Lalani of the Distant Sea

by Erin Entrada Kelly

  Why not do it?

  She moved forward slowly. The mist, thickening again, circled them. She didn’t want to startle the pahaalusk, but she needed to move quickly, and she did.

  Its belly was softer than she imagined. It shifted its webbed feet to make room for her arms.

  She’d thought this would be simple, but she had underestimated the pahaalusk’s weight. She tried to flip it overboard but stumbled back with both arms still around it. Chest to chest, with her fingers grazing its damaged shell.

  The pahaalusk’s eyes shone. They were round with fear. They looked directly at her. Something gleamed inside them, like little pinpricks, and she realized it was her reflection. But it was more than that, too. Images. Memories. Lalani’s mother kissing her forehead. The long-haired girl—Veyda, yes, that was her name—taking her hand. Cade, drenched with rain and looking at Drum. Ships sailing north.

  Kill it. You share nothing with this creature.

  “We share this boat,” she said.

  She loosened her grip.

  She sat back. Water soaked her dress.

  She breathed deeply.

  She remembered who she was now.

  Her name was Lalani Sarita.

  She looked at the pahaalusk. It laid its head on her lap. “If we die, we die together,” she whispered.

  Lalani navigated with the cracked paddle, despite the throbbing in her hand and the stubbornness of the boat.

  She had hunger pangs, but no food. She didn’t know how to hunt. She hadn’t packed a single thing. She didn’t know where she was going.

  She’d left her dying mother behind to set sail on a foolish mission.

  She was a stupid twelve-year-old girl with a splinter in her hand.

  All these feelings and others—the speared wallecta, the feel of Drum’s hand on her arm, the empty sockets in Ellseth’s face—gathered inside her. She tried not to cry. She was a girl on a mission, like Ziva. But she was a sailor, not a stowaway. She was doing what her father and others had done before her. Had any of them cried? She doubted it. She wanted to be brave like Ziva. But her chest ached with sorrow and soon, a tear. Then another and another. She sniffled. The pahaalusk blinked up at her.

  “I’m a stupid girl,” she said.

  She and Veyda used to cry over their lost fathers. They would sob on each other’s shoulders. There was no shame in crying—was there? Lalani let the tears fall but didn’t stop paddling.

  A person can’t cry forever. When the well finally ran dry, Lalani’s face felt puffy and sore. She moved the paddle through the water with no idea if she was getting anywhere.

  Thirst replaced hunger. She scooped a handful of water from the sea and tried to drink it, but it burned her tongue and she spit it out. Waves of nausea washed over her for a while after that.

  The pahaalusk didn’t seem as moved by dreams of food and water. It slept peacefully in its shell.

  Lalani’s arms were thin, wiry, and strong, but soon they were so sore that every dip of the paddle, no matter how small, felt like a challenge. She kept going for as long as she could, but it seemed that she was making no headway. She put the paddle down and rubbed her arms. She thought of her mother and Veyda. And she thought of food, food, food.

  She yawned. When she turned her mind away from home and hunger and focused on the boat and water, she found something peaceful about it. The way the water rocked her back and forth. The quiet lapping. No thudding of Drum’s boots. No wails from poor little Toppi. No pounding of rain.

  She lay down next to the pahaalusk. More water had collected in the boat, but she didn’t care. She wanted rest, even if it soaked her dress and hair. It was a tight fit, but she was small enough to situate her body in a comfortable position. Well, as comfortable as one can be in a scouting boat. She imagined her mother next to her. One, two, one, two.

  She fell asleep quickly. She dreamed she was a cloud—white, puffy, and light—floating over a green island. The grass was so tall and lush that it tickled her. Yellow flowers bloomed everywhere, and she was weightless. No responsibilities, no thoughts except how high she could soar. Higher, higher. Sunlight warmed her and all was well.

  Lalani couldn’t say why she opened her eyes. There was no jarring against the boat, no loud thwack. She opened her eyes anyway. She wasn’t prepared for what she saw.

