“Daddy!” she called with arms outstretched.
She always greeted him with such affection whenever he returned. He smiled as he watched her run toward him, her wavy golden-brown hair bouncing with her movements. Her pigment was a cross between his fair and Taisia’s dark skin tone. She had beautiful cognac eyes the same as her mother’s, and a smile inherited from her father. The same went for her twin brother, Joaquin, named after Pierce’s late older brother.
Pierce lifted his daughter and carried her as he walked. She was growing heavier.
“Oi! What have we been feeding you, child?” he asked.
“Lobster!” she hollered, hurting his ears.
For being so small, she had a very loud voice.
“Lobster, eh? We might have to limit your intake, then. Don’t want you getting too big.”
“Yes, we do, Daddy. I’m going to grow to be as big as a giant!”
“A giant? Why would you want to be that big?”
“To stop Joaquin and Lydia from taking my toys. And whenever they do, I can say . . .” She dropped her voice. “. . . fee-fi-fo-fum, I smell the blood of a quarter of an Englishman!”
Pierce cocked his head back, laughing. How he adored his children’s wit.
“Aye,” he said, putting her down. “I’m sure that’ll keep ’em both from playing with your toys without asking.”
Galina skipped ahead of him. She, like her siblings, had lived her entire life on the sand, and she was therefore well equipped to the trek. Although Pierce had been used to it for a while, he preferred stepping on solid ground more often.
Galina reached the hole she was digging before and resumed her work.
“Where are you digging to, my love?” he asked, walking by her.
She scooped a large handful of sand and tossed it out. “To China!”
“Fantastic.”
Pierce headed up to his and Taisia’s hut. It was shaded by tall palm trees, the same as his parents’ and grandmother’s houses, only yards away. The huts, resembling small cabins, were constructed from black wood found deep in the forest. The one-story place had started out as a two bedroom, living room, and kitchen area before it grew into three bedrooms when Taisia was expecting Lydia. With the help of the Sea Warriors, the family managed to build the original three huts in only a matter of days. Since then, the Landcross family had decorated the area with homemade chimes and glass lamps dangling from the trees. Jasper had fixed up the old birdhouse he’d brought with him from the Netherlands and now had it hanging from his porch. There always seemed to be a bird living in it. Near Pierce’s home was a fire pit carved out from the ground with a hammock strung up nearby.
As he approached the steps leading up to the front porch, his son called to him. “Hi, Daddy!”
Pierce stopped and searched around until he found the young boy way up in their only heliotrope tree. The boy laughed.
“’Ello, Joaquin,” called Pierce, hiding his fear of just how high the boy had climbed this time. He’d started to hate that these trees had been introduced to the Hawaiian Islands. “Can you spot Jupiter from there?”
“Maybe,” Joaquin quipped, lifting himself up onto another branch.
Joaquin loved climbing trees, much like Pierce had when he was a tyke. As a child, Pierce had also gotten into loads of trouble, which his son also mimicked successfully. Pierce reckoned karma had finally arrived to bite him on the arse with this one.
“I caught some lobster,” he announced, trying to coax the boy down. “Wanna look?”
“I want to see how high I can go,” the lad stated, grabbing hold of the next branch up.
That wasn’t what Pierce wanted to hear from his six-year-old. Joaquin again hoisted himself up onto another windy limb, causing Pierce’s heart rate to quicken.
“Er, son,” he began saying as he took hold of the tree trunk to climb up after him, “maybe you should try climbing higher a few years from now, eh?”
“Joaquin!” Taisia yelled so loudly it frightened Marco Polo the cockatoo sitting on his perch on the front porch. “Get down right now!”
The fact she was shouting at him in Russian only amplified the boy’s fear. It always scared Pierce.
Joaquin’s eyes grew very wide and he began clambering down. Pierce waited anxiously for the lad to come close enough to grab him. When he came to within reaching distance, Pierce pulled him away from the tree.
