Fire Prayer

by Deborah Turrell Atkinson

  Aunt Maile rummaged in the bed of the pickup right behind the cab where they’d stowed the tack. “Okay, I’ve got three bridles, three saddle pads, and two saddles. What’s up? Storm, did you help load this stuff?”

  “Yeah, and I could have sworn I saw three saddles back there. Check and see if it slid under the trailer overhang.”

  Keone spoke up. “Makani muttered something about a broken girth after he got that phone call. Damn, I wonder if he got distracted and forgot to put a replacement in.”

  “No saddle under the trailer,” Aunt Maile said. She blotted sweat from her face with a handkerchief. “Whew, it’s hot up here.”

  Keone had tied Moonlight to the side of the trailer and Storm tied a big chestnut with white forelegs next to him. She went into the trailer after the third horse, a buckskin, which she led out. “Isn’t this the horse Hamlin rode the other day?”

  “Looks like it,” said Keone.

  “You think he’s spooky?”

  “Hard to tell,” Keone said. “One of us might have been able to hold him, but you never know.”

  Aunt Maile walked over carrying two saddle pads. “What are we going to do?”

  “I’ll take one bareback,” Storm said. “I’m used to it.” She turned to Uncle Keone. “Which do you think, the chestnut or the buckskin?”

  He shrugged. “Six or a half-dozen.”

  “That’s what I figured.”

  “Take the chestnut. We’ll canter across the beach and see how she behaves,” Aunt Maile said.

  “We can always swap saddles,” Uncle Keone said. “The important thing is we don’t want you getting hurt.”

  “Me either,” Storm said. “But I’m comfortable bareback.”

  “I know,” Aunt Maile said.

  The first thing the trio did was pick their way down the sharp slope from the road to the beach, and Storm remembered right away that the hardest part of riding bareback was going up or down steep hills. Normally, a rider would lean back when descending a hill and forward on the way up, but a bareback rider has to keep from sliding. Storm had to use her thighs and calves like vices to keep from sliding onto the horse’s neck. Naturally, the chestnut interpreted this as a signal to pick up the pace. Storm was glad the mare, whose name was Poppy, was behind Uncle Keone and Aunt Maile on their mounts.

  “What are you giggling about?” Uncle Keone turned around to watch Storm.

  “She’s responsive. I like that.”

  “Storm’s bouncing all over the place,” Aunt Maile added.

  “Not,” Storm said, and gathered herself. “Let’s run.” This time, when Storm squeezed Poppy’s sides, she let the horse go. Poppy had a smooth gait, and Storm kept the reins loose while she gave the horse a little more pressure with her left leg. To her delight, Poppy veered right, toward the water. Storm let up with the left leg and used the right. Poppy went left.

  “I like this horse,” she declared as she shot past Uncle Keone. Moonlight tossed his head and added a hop or two, asking to be let go. Uncle Keone looked back at his wife, who nodded.

  None of them had to do anything to encourage the horses. All three galloped across the wide beach and all three people wore big smiles. Storm led the group and pulled up when Bob Crowder came out of the boat house to see what all the noise was about. Storm pulled Poppy to a stop.

  “Howzit,” Bob said. He shaded his eyes with his hand. “How’s the cop doing? Someone told me you got him to the hospital just in time. A bleeding ulcer, was it?”

  “He’s getting better,” Storm said. “He was in a lot of pain that day, and I was worried.”

  “Me, too. He’s a good guy.”

  “I think so too.” Keone and Maile were riding up and Storm turned to greet them. “We’ll see you soon,” she said with a wave at Bob.

  Storm pointed to the trail that led inland, and they followed.

  Keone eyed Poppy. “You like that horse?”

  “More and more. How’s Moonlight?”

  “He’s good.” Keone still watched the mare.

  A half-hour later, Poppy splashed into Halawa Stream without hesitation, and all three let their horses drink from the cold water.

  “See if she’ll balk when you ask her to cross,” Keone said. He, like Storm and Aunt Maile, knew that some horses would hesitate to cross water and needed another horse to take the lead, especially if the stream was fast moving. The crossing in front of Storm was about a foot deep and burbled swiftly over a rocky bed, a good test.

