The menyoro cradled the heartbeat of the village in his hand. He was their leader, their healer, the only man on the island who could settle disputes or treat the sick, and this made him very powerful. The menyoro did not marry. The people were his children.
He was not a loving father.
When he arrived at Lalani’s house just before she did, she considered it both fortunate and unfortunate.
Fortunate, because no one paid much attention when she walked through the door.
Unfortunate, because she knew right away why he was there.
“Exhausting, going from home to home,” the menyoro was saying. He stood between Drum and Kul, looking down at Lalani’s mother, who lay on the hard floor with a sheen of sweat across her face. They barely glanced at Lalani. “I hope this isn’t the start of another outbreak.” He had a clipped way of speaking that distinguished him from the other Sanlagitans. Lalani wondered where he’d learned it. “What would become of you all if I got sick myself, eh? Especially since I still haven’t selected my successor.”
“There’s no need,” Drum said. “You’re young yet, and healthy.”
The fact that Drum treated him with respect was testament to the power of the menyoro. Every man in the village wanted to be his successor, but he’d dragged his feet in choosing one.
“I can see already that she is affected by it,” said the menyoro. He tilted his head left, right, then left again. “No swelling, but her skin is warm and her cheeks flushed.”
Lalani stood behind the men without saying a word. She didn’t want to draw attention to herself, but she was desperate to go to her mother.
“I heard that some have survived it,” said Kul.
“She won’t,” the menyoro said. “Only the strong ones survive.”
The way he said it—so matter-of-fact, as if he were talking about a useless fish or insect—sparked anger in Lalani’s chest. She was tired and her mind was muddled. Her thumb throbbed where Ellseth’s arrowhead had sliced it. She’d spent hours wandering the mountain, and she was thirsty and hungry and weary. Perhaps that’s why her anger lit so quickly and burned like fire.
“My mother is strong,” Lalani said, before she could stop herself.
The menyoro squinted at her, then raised his eyebrows at Drum.
“Pay no attention to her,” said Drum. His thumb tapped, tapped, tapped against his leg. “She’s just the daughter.”
Lalani imagined herself kicking Drum in the knee. Kul, too. If she were like Ziva, maybe she would. Or maybe she’d just take her mother and hide away on the ship that was set to sail the next morning. Cade’s brother Esdel Malay was the captain this time, and Esdel seemed like a reasonable man. The Malays were a good family. Kind, and strong.
Just like her father had been.
Her father, who had never returned.
“How long does my wife have?” Drum asked.
The menyoro shrugged. “It’s hard to tell with these things. Weeks, I’d say. Some last longer than others. It’s like our Sanlagitan fish—one may spoil right away; another may be good to eat for days to come.”
Lalani inhaled deeply.
They had compared her mother to a fish.
Lalani’s mother fell asleep on her back. Sweat snaked down her forehead. Heat radiated from her skin so feverishly that it warmed Lalani’s skin as she nestled close. The men snored across the room. But Lalani could not sleep.
“If you were a fish, you would be mighty,” Lalani whispered. “You would survive forever because no one would see you coming.”
Lalani rested her temple on her mother’s shoulder. At least she’s not awake and in pain, Lalani thought, though she desperately wanted to hear her mother’s voice. She wanted to hear her say it would be okay. She wanted to ask questions about all those mothers and their stories.
Instead, she only heard the raspy whistles of her mother’s labored breathing.
“The fishermen would think you were just an average fish, so they would try to catch something bigger or brighter. But if they were to catch you, they would find out how strong you were,” Lalani continued. “They would try to cut you open, but you would bite their hands off and go right back into the water.”
She paused. She wanted to tell her mother a story. Something to lift her spirits, if only as she slept. The one about the binty—something to remind her of her own mother and times long ago, when she was just a girl—but she’d never had a chance to ask Mora Pasa about it.
The only story she could think of was the one she had just lived. My-Shek. Ellseth. The mountain. The beast. A prick of her thumb, the promise of rain, a small bit of magic. If her mother knew such things could happen, she might believe that anything was possible, including her own survival.