“Stop being such a nervous Nellie, Pierce,” Taisia quipped in English. “You know he climbs that tree nearly every day now.”
Pierce did, indeed, yet it did nothing to curb his worry. He had a very visual mind, and he could clearly envision the lad falling and cracking his head open on the way down.
Goddammit, he had turned into his mother!
After setting his son down, Pierce held up the sack. “Got us some lobster for tonight.”
Taisia smiled at him. That dazzling smile he could never grow tired of. They had experienced so much together, more than most couples had in fifty years of marriage. And they’d made it through all right. Better than all right. They were healthy and living in one of the most beautiful places in the world. They had their safety, and most importantly, they had each other. So many bountiful gifts that Pierce never believed he would ever have.
“We’ll have them with papaya and red pineapples,” Taisia suggested. “I’ll go pick the papaya with the children in a little while.”
“Grand,” Pierce said, stepping up the stairs toward her. “I’m going to the falls to wash up.” He wrapped his arm around her and pulled her close. “Maybe you ought to leave the demons with Mum and Dad and come join me instead, eh?”
He kissed her. A long, loving kiss he only wanted to share with her.
“Ah, gross!” Joaquin shrieked, breaking the mood. “Kissing is disgusting!”
Sometimes, Pierce wished it were still only the two of them.
He grunted with frustration and roared loudly at his son. The boy ran off, screaming, pretending to be frightened. With him gone, Pierce again pulled his wife close.
“As we were,” he said, about to go in for another kiss when someone latched onto his leg.
“Daddy!” came the voice of none other than Lydia.
He looked down at the little toddler who had hugged him like a koala hugging a tree.
“’Ello, Angelfish,” he greeted her.
Lydia was truly a daddy’s girl. She was his shadow, who usually followed him everywhere. It was only because she’d been asleep when he’d left to fetch the lobster that he’d even gone alone. He enjoyed her company, chatting his ear off about the dreams she’d had or asking him questions such as where do belches come from and why did the moon follow her? His little Angelfish was the light in his soul.
She noted the sack in his hand. “You went without me?”
Pierce dropped it to lift her up into his arms and hug her tightly.
“Sorry, love. Accompany me next time?”
“All right,” she said, pulling away. “Daddy, I have a question. If a cat is standing on a pillar, does that make it a caterpillar?”
Both he and Taisia laughed.
“I reckon it does,” he answered.
Pierce fed the sheep inside their pens, fed the free-range chickens, and then Marco Polo, the back-talking cockatoo.
“It’s about time. About time!” the bird squawked at him.
Taisia had taught the bird to say that during feedings in order to mess with him.
“Shut it,” Pierce grumbled at the bird.
With the family occupied, Pierce followed the narrow, worn trail. The falls weren’t nearly the tallest on the island. In fact, the cliffs made for safe jumping, which Pierce had done many times. But it was breathtaking, all the same. After he cleaned up with the soap bartered from the marketplace, he dressed and headed for home. He admired his surroundings as he normally did when cutting through the thick forest. He loved it here. The plants and animals—even the insects. He loved every bit of i
t. He made a point of always appreciating what he had and where he lived, for it was only by sheer luck, and through a lot of help, that he was alive to have any of it.
As he lost himself to the scenery, his bare feet no longer felt the rugged trail. He felt hardwood instead. The tropical landscape began blending into another atmosphere until it had vanished completely. The forest had become a pier with the smell of dead fish and grease oil in the cold air. Buildings consumed the trees and black smog smeared over the crystal-clear sky.
Pierce stopped dead in his tracks. What surrounded him couldn’t be real, though it looked and felt very much so. The air was muggy and as sticky as syrup. The day was late. The sun was tucked behind the buildings of a city he’d never seen before. A tall white structure with three towers stood out amongst the buildings. At the pier, there were many ships and boats of all sorts—sailboats, tall mast ships, and many fishing boats. A large riverboat drifted down a wide river. There were people onboard, and a band played music on the deck.
