43 Years Ago

  Year 596 of the Divine Empire

  Kanoa’s story began, as many unfortunately do, with a half circle of disapproving old men. This collection of elders stood in a wooden house built on stilts atop the shallow waters surrounding the island of Moku Waena. The house was neither finely nor shoddily made, the sign of a family that, while not lazy, had no interest in standing out. Strange then, that the daughter of this family had found herself as the focus of the Ho’okahi elders. Just moments ago Alani had birthed the first child out of wedlock that this town had seen in generations. It wasn’t the girl’s fault, of course; no one was being unreasonable here. That said, it was shameful regardless. She would have to be exiled, with her child’s father as well if they could find him. Perhaps, given her circumstances, she might be given a spear and some rations. She had already been exiled, so the shames of a woman wielding a weapon could possibly be forgiven. These thoughts had been put aside for now, however, for the elders were far more concerned with her daughter. While a breach of tradition had need for analysis, they could not help but be consumed by the crisis of faith that sat squirming in the center man’s arms.

  “She’s warm.”

  “Of course she’s warm, she’s alive isn’t she?”

  “You know what I mean, Kekoa, were she to grow any warmer my skin would be singed! The time is right, the eruption was only a week past and the goddess Kinohi seemed pleased. This girl is undoubtedly a Pōmaika, a blessed child.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Do you really believe that our origin would bless the progeny of such an abominable union? The mother could not even name her mate!”

  “And yet the truth is undeniable. Whether we admit it or not, there’s no way a newborn could live through such a fever. She is bonded to Kinohi, and now we must consider what to do about her.”

  “Are you saying we should just accept her? Find some family to be surrogate, knowing that they would inevitably notice her power? It’s not as if we could hide it, not when her first tantrum could burn a hole through a wooden floor. What will happen then, when people learn that children born without the bond of marriage can be blessed by the goddess, then what else could they justify?”

  “Indeed. Just imagine, once marriage becomes unnecessary then all manner of perversions could be allowed. You could justify the coupling of children, bonds with pāpaka or even those shell-less humans! That tramp Nohea has already inspired far too many questions, this child could destabilize the foundation of our people!”

  “Must you be so loud? Anyone on this corridor could hear you loud and clear. Besides, a child should be born to caring arms, not the dithering of adults.”

  What would have inevitably devolved into the conspiratorial mutterings of old men was interrupted by a more youthful, if not equally as condescending, new voice. Makaio’s presence had a tendency to incite silence in even the most outspoken of individuals. Part of this was his role as alaka’i, the leader of a village, though it was mostly due to his imperious stance and attitude. His nearly nine foot height placed him half a head over the other males of the village, and he utilized it well to provide an overwhelming aura that often eliminated any resistance to his decisions. As he strode into the conversation without a second thought, the room became far more cramped as everyone within it squeezed between each other to ensure the interloper had sufficient space. He took the child into his hands, the elders each shuddering as they saw the first smile to raise Makaio’s face in several months. It was a predator’s smile, the oppressive joy of absolute victory through strength.

  “Honestly. Are you all truly so short sighted? A gleaming opportunity to gain favor with the goddess, and you concern yourselves with our people copulating with primitives.”

  “I. . .”

  “We. . .”

  “I apologize, sir, but I don’t think we’re quite following you.”

  “Understandable. It is your jobs to remember the traditions of our people, not to interpret new ones. Allow me to explain then. The birth of this child, this impure Pōmaika, is a test from Kinohi to see whether or not we are capable of imbuing her ideals upon it.”

  “Imbuing them?”

  “Indeed. This child’s existence is a sin, this is most certain. But that does not mean she cannot be redeemed. I will take her into my home, raise her as my own child. I will teach her the traditions that were so hatefully rejected in her creation. I will cultivate her until she has become the champion of Kinohi that lies deep within her being. Imagine the favor we could earn should this plan be successful. Do you not see my vision?”

  The elders looked between each other, uncertain. Everything here was unprecedented, from the birth of the child to her unexpected blessing to their alaka’i’s novel solution. It could be heretical, the man could have been mistaken, and would only incite the wrath of the goddess by taking in this bastard. The destruction of this wrath would undeniably destroy the village of Ho’okahi as well as the primary sinner, so the fallback of his plan would risk all of their lives. Still, this was an excellent opportunity for them. The village had not had a Pōmaika in its ranks for two generations, and it had been a wound to their pride. Finally, they could validate their superiority over the heretical villages through the rest of āina Hānau. Who cared if the child was born improperly, or a woman for that matter? It’s not as if she needed to get married or act outside of rituals, so it probably wouldn’t have too much of an impact. Yes, if this child were to be redeemed, then Ho’okahi would finally be rewarded for their dedication.

