele rarely mentioned her father.
“Namakaokaha’i was in love with your father, and he was infatuated with her, until he saw me,” Pele said without arrogance. Kalama raised an eyebrow at her mother’s comment. The goddess was notorious for taking a liking to some mortal and doing whatever necessary to win his lust.
“Did he really want you or was it one of your tricks again?” Kalama asked, not sure if she really cared to know the answer. All her two-hundred and thirty years on this earth, Kalama had been told her father was a British sailor with Captain Cook who had run back to the sea before she was born.
“This time there was love, daughter. Your father was a handsome man, so tall and strong. His hair flashed brightly in the sun. We fell in love and I became pregnant with you. Then your aunt found out,” Pele said, sitting on the couch, her head in her hands. Kalama looked at her mother, not sure what to make of what she was being told.
“Namakaokaha’i is the real reason your father left us. She loved him, though obsessed with him is a better way of putting her attraction for him. He didn’t believe in magic and gods either. To him I was nothing but a beautiful native girl and I let him believe that because I loved him so. Much like that idiot scientist guarding my mountain believes I was an older woman in a stained muumuu,” Pele said, her voice turning to a hiss. Kalama smirked at her mother’s description of Jack, laughter catching in her throat.
“He’s not an idiot, Mom. Jack is a celebrated volcanologist.” Kalama shook her head even though her own thoughts had mirrored her mother’s only hours before.
“He is an idiot with no regard for me and my power. Your father was very much the same. He was ill prepared to handle my goddess form.”
“Oh Mom, you didn’t,” Kalama said with a sigh. “He thought you were human, didn’t he? You never learn. Mortals are never prepared for the lava spewing side of your personality.”
“With your father, I was prepared to pretend to be mortal until his dying day. But your vindictive aunt took that away from me. She came to him one night, throwing herself at him, begging him to take her back. He spurned her and tried sending her away. She wouldn’t have it. It was then she found out about you.” Pele rose to her feet, moving across the floor in fluid paces. The faint smell of sulfur and burning wood tickled at Kalama’s nostrils. Glancing down at her mother’s feet, she saw a footprint begin to form on the flood boards.
“Mom! Calm down. You’re going to burn a hole in my floor and this isn’t my house. It’s a USGS rental.” Kalama jumped to her feet and grabbed her mother by her shoulders, slowing her pace. Pele took a calming breath and shook off Kalama’s hands.
“E kala mai,” Pele said, her voice still holding a hit of anger. Kalama simply stared at her mother. Minutes ticked by before either woman spoke.
“Finish the story, Mom,” Kalama said as she sat back down on the sofa. She glanced down at the footprint on the floor. She had no idea how she was going to explain that to Jack. Maybe she could hide it with a rug or something.
“Your father did not leave us, kaikamahine. Your aunt killed him.” Kalama looked at her mother and took a shuddering breath, the shock having knocked her cold.
“You lied to me?” The words slipped out of her mouth unchecked. Heat rushed through her veins. Her chest heaved as she grabbed great gulps of air in an effort to calm herself. A rumble, low at first, built in the silence surrounding the little house. The ground shook beneath their feet. Pele glared at her daughter, but Kalama refused to meet the goddess’s eyes.
“Now you are the one who needs to calm down, daughter. I don’t want another earthquake and you have many of my powers flowing through you.”
“But you lied to me for over two hundred years!” Kalama roared. The ground shook harder, pitching them both from side to side. Logically she knew her rage was useless. Her mother wasn’t exactly known for her honesty. But this particular lie enraged Kalama. She had spent her entire lifetime hating a man who didn’t deserve it.
“It was easier to let you think your father had left us,” Pele said, her voice barely a whisper. Kalama felt the anger flowing through her veins cool somewhat.
“Easier for who, Mom?” Kalama asked. She took several deep breaths to calm down. The rumbling in the earth subsided some as Kalama started to relax.
“For all of us. Your aunt killed your father and came after you. We fought. I nearly lost you to her.” Pele sat next to her, draping a single arm around Kalama’s shoulders. “When Namakaokaha’i discovered his infidelity with me she flew into a rage. The sea raged for days, storms tore the villages apart. Finally, Kane demanded Namakaokaha’i stop. It was then she came after me, my belly swollen with you.” Kalama turned to face her mother. She searched the other woman’s face, looking for the telltale hint that Pele was lying. The fire goddess has been known to spin a good story now and then when it suited her.
“What happened?” she asked, meeting her mother’s eyes.
