Lalani of the Distant Sea

by Erin Entrada Kelly

  When she finally came to a stop, her feet and calves were scratched and bloody, and all the air had escaped her body. The sky was gray, as if night was coming, although Lalani couldn’t actually remember seeing a sun, and how could the sun set if it didn’t exist? Shadows fell around her.

  She stood, slowly, and brushed herself off. Her wounds stung, but there was no serious damage. No broken bones.

  “Usoa?” she called.

  Perhaps Usoa had abandoned her.

  There was no answer, but there was a whimpering.

  Lalani turned and saw the animal. It was swaddled in a white blanket.

  She looked around, not sure what she expected to see. Maybe its mother, ready to defend her young. But there was nothing.

  The creature squirmed. A nose poked up. Whiskers. Two round eyes, cream-colored fur.

  It was a wallecta. The blanket wiggled as it struggled to break free.

  Lalani heard Drum. She heard Kul.

  You’re as useless as a wallecta.

  “Don’t worry, little one,” Lalani said. “I’m here.”

  The Animal That Never Was

  Lalani realized there was no wallecta the moment she pulled back the blanket. A shriek sliced the air—it came from the blanket, from the creature inside the blanket, a creature of red mist and sharp teeth. Lalani shielded her face and this thing pierced her skin and gnawed the soft tendons of her thumb. Her eyes flooded with vapor. Her ears flooded with screeching. She fell back and kicked. She reached for Ellseth’s pouch with her other hand and fumbled for the arrowhead.

  The arrowhead wasn’t much of a weapon, but the thing wailed when she stabbed it, so she did it again and again and again. She didn’t have time to consider what she was doing, but somehow, with her small shaky hand and her small makeshift weapon, she was fighting, and she fought until something lifted her up and she was floating.

  How was she floating? She was above the ground and something was carrying her. Something with rough edges and rustling hair. Hard, but gentle to the touch.

  This something reached out and fought for her.

  She looked up. She saw nothing but leaves.

  She was being lifted by a tree.

  Yes, this was a mighty branch cradling her like a baby. Creating a green canopy of protection around her and fighting with its branches.

  The misty thing was weakening. Sputtering. Sparking bits of fire. It was breaking apart, but still trying desperately to get to Lalani and her hands.

  She looked at them now. They were red and swollen, but no blood.

  She was jostled back and forth as the tree threw its weight around.

  The thing whimpered a final time.

  The beautiful tree rustled its leaves.

  Shh, it said to Lalani. Shh.

  Three Days Left

  Lalani didn’t know how long she slept, but her body screamed with pain when she opened her eyes. Her lids were heavy, as if she’d slept for a thousand years.

  A voice slipped into her consciousness.

  “Lalani? Are you okay?”

  Usoa.

  Am I? Lalani breathed deeply. She smelled something sweet and vaguely familiar and turned her head—a pyramid of carefully placed osabana.

  The light had changed. It was either dusk or dawn, she couldn’t tell which. A complicated knot of meha branches towered above her. When she sat up, carefully and painfully, Usoa placed an osabana in her hand.

  “How long have I been asleep?” Lalani asked. “How did you find me?”

  “I don’t know how long you’ve been asleep,” said Usoa. She was sitting on the ground next to Lalani, with her horns resting against the tree. “You were asleep when I found you, hours ago. When you didn’t come back, I searched and searched. When I heard the yootah, I thought for sure it got you. But then I found you here, with the osabana again. I thought you were dead, but then I noticed you were breathing.” She cocked her head to one side. “How did you do it?”

  “Do what?” Lalani stretched her back. Oh, how she ached.

  “Make it out alive.”

  Lalani tried to remember what had happened. She’d used the arrowhead, hadn’t she? “I think . . . the tree . . .”

  Usoa nodded, as if she needed no further explanation.

  Lalani peeled the osabana clumsily. “Where is all this food coming from?”

  “It was here when I found you, just like last time.”

  Lalani stopped peeling and looked at her hands. The swelling was gone.

  “The tree saved me from that thing. Do you think it gathered this fruit, too?”

  Usoa raised a single eyebrow. “A tree can’t do that.”

  “Then who?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe it’s best not to question too much and simply say ‘thank you.’”

  Lalani took another bite and turned her eyes toward the sky. Thank you.

  Brother, Sister

  Veyda found Hetsbi sitting near the rock bed where the Oragleo sisters had claimed to have discovered Ziva’s hair. His eyes were set on the horizon.

  “What are you looking at out there?” Veyda asked.

  “Nothing.”

  So Veyda joined him and looked at nothing, too.

  “What are you thinking about?” Veyda asked.

  “Nothing.” After a long silence, Hetsbi said, “You don’t seem upset. I don’t understand why.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Lalani. She’s . . .” his voice cracked “. . . gone.”

  Veyda thought of Lalani standing in the darkness, asking for a promise. “Things aren’t that simple, Hetsbi.” She pulled her hair over her shoulder and braided it absently. “Anyway, I don’t think she’s really gone.”

  Hetsbi narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean?”

