Challenge #04749-L365: His Little Sister

Nineteen years have passed since Karkaul was blessed, and her son has grown into an able, popular priest of the faith. But now his father rumbles and the boy, who’s always seemed so human, must dive into the depths of his father’s molten core and seal that rift guarded only by faith in his heritage.

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Karkaul's son was named Nalani, and was almost typical of a demigod. His skin was as dark as basalt, his muscles firm as granite. His hair was like the clouds that his father threw into the sky. His eyes blazed in the night with the volcano god's fire. Just like his father, Nalani could have a temper. Quick, explosive, and often laying waste to a lot of things around him. But also, like his father, creating something new and useful in the process.

Of course Karkaul taught him how to sing to his father, how to make the proper offerings and say the proper prayers. And once Nalani reached a certain age, he brought in a lot of young women that Karkaul could preach to. Not that they were paying a lot of attention to the sermons.

Nineteen years to the day after Karkaul prayed for a miracle, Nalani woke in the middle of the night.

"My father is calling me to visit him," he said.

"Your father lives in lava," protested Karkaul. "You still come from a mortal body. You could die! What kind of god makes a child to be sacrificed?"

"You taught me faith, mother," soothed Nalani. "I have faith that my father will not hurt me."

When the volcano god rumbled with hunger, Nalani climbed the mountain. There, he found the well of boiling rock where his father lived. There, fearless, he dove inside.

Karkaul screamed for him regardless. She refused to leave the safe ledge above the boiling pit. She wore her voice rough with prayers for her son's safe return. Wept her eyes dry in grieving for her presumed loss.

Five days after he dove in, Nalani climbed out. His hair had become as red as the rock he had dived into. His dark skin gleamed like it had been polished, and he seemed to glow from within. When he spoke, smoke spun forth from his mouth.

"Mother, there was no need to fret for me," Nalani soothed. "I simply had to help father deliver my sister." He swept his arm out to point at a distant spot in the ocean. There, right where he pointed, was the beginnings of a little island. Smoking and steaming.

"Sister?" echoed Karkaul. "But... the volcano god is a man..."

"Gods are more than what they seem to mortal eyes," and like a good son, he picked up Karkaul and carried her down to the village. "He was not rumbling with hunger or anger. He was birthing your daughter. She will be a long time in growing big enough to have people to worship her."

"I'm... the mother of an island?" Karkaul managed. It was too much to comprehend. She had carried Nalani inside her. Nursed him, taught him, and helped him grow. To do the same for an island... That was something only a god could do. So of course a god did it.

When she thought of it like that, it made perfect sense.

So it made perfect sense that she would sing for her daughter too.

[Photo by Thomas de LUZE on Unsplash]

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