Once There Was Fire: A Novel of Old Hawaii

by Stephen Shender

  “It will be more difficult now, with Kamehameha at Hōnaunau,” Lilihae said, “but he will not elude me this time.”

  “I do not care about Kamehameha,” Ka‘akau replied. “It is Kalani‘ōpu‘u whom I want you to slay.”

  Lilihae’s rheumy eyes widened and he gasped. “That will require very powerful magic, more costly magic,” he said. “And I must get very close; it will be dangerous.”

  “Do it, old one, and you will have the Lapakahi tribute for two Makahiki times.”

  “I will do it,” he said, “but I will need assistance.”

  Ka‘akau clapped his hands. “Maile, come here,” he called.

  “Kalani! Come quickly!” Puna exclaimed. “Ke‘eaumoku has come with many warriors, and Kamehameha is with him!”

  Kalani‘ōpu‘u rose from the mat where he had been resting in the heat of the late afternoon. Laughing, he reached up and clapped Puna on the shoulder. “Kamehameha too? Well, it is about time my nephew decided to come join me!”

  Joined by Holo‘ae, who had journeyed with them from Ka‘ū, Kalani‘ōpu‘u and Puna made their way across the royal compound, past the ponds stocked with fish for easy capture by the ali‘i, and through a gap in the lava-stone wall that separated the compound from the place of refuge. A multitude of Kalani‘ōpu‘u’s fighters were gathered on the broad bench of smooth pahoehoe lava that fronted the sea, cheering and shouting greetings to Ke‘eaumoku and his people as their canoes neared the beach.

  My father was one of the many people who had rushed to the pu‘uhonua when the first canoes had arrived and Ke‘eaumoku, his brother, Kame‘iamoku, Kamehameha, and Kekūhaupi‘o stepped ashore. Breaking from the crowd, my father ran to Kameha, who threw his arms around him. “Little brother,” he wailed, enveloping my father in a fierce hug, “it is so good to see you again.”

  Now Kalani‘ōpu‘u, Puna, and Holo‘ae made their way through the throng as Kalani‘ōpu‘u’s men opened a path for them. Holo‘ae and his nephew, Kekūhaupi‘o, clasped arms, hugged, and laughed. Kalani‘ōpu‘u warmly embraced Kamehameha and then Ke‘eaumoku and Kame‘iamoku. Turning to his kahu, he asked, “What do you say now Puna? Do we have warriors enough for a fight?”

  “Yes, Lord,” Puna replied.

  “Good,” Kalani‘ōpu‘u said. “Then there is no cause for further delay. Let us go find Keawe‘ōpala and finish with him.”

  “You will not have to go far to find him,” Ke‘eaumoku replied. “Keawe‘ōpala is already at Ke‘ei.”

  Having shed their malos at Ke‘ei, Kamehameha and Kekūhaupi‘o were still naked when they came ashore at Hōnaunau. In the exhilaration of their escape, it hadn’t occurred to them to cover themselves again before they reached the place of refuge. As I have said, it was customary for our people—even women—to swim nude in those days. Thus, no one had remarked on their nakedness aboard the canoe or as they stood amid the crowd of cheering, laughing men on the lava shelf. So now, forgetful of their unclothed state, Kameha and his kahu strode through the opening in the lava wall to the adjacent royal compound. Abruptly, Kamehameha, who had been jesting and laughing with my father, stepped behind him. His eyes had met Kaneikapolei’s, and she was most certainly mindful of his nakedness.

  “Kaneikapolei was smiling at him,” my father recalled. “Kameha gripped my shoulder very hard and ordered me to keep in front of him. Kalani‘ōpu‘u saw this and made fun of him.”

  “Why are you so shy about your manhood, nephew?” Kalani‘ōpu‘u laughed. “You have nothing that wahine hasn’t seen before.”

  Though this was true, Kalani‘ōpu‘u’s jest in front of so many others made Kamehameha, already flushed with embarrassment, turn redder still. He averted his eyes from Kaneikapolei, as if he could lessen his own mortification by not acknowledging her. As for Kaneikapolei, my father said, “Her eyes never left my brother.” And when Kameha at last dared to meet her steady, unabashed gaze again, he saw his infant son, Pauli, suckling at her engorged breast.

  Kamehameha’s feelings toward Pauli were ambivalent. He was proud to have fathered a child, but he had never regarded the infant as his own. When Kaneikapolei offered the baby to Kameha later that day, he drew back. “Don’t you want to hold your son?” she asked.

