Lalani of the Distant Sea

by Erin Entrada Kelly

  “Is that how all human girls eat osabana?” Usoa asked, scrunching her nose.

  Osabana. Lalani didn’t want to forget a single detail, just in case she survived to tell her story to Veyda and Hetsbi.

  “I’ve never had it before,” Lalani said. She stood and wiped her face with her hands. “It’s delicious. You should try it.”

  “I prefer tree bark, or sprigs of grass.” Usoa paused. “What are you doing here? Are you looking for the mountain?”

  Lalani hesitated, not sure how much she should say. “I was told there was a mountain guarded by a creature called Fei Diwata,” Lalani finally said. The splinter was on fire. She sucked on her hand, but it did nothing to dull the pain. “And she has yellow flowers.”

  “If you’re trying to get there, you won’t make it. You’ll probably die,” Usoa said. “Everyone else has.”

  Lalani dropped her hand. “Everyone?”

  “Yes,” Usoa said. “Let me see that.”

  The flesh around the splinter was red and swollen, the splice of wood deeply embedded. Lalani placed her hand in Usoa’s open palm; Usoa poked at it with her finger.

  “I used to get splinters when I was a young mindoren,” said Usoa. “Mostly in my knees, from climbing trees. But I’d always get the best twigs and bark.” Usoa poked and poked at the splinter again and turned Lalani’s hand over in hers. “I picked them as gifts for my mother.” She looked up. “I’m going to take it out. Brace yourself. Focus on something else if you can. And don’t look.”

  Lalani turned away and focused on the spattering of osabana peels.

  “My mother was very good with splinters,” Usoa said.

  Lalani’s eyes pooled as the pain seared through her arm. “Does your mother still live here?”

  Usoa didn’t respond right away. She nodded toward distant hills. “I roam with a small herd over there, but we mostly keep to ourselves. That’s how the mindoren are.”

  Lalani thought of Ellseth then. How the mindoren had tied him to a tree and taken his eyes. What if this was a trick and Usoa planned to capture her? What if she was tied to a tree? What if she lost her eyes?

  The searing pain of the splinter breaking through her skin was almost unbearable. But Lalani didn’t make a sound. She held her closed fist to her chest and breathed deeply.

  “Something else got you, too,” Usoa said. “You have a bite on your arm.”

  “Yes.” Lalani studied the soft part of her hand where the splinter had been. “A bug with a yellow stinger.”

  Usoa’s face darkened. “Yellow stinger?”

  “Yes.”

  “That must have been a goyuk,” said Usoa quietly. “They have hives many miles from here.”

  “It stung a little, but it doesn’t hurt much,” Lalani said. She studied the creases in Usoa’s forehead—a tell. “What’s wrong?”

  “Oh. Nothing. I just didn’t know the goyuk traveled this far.”

  “They must be more powerful than they look,” Lalani said.

  “Yes,” Usoa agreed. “Yes. They are.”

  In Sanlagita

  It could have been worse, the villagers said. Kahna showed mercy. Yes, the Pasas and the menyoro were dead. Villagers were bruised and battered. Lalani Sarita was missing. Houses were splintered, crops were buried, but Kahna largely spared them.

  Still.

  There were not enough shek to provide thread. Many of them had perished.

  Most of the crops were gone.

  Even if the weather straightened itself out, it would take years to recover from the devastation, and who had years?

  Certainly not Lalani’s mother, whose fever rose under Lo Yuzi’s roof. Lalani was right: she had grown sicker, too sick to be any good to Drum or Kul. They had been happy to make her someone else’s problem.

  As for everyone else? They said their benedictions.

  They asked Kahna for mercy.

  Veyda cared for Lalani’s mother, as promised.

  Cade secretly visited the northern shore.

  And one man considered the now-vacant seat of the menyoro. He turned thoughts over and over. He watched the villagers. Saw the fear in their eyes, poor creatures. They were lost without a leader.

  He would give them one.

  You Are Whenbo

  Imagine you are a whenbo root. You are spindly and misshapen and you only grow from one certain patch of land. You don’t drink water or sunlight. Only souls.

