Lohiau, in his last agony, wandered in mind and babbled of many things. To his credit, be it said that his thoughts were not wholly centered on himself. There was a margin of regard for others, as when he sang in these words:

TRANSLATION

At the last flicker of life, when the rocky encasement had well nigh completed the envelopment of his body, Hiiaka, daring the barrier of fire that had come between them, sprang to his side and, with the last kiss, whispered into his ear, “Go not on the side whence the wind blows; pass to leeward, on the day of our meeting.” (Mai hele i ka makani; hele i ka pohu, ma ka la a kaua e halawai ai.) By this cryptic expression, Hiiaka meant to put Lohiau on his guard against enemies that lay in wait for him. If he went to the windward he might reveal himself to them by his flair. She also embodied her warning in song:

TRANSLATION

A swarm of emotions buzzed in the chambers of Hiiaka’s mind, of love, of self-destruction, of revenge. In an agony of indecision she strode this way and that, wringing her hands and wailing in a strictly human fashion. The master passion came to the front and had sway: she would find Lohiau, and with him renew the bond of friendliness which had grown up in the midst of the innocent joys and toils of travel shared by them in common. An access of divine power came to her. She immediately began to tear up the strata of the earth. As she broke through the first stratum and the second, she saw nothing. She tore her way with renewed energy: rock smote against rock and the air was full of flying debris.

After passing the third stratum, she came upon a ghastly sight—the god of suicide, suspended by the neck, his tongue protruding from his mouth. It was a solemn lesson. After passing the fourth stratum she came upon the stratum of Wakea, and here she found the inanimate bodies of her former companions of travel, the faithful Wahine-oma’o and PaÚ-o-pala’e. She restored them to life and animation, bidding them return to the beautiful world of sunshine and fresh air.

She came at last to the tenth stratum with full purpose to break up this also and thus open the flood-gates of the great deep and submerge Pele and her whole domain in a flood of waters. That, indeed, would have been the ruin of all things. At this moment there came to Hiiaka the clear penetrating tone of a familiar voice. It was the voice of her fast friend and traveling companion, Wahine-oma’o, who had but recently left her and who, now, under the inspiration of the great god Kane, had come to dissuade Hiiaka from her purpose. For the execution of that purpose meant a universe in confusion. It was time, then, for Kane to interfere. He did this by putting into the mouth of her dearest friend on earth an appeal to which Hiiaka could not but listen and, listening, heed:

TRANSLATION

For Hiiaka to give ear to the pleading voice of her friend, the woman who had shared with her the shock of battle and the hardships of travel from Hawaii to Kaua’i and back again, was to run the risk of being persuaded.

“Come with me,” said Wahine-oma’o; “let us return to our mistress.”

“I must first seek and find Lohiau,” answered Hiiaka.

“Better for us first to go before Pele. She will send and bring Lohiau.” Thus pleaded the woman Wahine-oma’o.

Hiiaka turned from the work of destruction and, hand in hand, they made their way back into the light and wholesome air of the upper world.

The sisters—those who bore the name Hiiaka—received her cordially enough. They prattled of many things; buzzed her with questions about her travels of long ago—as it now seemed to Hiiaka. It was not in their heart to stir the embers of painful issues. No more was it in their heart to fathom the little Hiiaka of yesterday, the full-statured woman of to-day. Beyond the exchange of becoming salutations, Hiiaka’s mouth was sealed. Until Pele should see fit to lend ear and heart to her speech not a word would she utter regarding her journey.

But Pele lay on her hearth silent, sullen—no gesture, no look of recognition.

The kino wailua, or spirit from Lohiau, in the meantime, after having in vain tried to solace itself with the companionship of the forest song-birds and having found that resource empty of human comfort, fluttered across the desolate waste of ocean like a tired sea-bird back to his old home and there appeared to his aikane Paoa in a vision at night.

“Come and fetch me,” he said (meaning, of course, his body). “You will find me lying asleep at Kilauea.”

Paoa started up in a fright. “What does this mean?” he said to himself. “That Lohiau is in trouble?”

When he had lain down again the same vision repeated itself. This time the command was imperative: “Come and rescue me; here I am in the land of non-recognition.”2

Now Paoa roused himself, assured that Lohiau’s sleep was that of death, but not knowing that he was, for the second time, the victim of Pele’s wrath. He said nothing to anyone but made all his preparations for departure in secret, reasoning that Kahua-nui, the sister of Lohiau, would not credit his story and would consequently interfere with his plans.

He entered his canoe and, pressing the water with his paddle, his craft made a wonderful run towards Hawaii. It was necessary for him only to dip his paddle in the brine at intervals and to direct the course. The canoe seemed almost to move of itself. That same morning he arrived at Waipio. To his astonishment, there, in a boat-shed on the beach lay the canoe which he recognized as that of his friend Lohiau. The people of the district had been wondering whose it was and how it had come there.

Paoa found many things that were new and strange to him in this big raw island of Hawaii. Not the least of these was the land on which he trod, in places a rocky shell covering the earth like the plates on the back of the turtle, or, it might be, a tumble of jagged rocks—the so-called aÄ—a terrain quite new to his experience. It seemed as if the world-maker had not completed his work.

Of the route to Kilauea he was quite ignorant, but he was led. There flitted before him a shadow, a wraith, a shape and he followed it. At times he thought he could recognize the form of Lohiau and, at night or in the deep shadows of the forest, he seemed to be looking into the face of his friend.

When night came he lay down in a sheltered place and slept. In the early morning, while darkness yet brooded over the land, he was roused by the appearance of a light. His first thought was that day had stolen upon him: but no, it was the kino wailua of his friend that had come to awaken him and lead him on the last stage of his journey.