3rd Person POV (Kahaku Aliʻi).
Year 12 of the SuaChie Calendar, Sixth Month (August 1494).
Island of Kauai, Sunset Ocean (Pacific).
The sea was a mantle of liquid sapphire that stretched out to devour the horizon, beautiful and treacherous in equal measure. For many, living amidst that isolated immensity would have been a sentence, but for Kahakumakapaweo—the Aliʻi Nui of the island, known simply as Kahaku Aliʻi by his people—that distance was a blessing dictated by the gods.
Standing atop a cliff of volcanic rock that faced east, Kahaku Aliʻi took a deep breath, letting the wind, heavy with saltpeter and tropical moisture, fill his lungs. Behind him rose the craggy, emerald peaks of Kauai, an impregnable natural fortress.
This island, separated by treacherous currents from its bustling sisters, had survived untouched by the blood and ambition that so often ruled the destinies of Maui, Hawaii, and Oahu. Despite sharing the same origin, the same tongue, and the undeniable pride of being people of the sea, Kauai was different.
Under his rule, Kahaku Aliʻi kept alive the flame of the traditions bequeathed by the legendary Manokalanipō, the ancient leader who had unified the island under a mantle of agricultural prosperity and unbreakable peace. However, as the morning sun warmed his weathered and tattooed skin, a strange sensation—cold and heavy—settled in the pit of his stomach.
It was a subtle dissonance, a hum in the bones. The spirits of the land, the whisper in the leaves of the koa trees, and the ancestors in the crashing waves were all warning him of the same thing: The waters are changing.
That premonition was not new; it had begun to trouble him several lunar cycles ago, but only in recent days had the feeling become so pressing that it almost stole his sleep.
At first, a leader's logic had led him to think of the mundane.
It must be war; he had told himself.
Convinced that the ambition of his brothers to the east had overflowed the islands, he sent his best navigators to brave the brutal waves of the Kauai Channel in their double-hulled canoes.
His mind drifted to the memory of his chief navigator's arrival, just a few weeks prior.
"Aliʻi Nui," the man had reported, prostrate on the white sand, his skin encrusted with dried salt. "The seas between our sisters are calm. We have heard of minor conflicts and skirmishes over taro fields, but nothing more. Kālonaiki rests secure on Oahu. Piʻilani weaves pacts across the sea in Maui. And the great Umi-a-Līloa consolidates his power on the Big Island of Hawaii without casting his gaze toward our shores."
If it is not my brothers seeking conquest... then what is it that stirs the ancestors? Kahaku Aliʻi wondered, clenching his jaw as the seafoam crashed violently against the base of the cliff.
The two days that followed that unsettling confirmation were marked by routine, though the Aliʻi Nui's mind remained anchored to the eastern horizon.
He began his mornings in the great communal house, meeting with the lesser chiefs of the island's various districts. He listened to disputes over taro farming boundaries and the distribution of the catch, nodding and passing just judgments with a patience that starkly contrasted with his internal storm. Afterward, he would walk the paths of his domain.
As he walked near the commoners, the protocol of the taboos—the Kapu—took effect. The people lowered their gaze or stepped off the path, ensuring their shadows would never cross the body of the sacred leader.
Kahaku Aliʻi respected the order that the Kapu imposed on his society, for it structured the world, but he always took care not to fall into the cruel extremes that characterized other rulers. He maintained the sacred distance, yes, but his decisions always sought the abundance, not the terror, of his people.
At noon, the scent of fish wrapped in ti leaves and pork roasted underground permeated the air around the heiau, the open-air stone temples. Kahaku Aliʻi presented his offerings, murmuring ancient chants, searching the clear sky or the entrails of the sacrificed animals for an answer to the vibration that would not leave his chest.
But it was during the afternoons that he truly managed to silence the voices of uncertainty.
Beneath the declining sun, he surrendered to the brutal and rhythmic practice of Lua, the ancient martial art of the island warriors. The sound of cracking bones and the dull thud of flesh against earth dominated the training grounds. Sweat stung his eyes as he dodged his instructor's strike, catching his opponent's arm to apply a lock capable of dislocating the limb in a single second.
"Your mind is on the ocean, Kahaku," warned his instructor, a burly, scar-covered man, as he broke free from the hold with a heavy roll.
"The ocean is what brings the storms," Kahaku replied, breathing heavily, his muscles gleaming with exertion. "And I feel that this time, not even the mountains will be able to hold it back."
It was right at the end of the second day when the leader's intuition found its confirmation.