“Mama . . .” Lalani began. She’s asleep, she thought. What could it hurt? “I want to tell you something.”
Her mother’s breath rattled.
Her fever burned.
Lalani closed her eyes. The words sat on her tongue, every one of them, every detail, even the breeze from the old tree. But she had made a promise. She had given her word. She swallowed the story away and, without a taller tale to tell, she soon fell asleep.
Sailing Day
When the rising sun slanted into the room the next day, Lalani opened her eyes, expecting to hear rain. But there was only Drum, who kicked her pillow and told her to get up.
“It’s Sailing Day,” he said.
Lalani turned toward her mother. The blanket was soaked through, but she was still sleeping peacefully.
“Hurry,” Drum ordered. “You can see to your mother when we get back.”
Lalani, Drum, Kul, and the other villagers advanced together like a great herd to the northern shore. Lalani scanned the crowd for Veyda and broke away as soon as she spotted her.
Lo Yuzi was holding Veyda’s hand, which Lalani knew Veyda hated. Hetsbi walked with them, too. Lalani fell in step.
“Where’s your mama?” Lo Yuzi said, craning her neck over the crowd.
“The menyoro saw her last night,” Lalani replied. “She’s sick.”
She didn’t need to say anything else.
“I’m sorry,” Lo Yuzi said. She briefly placed her hand on Lalani’s back.
Veyda hurried to Lalani’s side.
“I’m sorry, too,” she whispered.
The mood was solemn, even though Sailing Days were supposed to be celebratory. It took years to build ships and train sailors, so Sailing Days did not come around often. When they did, the mood was meant to be triumphant.
“Could he do anything for her?” Veyda asked.
But they both knew the answer to that, so they walked in silence the rest of the way.
The villagers reached the northern shore. Danila, Caralita, and Yari—three of Sanlagita’s best washerwomen—clutched the hands of their small children. Lalani knew what the washerwomen’s hands felt like. Rough, like grains of sand under the skin. Dry and cracked. Swollen knuckles from scrubbing the washerboards for hours. Lalani glanced down at her own hands and wondered what they’d look like when she was older. Maybe they’d be like Lo Yuzi’s—dusted with earth.
Lalani and Veyda watched the shipbuilders pull the sailing vessel from its cradle, heaving it behind them with thick ropes. Lined, elderly faces gazed off, expressionless and unexpectant, as if this were yet another chore in a long workday. All the ships looked the same. Large, but not imposing. Designed to carry three men, food, and supplies.
Lalani thought of Ellseth.
I’ve not seen your island—of course, I haven’t—but mine? Isa? It is lush and alive.
“Do you think they’ll make it?” Hetsbi asked, bringing Lalani back to the present.
She looked into the sky.
Would it rain?
“No,” said Veyda. “I think they’ll be dead by noon.”
Lo Yuzi made a sound with her tongue—tsk-tsk—to scold her daughter for her bluntness.
Every sailor who sailed into the Veiled Sea bel
ieved he was different. His ship would be victorious. He would be the first to return, hands full of gold, belly full of exotic fruit, and skin bronzed from the sun. There had once been rumors that all the men had survived and established new villages and hadn’t come back so they could keep the fortunes for themselves.
But Ziva changed all that.
She’d hidden herself on a boat bound for Isa, desperate to escape the hardships of her life. Three men were on board, unaware of their stowaway. Three days later the boat reappeared out of the mist—that’s how the stories had it, at least. Only one man was left on board. He wasn’t wearing any clothes. His chest was raked with fingernail scratches and caked with seawater and vomit. He bumbled out, eyes crazed, and said they’d gotten lost as soon as the ship left Sanlagita. When Ziva had appeared, they thought it was her fault. They believed she had cast a spell on them. Something. It had to be her fault. They were skilled sailors. Intelligent, brawny, and brave. She was a girl. What other explanation was there?