Pierce went from being alone to being surrounded by sailors, fishermen, whores, and thugs. No one noticed him. He stood like a phantom amongst these strangers who were carrying on with their business, completely unaware of him.
“Bloody hell,” he gasped.
He saw a sign that read Sieur de LaSalle Wharf. The sign appeared aged, with a jagged crack halfway down the middle. He heard every sound—the seagulls chattering on the rocky shore, the conversations between sailors. He could even smell the tobacco from their corncob pipes. A man was reading a Times-Picayune newspaper with a headline about a house fire in New Orleans.
New Orleans?
There was a commotion coming from a throng down the dock. Curious, Pierce went over to see. It wasn’t long before he spied something familiar in this unfamiliar place. Apache symbols were painted on the sails and the vessel itself, but it was the large fans that helped him identify the old Spanish galleon.
The Ekta was anchored near the pier.
What was she doing in New Orleans? Then he spotted the crew.
The Sea Warriors were being led down the ramp in shackles. A pair of long, thick chains linked all the prisoners’ manacles together, keeping the whole lot locked with each other. The crowd of bystanders were screaming at them, calling them horrible names and throwing rotten food and anything else they could find at them. Chief Sea Wind and his wife, Waves of Strength, walked ahead of the imprisoned crew. They were being guarded by men wearing red bands around their arms.
Vigilantes.
The Sea Warriors were marched through the aggressive crowd and toward the city. Pierce moved in closer. He bumped into people who, although he physically touched them, acted as if nothing had happened.
“Chief!” Pierce called as he approached. “Chief Sea Wind!”
He came to the edge of the crowd and rushed to catch up to the line of prisoners. He was able to get alongside them. Some were bruised and bleeding from a struggle.
“Chief!” Pierce hollered again, rushing toward the front.
Nobody, not even the vigilantes walking beside the line with their rifles, took any notice of him. As Pierce neared the chief, he spotted Sees Beyond.
“Sees!” Pierce gasped, slowing down. “Christ, can you hear me?”
She didn’t answer. She only kept her steady shuffle along the dock.
“Sees!” he yelled, grabbing her by the arm.
When he did, the world around him blew away like leaves in high wind.
Pierce blinked.
He was back in the forest and holding onto a bamboo tree. He let go of it and darted his eyes about, trying to understand what he’d seen.
“What the fuckin’ hell just happened?”
Chapter Two
An Unexpected Guest
Instead of going straight home, Pierce went to visit his grandmother. He knew she wouldn’t be at her hut. In the early afternoons, she enjoyed her walks down on the beach. Pierce left the path and cut through the forest until he reached the sandy shore. He stopped to roll his britches up to his knees.
The family would go to the marketplace at Lāhainā Port to trade for clothing, fabrics, toys, bed sheets, cooking utensils, or anything else they needed. They traded homemade shell art and the catches Pierce and his dad made. Sometimes, Pierce hunted down a boar to bring to the market or brought wool sheared from his sheep. Going to the town’s marketplace made Pierce feel like a little rover boy again when the troupe would trade their trinkets for money or other items. On their last visit, Pierce got himself over a dozen Thai fishermen britches. They were just about the only stitch of clothing he wore anymore. They were simple slacks and very cheap, which suited Pierce fine.
Pierce went down toward the water where the wet but compact sand was easier to walk over and enjoyed the breeze and the waves lapping over his legs. It was almost soothing after his experience in the forest. He decided to try not to make sense of it until he spoke to Grandmother Fey.
He spotted the large boulders that extended out into the ocean. Sitting cross-legged on the rock farthest out was his grandmother. The water-eroded rocks dug jaggedly into his naked feet as he climbed up. Usually, everyone let Grandmother Fey be during her brief time away. She, like the rest of the family, needed a few moments to herself—though, for Pierce and Taisia, “alone time” had become scarce since becoming parents.
The waves hit the rocks, splashing sea spray over him. They sounded as loud as rolling thunder when they crashed.
“Grandma!” he hollered.