  A woman. Well, the head of a woman. Enormous. Larger than the boat, even. Her eyes glistened like crystals; that was the first thing Lalani noticed. Then a long, straight nose, which pointed to two perfectly shaped blue lips. Her skin was pale, virtually translucent. Lalani had never seen skin like that. Then again, she’d never seen a woman rise from water.

  The woman’s hair: long, wet, nearly white. In Sanlagita the rain had plastered hair to faces in messy nests, but this creature’s hair looked smooth and silky. It ran down either side of her face in waves. She had no arms, not that Lalani could see anyway. But her neck—was that a neck? No. It was a body—a body like a fish, but long and curled, stretching forever just under the surface of the water. Lalani couldn’t see where it ended.

  “Am I dreaming?” said Lalani.

  “Is it possible to dream with your eyes open?” the creature asked. Her voice was light and lilting, like bubbles rising from a stream.

  “I don’t know,” Lalani said. She placed her hand on the pahaalusk shell to remind her of reality.

  But what if this was reality, too?

  “Who are you?” the sea-woman asked.

  “Lalani Sarita.”

  “What are you?”

  “A girl.” Lalani paused. “Who are you?” she added, as politely as possible.

  The woman’s eyebrows, nearly invisible, furrowed, as if this was a foolish question.

  “I’m Ditasa-Ulod,” she replied. She swept her eyes over the scouting boat. “What are you doing in my sea?”

  “I’m . . . looking for something. Someone? I don’t know, really. I just . . .” Lalani had no real answer. I’m a stupid girl. I don’t know what I’m doing. I ruined my village and I left. I don’t know what I was thinking. I didn’t even pack food. But she was too frightened to say exactly what was on her mind.

  The creature swished this way and that. A small wake rippled across the water’s surface. “Who are you looking for?” she asked.

  Lalani swallowed. Oh, her throat was so parched. “Fei Diwata?” she said finally.

  “Fei Diwata? Ha!” Swish, swish. “Fei Diwata has no interest in a human girl. Fei Diwata has not been the same since a mindoren stole her udyo. She no longer trusts anyone. Especially not an outsider.”

  Lalani’s mind traveled back to the moment Ellseth cured her wounded knee with his staff. She remembered the strange images that had flooded over her: A single tree. Piercing screams. My udyo! My udyo! A man with wide, light eyes, who she now recognized as Ellseth.

  “Fei Diwata sees into the hearts of all living things,” Ditasa-Ulod continued. “And she prizes one virtue above all else. If she looks into your heart and doesn’t see it there, you will die. Do you want to die?”

  Lalani couldn’t speak.

  “But it’s no matter anyway,” Ditasa-Ulod continued. Swish, swish. “You’d have to cross my sea first. I’ve seen humans here before, but they were much bigger than you, and their boats were much more seaworthy.” She lowered her body into the water and swam around the scouting boat, as elegant as a ribbon of smoke. Her hair floated around her. “Your vessel is small, so it will be easy to drown you.”

  She draped her stately tail over the bow of the boat. It rocked under the weight.

  “To . . . drown me?” Lalani said. The words barely escaped.

  “Of course,” Ditasa-Ulod replied. Her tail glistened, sleek and black. She rocked the boat again and the pahaalusk opened its eyes, confused.

  Lalani clutched the sides of the boat, even though it was clear that this eel-woman could tip it over with no effort at all.

  And that’s exactly what she did.

  O
ne moment Lalani was breathing air and the next, her mouth and nose filled with water and she didn’t know which way was up. Her eyes were open and burning. Her arms flailed frantically, searching for something to grab onto. Her fingertips brushed the boat and then the scaled body of Ditasa-Ulod, and she was thrust down through the water—whoosh. She kicked, but it did no good. She turned and twisted, going nowhere. Something hit her face and she jerked back, only to discover that it was the pouch still around her neck, and then she saw something coming toward her through the clear water and she thought this is it, this is how it ends, but it wasn’t Ditasa-Ulod—no, it was something else, something round and familiar—it was the pahaalusk, moving its webbed feet effortlessly and diving in her direction. She wrapped her arms around its shell and held on tightly. When they broke the surface of the sea together, she tried to take a big, deep breath but erupted into a painful coughing fit instead. Water choked her lungs and throat. It spilled from her. Her eyes and nose were on fire. She coughed and coughed and coughed. Finally she gathered herself, and clutching the pahaalusk with one hand, she wiped the hair away from her face with the other and looked around. She and the pahaalusk were floating together in a wide expanse of sea.

