Walking in Fire: Hawaiian Heroes, Book 1 (22 page)

His face a mask of rage, Dane fired at Keone and then Malu, his weapon bucking in sharp
rat-a-tat-tat
bursts.

Malu had one glimpse of Melia, mouth open in a scream, pulling Keone back into the trees with her. Then something hit him in the chest with a powerful blow that rocked him back on his feet. Icy agony stole his breath.

He’d been shot. He must finish his work here while he still had the strength.

Keone jerked and fell backward, taking Melia with him. She cried out as his weight smashed her painfully into the exposed roots of a big tree. For a moment, she could only lie there, gasping as pain radiated through her back. It felt as if one of the roots had cracked her ribs. For an instant she wanted to huddle there and give way to the tears battling to erupt. She was trembling, every breath a shaky effort. But she couldn’t give in—Malu was out there. He needed her and Keone.

Gritting her teeth, she shoved at the big Hawaiian, wriggling free and scrambling up on her knees beside him.

He blinked at her. “I tink…he got me.”

She gasped as she saw the red blossoming on the front of his faded tank shirt. She yanked her baseball cap off and pressed it over the wound, leaning her weight on his shoulder.

He sagged back into the roots, his eyes closed. A sob of fear erupted from her throat. “Hang on, Keone. Malu said we’d be okay.”

The ground shook even harder. She grabbed the roots with her free hand. The mountain was moving under them, only the trees anchoring them. It was as terrifying as the gunfire barking. She craned her neck, peering over her shoulder to find Malu.

“Malu!” she screamed over the increasing thunder. Her heart nearly stopped.

Her hero still stood on the edge of the heiau, arms outstretched as if beckoning the lava flow. And now he glowed, a nimbus of red-gold visible even in the light of the tropical sun. Like a flame of vengeance, he trained his dark, fiery gaze on Helman while the lava rocks tumbled and shook around him.

Dane lay on the lava, clutching the bag, gaping at Malu. Helman teetered above him, ennui gone, eyes wild with shock and fear as he stumbled back, away from Malu.

“No, no. What is this? What’s happening? Help me, you fools,” he cried hoarsely.

Around him, guns waved wildly as his gunmen struggled to keep from falling with the rocks beginning to rattle down the mountain.

“Shoot him!” shrieked Helman, pointing at Malu. “
He’s
doing this somehow—
kill him
!”

Melia screamed as Dane raised his weapon and fired. One of the gunmen fired as well. Malu’s big body jerked, but he stayed upright, his nimbus flaring even hotter. Melia let go of her tree root and fought to her feet, reaching out to him.

“Pele!” roared Malu in a voice that soared over the thunder of the rocks. “Send me your power!”

The mountain began to open before him, the center of the heiau sinking. Gasping, Melia fell on all fours beside Keone as the rocks in the center of the heiau tumbled into a slowly widening crevice in the earth. Their rattle was nearly lost in a great hiss as a blaze of red-gold light surged up, Malu’s fire multiplied. Heat blasted up. Frozen in horror, Melia gazed down a fissure into the live heart of Mauna Loa.

The mountain shook harder. With screams of terror, two of the gunmen fell, arms and legs flailing, into the fissure. Though struggling desperately, the others followed. Helman teetered on the edge, gaping in horror at the fiery abyss below.

Melia saw his face work, mouth open wide as if he were screaming, but the roar of the mountain swallowed his voice. Helman rocked back, arms flailing, as his clothing burst into flame. Writhing, he fell face-first into the molten lava.

Dane scrambled awkwardly away from the fissure on his knees, dragging the duffle with him, gun leveled on Malu. Melia watched in horror as he fired in two short bursts. Malu staggered, going to one knee. Blood sprayed out in dark arcs behind him. His fire flared and dimmed.

“Kepolo!” roared a voice in her ear. Beside her, Keone raised up on one elbow, the pistol in his outstretched hand. He fired three times, and Dane jerked and fell. He crumpled to the rocks, face-first. His body slid slowly into the crevice, the duffle after him. The bag and its contents exploded in midair, the embers shooting up and falling after it.

