Loa'a
By Viola

Rating: PG13-ish
Characters: Ensemble, but mostly Ethan, Kate, Boone, Shannon, Locke
and Claire
Disclaimer: Not mine. None of it.
Summary: The thunder echoes to the women in the rising flames. (Part
2 of 2; Spoilers through `All the Best Cowboys...')

***************************************

1. Hekili (Ethan)


'Ele mimo ka lani


There are black pearls under the water off the hula'ana where the
black rock sits. Ethan isn't sure how he knows that or where he
learned the proper word for the tall sea cliffs that brace their
side of the island. He does remember, although it seems like a long
time ago, that once someone showed him the pearl beds. Someone
showed him how to dive, which knife to use and the right way to pry
the shells apart. The pearls are useless, but they're beautiful
and
that alone makes them worth the risk.

Claire is beautiful, too, and he risked a lot to get her.

Claire is white and pink, glowing and unmarked, like the giant
pearls he remembers seeing a long time ago behind glass walls in a
large city filled with light and automobile traffic. His memory is
fragmented like that. Tiny details are sharp and keen and real as
life, but the big things -- his parents, his birthday, his Christian
name -- those things escape him now.

He doesn't remember when he chose the name Ethan for himself, but
it
fits somehow. Claire, he realizes then, is going to need a new name,
too.

He chooses one for her while he watches her sleep. It's the
second
day, maybe the third, and she still cries and fights and he has to
bind her wrists together even though it hurts him to hurt her. He
chooses a name for her, one that comes to him in hushed murmurs and
speaks of spring and birth and pink blossoms that he remembers from
a long time ago.

He lays his hand on her forehead as he says it out loud.

The others approve and they decide that he should be the one to take
care of her until the baby comes. They're unsure of her; they
don't
want her to know too much. Anything could happen. Ethan doesn't
mind
tending to Claire, even though, at first, she cries and curses him
and pulls away when he tries to help her.

"You bastard," she sobs on the fourth day. "You killed
Charlie." She
throws her head back and starts to scream. She's screaming words
at
first, but soon she tires out and the screams subside into tears and
hiccups.

Ethan had to kill Charlie and he's not sorry, but he realizes
that
it's far too soon to make her understand this. She will
understand
in time, though. He doesn't have any doubt about that. Instead,
he
brings her a bowl of hot water, steeped with ginger petals, and a
soft, thick cloth.

"You shouldn't scream like that," he says, softly,
reasonably,
calling her by her new name. "It isn't good for you." He
moves her
bound hands out of the way and helps her to sit up. He tests the
water's temperature carefully before dipping the cloth in and
rubbing it against her flushed and puffy face.

"Please," she says, looking at him with wide, fearful eyes.
"Please
let me go."

He just shakes his head, handing her a cup of strong tea.
"You're
safer here, you'll understand that soon."

They go on that way for almost a fortnight. The baby is late and it
worries him, but Claire doesn't scream or cry so much anymore and
he
thinks that's progress, at least. The others, though, are more
worried about the child than Claire and they're afraid that
things
may not work out after all. Ethan argues with them long into the
night and finally they're brought around to his way of thinking.

He prepares for every eventuality, though.

Two days past the time when Claire ought to have had the child,
Ethan sits by the fire with the others. He's holding the edge of
his
diver's knife over the flames. If the baby doesn't turn in
time, he
may need it. But he really hopes it doesn't come to that.

That night, like so many nights since Claire came to him, he hears
the hunters in the trees beyond the black rock. They never venture
any further than that, they never come too close, and after a few
nights of these encounters, Ethan realizes that they aren't
hunting
Claire any longer. Locke is leading them and Ethan has long
suspected that Locke understands the island better than any of the
other newcomers. He's teaching the others to understand it, too.
There are at least two other hunters with him. Their voices are
young and Ethan, for the first time, has hope that maybe they
won't
have to fight the newcomers, after all.

On their way back out of the jungle, the hunters are close enough
that Ethan can hear them as they struggle home with their day's
kill. That night, he guesses, they must have a celebration because
there's music and laughing on the air. Claire hears it before he
does, though.

"I hear singing," Claire says, her eyes sleepy and her
breathing
labored. "Can you hear it?"

He doesn't at first, but when he stops, going completely silent,
he
can hear an echo of it on the wind. He can smell the faint scent of
woodsmoke and hear the sound of laughter. He doesn't recognize
the
song, though.