  “He is Kalani‘ōpu‘u’s son now,” Kamehameha replied. Then, seeing that Kaneikapolei was dismayed, he relented and gingerly took the baby from her. Sensing perhaps that this big stranger was reluctant to hold him, Pauli began to bawl. Kameha thrust him back into his mother’s arms. “See, the boy does not like me,” he protested.

  “He does not yet know you, Kameha,” Kaneikapolei said. “When he comes to know you, he will like you well enough.” Her words would prove true, but it would be many years before he came to know his true father.

  Kamehameha and Kaneikapolei wasted no time renewing their knowledge of each other. Kiwala‘ō’s mother Kalola had also accompanied Kalani‘ōpu‘u to Hōnaunau, and she looked after Pauli in Kaneikapolei’s absence. Kalani‘ōpu‘u, who spent that night with Kalola, greeted Kamehameha with a broad smile the next day. “I trust you slept well last night, nephew,” he said. Kameha had slept very well that night and would sleep equally well on several more nights to follow. Kalani‘ōpu‘u paid it no mind.

  For Kamehameha and my father, those days at Hōnaunau, just before Kalani‘ōpu‘u’s battle with Keawe‘ōpala, were carefree. As happy as they were, though, Kiwala‘ō was dour. He was not enthusiastic about seeing his cousin Kameha. “Kiwala‘ō was always very quiet around Kameha then—almost sullen,” my father recalled. “It may be that he was jealous of all the attention Kameha received from Kalani‘ōpu‘u.” Kamehameha also received much attention from Kalola. Although she was no longer amorous for Kameha, she felt a fondness for him that would last the balance of her life. It was a fondness that was much different from that of a mother toward a son, one that her own son Kiwala‘ō would never experience. And perhaps this, too, embittered him toward Kamehameha. He sulked and kept his distance.

  Kaneikapolei’s young sons, Keōua Kū‘ahu‘ula and Keōuape‘e‘ale, on the other hand, followed Kameha everywhere. He towered over all of his contemporaries, including their own father, a great chieftain. In their eyes, Kameha was a giant and they were awestruck. Their attention amused Kamehameha and he would occasionally pick up one or the other brother and toss him into the air, to great shrieks of delight.

  This time at Hōnaunau was largely given over to martial sports and feasting. There were wrestling and spear catching contests every day. These games enabled the warriors to sharpen their skills and provided an outlet for the tension that was building steadily in anticipation of the big fight to come. At Kekūhaupi‘o’s instruction, Kamehameha was always careful to ensure that he never drew Kiwala‘ō as his opponent. “It would not do well to embarrass him,” Kekūhaupi‘o said.

  The nightly luaus were lavish. Kalani‘ōpu‘u and Ke‘eaumoku dispatched their warriors to nearby villages to gather provisions from the commoners: fresh fish, pigs, taro for poi, coconuts, sweet potatoes, and yams. Keawe‘ōpala’s people were doing likewise at Ke‘ei, demanding tribute from villages as far away as Keauhou, well back up the coast. With thousands of warriors to feed in both camps, there was little left over for ordinary folk. All around, the common people only wished for the day when the two opposing armies would have their battle and the warriors would go away and leave them alone. The outcome of the impending conflict was immaterial to them.

  Food preparation for so many warriors consumed the efforts of several scores of men for much of the day. It was into this group that the old sorcerer Lilihae and the young novice kahuna Maile inserted themselves. Lilihae and Maile had stolen into the outskirts of Kalani‘ōpu‘u’s encampment in the depths of night. Bedding down among a group of men who were sound asleep on mats in the open air, they arose in the morning as if they belonged there. Some warriors were still trickling in from Ka‘ū at this time and thus their arrival aroused no suspicions. Li
lihae had been counting on this. “If we are asked, we can say that we only lately learned of Kalani‘ōpu‘u’s intention to give battle,” he had told Maile as they set out from Ke‘ei. “And that we have just come from the Puna district. No one will challenge us, because no one at Hōnaunau has seen us before.”

  Despite his confidence that he was unknown to Kalani‘ōpu‘u’s people, Lilihae did not want to be seen in close proximity to the high chief of Ka‘ū. His fearsome reputation as a sorcerer depended on people believing that he could cast his deadly spells from a distance. It would not do for anyone to know that he required direct access to his victims for his spells to work. Nor could he allow anyone to suspect that poison, rather than magic, was the agent of his sorcery. He needed Maile’s help to poison Kalani‘ōpu‘u, yet he could not reveal the truth of his dark art to his helper. So he dissembled.

