Once There Was Fire: A Novel of Old Hawaii

by Stephen Shender

  Kamehameha did not take part in the fighting when it commenced in the morning. At Holo‘ae’s urging, he held all of his Kohala people back—my father included—when the serious fighting began. “The night before the battle, Holo‘ae foretold that the morning’s fighting would not go well for the chiefs of Kona,” my father said. “Holo‘ae told Kameha, ‘Kiwala‘ō and the rainy-side chieftains will prevail while Kāne’s sun still favors Hawai‘i’s wet side. But later in the day, when the god’s sun favors the island’s dry side, the tide of battle will favor you. Therefore, hold yourself and your people in reserve until then.’ Kamehameha readily assented to Holo‘ae’s counsel.”

  Kiwala‘ō and his half-brother Keōua Red Cloak heard similar priestly divinations. “As we later learned, Kiwala‘ō’s kahuna nui warned him that while the battle would go well for his people in the morning, Kamehameha’s people would be victorious if the fighting continued into the afternoon,” said my father. “Kiwala‘ō’s high priest advised him therefore to break off fighting when the sun was still high in the sky—even if his foes were not yet vanquished—and to wait until the next morning to give battle again. Keōua Red Cloak’s priestly adviser likewise foretold that should the fighting continue into the first day’s ‘dust of the evening,’ Kamehameha’s people would triumph.” The two brothers would give the identical prophecies dissimilar credence.

  The Kona chieftains and their people were badly outnumbered the next morning when Kiwala‘ō and his warriors took the field against them amid the jagged ‘a‘ā lava of Moku‘ōhai. Now arrayed against them, in addition to Red Cloak’s people, were Keawema‘uhili and the warriors of the Hilo district; the warriors of the Puna district, who fought under the leadership of their high chief, Ahia; and two other chiefs who had previously supported Kamehameha, but who suddenly changed sides, bringing their fighters with them. “Kameha’s own uncles, Kānekoa of Hāmākua, and his brother, a lesser chief named Kahai, were the traitors,” my father said. “Under Kalani‘ōpu‘u, they had held title to lands on the Hāmākua Coast. Though Kiwala‘ō had left it to his uncle Keawema‘uhili to distribute those lands, he had not yet apportioned them. When they saw how badly outnumbered the Kona and Kohala warriors were, Kānekoa and Kahai were sure Kiwala‘ō’s side would prevail. They deserted Kamehameha to ensure that they would not lose their Hāmākua lands.”

  In the morning, Ke‘eaumoku and Kekūhaupi‘o led the warriors of Kona while Kamehameha kept his men out of the battle. With the treacherous ground preventing the two sides from attacking each other in large formations, ranging bands of warriors engaged in scattered, uncoordinated clashes. In this way, the battle of Moku‘ōhai resembled the clash between the forces of Kalani‘ōpu‘u and Keawe‘ōpala nearly twenty years earlier. Kiwala‘ō, Keawema‘uhili, and Keōua Red Cloak exacted a heavy toll on the Kona warriors, but unable to bring their superior numbers fully to bear on their foes, could not vanquish them during the morning’s fighting.

  Kiwala‘ō’s warriors were merciless. Those enemy fighters whom they did not kill outright they slew later if they found them lying wounded and helpless on the battlefield. Kiwala‘ō had not entered the morning’s fray, keeping to the rear with his personal guard—just as his own father had done during his decisive battle with Keawe‘ōpala. Kiwala‘ō’s people retrieved the bodies of the enemy warriors from the killing ground and delivered them to him. By midday, they had laid out several score corpses before their new mō‘ī. Kiwala‘ō was pleased, but he noted with some asperity that the bodies of Kamehameha and Ke‘eaumoku were not among them. “If they are still at large,” he said, “we have not yet won.”

  “Oh Lord, you now have many foes to sacrifice to the god Kūkā‘ilimoku. It is enough for now,” Kiwala‘ō’s kahuna nui implored. “Remember what is foretold: In the afternoon, the tide of battle will favor your enemy. Retire from fighting this day to give the god his due. Then tomorrow, victory will surely follow.”

  Keawema‘uhili, who, like Kiwala‘ō, had not fought that morning, would hear none of this. “Lord, you are right to say that we will have no peace until Kamehameha and Ke‘eaumoku are dead and sacrificed to the god,” he told his nephew, the mō‘ī. “Our warriors punished their people severely this morning. They cannot have much fight left in them. We must not let them recover. Let us yet carry the fight to them this afternoon, when Kāne’s hot sun beats hard upon the rocks and assaults their worn and weary bodies, and slay them—every one of them.” The kahuna nui frowned at Keawema‘uhili’s words.

