He swam underwater, remaining just beneath the moon-silvered surface. The creatures of the sea closed in around him, with some of the smaller species nearest, shaping themselves around his body and gliding through the water with him. He sensed their extreme agitation. The sounds they made permeated his brain, and saddened him deeply. On occasion in the past he had been able to heal the physical wounds of aquatic animals, but that did not seem possible for this particular matter. He felt incapable of doing anything for their grievous mental and emotional wounds, didn’t know what was causing all of their discomfort.
For longer than a man should be able to swim underwater without equipment, Kimo remained submerged, his gills transferring oxygen from dissolved seawater into this bloodstream. Gradually he sensed the creatures growing calmer around him. He wished he knew why they were agitated, and what they expected him to do for them. He couldn’t remain in the water with them forever; he had obligations to his family, a life to lead on the land.
The moon was still bright when he emerged from the water and waded ashore. His thoughts whirling in confusion and frustration, Kimo sat on the beach and gazed out upon the sparkling water. The marine animals remained out there thick in the waves, still making anguished, though diminished, noises. They seemed a little better, but only a little, and certainly not enough….
Following his birth in the sea, Kimo’s earliest memories were of being underwater and seeing small and large fish all around him, in bright, shimmering hues. He was a baby swimming beneath the surface in the midst of fish. As time passed, and the fish remained in the tropical sea with him, they made him one of their own, making him feel as if he were a member of every school of fish in the ocean.
Sometimes the water would glow warm red all around Kimo, whereupon he would sense another presence, sacred and omnipresent, the deity who guided all marine life forms in the sea. From his first moments of awareness he had sensed the mysterious entity protecting him, sheltering him in that warm illumination that came from the depths of the water. One day, a school of flat blue fish had guided the swimming baby down very deep, to a mysterious realm of tunnels and passageways on the bottom. There he’d found that the deity had no visible physical form, yet glowed ruby red like an underwater sun—an ethereal presence instead of a corporal entity.
Somehow, he’d discerned that it was female—and a name had surfaced in his awareness, along with her identity: Moanna, the Goddess of the Sea.
Gradually, he’d found that he could communicate with her underwater, as they transmitted thoughts back and forth while he was in the ocean, and most effectively when he was near her. One day as she pulsed red, brightening and dimming, she told him it was a molecular connection that they had with one another through the waters of the sea. Sometimes they talked across the linkage for long periods of time, and she provided him with important information and advice, mentoring him, guiding him as she did other sea creatures.
Kimo grew to become a small child, and one morning a fisherman caught him in a net and pulled him out of the water. Looking at the naked boy closely, the man was surprised to discover almost indiscernible gills behind his ears, and for a while, the baby gasped for air. Concerned, he put the child back in the water, keeping him in the net so that he could not get away. Gradually, the breathing became regular again. Then, as the fisherman repeated the procedure, in and out of the water, he saw that the boy adapted quickly, so that he could be in the water or out of it, in either case without noticeable discomfort.
The fisherman, a native Hawaiian named Tiny Pohaku, took the boy home with him, and he and his wife named him Kimo, keeping the secret of his origin and his special ability. They raised him as their own, along with an older step-sister, Neha, who was part of their pact of secrecy. She eventually married an architect and moved away to the mainland, while swearing that she would never even tell her husband about her adoptive brother’s unusual background….
Now on the moonlit beach, Kimo sensed the presence of the Sea Goddess again, even though he was not in the water. In recent weeks, he had gone down to the depths to visit her several times, to see if she had figured out what was troubling the fish and other sea animals, and to ask if there was anything she could do.
Initially, despite her broad powers and great wisdom, Moanna had said she’d been unable to determine why the ocean’s inhabitants were behaving so strangely in the vicinity of the Hawaiian islands, or what could be done about it. But the last time he’d visited her, she’d said in her murmuring voice, “You have described fish and whales acting sluggish, agitated, and disorientated, and you’ve noticed changes in their reproductive habits.”
“Yes, that’s right,” he’d said.
“There is the possibility of a virus, but with so many species affected, it may instead have something to do with pollution caused by humans. Maybe someone dumped barrels of highly toxic chemicals in the water near Loa’kai island, and they’re leaking, damaging zooplankton, phytoplankton, and the entire food chain around there. Depending upon what the cause is, and the severity of the damage, there could even be genetic damage to certain species.”
“But zooplankton and phytoplankton are less abundant in tropical waters than in colder ones.”
“Even so, they’re dispersed worldwide, and they are in the Hawaiian islands. Maybe the toxins have affected crustaceans or shellfish, or the worms on the seabed, or krill, or some other portion of the food chain, and the fish and whales are impacted when they eat these things.”
“Food poisoning, then?”
“Hard to say, but it’s a good bet that human carelessness is involved in some way. It could be oil spills, or climate change, worsened by greenhouse gas emissions, or the reckless testing of explosives by the Navy in tropical waters, and their low-frequency, sub-hunting sonar that has been implicated in the deaths of whales, dolphins, and porpoises from brain hemorrhages.”
Her conjectures had made a lot of sense to him, but she’d provided no proof.