Claire does. She sings him a line or two and reaches for his hand,
and when she falls asleep that night her breathing is easy and the
lines around her mouth ease.


2. Ula (Kate)


'O na wahine i ka puoko o ke ahi


After she tracks Charlie through the jungle, Kate starts hunting
with Locke.

So does Boone. They walk up from the beach together and Locke meets
them at exactly half the distance of the narrow path, knives in hand
and a lesson on his lips. They're both quick studies, and Locke
seems pleased.

She isn't sure why she does it, at first. She goes looking for
them
one day, at least a week after Claire is taken, in the late morning
when they've been out in the jungle for hours already and the sun
is
slanting sideways and golden through the trees above her. She
thinks, at first, that it's just concern. Or maybe that it's
just a
feeling of uselessness, of restlessness.

She's wrong, and it doesn't take her very long to figure that
out.

They're hunting, on an afternoon five days after she goes out to
meet them the first time. She has begun to count the days, the
sunrises, the sunsets and the rains. Boone is better at it, keeping
track, being mindful of the passage of time, but she's learning. 
They're hunting, walking single-file over slick red clay, when
she
realizes what she's doing, why she's really there.

She's walking behind Locke, right behind him, when she realizes
that
she's marking his steps, mimicking his gait. She's following
after
him, placing her feet in the prints he leaves in the mud. She
remembers another day like this, when her feet were much smaller
than they are now, and she did the same thing: following after her
father, through mossy trails and giant ferns, and carefully stepping
only where he stepped.

And here she'd thought Jack was the one with daddy issues.

It bothers her less than she would have imagined, once she realizes,
maybe less than it ought to. A connection to her father is a
connection to the past and if there's anything that Kate fears on
this island, it's forgetting. She's afraid, afraid she'll
forget who
she is, what she's done, where she comes from.

Most of all, more than anything, she's afraid that she wants to
forget.

The temptation to do just that, to just start over, is almost too
much to bear. It's why she chooses to stay on the beach. Her
resolve
isn't going to hold forever, though, especially not where Jack is
concerned. It's why she won't give up on a rescue, however
remote
the chance. It's why she's here, now, following Locke through
the
mud and mist and learning the right way to hold a knife.

That night they bring a piglet back and roast it over a fire. Boone
has a black eye and Kate has dark blood spilled down the front of
her t-shirt, but Locke puts a hand atop each of their heads in turn
and tells them they've done well.

Rose is sitting on the far side of the fire, trimming Shannon's
hair
with a pair of nail scissors. She clucks her tongue in disapproval.

"You're turning those young people wild, John," she says
without
looking up. "There's no call for that."

"We've got to eat," he replies.

"That's not what I mean and you know it." But she lets
the matter
drop, for the moment.

Locke, though, goes to sit beside her. He smiles down at Shannon,
who frowns at him and then over at Boone.

"It's important, Rose. You know that," he says.

"Mm-hmm," and a sidelong glance is all he gets in return.

"But you'll eat." He grins at her, and she can't help
but smile back.

"Oh, I'll eat." She sighs a little, brushing stray hairs
off
Shannon's bare shoulders. "And tomorrow, if you find me some
salt,
I'll fry us up some bacon for breakfast."

"Now, that sounds just about right."

Shannon makes a frustrated noise and stands up abruptly. "I'm
going
back down to the beach."

"Aren't you going to eat?" Boone asks, looking caught
somewhere
between surprise and anger.

"Jenny and Cari caught fish today. I'll eat that."

Boone looks to Locke in appeal, but all he says is, "Suit
yourself,
Shannon."

"Whatever." She stomps off, without even a word to Rose, and
for
some reason Kate follows.

"Shannon," Kate says, jogging to catch up with her. "Hey,
Shannon.
Wait."

"What?" The word comes out sharp, sulky, and Kate can
definitely see
that Shannon is used to being the little sister.

"Come on back. Boone is getting really good at hunting. I think
it
would mean a lot if you stayed to eat what he caught."

"Killed, you mean?" Shannon shakes her head, looking truly
upset. "Do you have any idea how weird that is? Boone? Killing
things? He hates guns, he hates violence. He's a member of
Amnesty
International, for fuck's sake."

"People have to make ad-"

"And you. aren't you a vegetarian? Or weren't you,
you know, before?"