  It was quiet.

  Very, very quiet.

  Lalani turned in every direction, panicked.

  Where was the eel-woman?

  “Hello!” Lalani yelled, her throat burning.

  Perhaps that was foolish, but there was no hiding here. And if Ditasa-Ulod were going to attack again, Lalani wanted to know sooner rather than later. Why drag it out?

  “Ditasa-Ulod!” called Lalani, just as a small wave appeared.

  Lalani waited.

  When Ditasa-Ulod’s head rose right in front of her, she wasn’t as frightened as she’d been before.

  “You’re still alive,” the eel-woman said calmly. “The pahaalusk rescued you.”

  “We’ve rescued each other,” Lalani replied. She glanced down at her arms, draped across the pahaalusk’s back, and discovered that her skin was clean. The mud had completely washed away.

  “It will be even easier to destroy you than your little boat,” Ditasa-Ulod said. She may have shrugged, if she’d had shoulders.

  “Can I ask you a question?” Lalani said.

  “A question?”

  “Yes. If you’re going to drown me anyway, surely you can answer a question.” Lalani blinked and clutched the pahaalusk’s shell. “You rule this sea, right?”

  “Of course.”

  “So you know everything that happens here?”

  “Everything.”

  “I want to know—that is, I’d like to know . . .” A messy web of emotions swam through her. “Did you know my father? He was a sailor and he probably died here like the others.”

  “If your father sailed my sea, then I know him.”

  Lalani told Ditasa-Ulod her father’s name and described what he looked like. She told all she knew about his ship, and the other men with him, including Veyda’s father.

  “Oh, yes,” the eel-woman finally said. “I remember him.”

  “You do?”

  “Certainly. I remember every creature.” Swish, swish. “He drifted for days in his huge vessel. The other men were confused by the mist and went overboard. And this man, this ‘father’ you speak of, soon ran out of food and water. After he died, his ship floated aimlessly. All the creatures came out to admire it. Eventually, though, it was destroyed.”

  “He died all by himself,” Lalani said. A statement, not a question.

  “Yes,” Ditasa-Ulod replied. She lifted the tip of her magnificent tail and crashed it against the water. The waves were instant and enormous. Lalani, holding tight, sailed into the air with the pahaalusk.

  She curled her body around the animal as best she could. The curve of her back hit the surface of the sea—crash!—and she spun, spun, spun underneath, losing her grip and unfurling like a fisherman’s net until her arms finally found themselves and pushed frantically through the water. Her shoulder rammed into something.

  A rockbed.

  She stared at it with round, bloodshot eyes, and let the waves push her up.

  She raised her head. No coughing this time.

  She blinked and blinked, not sure of what she was seeing.

  The shore. Trees. Green. Land.

  She imagined Ditasa-Ulod’s tail rising behind her, ready to drown her, but instead of turning around, Lalani pulled herself forward and didn’t look back, even as the scouting boat emerged behind her.

  You Are a Goyuk

  Imagine you are very small. Smaller than a fingernail. You have four wings, eight legs, and a long, piercing snout, which is a brilliant shade of yellow.

  Here is how you fly: you tuck all your legs underneath your belly to conserve energy, then you move your wings rapidly in succession. You buzz, but it is very faint and can’t be helped.

  If you were any other insect, you would use your snout to feed—sweet nectar from the flowers, or blood from the animals—but you are not like any other insect. You are not an insect at all. You are a sorceress.

  Don’t laugh. It’s true. Centuries ago, your ancestors—the goyuk—faced a decision: What would you become? They could have chosen to be giants. Beasts as big as mountains. But no—the goyuk are much too clever. The goyuk understand something that other creatures do not: The mightiest are often the smallest. So the goyuk made themselves as small as they could, and when they wished to conquer their part of the island, they landed on their enemies’ beefy necks and bit them. An illness traveled from your snout and into their skin and they fell, one by one, until there were none left.

