DaughterofFire (4 page)

“Don’t mess with me. I’m mad enough at you as it is. Start
this damn engine,” Kalama said, her voice a low hiss in the night air. Twisting
the key once more the engine finally roared to life. The sound of running
brought Kalama’s attention up from the dashboard. Jack stood on the lanai,
flashlight in one hand and an amazed expression on his face.

“How did you start it?”

“Magic.” Kalama shrugged and smiled. Jack walked down the
stairs and took her place behind the steering wheel.

Once Jack’s Jeep was out of sight down the road, Kalama
walked back into the house she would inhabit as long as she was needed in
Hawaii. But first she had to discover what was really going on. Shutting the
front door firmly behind her, Kalama locked the latch, and strode into the
living room. Her eyes darted around the interior, searching. She put her hands
on her hips, annoyance clearly written on her face.

“Mother, get your butt out here,” she said gruffly into the
air. Kalama cocked an eyebrow as the old woman from the side of the road
sashayed from the back bedroom.

“You shouldn’t speak to me so harshly,” the old woman said,
coming to face Kalama.

“You deserve it, messing with Jack’s car like that.”

“He should have given me a ride.” The old woman’s voice was
youthful and strong, a complete contradiction with her grizzled appearance.

“Cut the crap, Mom.” Kalama folded her arms across her chest
and waited. “I know he should have, but he’s one stubborn man. He refuses to
believe in you or magic. He’s a man of science.”

With a twinkle in her dark eyes, the old woman’s wrinkled
visage began to melt away. The heavily lined flesh smoothed to a fine,
burnished bronze. Snapping black eyes were no longer dull and graying with age.
The snowy white hair turned inky and lengthened down the woman’s back. The
white muumuu morphed to a lush crimson. The woman grew a foot in that instant,
causing her to tower over Kalama. Kalama couldn’t stop the grin from lighting
up her face.

“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 out
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.