Lei and the Fire Goddess, page 24
A cloud formed in front of the forest, blurring the trees from view. Her stomach dropped. Did Pele change her mind? Was she coming back? Lei clutched her scale, heart pounding, confused as the temperature began to drop.
Poliʻahu emerged from the mist. Lei let out a surprised pah of visible breath in the plummeting temperature. The goddess looked as ethereal as ever, blanketing the fresh lava flow with pristine white snow.
“Oh shoot.” Lei winced.
She quickly dipped into an awkward bow, tightening her shoulders against her back pain, determined to honor the goddess.
“Poliʻahu. I’m so sorry, but your sled is, well . . .” Lei stayed lowered but waved her arm in the direction of the lava mound. “Thank you so much for letting me borrow it.” The words seemed so insignificant in light of all that Poliʻahu’s sled had helped her accomplish. It was more like something you’d say to a friend who let you borrow a pen in class. “Mahalo nui loa,” she tried again, the words flowing a little better than they had earlier.
“You may stand, Lei. I am glad you proved to be a worthy rider. It has been a long time since Pele has been successfully challenged. I saw that you were also prepared for her anger. That was very wise of you.”
Lei straightened and smiled, feeling her cheeks burn from the praise, unsure of how best to respond to the snow goddess.
“I wondered,” said Poliʻahu, “have you also planned how to get home?”
“Not really. I couldn’t really plan anything past facing Pele.”
“I am able to hasten your journey.” Poliʻahu flicked her wrist and created a snow chute down the mountain, curving south through the forest as far as Lei’s eyes could see. “If you sit on your moʻo scale, the chute will carry you down the mountain safely.”
“Mahalo, mahalo, mahalo!” Lei said emphatically while looking down the long path. “Walking over your mountain slope is no joke, and without my backpack and shoes, I just want to get home as fast as possible.”
She realized she was rambling. She turned to look back for Poliʻahu, but the goddess was gone. She was alone with Makani. Her brain felt tired and bruised from the whiplash of shooting from exhaustion to sorrow to gratitude and now back to exhaustion with sorrow seeping in at the edges.
Lei held the bag of fish under her arm as she examined the scale. She needed to stretch it, but there was no heat source. Lei pulled at one side, shocked when it easily conformed to her movement.
“What the—?” She stretched the scale into a big hubcap she could sit on. Maybe believing was all she really needed.
On the verge of collapse, Lei tucked the bag of fish into the wide waistband of her pāʻū.
“Makani, let’s get home and see Kaipo. We’ll have to tell him about Ilikea.” Her voice cracked on her friend’s name. “Hold me steady a minute, kay?” Lei asked and gratefully smiled at the almost instant pressure of wind she felt against her chest and knees. She got settled into the saucer, crossing her legs and tucking her skirt in around her. “Okay, we go,” she said at last, quoting Ilikea.
They took the snow chute down the ropy barren slope, down through the high ʻōhiʻa forest, down into the familiar hāpuʻu and guava-filled jungle on the edge of Tūtū’s yard. Lei’s eyes welled with tears as she took in the cozy house she’d come so close to losing. She uncrossed her legs and shakily stood. The scale shrank back down, and she tucked it into her skirt.
Reenergized, barely noticing the ache in her feet, she stepped over the machete she’d dropped in the grass what felt like a lifetime ago. The sound of familiar birds—cardinals, mejiro, and more—singing in the trees and the smell of yellow ginger that framed her tūtū’s house brought tears to her eyes, and she wanted to drop to her knees and kiss the ground—
or run around the yard frolicking and screaming with joy—
or sink in a bathtub full of hot water and stay there till her fingers and toes shriveled up and the water went cold.
But first, more than anything in the world, she wanted, no, needed to find Tūtū and Kaipo. To see them with her own eyes and hug them with her own arms. Her heart throbbed like it would jump out of her skin to get to them.
“Tūtū! Kaipo!” Lei called out, making her way across the grass. She quickly hosed off her filthy feet, skipped up the steps to the lānai, dried off on the mat, and opened the screen door. Her bare feet made no sound on the dark wood or the lauhala mat. No one in the kitchen or living room.