  Storm gave Poppy a gentle squeeze. Whenever she was on a new horse, Storm would at first give the animal the gentlest of commands. Poppy responded right away and picked her way across the stones. Moonlight and Aunt Maile’s buckskin followed.

  The trail went deeper into the valley, winding a parallel path to the stream. At one point, the group came to a fork in the path, and Storm told Uncle Keone, who led, to go right. Before long, they emerged from the forest into a clearing. A sagging fence, which from time to time leaned on trees for support, paralleled the path for as far as they could see. Inside was a series of beautifully maintained and terraced kalo patches.

  “They farm taro the old way,” Aunt Maile said. “A labor of love.”

  A tidy one-room cabin, surrounded by about eight lolling cats, sat adjacent to the taro farm.

  Storm eyed the little house. “Tanner is farther in, from what Niwa told me.”

  “We’ve gone about a mile,” Uncle Keone said. “No electrical service, and I don’t see a generator, either.”

  “Tanner has a generator. I heard he does some research on seaweeds at his place.”

  “Do I hear a waterfall?” Aunt Maile asked.

  “Must be Moalua Falls,” Keone said. “If we’re lucky, we’ll see it from the trail.”

  “Isn’t that where the mo‘o lives?” Storm asked.

  “That’s the legend. You have to put a ti leaf in the water. If it floats, the lizard will leave you alone.”

  “I’d rather go swimming back at the beach,” Storm said, and Aunt Maile agreed.

  Keone looked over his shoulder at the two women. “That does sound good. We’ll do that before we trailer the horses for the ride back.”

  About a quarter of a mile farther, the pounding of another waterfall sounded, even through the dense foliage of the forest.

  “That’s Hipuapua Falls,” Keone said. “It’s about twice the height of Moalua.”

  “Any evil lizards?” Storm asked, and Keone laughed.

  In a mile or two, the trail began to narrow and climb. Up to this point, the horses had negotiated mud puddles, half-buried boulders, and tangled roots without any problem, but Storm, who could feel Poppy’s muscles working, sensed the horse gather herself to push ahead. Storm leaned forward to help with the incline, gripping the horse’s sides with her legs.

  Before long, Storm stopped Poppy at a fork in the path. She looked back at Aunt Maile, who was next in line. “This is the second fork, where Connor said to turn right.”

  “We’re heading up the side of the valley toward the cliffs,” Keone said.

  “Do you trust Connor?” asked Aunt Maile.

  Storm paused, but only for a moment. “Yes, I do.”

  “We’ll be careful,” said Keone. “We’re still a ways from the cliffs.”

  “From the descriptions I’ve heard, we’ll get to the cabin before we get to the cliffs.”

  “The path is going to get steeper and rockier, and some of the drop-offs will be concealed in the undergrowth,” Maile pointed out. “You okay, Storm?”

  “Tomorrow I’m going to feel muscles I didn’t know I had,” Storm admitted, but she didn’t want to turn back. Though she remembered Hamlin’s warnings about not taking chances, she wanted to know if Luke was all right. Hamlin would be happy to hear that Aunt Maile was along on this adventure.

  “Look.” Storm pointed to a tree. “There’s a notch. We’re on the right track.”

/>   “Hold up a minute,” Uncle Keone said.

  Storm stopped Poppy and turned to watch Uncle Keone get off his horse. He wrapped Moonlight’s reins loosely around a tree and put a gentle hand on Poppy’s rump so that he could squeeze by. He walked ten or twenty feet ahead and bent to inspect the path.

  “Shoe prints. Looks like a pair of sneakers,” Keone said.

  “How big?” Storm asked.

  “Yours or Maile’s size, maybe a bit bigger.”

  “Twelve-year-old boy size?” Storm couldn’t keep the hope from her voice.

  He placed his own boot lightly beside one of them. “Smaller than my feet. Who else would be walking back here?”

  Storm could think of a few characters, but she didn’t say anything.

  Keone made his way back to Moonlight and mounted. “What do you both say? If we head back, we can ride along the beach some more, maybe go for a swim.”

  Aunt Maile looked at her niece. “Storm, it’s your call. You know, if the path gets any steeper and narrower, we’re going to have to tie the horses and walk.”

