by Beth Wangler
Everyone turns to stare at me. My adopted cousins are shocked at my outburst, but not Saviayr, Nihae, and Elesekk. They remember about the kaites. Elesekk hunches forward and frowns. “A battle?” he asks.
“What?” Tatanda’s voice cuts through the room. “What battle?”
I do not answer. It has been three years since I last felt this shift in the air, this charge in the breeze. My crocheting falls to the floor. My legs carry me over to the window as the room dims.
“What’s happening?” Mayli asks, voice rising in pitch.
A minute ago, the sky was cloudless with the heavy sun burning the red ground. Now, dark thunderheads roll toward each other. Lightning splits the sky. A boom echoes off the three hills of Ira. The flash of light reveals dark and light animal-like shapes in the clouds, constantly shifting forms.
This is a battle of the kaites.
Fear electrifies me. In the ten years I lived with the kaites, I witnessed dozens of battles between them and the aivenkaites, their wicked brethren. We humans are completely incapable of defending ourselves from aivenkaites.
There’s a high chance that we are about to die.
I sense a presence beside me and glance up at Savi’s concerned face. “Is it the worst? Aivenkaites?” he asks. His fingers graze my elbow. My skin tingles.
The clouds explode. Shrieks and booms fill the air. A freezing wind surges through the window, and the room goes dark. Something throws me backwards. My head smacks a sharp corner. Warmth drips down my forehead. Something shatters nearby. Voices that freeze my bones fill the air with evil words I cannot understand. Pitka screams.
My heart cries one word: Aia!
Warmth washes over me. New voices join the wind, but these I understand. They speak the language of the kaites. “Begone, wicked rebels! You trespass here. How dare you come against Aia’s chosen leaders? Raiballeon and Saviayr are ours!”
A screech so loud it drowns out their words splits the air, and the darkness is gone. I am thrown forward into someone’s arms. The chill leaves the air and my soul. My vision returns. With it comes the sight of the damaged room, my family sitting dazed on the floor, and Saviayr, whose arms hold me steady.
Savi’s face is white. He reaches up to touch my forehead. “You were bleeding,” he says, “but now your wound’s clean.”
Of course. A breath catches in my throat. I feel the new bump on my forehead, and my fingers briefly brush Savi’s.
The bump is tender, but I don’t feel the dampness of blood. My kaites would make sure I was okay before they left. They must have washed the wound.
The others slowly stand up, shaken, but Pitka stays crying on the floor. Nihae is the only one who moves to the child, gathering her in a hug and murmuring to her. Maylani yells over the din that continues outside the house, “I’m going to get my harp!” The people of Ira have a superstition that music calms the spirits of storms.
Saviayr leads me to the couch. “May we have a bandage?”
Pitka’s nearly calm, but her eyes widen at Savi’s words. Her face reddens, and she starts crying again. Nihae holds her tighter, but Pitka squirms out of her arms and rushes to me.
“Shh, Pipit.” I reach for her. Pitka tucks herself into my side and squeezes me. “I’m fine. It’s just a tiny scrape,” I whisper in her ear.
Anik inspects the shards of a pot the aivenkaites knocked over. “What could have angered the spirits so?” he wonders, nudging the ceramic fragments with the toe of his sandal.
“Anik, get bandages for Raiba,” Tatanda demands. At that reminder, Anik rocks forward off his heels and dashes out of the room. He and Maylani return together, Maylani clutching her harp and Anik clutching a roll of cotton and a cup of water. Anik manages to hand the roll and cup to Saviayr before he trips over the rocking chair on the way back to the corner.
Saviayr steadies my shaking hand as I raise the liquid to my lips. Meanwhile, Maylani perches on the edge of a chair and plucks her harp’s strings. I don’t know if the music actually does anything to influence the spirits outside the house, but it calms Pitka.
“What just happened?” Tatanda demands. He plants his fists on his waist and scowls.
“That, I believe, was a battle of the kaites and aivenkaites,” Elesekk answers. He and Nihae look more peaceful than anyone else in the room. “Am I right, Raiballeon?”
All eyes turn to me. Heat rushes to my face, and Saviayr removes his hands from mine. “Yes,” I try to say, but nothing comes out. I clear my throat and try again. “Yes. It was.”
