The Language of Our Souls (excerpt from novel)

I was named after a flower, a white and tender thing, laced with purple in its irises. Within my kingdom, the naupaka flowers grew in abundance, ten petals adorning their beauty. But I was nothing like a flower really. You can tell what a flower is, just by looking at it. But I was always budding with mischief…Never still, never relenting.

When I was a child, my face was round and plump with happiness - for the most part…

I was the young princess of Pāhoa, a little town right at the tip of the Puna district. My parents, Lailani and Makau, were great leaders of Hawaii. At that time, the islands were made up of fractious kingdoms; treaties and alliances consolidating each division. Ours was a smaller kingdom, filled with community and peace; lesser in size and strength, but revered for its location which stood between the ocean realm of the sea goddess Namaka, and the borders of the Kileau volcano, the domain of the great fire goddess, Pele.

The Akua, the pantheon of gods, were sacred to the islands. The creation myth spoke of their divine origins; how in the beginning there was only darkness, and from the darkness rose the male and female embodiment of dusk. Then the female darkness gave birth to four brothers: Kane, Ku, Lono, and Kanaloa, the first Akua.

Trapped in the cosmos of endless black, Kane, the oldest brother grows stronger, until one day he bursts free, shattering the darkness and erupting the sky in stars and light.

From the new celestial light, Haumea, the goddess of fertility is born. She and Kane lie, and from her womb she birthed the first string of godlings, two of whom were Namaka and Pele, the divine sisters.

Our ancestors once walked alongside the Pantheon of gods, sharing with them in rituals and festivities each day. And when ancient wars plagued the lands, the Akuas' divinity was much facilitated. But with time, the wars ceased and the gods and goddesses were no longer praised without corrupt intention. So they returned to their realms, waiting to feast on the shackles of men and bearing blessings to those whose hearts may be pure.

Apart from the Kahuna, the ancient priests, there were also kings and queens who shared in the divine blood of the gods. My parents and I were such descendants- born from the divine bloodlines of the four major gods; Kane, Ku, Lono, and Kanaloa.

Some descendants bore spiritual gifts as a result of their blood. My father was a warrior with the innate strength of beasts. My mother could summon sea creatures from their depths; all manner of sharks, rays, dolphins, and whales. Her mother before her was a dream-drifter; She could wade in and out of people's fantasies and nightmares, discovering their demons and inner-most thoughts.

Unfortunately...I was not a bearer of such gifts. But, I had quite the imagination to make up for it.

A significant portion of my thoughts was spent on my mother. She was an angel of sorts; I really believed that. In fact, I used to tell myself that up in the heavens, there was once a little angel, beautiful and filled with kaleidoscopic light...But she looked down to the earth and all she could see was the greed and wrath of man. And so she was overtaken by a deep sadness; a grief that consumed her. She did not understand them, or their ways. So the creator of the angel realm sent her soul down to earth to be born as a mortal.

She would have to endure the hardships of life and learn to understand the souls of man. But though her body was human now, her soul was the same- and so a little piece of that sadness remained tethered to her still. Because of this, there were days when her joy was overshadowed by an all consuming darkness....

-This is what my ten year old self would create to get through the days when my mother was just a ghostly version of herself. There was always a lingering shadow that seemed to follow her, even on her brightest days. Sometimes I would notice it in a flicker; just a flash of dread in her eyes, a vacant smile, a moment of idle hands between a hula dance. Sometimes it was just the smallest of moments.... And other times it was a great gray beast lurking from the depths of the oceans and pinning her to the edge of her bed.

My little mind could not comprehend her illness then. So I found myself in the habit of latching on to every happy and unhindered day...

One of the many ways that we would spend these days of splendor was within the realm of the sea.

I had learned how to tread water, and paddle from the age of four. I was taught to duck under the waves before they crashed like falling boulders. Each time I learnt something glorious and new, my teeny mind would rejoice at the thought of being in my mother's likeness. She was instinctively drawn to the sea, as baby sea turtles are drawn to moonlight.

