Lalani of the Distant Sea

by Erin Entrada Kelly

  “In what way?” Usoa asked.

  “Ditasa-Ulod tried to drown me.”

  “She tries to kill all humans. I’m surprised you’re still alive.”

  Here was another strange tree. Thin, wiry, with oddly colored bark. And more mounds for them to sidestep.

  Usoa continued, “Ditasa-Ulod says humans will destroy us, if we allow them on our land. She doesn’t like outsiders. She’s just one of many.”

  “One of many what?”

  “Creatures here who despise you.”

  Lalani’s skin prickled. It was so, so quiet.

  The trees were even closer together here. They became increasingly gnarled. Lalani wasn’t sure if Usoa was one of the things she was supposed to be afraid of. How was she to know whom to trust? She’d trusted Ellseth, and look what had happened. She kept her eyes forward and tried to swallow the thumping of her heart, all the while thinking: What if Usoa is leading me into the forest so she can kill me? What if she ties me up and gouges out my eyes?

  Twisted trunks surrounded them. The sky—slate gray and unchanging—hovered above them. Leafless branches dipped and bent in every direction. When Lalani was little, one of the Oragleo sisters had broken her arm and that’s what the branches reminded her of. Veyda had made a sling that reached around the girl’s neck so the broken arm could nestle there safely. But there was no cradle for these trees. And nothing felt safe about them.

  “These trees—” Lalani had the crazy feeling that they were watching her. Listening. She stared at the ground, even though Veyda always said it was best to keep your chin up so you didn’t run into something you didn’t expect.

  “They are called whenbo,” said Usoa. “Each of them has a name.”

  “A name?”

  “Yes. Each one.”

  The forest seemed to take a deep breath.

  “Watch,” Usoa said. “I’ll show you.”

  Usoa approached one of the whenbo. She put her ear to its trunk and closed her eyes.

  “This one is called Unlo,” she said. She pressed her ear against another. “This one is Hareton.” At the next tree, Usoa said: “Esdel.”

  Lalani’s heart loosened and unspooled.

  Surely not Cade’s brother Esdel. How would Usoa know his name?

  Lalani thought of Cade, gazing out at the water on Sailing Day as his brother disappeared into the mist.

  It was a coincidence. Usoa could have come up with that name off the top of her head. It didn’t mean anything.

  But then Usoa put her ear to another trunk, her horn resting on the bark.

  “Beintai,” she said.

  Beintai.

  Lalani’s father.

  The Whenbo Forest

  The moment Lalani heard her father’s name, the whenbo forest became something different. She was no longer frightened. She ran to the tree with her father’s name so suddenly that Usoa stumbled back, confused. Lalani wrapped her arms around the trunk and listened. Usoa was telling the truth. She heard it. Faintly. Lifting from the ridges in the trunk like wisps of smoke.

  Beintai.

  Beintai.

  Lalani didn’t care that she was crying. If Usoa thought she was weak or cowardly, so be it. This tree had her father’s name. There it was, again and again, in her ear.

  A thousand memories rushed back. The way her father smelled of the sea after days on the water. His expression when he looked at her mother, and hers when she looked at him. A life before Drum and Kul, when she and Veyda played together and knew nothing else but the comfort of their homes and the love of their parents. An endless spool of questions wove through her mind: What would her father think of her being here? Would he be proud, or would he think she was useless and stupid? What would her life be like if he had lived? Why had she survived the Veiled Sea when he had not?

  Usoa placed a hand on Lalani’s shoulder, so lightly that neither of them truly felt it.

  “The whenbo,” Usoa paused, as if hesitant to go on. “They carry the souls of the dead.”

  The whenbo carry the souls of the dead.

  Lalani clutched the tree tighter. The pouch with Ellseth’s arrowhead in it caught on a sliver of bark, as if connecting them.

  “My father is Beintai,” said Lalani. “Does this mean he’s trapped inside?”

  “Not trapped,” Usoa explained. “It’s his soul. It washed up on the shore and now the tree cares for his spirit.”

  Lalani wanted to cry out I don’t understand, I don’t understand, because it made no sense. But nothing made sense. The bloody cloth from her mother’s pricked finger. Toppi, sick in his mother’s arms. Veyda and her empty basket. Kahna cracking open.