Ziva had lived on Sanlagita all her life, but none of them had recognized her at first. The ocean had confused them. Muddied their thoughts. They threw her overboard and she fell into the misty water, screaming. Her long hair caught on a plank somehow, tethering her to the ship, so one of the men unsheathed his ax-saw and hacked her hair off. She floated away. The men expected the skies to clear. Their witch was gone.
But things did not get better.
Quite the opposite.
The men forgot where they were or why they were on the water. One sailor jumped off the boat, muttering nonsense. Another followed. The one remaining huddled in the bow and wept until the ship drifted back to the northern shore of Sanlagita. The sailor told his story, then threw up. Eleven crabs crawled from his mouth. He said the sea was unpassable. Seconds later he dropped dead.
For years there were no Sailing Days. But Sanlagita has a short memory, and soon a new generation rose up to undertake the challenge. New sailors announced themselves even as pieces of wreckage from past years drifted onto the beach. These sailors claimed they were stronger and smarter. They never thought they’d be chewed up, too.
This morning, at early dawn, it was Cade’s brother Esdel and his two cousins who were ready to sail.
The menyoro stood with his back to the ship and sailors.
“As we all know, it is a great honor to be selected as a sailor. A great honor indeed,” he said. “I know this occasion may be difficult for you. I know we have struggled together. We have lost many men to the sea—many brave and skilled men. But we are Sanlagitans, and this means that we will not bow to defeat. Across this sea is a vast wonderland beyond our imaginings. Legend tells us so. And we will not rest until we have conquered it, with the power and force of Kahna behind us.”
He pumped his fists into the air, and the people cheered, although their faces remained solemn.
Lalani thought again of Ellseth. She pressed her thumb to her forefinger to make sure the wound was really there and she hadn’t imagined it.
The sky remained cloudless.
Veyda leaned over. Her hair tickled Lalani.
“See how he stands on that platform?” Veyda whispered. “It’s only to make him appear taller. That way it seems as if he’s more powerful than us. But he’s not.”
Lalani put her fingers to her lips. What if someone overheard?
“I am confident that Esdel and his men are immune to the water’s tricks,” the menyoro continued.
“I wonder what the menyoro said when our papas sailed,” Veyda whispered. They’d talked about that many times before, the two of them. “Oh, look—here’s Cade.”
Yes, Cade was walking up to them. He stood next to Lalani. Veyda often joked that Cade admired Lalani, but Lalani knew better. Cade was the strongest and most handsome boy in the village, and she . . . well, she was a sahyoon. She knew that.
Hetsbi turned to him. “Your brother looks very strong, Cade.”
Cade didn’t blink. Eyes forward.
The sail flapped in the wind.
“We know you’ve been disappointed in the past by weaker men,” the menyoro continued, conviction in his voice. “But these sailors will not let us down.”
Weaker men? The fire in Lalani’s chest sparked.
Esdel and his cousins cast off, releasing their ship from the dock. Sailing Days were meant to be momentous, but the villagers were subdued. They all watched the ship disappear into the mist. There was barely a sound.
When the ship was out of sight, the menyoro turned to them again. His face was coated in sweat.
“While we wait for news, I will retire home and send thoughts of hope across the sea. I will say my benedictions as always,” he said. “I encourage you to do the same. Take rest today. Back to it tomorrow.”
No one moved until he stepped down off his makeshift platform. Then they followed, murmuring quietly. All but Cade.
Lalani, Veyda, and Hetsbi didn’t leave right away, either. Neither did Lo Yuzi. It didn’t seem right while Cade was still standing there, staring at the sea.
“Things will never change if everyone’s asleep,” Cade said.
He turned on his heel and went to find his mother.
Pshah on That
Lalani stayed at the Yuzis’ house until the sun slipped behind Mount Kahna. Truth be told, she would have liked to spend the night, but she couldn’t. Not while her mother was sick. She would have liked to have Veyda stay at her house, too—but Kul made Veyda uncomfortable. Veyda was beautiful, and it hadn’t escaped Kul’s glowering attention.
Veyda offered to walk her home. Once they were on their way, she nudged Lalani with her elbow and said, “You have a secret, don’t you? I can tell.”
