Speaker for the Gods, week 25

Caged, part 1

They fed us again and brought fresh water. I pissed through the bars of the cage when the urge came and gradually shifted my throughout the day keep the Sun off my face. Skin already peeled on the bridge of my nose and high along my hairline. Staves shat himself with a low whine, without a word of warning. If I ever doubted his sincerity, he’d proved himself. The guards crinkled their noses; I asked politely if they might let me out to avoid the same. One left for a minute and returned with an old woman bearing a pot. I accepted it with a mahalo, turned away, worked very hard to clear my head. Once I finished she took it back and left without a word. The episode was a relief in one sense, but I’d hoped for an excursion to some bushes along the town walls. If I couldn’t escape, I might at least scout my surroundings.

I took off my shirt to draped it over my head and shoulders. It smelled like days’ worth of sweat, but kept off the Sun’s direct heat. With the jungle trees long since cleared for Kane homes, the cages had been built without a lick of shade. I pictured myself a skeleton, dangling bleached arms through the bars with a manic grin and vacant eye sockets. Yellow dogs ran in loops around the nearest hut, nipping at each others’ flanks. A fleabitten old bitch slunk up to Staves’ poi plate to lick at it. The Colonel barked with laughter, which drove her away until he gently coaxed her back. “Hungry, milady?” he inquired as she settled in. The guards looked between each other but made no move.

The army’s preparations rumbled on for hours, from the sounds. Carts were loaded, bows re-strung, basalt arrowheads notched to wooden shafts. Late in the afternoon when the Sun dulled to sickly orange, a procession of feet built their rumbling presence in the ground and finally showed themselves in two ranks of crest-helmed Koali’i. When the chisel-chested columns parted, Keone strode from their midst—his head bare, the crow now adorning his shoulder, glowering and picking at the twine around its foot. The king wore an ankle-length cape behind his spartan robe, its feathers as black as his avian friend with bright yellow piping.

“Good evening, milord,” I stood and bowed as low as the small space allowed.

“Ashur, my welcome guest in that awful cage! I’ve come to chat before duty calls me away. Are you well?”

“Parched, milord, but well. I can’t say the same for the Colonel.”

“He’s no better? What a shame.” Keone bent to peer at my companion slumped against his cage corner, head down between his knees, drool trailing from his mouth.

“What does he do?” Keone asked our guards in Kane. They shrugged and said it was more of the same. No need to explain the smell.

“He’s no faker,” I testified in English. “Wouldn’t have the pride to shit himself anyway. Soil himself, milord, I’m sorry.”

He belly-laughed hard enough to set the crow wobbling and reaching out its wings for balance. “No, I suppose he wouldn’t! And I always enjoyed the English curses. They always sound so funny. So short, so tough coming from smallish folk who burn in the Sun.”

“It’s no way to speak to a king. Still, the Colonel’s no better or worse. I know a little medicine, but the brain is quite a thing, you know? Couldn’t tell you whether it’ll heal.”

“It’s out of our hands,” Keone said with a pensive nod. His crow yammered and cawed until a bony shirtless servant appeared to feed it a lump of fruit.

“Beautiful bird, milord. He’s got a proud look. I hope he won’t become part of your cloak?” I flashed a grin to sell the joke.

He laughed again and tilted his head to nuzzle a cheek on its feathers. The bird tolerated it like a surly cat. “My princess. You like her? The symbol of my house. ‘Alala, wings outstretched over an ohia tree.”

“I’ve seen hundreds of birds since landing on To’mea, but I don’t believe I ever saw a crow. ‘Alala?”

“There are only a few. Descendants of a single pair, the last in the world in the old times. They rose from the ruins with our people, rebuilding their own race as ours ran back to the gods. Those are the stories. You see more now, only on O’ahu.”

“Where I grew up, crows were everywhere and no one liked them. They picked through the garbage and stole any food left in the open.”

“That’s the truth! She’d pick through ‘opala morning and night if I let her. You’d eat a dead dog, eh?” he asked with a smile and a kiss. The crow tried to sneer without lips.

