Hi'iaka

Aloha. My name is Hiʻiaka, and my story began in a rather unusual way—I was born from an egg. My powerful sister, Pele, the goddess of volcanoes, carried me in her arms as she traveled across the great sea to our home in Hawaiʻi. Her spirit is as hot and unpredictable as the lava that flows from her mountains, but her love for me was deep. She kept me so close that my full name is Hiʻiaka-i-ka-poli-o-Pele, which means 'Hiʻiaka in the bosom of Pele.' While Pele loved her fiery craters, I adored the cool, green world she created. My greatest joy was dancing the hula with my best friend, Hōpoe, in the misty forests of ʻōhiʻa lehua trees. One day, Pele awoke from a dream, her heart captured by a handsome chief named Lohiʻau from the faraway island of Kauaʻi. 'Sister,' she begged me, 'you are the only one I trust. Please journey to Kauaʻi and bring him to me.' I would do anything for my sister, but I needed a promise. 'I will go,' I said, 'but you must swear to protect my beloved forests and my dear friend Hōpoe from your fiery temper.' She agreed, and with her solemn vow in my heart, I began the greatest quest of my life.

My journey to Kauaʻi was no simple walk on the beach. Can you imagine traveling across entire islands, with only your courage to guide you? My path was often blocked by moʻo, which are giant, fearsome lizard monsters that guarded their lands with sharp claws and sharper tempers. One enormous moʻo wouldn't let me pass a steep cliff, but I was not just a dancer—I was a goddess with cleverness and strength. I outsmarted him and continued on my way. At times, tricky spirits would try to lead me into dark, tangled jungles, but I could see through their illusions. I was also a healer. I knew the secrets of laʻau lapaʻau, the art of making medicine from forest plants. In the villages I passed, I met people who were sick, and I used my knowledge to make them well again. They thanked me with their kindness and aloha. After many long weeks, I finally reached the lush, green island of Kauaʻi. But my heart sank when I heard the news. Chief Lohiʻau had waited for so long for Pele that his spirit had given up and left his body. He was gone. But I refused to fail. I sat beside his still body and began to chant ancient, powerful prayers. For days and nights my voice called out to his spirit, pulling it back from the world of darkness. Slowly, miraculously, he began to breathe again. I had brought him back to life. My mission was a success, and together, we prepared to return to Pele.

Our journey back took much longer than the forty days Pele had given me. As the days stretched on, my sister's heart, which was as hot as a volcano's core, began to fill with suspicion. She imagined I had betrayed her, that I had fallen in love with Lohiʻau myself. Her jealousy erupted into a terrible, fiery rage. She broke her sacred promise to me. Back on our home island, she unleashed rivers of molten lava that poured into my beautiful forests. The lava devoured my precious ʻōhiʻa lehua trees, turning everything black. And then, in her greatest fury, she sent the lava to find my dearest friend, Hōpoe, turning her into a cold, hard stone. When Lohiʻau and I finally arrived, the sight shattered my heart. My green paradise was a wasteland of black rock, and my friend was gone forever. The battle between my sister and me was immense, a storm of sorrow and anger. Our story teaches a powerful lesson: even gods can be blinded by jealousy, and promises, once broken, can cause unimaginable pain. But my story did not end in sadness. It became a living legend, told through the most beautiful art form I know: the hula. Today, dancers learn the chants and movements that tell of my journey, my battles, and my love for the land. I am the patron goddess of hula, and with every graceful step, my spirit of courage and resilience dances on, forever connecting the past with the present.