Lalani pressed her thumb against her forefinger and glanced at the cloudless sky. Oh, how desperately she wanted to tell her best friend about Ellseth! But she didn’t dare. Who knew what would happen?
“I don’t have a secret,” said Lalani. Her voice wavered. She was a terrible liar.
“Yes, you do,” Veyda replied. “But if you don’t want to tell your very best friend . . .” She shrugged and grinned.
The water pump came into view. Cade’s older brother Agapito was no longer guarding it. Perhaps he and Cade were comforting their mother, who was no doubt crying into her blankets.
“Why are you frowning?” Veyda asked.
“I was thinking about Cade’s mother.”
Now Veyda frowned, too. “I wish we could bring her a basket of fruit, but we can’t afford to share a bite. None of my mother’s seedlings is growing at all.”
Lalani was relieved that Veyda’s attention had shifted away from her secret, even if the subject was grim.
“We should visit anyway, just to give her good wishes,” Lalani said.
Veyda’s sneaky smile returned. She bumped Lalani with her hip. “And so you can see Cade, right?”
“No!” Lalani said, blushing. “I told you, he doesn’t look at me that way.”
“What makes you think that?”
“No one sees me that way.” Lalani lowered her voice and watched her sandals walk along the dirt. “I know what I am.”
“Kind and loyal?”
“No,” Lalani said. “I’m a sahyoon.”
Veyda waved her hand in the air, as if she were snatching up the word and throwing it away.
“Pshah!” she said. “Pshah on that!”
One, Two, One, Two
Lalani counted her mother’s breaths. They’d slept so closely all these years, and her breathing was always the same night after night. Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale, one, two, one, two. When Lalani was younger and had nightmares of her father drowning in the Veiled Sea, her mother’s breaths put her to sleep. There had been times, too, when she knew her mother was only pretending to sleep.
Tonight, things were different.
Her mother was asleep, but her breathing was unsteady.
The inhales were ragged. The exhales wheezed. Her chest ballooned. And
the way she kept turning her head, with her chin dipped near her collarbone, scared Lalani more than anything.
More than the eyeless man she’d wagered with.
More than being lost on Mount Kahna.
More than the thought of My-Shek wandering alone.
This was the sound of sickness. Her mother’s sickness, racing through her blood.
Her mother could be cold and distant, yes.
But she was still her mama.
Where would Lalani be without her? Where would she go? The thought of staying with Drum and Kul, now snoring from the farthest corner of the room, terrified her. They’d only make her a servant, no doubt. Or worse. If she went anywhere else, she would just be another mouth to feed, and who had resources for that? The menyoro might place her somewhere—but how would that end?
Lalani took her mother’s hand. So warm. She kissed her mother’s knuckles.
“I’m sorry you’re sick, Mama,” she whispered.
She brushed a lock of hair from her mother’s damp forehead.
She thought of Toppi, the way he’d kicked his feet and beat his fists in the air. How loudly he’d wailed. How much pain was he in? Was her mother in pain now? How much did it hurt?
Lalani closed her eyes, said her benediction silently—Spare us another night. Remain quiet and peaceful in our gratitude—then opened them again.
“You have to think good thoughts,” she whispered. “To help your spirit get better. Think of Papa.”
Lalani thought of him now, too. She didn’t remember much. Only pieces. The way his hands felt when he lifted her in the air. The shape of his eyebrows. The wideness of his feet. Surely, he hadn’t been perfect. But that was the wonderful thing about memories—sometimes only the good ones stayed put.
Her mother sputtered and coughed. Lalani wiped her chin.
“Daughter.” Her mother smiled. Faintly. It was strange at first; she wasn’t a woman who often smiled. “I had a dream of you.”
Lalani’s heart raced, though she wasn’t sure why. Maybe because her mother didn’t often speak to her directly any longer, except to delegate tasks. Maybe because her voice sounded strange and distant, as if it belonged to another woman in another time.
Lalani of the Distant Sea Page 7