MILILANI — Orange flames curled off the blade of Kanani Ing's Samoan fire-knife, less than a foot from her face. Any closer and the heat that bent the air would scorch her cheeks.

Quickly, the high school senior squeezed a kerosene-soaked chunk of ceiling material tied to the end of the knife handle. Then, with a sweeping motion across the flames, she briefly lit her palm on fire so she could light the material.

When it comes to fire, Ing doesn't pause for very long. That's the secret of a routine she practices six days a week in the backyard of her grandmother's home. Ing is first and foremost a performer. With only a few days remaining before the 15th annual World Fireknife Championships in La'ie, she doesn't have time to worry about burns.

Deftly, she twirled the knife, turning it into a burning propeller that sounded like a blowtorch.

She moved the spinning knife around her waist, under her arms, between her legs and tossed it over her head.

And caught it.

Playing with fire never looked so easy, but the air held a faint scent of singed hair.

"You feel the heat, but you won't get burned as long as you're moving — and you don't catch it the wrong way," Ing said.

At the championships, Ing will perform in a new division — Teine Toa o Samoa, or Warrior Girls of Samoa. The female dancers will open the competition, which runs tomorrow through Saturday at the Polynesian Cultural Center.

The competition has deep roots in Samoan culture.

Samoan warriors once wielded a wooden knife called a nifo oti and would dance before battle to psyche themselves up and afterward to celebrate victory.

They attached boar tusks to the knife and fashioned a hook on the end, which was handy for carrying the heads of their enemies.

The stylized dance, with its twirling moves, was relatively static through the centuries. But in 1946, Freddie Letuli, a young Samoan entertainer in San Francisco, put flaming pads on his knife, and the dance was forever changed.

Ing, an 18-year-old student at Mililani High School, got the fire bug in early 2006 when her hula instructor suggested she try fire-knife dancing.

A dancer since she was 5, Ing could easily spin a fireknife. The next step took courage, though.

"Fire is totally, completely different," she said. "I just had to get over my fear of fire. I would try to catch it, but I would pull away."

It took a few months to put a little callus on her nerves.

"Eventually I got used to it, and I learned to enjoy it," Ing said. "It can be very nerve-wracking, I guess. And when you're done, it's like, whew."

Ing is a quiet teen with an easy, engaging smile and long brown hair. When she spins her fireknife, she has to tie her hair in a bun or risk turning it into stinky smoke.

"I've singed my eyelashes and my hair," she said.

A bad hair day with the fire-knife wouldn't be flattering at the senior prom. It's trying enough just dealing with her feet, she said.

They have enough calluses to make a shoemaker jealous.

"They're pretty gross," Ing said. "I am a girl. I want nice feet. But I have to be tough."

Tough? Maybe a touch crazy is more like it. In her routine, Ing holds her flaming knife to the bottom of both feet, for four or five seconds. The thicker the callus, the longer you can hold the fire near.

She won't let her feet burn, but that doesn't mean she hasn't gotten too close before.

"I've burned my arms and my legs, but that's it," she said. "At first, it hurt really bad, but I got used to it. It hurt, but I can take the pain. I'd rather get burned than get a shot. That's how I am."

Ing's father, Kepa, made her fire-knife. He took a machete and ground away the edge, cut out a decorative hook and wedged the whole thing into a wooden dowel.

It's not sharp. Like that matters.

"When that blade gets hot, it's almost like a knife," Kepa Ing said. "It's hot enough to sear skin."

His wife, Jennifer, smiles a little weakly at the thought of injury. This is her oldest child, the one who plays piano, violin and guitar. The one who wants to study nursing next fall at Brigham Young University, Provo.

"She has burned herself a few times, but nothing serious," Jennifer Ing said. "It doesn't make us nervous. If she was nervous, I'd be more nervous."

Last year, Kanani Ing entered the fire-knife championships, but at the last minute was told she couldn't compete against boys in the only youth division.

She watched them, teenagers like herself, throw burning knives 10 feet into the air — and catch them.

It was a stirring challenge, but not to win.

"I always enjoy performing for others," Ing said. "Not so much competing — just hoping others will enjoy what I do for them."

Reach Mike Gordon at mgordon@honoluluadvertiser.com.