  Lalani pushed herself away from the whenbo named Beintai and ran to another tree.

  She wanted to hear their names. All their names.

  Boracleo.

  Boracleo. Lalani searched her memory, but nothing surfaced. Then again, this tree felt old and weary under the soft skin of her aching hand. Who knew how long it had stood there?

  She moved to another.

  Ulan.

  And another.

  Giam.

  And another.

  Xan.

  Nykal.

  Miriso.

  Edene.

  Usoa called to her, told her to slow down, to stop, but Lalani couldn’t. She wanted—no, needed—to hear them all.

  Mosan, Verale, Ruwan, Isseri, Dynel, Oldis, Imlor.

  She wanted to hear the name of Veyda’s father.

  Aemu, Danolo, Imthi, Wartas.

  Torip, Makhelo, Mysay, Otasy.

  She darted like a bird from one tree to the next until she heard another name she knew. Not Veyda’s father, but Isagani.

  Yes, she remembered him well.

  Isagani was one of the Pasa cousins. He was tall and lean, with skin like sparkling bronze. Handsome. Strong. He was a skilled carpenter, so he had helped build ships and houses. She and Veyda had spied on him one afternoon, a few years ago, as he lifted felled logs and put them into place. Someone was getting a new house that day—who was it? Lalani didn’t remember. But the memory of Isagani was round and clear.

  “When I grow up, I’m going to have a husband like Isagani,” Veyda had whispered. The two of them were in the wildflower patch, which gave them a clear view, but hid them behind tall plants and blossoms. Veyda always seemed to be drawn to these particular weeds, but Lalani found them maddening, the way they scratched her legs and arms and made her eyes water.

  “I’m not going to have a husband,” Lalani had said. “I’m going to run away like Ziva, and live on Isa.”

  Veyda never bothered to remind her of Ziva’s fate.

  And now here Lalani was, listening to one of the whenbo whisper Isagani’s name. She and Veyda had been hopeful the day he set sail, even though their fathers’ deaths should have taught them better. If anyone would survive, it would be Isagani. He was strong and determined. He treated the women with respect. He’d often catch girls like Lalani and Veyda watching him; when he did, he winked or stuck out his tongue. Sometimes he picked a piece of fruit and tossed it for them to catch. Surely someone like Isagani would return, they’d thought.

  Then one week passed. A month. Two months. Eventually, he faded into memory like the others.

  Lalani pressed her forehead against the tree.

  “I’m sorry, Isagani,” she whispered.

  She was so lost in the past that she forgot herself.

  When she lifted her head, Usoa was no longer visible.

  Lalani’s heart leaped into her throat.

  “Usoa!” she called. “Usoa!”

  She stepped away from Isagani as if the tree had suddenly become something hot and dangerous to the touch. Her eyes widened as she saw the whenbo forest for the first time for what it really was—a gathering of tortured souls.

  “Usoa! Usoa!” she cried. Her face was wet with tears. “Usoa! Usoa!”

  You’re such a stupid girl, she thought. Look what you’ve done now�
��you’ve gotten lost. Again.

  Lalani turned this way and that trying to figure out where she’d come from, but now everything looked the same and she wasn’t even sure which tree was Isagani anymore. She leaned into the whenbo next to her. If she found Isagani and worked her way back to Boracleo, she could get her bearings again.

  Marico.

  She moved to another.

  Avelin.

  She stumbled on. The next tree whispered Sai. Then Ciato. Then Iarn and Prasad. She’d never heard these names before, which meant she’d not been this way. She shot like a wallecta across the whenbo grove, panicked, even though she knew Sai and Iarn—they’d sailed when she was very young; Sai had a light streak against his dark hair, and she remembered it blowing in the breeze before the ocean swallowed him—but that didn’t matter at this moment, because she was lost in a forest of ghosts, scrambling to find one of the names she’d heard before, hurrying to discover Boracleo again, because he was the closest to the trail, wasn’t he? But there were only new names, more and more souls.

  “Usoa!” she cried. “Usoa!”

