Once There Was Fire: A Novel of Old Hawaii

by Stephen Shender

  “Kekū, would you agree that I fought well against Kiwala‘ō?” Kameha asked as they made their way down the slope.

  “Yes, you fought well,” Kekūhaupi‘o said, “but you neglected to watch your back.”

  Hilo and Kawaihae, 1761-1762

  Raindrops as big as ‘ōhelo berries pelted Kamehameha and Nae‘ole as they descended the winding footpath to Hilo. It was the wettest time of the year on the Big Island’s wet side, and it was the time of Makahiki, the four-month-long celebration dedicated to the god Lono. This was traditionally a time of peace. Warfare was suspended, as was human sacrifice. The temples of the sterner gods—Kāne, Kū and Kanaloa—were closed. Eating pig was kapu. Even without roast pig, there was much feasting and ‘awa drinking. It was an easygoing time.

  Perhaps that is why this was also the time when the kāhuna collected taxes. During the Makahiki time, the priests circled the entire island on foot, carrying a pole bearing the likeness of Lono carved in wood. Along the way, they stopped at the border of each ahupua‘a to collect tribute—feathers, kapa cloth, taro, pigs, and chickens. The Makahiki time ended when the kāhuna returned to their starting point, bearing their accumulated treasure to the king for propitiation of the gods and for distribution to the priests and the mō‘ī’s chieftains. At this time, the temples of Kāne, Kū, and Kanaloa were sanctified anew and reopened, the kapu on roast pig was lifted, and human sacrifice, and warfare, when required, were resumed.

  “It would be best for you to attempt this feat during the Makahiki time,” Nae‘ole had advised when Kamehameha first voiced his intention to move the Naha Stone. “It is the god Lono’s time of year and the kāhuna are most apt to be in a forgiving mood if you fail—though I would not wager on the extent of their mercy.”

  “You are right, as usual,” Kameha replied, with a broad smile. “I do not intend to fail, but why tempt fate and the priests unnecessarily?”

  Nae‘ole had tried to talk Kameha out of this brash attempt to move the massive Naha Stone. “It has never been done,” he reminded his pupil. “To try and fail can mean death—especially for a wohi such as you.”

  But Kamehameha would not be dissuaded. From the day Kiwala‘ō had called him Kahekili’s kuhaulua discard, Kameha had been eager almost to the point of desperation to prove his merit, once and for all. “You once told me that no ali‘i can change the circumstances of his birth, but any ali‘i can change his destiny,” Kameha reminded his tutor. “I will go to Hilo, move the Naha Stone, and change mine.”

  “You will go to Hilo, without question,” Nae‘ole had said, shaking his head. He frowned at Kamehameha, but inwardly—he later told my father—he was smiling. “Your brother’s will was so strong that I believed he just might be the one to move it.”

  Kameha and Nae‘ole left Kawaihae early one morning while the village still slept. The day’s first light was just touching the sky east of Mt. Kohala. They had told no one other than Kekūhaupi‘o of their plan. “No others here must know where you have gone or why,” Nae‘ole told Kamehameha. “There are some who might try to stop you.” When Kameha asked who at court would try to bar him from going to Hilo to move the stone, Nae‘ole had replied, “Ka’akau, for one.” Alapa‘i’s decision to welcome Kamehameha to court some eight years earlier had displeased the kahuna nui, who had foretold that the infant Kameha would someday become a threat to the mō‘ī if he were allowed to live. “Ka‘akau still bears you ill will,” said Nae‘ole, “and he does not want you to distinguish yourself in any way.”

  To further cloak their purpose in secrecy, Nae‘ole insisted that they travel to Hilo by foot rather than canoe. Kamehameha assented to this, but he objected when his kahu said they must take the longer, more taxing route over the mountains. “Why must we go that way, rather than by the coast?” he asked. “It will be faster and more pleasant.”

  “Too many eyes will be upon us if we go that way,” Nae‘ole countered.

  “Remember, Kameha, the strength to move the stone is in your legs,” Kekūhaupi‘o said. “Going across the mountains will surely strengthen them for the challenge ahead.”

