Lei and the Fire Goddess, page 11
Clean Cave, Happy Home
Anna held her breath as the moʻo pulled her through the falls, only to discover the water parted and didn’t touch her. The moʻo put her down on the damp rock floor and paced to the rear of the cave. Anna turned to the bright falls and lifted her shirt to look at her stomach. The punctures from the claws were tiny. Her guts weren’t spilling out. With a sigh of relief that she wouldn’t bleed to death before getting to Kaipo, she lowered the shirt and turned to look back at the lizard. Now to work on not getting eaten.
The mist from the falls coated the interior of the cave with a slick sheen of moisture. Anna wanted to move toward the back of the cave to avoid the cold spray, but she didn’t want to go too far into its lair or get too close to the moʻo. Having the waterfall and cave opening to her back and the lizard to her front helped her feel like she wasn’t completely boxed in.
It was a fairly tidy cave, as far as caves went. Anna stood without hitting her head at the entrance, and if she stretched out her arms, she still wouldn’t touch both sides of the opening. Dim light reached the back of the cave, showing that it widened even farther toward the rear. The lizard had settled in, lying across the rear wall on a large mound of decaying leaves. Anna couldn’t help noticing that the cave’s smell reminded her of autumn back in Colorado: pungent and organic. Its long tail, instead of curling around it like a cat’s, stretched out along the side wall of the cave and reached about half the distance back toward Anna and the opening. There were a few puddles of water, some roots hanging down from the ceiling, and a pile of bone-looking things back in the far-left corner that Anna didn’t want to examine too closely.
The moʻo’s golden eyes seemed to glow at Anna from the rear of the cave, reflecting the little light that made it back there. Its tongue flicked out every so often, which she assumed made sure she hadn’t escaped. But who knows? Maybe he was testing her emotions and gauging just how freaked out she was over all this.
“I like your cave,” Anna said, figuring flattery made everyone happy. “It’s very . . . clean. And cozy. Very cozy.”
“Don’t bore me with inane chatter now. You held such promise. It has been some time since I’ve had a human. They are so delectable that I find myself wondering if my interest in you was imagined . . .”
“No! No.” Anna mentally scrambled, sweating through the freezing mist. “I told you I need to go to Pele, and I plan on using one of your scales to get my friend back, right? Um, so, do you have a scale I could have? And could you show me how to use it?”
She clasped her hands together. Shoot! Tūtū always told her to be more respectful of elders. Hopefully the moʻo remembered she’d offered it a musubi and didn’t just go straight to asking for a scale.
“Please! I meant to say please. Don’t know where my manners went—” Anna clamped her lips together, determined not to chatter and give the lizard any reason to get hungry.
“What’s in it for me?” the moʻo asked from the back of the cave, its voice deceptively sweet. “I could be helpful, just eat you right now and end your agonizing over your lost friend. You won’t even care once you’re dead. And you do smell delicious.” The lizard’s tongue flicked out in her direction.
“Um, I’m good. Thank you for the offer of ending my misery, though. I’d like to be miserable a bit longer.” Wait, that didn’t sound right. “You’re bored? You want entertainment, and I want a scale. I will tell you a story. A great story. One you haven’t heard before. It will entertain you, and you could give me a scale. Does that sound good? Deal?”
“I’ve heard all the stories,” said the moʻo.
“But what if I could tell you one you’ve never heard before? Would you give me a scale?”
The moʻo thought for a little bit. “Fine,” it said, finally. “If you tell me a story I haven’t heard before, I’ll give you a scale and let you walk out of here.”
“Great!” Anna said, breathing a sigh of relief.
“If I have heard it, I eat you.”
Anna gulped. Well, that option sucked. Kaipo. Focus on Kaipo. Anna squeezed her eyes shut and clenched her fists, forcing the words out.
“You have a deal.”
Fate sealed, Anna thought about the moʻolelo she learned with Tūtū. Which story wouldn’t the moʻo have heard of? This creature had probably been around since the dawn of time. Most of its previous storytellers would have likely told tales of Maui or the other popular Hawaiian legends. Anna paced back and forth at the opening of the cave, racking her brain. Wait! She should make up a story from back in Colorado. He wouldn’t have heard one of those before.