  She found a small, unfamiliar clearing and stood very still, listening. She itched the bite on her elbow. Her head throbbed.

  There.

  A sound.

  She held her breath.

  The sound soared through the silence of the whenbo forest.

  Something was wailing. A baby? Lalani thought of Toppi. Was he here? No, that didn’t make sense.

  It was something else.

  An animal?

  Lalani walked in a slow circle, then stopped to listen again. Where was the sound coming from? From all around, it seemed. But that couldn’t be. The creature was somewhere. She pictured the animal, whatever it was: small, cradled in leaves and thickets, fat tears dampening the fur around its eyes. Waiting for someone to pick it up and say shhh-shhh-everything will be fine, and here she was, a girl with perfectly good arms for lifting and a perfectly tuned voice for comforting, and how could she possibly keep walking and turn her back?

  Lalani shuddered. Inexplicably, her mind drifted to the day she’d fallen on the rocks, when Maddux had said she was a kind girl.

  The animal’s cries, once again, filled the air.

  This time Lalani moved quickly.

  You Are the Yootah

  Imagine all the ugly things inside your soul collecting in the center of your heart. Imagine them as a churning cloud. The cloud is red—deep red, the color of blood—and weightless, because there is no love or kindness to give it substance. It eats everything you find beautiful and spits it out until the pieces are so small and shredded that they no longer exist. Rage, resentment, jealousy, and hatred are all that is left behind.

  You are the yootah.

  You feed on hands.

  Not just any hands.

  They must be warm.

  They must be lavender.

  They must get close enough to your hungry teeth.

  But no one would ever come to you with open arms and open palms. Not the way you look. They must be tricked first. As a yootah, you know that the best way to trick someone is to take the shape of something else. Something harmless.

  You also know that trust has a color: lavender. Not everyone can see it. Lavender hands have all kinds of things trapped inside. Good things, like mothers, and bad things, like heartache. Trust shines brilliantly. The light is brightest in the hands, because that’s the first thing people offer. That’s why they taste the sweetest.

  How do you spot that lavender light? You listen for its song and then you change your own tune. You find something good, and you mimic it. You are a sentient cloud, and a shape-shifter. You can change your appearance and your song. Today you sound like an injured animal. You slipped your swirling form into a blanket and placed yourself under a tree. A breeze of lavender moves toward you. It shines faintly, which means that this creature does not trust easily. No matter. The light is there, and that’s all you need. It radiates from the hands, just as you expected. And those hands are pulling back the blanket.

  It is time to show your teeth.

  Boys With Baskets

  Somehow Hetsbi and Cade ended up guarding the baskets. Hetsbi wasn’t sure how it had happened, but they were told to stand next to Drum and Toppi’s father, Maddux, with the baskets at their feet, and they did what they were told. A dead pahaalusk, its shell cracked and dull, sat motionless between the two men, and Hetsbi couldn’t take his eyes off it, but when he did, he noticed piles of stones nearby, gathered neatly for an unknown purpose. All the boys and men of the village were there, facing them and waiting for the announcement they knew was coming. It was a sea of dark skin, darker hair, and narrowed eyes, all murmuring and shifting.

  “My fellow men,” Maddux said. The crowd quieted. “After the death of our menyoro, Drum and I shared the same thought. Each of us wished to humble ourselves and take the menyoro’s place.”

  Drum snorted but didn’t interrupt.

  “But we could not agree on an arrangement,” said Maddux. “So we’ve come to you.”

  The assembled men turned to one another, asking questions in a steady thrum: “What is this about?” “Why have they come to us?” “What answers could we possibly have?”

  “As I see it, we must work together to rebuild our lives and land,” Maddux continued. “We must shape our collective knowledge into one mighty force. A village-wide effort, in which your strengths can overcome your neighbor’s weaknesses, and the other way around.”

  No one knew what to say. They’d never heard of such a thing.

  Hetsbi’s heart thundered. He felt exposed up there, in the front, and didn’t know what his role was. He didn’t want a role. What would he be asked to do? He felt every dark eye on him, even though he knew they were fixated on Maddux and Drum, trying to work out what was happening, just as he was.