  Kiwala‘ō’s contemptuous epithet on the games field still echoed in Kameha’s mind as he and Nae‘ole set off for Hilo. The spears Kiwala‘ō had thrown might have flown wide of their mark, but “kuhaulua cast-off” had struck home. In the days following the spear-throwing contest, the story of Kameha’s victory over Kiwala‘ō circulated widely among the young ali‘i at Alapa‘i’s court, and the many retellings always ended with a recounting of Kiwala‘ō’s verbal slap. Among Kameha’s young friends at court—and there were many—Kiwala‘ō’s gracelessness in defeat was seen as foolish, even stupid. But Kameha’s enemies—and there were more than a few—saw Kiwala‘ō’s parting shot as a well-deserved rebuke. These boys regarded Kameha as somewhat of an interloper at court and resented King Alapa‘i’s solicitousness toward him. They laughed about Kiwala‘ō’s insult—though not to Kameha’s face, of course. Nevertheless, Kameha was well aware of their ridicule and he was determined to make certain that no one on the Big Island, at least, should ever think to question his parentage and status again. Moving the Naha Stone would settle the issue.

  When Kameha first spoke of his intention to move the great stone, Kekūhaupi‘o had told him that he was not yet ready for the challenge. “You are strong, Kamehameha,” Kekūhaupi‘o had said, “but to move the Naha Stone, you must become stronger still.”

  Thus, Kameha had postponed his quest for more than a year while he worked to further strengthen himself for the task ahead. Whenever he went surf riding at Kawaihae, he selected the longest, heaviest board he could find, hoisting it high above his head as he carried it to and from the beach. After canoe races, Kameha would stay behind, alone, to lift one of the heavy dugout canoes. Squatting, he would grip the canoe’s prow in his large hands and then, holding his arms tightly to his body, would thrust upward with both legs. Kameha repeated this exercise many times until he could lift the canoe almost to his full height in one swift, practiced movement.

  By age fourteen he already stood nearly six feet, six inches tall and towered over the other ali‘i, who as a group stood much taller than the common folk. He was broad across the shoulders and chest. His pectoral muscles and biceps swelled with the slightest tension. His thighs were huge, his powerful calf muscles explosive. Finally, in Kekūhaupi‘o’s judgment, Kameha was ready for the stone.

  “If any man can move the Naha Stone, you are the one who can do it, Kameha,” Kekūhaupi‘o said. “You are strong, but physical strength alone will not be enough. Your mana must be strong as well.” Kekūhaupi‘o opened a small kapa cloth bag that he wore around his neck and extracted a shark tooth, which had been polished to a high sheen. “Take this to Hilo with you,” he said. “It is from a tiger shark. Wear it when you lift the stone. Your mana will draw strength from it.”

  “Mahalo, Kekū. Is this from the shark that you killed with your own hands?”

  “Yes it is, Kameha.”

  Kamehameha well knew the story of how as a young man, Kekūhaupi‘o had jumped into the sea and slain a tiger shark, the most feared predator of the waters surrounding our islands. “Then your spirit is in this tooth, Kekū. I will wear it and add your mana to mine when I move the stone.” Kameha said. “Together, we cannot fail.”

  The route Nae‘ole and Kameha followed overland to Hilo had taken them over the Big Island’s central massif along a footpath nestled in the saddle between Hawai‘i’s two towering volcanoes: Mauna Loa, the “long mountain;” and Mauna a Wakea, nowadays more commonly called Mauna Kea.

  At this time of year, Mauna a Wakea slept under a white blanket that gleamed in the sunlight. “It is the home of the Wakea, the father of the islands,” Nae‘ole had told Kamehameha when he was younger. “It is holy and thus only the highest-born chiefs may go there.” Nae‘ole had explained to Kameha that Hawai‘i was the oldest child of Wakea and his partner, Papa, and that, as the highest point on t
he island of Hawai‘i, the summit of Mauna a Wakea was the island-child’s navel. Mauna Loa was not sacred and therefore not forbidden to people, said Nae‘ole, but it was a hazardous place because Pele, the fire goddess who lived in Ka‘ū at Kīlauea, sometimes came there.

  Kamehameha devoutly believed in Pele, as he did in all of his people’s myriad gods. “If I am wrong to try to lift the stone,” he had told Nae‘ole at the beginning of their trek to Hilo, “Pele will not permit me to cross the mountain.” Pele had not troubled them during their journey, and now Kameha was brimming with confidence.

  “They are expecting you,” Nae‘ole told Kameha as the two made their way through the rain down the serpentine trail to Hilo. The evening before, while Kameha had made camp in the shelter of a hillside cave, Nae‘ole had gone ahead to the village to announce his protégé’s presence and purpose to the high chief of Hilo, the kāhuna at the heiau, and to the people in general. “The kāhuna will allow you to attempt to lift the stone, but they will be very harsh with you if you fail.”

