When the pain stopped there was nothing at first. A deep emptiness, no peace, just mindnumbing emptiness. He was disoriented at first. It was dripping water that penetrated his senses first, a sound, though it felt different, almost like a vibration, but something deep in him knew it was a sound, he used to hear that vibration, before the pain stopped. The water turned into a ripple, carryig him away, away to a familiar shore. A line of torches was waiting for him on the shore, he heard the drums. As he came closer the figures became clear. A line of warriors stood before him, some ancient, some more modern. He recognized some uniforms from Pearl Harbour, sailors from days long past. He recognized them immediately, having been brought up on stories of the island he called home: Nightmarchers. And they welcomed him in their midst. The chief - standing in the middle of the warrior, greeted him with familiarity. Steve was confused. He was a haole, he should not be accepted into the ranks of the night marchers, the restless souls that acted as protectors of the island, seeking their next battle night after night. The chief explained - and he heard him - that it was because the island had adopted him. He was a hanai child of Hawaii and thus accepted into the ranks of the night marchers after the pain stopped.ย
In the moonless and windy night, Steve joined his first march along the night marcher trail that very night, looking for a battle he once knew was nowhere to be found, as his soul refused to accept his battle was over.
During the next moonless night they walked again, along ancient battlegrounds, some he knew himself. Along the Pali they walked to Kaaawa Valley, near Kualoa. Steve barely registered the flaring light on the vehicles down the trail. Flashing, familiar. Police, his spirit provided lazily. Something pulled him closer, but he could not break rank. He felt something pull him towards the cars and something pull him forward in line, aside from his inability to break rank.
Suddenly the spirits parted, walking around a figure on the ground, her face turned down, not looking upon the night marchers in respect and perhaps fear. Steve stared at the curly hair, the familiar hair, familiar figure. Ohana. She was ohana.
โNuโa!โ he said as he chief crept closer to her, ready to strike her dow regardless of her submissive position. She was his, he was able to protect her.ย โUa hฤnai สปia สปo ia,โ he explained to the chief Kamamalu. They all backed off.
Steve rounded her, knelt before her. Did she even know? Did she know what happened while he was away? Did he fully know what happened? His memory of it was fuzzy, dominated by the pain. He had been abroad, the ocean carried his spirit home to join the night marchers.
โTani, itโs okay. You may look up. You have ohana in a warrior of the night marchers on this trail,โ he whispered as the wind trustingly carried his voice to her. He reached out, to touch her hand, for a moment forgetting that nothing physical could stand in his way anymore and so his finger sank into her hand, felt the warmth of her ola.