It seemed the land kept moving back away from him. The waves raised him to see the sand and drop him taking the land back from him. The only constant was Honu’ea, in green turtle form. A guiding force pulling him to safety. Well, he hoped that was his fate.
From a few hundred yards, several people muddled about on shore. His eyes fixed on Akoni. He was impossible to miss.
“Kanaloa, give me strength” He was praying on and off for last hour. “Komohoalil, I will be always in your debt. Your steeds will be best feed sharks, my life is theirs.” Mind tells him keep going and thanking them. Once on land, he’s on his own. They can’t help him any more.
Only fifty feet, then twenty, and finally he can stand. But swimming, until the water runs out. His time to face Akoni has arrived.
He kneels praying to Pele, goddess who built these islands. He thanks his seas gods. Rising up to look at Akoni, he walks slowly onto the sand. Black with little white sand meets his feet. He must be quiet. He must hold head up. This is island of refuge. The journey is over.
Akoni is not pleased. He stands almost a foot taller then Ilkia. He’s the times the size of him. Akoni could crush him. Kapu be damned, Akoni should crush him!
Kings and kingdoms always fall from within!
Akoni motions Alika to his left. He tosses a club toward him. Two gleaming obsidian knives imbedded on opposite sides of it’s three foot length.
He turns to Ilkia. “You’re both here until one of you dies.” Staring through him tossing him a three foot club, much less decorated.
The people crowd toward Akoni. No-one knows the ritual unveiling before them. No-one knows the great chief told his nephew Ilkia can not land no matter what.
Loose ends can be deadly.
Ilkia is younger and smaller. Alika is bigger, faster, and trained well. Unfortunately, His ribs are cracked leaving him barely able to lift the heavy club. It’s a fatal blow but from a coconut, the club just finished him off.
Ilkia stood above his fallen villager. He was red with another man’s blood. He searched for feelings, there were none. He raised the club and swung it once. … He just never stopped.
He was before a crowd. Never a more silent group has there been.
Iklia reached down, grabbing the obsidian club. Walking toward Akoni, he held it with both hands as to present it back to it owner. Akoni could kill him.
“Manaoio, faithful one, you are free from kapu. Take your club, guard the sea as it guarded you! Iklia is dead, You live. In one moon, Lani will give you audience.”
From behind appears his mother. She’s shaky. No words form on her lips. This is not the son she had earlier today. They both know it. They walk quietly to the canoe. He now rides in back not in front.