  “I don’t want to make you two go in on foot.”

  For a brief moment, she considered telling them to turn around and going on alone. Only a brief moment though. Not only would going in alone be foolhardy, it would bring Hamlin’s wrath. Taking a horse into wilderness was like swimming alone. People did it. And it was a lousy idea. Neither Aunt Maile nor Uncle Keone would leave her.

  “I say we go on for ten or fifteen minutes.” Uncle Keone looked at his wife, then back to Storm. “Who knows, the cabin could be a hundred yards away. But when the path narrows, we turn around.”

  “Okay,” Storm said. She saw the doubt cross Maile’s face, but her aunt slowly nodded.

  “Ten minutes,” Aunt Maile said.

  Storm urged Poppy forward. A six-foot wall of moss-covered rock edged the narrow trail on Storm’s right while to the left, the dense ground cover fell steeply. Jagged lava rock boulders poked through the foliage.

  They hadn’t gone far before the mare’s ears pointed forward and the horse gave a quick snort of warning. Storm squinted into the dense forest. Perhaps Poppy was reacting to one of the birds that twittered overhead. Except the birds had been present all along, and now they were quiet.

  Chapter Forty

  “What is it, Storm?” Aunt Maile called out.

  “I don’t know, Poppy senses something.” As if to confirm her words, a shudder ran through the mare. Without prompting, Poppy stopped, her ears pricked forward and her head high.

  The sound of thudding footfalls and the rustle of disturbed foliage came from ahead. Poppy stamped a forefoot and whinnied a warning.

  “Someone’s coming,” Storm shouted.

  “Can you turn?” Uncle Keone asked. He looked back at his wife. “Maile, you may have to back up.”

  Aunt Maile was already urging her horse to reverse, and the buckskin looked glad to have direction. Not far behind them, the path widened and Aunt Maile aimed for a place where she could make a safe turn.

  “Is it another horse?” she asked.

  “Sounds like a person running,” Storm said.

  The wall of lava rock to her right was so close she could brush it with her elbow. She had maybe eighteen inches to her left before the thick ground cover dropped precipitously.

  Storm gathered the reins and rested the right one against Poppy’s neck. The horse responded instantly by sitting back on her haunches and pivoting on her hind legs. Poppy hadn’t wanted to step into the deep foliage, either. Surprised at the mare’s tight response, Storm grabbed a chunk of mane and caught herself before she slid off Poppy’s rear.

  Now the rushing steps were very close, around the next curve in the trail. And Storm and Poppy were blocked by Moonlight, who was near panic.

  Uncle Keone was planted deep in the saddle in an attempt to transmit weighty calm to the animal, and he had the reins short and low. Still, the horse was too excited to give his rider all his attention. The appaloosa stamped both front feet, and added a nervous hop to his frantic efforts to break loose and run. That option spelled disaster for the horse, and likely the rider. Moonlight’s dark eyes, ringed with white sclera, rolled in the direction of the oncoming clatter.

  Storm looked back. She was more certain than ever the slapping steps were human. But what maniac would come hurtling down a track as muddy and steep as this one?

  Then she heard a man’s voice, muttering as if he were carrying out a secret, yet desperate, negotiation with a greater power.

  “Tanner,” she shouted.

  Tanner pulled up, and both his wide eyes and the fact that he carried a passenger on his back reminded Storm of Moonlight.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “He’s sick. I’ve got to get by.” Tanner barely looked at her, and headed for the ground cover Poppy had so neatly avoided.

  “Stop, I’ll help you.” Storm’s voice was sharp. There must be a drop-off hidden there. The undergrowth was so dense, it could easily hide a precipice. Enough to break an ankle or collar bone.

  He glared up at her, and she could see tear tracks in the dust on his face. “Storm, Christ almighty. Move.” His voice begged.

  Storm reached out an arm. She could see that Uncle Keone finally had Moonlight calmed and turned around. Aunt Maile waited at the next turn. “We’ll carry you out. We can go faster.”

  “I don’t ride. Please, he needs help.”

  Storm could see that. The boy’s head flopped on Tanner’s shoulder and his lips were bloodless, almost as white as his face. His left hand was heavily bandaged; the fingers poked out like sea urchin spines.

