Fire in the Ocean Read online

  After several minutes of no one drawing her attention, she realized she had drifted away from Clancy and the others. She poked her head out of the water and stared around. There was Polupolu, looking disturbingly distant. She could see snorkelers in the middle distance, between her and the boat, but they were too far away to make out who they were. She began swimming in their direction, not liking to be so far from the boat and other people.

  As she swam, she kept her head down, breathing through her snorkel. She saw an eel’s head poking out of its coral cave, and a school of fish swarmed around her. She thought they were black at first, but closer inspection showed bright white lines like racing stripes outlining the back halves of their bodies, and the “black” resembled psychedelic neon blue and orange pixels in the right light.

  Then the corals dropped suddenly away, and Sierra found herself in a deep blue “hole.” She couldn’t see the bottom, and there were no corals visible. She lifted her head out of the water to get a bearing on Polupolu and her fellow snorkelers. She was a bit closer than the last time she had checked, but not much. She put her face into the water again—and froze. Below her hovered the enormous white octopus, Kanaloa, watching her with its staring blue eyes, eight massive tentacles writhing slowly around his bulbous body.

  Sierra remained suspended in the water, breathing too quickly through the snorkel. She began to feel dizzy. The creature reached out one coiling limb, studded with suckers, and grasped her. She instantly lost the dizzy feeling, and along with it the impulse and need to breathe, just as before.

  The tentacle grasped her gently, but she could feel the soft, sticky sensation of suckers against her skin. The Avatar held her, turning her this way and that, then the voice in her head said, “I know you. You’re the kahuna from the boat. You lived, then.”

  “I’m not a kahuna, Kanaloa.” Should I have said something more formal, like “O great Kanaloa” or “Your Mightiness”?

  The huge eyes stared at her. “You are. You are only ignorant of your powers.”

  Sierra stared back, her brain alight with a new idea. “Kanaloa. Have you heard the whales crying about the building in the ocean?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can you help them? Can you do something about it—stop the builders? Maybe take down the towers?”

  The coil of tentacle around Sierra’s waist relaxed and whipped away as Kanaloa released her. Simultaneously, a cloud of swirling black enveloped her, blinding her. The need to breathe returned with a vengeance, but her snorkel was filled with water. Sierra swam to the surface and thrust her head out of the water, gasping as she checked the position of Polupolu and the other snorkelers, then cleared her snorkel and mask and put her head underwater again as the ink cleared. And froze again in shock and fear.

  Below her was an immense white shark, as long as Polupolu. It wasn’t a great white shark, which is mostly black, but truly a white shark, white as chalk all over. As white as Kanaloa. The shark swam lazily beneath her, and she felt the tip of its dorsal fin touch her leg. It felt like wet sandpaper. Then it turned and swam back, studying her, its lidless black eyes flashing electric blue as they caught the light, like a wolf’s eyes in the dark. Its slash of a mouth gaped slightly open, showing rows of jagged teeth.

  Sierra’s heart was pumping so hard she felt she couldn’t breathe through the snorkel, but she could not take her eyes off the great shark for a second, not even to grab a lungful of air. She hung suspended above the giant predator, not daring to move. The shark circled again, then glided under her upside down, its belly as white as its back, serrated teeth clearly visible in its upside-down smile. It looped back sinuously, stared at her for a long moment—then dipped its head once before it flashed away like pale lightning and was lost in the blue depths of the sea.

  Later, Sierra did not remember her swim back to the boat. Sam described it as “water walking.” She arrived at the stern platform, hauled herself aboard in one swift move and stood dripping and panting as she screamed, “Shark! Huge shark!” Sam wasted no time in ringing the bell that would alert swimmers to return to the boat as quickly as possible, and kept an anxious lookout until all his passengers were safely aboard.

  “How big was it?” Sam asked Sierra.

  “As big as this boat. Huge.”

  A shadow of disbelief crossed Sam’s face, but all he said was, “What did it look like? Gray? Brown? Did it have stripes or other markings?”

  Sierra shook her head, water flying from her hair. “No markings. It was white. Pure white all over, like an albino.”

