Kamaile by Joni Keamoai

Na'eole & Kana'i

A few weeks had passed since Alohi returned to Nualolo from Manā. Though she missed her father, Kapua, and Kaulana, she poured herself fully into caring for the 'āina and spending long days with her sea animal friends. Her studies had resumed as well. Where Kapua had once been her main tutor, now Ku'uwehi had taken over.

Alohi had been taught to read and write since she was five years old, guided by her mother's voice reading books aloud, teaching her the Pī'āpā or the Hawaiian alphabet, and practicing vowels by lamplight. Her father and his guards kept her informed of current events, and often Na'eole—the eldest and most experienced of her father's guards—shared stories of his youth. He had trained countless guards in both Manā and Nualolo before pledging his service to Chief Ho'omana.

"Anakala?" Alohi asked one afternoon.

"Ae, Kealohi... e nīnau mai," Na'eole sighed, his hands steady as he continued carving a piece of wood. He often whittled tikis, bracelets, gourds, and useful housewares for the hale.

"Ha'o ʻoe i kou 'ohana?" she asked softly—did he miss his family? It was a personal question, one she had never dared ask before.

"Ae, ha'o nui au i ku'u 'ohana," Na'eole replied, his voice low but gentle. He spoke of his youngest son, Kana'i, who had joined him when he chose to follow Chief Ho'omana and lead the guards. His two older sons, Makoa and Hāmau, remained in Manā with their mother, Lahela. Becoming guards had not only been a choice for them—it was in their blood, their upbringing, their kuleana.

He told her about his wife, Lahela, a strong woman who had stayed behind to care for their family home, and about the years that had passed since. Makoa and Hāmau were now married, with keiki of their own.

"Wow, Anakala!" Alohi beamed. "I wish to live a life as fulfilled as that one day!"

Na'eole chuckled, shaking his head, and ushered her inside to wash for supper. Though her father was away, Alohi felt surrounded by a deep sense of family. These Kane and Wahine,  had become her 'ohana, and she knew she would always cherish them as such.

⸻

Manā

"We will be leaving for Nualolo at dawn," Ho'omana announced to his men. They had worked tirelessly for months, and he wished to reward them with rest—and to surprise his daughter with a grand luau for her fifteenth birthday.

He sent Makani to Waimea to fetch Kapua and Kaulana, along with her brother Koa and their friend Lamakū.

"Does she know of her party, Anakala?" Kaulana asked the chief with a mischievous smile.

"A'ole. And I am trusting you not to say anything," Ho'omana warned.

"Ae!" Kaulana saluted dramatically, like a sailor on a pirate ship.

"Wait—if she sees my brother and his friend, she will know something is up," she added quickly, earning laughter from the others as they continued loading the boats.

The guards' families were invited as well. Na'eole's 'ohana would join, along with others. Only Makani had not invited his family.

"A'ole pilikia," Makani assured the chief when asked. "Ku'u wahine ua hapai. A'ole hiki iāia e hele mai." His wife, Lehua, was heavy with child and could not travel. He handed the chief a small package. "Ha'awi oia i kēia makana."

Ho'omana smiled, recognizing the handmade gift Lehua had created for Alohi. "Mahalo iāia," he said warmly.

He offered Makani leave to remain in Manā until the baby's birth, but the guard refused. He needed the work, and besides—he knew Alohi would not forgive him for missing her birthday.

⸻

Wainiha

Malanai savored the crisp breeze as she hung bedding on the clothesline. Hilina'i chased a frog across the yard, squealing with delight. For the first time in days, Malanai felt strong enough to walk outdoors, sunlight warming her face and wind tangling her hair.

Her son's voice carried from the fields, working alongside her husband, Ha'ikū. These were the moments she lived for—the simple sounds of family.

"Mama!" Hilina'i tugged at her skirt.

"Ae," Malanai smiled.

"Wook!" the little girl exclaimed proudly, holding up the frog by its feet.

Malanai screamed, stumbling back. I cannot believe she is holding that! She had feared frogs since she was Hilina'i's age.

"A'ole," she scolded gently, forcing her daughter to release it. The frog sprang away while Hilina'i began to cry.

"Auwe' must be your dad's side," Malanai muttered under her breath, half-laughing as she scooped up her daughter to wash her hands.

That evening, after supper of fish, poi, and sweet papaya, Malanai sat on the porch watching the moonlight shimmer across the lo'i. Ha'ikū joined her once the children were asleep, sharing the day's work and his training plans for Kililau. Peace clung to the valley like the mist rolling down its ridges.

⸻

Nualolo Kai

"Wa'a!" Kana'i shouted from shore.

Inside the hale, Alohi froze, ears sharp. She and Ehukai were preparing lunch, but she dropped everything and ran to the porch. A canoe was gliding toward shore, heavy with passengers. Her heart leapt.

"It's your dad's boat!" Nawai called, hauling in nets alongside Kana'i.

Alohi's smile stretched wide as she bolted for the beach. Kana'i steadied the net, fish spilling into the pakini, while Na'eole helped pull the boat in.

"Aloha, palala," Ho'omana greeted Na'eole as he stepped onto the sand.

The old guard embraced his chief, eyes stinging as he spotted his wife and grandchildren among the passengers. "Makoa and Hāmau send their aloha," Lahela whispered as she wrapped him in her arms.

"Ae, a'ole pilikia." Na'eole's voice broke as he lifted his youngest grandchild, already reaching for him.

Meanwhile, Alohi lingered at the water's edge, hesitant, while laughter and greetings erupted all around. Papa's here... but why does it feel different?

"Well, aren't you going to greet them?" a deep voice rumbled behind her.

She startled. "Sure," she answered quickly. It was Pūnohu—the towering guard who rarely spoke, known for his strength and quiet loyalty. He had once nearly become her uncle, back when her Aunt Lilinoe and he had been close. But fate had carried them apart.

"Alohi!" Kaulana squealed, dashing from the boat. The two girls collided in a hug, squealing and jumping until everyone laughed.

"I missed you!" they chorused in unison.

"Kokua kou palala me ka ukana!" Kapua scolded her daughter, though she was smiling as she hugged Alohi.

"Are you all back to stay?" Alohi asked eagerly.

"Yes—well, for a visit. I don't know how long," Kaulana replied.

Still confused by the sudden arrival of so much family, Alohi looked up at her father.

"What is going on in that pretty little head of yours?" Ho'omana asked, resting a heavy arm across her shoulders.

"I'm just wondering, Papa... why is everyone here?"

"I thought—why not bring the 'ohana of the guards and ladies who have served us so well? I'm sure they've missed each other as much as I've missed you."

He smiled, concealing the true reason for the gathering.

"What of Pūnohu? Where is his 'ohana?" Alohi asked, watching the lone guard play gently with Na'eole's grandson in the waves.

"One day, perhaps, he will have an 'ohana of his own," Ho'omana said softly. "But for now, he serves as all soldiers must—to survive."

I hope one day he and Anakē Lilinoe end up married, Alohi thought with a sigh, eyes drifting across the shoreline. The beach glowed with laughter, canoes, and the warmth of Ohana. For the first time in weeks, she felt whole.