  So many of them come to you. They wash up on the shore. Their bodies are dead, but their spirits wander. They search for a place to nestle. They are drawn to you. You beckon them. Here. Here. Rest.

  Once they’ve burrowed themselves into the earth, they become one with you. And together, you sprout. You find joy in stretching yourself out of soil and toward the sky, but there is little happiness in it for the souls. Only sorrow for a lost cause. A failed journey. They tell you: We wanted to go north. We thought we could make it. But we did not survive.

  And you say: Rest now and be quiet. Fold yourself into the bristle of my trunk. Whisper your name into it. The whenbo will not forget you. Perhaps you were not able to cross—perhaps you did not have what Isa wanted—but stay here, with me. Do not seek vengeance. Quiet yourself. Forget the journey.

  Only Mother Isa knows who is destined to cross.

  It was not your destiny to survive.

  Your destiny is here, with the whenbo.

  The Forest

  Lalani didn’t know why Usoa decided to help her. Perhaps she was bored or lonely, or maybe she simply had nothing better to do. Whatever the reason, the young mindoren offered to walk with Lalani, and Lalani readily accepted. Why would she refuse? She was much more likely to reach Fei Diwata with a mindoren by her side—someone who knew the island and could protect her if needed. Assuming Usoa was willing to protect her.

  “I will walk with you for five days,” Usoa said. “After that, I’ll return to my herd.”

  “Okay,” Lalani agreed. They’d already started walking north, side by side, toward the edge of a forest. “Will we reach Fei Diwata in five days?”

  Usoa glanced at Lalani, then away. “Maybe. I don’t know. I’ve never been to her mountain. People have tried to journey there, but . . .”

  “But what?”

  Usoa didn’t respond.

  Soon they settled into a steady pace. Everything on Isa appeared beautifully serene. Maybe I’ll make it to the mountain after all, Lalani thought. She wondered how so many men had died here when it seemed so peaceful. The forest, when they reached it, wasn’t frightening like the one on Sanlagita. It teemed with small animals—busy four-legged creatures with bushy tails, who leaped from tree to tree and scrambled so quickly Lalani barely had time to study them; birds, too, different than the ones on Sanlagita, but just as silent; and whiskered little things with prickly backs who dashed across the forest floor playfully.

  Usoa named each animal for her.

  “Balawuk,” she said, pointing at the bushy tail.

  “Ebee,” she said of the playful prickly creatures.

  “Gigo and quitzi.” She gestured to the birds in the trees.

  Nothing here seemed dangerous. Certainly not deadly.

  Perhaps the island was once fierce but had become docile.

  Perhaps the island had suffered somehow, but that had passed and all was well now.

  Perhaps the creatures had decided to open their arms to visitors.

  Either way, there was no turning back.

  What was it her mother liked to say?

  The only way out is through.

  Thinking of her mother conjured up terrifying possibilities.

  What if she had already died and Lalani hadn’t been there?

  “Don’t step on these mounds,” Usoa said when they reached a cluster of strange little hills in their path. There were many of them, Lalani noticed, scattered haphazardly across the forest floor. “There will be more as we go farther north. You have to walk around them.”

&nb
sp; “Why?” Lalani asked.

  “They’re nunso mounds.”

  “What are nunso mounds?”

  “You have much to learn about this place,” Usoa replied.

  The air was clearer here, with only an occasional breeze. Not too warm. Not too cold. Lalani picked up a small branch. She swung it in front of her but soon grew bored and tossed it away. The trees were far apart, so their trail was wide. The next time she saw an ebee, she crouched and called to it.

  “They’re very friendly,” Usoa said, standing next to her. She made a clucking noise with her tongue. The ebee looked toward them, whiskers twitching. It was bigger than a wallecta, but not overly large. Small enough to carry.

  “Can I pick it up?” Lalani asked.

  Usoa shrugged. “If it’ll let you.”

  “Do they bite?”

  “Not usually,” Usoa replied. “But they have teeth, and anything with teeth can bite. That’s what my mother always said.”