Malu watched as the volcano claimed his enemies and their drugs, his face etched in fiery triumph. But then, slowly, he sagged, his head tipped forward, arms falling to his sides as he teetered on the edge of the abyss, a dark silhouette against the fiery lava. Around Melia, everything seemed to go into slow motion as he swayed forward.

“
No
,” Melia screamed, her throat raw. “
No! Malu!
”

Somehow, amid the thunderous rumble of the moving mountain, she fought her way forward across the tumbling rocks, scrambling, clawing with her hands and feet over the ragged, rough surface of the
a’a
, fingers bleeding, knees scraped and battered as she struggled toward her hero. He had vanquished his foes, he couldn’t die with them.

She reached him just as he began to topple, fire quenched, blood streaming down his torso from his wounds.

Grabbing his huge wrist, she dug her nails into his skin, hanging on with all her might. She screamed as the heat scorched her face, seared her hands and arms, pain lancing across her skin.

She couldn’t hold him; he was too heavy, a dead weight in her hands. But how could she let go when she saw what awaited him below?

Melia sobbed for breath, gasping as the air scalded her lungs, scrabbling frantically with her feet to find purchase in the loose rock and use her weight to hold him on the brink of the abyss.

Then came the timeless instant when she realized that it was too late. Not only was he going to fall, but she was going with him. She gazed into the bubbling, hissing liquid rock below, the skin of her face blistering, hair writhing about her face as it burned, her eyes dimming.

Then his weight pulled her down, and with a wail of terror and agony, she fell with David Ho’omalu into the heart of Pele’s fire.

Keone Halama lay back in the tree roots, watching dumbly as the fissure in the earth closed, and the lava rocks rattled to a final resting place and were still. Slowly, the smoke and steam cleared, and the sun shone down on a calm mountainside. The heiau reformed as if it had never been disturbed.

“Oh, man,” he muttered to himself. “Ain’t nobody gonna believe dis.”

He gritted his teeth against the searing agony in his shoulder and closed his eyes. Tears leaked out.

“Mahalo, mama Pele,” he added. “Take care o’ my
hoapili kāne
Malu. And his little haole. She one brave wahine.”

He was unconscious by the time the police helicopter landed on the heiau.

Chapter Eighteen

Recipe for success—consult Pele for complete list of ingredients.

“Melia.”

The voice called her again, this time more peremptory. It was a beautiful voice, yet it held an edge of authority, as if the speaker was used to being obeyed.

“Melia. Arise.”

She opened her eyes. For a long moment, she was utterly bewildered. She seemed to be in a large chamber. Light emanated from the very walls, in a red-gold glow that was hauntingly familiar, although she could not remember why.

A hard surface was beneath her. Turning her head, she saw that she lay on a floor. It was warm, nearly hot under her.

Sitting up, wincing at the unyielding surface, she looked around for the source of the voice. She gasped, her eyes widening in wonder.

A tall, beautiful woman with long black hair, clothed in shimmering feathers, stood watching her, an enigmatic smile on her face. She was the source of the light, glowing as Malu did when he used his powers.

“Who are you?” Melia asked.

“Do you not know me?” The woman seemed to grow both in stature and brilliance, her hair shimmering and moving around her as if it burned.

“Pele?” Melia whispered. “Your light…it looks like his.”

“No, his light is like mine.” The woman stepped forward, eyeing Melia from head to toe. Melia looked down at herself and realized she was naked, only the singed remnants of her hair dangling about her face.

“Is this a dream?” she asked.

The woman held out her hand, and Melia reached up to place her own in it. The woman’s hand was hot, her skin like silk, her grip strong.

“Does that feel like a dream?”

“No.” Melia’s heart beat faster. She looked around the chamber. “Where are we? And where
—
where is David?”