I remembered I was five the first time I ventured deep into the sapphire kingdom…

I had been enthralled by the shimmering colors of a different world. All manner of sea creatures had emerged to greet me. She would take me deeper as I got older. Soon I would welcome the deep and daunting trenches where only shimmers of faded light illuminated their depths. From their channels came all manner of fish, rainbow colored or silver alone. Big and small, some with their eyes furrowed in protective instinct.

I would be greeted by the sea butterflies, the rays whose transcendence speaks to things we can never truly know. They were held in high regard in our lands.

My mother taught me to swim gently beside them, to watch and honor them at a respectful distance.

Then there were the sea turtles. Beautiful and ancient beasts who roamed above the coral beds. Some of these coral beds were the size of boulders, reaching down to formidable depths. Flowers and plants danced in motion with currents. My fingers would trace their gelatinous flesh.

Even the sea turtles were creatures who were not to be disturbed. Sometimes I'd find my curiosity bubbling, and I would chase them with the desire of touching their shells. Every single time I did this, they would dash across the waters and disappear like a gust of wind. Eventually I would learn my lesson- that to love something means you must let it be as it is....liberated.

But this was not a lesson my mother ever had to learn. She was born with such grace, and so she was beloved by the creatures of the sea; they willingly drew to her and nestled against her like playful children.

Days such as this were the happiest, where she would carry me into the ocean and show me her world. Her eyes then, beautiful and brown like koa wood, would contract with happiness.

We'd stay in the sea until our skin was wrinkled and waterlogged. And I would always remember the way she looked there in her haven…

My father would shout to us from the shores, be careful, don't venture too deep! I could see, though, the crescent shaped smile on his lips. He loved me, and doted on me as a child, his kingly status wearing away everytime fatherhood took over. And he adored my mother so dearly...Sometimes I was almost certain that the pain in his eyes was worse than hers on days when her darkness resurfaced.

I suppose they both tried to shield me from it. They thrust me into childlike things. But the problem was that I didn't really have any friends then. I couldn't quite get along with other children, little girls especially. I found I was always a little too boisterous and ineloquent. It did not matter if I was a princess, I was still very much cast aside. But I did not mind, for I found a lot of children rather boring.

There was one boy though that intrigued me a little. When I was eleven years old, sometimes my mother would take me to visit his little hale, a house that stood hidden within a grove by the sea. His father- a poor and humble fisherman, was very sick, and my mother would carry a basket of ointments and healing herbs to nurse him.

We'd walk down the mountain's paths together; beautiful trails of Pele's decoration. She would tell me all forms of tales and folklore about the gods and goddesses of our islands. She was a great storyteller and her face lit up in animation as she recounted the journey of the great fire goddess Pele, who had traveled to our islands on the back of an ancient canoe. Our ancestors would dance around the dense lava folds surrounding Pele's volcano, offering her flowers and all forms of praise to appease her. She was known as the essence of Aloha- love and fellowship. But, there was also much to fear about the deity. Some said her breath alone could turn you into cinder. Other's said her passion and jealousy was unquenchable, and so you must never utter praises to another god near her domain, lest you want volcanoes to erupt and burn the lands.

Another goddess that acquainted the seas was Namaka, the older sister of Pele. She was a divine deity of the ocean. In times of war, she would send her tidal waves to crush the boats of enemy troops. On days when she returned to her father's heavenly realm, the ocean stood still as a vacant and empty mind. But when she returned, the tide became glorious and playful, inviting surfers and fishermen to make use of her blessings...

Such was the sea goddess's heart; a beacon of tenderness and devotion towards the people.

The sisters' powers were blessed by their divine parentage. But centuries ago, a great divide had plagued their relationship. Namaka was angered by Pele's self-serving nature. For centuries, the sea-goddess's wrath had ensued on the islands of Hawaii, seeking out Pele's spirit in order to destroy her. Legends were spun of their battles still; of rising tidal waves crashing into swirling molten lava.