  When Kiwala‘ō heard the urging of his uncle he feared to accept his priest’s counsel, lest he appear weak in the eyes of his own brother and the rest of his people. “Very well then, Uncle,” he said. “We will continue, and I will lead our men to victory.”

  If Kiwala‘ō had no thoughts of defeat at this time, Red Cloak, who witnessed this exchange between the priest, his uncle, and his brother, thought otherwise. “Keōua Kuahu’ula commanded some of his men to take canoes and maintain them offshore at Moku‘ōhai,” my father said. “He gave more weight than his elder brother to the priest’s warning and he wanted to leave nothing to chance.” Keōua Red Cloak ordered his mother to wait offshore, and Pauli as well. When Pauli objected, he said, “I am sorry, but you are still too young to fight, especially against your own father.”

  Neither Kiwala‘ō nor Keawema‘uhili had fought that morning, and neither had yet spoken directly with the commanders who had. Thus, they did not know that Kamehameha had held his own people in reserve. Nor did they know that a new ally had joined him: Keawema‘uhili’s own son, Keaweokahikona.

  Keaweokahikona was indebted to Kamehameha for saving his life years earlier on Maui. After he learned that his father intended to deny Kamehameha any portion of the new land distribution beyond Kohala, Keaweokahikona had taken a canoe and slipped away from Hōnaunau with one of his men. Finding Kamehameha at Ka‘awaloa the evening before the skirmishing began at Moku‘ōhai, Keaweokahikona said to him: “You risked your life to save mine on Maui. You are therefore like a brother to me. My father would treat you unjustly with regard to the lands and I cannot stand with him in this matter. If you must fight, I will fight with you.”

  Upon hearing this declaration, Kameha was nearly overcome with emotion and he enfolded Keaweokahikona in his arms. “Indeed, you a true brother to me,” he cried. Keaweokahikona hugged Kamehameha in turn and the two chieftains wailed together. Then Keaweokahikona and his man returned to Hōnaunau.

  “Keaweokahikona did not want to be missed by his father’s people,” my father said. “He planned to bring his people to Kamehameha’s side later, amid the confusion of battle.”

  Ke‘eaumoku, always an exuberant warrior, did not want to be overlooked by friend or foe in battle. At Moku‘ōhai, he wore a vivid red malo, his yellow-and-red-feather cloak, and helmet. Around his neck, on a braided cord fashioned from his own hair, he wore a lei niho palaoa, a polished sperm whale tooth that glinted in the sunlight.

  A lei niho palaoa was a prized possession among our nobles in those days. Our people did not hunt whales then, but they sometimes washed up on our shores. They were considered the property of the mō‘ī and were kapu for everyone else. Only the king could take and cook their flesh. Only the mō‘ī could distribute the seared whale meat among the people. And unless he chose to share them, only the king could possess the ornaments that our skilled artisans would fashion from a beached whale’s teeth and bones. Accordingly, only a few ali‘i of lower rank ever came to possess such ornaments.

  My father said that Ke‘eaumoku’s lei niho palaoa was handed down to him by his father, who had received it from his own father, who in turn had received it from the hands of Keawe the Great himself. This particular lei niho palaoa was thus valued over all others extant on the Big Island at that time, and there was no ali‘i who did not envy Ke‘eaumoku for his possession of it. In combat, Ke‘eaumoku’s polished whale tooth often drew foes who hoped to slay him just to possess it themsel
ves.

  At Moku‘ōhai, the gleam of Ke‘eaumoku’s whale tooth in the mid-afternoon sun caught the eye of Ahia, the high chief of Puna. Ahia was a large man, broad of shoulders and body, who could run faster than many warriors half his age and hurl a long pololū spear with such force that it would often pierce a foe through, impaling him to the ground as he fell.

  When he saw Ke‘eaumoku standing opposite him on the battlefield, Ahia hurled his spear at the Kona chieftain. Then, with the spear still in flight, he charged. Ke‘eaumoku had just barely evaded the spear before the onrushing Ahia was upon him, thrusting at his midsection with a koa-wood dagger and reaching for the coveted whale tooth with his other hand. As Ahia stabbed at him, Ke‘eaumoku brought his left forearm down hard on Ahia’s right forearm, knocking the dagger from his grip. Shouting with pain, Ahia reached for Ke‘eaumoku’s throat. Ke‘eaumoku was armed with a lei o manō, a shark-tooth slashing club. He struck Ahia in the forehead with the club’s blunt handle, momentarily stunning him. Then he shoved Ahia’s head down and wrapped his own powerful legs around Ahia’s neck and squeezed them tight in an effort to strangle him. But the bigger man would not be subdued and with a howl he surged erect. He was unable to shake off Ke‘eaumoku, who now hung over Ahia’s shoulders with his face pressed into the larger man’s back and his arms dangling below.

