Chapter 5 #2
Tiki had been sitting on the corner of the largest map, occasionally placing a paw over what seemed to be important topographical features. She stared at me now with the focused, amber-eyed attention she reserved for moments when she hoped I was about to do something she wanted.
“We need to check out these caves,” I said. Tiki blinked slowly in approval, her whiskers gleaming in a stray sunbeam.
“Yes, we do,” Keone had already changed into cargo shorts and trail hiking shoes.
“I talked to Uncle Kalani this morning. He knows the outer chambers of the cave system. He says there are markings inside that were part of the petroglyph complex. Spiritual geography, he called it. The valley carvings and the cave markings were related.”
“Pieces of the same story.” The fragment Tiki had brought me had a warrior figure, a zigzag wing representing a bird. “They’re not just stealing ancient art. They’re taking pages out of a history book.”
“That’s what Uncle Kalani said, or something very like it. He wants to come with us to the caves, along with Pali Moku. Pali was already at the protest at the construction site this morning.”
“What protest?”
“In spite of not getting his meeting yesterday with the town, Chang’s building team resumed groundbreaking in Sacred Valley.
For months, Pali has been monitoring Chang’s construction plans and filing objections with the Historic Preservation Division.
Pali organized a group to demonstrate at the access.
” Keone showed me a photo on his phone screen.
A handsome young Hawaiian man, maybe late twenties, stood in front of a line of orange construction fencing holding up a hand-lettered sign reading OUR HERITAGE IN AWAWAKAPU IS NOT FOR SALE.
Keone’s friend had the build of someone who spent active time outdoors and the bearing of someone who had no intention of backing down or giving up.
“Pali grew up on the east side, here in Hana. His family has been connected to Awawakapu for generations. He knows the trails. He knows what’s been moved and what’s missing. ”
“Can you trust him?” I cocked my head.
“I’ve known him all his life, and Uncle Kalani vouches for him,” Keone said.
In the world of Ohia, that was more than sufficient.
“I can’t wait to meet him and get an eyeball on this special place. Maybe I should bring the petroglyph that Tiki brought me back to its home.”
“Good idea. Uncle Kalani and Pali are the right guys to consult about what to do with it.”
My phone rang in my pocket; I pulled it out to see my friend Elle’s smiling face in a video call; we had Wi-Fi in the shack and could get those now. “Hey girl! What’s up?”
“It’s been too long since we got together!” Elle’s tawny skin shone, and she was wearing a tank top and a high ponytail. In addition to being the best event planner Maui had ever seen, she was a runner and athlete. “I was hoping you’d want to do something today.”
“Well, Keone and I are about to go up to Sacred Valley to do a little hiking for a case,” I said. “Want to come?”
Her gorgeous smile was the stuff of magazine covers. “I’ve always wanted to see it! Where do I meet you?”
After a flurry of dealing with Pua and arranging another early exit from the Post Office, Keone, Elle and I (with Tiki in her carrier) took Keone’s extended cab truck up the rugged, unpaved road leading out of Ohia to Sacred Valley.
We met Pali Moku at the unmarked trailhead above the valley at two in the afternoon. The sun was high enough that the trade winds had shifted, and the air smelled of green things and warmed earth.
Pali Moku was reserved—someone who sized up strangers before committing to them. He wore camouflage hiking gear with a ti leaf tucked into the band of his pack.
He shook my hand firmly but didn’t smile. “I’ve heard about you around town.”
“Oh yeah?” I raised a brow. “Nothing too crazy, I hope.”
“You’re crazy enough to get engaged to this guy,” he said with a gesture to Keone, and smiled at last.
“I’m Elle. Elle L. Beane,” Elle nudged me aside to extend a hand. “Event planner. Recent transplant to Ohia. Single.” She batted her eyes—the first time I’d ever seen her do it.
Pali Moku didn’t stand a chance.
“Elle. Hello.” Pali smiled right away this time. He was handsome, though shorter and more compactly built than Keone—which could compliment Elle’s willowy 5’9” very nicely, come to think of it. “What brought you all the way out here, Elle?”
Elle launched into her fascinating tale of leaving a tactical military position for a new start and finding it here, on the east side of Maui.
Pali appeared dumbstruck, as anyone would be. Only my story was more ridiculous than hers. I grinned, watching their chemistry develop until Keone elbowed me. “Uncle Kalani’s here.”
The elder pulled up in his truck and parked beside Keone. He got out and ambled over; he’d dressed practically in a pair of hiking pants, boots, and a tee that read “Move your okole.”
