The smallest of the Isla was Natia, its beach was made of tiny bits of volcano, the shore black and silver. Large dark rocks jetted across in dizzying patterns. In the early morning, they looked like sky giants descending from heaven to invade the peaceful people.
That was a common story told by the elders to babies around campfires. A circle of old fools and heretics. Within that ring there is one man, King Koa.
My father's leather face comes to mind, and the crown of pearls and ornament shells atop his long curly hair. His stern face, with its eternal frown and shoulders always in a tense square. The elders and military men that constantly stood at attention around him. It was nearly impossible to get his attention or praise.
My twelve sisters certainly tried, but none succeeded. It was said to be a curse, for the man with the heart of steel to only have female heirs. So, my father took several women as his wives. My mother being the last, a woman sent to curry favor by the Hon Lu people.
So I always looked and felt different from my sisters. Each one stood tall, with cascading brown ringlets and focused eyes dark as the pebbles beneath one's feet. I had turned out puny in comparison, six inches shorter than my tallest sister. Hair as straight as a pin and dark as a raven. I was built more muscular, with legs that could take me to the highest peak of our mountains at an alarming speed.
"Leilani!" A high pitched voice called in the distance.
I looked away from the fog falling onto the beach from the ocean.
"Leilani!" Malia called again, drawing out each syllable with a taunting sing-song.
I hunched down, below the tendrils of white mist and crept quietly to her side, she was facing away not able to see my attack. When I sprung, leaping from my crouch like a jaguar she screeched in fear. Then yelped in joy as we fell onto the wet ground.
"My robes will get dirty you little wildcat!" She said between wheezes of laughter.
That was Malia's nickname for me, wildcat. She always said it in playful delight, as if she had truly befriended a beast of the jungle.
"That's because you've spent far too much time in the temple of loonies and old priests." I said before rubbing sand on her bald, shining head.
She threw me off of her gently and rose with grace. Malia was the oldest and wisest of us. It was said that on the day she was born, rare flowers bloomed and a breeze cooled the raging summer sun. Fine crows' feet wrinkled at her eyes when she smiled, and every room she entered felt tranquil. At eighteen she joined the temple of Tāne, the god of light. Her fine robes of red had indeed gotten a bit dirty, so I brushed the black grains off of her diligently.
We started walking together, back home. The reason Malia was here instead of the temple, the fire festival, was drawing near. Each of the king's daughters was required to perform a sort of homage to him and the gods, for prosperity. My own performance would be last while Malia's would be first.
Most of my sisters kept their distance from me, due to my Hon Lu mother. Who had decided to live apart from the haram and only spoke her native language. While the others wore clothes of our people, my mother had kept her silken dresses and fine gold combs. Some turning bronze with age. Her face was nearly always painted white, with ruby lips drawn to a perfect heart.
The performances, a chance to catch my fathers eye was a deeply competitive battle of wits and talent. With the lack of a son, it was known that a princess would be crowned queen once his time came. I had known early that there was little chance a daughter born with Hon Lu blood would ever become queen. So my dance was always one of rebellion and near offense. A warning to my sisters that a cat bites when it is provoked.
That was what Malia loved most about me, no matter the circumstance terror never pierced my wildcat heart. She, on the other hand, was a high favorite for the crown's blessing. Loved by all that looked upon her, including myself.
When Malia took me under her wing, I had finally felt like I belonged in Isla.
"You know, I would love it if you visited me at the temple more often." She said, smirking.
I bumped into her shoulder playfully and moaned in pain.
"So I can keep getting lectured by old monks and be used for unpaid labor, I don't think so."
She laughed again, at the image of me last harvest hauling buckets of water to each steam room for an old monk I had pissed off. The temple was not my cup of tea, my mother's house may have been strict but at least I could get away with sneaking onto the beach to lounge and swim.
"Father's ceremony is tonight, should I be expecting Hine's hair on fire again this year?" She asked, dropping a long arm across my shoulders.
Again I huffed.
"If that cocky twat decides to flick corn in my face again, expect more than just her hair on fire."
Hine was the second oldest, and revered as some type of head bitch amongst my sisters. Always holding unnatural standards for her little court of nasty prudes. Sending insults and threats my way at every family gathering.
"Leilani! That's no way to talk about our sweetest sister." Malia said, mimicking the haughty tone Hine was so commonly known for.
At that, I cackled uncontrollably and leaned closer into my sister's side. Her warmth was inviting on the early morning beach.
We chatted for the rest of the walk, mocking Hine and updating each other on our lives. I complained about my mother's stifling behavior, and Malia beamed about her friends at the temple.
My house came into view a bit too soon. The only house in all of Natia with paper walls and red wooden beams that were painted frequently to fight the salted air. At the center of the house was a small garden of sand, where my mother often went to meditate and speak to spirits. I had seen the creatures many times, slithering long lines across the golden grains and whispering to my mother about lands across the ocean. Messengers of mysterious origin, she called them the whispering wanderers. Malia parted ways with me at the gate, and I longed to follow her back to her mother's house.
My mother was kneeling at a short wooden table in the tea room. Before her were two steaming cups of ginseng, and a hot pot in the middle. I knelt at the opposite side, taking my own cup and sipping politely, as she had taught me.
We were both in white linen, hers a long dress with pearls sewn at the chest. Mine a pair of linen pants with a long blouse split on the two sides. It was considered men's clothes, but my mother desired me to wear Hon Lu attire and this was my compromise. Our hair was identical, long and silken, braided tightly into a swinging loop at our backs. The only difference was our faces, mine was sun kissed and clean and she donned her usual paint.
We sat in silence, her hands folded in her lap. The ginseng burned at the back of my throat.
She finally spoke in her mother tongue.
"I hear whispers that tonight will be a night of revelation."
This was news. Her wanderers never led her astray, always telling of things to come.
"You will wear the finest silks, and stand proud."
I rolled my eyes, another opportunity for her to talk about my heritage and how to act in Koa's presence. Suddenly she smacked the table for my attention, the tea rippling in response.
"Lia." She said, her voice hard. My Hon Lu name, the only one she called me by. "You will stand proud."
I took a deep breath, putting the cup of tea back on the table. Bowing my head so low, my forehead brushed the glistening wood.
"I will show my deepest honor for my mother and my people." I said, in mother tongue with the Isla accent that drove her crazy.
When I lifted my eyes, I could see that she was gripping the table so hard her knuckles were white.
"Go."
At that I stood quickly, and moved quietly to my own rooms that faced the sea beyond. I knew her words were not meant to be trifled with, an order from my mother should be seen as a word from the god of light himself. The morning rays were finally peaking through the grey clouds, and from my window I could see the hazy shoreline.