The bearer of the future, she rises, and at the pace of her choosing.
* * *
An old Jeep is in the driveway as we pull up.
A freshly skinned pig hangs from a hook in the carport, and Grandpa’s hunting knife lies on the cement below it.
My heart soars.
And now, in the headlights, I spot Kai jumping up and down on the porch. He turns and yells into the house. I am melting. I am finally coming undone.
“Oh, my God,” Dad manages.
I jump out of the car before it comes to a complete halt. My rubbery legs carry me up the steps, and Kai and I slam into each other with formless cries of joy. Mom is at the window beside the porch door. Grandpa stands behind her. Her eyes are frantic and ravenous and wild with hope.
And then she sees me.
The door whips open, and all five of us seize each other. We are finally together. Once more, underneath the watchful, starry eyes of majestic and mysterious forces, we are whole.
CHAPTER 33
Kai has fallen asleep with his arms wrapped tightly around me. I’m half sitting, half lying on the couch, my brother draped like a warm blanket over my tucked legs. I run my fingers through his dark hair. My hands tremble. I can’t help it.
We just had a luau’s worth of food. Stuffed ourselves like … it was the end of the world. I’m savoring every silky stroke of his hair, but still I’m nervous that this isn’t real, that I’ll awaken from a dream at any second and all this will be gone.
A row of ten kukui nuts is aligned on the coffee table. Grandpa places a lighter above each one until they’re all consumed in flame. The ancient Hawaiians used these oily nuts as candles. I feel our family entering the past as the darkness softly lifts. For once, we’re going backward in a good way.
Grandpa knows the path between the past and the present better than anyone.
Beyond the kukui light, on the opposite couch, my parents hold each other.
Grandpa breaks off a stem of the naupaka branch I brought home and chews on it. He was delighted that I had it, because it helps to heal cuts and scrapes and rashes. Grandpa transfers the mashed-up stem into a koa-wood bowl and begins to sing the prayer of enlightenment and healing he once taught me:
Ai, Ai, Ai.
Ho`opuka e-ka-la ma ka hikina e
Kahua ka`i hele no tumutahi
Ha`a mai na`i wa me Hi`iaka
Tapo Laka ika ulu wehiwehi
Nee mai na`i wa ma ku`u alo
Ho`i no`o e te tapu me na`ali`i e
His voice is so beautiful. Tears sting my eyes.
He nears me as he sings, motions for me to sit up. I rest Kai’s head on my lap. Grandpa rubs the naupaka into the scar on my forehead with his thumb. He applies it to the bite marks on my leg, and to the mosquito bites and scrapes along my arms, legs, and neck.
In the flickering orange kukui light, he starts a new chant to treat Dad.
E ola mau ka honua,
E ola nau ke ao lewa,
Ho`ola hou ke kanaka
Long life to the earth
Long life to the heavens
Restore life to the person
After a moment of silence following Grandpa’s chant, Mom explains, “We prayed for your safety every morning and every evening. The three of us never missed a prayer. Your brother has developed a beautiful voice over the past month.”
I smile, look down at him. My hands still tremble as I absently stroke his hair.
“I had … moments of doubt,” Mom says. “But I found hope. Always. It was a battle of patience; I knew you’d get here as soon as you could.”
“Did you get any of my letters?”
“Just one. Right before the military left. It did more to upset me than calm me down, to be honest. To know that you were still on O`ahu nearly two weeks after the blackout …”
“I’m sorry for that.” I think of Aukina, who promised the letters would get to Hilo. I wonder how long he’ll linger in my dreams.
“Oh, Lei, you were right to try.”
“Your mother was very strong,” Grandpa says. “One of us went into town at least every other day. We developed a checklist of places to search, where others had been arriving. We also heard plenny horror stories. But we tuned them out.”
“Doesn’t matter,” Mom says. I can see the toll those trips into town took on her. “We’re all here now. We’re all safe.”
“Hilo doesn’t look very good,” Dad says. “I wouldn’t exactly say we’re ‘safe.’ ”
We all stare at him. “Sorry, but we have to be realistic. Someone was in our house when we got here. He had a gun. He was nothing, but … We need a plan for when that happens again.”
