And she was just such a girl.
“I swear,” she said.
Ellseth smiled and leaned back again. “Do you know what you wish for, Girl?”
“Yes,” said Lalani. “I wish for rain.”
Three Drops
Lalani swore her secrecy to Ellseth, and he agreed to make rain. When he walked to the nearby table, she followed. He removed the pouch from his neck, pulled it open with a swift push of his spindly finger, and removed a sharp, shiny object.
“What is that?” she asked.
“You’ve never seen an arrowhead before?” asked Ellseth, his brows furrowed. He turned it around in his palm. “How do your people hunt? How do your people eat?”
“We eat fish from the southern sea. And we eat the shek when their coats are no longer useful to us.” Lalani thought of My-Shek and the others. Where were they now? Had they made it home?
“You cannot survive on Isa without an arrowhead,” Ellseth said.
“Is it dangerous there? The stories always made it sound—”
“It’s dangerous everywhere,” Ellseth interrupted. “Danger lurks in dark places. Danger lurks in beautiful places. You can never escape it.”
Lalani swallowed. “Is it true that there is a mountain on Isa full of life’s good fortunes?”
“Yes, it is true.”
“Is it true that a yellow flower grows there? A yellow flower with specks of white?”
“Fei Diwata has a garden of flowers, but I never cared what they looked like.”
“Where is Fei Diwata and what does the mountain look like?”
Ellseth placed a sliver of tree bark between them. His fingers moved expertly, as if he’d memorized every inch of his house.
“You ask too many questions, Girl. Now give me your hand.”
Lalani was so caught up in her questions that she laid her hand on his without hesitation. Her mouth was barely able to keep up with her mind. “What are the fortunes? What happens when you get there?”
“Fei Diwata isn’t a place, Girl. Fei Diwata is a creature. She lives on the mountain, where everything good exists,” he said. “But Fei Diwata hoards it for herself. That is why there is so much misery. She refuses to share. I always considered it foolish that she should be the one to guard the mountain. Why her? I was just as equal to the task.”
Lalani thought of her mother’s pierced finger. Her father’s disappearance in his search for Isa. Toppi’s pink cheeks. The menyoro’s men guarding the pump because there wasn’t enough water.
And she thought of this vicious creature, keeping everything good for herself.
“Has anyone talked to Fei Diwata? Has anyone told her of all the misery?”
Ellseth huffed. “Fei Diwata is useless.” He fumbled with the arrowhead. “A drop of blood in exchange for your wish, and your oath.”
And before Lalani could protest, he sliced her thumb and squeezed three fat drops of blood onto the bark.
You Are the Nalupai
Imagine you have two islands in a vast ocean. You watch over them. They are yours, yes, but you have enough already. You are kind and generous, and don’t believe in keeping more than you need. So, you decide: you will give them away.
In the land above, where you exist, there are many others like you. Collectively, you are called the Nalupai. The Nalupai are peaceful and loving. Look at the beautiful trees below, the Nalupai whisper proudly to one another. Look how the wind blows. Look how the grass bends. Look at the magnificent colors.
You decide your islands need life. But what kind? You create creatures for the sea—eels with beautiful human heads and mermaids with sharp pointed fins down their backs. You create magnificent birds for the trees and herds of horned beasts to roam the countryside. You make mountains. Fish. Quiet animals with shelled backs. And you think: yes, this is beautiful. But how do you maintain balance? Your wish is for all creatures to delight in happiness, so you create a Diwata to watch over them. You name her Fei. You tell her, These islands belong to those who possess life’s greatest virtue. You whisper that virtue in her ear—one word. And she smiles and nods and stares at you with her new, sparkling eyes. You give her all of life’s good fortunes and say—Guard this. Be protective of it. Don’t allow anyone to steal it.
You give her the udyo to help her with this task.
Do you see that tree there? you ask her. It’s a tree you created. It looks ordinary, but you know that ordinary things aren’t always what they seem.
Yes, Mother Nalupai, she says.
