Songstone, page 21
Again Pono yanked me up and dragged me out. I heard him muttering incomprehensible things as my heels dragged through the gritty, sodden sand, making deep furrows. He pulled me far away from my sweet, cool water, and I groaned.
“Utopi?” I mumbled, frowning up at him. I coughed up water and rolled onto my side to spit it out.
“Stay here,” he said.
I gazed longingly at the stream, but nodded. To anchor myself, I arched backwards, still on my side, grabbed my ankles, and held on. I wouldn’t roll into the water. I wouldn’t drown. Matiko’s magic had made me mad. I had to stay here; I had to.
“Go, quickly,” I said, gripping my ankles tighter. I could feel my control slipping away.
Water.
I squeezed my eyes shut, not knowing if I heard the sound of Pono’s feet as he ran away or if it was the sound of my own pulse thudding in my ears. It didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was utopi. For healing, I’d need another plant.... What was it?
I blacked out for a while. How long, I didn’t know, but then Pono was at my side, easing a bitter leaf into my mouth. It tasted terrible, but I chewed greedily and swallowed.
“How long will it take?” he asked, concerned.
“More. I need more.”
He gave me another and another, and eventually the pain started to subside. I breathed a sigh of relief. I even leaned forward and kissed Pono’s hand in blind gratitude. He cupped his hands behind my head and rolled me onto my back.
“Rest here,” he said and dropped down next to me. He bent close and kissed my forehead and my cheek, his mouth a tender caress. I wanted him to really kiss me, but I didn’t know if that was me talking or the madness from Matiko’s magic. A natural shyness stopped me from grabbing his neck and pulling his face down to mine.
“Thank you,” I whispered. I must have slept because when I woke later the sky had brightened to the dim yellow of dawn.
“How long have I been asleep?” I looked at Pono, sitting next to me, with his legs bent and his forearms resting on his knees.
He shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. I’ve seen no sign of your shadow in the sky.”
“Not. My. Shadow.”
He nodded and gave me a small smile of apology. He wiped a hand down his face. I saw dark circles under his eyes. He looked like he’d been awake for a hundred nights.
“Didn’t you sleep?” I asked.
“How could I sleep?” he asked, incredulous. “You kept trying to sink to the bottom of the stream.”
“I do need a drink of water.” I smiled shyly.
“You’re not going to throw yourself to the bottom again are you?” he asked, his gaze sliding over my head and face, my arms and legs.
“What?” I looked down too, wondering if he could somehow see my moko of vines. I was resigned to tell him about Kaikanu’s magic then, but all I saw was my own ruined skin.
“You’re covered in scratches, and it looks like you’ve been burned. Did the fire from the lake....”
Oh, I must be beautiful. I grimaced, too tired to wish for a cloak.
“My foot burns a little, but the rest is a rash, from Matiko,” I said. “The bushes scratched me, and then there was the quake,” I added, remembering. “But Matiko’s magic is what’s making me so sick. Water?” I asked hopefully. “I won’t throw myself to the bottom, I promise.”
He helped me to my feet and down the bank. As I crouched down and sipped water from my cupped hand, he held onto the back of my dress, as if he didn’t trust me. Maybe that should have bothered me, but I was too thirsty. I just drank. Then I took two sloshing handfuls of water and poured it down my face. I did the same with each arm and leg. The utopi would wear off soon, I knew, and I’d need more.
If only I could remember what herbs Matiko used to cure a rash. In my mind, I entered Matiko’s common room and looked at his shelves. Which jar would he reach for to cure a rash? Crushed na-nui leaves were for fever. Papau root could clear the lungs. I squatted down on my heels and gazed into the stream, letting the water disappear from sight and Matiko’s secret room of magic swim into focus. I saw all those jars as if I were smashing them again, watching their powdery contents float around me.... Had there been an herb there for healing a rash?
“I need more utopi leaves,” I said, defeated. “Where did you find them?”
He gestured to the bank, and I saw an entire uprooted bush. I gaped at it.
“You took a whole bush?” I asked, looking at him in amazement. It would have taken two men to pull up a bush that size. Pono was strong, but not strong enough to do it by himself. Not that I’d say that to his face.
