Walking in Fire: Hawaiian Heroes, Book 1 Read Free Page A

streak ran down the mountainside, cutting through the verdant green. A recent lava flow. As they passed another point, she saw the flow had reached the sea, covering everything in its path. It was a harshly beautiful reminder that the island had been created in fire. Melia looked up to where the top of Mauna Loa hid in a cap of misty clouds and hunched her shoulders. Despite the heat of the day, she felt a nervous chill.
    “Is the volcano still erupting?” she asked Leilani.
    The other woman shook her head. “No, Kilauea is our active volcano, but she’s quiet now. The last eruption was several months ago. Are you nervous of Pele’s volcanoes?”
    Melia grimaced. “A little, I guess. We have volcanoes back home, but they’re different. They don’t pour molten lava. And we can get away from them,” she added, trying turn her apprehension into a joke.
    Leilani shrugged. “No lava flowing near here. All over on the other side of Kau Forest.” She gestured over the south end of the island toward which they were traveling. “ Ka nani. Very beautiful.”
    Melia smiled politely, but she eyed the mountain with caution through her tinted lenses. The lava might be flowing on the other side of the island now, but the black streak showed clearly that it had come this way in the recent past, and might again.
    She shook herself mentally. Thousands of tourists visited here every year, and the Hawaiians lived on this mountain. They would certainly know if danger threatened.
    The next bay held a lovely surprise, a flat, sandy point with a traditional village and heiau , or traditional place of worship. The blocky heiau, built of lava rock, rose dark among the steep-thatched roofs of the village. Wooden kii gods, faded to silver by the sun, scowled fiercely from the beach.
    “The traditional home of the king,” Leilani told her. “Also known as Puuhonua o Honaunau , Place of Refuge. In the old days, if a Hawaiian broke kapu , the law, he would die unless he could reach this place safely; then he was pardoned of his crime. It’s a national historic park now, to protect the site.”
    The black lava rocks around the other side of the bay were lined with sunbathers. A tour boat floated in the center of the bay, surrounded by small groups of snorkelers, bright snorkels poking up from the water.
    “Some of the best snorkeling on the island here,” Frank called. “We can come back if you want.”
    “Sounds great,” Dane answered genially. “Whatever my friends want to do.”
    Melia wanted to tour the historical village too. She looked back wistfully as they passed. If only she had a month here instead of just a week.
    After several more miles of increasingly rugged coastline with few signs of habitation, they rounded a point clustered with palm trees. Frank slowed and turned the boat into a small bay.
    “Here we are,” he called. “Welcome to Nawea Bay.”
    Melia caught her breath in delight. Palm trees framed an idyllic scene. Black lava rock rimmed the turquoise water of the little bay, punctuated by a small beach. Behind the beach, tables and chairs sat around a fire pit. A green lawn sloped up to a two-story yellow house with a deep roof and shady lanais set in masses of flowering shrubbery. Above loomed the mountain.
    Frank guided the boat to the side of the cement dock on the left end of the bay, alongside another, much smaller boat with a single engine and enclosed cockpit. An array of fishing rods were secured upright along the back, and two large outriggers were folded neatly back along the sides.
    “That your boat?” one of the twins asked Frank.
    He nodded. “Fish out of her four or five days a week.”
    Melia looked dubiously at the small boat bobbing on the waves generated by the catamaran’s slow approach. He took that out on the ocean? She had enjoyed the ride here on the cat, but the other boat looked more suited for Portland’s Willamette River.
    A traditional thatched grass roof shaded most of the dock,