  Sam stared at her wordlessly, his round, brown face expressionless where there was usually a cheery smile. Finally he said, “In all my years taking boats out here, I have never seen a white shark. I mean, a shark that is white everywhere. Are you sure?”

  Sierra realized that Sam either didn’t believe her or thought she was exaggerating. Or maybe he thought her memory was affected by fear and shock.

  Whatever Sam might have been thinking, he calmly said to the anxious group, “There’s another place we can go. Never seen any sizeable sharks there, but there are lots of fish and turtles. It’ll just be fifteen or twenty minutes.” He climbed up the short ladder to the cockpit. Soon, Polupolu’s engines revved and they were off again.

  Sierra sat huddled in her towel. She was dripping wet. The warm air did nothing to counteract the bone-deep chill she felt. Clancy sat beside her and put his arm around her.

  “That must’ve been scary,” he said.

  “Terrifying,” was all Sierra could manage between her chattering teeth. Mike offered her a cup of coffee. She took it gratefully and let the hot mug warm her cold hands.

  The solo man removed his fins. He rinsed them and his mask before sitting on the bench next to Sierra and Clancy.

  “Name’s Houghton,” he said, pronouncing his name “Huffton.” He extended his hand, which she and Clancy shook. “Sounds like a scary experience, but I’ve been snorkeling here for years,” he said in a quiet, friendly voice. “I’ve seen lots of sharks, but they’ve never bothered me. Of course, I keep an eye on them if they’re anywhere near me. The tiger sharks are really the most dangerous, and they tend to keep to deeper water.”

  “Yeah,” Sierra said, not wanting to get into a discussion of her particular shark. She didn’t think it was just an albino shark. However, the fewer people who thought her insane, the better.

  “You shouldn’t let it scare you out of the water,” said the man, standing and stretching. “That would be a pity. There’s really very little danger as long as you follow Sam’s rules.”

  “I suppose so,” she said noncommittally. “Thanks.” This guy didn’t see what I saw.

  After a few minutes, she took her coffee forward, where there was plenty of room to sit in the hot sun. Clancy followed. Bit by bit, the ice melted from her bones and she began to feel human again.

  “Clancy. There was something else,” she said quietly. He looked at her attentively, one eyebrow raised like a dark wing. “I saw Kanaloa again. Before the shark appeared, I mean. I asked him about the wind turbine project—WestWind—and he knew about it. I asked him if he could do something about it, and that’s when he disappeared. Well, he didn’t exactly disappear. He squirted ink everywhere and when it cleared—there was the shark.”

  “Do you think they were the same thing? The shark and Kanaloa?”

  “I don’t know,” said Sierra, “but I’m not going back in the water.”

  Chapter 16

  True to her word, Sierra did not do any more snorkeling that day. She and Clancy stayed aboard Polupolu and watched as the others snorkeled. They saw nothing but sea turtles and an occasional dolphin from the boat. When the others returned, they chatted happily about the gorgeous fish they had seen. One person had seen an octopus, but it was obviously a garden-variety octopus and not a huge and terrifying Avatar. No one had seen any kind of shark.

  After returning to Kaunakakai, Sierra and Clancy met up with Chaco a
nd Fred at Auntie Keikilani’s house. Sierra told her story, which still sent armies of goosebumps marching along her spine and arms.

  When she finished, Fred piped up, “It must’ve been Kauhuhu that you saw. The shark, I mean.”

  “Cow-who-who? What’s that?”

  “Kauhuhu is our shark god here in Moloka‘i,” put in Auntie Keikilani. “I don’t know anyone else who has ever seen him, but what else could it have been? There are no natural sharks that look like that.”

  “The Menehune told me Kauhuhu is terribly dangerous,” said Fred. “But he can also be compassionate.”

  “A compassionate shark?” asked Sierra skeptically. “How does that work?”

  Fred looked at Auntie Keikilani. “Tell us the story, Auntie,” he begged. “It’s a good one.” He settled his fat bottom on a hassock in her living room, eyes rolling expectantly in several directions.

  Auntie poured some iced tea for herself and sat on a couch, her tropical floral dress almost disappearing against the floral upholstery. “It’s a long story,” she began, “but I’ll try to make it short.

