Kamaile by Joni Keamoai

Kililau & Kealohilani

Kamaile

Alohi

I awoke to the sound of birds chirping in the trees, their song carrying through the open screens as if to greet the rising sun. It was strange to think that I was now on the side of the island where the sun actually rose, instead of where it set. I stretched my arms wide, reluctant to leave the warmth of my bed.

The bed itself felt like a cloud — birch wood held together with kaula, a lauhala mattress, and a thick wool blanket that cocooned me in comfort. Just two days ago, I had dreaded this trip. Yet somehow, here I was, rested. Happy, even.

I wandered onto the outer patio and gasped softly. The hale stood on tall stilts, overlooking terraced gardens below. A stream wound through the center, feeding the vegetation. The whole house had been built into the massive arms of a banyan tree, its wooden walls alive with the smell of earth and rain. With its vast windows and open screens, it felt less like a house and more like a treehouse floating between sky and land.

"Ahh, aloha kakahiaka e ku'u Alohi!" my father, greeted me cheerfully.

He looked lighter this morning, his smile wide. I kissed his cheek in greeting before being pulled toward the table where Anakē Hali'i was already busy setting down steaming bowls of mea'ai.

We ate together, laughing when I devoured my portion too quickly.

"You have chores, Alohi," Tūtū Hali'i reminded gently once the meal ended. "Every morning, and again in the afternoon before the sun sets."

She led me through the gardens, pointing out herbs along the stream that needed watering, shrubs waiting to be pruned, and patches of mahiki grass threatening to overtake the beds. A handmade bird feeder swayed in the branches.

"They're greedy little things," she chuckled as she sprinkled food inside. "But their singing... it's company worth keeping."

I laughed with her, even as I glanced toward my father. He kept a careful distance, watching silently. I knew he would be leaving for Nualolo soon, but for now, I relished the time.

⸻

Kililau

Are you crazy?" Mana shouted, stumbling to catch up.

I didn't even bother turning around. "Probably," I answered matter-of-factly. "But don't you want to know? Who they are? Where they came from? And why they are here? You don't just stumble on a hidden entrance in Kamaile every day."

Mana groaned and waved his arms. "I don't care who they are! And I definitely don't care enough to climb this mountain after spending all day in the lo'i!"

But I was already moving with determination. My curiosity burned hotter than the midday sun.

When we'd reached the fields earlier, my Anakala Lono had thrown us straight to work, the way only family could. I didn't mind. The lo'i thrived, green and heavy with kalo shoots. Planting meant feasts later. Work meant purpose. But right now? Purpose meant mystery.

And mystery meant finding the girl.
⸻

Alohi

Papa guided me up to the ridge where the whole of Kamaile stretched out before us.

"All this 'āina belongs to our 'ohana," he explained, sweeping his hand wide.

"What about there?" I asked, pointing toward Makana, where the land fell toward the sea.

"That belongs to other chiefly 'ohana," he replied. "They are konohiki of that area. But to them—Kamaile is kapu. Off-limits."

I nodded, though my curiosity itched like the tall grass brushing against my ankles. I was about to ask more when Papa suddenly stopped. The color drained from his face.