  It takes five days to kill a giant.

  Your victims see and hear things that aren’t there. Their heads throb with pain. Weaker and weaker they become until, finally, they can no longer walk and they fall into a deep, deep sleep, forever. Your power is a thing of beauty.

  The goyuk hives are magnificent now, and everyone has a purpose. Today your purpose is to search for intruders and kill them. You are sent off on this task every third day, and there is never an intruder, but you are a good and loyal worker, so you are always ready.

  The older goyuk say there is no delight in killing. It’s just something that must be done to protect your part of the island. Intruders grow like weeds unless they are stopped. The goyuk should know, being intruders themselves. But you have a secret. You have never stopped an intruder, and you want to use your bright yellow snout at least once.

  You buzz and you think: What if, one day, the goyuk swarm covers the entire island? Wouldn’t that be lovely?

  This is what you are thinking when you see something strange. At first you don’t believe it, but yes—it’s true. There is an intruder on the shore. You can ready your dagger at last.

  You study her.

  You buzz closer.

  Her eyes say: I am lost.

  Her eyes say: I am scared.

  Your eyes (of which there are thirty) say: I’m coming for you.

  A Distant Shore

  The insect bite woke Lalani up. Then a light nudge on the shoulder. She hadn’t realized she’d fallen asleep until she lifted her heavy eyelids and blinked at the sky. She swatted the bug away. It pulled its bright yellow stinger out of her skin and disappeared into the slanting sunlight, which was half blocked by a girl hovering over her—the one who’d nudged her shoulder, presumably.

  “Where are your horns?” the girl said.

  Lalani ached from head to toe. The splinter. Her arms. Her legs. And now, this bug bite on her elbow. She groaned and said, “What?”

  The girl’s face was shadowed so Lalani couldn’t make out her features. She peered down at Lalani from behind a curtain of hair.

  “Your horns,” the girl said. “You don’t have any.”

  Lalani lifted herself up. “Why would I have horns?”

  But she saw the answer as soon as she asked the question. Two horns—thick and sturdy—jutted fro
m the girl’s head. Just like Ellseth’s.

  “What kind of creature are you?” the girl asked. She looked toward the sea, as if it held an answer.

  “I’m a human,” Lalani said.

  “I’ve never seen a human like you before.”

  “I’m a girl.”

  The horned creature raised an eyebrow suspiciously. “What are you called?”

  “My name is Lalani Sarita. What are you called?”

  “Usoa.”

  They stared at each other.

  “How old are you?” Lalani asked.

  “How should I know?” Usoa replied.

  Lalani rubbed her arm. The insect bite was swollen already. And she was hungry.

  “What’s wrong?” Usoa asked. “Are you sick?”

  “No. I’m hungry.”

  “Is that why you gathered all that food?”

  “What food?”

  Usoa motioned to a small pyramid of bright orange fruit atop a nest of leaves. It was clear the fruit had been picked and placed carefully.

  “That’s not mine,” Lalani said, even as her mouth watered.

  “Well, it’s not mine, either.”

  Lalani squeezed her eyes shut then opened them and focused. The horizon in front of her was endless and shimmering. Bright plants, green leaves, brown tree trunks, blue sky, white clouds. If Veyda were here, she could make all the salve she wanted. And what if she found the yellow flower? What if?

  “Where is the pahaalusk?” Lalani asked.

  Usoa tilted her head, confused and silent.

  “Never mind,” Lalani replied, scanning the shore. There was no sign of the animal. It had saved her and now it was gone.

  Please be alive, Lalani thought.

  “It must be yours,” Usoa continued. “The food, I mean.”

  Lalani wanted to weep over the pahaalusk—over everything, really—and immediately scour the island for Fei Diwata and the yellow flowers, but she was starving. She snatched fruit from the pyramid and barely took time to peel the skin. As she chewed those first few bites, she forgot about the pain in her body, the sting as the juice nestled into her splinter. She ate and ate and ate until she felt nauseous, and Usoa stood over her, hand on her hip.