CH 116
The Museum of Natural Hawaiian History is a grand, open building filled with light streaming through high windows. The smell of polished wood and faint traces of salt air give the space a sense of calm, though my heart pounds as Wake and I step inside.
A tall, smiling woman at the reception desk greets us with a warm “Aloha.” Wake looks at her suspiciously, but I flash a polite smile in return and pull him toward the exhibit hall. The museum is quiet, with only a handful of visitors meandering through the displays.
The first exhibit catches my eye—a massive map of the Pacific Ocean with glowing lines tracing tectonic plates and fault lines. A plaque beside it reads: “The Ring of Fire.”
“This,” I say, gesturing at the map, “is what makes Hawai’i one of the most tectonically active places on the planet.”
Wake peers at the map, his brows furrowing as he studies the glowing edges. “What are these lines?”
“They’re plate boundaries,” I explain. “The Earth’s crust isn’t one solid piece; it’s made up of these huge plates that float on molten rock. When they move, they create earthquakes, volcanoes, even entire mountain ranges.” I tap the glowing section near Hawai’i. “This area is called the Ring of Fire because it’s where most of the world’s volcanic activity happens.”
Wake tilts his head. “And this movement shapes your world?”
“Exactly,” I say. “The Pacific Plate pushes against other plates, causing all sorts of geological events. Hawai’i was literally built by volcanoes. The same thing happens in other tectonically active areas, like Indonesia, Japan, and Alaska.”
As I list the locations, a light clicks on in my brain. I pause, looking at the map again, this time with growing unease.
“What is it?” Wake asks, his sharp eyes not missing my sudden shift in demeanor.
I turn to him, pointing at the map. “California, Fiji, Bali, Alaska. They’re all on or near these tectonic boundaries. And Japan… Indonesia…” I trail off, my breath catching. “It’s not random, Wake. These are the places we visited my grandmother growing up.”
Wake’s expression darkens as he steps closer to the map. “You think she chose them for this reason?”
“She must have,” I say, my voice shaking slightly. “At the time, I thought she was just more fun than most grandmas, but now, I’m almost positive that she lived in those locations for a reason. She was studying tectonic activity the whole time.”
“For decades,” Wake says quietly, his gaze sweeping over the glowing lines.
“But why?” I whisper, almost to myself. “What’s the point? What does she hope to find?”
Wake places a hand on my shoulder, grounding me. “We will find her. She will answer these questions.”
I nod, though my mind races. “This explains why she was so insistent about certain activities. Canoeing in Bali’s mangroves? They sit on the Java Trench. Surfing in California? The San Andreas Fault runs through it. Kayaking through Alaska’s ice drifts? The Aleutian Trench is right there. She wasn’t just taking me on adventures. She was gathering data.”
Wake’s hand tightens slightly as hs studies the map on the display. “And this data—some of these locations are near Enkian Clans.”
“But not all of them?” I ask.
Wake shakes his head, looking hesitant, but he does not elaborate further.
I sigh, staring at the map as if it holds all the answers. “I don’t know what she was looking for. A pattern? A prediction? She’s a geophysicist, and I guess the Enkian have some connection to the ocean’s movements. Maybe she was trying to bridge the two somehow. But whatever it is, she’s been at it for a long time.”
Wake nods slowly. “And now you are here, following the same trail.”
“Yeah,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. “I just hope I’m not too late to catch up.”
We move deeper into the exhibit, past displays of volcanic rocks and diagrams showing how magma chambers feed eruptions. One section highlights famous volcanoes around the Pacific, from Mount Fuji to Krakatoa. Another shows photos of undersea volcanoes erupting, their fiery plumes glowing eerily through the water.
Wake pauses in front of a photo of an underwater vent spewing minerals into the ocean. “This,” he says, pointing, “looks familiar.”
I glance at the photo and feel my stomach sink. They were familiar to me, too. I’d seen them in my dreams, and in those dreams they meant monsters. “That’s a hydrothermal vent. They’re common near tectonic boundaries where magma heats the water. Why does it look familiar?”
Wake’s expression is unreadable. “There are similar places in my homesea. They are… sacred to us.”
“Sacred?” I ask, intrigued.
I chew on my bottom lip, a thousand questions swirling in my mind. Was Anthozoa trying to find something similar? Some connection between sirens and the earth’s movements? And if so, what would she do with that knowledge?
He nods. “The heat from the earth is a source of life, as are the minerals it releases. These places are said to connect us to the depths of the ocean, to the gods.” Wake turns to me, an angry glint in his obsidian eyes, “What your grandmother is unearthing… I fear are forces that my people will never recover from.”
My breath catches, “What… what do you mean? What are you saying, Wake?”
He scowls, “Anthozoa very well may be the death of our people.”
Log in with Google Account
Chapters
Favorite
Settings