“I’ve been talking story with Hank,” Grandpa says. Mr. Miller from up the road. He and his wife used to keep to themselves. “He’s been saying the same thing. We’ll go see him tomorrow, eh? He’ll be thrilled.”
“Good,” Dad says. “Hank Miller—I wouldn’t be surprised if he has a basement full of heavy artillery.”
We all laugh, but it dies off in a somber note.
“And what about this sheriff, Lani?” Dad asks Grandpa. “He nearly executed me. He knows who we are. He’ll come calling for favors at some point down the road—”
“Mike.” Mom cuts him off.
Grandpa’s features are stern. “You don’t owe him anything. We’re even now.”
“Why?” Dad asks. “What’d you …?”
“We’ll deal with that moke,” Grandpa answers. His eyes broadcast: Not tonight.
We’re silent, waiting on Dad.
“Fine,” he answers. “Meanwhile …” He hesitates and glances at me. “There’s more to our story.”
I look down at Kai, make sure he’s sleeping. I bite my lip, studying Mom and Grandpa closely. Then I dive in. I tell them about the Orchids—the Star Flowers. I tell them everything. Explain why we disappeared up Mauna Kea, why it couldn’t wait. What we did when we got there.
They listen patiently. Mom looks worried—like she’s trying to decide whether or not I’m crazy. She keeps looking at Dad, but he nods reassurances every time; he’s got my back.
Grandpa, on the other hand—Grandpa has a twinkle in his eye.
“You’ve always had a special door open in your mind, Lei,” he says when I’m finished. “A puka in your head. I’m not surprised by a single word.”
Mom smiles at me kindly.
“Malia,” Dad says, “I struggled with it, too. I followed her lead on faith. But the scientist in me now has proof. Those Star Flowers were leaving. They came rushing back. They’re here because of Lei.”
Mom maintains her smile, thinking hard. She’ll come around. I don’t blame her for her reaction. It still sounds completely lōlō to me.
We are Leilani.
“So, what are we going to do with this?” Grandpa asks. He’s almost giddy. I can tell he won’t sleep a wink tonight.
“It’s late,” Mom says. “We’re not going to do anything about it now. Bedtime. Lei’s out of meds. That’s my biggest concern. She … needs her rest. Come on.” She rises, stern and motherly. But I can tell she’s overwhelmed and trying to hide it. “Upstairs. Everyone.”
I lower my gaze to Kai. Sound asleep in my lap. A little angel. “I’m just going to crash here with Kai, okay, Mom?”
She hesitates, smiles. “Fine with me. Dad, lock the doors before you go up.”
Grandpa sets to his task. Mom and Dad give us gentle kisses. Mom whispers into my ear, “My beautiful angel. My powerful woman. I’m so thankful to have you back.” Her tears drop onto my cheek.
She and Dad disappear into the upstairs darkness hand in hand.
Grandpa squeezes my shoulder and turns toward the stairs.
“Tūtū,” I say.
“Yes, Mo`opuna?”
“Hand me that naupaka branch, would you?”
Grandpa lifts the remains of the plant from the coffee table and gives them to me. He squeezes my shoulder again and dis
appears, the creaking of the stairs quickly replaced by the chorus of coqui frogs.
I’m left alone with Kai in the soft light of the four kukui nuts that still burn. I pluck two half-flowers off the branch.
I place them together, complete at last, into Kai’s palm. I press his hand into a fist, never letting go, and drift off to sleep.
Leilani’s story will continue in
BOOK TWO
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
This novel, and my long years of development as a writer, would never have been possible without the wisdom and patience of my amazing wife. Thank you, Clare, for making my life a dream, and for helping me to make the dream of publishing this book come true.
I owe a debt of gratitude to my top-shelf team of no-holds-barred test readers (oh, what a long road it’s been!): Liz Chamberlin and Sam Veloz, Jennifer and Jeremy Ridgeway, and Alex Bennett (who also took the photo of me that appears on the back flap). I give thanks also to journalist Lauren King, whose editorial ear helped me make my newspaper clippings sound authentic.