“Will someone explain to me what that means?” Tatanda throws his hands in the air.
Maylani offers, “Saviayr knows the stories.”
Savi shakes his head and nods at me. “I learned them from her.” He unrolls the cloth and wraps it around my forehead with gentle hands. I shiver when his fingers brush my skin. In a moment of poor judgment, I meet Savi’s eyes. Concern warms them. Gold flecks shine around his wide pupils.
Pitka’s voice startles me. “Storytime with Raiba!”
I force myself to look away.
Everyone looks expectantly at me. I have no other option. Besides, isn’t telling our history exactly what I am supposed to do with my life?
When I glance back at Savi, cold distrust once more replaces the warmth in his eyes. He fastens the bandage and moves to stand in the corner of the room.
“The story starts a long time ago,” I begin, forcing myself to smile at Tatanda, “before there were humans or even before Orrock was made. The Creator made the Thaliel, spirit-beings. The Thaliel dwelt in the sky and sang and danced for Aia. You know this; it’s in the Saga of Dawn.”
Tatanda and my cousins nod. Ira’s creation story, the Saga of Dawn, is close to the truth; they just are missing parts and have different names for many of the key figures. Despite the Rending, most cultures on Orrock still remember parts of our real past.
I continue the story. “Aia—the Creator—made Orrock as a gift for the chief Thaliel, who was named Roeindree—that’s your Ronder.
“But Roeindree grew prideful and coveted the worship given to Aia. He plotted and led some of the Thaliel in rebellion. Aia stripped them of much of their power and trapped them on Orrock. The planet that was once their gift became their prison. Roeindree was renamed Aivenah, ‘the evil one.’”
Tatanda’s jaw twitches. “Is this going anywhere?”
Saviayr gives him a strange look that I can’t quite interpret. “She is telling you everything you need to know,” he replies. “Go on, Rai.”
My name on his lips twists my heart. I look at Maylani to see if she noticed, but she is preoccupied with her harp.
Tatanda’s face reddens at Saviayr’s correction. I can see a storm brewing inside of him, but nothing I do would moderate or diminish it, so I follow Savi’s suggestion. “Then Aia made humans. It’s a long story, but some bad things happened, and eventually the faithful Thaliel gathered and presented requests to Aia. Some wanted to stay in the sky as lights to guide humans.”
“They’re stars, right?” Pitka chimes in.
I nod. “Yes. The rest of the Thaliel came to dwell on Orrock, to protect humans. They are the kaites. They can reside in plants, rocks, water, or wind to take on physical form. When Aivenah and his rebels attack humans, the kaites try to defeat them. Aivenah’s followers are called aivenkaites.
“Just now, the aivenkaites attacked and the kaites defended us. The storm gathering was the physical display of the spiritual realm. The aivenkaites attacked our house, injured me, and would probably have done more, but the kaites stepped in. They were the second wind, the warmer one, and they said…” Uncertainty grips me. How much should I tell them?
“What did they say?” Saviayr whispers.
I meet his eyes and swallow. I will tell them everything. “They said, ‘Begone, wicked rebels. You trespass here. How dare you come against Aia’s chosen leaders? Raiballeon and Saviayr are ours.’”
Throughout my tale, Tatanda
has fidgeted more and more. My story is a reasonable explanation of what happened, but it contradicts Ira’s beliefs that Ronder can be benevolent and the Creator was consumed by the spirits it created. By the end, Tatanda is shaking his head. “That is preposterous. Outrageous. Why would the spirits be interested in quiet little Raiba? You are out of your wits.”
“Father,” Anik protests, coming to my defense.
“No, son. It—it was just a freak storm. Raiba, you are dismissed. Come back when you have remembered yourself.” Tatanda points at the door.
Tears sting my eyes. I drop my head and scoop up my crocheting in one arm. When I pass Nihae, she lays her soft, calloused hand on my back, a silent gesture of love.
My head throbs. My eyes sting. Too much is happening. I deposit my thread on a table and rush out of the house.
Outside, my sandals kick up small flecks of mud from the recent downpour. Pebbles from the dirt road roll between my feet and leather soles, and my sandals squelch with each step. I ignore the discomfort, gather my skirt in one hand, and pick up my pace.
