Gathering

A mature 'Ohia-Lehua tree, one of Hi'iaka's kinolau or favored body forms, can be a low-growing shrub or a ten foot tree. In their native home there is room for versatility in appearance. Most comfortable in the Pacific Islands of her birth, the Goddess Hi'iaka traveled for very special reasons: specific assignments, and always with recovery or restoration of balance a primary goal. In her transportable form, Pale's aumakua, her family guardian, rode the updraft of the Snapping Turtle Wind. The wind circled the roof and buffeted the windows of Molinas'.

"You have a frothiness about you makani. Is that anger or hunger you assail at this place?" Direct in her questioning it was an indication the goddess was wasting no time. From a tuck in her kikepa she withdrew a short length of ocean algae, limu. Rubbing the limu between her palms the algae turned to dark green dust. Hi'iaka blew the limu into the wind. Hoku, the Sea Turtle ate the gift. A sigh of appreciation rose from the roof near the back door of the bakery.

"We are here for the same purpose, Goddess of the Egg. This place where such goodness. Good food and company has grown, there is a sadness. How do Humans mourn if they are not honest with that emotion -- grief?"

"It sticks like sour poi left in the bowl too long!" The two travelers enjoyed the shared imagery.

"Yes, it sticks and then flakes, and good food is wasted as well." Honu smacked her jaws appreciatively. "The limu ... it was very good quality."

Molinas' was an old and established community gathering hole built to take full advantage of the view and the access to the tide flats that edged the island. In the long past glaciers had dredged deep a passage for the largest among the Beings. It was this connection that Honu and Hi'iaka were playing with.

"The girl is a muli ... as in Muliwai. She was born between the fresh and salty ocean waters of Beings on this planet. Not just the youngest sister, or daughter, this girl belongs to the Waters." Hoku is not much of a talker, but the nourishment of the premium limu sustained her storytelling.

"Once her mother-sister ho'olele passed out of that lovely woman's form there was very little connection. no land-based hold on the girl Shine. Her cords are mightily involved with the voice of Kohola. The Whale. They are moving through these waters, most of them are already gone to other places. But. One pod remains. And they are working their kuleana to initiate that girl. They called her from that ferry."

"Shine is alive?"

"Yes."

"Can we, together, find her?"

"Yes. But, she will not be the same girl this community knew before. We have until the start of the new year. When The Sisters rise on the horizon, and the Hilo moon follows. I mean, you and me together will find her, prepare her for her journey. Then, she will decide if she'll return." Hoku closed her mouth, and her eyes. The length of telling pressed at her limits for verbalization. Telepathy was their preferred communication. Now there was time to digest the story.

Old standards

"You go ahead, Border Weed." Hi'iaka had turned nearly translucent, physical to her kin she reserved her mana but was already scanning for the clues she came for.

"What kind of scone do you want?" Pale poked her head back into the car in time to see the goddess disappear.

"Cranberry if they have them. Lemon-ginger if they don't." She was a woman of red but also love the zest of lemon and root together. "Keep your mask on, dear. You'll need it." With that last precaution a shimmer of vapor rose and slipped to the outdoors.

An old habit, Pale checked for safety pins. In the right pocket of her red windbreaker she felt. Three old standards. The weather had shifted over the weekend. Dry heat through the summer was replaced with the snapping wind, Turtle Wind. Pale pulled the hood over her head, and pushed the bakery door in.

For a Monday, it was the quiet that was so loud. A cheerful woman mid-aged and middle size greeted Pale, "Morning." The woman looked up from the large hot latte she was stirring. A design of concentric hearts would greet its recipient. The signature Molinas' scones filled the tiered glass case on the counter. A small sign read Lemon-Ginger & Cranberry. Well that will be an easy choice.

Pale looked around at the familiar interior. The solid seats, the cozy booths, and stools for sitting at the breakfast bar. A small stage had been added a few years ago, when Shine began her gigs. Sonics was the name of her style and her band. Three musicians, Stan Costa on Bass, Sara Mott and Casey Nakano did harmony. Shine was a vocalizer, a surrealistic blend of nature's sounds in a woman's body. A special acoustic system was built into Molinas'. It was Stan's brainchild meant to allow for conversation and music to gently be together. No competing for airwaves, the effect was exactly that ... gentling. 

"Wow, it's really quiet in here," when the woman with bright green framed glasses came for her latte, Pale recognized her as one of the town librarians. Smiling at each other the librarian said, "Yeah, it's so strange. Sad really. It's like we're all in mourning and don't know exactly how to do it." Pale considered the observation. This was a town of many retirees, and even more old-timers who liked the idea of living-through right here. 

Kate Piers was not only a town librarian she was also very fond of following Swallows. Pale remembered that for some reason and asked, "How are the Swallows this year?" honestly curious about the habits of the split-tailed wonders of the sky. Encouraged that she'd remembered her love for these beauties, Kate tipped her head, looking deeply through the circles of green metal. "Do you have a few minutes to chat?" 

With her mask still in place, Pale recognized an opportunity for a good story. Hi'ikaka was perfectly capable of entertaining herself, and as any old sleuth would tell you, the game seemed to be afoot. "Yes, I do," answered Pale. Kate pointed to her large carpetbag of a purse on a nearby booth seat. "I'll order my bootie and be with you in a minute."

Driving the Goddess

Molinas' Bakery was at the opposite end of town from The Safety Pin Cafe. The two eateries both wore their magic clear and simple. At The Pin Ducks still waited for Human People to open the front door, pushing in, and both species loved the smell of almond milk and peppermint tea. The Fairy Lady still baked the best apple pies, and Raven Clan served it up with charm and tea making sure there was room for kitties of all colors on the window ledges. The upstairs rooms maintained space for the Faceless, and it was Maha's grand-daughter who read the cards. Some things don't change.