Thank you, Julie Just, my agent, for loving this book so deeply and for fighting for it every step of the way. And a special shout-out goes to Shoshana Shoenfeld for making sure Julie saw my query.
Wendy Lamb, my publisher and editor, I am especially indebted to you. Thank you for everything, for believing in me, for being patient, for sharing your unparalleled gifts, for loving Hawai`i, and for having a sweet tooth for crazy plot twists. I am grateful to your talented team members, as well, including Dana Carey; Alison Impey, whose cover design is amazing; Trish Parcell, for her attention and care to the interior design; and copy editors Ellie Robins, Colleen Fellingham, and Alison Kolani, who expertly navigated not only the intricacies of English, but the Hawaiian language as well!
I’d like to acknowledge the Bishop Museum in Honolulu, and especially the `Imiloa Astronomy Center in Hilo, for inspiring a tale, and for letting me walk endlessly through their halls, absorbing the amazing stories and wonder of Hawai`i. I am also grateful to countless sources who have made Hawaiian culture and mythology publicly accessible via the Web. Alan Weisman, you may recognize a concept or two burrowed into these pages from your awesome book The World Without Us. Thank you for your thoughtful research and inspiration.
Any errors, typos, or failures in the book are mine alone.
Finally, I’d like to tip my hat to the life and great works of my father-in-law, Jerry, a teacher and a writer, whose final words of encouragement to me were “I know you’ll get published one day, Austin.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
AUSTIN ASLAN was inspired to write his debut novel, The Islands at the End of the World, while living with his wife and two children on the Big Island of Hawai`i. He earned a master’s degree in tropical conservation biology at the University of Hawai`i at Hilo. A National Science Foundation Graduate Research Fellow, he is pursuing a PhD in geography at the University of Arizona. Austin loves traveling, backpacking, and photography. He continues to write fiction and looks forward to the publication of this novel’s sequel. Follow him on Twitter at @Laustinspace.
CONTINUE THE ADVENTURES
It’s a few months after the end of The Islands at the End of the World. Hilo is dangerous, and warring groups known as Tribes patrol the coast. There’s not enough food on the island. Lei and her friends Tami and Keali`i go night diving for “slippah” lobsters in Hilo Bay and are shot at by members of the Hanaman tribe. Lei, Tami, and Keali`i swim under a breakwater to escape.
And then …
Excerpt copyright © 2014 by Austin Aslan. Published by Wendy Lamb Books, an imprint of Random House Children’s Books, a division of Random House LLC, a Penguin Random House Company, New York.
My friends pop up to the dark surface of the water.
“Lei, Tami got cut,” Keali`i says. “It’s pretty bad.”
“Where?”
“My thigh,” she says. “Right below my shorty. Coming through one of those turns in the wall. Scraped an exposed piece of rebar.”
“Are you okay?”
She adjusts her mask and tries to hold on to the floating marquee, which bobs away from her. “I don’t know. It hurts. Feels gross, deep. Pretty sure I need stitches.”
A stab of fear. Blood in the water.
She doesn’t answer. I look at Keali`i; he’ll know if we’re in trouble. Sharks?
He shrugs. “Look, they’re here. Hammerheads and tigers are common. Seen one take the `okole right off a surfer by Richardson’s. They do come in. Black tips, white tips, reef sharks, big noses … barracudas, too.”
“Oh, God,” Tami moans. “Get me out of the water. Now.” Her voice rises. If she panics, the Hanaman might hear us even at this distance.
I look at the breakwater. “I don’t like it, but we have to go back.”
“I can handle him,” Keali`i says. “It’s three on one. We sneak up behind him, I’ll clock him with my weight belt. End of story.”
“What if he starts shooting?”
“He’ll never know what hit him.”
I don’t like it—it’s never that simple. “What a nightmare,” I mutter.
“Guys, come on. I’m bleeding a lot.” Tami’s voice wavers, betraying the effort she’s putting into staying calm.
I turn to Keali`i. “Don’t kill him. Promise me.”
“They were trying to kill us.”
“I know. I don’t care. We’re better than them. Just … promise.”
“Fine. I won’t do anything on purpose. Just pound ’im good and knock ’im out.”