“She tried to take you from me. Rip you from my womb and make you hers. When your father saw us battling across the lava field in Kea’au he intervened. He was caught in a rogue wave thrown by Namakaokaha’i and swept out to sea.” Pele stood and crossed to the window by the door. She gazed ou
t into the inky night. Kalama caught the expression on her mother’s face in the glass’s reflection. A single tear ran down her cheek.
“You really did love him didn’t you? Not like with Kamapua’a?” Kalama pulled her feet under her as she sat watching her mother’s body tense.
“Kamapua’a and I were never meant to be. He was too much of womanizer for my tastes.” Kalama snorted in amusement at her mother’s remark. Pele was just as bad as the handsome demi-god when it came to the opposite sex.
The goddess turned her head and glared at her daughter. Kalama squelched the giggle that threatened to burst forth. Pele turned and looked out the window again, losing herself in the dark night and in thought.
“Okay, Namakaokaha’i swept my father out to sea where he drowned. But since I am here, safe and sound with you, she obviously didn’t get her hands on me. So what happened next, Mom?” Silence stretched between them for a few moments. Finally Pele spoke, continuing the story.
“When she realized she killed the man she loved, Namakaokaha’i went lolo. The fighting became fierce, Kalama. I almost lost you. I was certain she would tear you from my womb. But finally, I was able to obtain the upper hand. I buried her in a mound of lava and sent her straight to the bottom of the sea, where she was to remain—until the earthquake.” Pele’s gaze turned sharp and met Kalama’s. Kalama noticed a small twinge a fear lacing her mother’s expression. “She coming after me…and you.” Pele’s voice was strained. Fear raced through Kalama. Namakaokaha’i was more dangerous than mortals could imagine. She had been trapped at the bottom of the sea for over two hundred years. The goddess of the sea was bound to be pissed off.
“You beat her once, you can do it again. Now you have me to help you.” Kalama stood and crossed the distance to her mother.
“You don’t understand, Kalama. She wants to destroy me and my islands. Many years ago, in the time of Kamehameha the great, a powerful kahuna devoted to Namakaokaha’i had a tiki of me created. He blessed the carving with the power to control my lava flows and my powers. When I found out I smashed the damned thing. I should have burned it to ash in my Kilauea,” Pele said, her anger growing. The rumbling started again, soft and low, building with each word the goddess spoke. The truth of what her mother was telling her washed over her like a strong wave.
“That’s what the thefts at the park are all about, aren’t they? Namakaokaha’i is behind them. She’s looking for the tiki pieces.” Kalama’s voice was barely audible above the rumbling din Pele was creating in the earth.
“Yes. She is after the tiki. If she finds it, she will finally have her revenge. You must get to the pieces before she does. If not, all of Hawaii will suffer.” Pele turned the full power of her gaze on her daughter. Kalama stepped back under the force of it.
“How am I supposed to find the pieces? I’ve never even heard of this thing until today,” Kalama said. A helpless sensation rippled through her as she looked at Pele. She was a two-hundred-and-thirty-year-old fire goddess with powers beyond mere mortal imagining, and yet she didn’t know how to help her mother. Her mother and Hawaii were in danger and there was nothing she could do about it.
“I have something for you that might help us.” Pele turned and crossed out of the large, functional room and into the back bedroom she’d originally emerged from. Kalama shook her head, scared to see what her mother would bring out from the room.
With a glance toward the heavens, Kalama slumped back on the ratty but surprisingly comfortable sofa and waited. A loud rumble cut through the air.
“Calm down, daughter, I will be right there,” Pele said, her voice a muffled shout.
“That was my stomach, Mom. I’m starving.” Kalama laughed.
“There is pineapple in the kitchen.”
Kalama popped up from the couch and bolted to the kitchen. True to her mother’s word, a fat golden pineapple rested on the scuffed Formica countertop. Rummaging through the few drawers, Kalama managed to locate a knife. She held the pineapple on a cutting board of hard Koa wood and sliced off the bottom. Grabbing the fruit by the leafy green top, she began cutting away the spiny sides, exposing the pale yellow flesh. Finally she removed the top and chunked the meat and tossed some on a plate. Carrying it back into the living room, Kalama popped a piece of the sweet fruit into her mouth, and moaned in enjoyment. Juice slid down her throat as she chewed the delicious treat. Pele came from the bedroom, her hands full.
“Save some for me,” Pele said, a smile on her face. Kalama gestured to the kitchen and wolfed down another piece of fruit.
“Here, take these.” Pele handed the objects in her hands to Kalama. Grumbling, Kalama set down the plate of pineapple and took the proffered items. She unrolled the cloth wrapped around a large lava ball. The cloth was made of ti leaves that had been pounded and made into a fabric. The second the roughened ball of lava touched her open palm, Kalama understood what her mother had given her.