“Okay,” Anna said, coming to a stop in the middle of the cave. “I’ll tell you the story of a girl from the land of rock and ice.”
“That will do, girl,” it said, crossing its front legs under its head and resting its chin on them, its wide eyes gazing in her direction.
Here goes nothing, Anna thought as she launched into the story.
“Once upon a time, in a land of rock and ice, there lived a girl,” she started, her voice shaking as she twisted and plucked at the hair band on her wrist.
The lizard yawned, showing off a mouth full of daggerlike teeth. Anna gulped. “Boring . . . ,” it said as it lay its head back down.
“She wasn’t just any girl. She had a heart of ice. This girl never smiled. She never played with the other children. She didn’t understand their games and laughter. All she did was stand on the edge of the playground and watch, silent and unmoving, frozen in place.” Anna paused, watching the lizard. Its face gave nothing away. Well, it’s not moving toward me to eat me, so that’s a plus. If I really am the keeper of the moʻolelo, now would be an excellent time to have that skill to invent a story unique enough to captivate a moʻo. Anna continued the story, her voice smoothing out as she gained confidence. Kaipo needed her to do this. Tūtū said it was in her blood. “One day a—”
“Let me guess. One day a boy shows up and thaws her frozen heart. Boring. Heard it.”
“Do you want to hear the story? No. A boy doesn’t show up.” Anna glared at the lizard. She had been getting in a groove! Where was she? Oh yeah, remembering the day she had met Hennley. The beginning of the end. Her lips automatically turned down, and she crossed her arms as she continued. “One day, a butterfly showed up.” She quirked an eyebrow at the moʻo. The lizard stayed silent. Phew! “It fluttered over to her on a nearby tree branch. It studied the girl, her serious face, eyes trained on the other children.
“ ‘I can help you,’ the butterfly said in a whisper-soft voice. Now, you’d think that would startle the girl, having a butterfly speak to her out of nowhere. But since she had a heart of ice, she never felt fear or surprise. Instead, she turned to the small voice and inspected the creature. This was different.
“ ‘Help me with what?’ she asked.
“ ‘Help you be more like them. Running and laughing and playing. Help you feel.’
“The girl considered it. She looked out to the field. Imagined what that would look like. What it would feel like to be just like them.”
Anna lowered her arms and tried to shake off the shadow of the memories of her former friend. She needed to be smart here. She shouldn’t give the whole story away without learning more about the scale. Maybe she could learn more about what it did. She knew that whenever Tūtū finally got to an interesting part of her story, Anna begged her to continue if she got distracted. She’d be willing to do anything, just to hear how it’d end.
So Anna stopped.
Right in the middle of the story.
“But wait, marvelous moʻo, I’d like to know, why are your scales blue?” Anna asked, breaking the cadence of the tale.
The moʻo lifted its chin off its lizardy hands and shook its head as if waking itself up. “Why did you stop the story?” it asked incredulously. “My scales are blue because I’m a water spirit. Blue scales allow me to become one with water, and they deflect fire. Now, get back to the story. How does the butterfly melt her heart?”
“One last question, well, more of a clarification really. Smaller geckos have a skin that they shed, not scales. Do you, um, shed?” Anna asked, rushing through the word commonly used for household pets, glancing around the tidy cave, not seeing any old scales or skins. Ilikea clearly didn’t know what she was talking about—pile of scales.
At this, the irritated moʻo glided off its pile of debris and stalked toward Anna. She involuntarily took a step back before stopping and holding her ground, not wanting to appear to be scared or about to flee. She didn’t want to provoke it into using its claws again, but she needed information.
“I have scales because in my large form it is easier for me to replace my scales individually as needed rather than shed my entire skin at once. Other moʻo may choose to inhabit space differently,” the moʻo said, its raised, lyrical voice bouncing around the walls of the cave as it moved behind Anna. She forced herself to stay still and continued to face the back of the cave. Unable to see the moʻo, she focused on slowing her breathing. It had involuntarily sped up and become choppy as soon as those piercing talons had come close again.
