Legend of Namaka

[Note: this is entirely imagined from the Hawaiian myth of the goddess Pele, the deity of fire and the volcanoes. Legend has it that she did something to upset her sister Na-maka-o-Kahaʻi, the goddess of the ocean (in some stories, by sleeping with her husband, Aukele-nui-a-iku, whom Pele later marries anyway). Namaka drives Pele away to the Hawaiian islands, where every time Pele tries to make a home on one of the islands (in geologic order of the volcanoes erupting) Namaka destroys with the ocean. My question is why Namaka would do this. Really. Oh sod off.]

And there she stood, her dress as dark as the midnight depths, her eyes as blue as the clearest, calmest waters, her hair as white as the frothy waves, crashing about her seashell face and strong shoulders. I could almost feel her take a breath as the waves retreated over the pebble beach, with the whooshing whistle of the pores in the lava rock. She needn't even use her magic on me; I was spellbound by simply watching the waves break behind her, a cacophonous tumble of azure and turquoise smashing into the purest white as they met the impossible spikes of blackest basalt, themselves splashing forever to the overcast sky. She smiled at me, her lips a ruby red koi in the most tranquil of ponds. She was fantastically spectacular, enchantingly unobtainable, and oh-so gorgeously, physically, actually, here. I stumbled forward, scraping my hands and knees only to stand back up again, unwilling to take my eyes away for fear that she would wash away again, like a footprint on the sand, fade back into her underwater bliss. She turned, and the ocean turned with her, the currents rushing around rocks and swirling in tide pools as she slowly, vaguely changed her focus.

“Namaka!” I found my voice, weak against the thunder of the surf. “Namaka, no!” I fell again, feeling the A'a slice deep into my arm. I didn't care. Warm blood oozed over my elbow, dripping off my fingertips into the salty spray. She froze as the droplets of red eddied in the clear blue, as if she had heard something familiar and couldn't quite place it. I almost laughed, half leaping, half sprinting the small distance between us. I grabbed her hand in both of mine; it was small and pale and comfortably tangible. I squeezed it, hot blood filling the spaces between our fingers.

“Namaka,” I said quietly again, one tear streaking down my cheek, of happiness or pain I did not know. “It's me, Aukele. Don't you remember?”

Her tropical sapphire eyes were seeing past me and her voice was distant and indistinct. “I am the ocean. I remember nothing but the waves upon my shoulders.”

“No,” I said forcefully, clenching her hand in mine. “You are Namaka.” I reached up to lightly cup her face. “I love you. Remember that?”

“I remember nothing.” Her eyes locked on to mine with all the strength of a riptide. “I am the ocean and the ocean is me. I am forever stretching to every last little island. I am the crushing unknown of the deep. I am the waves, curling and breaking and coming again. That is all I know.” I watched her crystal blue eyes spill over with tears. “That is all I am.” A tremendous splash behind her punctuated her sentence.

I gripped her fragile face with both hands, keeping her aquamarine eyes locked on my muddy brown ones. “Namaka. It's me. You know me. I used to pick you flowers, the ones you couldn't reach, to tie in your hair. You would gather shells to line your garden, and I would steal fruit from it before it was ripe. You would stare at the moon and tell me she was smiling, even though I never saw it. Namaka, think! You know me.” She squeezed those divine eyes shut, my crimson fingers staining her ghostly cheeks. I pressed my forehead against hers.

“I promised you all the stars in the heavens if you would make me poi and show me how the moon smiled. You know me. I know you do.”

She opened her teary eyes, now turned the beautiful brown color I loved when she was mortal. “Aukele?” I sighed, a half sob, and nodded. “You're hurt.”

“What?” I checked my hand, painted red, smearing on her flawless face. “It's just the rocks. Namaka, come home with me.”

She shook her head, tears cutting tracks on her sandy face. “The ocean. It's in my head. It's too overwhelming, I can't escape it.” I hugged her, pressing my stinging eyes into her unearthly white hair. “I can't think. All waves.”

I released her enough to examine her brown eyes again. “It's all right now. You can do it, you've made it this far.”

She sniffed, wiping at tears with one too-white hand. She looked down at her fingers, seeming to slow down, like time was not important enough for her. “The rocks cut you,” she repeated in an ethereal tone, rubbing my blood between her fingertips.

“Namaka, no.” I tried to connect with her again, but her gaze was fixed.

“Pele,” she all but growled. The waves crashed mercilessly on the rocks, somehow soaking me but leaving her spotless.

“No, NO!” I grabbed her shoulders with sopping hands. “Namaka, remember me! Remember the moon and the flowers and the stars, poi and your garden! Don't go back there!” Her immortal blue eyes snapped up to meet mine.

“Pele did this. She must pay.” Water rushed and retreated around my ankles, leaving little silver fish darting in a forgotten pool. A great wave, bigger than all the ones before it, exploded skyward in a spray of salt, wind and sunshine. It slammed down, hurling me to my knees and ripping her from my arms. I felt about in the crush of water, knowing it was too late. When the waves retreated, rolling back into their peaceful dance of green and blue off the fortress of lava, I was alone, the vast ocean empty before me. The glittering sun shone like a jewel off the rippling surface, the clattering of rocks on the beach echoing in my ears. The brine and spirit on the wind filled my chest as the azure and turquoise tumbled to cloudy white on the dark, dark rock. The waves retreated and returned, an endless lapping on the beach and battering on the sharp cliffs. And although Namaka may always forget, I will always remember.