Kamaile by Joni Keamoai

Kililau & Manaleo

Nualolo Kai

Alohi stood on the shore for what seemed like the umpteenth time that year, waving to friends and relatives as they set out on their journey. This time, though, she wished she could be the one aboard, returning home to Manā. But her father was adamant—she was to remain in the cove.

She had been grateful for the time spent with her aunt Lilinoe before their tearful goodbye, yet her heart ached. If only I could have stayed longer with Tūtū and everyone in the village, she thought.

"C'mon, let's go in," Ho'omana said gently, his voice carrying the weight of the day.

The mood was heavy, the cove far too quiet now that everyone had departed. Kapua and Kaulana had returned home, along with Koa and Lamakū. Even some of the guards had left, Makani returning to Manā for the birth of his newborn child. Pūnohu had escorted Lilinoe back but promised to return in a few days, leaving only Kana'i, Nawai, Ehukai, and Na'eole behind.

"Papa, why is it so empty here?" Alohi asked with a sigh, her eyes scanning the hollow quiet that had replaced the lively sounds of family and friends.

"Umm... well, it's because I've decided to close up the hale here and have everyone return home to Manā," Ho'omana replied. His tone was matter-of-fact, but inside, he knew what this news might spark in her.

Alohi's face lit up, unable to hide her joy. If they were leaving Nualolo Kai, then it meant—finally—she would be allowed to return to Manā, the village she longed for.

"Oh, Papa!" she smiled, wrapping her arms around him. "I can't wait to go back and finally be with everyone!"

But Ho'omana froze, realizing immediately that his daughter had misunderstood.

"Alohi... 'A'ale. Hele ana 'oe e noho me Tūtū Hali'i ma kona hale maluna ō," he said firmly, pointing upward toward the mountains of Nāpali.

Alohi's heart dropped. He was telling her the opposite of what she wanted to hear—that she would be living with her, Tūtū Hali'i, in the uplands of Kamaile.

Kamaile? Wait... what? she thought, staring at him in shock. "There?" she repeated, her voice trembling.

The wind seemed to hold its breath. Silence stretched between them.

"Mā kona home 'o Kamaile," Ho'omana continued, his voice steady though his daughter's eyes filled with disbelief.

"Papa, why? I don't want to live there—I want to live with you!" she pleaded, her voice breaking. What's so wrong with Manā that he won't let me live there?

"I stayed back because we will be making the trip to Kamaile the morning after next," he said, his words final.

⸻

Wainiha

"Kili! Mai poina ho'i 'oe mamua o ka pau 'ana o ka lā!" Malanai called from the doorway, her voice sharp with worry.

With her husband away for meetings with the other chiefs, her son's adventurous spirit worried her more than ever. She feared he would ignore the warnings about the boundaries, especially those near Kamaile.

But Kililau only laughed, tightening the strap of his pack. "Mai hopohopo, Mama!" he shouted back, trying to appease her. Yet inside, his heart pounded with curiosity.

Kamaile. That place calls to me. Something—someone—is pulling me there. And I need to know why.

⸻

Limahuli

The trail was familiar—he and his father had hiked it many times. But alone, the path felt different. Eerie.

Kililau paused, his gaze lifting toward the looming ridges. He wasn't one to scare easily, but this felt different. He could sense it. The mountain itself was alive.

Maybe that's why we were warned not to go... because it's sacred. A wahi pana.

If that were true, he knew he shouldn't take another step. He risked offending the spirits that dwelled there. But the pull was strong, too strong to ignore.

I'll wait. I'll ask Papa. Or maybe Mana. He and Uncle Kahiau know these ridges better than anyone. Maybe they know the truth.

For now, he turned back, though his heart burned with questions.

⸻

Nualolo Kai

"No, Papa, I'm not going!" Alohi cried, slamming her bedroom door.

The trip had already been delayed by the storm, but her stubborn refusal had stretched it even longer.

"Alohi, this is not up for discussion! You are going, and that is final!" Ho'omana thundered from the porch.

He felt torn—guilt gnawed at him. He understood why she resisted, why fear clung to her, but he couldn't let her stay. Not in Manā, Not yet.

By evening, he sat outside her door, lowering his voice.

"Alohi... the reason I want you to stay with your Tūtū is because it's a very magical place and you have Kuleana. Even in my youth, during training, I stayed there, as did your uncles. Not all at once, but each of us spent time with her. I learned so much."

Inside, Alohi pressed her face into her blanket, listening.

"It hasn't gone unnoticed that you saw Tūtū Hali'i at the shoreline the day your uncle Iokepa arrived with his friends," Ho'omana continued softly. "I'm sure it frightened you. But I promise you, she would never jeopardize your safety. My hope is that you learn from her."

Alohi's tears slowed. Magic? You want me to learn magic?

"So... you want me to learn how to wield magic?" she asked cautiously.

"Ae, polole'i," her father answered.

And just like that, the fight between them quieted. Preparations began for the journey.

"E noho ana wau me 'oe no 'elua lā. A pau, ho'i ana wau ma Manā," Ho'omana assured her.

He would stay for two days in Kamaile before leaving her with her Tūtū. Na'eole, Kana'i, Nawai, and Ehukai would remain behind to close up the hale in Nualolo.

The path ahead had shifted. Alohi's fate was moving toward the mountains—and the magic waiting there.

⸻

Wainiha

Two days later, Kililau finally convinced his cousin Manaleo to come with him. Clever as ever, he had tempted Mana with a full plate of kālua pork and poi before slipping the question into their conversation.

"So... what do you know about Kamaile?" Kililau asked casually.

Manaleo chewed so loudly he almost didn't hear.

"Hello? Did you hear what I said?"

Mana swallowed. "What was it again?"

"Kamaile. The mountain range next to Makana."

Mana's eyes widened. He had been to the trailhead before, even climbed part of it. But his father had forbidden him from going further, much like Ha'ikū forbade Kililau.

"Wait—did your dad explain why?" Kililau pressed.

"Yeah," Manaleo shrugged. "He said it was a land deed or something. Only parcel like that here. Everywhere else, we can roam."

Kililau frowned, unconvinced.

No. That can't be the whole story. There's something more. Something they're not telling us.

He resolved to see for himself. By daybreak, he would be on that trail—with or without his cousin.