The sun had begun to sink behind him, staining the sky a bloody red that reflected upon the vast surface of the eastern sea. Kahaku Aliʻi was once again on the rocky elevation, wrapped in the feather cloak that denoted his status, letting the evening wind cool his body after combat practice.
Suddenly, the wind changed. It was not a shift in direction, but in density. The murmur of the ancestors became a muffled scream in his head.
He narrowed his eyes, shielding them from the water's glare, and looked east.
On the distant line where sky and ocean merged, two shadows appeared. At first, his rational mind tried to shape them into low storm clouds, or perhaps unusually large seabirds. But as time passed and the silhouettes swallowed the distance, the illusion vanished.
"By the gods of the depths..." Kahaku Aliʻi whispered, taking an involuntary step toward the edge of the cliff.
The shadows had sharp, precise structures. From them rose tall trunks—masts—holding what appeared to be immense wings of cloth, capturing the wind with supernatural efficiency. The water broke into white crests of foam beneath their keels as they advanced.
Canoes.
His mind tried to cling to the familiar word. But as the vessels of the Suaza expedition drew closer to the shores of Kauai, the sheer scale of what he was witnessing shattered any prior concept.
They were not canoes. They were islands of carved wood. They were floating mountains, colossal and majestic, moving with a purpose that did not belong to the world Kahakumakapaweo knew. The premonition had materialized: the world had just knocked on his door, and the future of his people came sailing upon it.
One Hour Later.
The sun had climbed a stretch higher in the blue Kauai sky, but for Kahaku Aliʻi, time seemed to have frozen. An hour had passed since those floating mountains tore through the horizon.
Now, anchored at a prudent distance, the immense ships had released their children: smaller craft making their way through the surf toward the white sand.
Canoes, he tried to tell himself again, but his mind rejected the comparison.
They were sturdy boats of dark wood and precise cuts, designed with a geometry that defied what his people knew, capable of carrying a dozen men without the waterline suffering.
Kahaku Aliʻi stood on the beach, feet firmly planted in the warm sand, the salty wind battering his weathered face. His fingers gripped the shaft of his spear so tightly his knuckles had turned white.
Behind him, a score of his best warriors formed a defensive line, taut as bowstrings about to loose. He had made a difficult tactical decision: half of his force was there, ready to spill their blood if these strangers brought war, while the rest had been sent inland to protect the villages and the most vulnerable.
May the whisper of the spirits be true, he prayed in his thoughts, remembering the strange premonition that had overcome him on the cliff. A sense of change, of an overwhelming destiny, yet devoid of the bloodlust that usually preceded massacres.
The rhythmic splashing of oars slicing through the water grew louder. Kahaku Aliʻi sharpened his gaze. The faces of the men rowing began to define themselves.
They had coppery skin, similar to his own people's, but their features possessed different subtleties. However, what the Hawaiian leader truly sought were their eyes.
He did not find the crazed stare of invaders nor the arrogance of conquerors; instead, he saw a profound curiosity mixed with undeniable caution. They were as alert as he was.
That mutual prudence caused a glimmer of respect to sprout in Kahaku's chest. They were true warriors, men who understood the value of life and the danger of the unknown.
The first boat scraped against the bed of wet sand with a dull groan.
The tension in the air became so thick it could almost be cut with obsidian. However, the foreigners' discipline was immediate: most of the men stayed behind, anchoring the boats and keeping their hands far from their belts, showing open palms.
Only two figures stepped down onto the beach, walking slowly toward the line of Hawaiian spears.
The first radiated military authority. He wore thick layers of treated leather and pieces of a material incomprehensible to Kahaku: a hard substance, gleaming like the sun trapped in stone, of a muted golden hue that clinked with every step. Vibrant feather adornments crowned his head.
Beside him walked a man with an entirely different aura. He wore no armor, but a set of white garments woven from a material so fine and dense that to Kahaku, it seemed to be made from the softest down of a hundred thousand white birds.
The distance shrank to a few paces. The roar of the sea seemed to fade, leaving only the sound of bated breaths. Kahaku Aliʻi straightened his back, projecting all the majesty and fierceness of his lineage. His warriors readied themselves, waiting for a single signal to strike.
The man in the soft garments took a step forward, raised both hands, and swallowed hard. His eyes betrayed nervousness, but his posture remained firm. Then, he opened his mouth and spoke.
"We... come... from east. Far." The words stumbled over one another, pronounced with a strange, guttural accent, accompanied by broad, exaggerated gestures toward the ocean. "We... friends. No spear. People... Suaza."
The silence that followed was absolute. Kahaku Aliʻi blinked, processing the sounds. The man was speaking his language. Or, at least, he was butchering his language with a clumsiness so monumental it was fascinating.