  “We do indeed understand, sir. How fortunate we must be, to have had such an insightful alaka’i born into our village. We wish you well in your efforts to train her.”

  “Of course you do.”

  And with that, Makaio stalked out of the home, the child wriggling in his arms. Good that he was able to end that so quickly, the damned thing was approaching a bonfire with the heat it produced. It would have been undignified to be burnt by his ward so soon after claiming it. Now that he had room to think, the alaka’i thought deeply about his knowledge of the Pōmaika, and how he might get this one to turn down the heat. From his recollection, a blessed one’s heat came from their rage, as a reflection of the fury of the volcano in which Kinohi dwelled. It was hard to see this thing as being angry, though, as its wailing seemed more reminiscent of fear and sorrow. It must be all extreme emotions, then, he hypothesized, with the stories only referencing anger due to only their moments of anger being worthy of note. Satisfied with his conclusion, he was now faced with the far more difficult quandary of removing these feelings from the child itself.

  A frown begins to contort his face, as for the first time in a long while Makaio was faced with a problem that he was unable to solve. Dealing with adults was easy, you just needed to present a strong face, perhaps quote some of the old tales. They usually backed down after that, unwilling to admit their desire to break tradition. Children were a mystery, however. By the time they had grown determined enough to not just do as their parents commanded, they no longer bore the emotional instabilities that made their younger counterparts such a nightmare to deal with. And yet here he was, slowly understanding exactly the kind of mess he had placed himself in. Realizing that he must now be the parent that commanded the child, for however years it would take to make it obedient enough to be useful to the village. He should have just let the elders decide, whatever idiotic plan they came up with would have been inconvenient, but at least it likely would not have forced him to play father. Cursing himself for his foolishness borne from an opportunity to gain prestige, Makaio ponders what must be done as the heat in his arms continues to build. . .

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  “Do you really have to be so stiff? Baby or not, no one likes talking to a board of wood.”

  Startled out of his contemplations, he turns and sees . . . ah. Koah. No, it was Nohea now, wasn’t it? Such a strange thing for a kālai to change their own name, but it’s not like there was anything normal about this one. Though they wore the clothing of a man, and the cords growing out of their head were unbound, their chest was adorned with ropes covered in dried flowers like a woman.. And the kaha, the carvings upon their shell, were in the design of a woman, all flowers and vines. This all served their baffling rejection of gender, refusing to be called a man even by their elders. While not expressly denied in the old tales, their actions always irked Makaio. They set a bad example to the young ones. After all, if it was alright for a man to reject their gender, then it might even be possible to choose another. With that, you would have women fighting and hunting like men, with their husbands raising children and weaving clothes. A horrifying notion, though they choose not to encourage it so there was no real reason to reject their change. Thankfully they chose a masculine profession in kaha carving. Still, those womanly kaha were disturbing. Ignoring that for now, Makaio was forced to respond.

  “And tell me, Nohea. What exactly do you mean?”

  Normally, he wouldn’t have given them the time of day, but he was somewhat desperate.

  “Kids are sensitive, Maka. You gotta be gentle with them. Stop tensing up, maybe rock her a bit. Come on, you can’t be this dense, can you?”

  Nohea leaned back as they lounged upon the wooden corridor above the sea. They held a makeshift fishing rod in their hands. A human smoking pipe wobbled in their lips as they talked, a sweet smelling smoke emanating from it. (Where did they even find that?) They still had that infuriatingly casual grin on their face, an undisciplined expression that annoyed Makaio every time he saw it. Gritting his teeth and fighting back a steadily building headache, he continued the conversation.

  “Ignoring the unwanted nickname and that human item I could have sworn I forbid you from using, what would you know of childrearing? Last I was aware that was a woman’s role.”

  “Right you are, Maka”

  “Stop calling me that.”

  “But, as a former child myself I do consider myself somewhat of an authority on the matter. Don’t you think you would have appreciated a little more comfort while your shell was still soft?”