  Lalani mimicked the sound Usoa had made. The ebee walked toward her tentatively with its spikes resting flat on its back.

  “The spikes are for defense,” Usoa said. “When ebee feel safe, they’re just as furry as a balawuk. My mother used to say ebee were the smartest creatures on the island, because they sense danger better than anything. That’s when their spikes come out.”

  The ebee was within reach now. Lalani picked it up in one careful, quiet movement, then stood with it cradled in her arms. Its ears were small, round, and thin as leaves. Its short snout was topped with a pink, triangular nose. Usoa tickled its soft belly. Lalani ran a finger behind its ear. The ebee’s eyes closed.

  “My mother has a saying, too,” Lalani said. “She says, ‘The only way out is through.’”

  “I like that.”

  “Do you still live with your mother? You never really answered before.”

  Usoa paused. “My mother is dead.”

  “Oh.” Lalani frowned. “I’m sorry. Was she sick?”

  “No. She was killed, trying to make amends.”

  Usoa’s Story

  What is your first memory? Mine is the image of a talon.

  I was born on a grassy highland and spent the first three years of my life there, in a bed of leaves my mother collected for me. The talon shared my nest. It was sharp. The same length as I was, with a curved hook at the end. My mother swatted my hand away if I reached for it. Afterward, she would kiss my fingers and explain.

  “That doesn’t belong to us, my love,” she’d say. “We must take care of it until we can bring it back to its owner.”

  I never asked who the owner was. Not at first. I was just a child, and I didn’t care about such things. I just wanted to hold it. The talon was made of shining ebony, and I was enchanted by the way it reflected the moonlight. I wished my horns were made of ebony, too. Soon, however, my mind focused on other things, like helping my mother with the newborn mindoren and gathering the softest leaves for their nests, and I forgot about it.

  One night, my mother wrapped the talon in a satchel made of balawuk hide. Two female mindoren—Oona and Simona—stood beside her. Their eyes were dark. Their brows, furrowed.

  “What’s going on?” I asked. I was young, but never afraid to ask my mother questions. We were a pair, the two of us. A mother mindoren with a heart as big as the sea, and her curious daughter, full of wonder and questions.

  “It’s time for us to return this to its owner,” my mother said.

  Her voice was quiet and wary. I’d never heard it sound that way.

  Once the talon was tightly wrapped, she slipped the satchel on her shoulder and kneeled in front of me.

  “This talon belongs to a bai,” she said. “It was cut from her foot many years ago by a wicked mindoren thief. He stole many things while he lived among us. After he was banished from our herd, we vowed to return all his treasures. This is the last item remaining—that we know of, at least. Once this is returned, we will have made our peace.”

  You would have thought I’d be afraid, but I wasn’t. My heart leaped with joy. My mother and I, on a quest to return a stolen treasure!

  “I thought all the bai were dead,” I said, hardly able to contain my excitement. “How will we return it?”

  “It’s true, the bai are no longer with us. But we still have no right to keep it. We will bury it under a pachenka tree as a gesture of our regret.”

  “When do we leave?” I asked.

  My mother stood. She smiled down at me.

  “I’m sorry, my love, but this is not a journey for a young mindoren,” she said. “You will have to wait for me. I won’t be long. I’ll bring you pachenka leaves as a keepsake. And a bai feather, if I can find one.”

  But the idea of leaves and feathers was of little consolation to me when I had my heart set on a grand adventure.

  I told my mother I would wait.

  It was the first time I lied to her.

  And the last.

  I followed them. I darted behind trees. I slept in hollows. I made myself invisible. It was two adventures in one—not only was I returning a mighty talon to its rightful owner, I was also an infiltrator, and a skilled one at that.

  My mother never knew I was there.

  It took several days to reach the pachenka grove. I’d heard stories of the bai and their enormous pachenka nests, but I’d never visited the grove before. They were the tallest and widest trees I had ever seen, and even though I’d spent my whole life admiring the talon, I never appreciated how vast the bai must have been until I saw where they once lived.