He called to her again as he approached, and finally, as he reached her, she looked over her shoulder at him.
“Pierce,” she said, standing. “What an unexpected pleasure.” She noticed his grim expression. “Qu’est-ce que te tracasse?”
They went down to the beach where the noise of crashing waves was softer. He told her what he’d seen in the forest.
“I warned you about this,” she scolded. “It is a trick to get you to leave.”
She had, in fact, informed him about Freya’s attempt to lure him to England. If Pierce returned, he’d be surrounded by danger.
For seven blissful years, he’d lived without any worry of witches wanting him dead, or even being hunted as if he were a prized stag. As a result, Pierce had slipped comfortably into this new chapter of his life. So much so, he’d begun to believe he was completely safe. Apparently, he was very wrong.
“How did she find me?” Pierce asked, more vexed than afraid.
In truth, he was very frustrated by all of this since learning about the witch who called herself Mother of Craft. Her plan had involved him and his late brother, whom she eventually killed after giving him a fatal dose of demon blood. This woman had done so much damage to his family for her own mysterious reasons. What angered him the most was that his children were also somehow a part of it.
“I’m afraid she has always known how to find you,” Grandmother Fey admitted. “I tried placing a blind spell over you to keep you hidden. What she placed on you when you were a newborn is deeply rooted.”
Grandmother Fey had explained about the night, shortly after he was born, when she caught Freya chanting a spell as she held him. Grandmother Fey surmised it was a location spell. Freya had also performed the same on Joaquin, using his blood to locate him whenever she wanted, as well as using the demon blood to control him. With Grandmother Fey sick and without her powers in the Netherlands, she hadn’t been there to detect what Freya had done.
“Grand,” Pierce grumbled. “So, the only thing I need to do is ignore what I saw, eh?”
“Oui,” she answered sternly. “Freya has been planning this for many years before she was even born.”
“Aye, I remembered you telling me about that,” Pierce declared. He stopped, deep in thought. “But are people really able to recall their past lives so vividly?”
Grandmother Fey nodded. “With help, absolutely.” She looked out over the ocean and stayed quiet for a long while. “Freya cannot go ove
r the heads of the Fates, Grandson. Your friends are safe.”
“Right,” he huffed peevishly. “Putting the whole fate bit aside, what if it is true?”
“If it is and they die, then it’s because it is their time. There isn’t anything you can do about it.”
He looked out toward the endless ocean the same as she and sighed. “Do you really believe that what I saw in the forest was only a trick?”
He wished she could see exactly what he’d seen and felt how real it seemed.
“I do,” she responded with confidence. “It was an illusion and nothing more.”
They began walking down the shore. “Your place is here with your family,” she concluded.
They said no more on their way home.
* * *
That evening, the whole family gathered at Pierce’s home and helped prepare dinner. It was a wonderful feast of minced papaya and red pineapples, steamed clams, and, of course, lobster. After everyone ate, they listened to Nona read a story from the Grimm’s Fairy Tales book.
Pierce sat on the couch, enjoying a few shots of shōchū with his beloved wife nestling comfortably against him and Lydia falling asleep on his other side. It was the end of a nearly perfect day.
A rare thing happened—the children actually slept in their own beds. Most nights, the young parents shared their bed with at least one, if not all three, of them. After dinner, story time, and dancing to their grandfather’s violin music, the youngsters drifted off to sleep and didn’t wake even after they were carried off to their rooms. This thrilled Pierce to no end. It had been a strange day and the extra space to stretch out was exactly what he needed.
Sometime during the night, he woke to a gentle yet marvelous sensation coming from between his legs. After he was fully aware, he discovered Taisia giving him oral pleasure. It had been ages since she’d woke him in this wonderful manner—a favorite of his. After the arrival of their twins, such blissful awakenings happened rarely, as did their lovemaking in general. They had resumed their passion only after the twins began sleeping throughout the night. Then they got pregnant again and the whole thing started all over.
The Forgotten Story Page 2
