Kamaile by Joni Keamoai

Mōlī 🦅

Kamaile

The sun was peeking shyly from behind clouds as Chief Ho'omana moved quietly about the hale, careful not to wake anyone. Yet, he should have known—Anakē Hali'i never slept late.

"Aloha kakahiaka," she greeted, her eyes sparkling with gentle warmth.

"Aloha kakahiaka, Anakē," Ho'omana returned, bowing slightly as he entered the kitchen. He reached for a cup of wai.

She handed him water and set a small teapot to brew, steam curling upward like whispered secrets. She also steamed kalo and i'a, preparing a travel sack for him—a day-long journey ahead.

"Mahalo iā 'oe," he said, touched by her thoughtfulness.

"Pehea o Malanai?" he asked, curiosity threading through his voice.

"She had a slight fever when I arrived at their hale," Anakē Hali'i explained, relief softening her tone. "I cooled her with a cloth and gave her olena & nī'oi to drink. She is almost herself again."

Ho'omana exhaled, the word "fever" stirring a quiet ache in him for his late wife, memories washing over him like tidewater on the reef.

"Oia," she exclaimed, setting the table for both of them.

Footsteps echoed softly, and Alohi appeared, rubbing her eyes. "I wasn't about to miss seeing you off, Pa," she mumbled, voice hoarse.

They laughed softly. "Hele mai," Ho'omana greeted, hugging his daughter tightly.

After breakfast, he went over plans with Alohi. One of his guards would fetch her in a week's time—most likely Kana'i, swift on trails and steadfast in his loyalty. He trusted his guards with his and his daughter's life, knowing they would protect her without question. Kana'i would never spoil her or let her whim dictate their journey—something he valued deeply.

Alohi yawned, not from boredom, but fatigue. She paid close attention as he quizzed her on the plan, answering every question correctly.

"You will not hike down the trail until Kana'i or Pūnohu comes for you," he reminded her. "Before sunrise. Safety first."

"Ae pa," she agreed.

Minutes later, she watched her father descend the mountain. His figure grew smaller, more distant, and a hollow ache settled in her chest. You'll see him in a week, she told herself, sniffing.

She had exactly one week to say goodbye to Kililau before returning home.

Wainiha

"Breakfast!" Malanai called, cheerful and restored to her usual self.

Kililau bounded into the dining area, hunger tugging him forward.

"Mom, I'm glad you're feeling better. But I could've helped you," he said, trying to sound confident.

"Oia?" she teased. She wanted to teach him the deeper meaning of kokua—helping without prompting.

"If you wanted to help, you would have risen before her and begun," a firm voice explained. Ha'ikū had a way of teaching, that demanded action, not words. Leadership, initiative, perseverance—these were the hallmarks of a chief.

"Son, that is your lesson for today. Not what you say you would do, but actually doing it," he challenged, biting into a piece of fruit.

Kililau frowned, still digesting the wisdom alongside his breakfast. "Ahh," he finally acknowledged, the lesson sinking in. Leadership wasn't just a title—it was motion, courage, and foresight.

For the next two hours, he followed his father's lead, learning through movement and observation rather than speech.

Kamaile

By mid-morning, Alohi had finished her chores. She perched in her favorite banyan tree, nose flute in hand, playing for her feathered friends. The notes drifted across the grove, soft as mist, weaving with the gentle sway of leaves.

The sadness of watching her father descend the mountain had ebbed, replaced with the comfort of knowing she would see him again soon.

Tutu Hali'i had gone into the village for provisions, returning shortly. Alohi debated swimming in the nearby creek but held back, mindful of her mentor's return.

Her thoughts drifted to her sea animal friends back home—Honu, Li'a, Nai'a. She imagined where they might be, hearts tugging her toward Nualolo. Mōli, the native albatross had been her only animal companion here, but he had kept her updated on them, soaring high and low near the cliffs as messenger and protector.

She wished she could send him a message now, a silent prayer carried by wind, asking him to watch over her father as he navigated the rugged trail.

Then, a familiar flapping overhead answered her unspoken call. Mōli appeared, glistening in the morning sun. She released her thoughts, and he responded, spiraling toward the sea cliff.

A sudden surge of longing gripped her—she needed to see Kililau. The feeling was urgent, deeper than boredom, almost as if the wind itself had whispered it. She had to act before leaving, to speak the words her heart demanded.

Without hesitation, she began her descent down the mountain, the forest around her alive with whispers of old magic. Leaves rustled, the river sang, and sunlight lit the path ahead- golden, like a promise.

The air hummed with anticipation, and Alohi felt the subtle shift—the first brush of enchantment that the land of Kamaile always reserved for those who dared to follow their hearts.

Today, something extraordinary awaited her. She could feel it, and her pulse raced with a blend of fear, hope, and the thrill of a secret waiting to be revealed.