Kamaile by Joni Keamoai

Kaumuali'i 👑

Nounou

Ceremonies had filled the day like waves rushing to shore. The arrival of King Kaumualiʻi drew in multitudes from mauka to makai. The valley hummed with life: feasts piled high, hula swayed with laughter, drums carried through the air like heartbeats. The scent of cooked iʻa and roasted kalo drifted across the fields, while garlands of Pua glowed under the lamakū- torchlight.

Chiefs Haʻikū and Kahiʻau sat within the circle of aliʻi, their presence a steady anchor. Beside them, Chiefess Leimomi and her son, Manaleo, leaned into the festivities.

"Ihea 'o Kililau?" Leimomi asked Mana, of Kililau's whereabouts, sipping from a calabash of ʻawa.

"Ua ho'i oia ma Wainiha," Manaleo replied. "Anakē ua ma'i." He continued, informing his mother of his cousin's travels home due to his aunt's illness.

"Oh, I see." Her voice softened, eyes glimmering with curiosity. She would've loved to see Malanai, and catch up on gossip, or cradle her niece once more. But the night pulled on, and the moment was not hers.

"Ok, maybe next time," she sighed.

Then King Kaumualiʻi rose, his voice like thunder and a blessing in one:

"Mahalo no keiā hui ana!"

The crowd hushed, listening as he thanked them for their gifts and presence. He confessed how long he had missed this side of the island, the solace of his summer home and its people- his people. Work and worry had weighed him down, but here, for once, he would enjoy their company and to take a much needed break.

To Ho'omaha- rest.

And with a rare smile, the King promised reprieve: a pulehu feast at his hale, swimming in the river, laughter for chiefs, their Ohana and soldiers as well.

Manaleo brightened, gnawing on a drumstick. "Anakala, will you be going?"

"Aʻole, hoʻi ana wau," Chief Haʻikū said simply. He had overstayed his welcome—his heart pulled back to Wainiha, to Malanai, and to his keiki.

"Pa... can I go with uncle then?" Manaleo asked his dad, hopeful, his eyes shining with mischief.

"What for? Your home is here," Chief Kahiʻau replied.

"I'm bored, and I want to see what Kili is up to," Mana sighed dramatically.

"Aʻole... give your uncle and aunt a break. They need their own time."

"But—"

"No buts, Mana," Leimomi cut in gently.

"Ok..." he sulked, though everyone knew the boy's heart beat wild with adventure. Not as much as Kili.

But just enough.

Haʻikū chuckled, shaking his head. Manaleo was like a flickering torch—bright, restless, impossible to hide. And yet, his honesty was his gift. Between Kililau and Mana, Haʻikū always trusted his nephew to spill the truth, no matter how chaotic the situation. Perhaps that was why he never minded the boy's stayovers. Without ever knowing it, He was Ha'ikū's spy.

⸻

Wainiha

"Ma, you want me to take Hili with me to the pond?" Kililau called.

Hilinaʻi's ears perked, her little hands clapping. "Yes, Mama, let me go please!"

Malanai, weary from her chores, smiled faintly. "Be good, ok? And listen to your palala."

"Ae, Mama!" the girl sang, throwing her arms around her mother before dashing to her brother's side.

Down the trail they went, past the loʻi where kalo leaves swayed like emerald hearts. The pond shimmered ahead, its surface rippling as though it knew their names. Hilinaʻi skipped at Kili's side, her laughter chasing the wind.