by Matt Larkin
“Mother!” Namaka shouted and embraced her before the woman had been able to fully rise.
Her mother hugged her back, but it was too brief. She pushed her away and held her by the arms, looking her up and down. Though she tried to hide the pain in her eyes, it was there. Yes, it was tabu for them to be too close. Kapu had so many tabus for a Princess. This woman, Haumea, may have given birth to Namaka, but once Namaka had been named a Princess they were forever separated. A duty, a destiny beyond mortals, rested on Namaka’s shoulders. And it had probably broken her parents’ hearts. Her father often avoided her entirely. She had wept so many nights because of it, wept into Kam’s shoulder while the wereboar was uncharacteristically silent.
Kamapua’a knew, understood her pain better than anyone. His own father had not been able to deal with the spirit inside him and so, when Uncle Kamalo had been passing through the Gathering Isle in his travels, the man had given over his son to the care of a kahuna. According to Kam, his mother was a Princess. A child born to anyone else, any other union, was a cause for celebration throughout the village. A child born to a Princess was immediately offered up in sacrifice to the gods. Most Princesses thus tried hard to avoid becoming pregnant. If Namaka were to ever hold her own baby in her arms, it would be for a mere instant before her father or a kahuna would take it and offer it to Kū.
Since the wereboar made up stories to keep himself entertained, Namaka had her doubts about his real parentage.
“Go on,” her mother said. “You’re not here to see me today, are you?” She winked at Namaka then, as if to say whatever society called tabu was the surface, and beneath that surface swam deeper feelings than could ever be truly forgotten. As if to say Namaka was still needed, still wanted, still loved. And that sentiment was what kept her going. She might not be able to violate tabus, but damn her if she wasn’t going to get something out of life in spite of them.
“Mahalo. You’re the best, Mother.”
Namaka hurried beyond the village and down to the rocky shore. The sun was already beginning to set and with a shout, the canoe races began. The boys would skirt the island, past the village and the rocks where she and countless other spectators waited. The race was half a league today. Not so far—more a test of speed than endurance.
A hundred or so men and women stood there watching, as well as numerous children and their dogs. They cheered for the racers, enthused as always at any contest.
Uncle Kamalo, the village’s kahuna, was there, as was her father, dressed in his feather cloak. It had been handed down from his father and grandfather, each adding more feathers with every passing year. Only a few feathers were ever taken from each bird—which must then be released back into the wild—so that the cloak would be made from the feathers of a hundred or more birds. And if her father, Ku-Waha-Ilo, had had a son, that cloak would have passed on to him. Maybe, even, it would have come to Namaka, had she remained the chief’s child. Instead, all he offered her now was a nod. Her sole inheritance.
Namaka returned it, then squinted against the sunset at the canoe races. There had to be a dozen of them. A dozen boys racing for a chance to be her mate.
“Bet you Hau-Pu is in the lead,” Kamapua’a said.
Namaka tried not to smile. Hau-Pu was a few years older than her and already one of Hamoa’s finest hunters and warriors. Muscular, tall, and with a tasty bit of mischief in his eyes. He’d been after her for almost a year—Moela had been a gift from him. It would not at all surprise her if he was in the lead. He was probably the one she’d choose. He would make a fine apprentice to Uncle Kamalo.
“Thinking about riding his canoe?” Kamapua’a asked.
Namaka huffed. “Kāne, Pigman! Not everything is about sex.”
“Uh, of course not. There’s also food, fun, and adventure. Besides, I was talking about his stupid boat.”
“Were not.”
“Yeah, well, neither is he. I mean thinking. He’s thinking it—look how he’s thrusting his canoe forward, ahead of all the others—”
Namaka followed Kam’s eyes to the horizon, beyond the canoes. A vessel was cast in silhouette against the sunset, larger than any Namaka had ever seen, like a whale drifting along the surface of the sea.
This ship was like nothing in Sawaiki.
And it was headed for her village.
As the ship turned along the shore, its bow revealed a face, carved like a massive ki’i mask watching them. Judging them. Namaka stood enraptured by the enigmatic vessel, dimly aware of Uncle Kamalo moving up to stand beside her.