Lei listened. Murmurs drifted out of the back room, and she headed down the hall. Her throat tightened as the voices became distinct and familiar. She paused for a minute, facing the old family photos, trying to pull herself together. Her eyes drifted past her dad’s happy face, catching on the boy in the number two spot in the canoe, his right hand on Dad’s shoulder, the other pumping the air in a fist. Lei blinked. That smile. Could it be . . . ?
His hair was different, shaved around the bottom and slicked back on top. How had she never recognized him before? She looked over to the picture of Tūtū as a tween, her long hair big and poofy, parted down the middle. And there, just behind her and another girl. Lei leaned in closer, her eyes darting between this boy and the one in her dad’s picture. His hair was longer, down to his chin, and he had sunglasses on, but his smile was the same. And there he was on the beach, and at a luʻau, and outside a house with all her kūpuna. In every single picture. Again and again. Kaipo. Warmth spread through her veins. He’d been here all along.
Lei passed the photo of her and Kaipo from last summer and looked in the bedroom. Her heart swelled until it felt like it would burst as she soaked in the scene before they noticed her. The bees in her belly were calm. Nothing tingled. Just a sense of peace and rightness. She was home.
Tūtū was in a chair by the bed. And there was Kaipo! Alive and, well, human shaped. He lay on her futon, blankets halfway up his chest. Lei stepped into the room.
Tūtū looked toward the door, saw Lei, and gasped. The empty bowl she’d been holding clattered to the floor as she rushed toward Lei, arms outstretched, eyes glistening. Lei burst into exhausted tears and noisy sobs as her grandma’s warm arms came around her and held her tightly. Tūtū rocked her from side to side, and Lei let it all out. Finally, Tūtū pulled away, her eyes shining.
“Pah,” Tūtū said with a smile. She cradled Lei’s head in her palms and wiped away her tears with her thumbs. “You gonna get my sweater all wet.” Tūtū kissed her on her forehead. “My brave girl. You did it. You okay?”
Lei nodded, unable to speak.
Tūtū nodded. “Of course you are. You’re a Kamaʻehu.” Her eyes gleamed. “I bet you stay hungry. I’ll go heat up food. You two catch up. Leilani, good to have you home,” Tūtū said. At the use of her full name, Lei found her voice.
“Oh.” She knew this would make Tūtū happy. “I prefer Lei.”
Lei felt her lips twitch as she met Tūtū’s eyes.
“Oh yeah?” Tūtū cocked her head, and Lei was reminded of Kamapuaʻa.
“Yeah,” Lei said, letting the grin break through.
Tūtū smiled back. “Okay-den.” Tūtū picked up the bowl from the ground. “Good to have you home, Lei.”
“Oh, and Tūtū,” Lei called out as her grandma left the room. Tūtū peeked her head back in. “I’ve got some great moʻolelo to tell you.”
Tūtū chuckled. “I bet. I gonna be in the kitchen. Come out when you ready.”
Lei listened to the retreating footsteps, then turned to face her former bestie who now knew that she knew that he could turn into an owl.
Totally. Awkward.
She hurried to the bedside and did a scan, searching for any obvious injuries. He looked rough. His upper arms and shoulders were wrapped in gauze, so she couldn’t see how bad his wounds were. His skin was paler than usual, and dark circles bruised the skin under his eyes. No missing eyes or ears or anything that major, but there was something different about him. Lei frowned. She studied him some more but couldn’t put her finger on what was wrong.
Kaipo broke the silence, his voice soft and a bit scratchy. “Are you gonna tell me what’s bugging you, or do I have to guess?”
All Pau
Lei’s eyes shot to Kaipo’s face. He met them steadily and she smiled, remembering he’d said the same words when she was madly chopping at the jungle with the machete. What had she been so mad about, anyway? Not fitting in? Pah. She could fit in anywhere. Just wait till she showed off the scar that lava was gonna leave and explained to her classmates how she got it! If only she’d kept that piece of lava . . . Not like she could take it off the island. According to moʻolelo, Pele would curse you if you took her rocks. She definitely did not want to go through that again.