I will place it on a great mountain, you tell her. And you will climb into it. You will keep the udyo with you always. Do you understand?
Yes, Mother Nalupai, Fei Diwata says.
You know there will be problems, of course. You cannot place living things together without expecting some problems. But you embrace this reality with both magical arms, because without pain, there is no joy. How do you know you are happy if you don’t know what it means to be sad?
Fei Diwata does not protect the islands alone. There are others, such as the eel-woman. She is protective of her water. She creates a veil to prevent passage. Great swarms of witches weave hives from the branches of your trees. But still, you are not worried. This is what life is. There is joy, there is pain. There is good, there is evil. Such is the way of things. So, happy with your creations, you leave them be.
You have last words for Fei Diwata: Take care of what I’ve created here. And then you are gone, like a whisper.
Hetsbi the Believer
Hetsbi should have never believed the Pasa boys when they said they wanted him to join their secret workers guild, but they’d looked so sincere. And being friends with Bio and Dah Pasa seemed like a much better deal than being their target. He knew what that was like.
“Come on,” said Bio as they gathered their few belongings to walk back to the village after school. The boys had pulled him aside, away from the others—although, truth be told, Hetsbi was often away from the others—to tell him about their plan.
The heat beat down on them. Sweat lined their faces, but they were used to it, so they didn’t brush it away. Cade was several paces ahead of them, alone and lost in his thoughts. It was unlike Cade to be alone, but ever since the menyoro had announced that his brother would sail . . . well, it was enough to weigh on anyone.
“We’ll just help each other with our assignments,” said Bio. “That way we can all get high marks and won’t get stuck fishing.”
“Bio and I want to become shipbuilders,” Dah said. “Don’t you, Hetsbi?”
Of course. Every boy wanted the menyoro to make him a shipbuilder. It wasn’t as admirable as being a sailor, but at least you didn’t die.
“Yes,” Hetsbi answered, quietly. “But . . .”
“But what?” asked Dah.
“Yes,” said Bio. “But what?”
Everyone knows I couldn’t even build a simple scouting boat. I can barely even fish.
He opened his mouth to say just that, then closed it again. He wasn’t sure why the Pasa boys were suddenly being nice to him, but he didn’t want to ruin it by reminding them who he was.
“There’s just one thing you have to do,” Dah said. He traded a quick, mischievous glance with his brother.
“Yes,” Bio agreed. “It’s a small test, but we’re making everyone do it. You’re the first. Next is Cade. He already agreed.”
Hetsbi looked at Cade, who was too far away to hear them, his ax-saw bumping against his leg, sweat staining his shirt.
“Really?” Hetsbi said. “Cade agreed?”
“Oh, sure,” said Bio. “And when you’re done, we’ll be able to tell him that you went first and weren’t afraid. Unless . . .”
Hetsbi swallowed. “Unless what?”
“Unless you are afraid.”
“I’m not afraid,” said Hetsbi, much too quickly.
But he was.
Of course he was.
Under the Cloudless Sky
Veyda f
ound Toppi’s mother sitting on the rocks, staring blankly at the fishing boats that dotted the sea in the distance. Toppi was nestled in her arms. The pink in his cheeks had developed into a spotted rash.
Veyda sat beside them.
“He’s quiet now,” Toppi’s mother said, without turning away from the water. Her voice was weary and hoarse, like she hadn’t slept in weeks. “It frightens me.”
“I know,” Veyda said. “I’m sorry.”
It wasn’t her fault—she couldn’t force the plants to grow—but she felt as if she had failed, nonetheless. She was the one who made the salve, and now she had nothing to clear Toppi’s lungs and make him feel better. She’d searched for plants, but there were none to find. They were all dying under the cloudless sky. Lalani had never showed up to help her look—odd, but not alarming, considering all the tasks girls were asked to do for their mothers at the last minute—but it wouldn’t have mattered anyway.
“It’s still possible he will recover,” said Veyda. “Perhaps that’s why he’s quiet now. Because he’s feeling better.”