  Ke‘eaumoku still held his lei o manō and he slashed upward between Ahia’s legs with the weapon. The club’s sharp teeth bit into Ahia’s thigh, but fell short of their intended target. Cursing more in anger than pain, Ahia wrenched Ke‘eaumoku’s legs from his neck and tossed the Kona chieftain onto the sharp lava rocks, which chewed into his back and knocked the air from his lungs. Retrieving his dagger, Ahia whirled on Ke‘eaumoku and was about to strike when Kamehameha, Kekūhaupi‘o, my father, and Mulihele came upon them.

  Kameha and Kekūhaupi‘o carried basalt-tipped war clubs. “Stay here, brother,” Kamehameha shouted to my father. “Watch, and learn.”

  “Kameha’s shout alerted Ahia and he turned to face my brother and Kekūhaupi‘o as they ran toward him,” my father said. Forewarned, Ahia knocked the smaller Kekūhaupi‘o aside with one sweep of an arm and spun around to confront Kamehameha. Kameha raised his war club as if to strike, and when Ahia moved to block the expected blow, Kameha ducked under Ahia’s raised arm and drove the stone head of his war club into his foe’s stomach. Ahia grunted but was still able to reach down and grasp Kamehameha’s head about the ears, intent on breaking his neck.

  Now Kekūhaupi‘o leaped upon Ahia’s back and grabbed the Puna chieftain’s head in his own hands and abruptly twisted. “I heard the crack of breaking bones from where I stood,” my father said. Ahia’s hands fell from Kamehameha’s ears and he slumped inert over Kameha’s back.

  Kamehameha struggled to his feet, casting off Ahia’s dead weight with some difficulty. “Just now, brother, I could have made good use of a mūk‘e,” Kameha said.

  As they stood over Ahia’s broken body, the group heard shouts and screams coming from the direction of the sea. “Look!” exclaimed Kekūhaupi‘o. “Keaweokahikona and his people have arrived!”

  Kekūhaupi‘o, Kamehameha, Mulihele, and my father took off at a run. Still shaken by his struggle with Ahia, Ke‘eaumoku was slow to regain his feet. Before he could catch up to his comrades, he was overtaken by one of Kiwala‘ō’s roving warrior bands led by Kānekoa and Kahai, the same chieftains who had deserted Kamehameha’s cause. Their spears fell round Ke’eaumoku like rain. He managed to evade nearly all of these missiles, dodging some and batting others aside with a spear he retrieved from the ground, all the while holding fast to his lei o manō with his other hand. But the Kona chieftain could not avoid every spear and one found its mark, striking him in his side. Still tightly gripping his lei o manō, he slumped to the ground, striking the back of his head on the cruel points of the ‘a‘ā lava. Ke‘eaumoku groaned and closed his eyes, still clutching his shark-tooth weapon.

  Kiwala‘ō was ranging the battlefield at Moku‘ōhai with a small complement of personal guards, moving from one band of warriors to the next and urging them on, while avoiding the fighting himself. When he saw that Keaweokahikona and his Hilo warriors had suddenly changed sides, he began moving toward that skirmish to exhort his people to stand firm against the sudden traitors. As Kiwala‘ō started in that direction, he heard the exultant shouts of Kānekoa, Kahai, and their warriors: “Ke‘eaumoku is slain! Ke‘eaumoku is slain!” The mō‘ī abruptly changed course, his guards following close behind him.

  Kiwala‘ō found Ke‘eaumoku supine upon the ground, his eyes shut, his body motionless. Kānekoa, Kahai, and two warriors stood over Ke‘eaumoku’s body, their spears raised, ready to plunge them into his bared torso and neck, if only for good measure. Kiwala‘ō’s eyes were drawn to Ke‘eaumoku’s whale-tooth ornament, still fastened around his neck and resting at his throat. “Stop! Stop!” he shouted to the men as he ran toward them. “Do not strike, lest you defile the lei niho palaoa with a dead man’s blood!” The two chieftains and their warriors stepped back to make room for their mō‘ī.