Linda Molinas' sudden passing and her young daughter Shine's disappearance captured the collective breath in this town. There was no way around it. Now Pale was driving a goddess, and this was not just your any sort of goddess. This was the youngest, and most favored sister of The Goddess of Fire. This was the sister whose instructions kuleana included first-aid and it's polar, the ability to take life. "I don't suppose you're here for the scones." It wasn't a question exactly, but, Hi'iaka roared with the humor Pale Wawae tried so hard to hide. "Such a thin veil you wear Pale. Still trying to hide all that light. Of course I'm here for the scones." Whoever made up the lie about the Ancestors being humorless must have been an atheist.

"Why not. The Molinas' reputation for that pastry travels like spore on a trade wind." From the corner of her right-eye Pale saw the vaporous ripple of transfiguration. Hi'iaka the beautiful leaned into the back of the headrest. Her hair was black, but streaked through with silver and ehu. She had chosen a familiar package to present herself, but it was the scent of her that was unmistakable. Sulfurous. A lei po'o of moss encircled her head. Of course, without the mosses, there were no places for seed or 'ili rootlets to gain footage.

"Do you need the mosses to root yourself?" It was a direct question, and Pale knew it might be disrespectful to ask aloud so she kept the question a thought and hoped her curiosity would not float. "You've been reading ... about moss." Hi'iaka was listening and thoughts were of course the domain of spirits. She was kind and offered Pale a way to talk about her question.

"I have been. With great respect for the fabric of living things I re-read the stories of a scientist and poet I would love to call friend. She has spent a lifetime on her hands and knees getting to know moss. Her writing is about lands different than the volcanic, so I wondered whether you who are the first up after Pele has laid bare the land. You begin again from tiny rootlet. Do you? Do you require moss as well?"

"It's true tiny rootlets allow me to grow in the crevices of lava flow. There I will not require moss. But, a tiny seed from my blossom. She will welcome the comfort of soft moss as she waits for ua --a raindrop, a shower. Moss is the plant for starting life again."

Talking botany with the Goddess, now that needs to go into a story.

Bump

It was possible to live in a town for years and not bump into a cronie. I've always loved the sound of that word. Old Crow. Old Crone. Cronie. Places change, and sometimes people change. To see a face over fifty or sixty years the contours shift, landscapes fall off, teeth too. But then this is the twenty-first century. Overheard while in line Pale listened to the local editor of all things advert, "Yeah, he's got one amazing practice. Up the island in Oiland. His computer zooms into the top of her tooth and a program designs a crown using graphic design. A perfect fit, and no fiddlin' around in her mouth." She held her tongue which wanted to say 'And, it'll only cost you $5,000 dollars or the promise of her first born grandchildren.'

Both the local editor and the local border witch were known to each other. He was one of the first people Pale had met back in those early days. He was beginning his climb to fame and Pale was still Joy Weed to most then. Over the top of her face mask Pale couldn't resist, "You are just one harbinger of news." Without skipping a beat the editor countered, "Who is that Masked Woman? Harbinger... I have never heard a masked woman say harbinger."

"Oh the mysteries and gold mine of words we masked women store!"

"Maybe I oughta get one of those." The editor was still quick on his feet, and facile with his tongue. These are old humans we're talking about here. But old and involved, the People keep on.

"The mask or the woman?" It was stretching the hedge of civility, Pale knew. But she left it with out waiting for an answer, chuckling behind the honeycomb filter. The editor was back to the teller adding up his checks. "How much did you get there?"

The skies were filled with the ash of First Growth Forests burning. It helped to wear the mask. "Just don't over do it. Even with the mask you're breathing in ash." It was Maha who kept her eye on Pale. "Peach leaf tea with ginger and Buckwheat honey. At least three cups every day." The errands into town were short and even then Pale was short of breath by the time she got back into the car.

Exhaling deeply, she thought just one more stop. A pleasure stop. One scone. The Pin didn't make scones but Molinas' did. It had been more than a week since she'd had one. The bakery and popular music spot had reopened after the sudden death of its owner Linda Molinas. Then the disappearance of her daughter. Tragedy strikes like lightening, sometimes no accounting for who and where it hits.

Something itched at Pale's left ear. A tug. A whisper. "Hmmm. Long time, Hi'iaka." It had been many years since this Ancestor had shown up. The old woman had stopped questioning timing, closed the car door behind her and started it up. "Come along you'll like this place, and perhaps you came for just this little ride. Being so comfortable at making new land."

Bump went the Goddess, nudging Pale in the rib. It was good to be in the passenger seat for a change.

Setting the record straight

Let me say right off, her name is pronounced pah-lay, not pale as in the word that rhymes with ale. And the emphasis is on the pah. Long ago, in the not far away when this whole story began she was called, and called herself, many things. But, that is the order or disorder of so many Beings who wander the interstitial unsure of who they are, or what name is true for her. Pale Wawae is her true name.

Human beings are very young venturers on this place Earth. As a writer of stories I know as most others of my kind know the vulnerability of being young in a time when either extremity -- very young or very old, has very little value. Pity. There is such misunderstood-ness when Humans assume superiority.

"Halt! You there with fingers on alphabets on plastic squares. See the wavy lines? See the curvy in and outs of respect for Story there?"

"Yes, yes. I apologize. Getting ahead of myself, and my responsibility. Forgive me."

"Well. There you are. Humbled. That is the place to start, or continue. The story has a name as well does your aging Witch. Let them both tell their stories, through you."

"And not the other way 'round."

And so ... the rights and the responsibility of story teller writing nods to the ancient rules of respect for those words that come before all else.  

Her name is pronounced Pah-lay and this is where the story continues...