  Indeed, his failure would signal the priests that Kamehameha’s brash attempt to lift the stone was kapu from the start, and they would be in their rights to exact a swift and severe penalty: strangling in the heiau and sacrifice to the god.

  “I am not concerned about the kāhuna because I will not fail, Nae‘ole.”

  The rain had cleared and the sun was shining through parting clouds by the time Kameha and Nae‘ole entered the village of Hilo. Word of Kamehameha’s impending attempt had preceded him. Villagers thronged both sides of the path. They threw themselves to the ground as Kameha and Nae‘ole approached, as the kapu required, but scrambled to their feet again and followed at a respectful distance after the two had passed. Kameha and Nae‘ole were nearing the Naha Stone when a burly kahuna, a priest from the adjacent temple of Lono, stepped in front of them, blocking their way.

  “Who is this who comes here and what is his purpose?” the kahuna said, addressing his question to Nae‘ole. The priest knew Kamehameha’s identity and intention, but he required a public declaration before he would allow Kameha to pass.

  “This is Kamehameha, son of Keoua, grandson of Kalanike‘eaumoku and great-grandson of the mighty Keawe,” Nae‘ole replied. “He has come to move the Naha Stone.”

  “He is not naha,” the kahuna said. “It is kapu for him to challenge the stone.”

  “No, he is not naha by luck of birth,” Kameha’s kahu confirmed, “but he would prove that his mana is naha by moving the great stone.”

  Now the priest looked directly at Nae‘ole’s protégé. “Boy,” he said, even as he tilted his head back to address Kameha, who towered over him, “do you understand that if you fail to move the Naha Stone, the consequences will be most severe?”

  “Yes,” said Kameha, “but I do not intend fail.”

  “Then see to it that you don’t, boy,” the priest said, and he stepped aside.

  For all his outward confidence, Kamehameha was inwardly shaken as he regarded the Naha Stone for the first time. The great block of stone hulked in front of him, forbidding and ominous. Its pitted surface regarded him with a thousand malevolent eyes. Do you truly believe you can move me, wohi? the stone whispered. Try if you dare, and prepare to die when you fail.

  The Naha Stone was tapered at one end, like the prow of a canoe. Kameha decided that he would mount his assault on the great stone from its narrower end, where it would be easier to grip and easier to move.

  As Kamehameha advanced on the stone, the swelling crowd took his measure. The priest of Lono had called Kameha a “boy,” but the spectators saw an imposing young man with legs thick as koa trunks who stood taller than all the other men present. He wore a simple malo and nothing else, save for the gleaming shark tooth that hung around his neck on a slender cord. Taking care to stay well out of his sight, the people of Hilo formed a wide semi-circle behind Kamehameha as he stood before the Naha Stone, studying it in silence. Muscles rippled across his broad back as he clenched his fists and tensed his shoulders in preparation for the great effort to come. His mouth was set in a deep frown and his eyes seemed to blaze. To the onlookers, it appeared as if Kameha meant to move the stone by staring at it.

  Now Kamehameha squatted in front of the Naha Stone, encircling its tapered end with his arms and tightly gripping his elbows. In his mind he heard Kekūhaupi‘o’s admonition to rely on his legs. He took several deep breaths. Then he pushed upward with both legs. The stone did not move. A murmur arose from the crowd. The priest edged closer.

  Kameha relaxed his legs and wrapped his arms still more tightly around the stone. Again, he breathed deeply. The crowd of onlookers buzzed with anticipation. Then, with a loud grunt, Kamehameha thrust upward once more. The Naha Stone did not move. Out of the corner of his eye, Kameha saw Nae‘ole, a few steps away. “Whatever you do,” Nae‘ole whispered, “do not release your hold on the Naha Stone. The kahuna will interpret that as an admission of failure.” Kamehameha frowned in acknowledgement.

  As he braced himself for a third attempt, the crowd behind him stirred. A second priest was approaching through the villagers, who flung themselves to the earth again. The priest strode to the end of the stone opposite Kamehameha and glared at him. He was slender and tall, and carried a standard bearing the fearsome, carved likeness of Kūkā‘ilimoku, the war god. This priest was the kahuna nui of Keawemauhili, the high chief of Hilo. The villagers were astonished to see the war god, for this was Lono’s time of year, when the heiaus of Kūkā‘ilimoku were closed. Normally, the kāhuna would sequester the god’s fierce idol in his temple during the Makahiki time. But Kamehameha’s challenge to the Naha Stone’s kapu was extraordinary, and the second priest had decided that the god Kūkā‘ilimoku should manifest himself, as further warning of the dire consequences of failure. Now the priest fixed Kamehameha with a hard stare and vigorously shook the god’s standard.