I have a secret cove along the coast. Tatanda owns the property, but no one ever goes there. I turn aside from the path at a little fork that can only be seen if one is looking for it. It leads down a steep incline to a secluded little strip of beach. One lone, gnarled cypress tree grows there, sheltered by cliffs from the constant Iranine wind.
Panting, I drop down at the foot of the cypress. The storm has mostly dissipated and what remains is out over the ocean. Clumps of dark clouds roll into each other with lightning and booms. Beneath, the sea rolls with white spray. I lean against the tree to watch the remnants of the battle, but the trunk shifts slightly. I still, every nerve alert. The water lapping at the sand by my feet dances more than the water further along the coast. The breeze stirs up tiny whirlwinds of sand; elsewhere is calm. My one lone tree’s roots and branches quiver, more alive than normal. “Taikah? Faialine? Airie?” I ask the water, tree, and air, calling the names of the kaites who raised me.
A rogue wave wets my feet, cleaning them from the path’s mud. A couple leaf-spiked twigs rain down into my lap. The breeze wraps around my face like an embrace.
It is them! My heart races. For the first time since I turned ten, I am in the presence of the beings who raised me. They will not appear in full bodily form. They warned me that I will never actually see them again, not as I used to. Still, they are close. Close enough for me to confide in them.
“My aunts and uncle,” I say, pressing my back to the tree and straining my toes to touch the water, desperate for any closeness with them. “I need you right now. I dishonored Uncle Tatanda. I angered him enough for him to dismiss me from his presence. Father Aia, forgive me.” Tears prick my eyes. “I wish I could please him. He has done so much for me. Please help me repay his kindness.”
Calm spreads over my mind. My kaites speak peace to me, though I cannot consciously hear their words.
“Something else happened today. Do you remember Saviayr, from when I lived with the Maraians? Of course you do. Who could forget Saviayr? Anyway, he’s here. Savi is here, after three years. Can you believe that? Oh! It feels like a lifetime.
“But it’s wrong. It is so wrong. We should be married. We promised. But then—surely you know why I had to flee. I came here, and Tatanda adopted me as his niece. So I’ve lived here, broken and alone, mourning losing you and Savi forever.
“Then my cousin Mayli went to the mainland, and she comes back engaged to my Savi! Only he’s not mine anymore. He hasn’t been since I ran, has he? But you fought the battle here, and the enemy tore him and me apart, but you pushed us back together. I’m so confused.”
My body shakes from crying. I barely manage to keep whispering.
“I hate it. It should be me marrying him, not Maylani. If only I had accepted the invitation to go with her to the mainland! If only I could know if our slavemaster is still alive.” My heart hurts too much. I lean forward, curling into a ball. Hot tears burn down my cheeks. I choke and shake. The words blur together as I sob out, “I’ll be alone forever. I’ll always love—”
A sob catches in my throat. I was going to say, “love my Savi from afar,” but the words that almost came out were “love my cousin’s husband.” I know my kaites suggested the thought.
“You are right,” I choke out. “Savi is not mine anymore. He is hers. This is wrong. I cannot love another woman’s husband like this.” Father, please help me.
How ought I to feel? What is the right way to respond to this, the way that is in harmony with Aia’s will? Thaies, I want to honor You, but I don’t know how right now. Should I weep? Should I be silent? Should I mourn? Should I rejoice? Should I push away any pain and ignore it? Will Aia cut this love out of me as surgeons cut out infected organs, or will He gently wash it away?
I am as certain as I am about anything in this life, besides Aia, that it is wrong to love another woman’s husband. and Savi will soon be Maylani’s. I don’t know how to stop. I don’t know. I only know I need You.
Tears stream down my face, leaving their sticky trails behind. “I need You,” I whisper.
My throat is swollen and aching, like a blister coated with salt. My past haunts me. My body is not heavy, but I have no strength to move.
I let myself think of Savi, picture his perfect face. Eight years. Nearly half of my life I have loved Savi. I bite my lip.
On my birthday, too. Now I shall always remember the day.
Silent sobs shake me. With self-discipline, I manage to shut back the tears that want to fall, and to choke down the sobs that threaten to suffocate me. My mind drifts into lethargy.