“I heard the army mustering. Are you marching, milord?”

“In the morning. Day dawns early this side of the mountains. Tonight it’s fires and speeches and all the, uhh...” he searched for the turn of English phrase, “the ceremony my men expect. I don’t mean to sound proud. They’ll die for me, some of them, to build my kingdom. For that I owe them all a debt. This is how a king thanks commoners, with ceremony.”

“I don’t suppose we’re going with you,” I stated rather than asked with a glance at poor Staves.

“Oh no, I didn’t mean that. It’s trouble to bring you along. Bad business. Once we’re gone there’ll be room for you to move inside. These cages are unfortunate. Logistics, you know. My hosts can only do so much.”

“The wai kalepa have been good to you.”

“A man might conquer the world, but never all its people. Even kings need allies, those who’ll profit by his success. Who’ll support him for their own selfish selves.” Conchs blew in the distance and Keone’s men fidgeted. Startled birds flashed through the trees overhead and the crow tracked them with her eyes. “They’re calling for me,” he declared. “I have one question; very personal. Because you are my guest and a good man, I’ll give a favor back.”

This surprised me. “If I know the answer,” was my cautious reply.

“What’s your trick, Mr. Ashur? Your knack, as some might say. The trait that keeps you walking when this darkened world would swallow most up. Don’t dissemble, or pick at my words. Simply answer. You are not a typical man. Perhaps you aren’t a man at all,” he arched an eyebrow.

“A man, I swear!” I exclaimed with upraised palms. The game was up. “But long-lived. Aged past nature and reason. Not immortal—I hurt and bleed like anyone. I can’t explain it any more than you could your hai’oleo.”

Keone took this in and gradually a smile spread over his handsome face. “And this is why she sought you out. That explains many things. ”

“Ienith said I was clear in a world of blurry people.”

He thought about that. “I wouldn’t put it quite that way. But I understand what she means. Now ask me a favor, Ashur, for everything you’ve endured. I must be off.”

“I don’t mean to delay you, milord, but might I have my satchel? There are bandages there, and my books. I’d like something to pass the time.”

“The leather book is mine. The rest is yours. Does your leg fester?”

“No, milord, thank you. But it might yet, and I ought to clean it.”

“You’ll have a hut, supplies, clean water. There you’ll stay until I return…or your Ienith does with my head,” he winked.

“Thank you so much. For your generosity, for your time.”

“I’m off!” he cried, and gestured in the air to his men. “Wish me luck.”

“Good luck,” I called to his back, trying to mean it. No foe on Earth could treat me better. If Keone spoke true, I could be out in a matter of days and free to pursue Los Angeles. Losing the Friar’s book was unfortunate, but he’d served his purpose.

Then there was Ienith. Hoku’e might crumble and burn, but I’d grown fond of the girl. You’ll hear none of the adventuring-male treacle from me—no resenting the ties “normal folks” enjoy or the family I chose never to have. It’s not right building a life with someone, calling it a marble palace when you know it’s a sand castle gone with the tide. When I was young, the most dangerous man I’ve ever met told me he tried to walk without stepping on butterflies. So I always stayed away from things pretty and precious. And I never had children because I never wanted to bury them.

But then, again, there was Ienith. I liked her and she seemed to like me. It felt wrong to sit in a cage while she fought. You can’t protect her, I told myself. She’s nearly a god, fighting another god with armies backing them both. You’re just someone she slept with. It was hard to argue. Likely she didn’t need me. Certainly if asked she’d say the same. And still, the test in my head came out the same: if the absolute worst happened, if Keone marched back to camp in a week’s time bearing Ienith’s head on a spear, how would I feel? Just picturing it wrenched something inside me. If an act—or a failure to act—would make you feel like shit, it’s probably the wrong course. I’ve taken those courses before, out of greed or fear or ignorance. On occasion I’ve profited because of it, or stayed alive when better folks didn’t. So for now I’d get back my satchel, bide my time and look for an open door. Drums boomed and cheers sounded from the north side of town.