  Kameha met the kahuna’s stare over the top of the Naha Stone. Without taking his eyes off the priest, he changed his grip, grasping the end of the stone in both hands, drawing his arms to his side and locking his elbows. Kamehameha tensed his legs, drew a deep breath, and then, with a sudden exhalation of air, drove upward with all his might. The Naha Stone began to move. Filling his lungs again, Kamehameha battled the stone’s dead weight, thrusting forward and pushing upward. The big muscles of his calves and thighs swelled with exertion. At last, he released the stone and it thumped to the ground.

  The kahuna nui ceased brandishing the god. The common folk behind Kameha prostrated themselves anew. Kamehameha stood over the Naha Stone like a warrior standing over a fallen foe in battle. He was breathing hard and his heart was racing.

  This much of the story seems credible to me. I cannot vouch for what is said to have come next. In this telling, Kamehameha had conquered the stone, but he was not finished with it—not yet.

  Kameha stared at the stone. To those among the onlookers who dared look at his face, Kamehameha’s stare seemed as hard as the Naha Stone itself. He breathed deeply and slowly, willing his heart to slacken its pace. His hands hung loosely at his sides. Kameha stood this way for several minutes—inhaling, exhaling, and never taking his eyes off the massive rock.

  Now Kameha stepped to the Naha Stone once more. He flexed his hands and fingers. Then he stroked the shark’s tooth that hung at his neck. “Your mana and my mana will conquer all, Kekū,” he whispered.

  Squatting again in front of the Naha Stone, so the story goes, Kameha gripped it tightly, drawing his elbows close to his chest and pressing his chin tightly against the stone itself. He filled his lungs to capacity and then emptied them with a loud burst of air. He breathed in and out again. Then Kameha slowly drew one more deep breath and held it. His chest swelled and his face contorted. The crowd held its breath with him.

  Kamehameha locked eyes with the high priest of Hilo over the stone’s length. The kahuna now regarded Kameha with wary respect, and was gripping the standard of Kūkā‘ilimoku
so tightly that the blood had drained from his knuckles.

  “Kū!” Kameha shouted, simultaneously driving his legs upward and thrusting his body forward under the stone as it rose with him. Wedging himself hard against the stone to counter its terrible weight with his whole body, Kameha drew another deep breath. “Kā‘ili!” he cried, pressing forward with his all his might and extending his arms with a sharp up-thrust. The Naha Stone rose again. Kamehameha filled his lungs once more. “Moku!” he shouted, digging his toes into the soil, powering his legs forward and driving his left shoulder into the stone. People say that under the force of Kameha’s final assault, the Naha Stone rose until it was upright, and then toppled over, slamming into the ground and spraying dirt in all directions. They say that the kahuna nui of Hilo leaped out of its way with a surprising nimbleness that denied his many years.

  The two priests now stood shoulder to shoulder, gaping at Kamehameha, whose chest still heaved from his exertions. Then those among the crowd who still dared to look witnessed something remarkable. The two priests dropped to their knees before the young man. This was unheard of; kāhuna never paid obeisance to low-ranking ali‘i such as Kamehameha.

  Kamehameha gestured toward the priests and was about to speak when Nae‘ole stepped to his side. “Do not let mere words spoil the mystery of this moment, Kameha,” he whispered. “Let us go now and leave the talking to the storytellers.”

  Word of Kamehameha’s victory over the Naha Stone preceded him across the mountain to Kawaihae. As Nae‘ole had predicted, the storytellers embellished Kameha’s exploits with their own fabulist inventions. They spoke of a mysterious young man who had appeared out of a mist to challenge the great stone’s dire kapu. They described Kameha as a silent giant—seven feet tall with a massive chest and biceps as thick as a koa trunk. His hands were as broad as canoe paddles and so powerful that Kameha could crack open a coconut by clenching it in one fist. They said that Kameha’s body had glowed as he approached the stone, his bronze skin enveloped in a nimbus of golden light, and his long, black hair sparking in the sun. His eyes gleamed like polished black coral. According to one account, Kameha had flipped the stone end over end in one fluid movement. In another version, he had not only upended the stone, but sent it flying through the air like an ihe spear. In the most fabulous telling, the god Kūkā‘ilimoku himself had invested Kamehameha, lending him his supernatural strength. How else to explain how a mere man could have moved the Naha Stone? In any event, no one any longer referred to Kameha as a “boy.”