  I crouched out of sight, as close as I could get without being discovered, and watched my mother and her friends kneel and bury the talon. Even from where I hid, I could see the looks of reverence and respect on their faces. They weren’t the ones who had stolen it, but they felt responsible nonetheless. That’s how the mindoren are—we have a strong sense of loyalty and community. What happens to one happens to all.

  That’s what I thought at the time, anyway.

  None of us expected what came next.

  It happened so fast.

  A gust of wind knocked me over. That was the first thing. When I sat up, I realized that it wasn’t just wind. It was a bird. A bai. You can imagine how confused I was. I believed all the bai were dead. But I knew right away that’s what it was. A bai, charging down from nowhere. It had all its talons. I know, because I saw all twelve of them. Six on each claw. Sharp, pointed, curved like hooks. I counted them. I don’t know how, but I did. I wanted to know—was this the bai who’d been attacked by the mindoren thief? One, two, three, four, five, six. I counted all the way to twelve as the talons sliced into my mother.

  “You stole my sister’s talon!” the bai squawked, so loudly that I covered both ears. I was still crouched, frozen from fear. I couldn’t look away from my mother. But her companions? Oh, they had no trouble turning a blind eye. They ran. Both of them. They ran as the bai killed my mother. This creature, this beast, long believed dead, squawked her own name as my mother died. I am Bai-Vinca!, she said. As if my mother needed to know. As if my mother was the evil one.

  I found my footing. I leaped from my hiding place, screaming my mother’s name.

  “She is Morena!” I cried. “She is Morena!”

  I screamed her name to no one, for Bai-Vinca had disappeared just as suddenly as she’d come.

  I fell to my mother’s side. I was just a girl. I had never seen blood before, and you can’t imagine how much I saw that day.

  “Mama,” I said. “Mama.”

  But it was too late.

  She was gone.

  My mother never knew I was there.

  I did not return home. Why would I? My herd was full of cowards. They left my mother to die. They didn’t even try to save her. I made a vow that I would do what they had not. I would grow up strong and fierce. I would dedicate my life to a single purpose: avenging my mother’s death. I’ve spent years preparing myself.

  You probably think
I cried that day. You probably think I’ve cried since. But you are wrong. I haven’t shed a single tear. Vengeance powers me, not sorrow. I will mourn when justice is served.

  No one should die alone, Lalani.

  Not even Bai-Vinca.

  And she won’t.

  I will be there.

  Beintai

  The farther Lalani and Usoa walked, the heavier the ebee seemed. The creature pawed at the pouch around Lalani’s neck, and its spikes pushed against the tender part of her thumb. But she didn’t want to let the animal go. It was such a sweet little thing, nestled in the crook of her arms, and after Usoa’s story, she wanted something gentle to look at. Lalani was thinking of her own mother, of course. But mostly she thought of her father, who had also died alone.

  She wanted to tell Usoa My father died alone, but she couldn’t get the words out. She was afraid she’d cry, and she wanted to be brave like Usoa or Ziva, especially now that the trees were getting denser.

  “Where does Bai-Vinca live?” Lalani asked as she stepped around one of the mounds.

  “In the pachenka grove just beyond the whenbo forest,” Usoa answered. She kept her eyes straight ahead. Lalani noticed the bulging muscles in Usoa’s legs. She looked strong, hearty, like she could cleave a rock if she wanted to.

  Lalani adjusted the ebee in her arms. “What’s the whenbo forest?”

  Usoa paused. “You’ll find out.”

  They continued on in silence. The trees were bent at odd angles here. And some of them were leafless in a sea of green.

  The ebee opened its eyes. The spikes on its forehead immediately jutted forward and Lalani flinched, startled. The ebee looked toward the path ahead and hissed so loudly that Lalani dropped it. By the time it hit the ground, all its spikes were out. It scurried madly in the opposite direction.

  Lalani raised her eyebrows at Usoa. “That was strange.”

  Usoa looked around, eyes narrowed, then continued walking.

  “Is Bai-Vinca worse than Ditasa-Ulod?” Lalani asked.