Shadowed by Moonlight (SAMPLE)

Chapter 2.c

The cooking huts had thick plumes of smoke rising out of them as the village prepared for the feast. Every month we dined with the high chiefs and their heirs after protocol, but this was the first time we would be dining with the entire village, and everyone was thrilled by the honor. Children skinned the fa'i while their older siblings husked the coconuts. Fathers stoked the rocks in the 'umu and mothers sent their little ones out to pick kalo leaves from the plantations. Voices chattered animatedly about the great honor the Light Village would have tonight.

I passed by them all, for once not bothered by the way nobody noticed me. As the high chief's son, people should be bowing and clearing the way whenever I came by, like how they did for my father and Masina. But me? Nobody looked twice as I walked through our encampment and up the hills towards my mother.

The bustle of the village died down as I sank into the trees. replaced by the silence I found so comforting. Once I was deep enough that I could no longer see or hear anyone I stopped and closed my eyes. Savoring the peace and quiet I could never find in the village. Then I hiked up the rest of the path, the scent of the teuila flowers guiding me to the burial.

Every high chief and chiefess is entitled to be buried in the way that would be most fitting to them. The high chiefs of the Navigator Village were buried at sea where they believed their ancestors dwelled. In the Earth Village, the high chiefs were buried in the ground with stones strategically piled on top to mark their graves.

My mother, high chiefess Ta'ifetū, loved flowers. She was easily the most gifted lei-maker in the Light Village, and her skill rivaled that of high chiefess Mailelauliʻi. At the time of her death, my father decided she would be buried in a garden. He cleared away the bush himself and planted every flower she loved to soothe her spirit into the afterlife. As a young boy all I could do was help him with the ti leaf saplings, but now I tended to the garden myself.

Ten years of careful tilling and weeding had helped Mother's garden to blossom. Looking at it now, my eyes were greeted with an explosion of color and my nose was tickled by the comforting aromas that reminded me of her. The elders say that our ancestors are sometimes reborn into plant or animal form. I haven't seen or heard from my mother since she passed, but I like to think that a part of her lives on in her garden.

The pink, white, and yellow plumeria trees were thriving. So were the rows of teuila and bird of paradise flowers that lined the edges of the grove. The four hala trees planted in the corners stood like sentinels, their spiny leaves poking out like spears amid the tropical blossoms.

The orchid bushes were in full bloom, their rich petals the deepest shade of purple. Not far from the bushes were the pua kenikeni trees. The golden, trumpet-like flowers standing out against the green leaves like birds announcing the sunrise.

The ti leaf trees surrounding mother's grave had grown into solid walls of greenery to protect her spirit. Grass had grown over the dirt where she had been buried, and a small opening had been left at the foot of her grave. That had been unconventional, but Orator Raʻi allowed it, as it was a way for my father, Masina, and I to talk to her when we missed her. Behind the line of trees marking where her head lay were two more hala trees, these ones much bigger than the ones that had been planted in the corners of the garden. Nestled in between them was a vibrant pikake lahilahi shrub that went well past my waist in height.

The hala trees represented my father and I, the pikake shrub in between us Masina. High chief Alai had wanted to send a clear message to his wife that we would look after her daughter. The pikake flower was Mother's favorite; sometimes tending to the shrub reminded me so much of her it hurt. But the pikake needed more attention than all the other flowers, for some reason. They tiny white blossoms weren't as drought-resistant or high-yielding as we had thought they would be.