Kamaile by Joni Keamoai

Ha'ikū & Kahiau

Napali

Alohi

The path rose steep and sure beneath my bare feet, though my heart carried me farther than my legs ever could. Memories, like ghosts, ran beside me—mud-slicked feet, a ten-year-old girl racing up the trail with laughter spilling from her lips, convinced she would be the one to spear the wild pig. My father's voice always close behind, telling me to slow, then quickening to catch up. That day lived again, so vivid it felt as if his hand brushed my shoulder now.

I blinked, the mist of Nāpali pressing close, swirling around us like a living spirit. It clung to my hair, my clothes, as if guiding us toward the clearing ahead. My throat tightened. I knew this place. The sight of the old campsite struck my chest, sharp and sudden, and my eyes burned.

"Pehea ʻoe?" Na'eole's low whisper came at my side.

Of course he knows, I thought, hastily wiping my tears. "Maika'i," I answered, forcing a smile.

Na'eole's eyes gleamed with quiet knowing. As the chief's right hand and keeper of spiritual sight, his gift as an empath was legendary. He carried the emotions of others like stones in his pack—never complaining, never faltering. But I had always felt bare before him.

"I remember it too," he said softly, nudging my shoulder. His smile broke the spell, and a chuckle slipped out of me, rising like sunlight after rain.

"You're gifted too, Alohi. 'Ae me ʻoe iho." Na'eole continued.

"Pops, can you stop doing that!" Kana'i shouted from up ahead. He was clearly annoyed.

The whole group erupted with laughter. I swatted Na'eole's arm, cheeks warming. "I have yet to figure out my gift."

Kana'i groaned. "You too, Alohi? Jeez! Always with these secret mind talks!"

Napali ~ Campsite

They rounded a bend, and the forest opened into the old campground. Pūnohu and Kana'i leapt into action, their movements practiced and sure. Within moments, the firepit was stacked, huts of lauhala woven, moena spread. It was as though the mountain itself remembered them and hurried to help.

Na'eole stayed back, watching Alohi with a quiet pride that tightened his chest. She has grown into her strength, he thought. But there is still more in her yet. She just doesn't see it.

⸻

"Pop, we're gonna head up to the stream," Kana'i called, already hoisting a gourd. "Fill the canisters, catch some fish, clean the mai'a and 'uala."

"'Oia," Na'eole agreed.

"Can I come too?" Alohi piped up, chasing after them before her uncle could answer.

Kana'i rolled his eyes. He wanted to say no—but the truth was, this might be their last time together for months. He would miss her more than he'd admit. And teasing her about Kililau was too good an opportunity to pass up. "You sure you can keep up?" he called.

"Of course!" Alohi shouted back, already running past him.

Na'eole shook his head with a quiet laugh. She needed this. The mountains. The hunt. The old ways. Perhaps here, the ache of her father's absence will soften.

⸻

Wainiha

"Kililau, is that you?" Malanai called from the back of the hale.

"'Ae!" Kili answered, gripping his spear, sand still clinging to his legs. He had spotted cousins hauling nets near the stream and couldn't resist joining in.