  “Imagine if we had an excess of food every year and did not have to trade with the north,” Maddux continued.

  A voice rose from the crowd: “But we’ve never succeeded in traveling to the north! Our men disappear at sea!”

  “Maybe it’s time to end Sailing Day,” Maddux suggested.

  Drum now spoke: “End Sailing Day? Admit defeat?”

  “It’s not defeat,” Maddux said, over mixed cries of dissent and agreement. “It’s using our resources where they’re most needed.”

  Drum scanned the assembly. “I would never cower in the face of challenge.”

  The crowd found its energy now, an angry energy.

  “Listen, men! Listen!” Maddux said, his voice climbing upward and his hands in the air. “We won’t need Sailing Days if we chart a new course!”

  “How?” someone cried.

  “We will figure it out, together!” proclaimed Maddux.

  The noise swelled until Drum stepped forward and climbed atop the pahaalusk shell. How towering he looked, like a giant. Hetsbi’s stomach turned. He suddenly felt very small, like one of the stones gathered in the mysterious towers in front of them.

  “Maddux is wrong,” Drum said. The crowd quieted. “Collective work means collective ruin. There must be one person to lead the village—a man who will demand obedience, skill, and achievement from all people. Even the women. You will do these things because you will be held accountable to me and my son. You will wake up each dawn with a sense of fear and accountability. That is how you build a strong community.” Drum turned to Maddux and pointed a thick finger at him. “This man wants you to lower yourself to the ways of women. Cooperation? Bah! I’ll not force you to your knees.” He turned to the crowd again. “I will force you to rise.”

  At this, some of the men nodded and clapped. Others were unmoved, still confused. But all eyes were forward, waiting to hear what would come next.

  The process would be simple, Maddux said. Each man would take a small rock and place it in one of two baskets. Hetsbi’s basket represented a vote for Drum. Cade’s basket represented a vote for Maddux. Once all the
men had cast their stones, each one would be counted. The count would happen in front of the crowd to prevent dishonesty. Hetsbi and Cade would make sure no one cheated.

  The boys and men did as they were told. For the next hour there was no sound except for the clack, clack, clack of rock against rock as each man cast his vote.

  Hetsbi’s basket started to fill. He imagined Drum hovering over him, demanding he get up and serve his purpose. What would a man like that do with a boy like him?

  Drum and Maddux observed the casting of stones quietly. Drum crossed his meaty arms across his chest and stood like a massive pillar, with Kul behind him. Maddux’s face was slack and observant.

  Clack, clack, went the stones.

  Taiting, the boys’ teacher, was the last to vote. He placed a rock in Cade’s basket.

  “Now we count the stones,” said Maddux. “Thank you, men, for—”

  “We aren’t finished!” Drum boomed. He pointed at Hetsbi and Cade. “These two have not yet cast their stones.”

  Drum pulled two small stones from his own pocket and shoved one at Hetsbi and one at Cade.

  Cade didn’t hesitate. His stone went to Maddux. Clack.

  Hetsbi felt like he was swallowing the stone instead of holding it. It might as well have been a boulder.

  “Well?” Drum said.

  All eyes were on Hetsbi.

  It felt that way, at least.

  Cade’s basket was only three steps away.

  But Hetsbi couldn’t move.

  Those eyes. Drum’s eyes.

  He dropped the rock into the basket at his feet.

  Clack.

  Little One

  Lalani walked at a cautious pace at first. Then faster. Her feet ached, and she was hungry. It seemed as if this had always been her life—tired feet, hungry body—even though she knew that wasn’t true. It only felt that way because the hunger pangs were so palpable. Her stomach knotted and growled. She quickened her step. Faster, faster. Nearer to the injured animal, whose cries came from nowhere and everywhere at the same time.

  Her movements became second nature and soon she was taking each step for granted, until her foot landed on some wet leaves and she slipped. Her right leg straightened as she bent her left and instinctively threw the palms of her hands down to soften the fall, which happened with such momentum that it sent a sharp pain through her arms, and then she was sliding, although she wasn’t sure how because she didn’t remember a hill. But this was a hill, because she was going down, reaching out for something to stop the tumble, but finding nothing.