The moʻo continued, “But I’m never sloppy. I put them into the pool and dissolve them so no one is able to use their powers. If humans knew what they were capable of, I’d be hunted for them.” It finished its slow circle of Anna and headed back to its debris pile, where it lowered itself onto a bed of leaves once more.
Anna’s body relaxed now that the claws were on the opposite side of the room again. Okay, the scales DO have powers!
“How do they work?”
“Anything is possible if you believe. But first you have to get back to the story. Does the butterfly beat its wings quickly over her chest to melt the ice?”
This had to work. Anything was possible if she believed? Heck, in this cave with an oversize talking gecko she felt closer to Tūtū’s stories than ever before. She focused on that feeling—the warm, solid seed of truth that took root and started to grow in her gut as she returned to the story. “So the girl with the heart of ice said, ‘Show me where this would happen.’ The butterfly flitted off toward the back corner of the field, into a small grove of trees. The temperature cooled, not that the girl felt, noticed, or cared. She focused solely on the butterfly that promised change. ‘What would it be like, being like them?’ she asked.
“ ‘Oh wonderful!’ the butterfly exclaimed. ‘You’ll be able to share in their jokes, their stories, their triumphs and sorrows. You will be just like them!’ The girl watched as the butterfly flitted about, weighing its words. She held out her hand. The butterfly landed delicately in the center of her palm, its wings lightly fluttering up and down, as if waiting for her agreement.” Anna paused again, looking at the moʻo. It lay in the back of the cave, but with a definite lean in her direction, waiting to hear what would happen next. A spark of inspiration hit, and she held back a grin. Time to give this story the ending it deserved.
“The girl looked at the butterfly. Considered what it said. Its beautiful wings pulsed slowly. Orange with black outlines, like miniature flames flickering in her palm, promising to melt her icy heart. Then, faster than a blink, she brought her other hand over the butterfly and clapped. The winged insect was crushed. Killed in an instant.” Anna watched moʻo’s head snap up when she clapped, the sound echoing in the cave. The giant lizard tilted its head one way, then the other. Then it broke into shocked laughter.
Picture It
“The strange ice girl killed the beautiful butterfly?!” the moʻo asked in wonder.
“Yes.” Anna’s smile broke through.
“But that can’t be it. What happens next?”
“I think this is a good-enough ending for now. It was a surprise and a new story. I have satisfied my end of the deal.”
No need to rehash reality. Anna didn’t know what would happen with Ridley. She shifted from foot to foot. Her whole life felt like one gigantic question mark right now. Taking a deep breath, she tried to ground herself, scrunching her toes in her shoes. One thing at a time. One friend at a time. Get the scale. Save Kaipo. Then figure out the rest.
The moʻo flicked its tongue. “Tell me more, first.”
“A deal is a deal. I will tell you more if you give me the scale and your absolute word that I may leave no matter the ending.”
“I want the ending.”
Anna pretended to think, frowning a bit. “I don’t think you want to know what’s next.”
“I do!” the lizard proclaimed.
“Mmm, I don’t know. It’s pretty gross.” Anna scrunched up her face in a grimace.
The moʻo cocked its head. “Tell me.”
“Are you sure? You can handle gross? And do I have your word I may leave with a scale no matter what?”
“Yes! I give you my word. Tell me now!” The moʻo was making little bouncing movements on its forelegs.
“Well, all right. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Anna lowered her voice. “The girl with the ice heart opened her hands, looking at the crushed creature. The delicate beauty, dead. Flame of life, extinguished. And then . . .” Anna watched as the lizard leaned closer, hanging on every word. “She raised her hand, up, up to her mouth . . . and ATE it! Well, not the wings because those were nothing but powdery crumpled dust, but she ate the slender black body—legs, antennae, and all.”
The lizard collapsed on the floor, laughing. “She ate the butterfly?!”
Anna continued, “Yup, ate it. Then the girl wiped her hands off on her pants and walked back to the edge of the field to watch the other kids playing. There was another girl standing there. That girl had a soul of fire and was full of rage and angst and love and every emotion imaginable. It was always too much and always simmering right below the surface.