Focus. Talk to Kaipo. Apologize. The bees were starting to wake up in her stomach.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” Lei said at last. Understatement of the year. “Are you okay?”
Kaipo lifted a shoulder in a half-hearted shrug, then winced and lowered it. “I’ll live, thanks to you.”
Um, nope, that was just absurd. “Are you even serious right now? You were taken because of me! I never should have picked that flower or questioned Pele. I—” Lei broke off when Kaipo touched her hand.
“It is done,” he said, before moving his hand back onto the bed.
Lei bit her lip. She had thought a lot about what would come next on her trip home. Her heart splintered at the thought, but she knew it was only fair to Kaipo. She squared her shoulders and focused on her fingers, twisting her dirty pāʻū. “I want you to know I completely support whatever you want. I know you’re our ʻaumakua—”
“Lei—” said Kaipo.
“No, don’t interrupt. Let me just say this. I know you’re our ʻaumakua, and even more, you’re my best friend. But if you don’t want to be—”
Kaipo broke in again. “Lei—” But Lei wasn’t having it. She plowed ahead, eager to get this over with and have him understand that he was free.
“—I will totally understand. I met Poliʻahu, and she’s nice. I don’t know how ʻaumakua assignment works, but I can maybe talk to Poliʻahu and see about finding you a family that won’t be as much trouble—”
“Please—” Kaipo interrupted again.
“Just consider it, Kaipo. You’re hurt. You’re tired. You’ll never know just how sorry I am. Let’s get your strength back, and we can talk. I just wanted to let you know that I completely understand whatever decision you need to make.” No matter how much it hurts, she silently added.
An idea struck her. “Oh! Do you want to go to your ʻaumakua home? I don’t even know what or where that is. Do you have a nest or something? Don’t worry, I’m solid and won’t flip if you need to change into a pueo and fly. I’ve seen some stuff recently, so . . .”
“Lei, stop. I’m just glad you’re home safe. You stood up to Pele and walked away in one piece,” Kaipo said. His sincerity rang through his words.
Lei reached out to hold his hand again and lowered herself into the chair next to him. She slouched down to rest her neck on the high back.
“Gah!” she cried, leaning forward quickly. The lava-induced wound on her back left a wet mark on the chair back behind her. Showering was going to suuuuuuck.
“What’s wrong?” Kaipo asked.
A knock from the front door interrupted them, and Lei held her finger to her lips. Pele wouldn’t make a house call, would she? And if she did, she wouldn’t knock, right? Lei listened as her grandma’s footsteps padded toward the screen door. The voices were too quiet to hear distinctly, but there was something about the new voice that was familiar. Suddenly, Lei knew where she’d heard that voice before, and her eyes widened to the size of saucers.
“Ilikea!” Lei cried.
She rushed to the front door but then skidded to a stop, completely crushed. A strange girl with brown, wavy hair, a white plumeria behind her ear, and smaller dark eyes stood in the doorway. Not Ilikea at all. Her head spun from the mood shift. Going from elation to utter disappointment in two-point-four seconds was hard to manage. She bit back tears as she turned to head back to Kaipo.
“Lei!” the girl said.
Her heart stopped. No. Way. Lei slowly turned around and looked at the girl on the porch, whose smile was so big she could see her gums.
“Ilikea?” she asked, wanting with her whole heart for it to be true.
“Oh, flap, sorry. Meant Anna,” the Ilikea-voiced girl said.
“No, no, Lei is good. Lei is great. But how—”
“It’s Ilikea! I’m an ʻaumakua now. Poliʻahu found me and let me graduate early because I helped you through the fountain! I brought your backpack.” The girl held the bag out in front of her.
Lei flew across the floor and embraced her friend, smashing the bag between their stomachs.
“I’m so glad you’re okay,” Lei said into her shirt. Something was poking her collarbone. She stepped back, and noticed Ilikea wore the pendant of a bat. “Oh! Cool necklace. It’s what your ʻaumakua shape is. Wait a minute!” Lei’s eyes went wide as her mind made a connection. “Come with me.” She grabbed Ilikea’s arm and dragged her through the hallway, back to the room with Kaipo.
“Kaipo!” Ilikea exclaimed.