  “We’re faster than you are, Tanner. Bob Crowder can call an ambulance from the boathouse. Give him to me.”

  Tanner looked at her for a half a second. In that time, he made a decision, and turned so Storm could get a grip on Luke’s left arm. Tanner eased the boy off his back and lifted him to slump in front of Storm. The boy moaned. “You can do this?” His voice shook.

  “I’ve carried bigger things than Luke,” Storm said. That was true, but it had been a long time, and it had never been anything as important as a sick child. But she knew the horses would be much faster than a man who was both under extreme duress and carrying a hundred-pound burden. She wrapped her right arm tightly around the boy’s waist.

  “Get up behind me,” Uncle Keone said to Tanner, and reached out to the man.

  “No,” Tanner said, and backed away.

  Uncle Keone looked back at Storm and raised an eyebrow.

  “Let’s go,” she said.

  Aunt Maile set the initial pace at a fast walk, while Tanner brought up the rear. He had to jog to keep up with the four-footed animals, and his breathing quickly became labored. Every now and then, on a steep part of the path, he slipped close enough to Poppy’s rump that she flicked her tail in warning. She didn’t like him so close, with his sliding, pounding footsteps and ragged breaths punctuated with muttered pleas, but she kept on, steady and alert.

  When the trail widened at the fork, Aunt Maile increased the group’s speed to a trot. Twenty feet farther, Storm heard Tanner fall with a crash that made Poppy tense.

  Storm looked back. “Tanner, are you hurt?” He curled in the mud and grabbed an ankle. His mouth gaped with pain.

  “Aunt Maile, stop,” Storm yelled.

  “No, go on. Go on,” Tanner cried. He waved a hand to shoo her on.

  Uncle Keone pulled Moonlight off the trail, dismounted, and walked toward Tanner. Storm knew her uncle would take care of Tanner, probably by loading him onto Moonlight, and she waved Aunt Maile on. Poppy caught up to the buckskin, and the two horses trotted swiftly along the path. Storm tightened her grip on Luke, who stirred at the bumpy gait.

  “Luke? Are you awake?” He didn’t look back at her or answer, but she saw his fingers curl around clumps of Poppy’s mane. “We’re helping your dad get you to the doctor.”<
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  She figured it was a good thing to reassure the kid. How scary would it be to wake up and find yourself bouncing along on horseback? Storm let the reins, which she’d tied together, drape over Poppy’s neck, and dug in her fanny pack. She drew out the chocolate bar and handed it to the boy.

  “Eat this if you can,” she said, and was gratified to see Luke try to keep his bandaged hand entwined in Poppy’s mane while the other wrestled with the wrapper. Storm kept her right arm wrapped tightly around the boy and picked up the reins with her left hand.

  “Straighten your legs,” she added. “It’ll help keep you from sliding side to side.”

  Poppy didn’t react to the shifting weight of her passengers, but the horse’s ears flicked and she turned her head to regard something in the woods. Probably the waterfall, Storm thought. They had to be getting close to Hipuapua Falls.

  Aunt Maile turned back toward Storm, a puzzled expression on her face. “Did you hear that?” she asked.

  “What?” Storm asked.

  “Pig hunters?” Aunt Maile said, just as the buckskin tossed his head and leaped sideways. Storm watched her aunt catch herself and struggle to calm the lunging horse.

  Poppy snorted with alarm, and Storm tried to slide her hand forward on the reins, but holding on to Luke made the task more difficult. “Easy, girl. Easy.”

  Storm had a bad feeling about what the horses were picking up. Aunt Maile was coaxing her horse, which had balked in the path, when a sharp crack snapped through the trees. The buckskin leaped forward. Poppy jumped, too, and rolled her eyes back, in the direction the sound had come.

  Storm clutched and pulled at the reins. “Whoa, whoa.”

  Luke slid to one side, dropped the remains of the candy bar, and grabbed the mare’s mane in both hands. He was definitely awake now. Storm could see the clench of his jaw in his effort to hold on.

  Poppy obeyed, though she twitched to be released. For a few seconds, Storm could hear the buckskin’s galloping hooves, then nothing.

  A small voice interrupted Storm’s thoughts. “Was that a gun?”