"I was," Kate says, feeling the skin inexplicably prickling
along
the back of her neck. "But I don't see what that has to do
with any-"

"You're both turning creepy! That's what it has to do
with. You're
like, like." she pauses, arms outstretched, like she's
casting
around for something exactly creepy enough. "You're like
zombies. Or
cult members. You're. Scientologists!"

"Come on," Kate says. "You're overreacting. We've
all got to work
together, Shannon. We've got to help each other if we're
going to
stay alive here."

"Please. You should hear yourself. You even sound like him
now."

Kate finds that she doesn't have anything to say to that, and
after
a long moment, Shannon sighs.

"Whatever. I'm going down to the beach to eat fish with the
normal
people. Okay?"

"Shannon." Kate reaches out a hand to her, but Shannon steps
away,
standing just out of reach.

"You have blood on your shirt. It's gross," she says, and
walks away.


3. Kupina'i (Locke)


Ke 'iloli nei ka lani


They go out looking for Claire again on the third day after she
disappears. They go out on the fourth, and the fifth, and the sixth,
long after hope should be abandoned. They don't find Claire, but
they find other things of perhaps equal importance. Locke realizes,
on the seventh day, that they aren't going to find her, not
unless
Ethan and the Others want them to.

That doesn't mean, though, that he stops hunting.

Boone stays with him, even though neither of them speaks out loud
about what they've discovered. When Kate comes to find them, on
what
is the tenth day by Boone's count, she asks why they're still
out
there and what they hope to find.

They're hunting, Locke tells her. He's teaching Boone to hunt.

Kate, it turns out, wants to learn, too. She's an apt pupil,
something that surprises him at first. On reflection, though, he
thinks maybe he shouldn't have been surprised at all. They're
very
different things, tracking and hunting, finding versus killing.
He'd
known she could do the first, but hadn't realized she had the
spirit
for the second.

She does. Kate is a hunter at heart, though maybe she didn't
always
know it.

They're all finding these things out about themselves. Things
they
need, things they want, things they didn't know they knew.
He's
grateful, even though sometimes he feels a little guilty for it.
Kate, at least, is measurably better off here on the island. Locke
knows that without even asking her. He thinks that, perhaps, Boone
is as well -- although learning to know that will probably be a
longer process for him.

Locke, of course, is better off here, and in more ways than he
thought possible. There's nothing for him back home. He says it
to
himself at least once a day.

He never had the chance, back there, for wife, children, family. The
island has given him that, too. He thinks of Walt and Charlie (his
problem child), and now Kate and Boone. They're more like each
other
than Boone is to Shannon, both dark-haired, fair and delicate. He
likes to imagine that his own blood children might have looked like
that: tall, raw-boned and strong. Sure-footed, intelligent, loyal.

He teaches them everything he can. He doesn't rush, though. They
have plenty of time.

Boone and Kate are on their way to becoming skilled hunters under
his instruction. It's been nearly two weeks since Claire
vanished,
since he and Boone made their discovery, and nearly five days since
Kate joined them. This day is an especially good day. They've
been
lucky, but, also, their skills are improving. They're coming home
with their arms full and the promise of full bellies.

The sun is setting behind the trees to the west as they head back.
He can hear the murmur of voices as they pass black rock and so, he
knows, can Boone. Kate doesn't seem to notice them yet, but
it's
only going to be a matter of time. He hasn't quite decided what
to
tell her when she asks. He's afraid she'll go to Jack once
she
knows; her connection to him is still there, strong as it ever was.
Jack is a good man, Locke trusts him, but he also knows that of
everyone Jack is perhaps the least ready to know what Locke knows,
what Boone knows, what Kate is beginning to find out.

In time, though, they'll all understand. It won't be easy.
There may
be tears, there may be blood, there may be sacrifice -- there may
already have been. But in the end, Locke believes, it will all be
worth it. It will lead them all to something more.


4. Makuahine (Claire)


O 'imi'imi, 'o nalowale a loa'a, Lo'a ho'i ka hoa e


They whisper to her, the others at the black rock, but Ethan's is
the only face they let her see. They tell her that what's coming
is
going to be soon and that she shouldn't be afraid. They're
wrong
about that. Claire ought to be terrified and she knows it, but
somehow she isn't. She begins to suspect after a little while,
that
there's something in the bitter tea that Ethan brings her
everyday,
something to keep her docile and controlled. She can't help
thinking
about Jack and his sleeping pills whenever she swallows it.

She drinks the tea anyway, even after she knows she shouldn't.
She's
so heavy and swollen and hot; her throat is dry and papery and,
besides, it's not as though she believes she could escape.