I pointed to the logo, a running chicken with a bare behind. “Proud to say I know that means ‘hurry up’ in pidgin,” I said.
Uncle Kalani smiled, showing a twinkle of gold tooth. “Bumbye you come one kama?āina,” he said, the words blurring together.
I shook my head. “Now you lost me.”
Keone smiled. “Don’t worry. He was encouraging you.”
Pali gave a jerk of his head. “Let’s go. I want to show you the area where the petroglyphs were taken from.”
Tiki, in her carrier, was quiet as I shrugged into the shoulder straps and settled her on my back. The petroglyph was carefully wrapped in tissue and tucked into a pocket on the back of the carrier. We set off in single file, with Pali in the lead.
Pali led us along and then took a side trail off the main path into the valley.
This one was older, narrower, choked by ferns and branches.
It traversed the eastern face of the ridge of the steep valley, dipping into gullies thick with fern, then climbing back up to a drier stretch where lava rock broke through the soil in dark ropy ridges.
This was a trail that still existed because people had used it for a very long time.
“How long have you been watching Chang’s operation?” I asked Pali at last. I’d moved in behind him after one of our water breaks.
“Eight months.” Pali moved through the brush and uneven ground with familiar ease.
“I first noticed the permit applications last spring. He was careful and filed in small increments, nothing that would trip a community review right away. Eventually, the cumulative footprint was substantial.” He paused to let a bright green anole lizard scoot cross the path.
“I filed objections on five separate permits. Two were upheld. One is still pending. The other two . . .” He made a gesture that covered the frustrating geography of bureaucracy meeting money.
“Someone had already handled the paperwork before my objections were processed.”
“So his permits were expedited,” I said.
“Let’s call it that.” He shook his head in disgust. “Recently I noticed tire tracks on the old cane road below. At first I thought they were from hunters. But the timing didn’t make sense. They always appeared after midnight, but the vehicles were gone before dawn.”
“You were watching the road at midnight?” I swiped sweat out of my eyes; though the day was overcast, the humidity and exercise were heating me up.
He glanced back. “I camp up here sometimes. There are spots in Awawakapu where my family’s history is written on the ‘aina. I don’t want to lose track of those places.”
We came around an outcropping of lava rock and the magnificence of the valley opened below us: the green sweep of steep, rugged, emerald-green walls catching the afternoon light, a distant silver thread of stream at its floor, the darker ruffle of ti plants and bright light green of kukui nut trees marking the edges of what had been ancient taro fields and homesteads.
From where we stood, the whole shape of the land was cradled between the vast ridges like something precious cupped in a hand. How quiet it was; how timeless. We stood silent, taking it in.
“Beautiful,” I said at last. Tiki gave a “meep!” from her carrier. Agreement, observation, or argument? With a cat it was hard to tell.
“Yes,” Pali agreed. “It is that. And more.”
“I feel privileged to see this,” Elle said softly. “Thanks for bringing me here.”
“You’re welcome,” Pali said. They locked eyes for a long moment.
Uncle Kalani was standing at the edge of the overlook, gazing at the valley with his eyes tracking slowly around its perimeters.
“The bones of our ancestors call out,” he said. “They’ve been waiting a long time for someone to hear them. For the stones they wrote on to be read and understood.”
I shivered—and hoped no one else noticed.
We went down toward the valley floor, descending on a narrow path behind Uncle Kalani who set the pace, using his sturdy staff to assist as he maneuvered around rock outcrops and across muddy sections of trail.
A cave entrance, off to the left of the route as it neared the bottom, was not obvious. Pali stopped at a section of the cliff face where a curtain of roots hung down over a shelf of dark rock. He ducked behind it without ceremony.
We followed, passing through a short tunnel dimly lit and seeping with water; trembling maidenhair ferns seemed to usher us along.
Inside the cavern, the air was cooler by at least ten degrees, carrying the mineral smell of damp stone and the mushroomy stillness of a place that doesn’t get much circulation. We’d brought headlamps, and I switched mine on.
The beam of it threw a pale cone into the dark and lit up a chamber about the size of a generous living room, with a ceiling low enough that Keone and I had to tilt our heads.
The walls were volcanic basalt, pocked with the pores of ancient gas bubbles, slick at the base from moisture seeping up from the floor, but dry everywhere else.
Pali was already at the far wall of the cavern. His headlamp caught the carvings before mine did; I heard him give a stifled gasp.