“Ilikea? How—” Kaipo started, but Lei cut him off.
“Kaipo,” Lei said, dread creeping into her stomach, “where is your necklace?” Her eyes were glued to his chest. That’s what was different! He was missing his owl pendant!
Kaipo’s hand flew to where the pendant used to lie out of habit, as if searching for a safety blanket. Finding nothing, his hand dropped to his stomach, his eyes closed.
“Yeah, she took it from me, then sent me here.” Lei had to strain to hear his words, they were so soft and low.
Kaipo breathed in sharply. Letting it all out, he opened his eyes and met her gaze dead-on.
“Pele stripped me of my powers. She was upset that she’d lost the race. When she couldn’t kill you, she decided this was the next best thing. I’m no longer an ʻaumakua. I’m a human. I can no longer protect your family.”
Wait, what?!
Was that even possible?
Lei’s knees gave out, and she collapsed into the chair.
“Kaipo.” Ilikea spoke up in a hushed tone. “No. I cannot believe . . .” She paced down the bedroom floor, then stopped and looked directly at Kaipo as if she had made a decision. “I’m an ʻaumakua now,” Ilikea said. “I’ll protect both of our families.”
Lei looked at Ilikea. She looked so sure of herself, shoulders back, head high, face stern, that she could almost believe she was completely up for this. But then she noticed her trembling hands and knew the girl was just as scared as she was.
“How’d you become an ʻaumakua without me? I thought we still had training to do?” Kaipo said.
Lei was grateful for the distraction. She was reeling from this new information. She cost Kaipo his ʻaumakua-ness? How am I going to fix this? It’s connected to the necklace, so maybe we just need to find the necklace. Think, Lei.
The voices washed over her as Ilikea told Kaipo the stories of their adventure. When they got to the lava fissure that opened, Lei listened, curious about what had happened to her friends.
“. . . Lei screamed,” Ilikea was saying. “I flew faster than ever before to help. It had already burned through her shirt and was getting her skin, but I pried it off. I used my wings, but then they got burned too badly for me to fly. I think I probably passed out for a bit, because the next thing I knew the lava fountain was done, there was just a crack in the ground. Makani had pushed me far enough away that I didn’t get burned by the falling lava spit.” Lei’s head perked up at the mention of the wind.
“Makani was amazing,” Lei said as a breeze filtered in through the window. She smiled, knowing Makani had come. “Makani heard me call them when I barely whispered their name. Pele tried to shake me off her steam cloud, and I burned my hand. Wait! My hand. It’s better! I could fix my back, too!” She pulled the scale out of her skirt. Kaipo’s eyes got huge.
“Lei—” Kaipo said. “You really do have a moʻo’s scale,” he said, voice filled with awe.
“Like I said, I’ve seen some things,” Lei said, handing the scale to him.
Kaipo handled it like it would shatter any moment. Turning it this way and that, he admired the color and shine.
“Okay,” Lei said. “I’m going to turn around. I have no idea what my back looks like, but judging from the ooze factor, it probably isn’t great. Can you just oh-so-very-incredibly-gently place the face of the scale on my back? If it starts to glow, don’t freak out. That means it’s doing its job.”
She lowered herself to the floor beside the bed so Kaipo could reach her easily and flinched as Ilikea and Kaipo both gasped. “Oh, just get it over with,” she said. Lei waited, hearing shuffling movements as Kaipo shifted closer.
“See if you can just heal it enough so that it isn’t a complete disaster that’ll worry Tūtū. I kinda want to have a scar, so don’t fix it completely,” she said with a smile.
“You want a scar?” Kaipo asked, sounding confused.
“I totally earned it,” Lei said.
“Okay, I’ll see what I can do,” Kaipo said. And then the most incredible cool sensation washed over her. She was able to focus.
“So,” Lei started, “by my calculations I should have about two and a half weeks left here before I go back to Colorado.” Her brain flitted to Ridley. She was eager to go home and try to patch things up with her friend. Hey, if she could win over Pele, she could probably see some good in Hennley.
“Mm-hmm,” Kaipo hummed, working on her back.
“You’ve been watching over me all these years,” Lei said. “Now it is my turn to look out for you.”