  Remembering suddenly that children do, indeed, lack the hardened shells of adults, Makaio relaxed his arms, angling them so the soft flesh of his inner arms was all that touched it. He moved it upwards towards his chest, where the carapace had less segments and edges than his stomach. He began to rock it, slowing at Nohea’s instruction, and the heat and crying reduced to a simmer and a whimper.

  “See, that wasn’t so hard, was it? Honestly, what are you even doing, holding a child? Can’t her parents handle that?”

  “Her parents are invalid and unmarried, soon to be exiled. As the child is a Pōmaika, I have chosen to raise her into her purpose.”

  “A-a Pōmaika? Really? My, who would’ve thought such a cute little thing would have that kind of power?”

  Cute? Was it cute? Why was he even entertaining this?

  “Regardless of how ‘cute’ she may be, this child has a responsibility to the village now. It will be my duty to ensure she is prepared for that.”

  “If you say so. . . I must ask, though, why do you keep calling her ‘child’? Doesn’t she have a name?”

  Ah. That’s what he was forgetting. He forgot to give it a name. Imagining this fool looking down on him for forgetting such a natural thing, Makaio raced to think.

  “. . . Unfortunately, her mother lost consciousness immediately after giving birth. I have been trying to think of one myself, but it is difficult to think of one appropriate for a blessed child.”

  “Shouldn’t the mother get to choose?”

  “Would you want a name given to you by an exile? That woman lost her right when she refused to reveal the pregnancy until it was too late.”

  “. . . Ignoring that, I suppose a name from an exile would attract disdain. . . Hmm, what kind of name would be good for such an adorable creature?”

  “Please don’t tell me you are going to name her?”

  “I got her to stop crying, I get to name her. Besides, I’m the artist here.”

  “Sigh Fine. If you insist.”

  “Marvelous! Alright, let’s see here. . . hmm . . . how about. . . Kanoa?”

  Makaio cocked an eyebrow. This name was surprisingly ordinary. Thank Kinohi it was a woman’s name, he was not in the mood to have that conversation right now. While perhaps not the most exciting of names, it was easy to remember and pronounce, which made it ideal for the creation of a new tale to be passed down. More importantly, this conversation was going on for long enough and he just didn’t have the energy to come up with something different. Yes, Kanoa was a fine name for the child.

  “Very well. It will suffice. Thank you for your aid, Nohea.”

  “Anytime. See you later, Maka!”

  Ignoring the idiot’s wave, as well as the use of that accursed nickname, the alaka’i of Ho’okahi walked back to his home. Slowly this time, for the child had finally fallen asleep. Once back in his residence, he allowed his face to loosen into a confident grin. He had no idea who the father of this child was, and quite frankly it didn’t matter. So long as the man wasn’t a fool, he wouldn’t dare to admit his crimes, even if the product of them was a new boon for the village. Makaio would have to find a woman who could teach him the basics of childrearing, perhaps even his mother if he could bring himself to speak to that one. It couldn’t be too difficult, doing a woman’s job. Regardless, he could see the tales now, the tales that spoke of the generous man who took in a bastard child and raised her into a great Pōmaika. Yes, the legend of Makaio and Kanoa would be told for generations to come!

  With a head-splitting screech, he was ripped from his reverie. The child was awake again, and seemed to actually be angry this time. The cloth of his hammock smoldered as Kanoa fell from the hole her tantrum had burnt into it. It was by the grace of Kinohi that Makaio was able to catch her before she splattered on the ground. As his flesh began to blacken, he gritted his teeth and began to rock her once more. Any legends worth telling were ones worth fighting for. And if his fight was to turn this screaming infant into something useful, then he would make it one worthy of song.

  —

  Present Day

  “. . .”

  “. . .”

  “I don’t like him.”

  “I’d be surprised if you did. Even by the standards of obstinate village leaders he is a particularly upsetting case. Still, that poor child. . . no wonder she felt the need to wreak such havoc.”

  “Hmm. . . I would not be so certain. . . Call it a hunch, but I believe that Kanoa’s actions will be inspired by some other influences. . .”

  “It’s not kind to spoil a story you already know the ending to, Somus.”

  “Oh please, do you think someone raised entirely by that degenerate would become so incredible? It was a natural assumption to make.”

  “Regardless, your foreshadowing is unwanted.”

  “. . . Very well.”