Fire Prayer (24 page)

Chapter Thirty-eight

Luke gave himself an insulin dose after breakfast, helped wash the dishes, then went back to the sofa. Tanner had already put away the bedding, and Luke looked around for the blanket he'd used. A chill had come over him. He couldn't find the blanket and Tanner was outside checking the tanks where he cultivated and dried seaweed samples, so Luke dug through his backpack and put on another shirt. He also got out his copy of
From the Mixed-up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler.
He liked the book, and he might as well do his homework. In fact, he'd probably missed the weekend assignment. He shivered again and curled into the arm of the couch.

Luke was having a hard time concentrating, despite the fact that he loved the descriptions of the museum where Claudia and Jamie, the characters in his book, were hiding. So different from his life. Maybe he should write a story about a rainforest. He was pondering how to work an evil, tattooed character into his own novel and shivering with the thought when his father's hand on his forehead woke him up.

“You're burning hot.” Tanner loomed above him, frowning. “I've got to look at that hand again. Stay here.”

Like he was going anywhere. Unh unh, no way, he was just too tired. And his head ached, though the hand didn't hurt much at all. Or at least not as bad as his head did, especially right behind his eyeballs, which throbbed like his hand had yesterday.

Tanner woke him up again. “Stick this under your tongue.” He jammed an old, mercury-type thermometer in before Luke could even get his mouth open, and Luke gave a grunt of protest. Tanner rummaged through Luke's backpack, which elicited a louder complaint. “Where's your glucose kit? Oh, here.”

Luke's eyes popped open when his dad poked his finger. “Ow.”

“Sorry, I should probably let you do that. Son, can you stay awake long enough to help me use this?”

Luke peered at it, but the numbers were blurry. He squinted, and Tanner turned the gadget so that the boy could see better. Luke still couldn't see the numbers very well. Looked like 48 mg/dl, but that must be 148 mg/dl. He'd just had breakfast, hadn't he?

“What time is it?” Luke mumbled.

“You had breakfast two hours ago. I didn't want to wake you up.”

“What's that number say?” Luke asked.

“Forty-eight. What's it supposed to be?”

Luke blinked a few times and his dad grabbed his chin to look into his eyes. He then took Luke's injured hand in his and unwound the gauze bandage.

Tanner was being a little rough, Luke thought. His hands were shaking a bit, too. But Luke's mom had told him that it was okay when his dad's hands shook because it meant he was taking his medicine, so Luke let his eyes close again. Medicine was necessary, and Luke was careful about his. Took his insulin just like the doctor told him, on time and the right dose.

Tanner poured a lot of peroxide over his cut and Luke jerked at the sting. The wound was foaming like the beers Skelly liked to drink. Luke used to get to pour for him. He hadn't done that for a long time, though.

“This doesn't look too good,” Tanner said, more to himself than to Luke. “Hey, son? What's your blood sugar supposed to be?”

Luke forced his eyes open. His voice sounded slurred, even to him. “One-thirty to one-fifty. I think.” He made himself think for a moment. “I ate two hours ago, right?”

Tanner didn't answer. Luke peeked at his father and noticed that his eyes looked big and dark against his white face. His hair looked messed up, too, which struck Luke as funny.

Tanner got up and ran into the kitchen. He came back with a glass of orange juice. “Can you drink this?” Tanner held it to Luke's lips. “All of it.”

“I'm not hungry. My head aches.”

“Luke, your blood sugar is too low. We've got to get to the doctor.”

“Call her. I want to take a nap.”

His dad left him alone for a few minutes, but Luke could hear him banging around the house. A few cupboard doors rattled, then he came back.

“Luke, please. Put your backpack on.”

“C'mon, Dad, let me sleep.”

“No, now.” Tanner spoke sharply. “And eat this.” He handed Luke a granola bar. This time Luke recognized the edge in his father's tone as fear instead of impatience or anger. He took a bite of the bar while his dad worked his arms into the straps of the newly stuffed pack.

Tanner toggled a switch on a radio, and Luke watched his father shake his head with disgust. “Shit, the battery's dead. I should have plugged it in last night.” Tanner almost never swore, and his voice cracked, almost as if he wanted to cry. He gave Luke's shoulders a gentle shake. “I'm going to carry you piggy-back. You understand? Your job is to hold on. If you need to stop, you tell me.”

Chapter Thirty-nine

Uncle Keone parked the horse trailer at the end of the road. A couple of other cars lined the shoulder, too, probably fishermen and hikers, but the people were no longer in sight. Storm hopped out of the truck, with Aunt Maile close behind. The two women walked around to the back of the trailer while Keone locked up the cab.

Storm clucked her tongue. “We're here, fellas.” A horse nickered in response, and she opened the gate. Three alert heads turned toward them. Moonlight was the closest.

“Hey, buddy. I thought you weren't coming. You'd better not get spooky and dump one of us.”

Uncle Keone walked up. “Dusty's been working him on the lunge line, dangling all kinds of stuff in front of him. Grocery bags, rubbish bin lids. He should be okay.”

