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the
opihi
. Its natural dance is one they’re well versed in. They hunker down when the waves approach, and venture out to feed only when the waves recede. That is the best time to pluck them from the rocks.”
    His foster father’s expression had softened when he’d spoken of his first love, the waves that crashed against the southern shores of Kaua’i. A fisherman of renown, Kaiko’olokai was strongly in tune with the Elemental power of the ocean. Like the
opihi
, he knew when to hunker down and when to venture out, and he was not afraid to take his outrigger canoe into the deepest of waters. It was he who had heard the call of the waves and gone out during a violent storm twelve years ago to pull a damaged, double-hulled voyaging canoe from the maelstrom, rescuing its only living passenger, a six-month-old boy child wrapped in a warrior’s red loincloth. He’d named him Makana-Hinahele, Gift of the Goddess Hina, and had brought him up to love the sea.
    But Makana could not be one with the waves, no matter how hard he tried for his foster father’s sake, any more than he could be one with the wind or the sun above his head or the rocks beneath his fingertips.
    His gaze traveled to a deep outcropping below the low tide mark where he could just make out his foster mother’s hair floating on the surface. Born on the rocks of Kawai Point itself, Kapali’i’Ka’ohu was so sensitive to their power that she could feel the touch of an
opihi’s
tiny foot on their surface and know when it released its grip to feed. Within the hour the
ipu
gourd she wore slung over her shoulder would be teeming with the wiliest and most prized of all the
opihi
, the
opihi ko’ele
. If Makana remained patient as his foster father counseled, he just might be able to contribute his usual half dozen of the easiest
opihi
to harvest, those that lived above the surf line. It was barely enough to honor the two people who’d raised him as their own. He needed to do better. Especially today.
    Allowing the waves to move him back and forth as he’d been taught, Makana resisted the urge to twist his head around to stare at the open water past Kawai Point. Lolani-a-Ailana, eldest son of the premier chief of O’ahu, and his entourage were due to arrive within the hour bearing a proposal of marriage for Nalunani, daughter of Makana’s own chief, that would see the two islands allied for generations to come. The ruling
ali’i
from across Kaua’i had made the journey to receive him. A great feast had been prepared, and there would be singing, dancing, and feats of strength and skill lasting for days.
    “Makana, have you finished your harvest yet?”
    The quiet voice, tinged with just a hint of reproach, pulled him from his thoughts immediately.
    “No, Father.” Cheeks burning, Makana returned his attention to the
opihi
, staring at the largest of the smooth-shelled creatures clamped to the rock just a few inches from his left hand.
    “Move,” he whispered. “Go on. You’re hungry. You know you are. Move.”
    When it remained stubbornly motionless, he sighed, cocking an ear to the excited chatter of the people lining the cliffs above him. It sounded like the festivities had already begun, with wrestling or maybe racing. Makana himself was known for his speed and endurance among the village boys his own age . . .
    He blinked rapidly, trying to force his attention back to the
opihi
, still frustratingly clamped to the same bit of rock as before.
    Time passed. A sudden swell splashed across his face and, gritting his teeth, he resisted the urge to swipe it away. More time passed. The sun beat down on his bare back, drying a patch of salt water between his shoulder blades and sending a sharp, insistent itch skittering along his spine. He narrowed his eyes, refusing to be distracted. The wind whispered across his cheek, the smell of roast boar wafted across his nostrils, his fingers began to cramp, and his left leg went numb, but then he felt the