“The mask of Lono,” the kahuna said. His voice sounded hollow, full of none of its usual mirth.
A chill settled over Namaka. Now that he mentioned it, the mask did look like the agricultural god. Down in the temple, all the gods had their own ki’i masks, and Namaka had been required to learn them all.
“Are there men on that thing?” she asked.
“Human emissaries of the gods, I imagine,” Kamalo said.
His words set her skin tingling, her soul calling to the sea. A sudden, violent wave shook the foreign ship then surged farther up the beach than any should have.
Her uncle cuffed her on the shoulder. “Control yourself, girl.”
Namaka bit her lip. She was probably lucky Mo-O hadn’t seen her little display. Every time she got excited or scared it was like the sea answered her, tried to come to her, comfort her. Except it wasn’t a comfort when she couldn’t control it. Power wasn’t the problem. Her emotions, and the chaos they created with her Gift, those were the problem. It could be worse, she supposed. According to her uncle, a number of Flame Princesses has destroyed themselves in volcanic eruptions. The last Sea Princess had wiped out a dozen villages along the shore on a bad day.
The mental image forced her to shut her eyes and clench her teeth. If she let herself get caught up in the fear, it would consume her, and worse, she’d probably take everyone she loved with her. Mo-O had been right to force her to live away from the sea. Her duty was to protect people.
When she opened her eyes, her father was walking down the beach, toward where the sailors had lowered a smaller boat that looked like an outrigger canoe, only larger. His feather cloak trailed behind him, glorious. He stopped at a location off to the side, ensuring his shadow would not accidentally fall upon the approaching emissaries.
Namaka scrambled after her father, keeping a safe distance behind as the foreign canoe pulled up on the shore. A half dozen men and one woman stood in it, their skins an odd, whitish pink. The lead man jumped from the canoe and walked toward her father. The setting sun behind his back made it hard to see his features clearly, but … yes. His hair was as golden as the sun itself. He too was pale, like a man born from clouds. He wore strange clothes, heavy layers that would have left her sweating buckets.
“Aloha,” her father said and held up a welcoming hand. “I am Chief Ku-Waha-Ilo.”
The strange man strode forward and bent at the waist, keeping his eyes on her father, and on her. Kāne, his eyes were blue as the sea! Despite his pale color, he was muscular like a warrior. Her uncle had been wrong, this wasn’t a mere emissary of Lono. This had to be the god himself. A hand on her shoulder jerked her to a stop, making her realize she’d started to walk forward. She glanced back to see her uncle shaking his head, then he advanced to join her father.
“I am Captain Pasikole,” the man said as he stood straight once more. His accent was off, like he struggled with the vowels. That was odd. Why would Lono send an emissary who couldn’t speak properly? Did they speak a different language in the heavens above?
“Welcome to the Valley Isle, Lord Captain Pasikole.”
“Uh, ‘captain’ isn’t part of my name. It’s a title, like ‘chief.’ Chief of a ship.”
Her uncle was whispering something in her father’s ear, so Namaka crept closer, trying to overhear.
Before she could catch anything, though, her father held up a hand. “Chief Pasikole honors us with his p
resence. Therefore, we must throw a luau in his honor.”
A cheer went up from villagers Namaka hadn’t even realized had followed her. Of course they had. Who wouldn’t want to see what came out of that strange vessel? And they hadn’t had a good luau in weeks. Preparations for the festival had begun, of course. The boars had been roasting for days, the poi pounded out, the fish all caught. She couldn’t help but grin at the thought. A little fun was just what she needed to distract her from her impending deadline. It looked like she was going to be even later getting back to that cave.
Her father invited Pasikole to bring his full crew ashore while the villagers prepared the luau, gathering the poi, lighting torch poles, and stoking the imu. The imu was a communal oven dug into the earth. The village men used the imu to cook pork and no woman, not even her, was allowed to cook in it. Which was fine—she had better things to do than cook food she wasn’t even allowed to eat.