Keone had been around horses his entire life, and he still worked with them. More than she did, so Storm knew better than to question. She also knew that no one, no matter how much experience he or she had, was exempt from Murphy's Law, especially where horses were concerned.

“Want me to ride him?” Storm asked, though she knew the answer.

“We're considering buying him for Parker Ranch, so I'd like to give him a try. Maybe we can swap when we turn around.”

“Makani wants to train him more.”

Uncle Keone didn't say anything, but Storm caught the flash of annoyance in his eyes when he led Moonlight out of the trailer. She was butting into his
kuleana
, and he was proud of his expertise.

Storm gave a shrug and went after the second horse. He'd forget in about two seconds as long as she didn't raise the topic again. She'd tried. Not that she was any better rider than either her aunt or uncle, but she was younger and she'd rather have her own tailbone get bruised than one of theirs.

Aunt Maile rummaged in the bed of the pickup right behind the cab where they'd stowed the tack. “Okay, I've got three bridles, three saddle pads, and two saddles. What's up? Storm, did you help load this stuff?”

“Yeah, and I could have sworn I saw three saddles back there. Check and see if it slid under the trailer overhang.”

Keone spoke up. “Makani muttered something about a broken girth after he got that phone call. Damn, I wonder if he got distracted and forgot to put a replacement in.”

“No saddle under the trailer,” Aunt Maile said. She blotted sweat from her face with a handkerchief. “Whew, it's hot up here.”

Keone had tied Moonlight to the side of the trailer and Storm tied a big chestnut with white forelegs next to him. She went into the trailer after the third horse, a buckskin, which she led out. “Isn't this the horse Hamlin rode the other day?”

“Looks like it,” said Keone.

“You think he's spooky?”

“Hard to tell,” Keone said. “One of us might have been able to hold him, but you never know.”

Aunt Maile walked over carrying two saddle pads. “What are we going to do?”

“I'll take one bareback,” Storm said. “I'm used to it.” She turned to Uncle Keone. “Which do you think, the chestnut or the buckskin?”

He shrugged. “Six or a half-dozen.”

“That's what I figured.”

“Take the chestnut. We'll canter across the beach and see how she behaves,” Aunt Maile said.

“We can always swap saddles,” Uncle Keone said. “The important thing is we don't want you getting hurt.”

“Me either,” Storm said. “But I'm comfortable bareback.”

“I know,” Aunt Maile said.

The first thing the trio did was pick their way down the sharp slope from the road to the beach, and Storm remembered right away that the hardest part of riding bareback was going up or down steep hills. Normally, a rider would lean back when descending a hill and forward on the way up, but a bareback rider has to keep from sliding. Storm had to use her thighs and calves like vices to keep from sliding onto the horse's neck. Naturally, the chestnut interpreted this as a signal to pick up the pace. Storm was glad the mare, whose name was Poppy, was behind Uncle Keone and Aunt Maile on their mounts.

“What are you giggling about?” Uncle Keone turned around to watch Storm.

“She's responsive. I like that.”

“Storm's bouncing all over the place,” Aunt Maile added.

“Not,” Storm said, and gathered herself. “Let's run.” This time, when Storm squeezed Poppy's sides, she let the horse go. Poppy had a smooth gait, and Storm kept the reins loose while she gave the horse a little more pressure with her left leg. To her delight, Poppy veered right, toward the water. Storm let up with the left leg and used the right. Poppy went left.

“I like this horse,” she declared as she shot past Uncle Keone. Moonlight tossed his head and added a hop or two, asking to be let go. Uncle Keone looked back at his wife, who nodded.

None of them had to do anything to encourage the horses. All three galloped across the wide beach and all three people wore big smiles. Storm led the group and pulled up when Bob Crowder came out of the boat house to see what all the noise was about. Storm pulled Poppy to a stop.

“Howzit,” Bob said. He shaded his eyes with his hand. “How's the cop doing? Someone told me you got him to the hospital just in time. A bleeding ulcer, was it?”

“He's getting better,” Storm said. “He was in a lot of pain that day, and I was worried.”

“Me, too. He's a good guy.”

“I think so too.” Keone and Maile were riding up and Storm turned to greet them. “We'll see you soon,” she said with a wave at Bob.

Storm pointed to the trail that led inland, and they followed.

Keone eyed Poppy. “You like that horse?”

“More and more. How's Moonlight?”

“He's good.” Keone still watched the mare.

A half-hour later, Poppy splashed into Halawa Stream without hesitation, and all three let their horses drink from the cold water.

“See if she'll balk when you ask her to cross,” Keone said. He, like Storm and Aunt Maile, knew that some horses would hesitate to cross water and needed another horse to take the lead, especially if the stream was fast moving. The crossing in front of Storm was about a foot deep and burbled swiftly over a rocky bed, a good test.

Storm gave Poppy a gentle squeeze. Whenever she was on a new horse, Storm would at first give the animal the gentlest of commands. Poppy responded right away and picked her way across the stones. Moonlight and Aunt Maile's buckskin followed.