“Perhaps there is something you could do yourself,” she’d said to him afterward. “Do you remember asking me if you are the only human with superior underwater skills, and your other special attributes?”
“Yes. It’s always seemed odd to me that I am the only one. I love the gift you’ve given me, my enhanced life and my special relationship to the sea. But it would be nice if there were others like me.”
He’d mentioned this to her numerous times before, like a child pleading for playmates, and a few days ago, for the first time, she’d actually given him an answer: “Soon there will be others like you, Kimo … And it is your destiny to lead them.”
In response he’d asked her for more information, but she’d said only, “They will come to you, at the proper time, and not before that.” Sometimes, Moanna had a way of saying things with a finality that invited no further comments or questions from him. He’d always cared for her deeply, but had never stopped being intimidated by her, and occasionally irritated.
It was frustrating to Kimo, wanting so much to aid the ocean in a meaningful way, beyond healing one injured animal at a time on a random basis, whenever he ran across one that needed him. But the Sea Goddess had always put up barriers to his learning, keeping things from him until she thought he was ready to learn them. It had been that way with his ability to heal sea creatures; he had had not discovered he could do that until around five years ago. There were other things that had been coming to him gradually as well, such an ability he’d discovered in the last few months that he could summon small creatures called jetfish and amalgamate them into large underwater pods with oxygen-rich enclosures, pods that were capable of transporting passengers at high speeds. He’d ridden inside these pods himself, covering long distances across the ocean in surprisingly little time. He could also amalgamate another species of larger creatures, bubblefish, so that passengers could be accommodated in their enclosures as well—but for a different type of journey, going down to the depths of the sea where Moanna r
esided.
He’d learned these things when she told him about them, or when he discovered them on his own, all the while wondering what purpose they served, and what more he might discover about himself later. Maybe the jetfish and bubblefish conveyances had something to do with the additional people who would become hybrids like himself (or who already were like him), but he didn’t know how it all fit together….
Kimo went back in the moonlit water now, and immersed himself in the shallows, where animals swam near him, some of them calling out to him in varying pitches. Almost instantly, he heard a murmuring in his mind, very low at first, then louder and more clear, so that he could make out what Moanna was saying to him.
Kimo, you were born for a purpose. You must discover your true self, and fulfill your great destiny.
Perplexed and deeply troubled, Kimo used the molecular communication link to ask Moanna for more information, but his words vanished into the vastness of the ocean, and he heard nothing in response. Finally, filled with uncertainty, he waded out of the water and trudged back up the trail.
***
Chapter 7
Olamai Beach was a swimming and sunbathing area, reserved for hotel guests who stayed at Preston Ellsworth’s sprawling ranch-resort complex. Alicia, like other members of the staff, had permission to come here on her free time. Today she was surprised by how many swimmers and sunbathers were out, because Mondays were usually slow, after the weekend guests went home. Then she remembered hearing that there were more longer-term visitors at the resort than usual, because of overlapping conventions.
Like the guests, she had a beach umbrella, lounge chair, and large towel, all bearing the stylized “E” logo of the Ellsworth Ranch. She also had her California surfboard with her, hoping to catch some good waves. It was late morning.
For a while, she hesitated going into the water due to the number of people out there, so she jammed her ten-foot board upright in the sand and sat under the umbrella, reading a book about ancient Hawaiian royalty, and the koa-wood canoes they used to ride between the islands. Because of that history, koa was considered to be a sacred wood by the Hawaiians. It was rare, and expensive.
The beach was white sand (from bits of dead, bleached coral that had washed ashore), with black, lava-rock promontories towering on two sides of the picturesque, protected area. The week before, she’d seen a cow where it didn’t belong high atop one of the promontories, and she’d watched with interest as ranch hands rescued the animal and then repaired the broken fencing that had allowed it to get through. Sometimes cows and horses stumbled off the bluffs onto the rocks and were killed by the fall, drowned if they went over at high tide. It was an ongoing problem that caused her grandfather to pay special attention to fence maintenance, but on a property as large as his there were bound to be lapses.
After reading a chapter, Alicia studied the gently rolling waves, noting that the water was not active enough for surfing, not the way it had churned several days ago when she’d ridden her board for hours. Now, leaving her board upright in the sand, she put on fins, a snorkel, and a mask, and waded out in the midst of the crowd of swimmers and waders. Then, keeping her head above water, she used the fins to paddle out to the buoys that designated where netting protected the area from sharks, a section where she had noticed a lesser number of swimmers. There was a risk of being caught in an undertow out here that could carry her over the top of the netting, but she was a good swimmer and wasn’t afraid of sharks. Besides, she knew the lifeguards had fast boats, and they were very competent. Finally she pulled on her mask and put her head underwater.
Despite the large number of people in the water, bright fish were abundant beneath the surface, including rainbow-hued coris as well as yellow and black kihi-kihi. Though she was not an ichthyologist, she’d heard that kihi-kihi were actually a reef species, so she wondered why they were here. She wasn’t complaining, though; they were especially beautiful, darting this way and that, in small schools.
Then she saw something large and hazy ahead, coming from the deep sea beyond the underwater netting, a swath that began to break apart as it continued to approach. It was a school of jellyfish, she realized, and it kept coming, even slipping through the netting.