Pele looked down at her, her grip tightening so that her heat flowed into Melia like a live current. “Remember,” she commanded.

Melia gasped as memory flooded back, full force. The heiau in the bright, hot sun. David and Keone arguing. Helman appearing above them with Dane and his gunmen. Threats shouted while Malu brought the rocks raining down. Shots fired, Keone falling on her, seeing Malu battered with gunfire even as he opened up the molten fissure to swallow the gunmen. The searing agony of the heat from the molten lava as she struggled to hold him, to keep him from falling. Then the final acceptance as she realized she would die with him, that it was the end for them both.

Tears welled up and overflowed, running unheeded down her cheeks. She bowed over with grief, choking, unable to breathe. She didn’t want to breathe, didn’t want to live. Not without him.

But this was his patroness. She scrambled onto her knees, turning her hand to clutch at Pele’s, shaking with the force of her grasp.

“Where is he?” she demanded fiercely. “What have you done with him? He’s yours
—
you promised! You promised his family you’d save him.”

Pele looked down at her, eyes narrowing in displeasure. Then she slowly stepped back and to the side, revealing a low platform, covered with a feather cape.

Her heart pounding in her throat, not daring to hope, Melia rose to her feet. She gasped, joy blooming inside her until she thought she would rise up off of the floor. She flew forward, stopping only when Pele held out an arm to stop her.

Malu lay there asleep, his chest rising and falling with his peaceful breaths. His thick, dark lashes swept his cheeks, and his great body was relaxed, one arm flung out, palm up. Melia drank in the sight of his nude body, unmarked save for the tattoos.

“You saved him,” she breathed. “Oh, thank you, Pele.”

She looked up at the tall, stately woman, a smile breaking through her tears.

Pele stared down at her. “Yes, I saved him. But there is a price for everything, wahine.”

“What—what do you mean?” Melia faltered.

“What will you give me?” Pele asked in a soft, terrible voice. “If I let him go back to his life, unharmed.”

“Why—anything you ask.” Melia shook her head, bewildered. “What could I possibly have that you want?”

Pele turned and looked down at the sleeping man on her divan. She smiled, and stroked one hand down Malu’s arm, enfolding his hand in both of hers. Then she looked up at Melia.

“Him.”

Melia felt her battered heart break. “No,” she cried out, and then clapped her hands over her mouth. But the word resounded in her mind. No, no, no. She couldn’t get him back only to lose him again.

She stared at the beautiful, terrible woman who stood over her beloved. A fragment of memory drifted through her mind. Malu, smiling as he described how his ancestor had persuaded Pele to let him return to his ku’u ipo.

Slowly, she let her hands fall to her side. She straightened and faced Pele across the sleeping man.

“All right,” she said carefully. “If it means his life, of course I’ll give him up. After all, no one in the world could care for him more than you. You are the mother of all the Ho’omalus, are you not? I’m sure in time he’ll forget me and his family and his duties on the island.”

Pele’s eyes narrowed, dark fire roiling in their depths, and Melia quailed, expecting that at any instant she would be extinguished like a bug.

Then Pele began to laugh softly.

“Perhaps you are worthy of being a Ho’omalu bride,” she said, her voice rich with amusement.

She waved her hand, and the room spun around Melia in a dark, dizzying whirl. Her knees gave out, and the floor came up and smacked her in the face.

Malu woke to find himself on a luxurious sleeping platform in a chamber glowing with red-gold light. Awe filled him as he saw the woman who emanated the same light, her long, ebony waves of hair crackling about her.

He looked down at himself. His wounds were healed, his body unmarred by scars. He wore the traditional kapa cloth, and he could feel a crown on his head. He had come through another trial and triumphed.

Sitting up, he slipped to the floor and knelt before her, bowing his head. “Madame Pele.”

“My young Ho’omalu,” she said in a voice as liquid and mysterious as live lava. “You have served me well. Those who would exploit my island, my people, have been extinguished in my fires.”