“The girl with the ice heart stopped next to her, and they both faced the field. Their hands hung at their sides almost touching. The girl with the ice heart felt it thaw, just the slightest amount, and the girl with the fiery soul let out a long exhale. Together they stood in silence, watching the other children play.” Anna finished, exhaling through all her energy. Her fingertips felt tingly, a rush of adrenaline shooting through her at finishing the story. Was this how it was for Tūtū?
“Hmm, I see what you are saying there,” the moʻo said.
“You do?” Anna’s brain scrambled trying to guess at what the ancient creature pulled from her impromptu story time.
“Yes. I like it. Don’t trust pretty things that promise to change you, to turn you into something you’re not. Trust those that stand by you and appreciate you for who you are.”
Dang, that was good. As the words seeped under her skin, she considered what she’d been trying to do on this trip with the whole “winning Ridley back with pictures” thing. Surely that didn’t really count, right? I mean, Ridley was her friend first. If anything, Anna was just trying to save her from Hennley’s clutches, the way she was trying to save Kaipo. Chewing her lip, she decided to focus on another part of her story.
“Well, yeah. But also, friends bring out the best in each other and can be comfortable with each other’s quirks. And that sometimes a little bit of change is okay.”
It wasn’t like she was making excuses. She and Ridley totally brought out the best in each other. Hennley didn’t. Anna was just changing ever so slightly, not for Hennley but for Ridley. But even her own gut clenched at that fallacy. Clearly, she needed to improve her lying skills to pull off lying to herself more convincingly. She was definitely changing for Hennley. To get into that group. She scrunched her nose.
“Is there an odor I’m unaware of?” asked the moʻo.
“Hmm? Oh no. Just thinking.” Anna turned her story over in her head. Would she be able to mend the rift between her and Ridley? Would pictures of an amazing summer really be enough, or would she have to change herself even more? And was it worth it?
Right now she wasn’t sure, but she didn’t have a better plan. Anna pulled out her phone, weighed it in her palm, then slowly slid it back into the pocket. It just didn’t feel right to try to capture this incredible, impossible creature in a photo. She’d have to figure out a different way. This moment was hers alone.
“So.” She clapped her hands nervously. “I’ll get going now. May I please have a scale? It is time that I rescue my other friend.”
“You seem to have difficulty holding on to your friends.” The moʻo chuckled at its not-at-all funny joke. Anna forced herself to laugh along weakly. “Yes, yes. You may have your scale. Hurry, come closer.”
Anna swallowed, wiping her clammy hands on her jeans. Okay. No big deal, just walk up to a giant monster that thinks you smell delicious and take part of its hide. She breathed through her nose and took measured steps forward, certain to keep her chin up and not give away the fact that it felt like a million buzzing bees were all trying to push out of her skin.
The moʻo lazily stretched its neck forward, reaching and clawing at the ground far in front of it, much as a cat would when roused from a nap. Its shoulders shifted back and forth in a feline manner, before settling back down onto the pile of old leaves.
“Take the scale from my shoulder above my right foreleg, closest to you.” It leaned its shoulder toward her. “Come now, do it quickly.”
Anna reached the torso of the moʻo, putting as much distance between her and its mouth as possible. Her skin crawled with dread at being close to those piercing claws again. Eager to have the protection, she stuffed her fear down her throat, trying not to choke. She gingerly reached out, balancing carefully on the balls of her feet so as to not put any of her body weight on the beast’s heaving side and grasped the shimmering scale on its shoulder with her right hand. Her left hand put pressure on the scales just above to dull the pinch she imagined it’d feel from the scale extraction. Was it like someone pulling out a strand or two of her hair? May as well be as considerate as possible to the powerful being. A quick tug—like ripping off a Band-Aid—and the scale came off. It glistened blue in her hand, not dulling at all having been separated from its creator. I can see why people would want to hunt it for its scales; they’re beautiful! I wonder what it does and how I make it work . . . Anna stared, momentarily stunned by the power she held in her hand. From the corner of her eye Anna caught sight of the lizard’s tail flick and shook.