The grammar was nonexistent, the vowels sounded crushed, and the hand gestures were so disproportionate that the man seemed to be shooing away imaginary insects.
The initial surprise on Kahaku's face quickly morphed into bewilderment. He glanced sideways at his men. Their spears remained high, but the expressions of lethal fury had been replaced by furrowed brows and slightly parted lips.
Suddenly, a snort broke the silence. It came from Keawe, one of the youngest warriors in the line, who was desperately trying to cover his mouth with his forearm.
"He sounds like a giant baby learning to speak," Keawe whispered in Hawaiian, just loud enough for those closest to hear.
It was as if a dam had burst. Kahaku Aliʻi tried to maintain his stoic countenance, but a hoarse laugh escaped his lips. Hearing him, the line of Hawaiian warriors crumbled into a chorus of spontaneous laughter, lowering their weapons as they clutched their stomachs at the absurdity of the situation.
The tension of the last sixty minutes evaporated into the wind.
For a microsecond, Kahaku's heart skipped a beat. They will be offended. They will think we are mocking them, he thought, feeling he had committed a fatal diplomatic error.
He quickly returned his gaze to the foreigners, ready to raise his spear once more. But what he saw completely disarmed him.
The soft-feathered Suaza emissary's face was dyed a deep red from sheer embarrassment, shyly lowering his hands. Beside him, the imposing warrior in gleaming armor had his shoulders shaking violently; he was laughing silently, playfully slapping his humiliated companion on the back. From the boats, the other foreigners had also burst into laughter, pointing at their translator, sharing in the same universal joke.
Beneath the vast sky of the Sunset Ocean, surrounded by millennial fears and an unknown ocean, the premonition of danger completely vanished.
Kahaku Aliʻi drove the tip of his spear into the sand and took a step forward, no longer as a commander ready to die, but as a host extending his hand to a friend who had just arrived from a very, very long journey.
3 Months Later
Year 12 of the SuaChie Calendar, Nineth Month (November 1494).
Island of Kauai, Sunset Ocean.
The roar of the sea against the black rock cliffs no longer sounded like a funereal warning to Kahaku Aliʻi. Three lunar cycles had passed since the colossal wooden mountains emerged from the eastern horizon, and the dark premonition that had oppressed the Aliʻi Nui's chest for so long had dissipated, leaving behind an astonishing clarity.
The world was not coming to destroy them; the world was coming to invite them.
Kahaku Aliʻi stood on a gentle rise overlooking the coast, the warm breeze of the Sunset Ocean caressing his tribal tattoos. Beside him, standing with a tranquility that belied his foreign origins, was Supquagi.
That man, who upon the first landing had provoked the laughter of his warriors by stumbling through the language, had proven to be a prodigy, a true "tamer of dialects." His garments, fashioned from that soft, white weave the outsiders called cotton, rippled rhythmically in the sea wind.
Supquagi had not left when the main ships hoisted their sails eastward. He had remained on Kauai alongside a select garrison of copper-skinned warriors and skilled-handed artisans, establishing a camp on the edge of Kahaku's territory.
The Hawaiian leader cast his gaze toward that small settlement.
At first, when the Suaza asked for a plot of unoccupied land to raise their temporary dwellings, Kahaku had hesitated.
His initial reluctance was not born of stinginess—Kauai was abundant in fertile land—but from the delicate political balance of the islands. He feared that granting territory to outsiders would draw the wrath of Kālonaiki on Oahu or provoke the martial envy of the great Piʻilani on Maui.
However, his fears proved unfounded.
Supquagi had revealed to him, in that Hawaiian tongue he now commanded almost to perfection, that their ships had already cast anchor first on the shores of Maui, weaving bonds of goodwill there as well before ever reaching Kauai.
But what had truly sealed the alliance in Kahaku's heart was not inter-island diplomacy, but the profound respect those outsiders showed for the sacred. From the very first day, the Suaza abided by the Kapu without question. They did not desecrate the heiau, they did not cross the forbidden shadows, and they honored the spirits of the land and the sea.
Kahaku closed his eyes for a moment, listening to the distant clinking coming from the foreign settlement.
Metals... That was the greatest miracle. They had brought with them knives and tools of a hard, cold matter that did not splinter like volcanic rock, capable of cutting koa wood and fish with an ease bordering on magic.
And alongside the metal, the flavors. His mouth still remembered the bitter, revitalizing density of that dark drink they called cacao, a delicacy that warmed the blood and awakened the mind.
The ancestors had always told stories of heroic voyages across the great blue, of brave men crossing the waves guided by the stars to discover the immensity of the gods' creation.