“Mom, please tell me you didn’t break into the Jaggar Museum and steal these things,” Kalama looked up at her mother, her fingers curling tightly around the lava, the ti cloth hanging loosely in her other hand.
“Goddesses don’t steal. We borrow and return when we feel like it. Besides, it’s my island. Everything belongs to me,” Pele said, munching on a piece of pineapple, a superior look on her face.
“Jack was in a lather because of these going missing this morning. He’s in enough trouble from all the other thefts without you adding to it,” Kalama said absentmindedly as she examined the ti cloth. Markings had been dyed onto the cloth in a stark black, ancient symbols telling a tale. Kalama looked at them closely, trying to decipher their meaning.
“What happens to that stupid boy is no concern of mine,” Pele roared. She scooped the cloth from Kalama’s hand. “He doesn’t even understand what this truly is.”
“What is it then, Mom? I can’t figure it out either.” Kalama slowly rubbed the lava ball with her thumb, enjoying the feel of the smooth, yet porous stone. She felt the energy that remained in the object after all these years.
“It is a map of sorts, to the sections of the tiki. Someone found the pieces after I smashed the carving. They were scattered around my islands to hide them from your aunt, among others.” Pele spread the cloth out and motioned for Kalama to join her. “You must follow these clues, and quickly, daughter. I am not sure if Namakoakana’i has deciphered these locations yet. That is why I took the ti cloth from the museum. I can’t risk my vengeful sister getting her hands on it.”
Kalama heaved a sigh. Her stomach was in knots. She couldn’t read the so-called treasure map. A wave of uselessness gripped her again. How was she to help her mother if she didn’t understand? She asked her mother the question lurking in her mind. Pele draped her arm around her shoulders and pulled her close in a hug. For a few moments the women stayed that way, Kalama locked in the safety of her mother’s arms and Pele enjoying the subtle strength radiating from her daughter.
“You can do this, my daughter. I will be here to help. With the two of us searching we will be able to stop her.” Pele’s voice lacked the conviction usually associated with the Goddess of Fire. Kalama took a deep breath and stared down at the cloth once more.
“Okay, let’s study this some more and then I have to get some sleep. I’m exhausted. When the sun comes up I’ll go and make an offering to Kane for some help. We could use all assistance we can get and it doesn’t hurt to ask Uncle Kane. I mean, he does command everything,” Kalama said with a determined nod.
Pele met her gaze, a look of despair in her mother’s eyes. They would find the tiki pieces before Namakaokaha’i, Kalama told herself. She felt a tightening in her chest at the idea of Hawaii buried beneath miles of ocean forever. Her home would be gone if she failed.
Chapter Six
Someone knocking on his screen door woke Jack from the strange dream that captured his slumber. He’d spent the better part of the night tortured by erotic images of his newest lab assistant clad
only in a sarong, doing wicked things to his body with her lush mouth. Dressed like a native girl from long ago, Kalama had swayed her curvy hips in a seductive hula as he’d watched. Jack had found himself in the role of stranger from across the sea. It was so real, he had almost been able to smell the scent of her skin, feel the touch of her hands on his body.
Sunlight seeping through the slats of the blinds covering his windows cast intriguing shadows around the room as he lay staring at the ceiling for a few moments. Scrubbing a hand over his eyes in an effort to clear the sleep away, he rolled out of bed. He shivered when his bare feet met the wooden planks of the floor. While the weather wasn’t cold by mainland standards in most part of the islands, the temperature had dipped to sixty degrees last night and he liked to sleep with the windows cracked to allow the fresh island air in. A quick glance at the clock told him it was only six. He was usually up early on the weekdays when he was needed at the observatory, but the weekends he slept in before heading down to Hilo for surfing or girl watching with Sam. Whoever was at his door had better have a damn good reason for being there.
Stumbling sleepily, he headed from the bedroom at the back of the house to the front door. Grumbling softly, Jack yanked open the door and was instantly blinded by the sunlight pouring in. He squinted for a moment, trying to adjust his vision to see the person standing on his lanai.
“That’s a good look for you, haole boy.” Amusement laced the feminine words. Jack smiled at the pleasing tone. He opened his eyes and was gifted with the sight of Kalama’s luscious mouth turned up in a grin. Her dark eyes twinkled in merriment. She wore another curve-hugging tank top and the shortest shorts he’d ever seen. He sent a silent prayer of thanks to whoever created that particular piece of women’s clothing. Miles of bronzed, shapely leg were a damn good thing to wake up to. This was definitely better then yesterday when she’d hardly smiled at him.
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