  “Kalani‘ōpu‘u is a powerful high chief,” he explained, as they made their way toward Hōnaunau. “Only an extraordinarily powerful spell can overcome him—an eating spell.” Lilihae told Maile that he would cast this spell over a bowl of poi that he himself would prepare. “You will carry this bowl to Kalani‘ōpu‘u’s luau and place it where he is sure to eat from it,” he said. “You must watch to make sure that he eats this poi.”

  “What if someone else eats it?” Maile asked.

  “It is not important,” Lilihae lied. “The spell will only affect Kalani‘ōpu‘u.”

  After sending Maile off to mingle with the food preparers, with instructions to “learn where Kalani‘ōpu‘u will feast tonight,” Lilihae made his preparations. He ascended into the hills above Hōnaunau and gathered some small apples from a noho-malie—yellow oleander—tree that he found growing there. The fruit of this tree, as well as any part of it, is deadly poisonous. With a rounded stone, Lilihae mashed the oleander fruit into a paste, mixing in bits of shaved coconut meat to cover its sour taste. Before returning to Hōnaunau, he wrapped this mixture in ti leaves he had earlier gathered for this purpose.

  Upon his return, Lilihae found Maile among the food preparers, pounding steamed taro stems into poi for the evening’s feast. Squatting next to his young assistant, the old kahuna ho‘onuana reached across him to scoop up a handful of cut, peeled stems, intentionally knocking over a hollowed-out calabash full of water with the back of his arm. “Go fetch some more water,” Lilihae ordered. Maile hurried away with the bowl. Lilihae watched the other men, who were vigorously pounding taro into thick paste and regaling each other with lewd jokes. They were paying no attention to him. He reached under his malo for the ti leaf bundle, unwrapped it, and mixed the oleander paste into his pile of taro stems. He commenced pounding the stems just as Maile returned with the bowl of water.

  “Here, take this,” he said to Maile, handing him the blunt pounding stone. “You are younger and stronger and it will go faster if you do it. When you have finished, bring the poi to me. I will be resting in the shade there.” Lilihae gestured at a grove of palm trees some forty or fifty yards distant. He rose slowly to his feet and walked away.

  “This work is too much for that old one,” one of the other men said as he watched Lilihae go.

  “But he will surely come back when it is time to eat,” said another. The men laughed and resumed their work. Maile said nothing.

  His chest heaving, Maile stumbled through the moonless night. Kalani‘ōpu‘u’s people were steadily closing on him, their shouts growing louder by the minute. Maile’s pursuers had spread out in a ragged line marked by the streaming light of their torches and the wavering shadows preceding them among the low shrubs growing here and there amid the broken lava stones. There was nowhere to hide. He had to keep going. Short of reaching Ke‘ei and Keawe‘ōpala’s people before he was overtaken, there would be no sanctuary for Maile.

  Nothing had gone as expected after Maile carried Lilihae’s bowl of be-witched poi into the courtyard of Kalani‘ōpu‘u’s hale at Hōnaunau. While Lilihae hid himself in the shadows on the outskirts of the royal compound, Maile entered with the other young ali‘i food bearers and set the bowl of poi before the high chief of Ka‘ū.

  Holo‘ae was engrossed in conversation with his nephew Kekūhaupi‘o and thus had not noticed Maile when he knelt to place the bowl of poi before Kalani‘ōpu‘u. Nor, intent as he was on setting the bowl down just where Kalani‘ōpu‘u was sure to reach for it, had Maile noticed the kahuna. But now, as he watched from the edge of the courtyard, his eyes met the priest’s. For an instant, Maile froze in disbelief. He had believed Holo‘ae to be dead. Now he saw the kahuna staring at him across the courtyard. The priest’s eyes were deep shadows and unreadable in the uneven light of the kukui-oil lamps. Maile lowered his eyes and turned away, but it was too late.

  “You! Maile!” Holo‘ae called out sharply. “Come here!”

  Kalani‘ōpu‘u, who was about to dip his fingers in the bowl of poi, looked up. His hand paused in midair and then fell to his side again. “Who is that, Holo‘ae?” he asked.

  “That is Maile, Ka‘akau’s spy,” he spat. “He can be up to no good here.” As Holo‘ae spoke, Maile edged into the shadows beyond the reach of the oil lamps’ illumination. “See, he is already trying to flee!” the kahuna exclaimed.

  Kalani‘ōpu‘u gestured to several young warriors nearby. “See that one there,” he said, pointing at Maile’s receding, now-shadowy form. “Bring him to me at once.” The young men jumped to their feet and ran after Maile, picking up and lighting kukui-oil torches as they went.