But he didn’t look better.
He looked much worse.
“Perhaps,” Toppi’s mother said. She glanced down at her son. A tear plopped on his forehead. “When I was a little girl, my papa told me that wallecta know when they’re going to die. They burrow into their souls and go quietly.” She looked up, eyes glistening. “Do you think that’s what is happening with my Toppi? Is he going quietly?”
The weight on Veyda’s chest was so heavy that she found it difficult to speak.
She wanted to say no. She wanted to say that Toppi would recover and live a long, happy life. She wanted to say she had a bowl of salve waiting for him.
But Veyda lived in a world of truth, and she believed in it fiercely.
“I hope not,” she said. And she kissed the baby’s speckled cheek.
Stand Right Here
The Pasa brothers brought Hetsbi to a spot near the base of Mount Kahna.
“What about the menyoro?” asked Hetsbi.
The menyoro’s house was within eyesight, a notable distance from the village to signify the menyoro’s importance. The Pasa home was near here as well, because they tended to the shek, though Bosalene—the boys’ mother—often implied that it was their superiority, not the sheks’ diet, that brought them closer to the menyoro and the mountain.
The boys ignored Hetsbi’s question. They stepped into the weeds and waved for Hetsbi to follow.
He didn’t want to.
Not one bit.
He feared the mountain. That’s why he said his benediction every night. Not as a chore, but with every meaningful breath in his body. And now here they were, standing in Kahna’s shadow.
“Don’t worry,” Dah said, waving his brown hand impatiently toward Hetsbi. “We’re not going up the mountain. You just need to come stand right here.”
“Yes,” Bio said. He looked into the weeds, at something near his feet. “The initiation ceremony is right here.”
Hetsbi wasn’t a fool.
He knew how the Pasa boys were.
They were mean. Vengeful. They made other people the target of their jokes, and their jokes were never funny to anyone but them.
Even though he knew all these things about Dah and Bio, even though every beat of his heart told him this whole scenario was a bad idea, he did not run away. He didn’t say never mind, I don’t want to join your guild after all. He didn’t say I know you two are up to something and I want no part of it. Because there was a pinprick of possibility—smaller than a bulb fly, smaller than the tip of a mending needle—that this was real and true. That maybe this, whatever this was, would be a chance for him to show them a remarkable display of bravery that they would never forget.
He lifted one foot, then the other. It was difficult to walk, but he did. Just a few steps.
He didn’t see what was in the weeds until he was standing between the Pasa brothers.
A baby pahaalusk looked up at them from the scorched grass. Peels of dry skin stretched over its shell. A line of froth dripped from its mouth. Thirst.
Hetsbi felt every hair on his body.
“Dah found it yesterday on our way to school,” Bio said proudly. “It was walking behind its mother.”
The boys laughed, though Hetsbi didn’t see the joke in it.
Pahaalusk were common on the island. They lived mostly along the shore or among the plants or trees. Their meat was too tough to eat and their shells were nearly impossible to crack. Pahaalusk survived on grass—although who knew for how much longer, without the rain?—alongside the Sanlagitans, who had little use for them. Hetsbi had never found them particularly endearing.
“He took it,” Bio added, still with a note of pride.
“Took it?” Hetsbi said.
Dah crossed his arms. “I just picked it up. Stupid thing didn’t even struggle. Then I brought it here.”
“Talk about stupid,” Bio agreed. He toed the pahaalusk with his sandal. “He hasn’t even moved.”
“But . . .” Hetsbi began. He wasn’t sure he would manage the next word, but he did: “Why?”
The Pasa brothers turned to him, eyebrows furrowed.
“Why?” Dah repeated, as if it were the most ridiculous question he’d ever heard.
“For the initiation,” Bio said. “Of course.”
Hetsbi felt every bead of sweat. Every beat of his heart.
“What do you want me to do?” he asked.
Hetsbi knew Dah would pull out an ax-saw even before he saw it.