“A man can do things when he’s—when he needs to.” He gestured, as though unable to explain. His palms were scraped with streaks of reddish brown. Dried blood.
I gasped. “What have you done?” I took his hands gently and stared at his ruined palms.
He pulled away. “I got the utopi.”
“Well,” I said, stung. “You’ll need some utopi leaves too.”
Twenty-Two
“MY VILLAGE IS over that hill,” Pono said, pointing. We’d been walking for eight days and my legs were weary, but he still strode around as if nothing ever made him tired.
“Why don’t—?” I broke off at the sound of children crying out a greeting.
There was a rustle of activity and noise as a stream of villagers ran over the hill. They must have spotted us from afar. The youngest boys and girls ran toward Pono with more glad cries of welcome. At the sight of me though, they stumbled to a slow walk and stopped, their eyes opened wide. The adults stopped too, and a low whoosh of sound rumbled toward me, as if they’d all gasped together. Fathers and mothers grasped their children’s shoulders protectively, holding them back.
From me of course. Because I was so dangerous.
Who knew what I’d do? I was Huwi, after all.
How had I forgotten what it was like to walk around my village, to feel suspicious stares stabbing me in the back?
I looked around at all the villagers’ faces but didn’t see Arawea’s among them.
Arawea will know me, I thought, my heart suddenly pounding fast. She’ll see me and know I was Matiko’s servant girl, the one Noni found in the woods.
Kita, she’d think. The one no one could look at, with her pale skin and her hair and eyes.
A young man strode closer and stood before us, one arm braced over his chest, spear in hand.
“Niri,” Pono greeted him. “I have returned.” Though he stood tall, he sounded different, less sure. Younger. Smaller, maybe.
I didn’t like that at all. I wanted to push him forward, to start boasting about the things he’d done. He wouldn’t do that, of course, and no one would listen to me, a Huwi girl, so I bit back my words. I scowled at Niri instead.
So, this is his brother, I thought, pursing my lips. He looked about twenty-five and seemed twice Pono’s size. Stone-hard muscles rippled in his arms and legs. His chest was a shield, broad and strong. The spear he gripped was so long and heavy I couldn’t have lifted it. He was handsome, with a strong male jaw and fine forehead. His moko spread down his chin, over his arms, his shoulders, his chest and legs. Pono’s brother was...magnificent. There was no other word for it. He was a full-grown man, a great warrior—what every village boy wanted to be when he grew up.
He was the fierce island warrior I’d once thought a journeyman should be.
“So I see,” Niri said. That was all. He didn’t give Pono a manly hug of greeting, didn’t slap his shoulder. He didn’t even give him a few grudging words of congratulations.
I heard Pono’s swiftly indrawn breath and glared at Niri, hating him. I folded my arms over my chest, echoing his stance, giving him as much hostility as I could through my pose alone. At least until he turned fully toward me. Under his steady gaze, I melted, like the mess a jellyfish made on the beach after the tide washed it in.
“You’ve led the Huwi here?” Niri pierced Pono with a look full of disapproval and disbelief. As if I was an entire Huwi army with spears.
“She’s a storyteller,” Pono said defensively. “From Arawea’s village.”
I shrank, mortified that he felt forced to defend me.
“Pono!” A tall woman of middle years came running down the hill, her arms spread wide.
He looked up at her and his expression lightened, but he didn’t run to meet her. He stood his ground and braced himself, prepared for attack.
I watched as the woman threw herself at Pono, locking him in a full embrace from head to foot. She wrapped him so completely in her arms that there was almost nothing left of him to see, just the top of his head showing above her strong arms and generous bosom. She was a large woman, taller than Pono, and almost as tall as Niri. Her face wasn’t pretty—more handsome and strong, like the rest of her. In her arms, Pono again seemed smaller, like a boy and not the young man I’d come to think of him as. Not my protector, capable of anything, but a boy needing something—needing these people. And they needed him. He was theirs, not mine. I suddenly wanted to smother myself under a pile of blankets and sleep, and maybe cry. I felt empty, as if Pono had already left me...even though he was still standing right in front of me.