Her uncle almost immediately began a trek to the temple, and Namaka trotted after him. She spared a glance for Kamapua’a, but the wereboar had already taken off. Probably chasing after some girl. Or looking for a pre-feast snack. Or both.
“What did you tell my father?” she shouted after her uncle.
Kamalo turned to face her, a warm smile on his face, waving the carved stick of his office at her in a poor imitation of a threat. Technically he was her mother’s uncle and Namaka’s great uncle. Meaning he was probably as old as the islands themselves. He wore his long gray hair tied at the nape of his neck. Even his beard had gone gray, almost white. The man loved to laugh, which only seemed right to her, given his plump belly and grandfatherly eyes. He had come to the Valley Isle long ago after having lost his wife and children. Back then, a Flame Princess had ruled the Valley Isle, ruled from the volcano Haleakala, and Kamalo had tried to serve her. In so doing, he’d met Namaka’s grandmother’s sister, a friend of the Princess, and eventually become mated. He couldn’t remarry, of course, and she shared no blood with the man, but Namaka had never really known Kamalo as anything other than an uncle.
After a wink, he chuckled and shook his head. “If I wanted the whole village to know, I wouldn’t have whispered, would I?”
“Well I’m not the whole village.”
“No, though if that pig-headed friend of yours was around, I imagine the village would hear the story in less time than it takes him to devour a fish.”
She shrugged. Since Kamalo had been the one to bring Kamapua’a to Mo-O and thus give rise to that friendship, he could hardly complain. “Uncle,” she said. “What did you tell my father about Pasikole?” She was the Princess of this isle, which meant she was supposed to be in charge. No one ever treated her like she was, and it was time that changed.
He snorted, then continued his walk to the temple. That was obviously an invitation, since he had to know there was no way she’d let this go.
The temple was built over volcanic rock down the beach, far from Hamoa Village so no one would draw too close by accident. It was open, without walls, a high terrace covered with waterworn pebbles. Around the temple stood wooden ki’i masks of the gods, and at its center, a fire pit. Only the kahuna could approach the fire pit, lest the Ghost World be offended by the trespasser. In fact, only the ali’i, kahunas, and the Princess were even allowed in the temple at all.
Namaka paused at the top of the steps, not daring to approach the flame. Uncle Kamalo was indulgent, but one just did not break kapu—those rules governed life on Sawaiki and kept it in balance with the Ghost World. Those who broke kapu, who violated tabus, tended to have short, unpleasant lives. Namaka was just lucky enough to have a whale’s portion of extra tabus governing her life.
Her uncle laughed, faced her, and began to walk backward toward the fire pit, a faux frown of sympathy on his face, shaking his head.
“Uncle! I order you to tell me.”
“All right, all right. Don’t spill the ocean. I told him strong mana flowed in Pasikole.”
Strong mana. It was power, life, spiritual energy all around them, in every person, in every place. Stronger in some, in those destined to shape life for others. Men and women like herself. Namaka tapped her foot. “So, you tell my father I have strong mana and I get sent off to live in a cave. The foreigner has strong mana and you throw him a party.”
He shrugged. “Trust your kahuna.”
She scoffed. That was pretty much his answer any time she questioned any decision he ever made. “You are unbelievable.”
“Mahalo, my child. You don’t want to miss the luau, do you?”
Why was the man always right? Did being older than dirt grant him wisdom, or was it the mana kahuna siphoned off Princesses when they slept with them? Namaka wrinkled her nose at him, then took off, running back toward Hamoa Village. She paused only to grab some plumerias along the way. They smelled like sweet coconuts, making them perfect for adornment. She dashed up to her parent’s house. As expected, her mother was already braiding another lei, working harder now the festival was coming a day early.
“Mother, I really, really need that.”
Her mother shook her head. “Oh? For your father?”
Sure. If her mother wanted to feign innocence, Namaka could play along. “I have to present a lei, of course.” When her mother held up the lei, Namaka grabbed it and quickly wove the plumerias through it, finishing the garland.