Looking at Supquagi, Kahaku understood that the Suaza were doing exactly the same. They hailed from the Gran Quyca, an eastern island of such incomprehensible size that, according to the translator, it harbored endless jungles, mountains that touched the sky, and millions of souls. They were, at heart, brothers of the tide.
The whisper of the wind blew forcefully through Kahaku's hair, tearing him from his reflections.
"Your spirit travels far today, Aliʻi Nui," Supquagi remarked. His voice was serene, and his gaze, fixed on the horizon, reflected the same peace that enveloped the island leader. "What are you thinking of so intently?"
Kahaku Aliʻi smiled faintly, resting the weight of his body on his ceremonial spear.
"I was thinking of the great blue, Supquagi," he replied, his deep voice mingling with the crash of the waves. "I have spent my life listening to the stories of my ancestors sailing into the unknown. Now that I have seen the majesty of your Tequendama, I confess my heart yearns to cross the sea in one of them... I would wish to travel upon those wooden mountains and see the immensity of your Gran Quyca with my own eyes."
Supquagi turned to him, and a warm, confident smile lit up his face.
"And you shall be able to, Kahaku. You have my word," the Suaza assured him, nodding firmly. "You have welcomed our people with honor and respected our blood. You are now a formal ally of the Suaza Kingdom. As a friend to our 'Son of Heaven', you hold the right and the open invitation to sail upon our decks whenever you desire."
A spark of genuine, childlike emotion gleamed in the imposing war chief's eyes. He looked out at the immensity of the Sunset Ocean, the very sea that had once filled him with misgivings and that now presented itself as a path paved with promises.
"Tell me, Supquagi..." Kahaku asked, unable to hide the anticipation in his tone. "When will they return? When will your great ships tear through the horizon once again?"
The tamer of dialects crossed his arms over his chest, observing the clouds gathering in the distance.
"They will take a little while. The ocean is vast and the distances are cruel," Supquagi explained patiently. "But the winds already carry the news that we have been received as brothers in these lands. Once our leader confirms that the seed of friendship has sprouted, I assure you that more ships will come. And they will not come bearing arms, but in friendship, laden with more resources, more tools, and more artisans to share our knowledge."
Kahaku Aliʻi nodded, his mind instantly traveling to one of the earthliest pleasures the foreigners had introduced to him. He licked his lips almost unconsciously.
"Will they bring more of that dark powder? Will they bring more cacao?" he inquired, raising a curious eyebrow.
Supquagi let out a clean, vibrant laugh that was lost in the Pacific breeze.
"It is highly likely they will bring more than just the beans, my friend," the Suaza said, opening his arms to encompass the lush green of the island of Kauai. "The warm, humid climate of these islands, with this rich earth our feet tread upon, is perfect for cultivating life... I am sure the next ships will bring the cacao tree itself for you to plant here. If the gods allow it, you yourselves will harvest the dark drink."
Kahaku Aliʻi closed his eyes and let out a sigh of profound satisfaction. There were no longer monsters on the horizon, nor omens of death lurking in the waves. Only the warmth of the sun, the sound of the tide, and the sweet certainty that his people's future would be as prosperous and vast as the ocean itself.
He smiled, happy, as the Caribbean and Polynesian breezes seemed to meld into a single embrace over the earth.
.
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[A/N: CHAPTER COMPLETED
Hello everyone.
Thank you all for your support. Let's get straight to the chapter comments.
CHAPTER COMMENTS
First, I must say that researching this culture was really complicated. Many people know it from movies, but as a culture without writing, its past is recorded only in oral traditions. However, I must say that there is quite a bit of information about its past, but most of it is in Hawaiian. Only the history after its 'discovery' is in English or other global languages.
Second, like other chapters of this type, it serves to complement the development of the novel, but also to observe how the kingdom interacted with other cultures.
It's important to clarify that I won't do this for every culture. I say this because the section on colonizers in North America, Southeast Asia, and Oceania is coming up, and I won't be doing chapters on this each time. I will only show the progress and the constant dangers that being far from home entails.
AUTHOR'S COMMENTS
First, I wanted to let you know that the next two chapters feature a character whose appearance I hinted at a few months ago, and he's finally here to complete the development of the entire Greater America.
Second, I wanted to let you know that I haven't yet prepared the auxiliary chapter with the maps.
I hope you were able to see them in the previous chapters. And by the way, the previous map styles will be discontinued, but rest assured that I've maintained geographical consistency from day one.
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#The Walking Dead: Emily's Metamorphosis (Chapter 34) (ON HOLD)
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