  Kiwala‘ō knelt, bent low over Ke‘eaumoku’s inert form, and reached for the polished whale tooth. He had just grasped the braided hair necklace that held the whale tooth and was trying to pull it over Ke‘eaumoku’s head when a rock struck him hard in the forehead. Kiwala‘ō toppled over and lay dazed next to the fallen Kona chieftain.

  M y father threw the rock.

  “I was following Mulihele, Kamehameha, and Kekūhaupi‘o and had fallen a few paces behind them when I realized that Ke‘eaumoku was not with us,” he said. “Then I heard shouting whence we had just come. I looked that way and saw that Ke‘eaumoku was down.” With no thought for his own safety, my father ran back. “As I drew nearer, I saw that Kiwala‘ō and his guards were also running toward Ke‘eaumoku. Neither they nor the other warriors paid any attention to me.

  “I heard Kiwala‘ō shout something and saw the other warriors around Ke‘eaumoku draw back. Then Kiwala‘ō knelt over Ke‘eaumoku and reached for his neck. I thought he meant to strangle him while he lay there as helpless as a newborn. I had no spear, only a dagger of haole ailon‘e. I saw a loose, ‘a‘ā rock, and I picked it up and threw it as hard as I could. It was a fortunate throw, for it struck Kiwala‘ō and he fell before he could do further harm to Ke‘eaumoku, who looked to be near death.”

  Ke‘eaumoku was not near death. Though grievously injured, he was only dazed. When Kiwala‘ō fell, his own people turned to see who had thrown the rock. They did not see Ke‘eaumoku tighten his grip on his lei o manō. They did not hear his soft groan as he rolled toward Kiwala‘ō’s unconscious form. They did not see him slash his lei o manō across Kiwala‘ō’s neck, nor did they see its shark teeth bite deep into their mō‘ī’s exposed throat. They only turned back to look when they heard the sound of Kiwala‘ō’s unnatural gurgling, as he choked on the lifeblood that was now spurting from his mangled neck. And before they could truly comprehend what was happening, the new mō‘ī of the Big Island was dead.

  “Kiwala‘ō is dead! Kiwala‘ō is dead! Ke‘eaumoku has slain Kiwala‘ō!” Commencing with the stunned warriors who now stood frozen in place, staring at their mō‘ī’s still-bleeding body, the wails of Kiwala‘ō’s people spread across the battlefield at Moku‘ōhai. Their lamentations and exclamations propagated like the expanding ripples from a stone cast into a fishpond. Disbelief came first, followed by grief, and then confusion, and finally, panic.

  Kekūhaupi‘o’s prediction that Moku‘ōhai’s unforgiving ground would rob Kiwala‘ō’s people of their numerical advantage was now confirmed several times over. With their warriors divided into widely separated bands of skirmishers, Kiwala‘ō’s allies could neither easily communicate nor coordinate a response to such a calamity. Moreover, because Kiwala‘ō’s people were not fighting in formation, there was no single point on the disorganized battlefield from which his presumed successor, Keōua Kuahu�
��ula, could rally them. In any case, by the time Red Cloak learned of Kiwala‘ō’s death, the mō‘ī’s warriors were already in retreat. With Kiwala‘ō dead, like the warriors of the slain Keawe‘ōpala so many years before, they had no reason to continue fighting. Red Cloak joined the retreat, leading his own warriors to the canoe fleet that awaited them just offshore. Before any of the Kona chiefs could move to stop them, they waded through the surf, swam to their canoes, and made all haste for Ka‘ū.

  Kamehameha was distraught when he first learned of Kiwala‘ō’s death. He wailed with grief for his cousin. “Kameha did not intend for Kiwala‘ō to die,” my father recalled. “He merely wished to compel him to grant the Kona lands to him and his allies, or so he said.”

  When Kamehameha learned how Kiwala‘ō had died, he wailed again, this time with relief that his ally, Ke‘eaumoku, though seriously wounded, still lived. And when Kamehameha learned that my father had saved Ke‘eaumoku’s life by felling Kiwala‘ō with a rock, he grasped both of his shoulders tightly and said, “Kalani, you were very bold to attack Kiwala‘ō and his people by yourself. Ke‘eaumoku would not be alive but for your bravery.”

  After the deaths of Ahia and Kiwala‘ō and the withdrawal of Keōua Red Cloak and his people to Ka‘ū, confusion ruled the chieftains and warriors of Puna, Hilo, and Hāmākua. Leaderless rank-and-file soldiers fled the battlefield, unwilling to hazard their lives for a lost cause. With precious few fighters left to command, any chieftains who had failed to decamp with their own men were soon subdued by their foes.