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“We are not lost, Wakakana Koa.” Holamaka Kahuna stood in the prow of our canoe, tall and thin and brown as a mast, his head up as if looking for land. There was no land to see; water surrounded us on all sides. The storm clouds had parted and the midday sun beat down on our heads.
We had been heading home after solving the mystery of Chief Alekana’s missing pearl-adorned mahiole headdress when we had been caught up in a storm that swirled up out of the east and overwhelmed our boat. The waves had been high and rough, and we’d gotten capsized; we both clung to the prow until the storm passed and only then had been able to right the boat. I had spent the morning baling out the bottom of the boat (not easy with one working arm and hand, but a warrior does not complain). “Of course we’re not lost, Holamaka Kahuna. Once night falls the stars will tell us how to go home. But for now there is nothing to see.”
Fortunately, neither of us had to worry about paddling the boat, and we did not even have a sail or mast. Behind us swam the two long-bodied and long-tailed sharks, Nana and Maopopo, who pushed Holamaka’s canoe with their snouts at his command and who could swim faster than ten men could row. The shaman’s powerful hold over other living creatures also meant that we need not fear loss of our provisions, for had the latch of our storage door failed and we’d lost our food and water during the storm he could call up a few fish from the depths of the sea to sate our appetites. But the door had held and the water gourds were unbroken; we would not perish. Our shark friends would push us where we needed to go – once we knew which direction to take.
“That is true, Wakakana. There is nothing to see.” Holamaka Kahuna drew in a deep breath through his nose. He turned his head and drew another breath, then turned and inhaled again.
I laughed. “Flowers! You’re smelling the flowers on the islands around us.” We would not have to wait till nightfall to navigate by the stars after all.
Holamaka laughed too. “Every island has its own smell, Wakakana Koa. Our Peke smells of bamboo and taro and many beautiful flowers, but one smell it lacks is mangoes.” He tilted his head, smelled, and nodded. “This way.”
I sat and gripped the side with my good hand as Holamaka cried out to summon Nana and Maopopo, and the canoe shot forward as we followed the flowers of Peke that summoned us home.