There were other gods and goddesses that also filled her stories. Lono, the god of rain and peace was also a favorite among our people. The village believed that the wars had ceased as a sign of Lono's extended graciousness.

Many were my mother's stories about the pantheon of gods. But the deities of fire and sea were usually at the heart of each tale.

When we'd reach the hale, my mother would venture inside alone to pray and nurse the ill man. I waited outside and was sometimes joined by the old fisherman's son. He was the same age as me. They called him Kaui.

He wasn't much to look at really. He was lanky, like a stiff wooden plank. His hair was a shaggy mess, and there were so many scars all over his arms. But his eyes were unlike anything I'd ever seen before, jade as an evening's ocean; a deep milky green with flecks of earthy gold. There was something almost celestial swimming in those eyes; they were completely unafraid to stare straight into a person.

There was something else about him as well….

Even as a child he understood what others did not. He knew the wonders of the oceans, the names of the deepest sea creatures; mythical beings, the mo'o and leviathan. He knew the art of hauling in fishnets, how to position the body against the struggle of an abundant catch. He could swim like the swiftest rays, and dive from cliffs in between ocean rocks.

"How could you know such things?" I had asked.

"I just do.."

He was also great at games of make-believe. We'd imagine all manner of adventures and play them out in the fields of the coconut groves or by the beaded sands of the golden beach. Sometimes we were hula dancers, clumsily telling the stories of the Akua through the movement of our awkward frames. Other times, we were washed up souls on an uninhabited island. We'd forage for food, filling bamboo leaves with berries and twigs, pretending it was chicken and taro cooking in coconut milk. And then we were great enemy warriors, and would wrestle playfully, rolling in the dirt and pretending to suffer the blows of excruciating pain.

Through these silly games, he had somehow become my only friend.

There was one day when we visited, where my mother was taking longer than usual, and I could sense the boy's worry for his father. I found him praying by the sea, his devoutness to the Akua drawing forth. He was always like that, he spoke so dearly of the gods, especially the sea goddess whose tender heart had always captured him.

I remembered his look of forlorn as his jeweled eyes stared deeply into the horizon, willing for his father to be healed. There was something unusual about this boy, even then. Unlike others his age, he was untouched by pride. I could not help but feel stirred by the discernible honesty that showed in those eyes. He did not try to conceal his sadness.

I wished to distract him. So, I suggested we go on a grand adventure carved by many mythical dangers.

I set the scene. I would be the brave protector of lands; a fearless princess with a sword, who fell a lot but mostly got the job done. I took in my hand a wooden shaft and flung it around in wreckless abandon, yelling Haiii Yaaaas into the quiet wind.

And then there was Kaui...the great fire spewing demon dragon, coming to rampage my kingdom. I chose his dragon character based on a feature of his that I regrettably used to tease him about often then; his large nostrils. Gaping holes of life-sucking spheres they were- at least in my over imaginative head. I foretold then that the evil dragon would slip through the cities unbeknownst to anyone in the dead of night, and destroy all the villagers with his raging fires.

One second into his epic entry, crouching on the floor as the beast, his eyebrows suddenly furrowed and he sprang back up. "Why do I have to be the ugly beast? I want to be the hero."

My hands fell on my bony hips. "Uhm...this story already has a hero."

His eyes rolled and I continued my plot, unaffected, "So as I was saying- you come to the village at night, and then suddenly in a fit of raaage, your GREAT BIG DEMON NOSTRILS flare up and spew fire all across the village, and everybody dies horrifically!"

"Why does everybody always have to die..." he groaned, flailing his arms in exasperation. It was true I realized that in all my escapades, death was a faithful ending.

"Well maybe if you weren't a fire-breathing dragon, they could have taken shelter in those nostrils. But since they cannot...they're all dead." I shrugged.

"Yes, I suppose there was nowhere to hide- in the flat lands of your bosom."

I had to shut my mouth so I wouldn't gape like a fish.