Hours pass. No one comes looking for me, but it does not matter. I do not move or think.
Finally, I drift into a numb sleep. Somewhere, life goes on.
Chapter 4
“Child.” A voice filters through the heavy fog darkening my mind. I want to ignore it, to succumb once more to painless unconsciousness.
The voice repeats, louder now, “Child!” This time, shaking accompanies the sound.
I want to curse whoever is so rudely waking me. Consciousness returns the pain in my chest, returns my mind to the knowledge that I must give Savi up once and for all.
With a deep frown, I peek through slit eyes. The sun, setting over the ocean to the west, is fully on my face and silhouettes my obnoxious assaulter.
“Are you well?” he asks, shifting slightly on his heels. His new position gives me a glimpse of his features. His skin is dark, almost as dark as the ebony statues of the spirits the Iranines worship. In the light, his black hair glints with hints of red and orange. His lips are thin, his nose is strong, and his eyes—his eyes stop me. They are the dull red-brown of aged mahogany. Vast sums of knowledge lie behind those eyes, for all that he looks no older than his late twenties.
“Are you well?” he repeats, this time in the Common Tongue. I barely notice the switch from Iranine.
“Yes,” I grunt.
“Good. It appears you fell asleep here on the shore,” he informs me. “It’s fortunate that the tide has not come in.”
I push up from the sand and stifle a groan. My back and neck muscles ache from napping on the ground. Sand covers nearly every part of me. “It looks that way,” I mutter, brushing the sand from the side of my face. “Thank you for your concern.”
The stranger doesn’t move away to an acceptable distance. Instead, he stays kneeling just a little too close and considers me for a moment. Then he asks, “Who are you?” His eyes slip to the chain around my neck. I resist the urge to cover my chanavea with my hand. It should still be hidden under my vest.
“Raiballeon,” I answer. Who is this man? I don’t recognize him, and I know all the people of Ira.
“Are you?” It’s less a question and more a statement of delight and satisfaction. “Do you really believe that?” he asks.
What kind of question is that? Muddled from sleep and, even more, sleep in such an unus
ual location at an unusual time, I don’t know what to make of it. “Of course I believe it,” I answer. “That’s my name. Who are you?”
He gives me a wry smile. “I have been Lev for a while now.”
I accidentally translate “Lev,” which is a Maraian name, out loud. “Sorrow.” The poor man. What kind of parents name their child sorrow? But, of course, I do not have room to talk. My birth parents named me “Mailoua,” meaning “Unnamed, Cursed.” If the kaites hadn’t given me a new name when they sent me home on my tenth birthday, I would still be called that.
“Hm?” he asks.
“Sorry, that’s a Maraian word. It means ‘sorrow,’” I explain.
Lev knits his eyebrows together at me, and I realize he was not asking what I had said; he was simply responding to his name in another language.
There is something familiar about him, but a quick search through my memory yields no one like him. Rather than puzzle it out, I ignore the mystery. “Well, Lev, thank you for taking time to make sure I am well.” I draw myself slowly to my feet. “I should go. My family is probably worried.”
I do not stay to hear his response. When I reach the path that leads back to Tatanda’s villa, I think I hear a voice speak the Maraian greeting and farewell, though it could be a trick of the wind: “Peace to you, Raiballeon.”
I creep into the house and return to my room to clean up. Tatanda’s final words before I left echo in my head: “Come back when you have remembered yourself.”
His order reminds me of the strange man on the beach. Do I really believe my name is Raiballeon? Of course I do. I am not Mailoua anymore.
By now, the water on my dresser has absorbed the day’s heat. I splash my face then wipe my arms to remove the sandy residue. A glance at the surface of the pewter pitcher confirms that my hair is straight. The humidity from the battle of the kaites, combined with laying on it during my nap, uncurled it. Not that it matters anymore. My cousins know I am Maraian, and soon the whole island will, too.
Maybe I am still Mailoua. I do feel cursed. Is it a blessing to be exiled for witnessing a murder when I was fifteen? To lose my families twice? To finally reunite with Saviayr, only to have him belong to my cousin? To be a disgrace to Tatanda?