Every boy in Sanlagita had one. They used them in their lessons, from gutting fish to whittling wood.
But that’s not what it would be used for today, if the Pasa brothers had their way.
Dah extended an ax-saw to him.
“Kill it,” Dah said.
The tone in his voice had changed, and Hetsbi knew with complete certainty that he would forever be their target, whether he killed the pahaalusk or not.
But he still didn’t want to be a coward.
He wanted to take the ax-saw and kill the animal in one swoop, just to show them that he wasn’t afraid. That he could do something monstrous if he needed to.
Here’s the thing, though: he couldn’t.
Could he?
He took Dah’s ax-saw, even though he had one of his own. The blade was worn and chipped. Hetsbi never used his ax-saw with confidence, so it still looked brand-new.
The paahalusk blinked up at him. It didn’t seem to have any idea what was going on. It opened and closed its mouth. All it cared about was water, probably. Or finding its mother.
“This thing has just been sitting there the whole time,” Bio said. “An animal that can’t save itself doesn’t deserve to live anyway.”
“Yes,” Dah agreed. “So what are you waiting for, then?”
Had he been waiting for a long time? It didn’t seem like it. Their voices sounded far away, and Hetsbi felt like he was far away, too. Like this was something happening between three boys he didn’t know.
The handle of the ax-saw slipped, but he didn’t drop it. Hetsbi hadn’t noticed how much his hands were sweating.
He had to do it. He had no choice. What if he didn’t? What then? They already thought he was a hopeless coward. I can’t believe your papa was a sailor. I guess you take after your mama. I hope you know how to work the crops. Ha ha. They’d said that to him more than once.
If he didn’t do this, how much worse would it get?
He tightened his grip.
It’s going to die anyway, he thought.
If I do it quickly, it won’t even hurt. I’m probably doing it a favor. At least it won’t have to suffer.
He would go for the soft, fleshy part of its neck. That was the only way.
He swallowed. Shifted his feet.
One swoop—that’s all it would take.
He inhaled deeply.
A little voice screamed in his head: Do it fast or don�
�t do it.
Do it fast.
Do it fast.
Do it fast.
“Hey—what—” Dah blurted out.
At first Hetsbi thought he would comment on the way Hetsbi was holding the ax-saw, as if he’d held it like a girl, or maybe he was talking about the pahaalusk; maybe the pahaalusk had suddenly bared teeth and threatened to attack them all, but when he looked up, he saw that Dah was staring at something, something coming from the mountain, something making the weeds bend this way and that.
It was Lalani.
“Is she coming out of the mountain?” Bio asked.
She didn’t see them. She wobbled, like it pained her to move. Her hair was tangled and stuck out in every direction.
“What was that stupid sahyoon doing in the mountain?” said Dah.
Sahyoon, meaning round face.
Sahyoon, meaning not pretty.
There was no word for boys who weren’t attractive, but for girls it was sahyoon. Every time they called Lalani that, Hetsbi’s heart secretly broke for her. But he didn’t tell them to stop. He could never find the words, or his voice, to do that.
Bio’s eyes narrowed. “We should—”
Another sound. From the opposite direction this time. They froze.
The menyoro was out for a walk.
And they were three schoolboys, standing somewhere they weren’t supposed to be. The village rules were strict and simple: after schoolwork, home. Community first. Playing games did not help the community.
Not that this was much of a game.
“Let’s go!” Dah said, in a loud whisper. He snatched the ax-saw out of Hetsbi’s hand, and he and his brother darted off, moving stealthily so the menyoro wouldn’t notice them.
Hetsbi fell on his knees next to the pahaalusk. From this vantage point, he could see tiny bubbles of froth inside the animal’s mouth.
“I wouldn’t have done it,” Hetsbi whispered.
He wouldn’t have—right?
Hetsbi and the pahaalusk hid in the weeds together until the menyoro passed them by.
The Strongest Fish
Lalani of the Distant Sea Page 6