  “She didn’t die in the landslide. I know for sure. I saw her after.” Veyda was unsure if she should continue. Hetsbi was trustworthy, but Lalani’s visit felt like a secret.

  “Saw her? Where?”

  “She came to our house in the middle of the night. She said she had to go somewhere, and asked me to look after her mother. Then she left.” Veyda paused. “That’s all I know.”

  Hetsbi nibbled his bottom lip. His face morphed into a knot of concern.

  “Where do you think she was going?” Hetsbi asked. “Why would she leave?”

  Veyda unbraided. Braided again. “I don’t know.”

  “Do you think she was going back to the mountain?”

  “No.” She wasn’t—was she? “No one would be able to get up there now. What’s left of it, anyway.”

  Hetsbi’s eyes glistened. “Maybe she went north. Maybe she found an abandoned ship and set sail.” A tear balanced on the rim of his eyelash. “Maybe she’s on top of Mount Isa right now, with all of life’s fortunes at her feet.”

  “Yes. And maybe . . .” Veyda gathered her thoughts. She made medicine. She was no storyteller. “. . . and maybe she’s going to load all those fortunes onto the ship in the morning and come back for us.”

  That’s when Hetsbi’s tear fell. And then she cried, too. Because they knew it was a ridiculous idea, someone like Lalani sailing across the distant sea.

  Here is what Hetsbi was really thinking when Veyda found him looking at nothing:

  I am a coward.

  This was the mantra that ran through his mind. He thought of how he’d kept quiet when Cade needed him to speak up. He thought of the sound his stone made when it dropped into Drum’s basket.

  Clack. The sound rang in his head as he and Veyda walked home. Clack. It echoed as he helped Veyda care for Lalani’s mother. Clack, as he told his own mother good night. It wasn’t until he climbed into his corner of the sleeping room that he gathered the words to ask Veyda whom she would have voted for.

  “Drum or Maddux?” whispered Hetsbi, because everyone else was asleep by then.

  “Maddux, of course.” She turned to him in the darkness. “Why?”

  But Hetsbi didn’t answer. The words
“of course” rang silently in the darkness.

  When he closed his eyes to sleep, he heard it again.

  Clack.

  Clack.

  Clack.

  You Are Bai-Vinca

  Imagine you are a majestic bird. Nine feet tall with a curved beak made of the sharpest keratin. You wake each morning in a hollow tree—the biggest in the forest, large enough for you and your sister. When you emerge, it’s as if the tree has come to life.

  You settle your heavy claws in the earth and stretch your wings as your sister sleeps in her nest. Your wings are so broad and powerful that the leaves flutter when you move them. This makes you very proud. There is no other creature with broad and powerful wings such as these. Except for your family, of course. You think of them as you study the brilliant colors of your feathers. Your family prefers to sleep past dawn, but you are an early bird.

  You take in the world with your astonishing eyes. You see colors of every shade and hue, all the complicated patterns of the leaves, and every ridge in the tree trunks, like stagnant waterfalls. You study as much as you can in the peace of the morning because your eyesight is sharp and clear, and you are proud of this, too.

  You see a collection of pachenka nuts and make the short journey toward them. You rely on pachenka. Your species is called the bai, and the bai are the only living beings that can eat pachenka, because only the bai can crack them open. It’s as if the pachenka’s thick, hardened shell was designed specifically for your beak.

  You eat other things, too. Mostly berries. Sometimes you grow weary of pachenka, but you cannot live without them. They are packed with rich clusters of protein and nutrients that keep the bai healthy. Your home in the hollow tree is in the middle of a grove of pachenka trees, which produce food at a tremendous rate. There is always plenty. You are never hungry.

  You can carry three pachenka in your beak at one time, and every morning you select the best ones. Two for your sister and one for yourself. She will insist that you eat the third one, but you will insist just the same, and eventually she will relent. Your heart swells with joy when your sister gets the last bite; it’s better than having it for yourself.

  You gather a cluster of wild berries before you leave. Your sister loves berries, especially the red ones.

  This is your routine. Today is the same as yesterday—or is it? You fly home with your spoils, unaware that your eyes have missed something. They are sharp and accurate and see clearly, but only if you’re paying attention. So you don’t notice the blight on the pachenka tree. The blister is smaller than your pupil. It is hidden in plain sight. But you have always been surrounded by the pachenka trees. They have always produced food. They have never been ill a day in their lives. You don’t know to look for such things.

  Nevertheless, it is there.

  It’s amazing how something smaller than a pupil can turn deadly, isn’t it? You should never underestimate the power of small things in great numbers. The blister, the blight, started small, but it grew and grew. That’s what happens when no one is paying attention. Eventually the tiny issue became a momentous problem—big enough to take down the bai. You didn’t see it coming. You didn’t think anything could threaten the bai. Look how mighty you are, after all. Look at those broad wings and that glorious beak! And don’t forget about the talons. Your beautiful, frightening claws. You’d never known fear. Why would you? You certainly never knew to fear the pachenka nuts that nourished the bai for generations.

  Your sister got sick. She was so ill that she could not lift her wings. The other bai knew what was coming, and they urged you to fly away with them. They were going to settle somewhere else. A place where the pachenka trees were not diseased. By this time, there was only one healthy tree remaining, and that wasn’t enough to feed all of you. You knew this. You’re no fool. But how could you leave your sister?