  Kamehameha, who was sitting nearby, leaped to his feet. “I will catch him myself!” he declared. He ran after the warriors into the darkness. My father and Kiwala‘ō raced after him.

  Old Nae‘ole was baffled by the sudden commotion. He turned to Kekūhaupi‘o. “What is this foot race in the middle of a feast?” he asked.

  “They are chasing Ka‘akau’s spy,” Kekūhaupi‘o said.

  “Kalani‘ōpu‘u is here. He has come to fight,” said Nae‘ole. “What does Ka‘akau expect to learn from his spy that he does not already know?”

  “We will have the answer to that question when they catch him,” said Kekūhaupi‘o. “I do not think we will have to wait long.”

  “No doubt you are right,” Nae‘ole said. “In the meantime, would you please pass that bowl of poi to me?”

  It was Kamehameha who caught Maile. Overtaking the other pursuers, and bursting through their ranks, he hurled himself at Maile’s back and brought him down with such breath-expelling force that Maile could not even cry out.

  Kamehameha sat on the prostrate fugitive to restrain him until the others caught up. Then he grabbed Maile under one armpit and hauled him roughly to his feet. “What are you doing here?” he demanded. Still gasping for breath, Maile looked up at him and said nothing. But his eyes, wide with fear, spoke volumes. “Never mind,” Kameha said. “You can come with us and explain yourself.”

  “Who sent you and why?” Kalani‘ōpu‘u roared at Maile, who lay prone and quivering in the sandy soil where Kamehameha had thrown him. The high chief of Ka‘ū, who had risen from his place at the feasting mat, now stood over Maile, brandishing a heavy war club. “Answer me or you’ll answer to this club and your body will be sacrificed this same night to Kūkā‘ilimoku!”

  Maile raised his head to look up at Kalani‘ōpu‘u. His face was covered with dirty smudges and streaked by his copious tears. “Ka‘akau sent me,” he blubbered.

  “To what end?” thundered Kalani‘ōpu‘u. He shoved the butt end of his club under Maile’s jaw and jerked his head up. “Speak!”

  “To…slay…you,” Maile gasped.

  “You? You are nothing!” Kalani‘ōpu‘u sneered. “Ka‘akau sent you to slay me? Tell me the whole truth and perhaps you shall yet survive this night.”

  “I came with another,” Maile said. “A powerful kahuna ho‘onuana. He cast a spell to cause you to sicken and die.”

  “But what kind of spell was this? I am not in the least sick,
and I am certainly not dying,” Kalani‘ōpu‘u rejoined.

  “It was a food spell. The kahuna cast a spell over a bowl of poi. I carried it to the feast for him.”

  “Poi?” Kalani‘ōpu‘u was incredulous. “Where is this bowl of poi?”

  Before Maile could answer, there came a loud groan from behind the high chief. Nae‘ole was slumped over and shaking violently. Thick spittle had formed on his lips. He was clutching his stomach with sticky hands. The sweetened poi had been tasty, and while the chase after Maile was on, Nae‘ole had consumed it with gusto.

  Kamehameha had been standing next to Kalani‘ōpu‘u. Upon seeing his first kahu in agony, he rushed to the old man’s side, gathered him into his lap, and cried, “Nae‘ole! Nae‘ole! What is wrong?”

  Nae‘ole did not reply; he only looked up at Kamehameha through glazed eyes. His breathing was fast and shallow; his face was gray. His whole body continued to quiver. Kamehameha enfolded his beloved kahu more tightly in his arms and pulled him closer. My father watched in horror as the old man—whom he loved no less than Kamehameha himself—died in his older brother’s arms.

  For a short time, Kamehameha and my father sat there in stunned silence. Then they began to wail. Others soon joined them in loud lamentations and a cacophony of grief enveloped the once-joyous luau.

  Kalani‘ōpu‘u was not to be diverted. Yanking Maile to his feet and digging his fingers into the young man’s throat, he hissed, “Do you know where this kahuna ho‘onuana is now?”

  “Yes, my lord,” Maile croaked.

  “Then take us to him,” snarled Kalani‘ōpu‘u.

  Resting on a kapa mat in the darkness well away from the feast, Lilihae heard the great commotion and clenched his fist, confident that his “sorcery” had achieved its end. Thus, as Maile approached, he was certain that his young assistant was coming to confirm what his ears had already surmised. Then he made out the shadowy forms of the other men following Maile, and his mood turned to dismay. Lilihae struggled to his feet and tried to flee, but a powerful blow knocked him to the ground. A heavy foot landed in the middle of his back. Yet even now, the old kahuna ho‘onuana clung to his arrogance.