My face instantly turned red. The nerve of this fisherman boy...the gall and audacity...I burned with fury. I almost threw my shaft in his face- when my mother walked out of the hut and joined us gleefully. She placed her arms around the crude boy, and I watched him stare up at her, his eyes gleaming with sweetness.

My eyes traveled to his loin cloth and my hands tightened around the wooden stick. One poke at his delicates and he'd be knocked out...

- "Your father is much better." my mother said gently, "I have brewed him a special concoction of healing herbs and ohelo berries. He should be back to his old self in a day or two."

"Thank you, my queen." Kaui's voice was earnest as the sky was blue; cracked with relief. His father was all he had in the world. His mother had abandoned them when he was an infant. Who she was had always remained a mystery; even in pregnancy she had veiled herself from the rest of the village. His father refused to speak of her, only ever saying that she was a wanderer who had left almost as soon as she arrived.

I smiled, feeling a strange warmth pass through my chest. I was happy that all would be well. Perhaps I'd get him back for the flat bosom comment another day.

We walked back home that day, happy and light. I wished for all days to be as carefree as this. The ocean was our backdrop and the sweet smell of earthy rain and just blooming flowers filled the air. As the crystal drops descended, she smiled at me and said, "Race ya!"

We ran up the winding path, laughing and panting, sweaty and overcome by thirst at the end. She let me win.

This was the final day of happiness I shared with her.

******

It was right before my twelfth birthday. The palace had been eerily quiet the entire day. I knew then that things were bad again. I lingered that night through a candle lit hallway. The white kappa of my dress flutters in the wind.

The silence was daunting. It was her voice that filled the place with laughter and sound- and when she was quiet, it was eerie and ominous.

It was right before my twelfth birthday. The palace had been eerily quiet the entire day. I knew then that things were bad again.

I lingered that night through a candle lit hallway, my white kappa dress fluttering in the wind. The silence was daunting. It was her voice that filled the place with laughter and sound- and when she was quiet, everything felt ominous.

I followed my father's hushed tone. I stayed hidden behind the walls of his work chambers, listening in as he spoke to his right-hand man, Kao.

Kao was my father's most trusted friend. Together they had trained as warriors during their youth- though neither had ever dirtied their hands with blood nor experienced war’s cruelties.

I watched them through the corners of my little eyes. They sat illuminated against the dim glow of candlelight. It is her father's fault that she is like this, they had said. A monster of a man, feared for his corrupt mind and greed for money. He had thrust rich men onto his daughter when she was barely of age, allowing them to ravish her for a few handfuls of gold and gems. She was just a girl, powerless against the abuse and misconduct of her father. No wonder she was overtaken by such depression still. Her childhood was a torment.

My young mind had not understood the meaning of their words then. I only understood her pain through a childlike lens- sometimes mama is the happiest person alive. But sometimes she is also very very sad…

The next day- against my father's command, I walked into her chambers when she was lying in this state. The servants had bathed her hair in rose oil, and dressed her in white kapa cloth. Her legs were folded, and the hems of her dress were adrift in a soft breeze fluttering through the half-opened window. She lay there, her loose and beautiful hair hanging over her face like dangling drapes. She had grown thinner in the years, barely a figure now. I bent to meet her gaze, and I remember that she had willed herself to smile. Her eyes were empty; puddles of dim mud. But the corners of her mouth welcomed my presence with the faintest curve. "Hello..." a forced happy melody to her voice that I willed myself to believe.

"Mama, it's sunny and bright. We could go down to the beach. Maybe you'd feel better." The words of a child. Hopeful and blissfully ignorant.

"I'd love to, my love....But I cannot today," her voice was cracked and broken then. "But in two days it will be your birthday..." another forced melody. "I promise we will do something wonderful then."

I left her that morning and for the next two days I prayed to the pantheon of gods to heal my mother. I prayed she would wake up to a world where her mind was no longer the cause of her torment. I would never forget then, the day that followed my prayers....