The instant it was done she ran back for the beach, where Pasikole was leading enough men and women to compose a war party ashore. Other girls had been approaching with leis, so Namaka dashed ahead of them to Pasikole himself. Let them give their leis to his men. She was the Princess, after all.
The man paused before her, eyebrows raised as she pushed the lei toward him. His eyes darted down to her breasts and he blushed. Oddly, the men and women she’d seen come with him wore coverings on their chests. He reached to take the lei and she laughed.
“No, bend down. I have to put it on you.”
The foreign man looked over his shoulder, then did as she asked, leaning forward so she could set the garland over his neck.
“Who are you?” His eyes sparkled with laughter.
“I’m Princess Namaka.”
Those great blue eyes widened for a moment, then he smiled. “You’re Ku-wa … Ku-wa-i … The chief’s daughter?”
“Oh. Uh, I am she. Yes, his daughter. But that’s not what makes me a Princess. That’s complicated.” She grabbed his hand and dragged him toward the center of the torches. “Come on. The luau has already started.”
“And that means?”
Kāne! He didn’t know what a luau was? “It’s a feast and dancing—a party. This feast is supposed to honor Lono.” Namaka paused, waiting for some reaction on Pasikole’s face. He merely nodded.
How odd. Wasn’t that why Lono had sent him here, at this time, so near the festival? She pointed to a spot in the sand. “Sit here. You’ll see.”
The moment Pasikole sat, villagers carried out a giant roast pig that had been cooking in the imu and began to serve him. In the center of the village, a couple sang a mele chant in time with a woman playing the ukeke.
If Pasikole had never seen a luau, he’d probably never seen the hula either. And since Namaka had won the last four hula competitions, it was only fair she show off the arts her mother had taught her. Hula was sacred, a tradition honoring the goddesses and the aumakuas. It was also a chance to show off how athletic she could be.
She waved to the musicians who began beating the drums and playing the mele at an ever increasing rhythm. Namaka walked to the center of the luau, slowly swaying her body, her movements growing faster as the beat did. Her hips took on a life of their own, jerking from side to side. Hula was all in the hips. She spun around, rapidly shifting her weight. Men began cheering and Namaka couldn’t even contain her smile. Hands up, hands down, welcoming in the sun.
As the dance continued to intensify, she let go of everything else, was barely even conscious of the audience. It was li
ke tapping into the sea. Primal, basic. An expression of her very soul. In the dance there was no duty, no tabus, no deadlines. There was only life, her life and what little of it she might claim for herself. She whooped and whirled around, ending arms wide in a big finish as the song concluded. Slowly she looked up at Pasikole. His eyes were beautifully locked on her own.
Panting, Namaka stepped out of center stage and took a seat beside the other women.
Kam tromped over and plopped down beside her. The other girls muttered and giggled, and several rose and relocated farther away. Men and women were not meant to eat near one another. Kam didn’t seem to care. When he offered her a plate of poi, she took it and pretended not to keep watching Pasikole.
“Shit, Princess,” the wereboar said. “Keep shaking your ass like that and I might forget my brotherly affections toward you in favor of more amorous ones.”
“I am not related to you, Pigman,” she said between mouthfuls of poi.
“Sounds like an invitation to hula to me.”
She shook her head, not bothering to look at him. They had never had a physical relationship. True ali’i brothers and sisters were encouraged to bear children, to create bloodlines strong in mana. But it had always felt wrong with Kam, and he had never pushed her. Of course that was probably because he’d slept with half the girls in Hamoa Village already.
“Well,” Kamapua’a said after a moment, “we both know who you were really dancing for. And, shit! I don’t think it was Hau-Pu this time.”
Namaka ignored him. In the center of the luau, a pair of fire dancers had begun to twirl flaming batons, tossing them in the air and catching them, even flinging them back and forth. Only after hearing Hau-Pu’s name did Namaka even realize he was one of the fire dancers. No doubt still trying to impress her. And he was good, she had to admit. As good at this as she was at the hula.
But Kamapua’a was right. Tonight, she hadn’t been dancing the hula for Hau-Pu. Namaka glanced over to where Pasikole sat, clearly entranced by the fire dancers.