Ethan brings her tea and soup and mashed roots in little clay pots.
He arranges them carefully, kneeling in front of her like she once
saw a Japanese geisha do on the Travel Channel.

"Maia, Maia," he calls her, but she won't answer to that.

He makes sure that she eats and washes, and that she's never too
hot
or too cold. One morning he brings her an empty glass jar, because
he saw Charlie do the same thing once and it made her smile. Even
the drugged tea can't keep her calm after that, and she cries and
screams and carries on so much that they have to tie her down until
sunset. That night, Ethan comes to her with coconut pounded into
sticky paste and a shell comb. He brushes her hair while she eats
and speaks into her ear, telling her his secrets about the island.

Ethan tells her that the dead beneath the seawater have precious
stones where their eyes should be. When she falls asleep afterward,
Claire dreams about Charlie, with a black ribbon around his neck and
white pearls in his eyes.

The next morning, she's afraid to tell Ethan what she saw in her
dream, but somehow he seems to know anyway.

"Don't fight it, Claire," he says, and it's the last
time he will
ever use her real name. "Just let it tell you what you need to
know."

"What? What is it?"

"You'll know when you're ready," is the only answer
he has for her,
his eyes burning with some kind of passionate devotion. Whether
it's
for her, or the island, or whatever it is that's there in her
dreams, Claire isn't sure.

But Ethan is kind to her, kind enough that she almost begins to
forget the rough feeling of his hands around her wrists, her mouth,
her throat. She almost forgets the sharp, shocked intake of
Charlie's breath and the creak of rope. She almost forgets, she
begins to forget, because it's easy to here, in this place where
time moves slow and quietly, and the edges of the world are blurred.
Now, Ethan's hands are gentle, his fingers lying softly across
the
curve of her stomach. There's relief in his voice when he tells
her
that the baby has turned and that it won't be long now. He tells
her
that her son needs her, and she knows that someone else told her
that once but it's harder now to remember what came before. Ethan
shows her how to read what's coming, with stones and pearls,
black
and white, future and past. That feels familiar, too. Her hands know
what to do, and her eyes know how to read the signs for what they
mean.

On another night, after the baby has dropped so low that she
can't
sit or stand anymore, she falls into a restless half-sleep and
dreams about pearls again. Ethan is lying on the shore, with the
tide low and the beach littered with smooth, pale wood like bones
and sharp glass like diamonds. He's draped in seaweed holding a
black pearl in his left hand and a pink pearl in his right. Charlie
is there, standing over him, hands clenched and breathing hard, with
ruby-red tears leaking from the corners of his eyes.

Claire wakes with a start, finding it hard to catch her breath. She
has the sense that there's something she's forgotten and she
tries
to remember, but then there's a flutter in her heart, a twinge in
her belly and she forgets everything but the moment in front of her.

"She can see," Claire hears Ethan say to the whispers beyond
the
sheltered bamboo glade where she's lying, pillowed on something
soft
and woven that Ethan placed beneath her back and legs. "She's
gifted. She can help us if we continue to teach her how."

Claire doesn't hear any answer beyond the sound of the night wind
through the banyan leaves, but when Ethan comes back he's smiling.

"It's time," he says, kneeling down behind her, letting
her rest her
back against his solid chest. "Can't you feel it?"

She can. The others, the island, the sound of the waves, the round
white stones that lay gleaming at her feet in the moonlight all tell
her so.

"You aren't afraid anymore? Are you, my Maia?" he asks,
and she's
not.

There isn't any pain, not yet, but she's hot, she's
sweating. She's
on fire. Her face is flushed and burning. She feels like she might
burst, like she might break apart and shatter onto the hard ground.
She reaches back for his hand and squeezes it tight. He leans in,
holding her hand, holding her still. He won't let her break open,
so
long as he doesn't let go. His head is bent, his mouth against
her
ear. He tells her softly that it won't be long, that this will be
easy. They've made sure of it. He tells her that she's brave,
that
she's special, that he understands.

Ethan tells her again that she's the world's mother, and this
time
she believes him.

*


Story Notes:

Loa'a means "to find, obtain, discover, acquire, have, take, reach,
receive, catch, win, succeed; to have or beget a child; to be born."
Maia is a name associated with motherhood and with the goddess of
spring from Greek/Roman myth. The English translated lyrics for Pule
Ho'âo are here.
(http://www.livejournal.com/users/viola_dreamwalk/96731.html)