Kamaile by Joni Keamoai

Kealohilani & Ho'omana

Nualolo Kai

Alohi hardly slept. By the time her father rose to check on her, she was already awake, sitting at the edge of her bed.

"Alohi?" Ho'omana yawned as he stepped inside.

"Hey, Papa," she answered, her voice heavy with exhaustion that matched his own.

"Makaukau ʻoe?"

"ʻAe," she sighed, tears threatening at the corners of her eyes. Her gaze lingered on the window, where the moon shimmered across the water. It was a scene she had taken for granted until now. This might be the last time—for a while—that I can sit and enjoy this beauty.

"ʻO iā," her father replied softly before leaving her to dress.

Soon after, Alohi followed her father and Na'eole down to the shoreline where the canoe waited. The cool water lapped against her ankles as they waded out. Na'eole would paddle them to the drop-off point, then return the canoe to the cove.

At the shore, he embraced Alohi tightly. "Maopopo na mea apau, mākou e a'o iā 'oe." Na'eole reminded her, to always remember what her parents, uncles and aunts have taught her.

"Mahalo ʻAnakala no nā mea a pau," she sighed, hugging him back.

Then Ho'omana urged her along. They had much ground to cover, and the day's hike would allow little time for rest—only one stop for food.

⸻

Wainiha

Kīlilau woke to the sound of his cousin snoring beside him. With a shove, he rolled Manaleo over and rose quietly, moving quickly to prepare. His mother had been suspicious the day before, almost as if she knew of his plan.

"So far, so good" he told himself as he peeked inside the hale. His mother and baby sister were still fast asleep. His father was away with the other chiefs at a council meeting. Perfect.

Moving silently, Kīlilau packed food and supplies. He left the kitchen tidy—his mother would surely know if things were amiss. Then he shook Mana awake and gestured urgently toward the door.

"Man, why so early?" Mana yawned as they crept into the predawn dark. His arms stretched wide, and his face looked like it still belonged on a pillow. "The sun's not even up yet. Why are we going there again?"

Does he ever stop asking questions? Kīlilau thought, annoyance simmering. Out loud, he snapped, "Because we need to find out why Kamaile is off-limits—that's why."

"Why do we?" Mana rubbed his eyes, still half-asleep.

"Oh man, now I wish I left you home," Kīlilau muttered, shaking his head as they entered the trailhead.

⸻

Nāpali

"Papa, can we stop for a second?" Alohi dropped her sack and leaned heavily against a tree, her chest rising fast.

"Ae hiki nō... hiki nō māua e ʻai," Ho'omana replied, agreeing they could rest, and for a bite to eat.

She sank to the ground, grateful. Her restlessness the night before had left her weak and weary, though normally she could do this trail without effort.

While they ate, Ho'omana began to speak quietly. "You remember what you saw at the shoreline with Anakē Hali'i, don't you?"

Alohi nodded slowly.

"To understand magic—to wield it—you must also understand the why behind it. Our family's knowledge has always been passed down. My grandparents, your great-grandparents, were the kahuna lāʻau lapaʻau, the medicine men and women of our village. They taught their son, my father—your tūtū kāne—and in time, they taught me. It was required for my training as a chief."