The dark below me now feels like one giant mouth, closing in on our legs. “Okay, let’s go. Back to the breakwater.”
Tami attempts a smile. Keali`i draws in a deep breath. As I’m dog-paddling, I brush his leg with my fin.
He yelps and launches half out of the water. Tami and I bark. We scatter. It takes me a second to realize—and then to trust—that we’re jumping at shadows.
“Guys, that was just my fin,” I whisper. “Calm down. It was me.”
Too late. The Hanaman rises along the breakwater. “Hey!” he shouts. “Got you!”
“We’re done. It’s over,” Keali`i breathes.
“Kea, I’m so sorry. I—”
“Whatevah. It almost worked. But this is nuts. Tami needs help.”
“No.” Tami shakes her head. “I’m not going to be the reason this falls apart.”
I can’t help thinking: But she could be the reason we get eaten.
“Hey!” the Hanaman shouts. “Come here! Now!”
Keali`i slaps the surface of the water. “Idiot thinks we’re going to swim over there just because he tells us to. God!”
I know the rest of his thought, unsaid: And we’re going to do exactly that, make it easy for him.
Tami’s eyes narrow. “No. We’re not going to him. You’re right.”
“Tami,” I say. “We can’t stay in the water.”
“Your turn to follow me,” she says. “Stay back a bit. Just in case.”
Tami jettisons her weight belt and swims away. Keali`i and I share a look of confusion. Visible on the water against the Orchid’s brilliance, a sailboat turns into view around the far end of the breakwater. It’s moving slowly—there’s very little breeze.
Leaving a trail of blood behind her, Tami disappears.
She’s going to intercept the sailboat.
“Tami! Wait!” I shout. She doesn’t hear, or she’s too determined. She’s a fast swimmer.
“Why’s she doing that?” Keali`i asks, mouth agape.
I whip around. “Because you’d never have let her hear the end of it if she didn’t try something.”
Keali`i releases an exasperated sigh. “Ah, man,” he says. “Let’s go get her. She’s completely lōlō.”
Distantly, the Hanaman continues with his empty threats. “This is my last warning! Get over here, now!” He fires a round from a pistol. Keali`i and I flinch.
I unstrap my weight belt in a fl
ash and hold it out to Keali`i.
“Drop it,” he says.
I let it go and turn to swim away. Keali`i grabs my leg and pulls me back. I yelp again and then gather control. Sharks—barracudas—could be swarming us. Or they could be miles away. “Don’t grab me like that!” I spit.
“Lei,” Keali`i says. “Don’t follow her directly.”
My eyes widen. Tami, out there all alone, churning up the water in noisy fits, her blood pluming out behind her.
If a feeding frenzy starts, we’re all goners.
“Give me your lobsters,” Keali`i says. He has the other full bag of slippahs around an elbow, the dive light in his hand. “Catch her. I’ll follow. Reach the boat before it overshoots us.”
The Hanaman lets off three more rounds. I hear one of them enter the water to my right.
The mainsail of the sailboat flutters. The boat is turning away from the breakwater. Whoever’s piloting it must think the shots are being fired at them.
“Go!” Keali`i shouts.
I fly over the water, my fins like rockets. I push the fear away, focus on my breathing. If something comes from below, there’s nothing I can do about it.
Just go.
I hear Tami shouting. “Wait! Stop! Help!”
I swim hard. We’re in trouble if we can’t catch it, if we can’t get on board. Coconut Island is far to my left, connected to shore by a footbridge. We could reach it after a long swim, if the sharks don’t find us first, but the Tribe will be in that very area.
We’re putting a lot of faith in whoever’s on this yacht. Could be anybody. I haven’t seen a new sailboat come into the bay in weeks. Those that come get commandeered by the Tribes and fitted with tribal flags. The crews are tossed overboard or killed.
“Stop! Please!” Tami yells, desperate.
I feel myself slowing. My side cramps with pain; my lungs and my throat are burning. When I raise my head to catch a glimpse of the boat, it seems impossibly far away. Whoever’s on board may not even know we’re in the water. I slow, overcome by a sense of defeat.