  “Go without me,” you said to the others. “I’ll find you.”

  You never gave it a second thought. You couldn’t let your sister die alone. Your fellow bai didn’t argue with you; they knew better. So they all flew away, like a great thunderstorm passing over. You weren’t prepared for how quiet the world would become without them.

  Soon your sister no longer knew you. She could hardly open her eyes. You sang to her, even though she’d always said you had no voice for singing. You nuzzled your beak into the soft dampness of her feathers. You covered her with your wings. You only left when you had to, when you became so hungry that you needed to eat. There were times when you considered eating from the poisoned trees—how could you live without your sister?—but you knew better. Your sister would die, yes, and it would be painful, but you’d made a promise to find your fellow bai. You would all nurse your sorrows together. So you ate from the only untainted pachenka tree that remained.

  It happened, but not the way you expected.

  While you searched for food and your sister lay dying, an outsider invaded the grove. A thief. Your sister was too weak to fight when he hacked away her talon. When you came back, she was already dead.

  You wept for hours.

  She was gone now, and you were all alone.

  But not for long.

  You gave your sister’s body to the sea, just as she would have wanted, and flew off to join your fellow bai. You longed for their company. You needed to share your sorrow. Sadness becomes poison if you let it sit too long. Once you found your flock, you would empty your sadness upon them, and they would do the same, and together you would find strength to continue your new life, in this new place, wherever it was.

  The bai are mighty.

  The bai are majestic.

  Too mighty and majestic to go unnoticed.

  It never occurred to you that you might never find them.

  Other things occurred to you, though. Like the extra time you could have spent with your sister, if she had not bled to death. Those moments were stolen. If this merciless thief wanted talons so badly, you had plenty of your own to offer, and you had time to wait. When bai are healthy, their lives are long—and so is their memory.

  A Death on the Horizon

  Usoa led Lalani to a stream where they drank huge handfuls of water. The osabana was adequate at quenching Lalani’s hunger, but it didn’t last forever. Usoa didn’t seem to need much sustenance. She could go for long stretches without drinking, and if she became hungry, she simply pulled a stalk of grass out of the ground and ate it.

  The water was so clean that it sparkled, and Lalani was grateful, although it reminded her of the creek by Ellseth’s house. Anytime she recalled Ellseth, a wave of nausea washed through her. She’d noticed more feelings like this, actually—a swishing belly, throbbing headache, and strange thoughts that didn’t make much sense. There was a moment, a fleeting moment, when she confused Usoa for Veyda.

  They sat on the bank of the stream with water dripping from their chins. They were in another bright swath of forest, so Lalani kept an eye out for ebee and balawuk. She counted the mounds within view. One, two, three, four, five.

  From this vantage point, the island looked peaceful again. It didn’t seem like a place where screeching things attacked your hands or trees ate the spirits of the dead. It didn’t seem like a place where peaceful mindoren were killed by vicious creatures.

  Lalani picked up a tiny pebble and tossed it into the water.

  “I’m sorry about your mother,” she said.

  Usoa had her legs stretched out in front of her, strong like tree trunks. She didn’t say anything.

  “My father died, too,” Lalani continued. “And now my mother—” Lalani closed her eyes. Her head thundered. She thought of her mother. Her face. Her hands when she mended. “She’s dying.”

  “Is someone with her?” asked Usoa.

  Whoosh-whoosh. Lalani couldn’t answer. She heard her heartbeat in her ears.

  “I want to tell you a secret,” Usoa said, when Lalani didn’t say anything.

  The words jumbled together inside Lalani’s
headache. She tried to pick them apart, place them in the right order, and make sense of them. But she suddenly felt very ill.

  There is a death on the horizon.

  Was Usoa still talking, or was she imagining it?

  I’m going to kill Bai-Vinca.

  I didn’t even bring a weapon.

  I want to kill her with my bare hands.

  Whoosh-whoosh.

  Are you okay, Lalani?

  Lie down for a moment.

  Shh. Shh. It’s okay.

  It’s because of the goyuk.

  That’s another reason I wanted to come with you.

  Are you sleeping now?

  Good.

  Shh. Shh.

  I’m sorry about the goyuk. I didn’t think it was fair to tell you everything.

  Nothing can be done about it. So I saw no need to alarm you.

  I’m here, though. And I’m happy I’m here.

  No one should die alone.

  Gong

  Say what you will about Drum, but he was a man who kept his promises. After the stones were counted in his favor, he promised to rule with fear, and he did. He erected a gong near the central water pump, and Kul struck it each morning at dawn with a heavy gavel that sent a vibrating call through the village. GONNNNNGG. GONNNNNGG. Drum would appear then, his back straight and proud, a smile plastered on his face; he looked like he’d just killed someone and gotten away with it.

  The GONNNNNGG was meant to wake the villagers up, and it worked. They rolled out of their beds and opened their eyes. The next sound they heard was Drum. His voice was much like the gong.

  He commanded them to wake up.

  He reminded them of their duties.