The mountain air hung hot and muggy, laced with violent tension. A low dank smell promised rain; clouds massed overhead, filling in the sky as dusk opened it up to the stars. North of Noio Koha’s walls, Keone delivered a speech in plain Kane that was barely audible at this distance but still bore the mark of his voice like a hot brand. It crested into a final peal of hai’oleo that rolled over the town and buffeted the treetops already brewed by storm winds. A thousand battle cries followed, ululations of bloodlust and brotherhood. Families murmured from their huts. Another thunderclap, and then another to establish a rhythm. Softer than the first, more barks than booms, Keone’s calls prompted his army to return them. Seven booms passed between them while the dogs of Noio Koha went berserk: yips of fear or baying challenges according to their temperaments. I saw a light in the sky, still distant beyond the clouds. I jumped from the cold damp ground to my feet.

Through the bamboo bars I watched the glow move and build. A high keening whistle sounded alongside the warlord’s growl. Men and women emerged from their homes, pushing young children back inside when they tried to get a peek. A point of yellow-white light appeared from the coronal glow. It cut through the clouds, bright despite them and chasing the Sun from east to west: a falling star, a herald of woe. The Speakers holed up in Hoku’e would see what I saw and know the same fear. It burst directly overhead, blowing the clouds away in all directions. Debris flew clear of the blast at terrifying speed, the fiery fragments clawing their way across the sky’s summit. I counted eight chunks: eight smoky contrails that gnarled into tentacles, trailing below a head of roiling arcane fire. The image seared my eyes and found a sudden likeness in my brain: an octopus, he’e, in black printer’s ink on yellowed paper. Ropes of kelp around the leaf edges. At the bottom, three words in imperious type like wrought iron: Kanaloa, God of the Wild Sea. Cries of awe rang through the town and the lahui fell to their knees.

Friar Waldman saw Kanaloa’s symbol a hundred years before. Tonight it hung over the To’mean mountains, head pointed to Hoku’e. Waldman dubbed the octopus-god a deep heresy and declared him “an unabashed manifestation of Satan” in a confusing graft of his own beliefs to the Kane’s. The fire in the sky made a believer of this haole. Kanaloa and Kane were two sides of the world’s coin: Kanaloa as nature and Kane as civilizing man. Kane builds a canoe, Kanaloa decides whether the sea claims it. Kanaloa points to a spring, Kane breaks the ground to tap it.

There were implications—many, enough to write another book from scratch. The war made perfect sense up to now, fought between rulers over territory. If the gods themselves warred through mortal proxies, the stakes leapt higher but were suddenly shrouded from sight. Never could anyone for an instant guess a god’s true purpose. If truly they fought over this spit of an island, it was neither for Keone’s sake nor Ienith’s. Hai’oleo worked only the wills of those great and secret creatures. Tonight Keone gave his men a show, but gods don’t trade in fireworks.

The octopus faded from the sky. Lights burned themselves out and smoke melted into grey clouds. Somewhere past the horizon, the meteor’s last remnants fell into the sea. Staves lay in a ball sobbing, trying to cover his eyes and ears at once. Humanity filled the silence Kanaloa left behind in the god-words’ wake: massed chanting, echoing from the camp. Soon I heard it on the lips of the people, the mothers and fathers and their children as well. My guards lifted their voices. These were words they all knew. I listened, struggling at first to catch the rhythm and translate:

O na kaikunane ia o Hina’ake’ahi      /           The brothers of Hina-of-the-fire
O no kia’i elua iloko oa ke ana ha      /           The two guards within the cave
Paio haka, Maui, hina ua kia’i            /           Maui fought, those guards fell
Kahe ka wai ‘ulu I ka lae o Maui        /           Red blood flowed from the brow of Maui
O ka ua mua ia a Maui           /           That was the first trial of Maui

On they went, describing one trial after another: fetching kava and bamboo from the twin gods Kane and Kanaloa, quarrels over temples and symbolic trinkets. All in service of Hina, mother of Kane and patron of the demigod Maui. The verse continued:

Ono i ka i’a na Hina’ake’ahi  /           Hina-of-the-fire longed for fish
           A’o i ka lawai’a, kena Hina-i-ke-ahi   /           Maui learned to fish and Hina sent him out
           “Aia laila kea ho, ka makau” /           “There is the line, the tackle”
           “O Manai-a-ka-lani o ka makau ia”  /           “Manai-a-ka-lani, that is the hook”
           “O ka lou a’na o na moku e hui ka moana kahiko”   /           “For drawing together the lands of old ocean”
           Kilika ka kaua a Maui I ka La /           Everyone knows about the battle of Maui with the sun
           I kipuka ‘ahele a Maui            /           With the loop of Maui’s snaring rope
           Maui, O ka ho’okala kupua o ka Pae’aina     /           The lawless shape-shifter of the islands
           He moku…no!             /           A chief indeed!

(source: http://www.bluecoast.org/nonprofit/kanaloa/k30.html)

The man could certainly inspire. My heart raced, skin tingled into bumps and the cooling night air wasn’t enough to hold off the sweat. The guards finished their bellowing, winding down with rowdy slaps at each others’ shoulders. Boyish grins shone across their dark faces. They looked at me, suddenly remembering their post, and did their best to scowl.

“Your king is truly mighty,” I assured them in Kane.

“Too strong for your bitch queen!” one jeered in English. “Three days and your city burns. She’ll be the king’s lady, and you’ll just sit here.”

“It’s not my city. Never been there.”

“Well, you should have. It won’t be there long.”

“May I ask you a question?” And before he could refuse: “Where did you two come from? Which island?”

He looked about to rebuke me, but the other guard chirped “Kaua’i.” The first man nodded irritably.

“I’ve only seen To’mea. Is it the same? Dry lowlands, rain in the hills?”

“To’mea is shit. You get up here, it’s okay,” the cranky guard conceded.

The sunnier man wore a wistful look. “Kaua’i, it’s like this everywhere. Rain everywhere, every day. Oma’oma’o on the ground, in the hills.” Kane for the color green. “Clean wai in the ground.”

“So To’mea is the worst.”

“Molokai doesn’t get a drop of rain. It’s just dry grass and black rocks, a scrap of green on the far ko’olau side. The worst seas in the islands.”

He must have meant windward. I was proud of my Kane thus far. “So you’ve been along for the whole campaign.”

“The king took his home first. O’ahu had more rich families than anywhere and more house armies too. Kaua’i was the next, years later. Covering his back to the west, you know?” I didn’t know. After hours of silence, this young guard was eager to talk. The other let him go, crossing his arms and looking bored.

“He took your homes and yet you fight for him.”

“You can win, or you can lose,” he shrugged. “Everyone lost, so we found another way to win. We were the first friends once arms fell down, and the king knows it. Better to be the first servant than the last.”

“You must have lost friends. Family?”

“A few, early when we still fought. No use though, right? You’ve seen what he can do. All the islands, now.”

“You had no Speakers, right? No hai’oleo.”

“Nothing even close. There were two battles, I think, and we threw down spears. Only To’means had spoke with the gods until King Keone’s,” he explained. “Soon he’ll be the only one.”

I nodded understanding. The other islands must have fallen in days to just a fraction of the conquering horde. To’mea’s vicious resistance was a challenge, but Keone had planned for it. Bring the islands together and mass their armies; assemble a maul to crack the hardest nut.

Dark descended completely and the next shift of guards lit the torches. I could hear men shouting, the rattling of carts and the complaints of oxen. The racket faded within the hour—too little time for an army to march. Scouts then, tasked with prowling the burnt plains the To’means had abandoned. The Friar was clear: a full day for a lone fit traveler to even approach Hoku’e. An army could never march that fast through enemy territory. Even a brutal haul would leave them miles short of Hale Hauoli. They’d need a forward camp for at least one night before pushing through old Deacon Rider’s town to the black stone walls. Keone likely wouldn’t need a long siege. Why starve your foes when you can call down a star on their heads?