  “Once, long ago, there lived a priest on Moloka‘i whose name was Kamalo, who maintained a temple. Kamalo had two sons who were very adventurous, and they were the light of his eyes. Not far away was another temple where a priest named Kupa lived. Kupa was one of the island’s high chiefs and very powerful. Kupa had two sacred drums in his temple, and only he was allowed to beat on them. He was such a skilled player that he could communicate with drumbeats alone, using no words.

  “One day, Kupa sailed far out to sea to fish. Kamalo’s sons knew they weren’t supposed to touch the sacred objects in a temple, but they snuck into Kupa’s temple and beat on the drums until they were tired. Of course, they were observed by the people in the village, who told Kupa about it when he returned home. Furious that kapu had been violated, Kupa ordered his temple sacrifice seekers to find and kill Kamalo’s boys.

  “Kamalo was deeply grieved when he discovered the deaths of his sons, and he swore revenge. Being of lower status, he could do nothing against the high priest Kupa, so he sought the help of other powerful people. One after the other, they all refused because they were afraid of Kupa and his power. With no other choice, Kamalo decided to seek the assistance of the great shark god, Kauhuhu, protector of Moloka‘i.

  “The shark god’s temple was at the foot of the towering pali of Kalaupapa. He braved the climb down the cliff to consult with the priest there. The priest refused to help him, but told Kamalo he could approach Kauhuhu directly, if he dared. Kauhuhu lived in a cave in the cliffs south of Kalawao.

  “Kamalo caught a black pig and carried it all the way to the cave of Kauhuhu. The entrance to the cave was guarded by two fierce mo‘o. The mo‘o warned him away, saying Kauhuhu would devour him, but Kamalo told them his story, and the mo‘o were moved by his tragedy. They told him to hide himself and the pig in a pile of discarded taro leaves, and not to move or make a sound until they told him to come out.

  “Kauhuhu arrived and assumed his man-form. As he came into his house, he said that he smelled a man in the cave, but the two mo‘o denied it. He sniffed around, but didn’t find Kamalo. Just as he was turning his attention elsewhere, the black pig squealed and gave away the hiding place. Kauhuhu pounced on the man, swallowing nearly half of him, but before his great, sharp teeth came down, Kamalo asked him to hear his prayer before eating him. The shark god agreed.

  “Kamalo told the sad story of his two boys, explaining that no one would aid him in taking revenge against Kupa. He offered Kauhuhu the black pig as a sacrifice. Kauhuhu’s heart was moved. He accepted the offering and told Kamalo he was the only man to ever escape him alive. He pledged his help, telling Kamalo to return to the temple of the shark priest, carry him back to Kamalo’s own heiau, and live with him there. Kauhuhu also told Kamalo to put up sacred staffs and collect specific types and numbers of fish, pigs, and chickens. When they saw a great rainbow spanning the valley where Kamalo lived, Kauhuhu would take revenge on the priest Kupa.

  “Kamalo followed all of Kauhuhu’s instructions. One day, the great rainbow appeared, followed by torrents of rain that destroyed Kupa’s temple. Kupa and all his people were washed down into the harbor below. Kauhuhu had gathered his own people—the sharks—in the harbor, and they devoured Kupa and all his people, staining the water red with blood. This is how Kamalo avenged the deaths of his beloved sons.”

  Auntie took a long swig of iced tea in the silence that followed this tale. Finally, Chaco spoke.

  “Kauhuhu sounds like a dangerous friend.”

  Auntie Keikilani nodded. “As he said to Kamalo, Kamalo is the only man to escape him alive.” She turned her gaze to Sierra. “Until now, apparently.”

  Sierra recalled more than one fairy tale that might have a bearing on this. “I’m not a man.”

  Auntie beamed at her. “You have a point! But I don’t know why he appeared to you, or what it means that he left you alone. Did he communicate with you at all?”

  Sierra thought for a moment. “Not in words. He did give me a sort of odd head nod. He dipped his snout down and up, then swam away.”

  “Hmmm,” said Auntie, looking thoughtful. “And this was right after your conversation with Kanaloa?”

  Sierra nodded.