The trail went deeper into the valley, winding a parallel path to the stream. At one point, the group came to a fork in the path, and Storm told Uncle Keone, who led, to go right. Before long, they emerged from the forest into a clearing. A sagging fence, which from time to time leaned on trees for support, paralleled the path for as far as they could see. Inside was a series of beautifully maintained and terraced kalo patches.

“They farm taro the old way,” Aunt Maile said. “A labor of love.”

A tidy one-room cabin, surrounded by about eight lolling cats, sat adjacent to the taro farm.

Storm eyed the little house. “Tanner is farther in, from what Niwa told me.”

“We've gone about a mile,” Uncle Keone said. “No electrical service, and I don't see a generator, either.”

“Tanner has a generator. I heard he does some research on seaweeds at his place.”

“Do I hear a waterfall?” Aunt Maile asked.

“Must be Moalua Falls,” Keone said. “If we're lucky, we'll see it from the trail.”

“Isn't that where the
mo‘o
lives?” Storm asked.

“That's the legend. You have to put a ti leaf in the water. If it floats, the lizard will leave you alone.”

“I'd rather go swimming back at the beach,” Storm said, and Aunt Maile agreed.

Keone looked over his shoulder at the two women. “That does sound good. We'll do that before we trailer the horses for the ride back.”

About a quarter of a mile farther, the pounding of another waterfall sounded, even through the dense foliage of the forest.

“That's Hipuapua Falls,” Keone said. “It's about twice the height of Moalua.”

“Any evil lizards?” Storm asked, and Keone laughed.

In a mile or two, the trail began to narrow and climb. Up to this point, the horses had negotiated mud puddles, half-buried boulders, and tangled roots without any problem, but Storm, who could feel Poppy's muscles working, sensed the horse gather herself to push ahead. Storm leaned forward to help with the incline, gripping the horse's sides with her legs.

Before long, Storm stopped Poppy at a fork in the path. She looked back at Aunt Maile, who was next in line. “This is the second fork, where Connor said to turn right.”

“We're heading up the side of the valley toward the cliffs,” Keone said.

“Do you trust Connor?” asked Aunt Maile.

Storm paused, but only for a moment. “Yes, I do.”

“We'll be careful,” said Keone. “We're still a ways from the cliffs.”

“From the descriptions I've heard, we'll get to the cabin before we get to the cliffs.”

“The path is going to get steeper and rockier, and some of the drop-offs will be concealed in the undergrowth,” Maile pointed out. “You okay, Storm?”

“Tomorrow I'm going to feel muscles I didn't know I had,” Storm admitted, but she didn't want to turn back. Though she remembered Hamlin's warnings about not taking chances, she wanted to know if Luke was all right. Hamlin would be happy to hear that Aunt Maile was along on this adventure.

“Look.” Storm pointed to a tree. “There's a notch. We're on the right track.”

“Hold up a minute,” Uncle Keone said.

Storm stopped Poppy and turned to watch Uncle Keone get off his horse. He wrapped Moonlight's reins loosely around a tree and put a gentle hand on Poppy's rump so that he could squeeze by. He walked ten or twenty feet ahead and bent to inspect the path.

“Shoe prints. Looks like a pair of sneakers,” Keone said.

“How big?” Storm asked.

“Yours or Maile's size, maybe a bit bigger.”

“Twelve-year-old boy size?” Storm couldn't keep the hope from her voice.

He placed his own boot lightly beside one of them. “Smaller than my feet. Who else would be walking back here?”

Storm could think of a few characters, but she didn't say anything.

Keone made his way back to Moonlight and mounted. “What do you both say? If we head back, we can ride along the beach some more, maybe go for a swim.”

Aunt Maile looked at her niece. “Storm, it's your call. You know, if the path gets any steeper and narrower, we're going to have to tie the horses and walk.”

“I don't want to make you two go in on foot.”

For a brief moment, she considered telling them to turn around and going on alone. Only a brief moment though. Not only would going in alone be foolhardy, it would bring Hamlin's wrath. Taking a horse into wilderness was like swimming alone. People did it. And it was a lousy idea. Neither Aunt Maile nor Uncle Keone would leave her.

“I say we go on for ten or fifteen minutes.” Uncle Keone looked at his wife, then back to Storm. “Who knows, the cabin could be a hundred yards away. But when the path narrows, we turn around.”

“Okay,” Storm said. She saw the doubt cross Maile's face, but her aunt slowly nodded.

“Ten minutes,” Aunt Maile said.

Storm urged Poppy forward. A six-foot wall of moss-covered rock edged the narrow trail on Storm's right while to the left, the dense ground cover fell steeply. Jagged lava rock boulders poked through the foliage.

They hadn't gone far before the mare's ears pointed forward and the horse gave a quick snort of warning. Storm squinted into the dense forest. Perhaps Poppy was reacting to one of the birds that twittered overhead. Except the birds had been present all along, and now they were quiet.