Alarmed, Alicia turned and swam on the surface toward shore, but she wasn’t fast enough. Quickly, the large, bell-shaped creatures were swarming all around her, stinging her skin. She found herself in the midst of thrashing swimmers, panicked and screaming, and heard an alarm siren that had been activated by the lifeguards.
Somebody ran into her and hit her hard on the back of the head—causing a sharp pain that made her stop swimming and try to tread water instead. She felt woozy, swallowed water, and struggled to swim again. How deep was it here? She had lost track, wasn’t even sure where the beach was anymore.
Abruptly, she felt a strong arm around her waist, and someone pulling her through the water. A native man with dark skin and tattoos, she realized. The jellyfish finally stopped swarming her as her rescuer got her to the shallows, where she could walk again. Her skin was on fire from the stinging attacks, and she felt short of breath.
The air was full of screams and crying, and the alarm siren continued to wail. She’d never heard that awful sound before, in the ten months she’d lived in Hawaii.
As she reached the sandy beach and struggled to breathe normally, the muscular young man let her go. She looked at him appreciatively, and said, “Thank you. I felt like I was going to pass out.” He appeared to be around twenty-two years old, had brown, sensitive eyes, and a kindly, oval face. His hair was coarse and black, cut short. But the most striking thing about him were his numerous tattoos of creatures of the sea. She liked all of them, thought they were well done and quite beautiful.
“You’ve been stung,” he said, looking at the red spots and veins on her arms and legs, “and so have a lot of other people.” He glanced around, then back toward the road, where an ambulance was arriving, and medics were jumping out. She heard other emergency sirens in the distance, felt her own breathing improve.
He rushed back into the water and helped other people reach the beach, then gazed toward the deeper areas, apparently looking for more people to rescue. The lifeguards were out there with two boats now.
The Hawaiian man returned to Alicia, and said, “I’ve never seen jellyfish act that way. They were so aggressive, stinging everyone. I’ll stay with you until I’m sure you’re okay.”
She looked at him closely, saw no injuries. But her own arms and legs were covered with red marks, and she continued to feel a burning sensation on her skin, though the pain seemed to be diminishing. She had caught her breath now.
“I’ve never been stung by a jellyfish before,” she said. “Is it serious?”
He looked at her intently. “Can be. How’s your breathing?”
“All right now, I think.” She felt anxiety, but noticed to her relief that her red marks were fading quickly, and she was feeling better. Gradually, she heard the sounds of anguish diminishing around her, as others experienced the same rapid recovery. She heard them talking about it.
Now doctors and other medical personnel were making their way through the throng on the beach, moving quickly from person to person to assess the injuries. Even people who had been hysterical only a few minutes ago were much calmer now.
A doctor with Asian features stopped to look at Alicia, and recognized the young man with her. “Hello, Kimo,” the doctor said. “What are you doing around here?”
“I was on one of my long swims along the shore when I saw trouble here, so I came in to see if I could help. I wasn’t stung, but this young lady was.”
“My red marks are almost gone,” she said, “and the burning, too.”
“Remarkable,” the doctor said, looking at her arms and legs. He scratched his head, turned to Kimo and asked, “Is it true what I’m hearing, that those were box jellyfish? Sea wasps?”
The tattooed Hawaiian man nodded, then expla
ined to Alicia, “Each of those jellyfish packs enough poison to kill fifty people. Somehow, they must have dialed back their toxins.”
“I’ve never heard of that species being around here,” the doctor said. “Normally they’re confined to Australian waters. Hundreds of camouflaged stonefish were spotted, too, a carpet of them on the sandy seabed. They’re also animals that normally inhabit the waters around Australia, as well as the Indian Ocean. The other strange thing is, stonefish don’t usually venture into sandy areas such as this beach, because it’s harder for them to conceal themselves, even with their remarkable camouflage abilities. They prefer rocky areas, or coral reefs, where they can blend in better. And, to make it even more perplexing, several adults and children stepped on the stonefish and cried out in pain from the needle-like spines, but all of the victims are better already.”
“Wow, stonefish can be deadly, too,” Kimo said.
“The most toxic fish on the planet,” the doctor said. “They have sharp spines full of venom. What do you suppose caused all this, and why did the jellyfish and stonefish not use the full power of their poisons?”
“I can’t answer any of that,” Kimo said.
The doctor continued to check other people, all of whom appeared to be fine, as far as Alicia could tell, but many were still upset. Looking around, she didn’t see very many red marks on them, except for the people with obvious sunburns. Her own sting marks were completely gone now, and she felt a lot better. No one was going back in the water.
“Nice to meet you, Kimo,” she said to the young Hawaiian, who remained by her. “I’m Alicia Ellsworth.”
The expression on his handsome face shifted suddenly, into a dark scowl. “Ellsworth? You’re related to the owner of this property?”
“He’s my grandfather.”
“Then I’m sorry to tell you, we can’t be friends. I’m Kimo Pohaku.”
His family name meant nothing to her, and she looked at him blankly.
Ocean: The Awakening Page 4