  “A white shark—a true white shark, not a great white shark—is one of the body forms of Kanaloa,” she said slowly. “Kanaloa is the lord of the ocean, so all ocean creatures, including the shark gods, are ruled by Kanaloa and are also part of Kanaloa at the same time.”

  Sierra stared at Auntie Keikilani. “I don’t think I understand,” she said.

  Before Auntie could respond, Chaco said, “It shouldn’t be difficult for you, Sierra. You grew up going to church, right?” Sierra nodded.

  “You worshipped the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, but you were also told that they were all one God. The same holds true in this instance. Kanaloa is a creator and sharks are his creation, but they are still a part of the creator.”

  “Yes, but,” began Sierra, but Chaco cut her off.

  “You can’t rationalize it or try to understand it through the lens of science,” he said gruffly. “It just is. Trust me on this.”

  “Okay, but I don’t know where this leaves me,” said Sierra. “Am I supposed to do something, or am I supposed to get a tan and go home?”

  “Why don’t we call Mama Labadie and see what the loa have to say?” asked Chaco. “After all, the loa told Mama that we were both alive. Maybe they can tell us the right thing to do here.”

  “Lwa?” asked Auntie.

  “L-O-A—the gods of Voudún,” replied Sierra, as Clancy shifted uncomfortably. “Mama Labadie is a houngán, a priestess of Voudún. A bit like a kahuna. Sometimes the gods speak through her.”

  “Which gods?” asked Auntie. “Are they the same as the Hawai‘ian gods, or different?”

  Sierra looked puzzled. “I don’t know,” she responded. “I never thought about it that way. I suppose they’re not the same. They don’t have the same names, but I’m not exactly an expert.”

  Everyone turned and looked at Chaco, as the only representative of the supernatural present—other than Fred, who never seemed to know the answer to questions like this, being more concerned with the dinner menu than anything else.

  Chaco looked uncomfortable. “How would I know? I know how things work back home. I don’t know how they work here or anywhere else. In any case, I can’t exactly go ask some other Avatar, because I don’t know any in this part of the world—except Kama—even if I could find one, not having any powers left to me.” Now he looked more sullen than uncomfortable. It was such a foreign expression on his clever, lean face that Sierra almost didn’t recognize him. Where was her cheerful, devil-may-care friend? Who was this surly stranger? She wondered if mood-elevating medications worked on Avatars.

  “I vote that we ask Mama Labadie to ask the loa,” Sierra said firmly. “They don’t always come throu
gh, but it’s worth a try.”

  Clancy had looked increasingly uncomfortable throughout this conversation. Well, that was normal, Sierra mused. Clancy didn’t like anything that his rational mind couldn’t parse as being logical or scientific. She looked at him fondly. Nonetheless, he’s gone along on these adventures. He tolerates—even loves—my weird friends. Not many men would stick around this insanity for the love of a woman.

  Sierra got out her cell phone and dialed Mama Labadie. “Hi,” she said, “It’s me. Sierra. Yes, everything’s fine, but let me tell you what happened today!” And she launched in on the tale of her latest encounter. “So we aren’t sure what that means, or what we should do. Maybe we shouldn’t do anything, but then again, maybe there was a message in all that. Could you ask the loa for advice? Yes. Sure. We’ll be on pins and needles waiting to hear. Thanks! Goodbye.”

  “She’ll do a ceremony tonight and call us tomorrow,” Sierra said, putting her phone away.

  Pins and needles aside, they all went out to dinner at the Paddler’s Inn. Between the fruity tropical drinks and fresh seafood, they managed to forget about Kanaloa and Kauhuhu and WestWind for the evening. There’s something about Hawai‘ian guitar music that insists that you relax and enjoy life, Sierra thought, savoring her third mai tai of the evening. She slipped another buttered roll under the table for Fred, who had promised to stay disappeared but still insisted on being fed.

  They all walked back to Auntie’s house, Chaco trailing forlornly behind. Sierra and Clancy paused at the front door as Auntie went in. As Chaco came up the front walk he gave them an expressionless glance and said goodnight. He went through the screen door and disappeared from view.

  “What’s with him?” Clancy asked, taking Sierra in his arms and kissing her warmly. She returned the kiss with enthusiasm.