“Mama,” I heard his muffled greeting.
His mother set him back and kissed his forehead. Once, twice... four times. Four. I gaped in amazement. His mother pulled back and held Pono at arms’ length, looking him over, perhaps to see if he’d come back with a missing finger or eye. “You ran out of coconut butter, didn’t you?” she demanded, taking in the fine lines of strain around his eyes.
He lifted one shoulder, admitting nothing.
“I thought you were lost. I thought you’d fallen in the lake of fire. I thought you’d been attacked or captured by the—” She caught sight of me and paused. “Huwi,” she finished slowly, her face a mask of confusion.
“Pono?” She turned to him, her head tilted to one side, her brow furrowed, looking pointedly from him to me and back again.
“This is Kita, Mama,” he said respectfully, drawing himself up, broadening his shoulders. “Kita, this is my mother, Kalama.”
“Kita?” his mother said. Her gaze was a cool mountain breeze, chilling me. I almost felt like I needed to rub the raised, bumpy flesh of my arms, and that just made me aware of all my aching sores. I must look so horrible and strange to her. To Pono’s mother. I didn’t want to look strange. I wanted to look like someone his mother would approve of, for Pono’s sake. Maybe a little for mine. His mother was the kind of woman you wanted to impress, like Chieftainess Puakoa—as if she too was a woman of great power in her village.
“I...I....” Words stuck in my throat, then flew out of my head like many small birds scattered in flight.
“He brought the Huwi here,” Niri said, folding his arms across his impressive chest and scowling at me forbiddingly.
Maybe he thought I was going to command their minds to obey me. If I’d had the hiri feather—I felt a sharp stab of loss—maybe I could have done it, but I could only stare back at him stupidly.
“You brought the Huwi here?” Kalama asked Pono, a trace of disapproval seeping into her voice. She straightened, releasing him and preparing to correct him as mothers did with children who’d strayed too close to the cliffs.
“He saved my life.” The words flew from my mouth.
Kalama’s eyes snapped to attention. She looked at me in a new way, a way I couldn’t name, but I sensed my next words were very important. I slowed and tried to think clearly.
“He rescued me from a sorcerer,” I said, “an evil man who stole my breath with magic. Pono took me away from him and ran. He breathed for...me...” I faltered when I saw Pono give me a frown of warning.
“We fled to Mount Tul,” I continued, ignoring his frown and his stiffly held shoulders. “From there we were captured by the Huwi—” As Kalama took in a breath and opened her mouth to speak, I hurriedly added, “and later they freed us. On our way down the mountain, Pono defeated a terrible kumi lizard with his spear”—this caught everyone’s interest, especially Niri’s—“and he led me safely across the lake of fire. And now we’re here.”
I left off the part about the great shadow following us in the sky. There was no need to make everyone frightened and start scanning the sky nervously for signs of Matiko, though I’d been doing that for the past few days as we crossed the island from the lake of fire.
“He saved my life,” I repeated, “and brought me here to be your storyteller.”
“So I see....” Kalama looked from me to Pono with an assessing eye that made me squirm. “What are these sores all over you?” she asked me, her expression softening into a concerned frown. She was actually looking at me, actually unafraid to look into my eyes. It was amazing.
“Matiko did this.” I looked down at my ruined arms and flushed with embarrassment. “He sent a spell to inflict me with sores.”
Kalama considered me with pursed lips, then stepped closer. “Then we’ll have to bring you to Hutowe, our medicine man,” she declared. She placed an arm around me and began to lead me toward the village. “He’s very old, but he’s very skilled,” she said as we walked.
“Where’s Father?” Pono asked, calling after us.
“He went fishing with Kalea and Lanilau,” his mother said, throwing the words carelessly over her shoulder. “Ringuri and some other men went too. They’ll be back tomorrow.”
I glanced back to see Pono following us. His face was carved of stone. My heart sank, knowing I’d somehow upset him with what I said.
A few hours later, I was sitting in Pono’s family’s hut surrounded by platters of steamed fruit cakes, pounded taro root, and freshly roasted fish. Kalama kept fussing over me, making sure I ate some of everything. Earlier, she’d shooed Pono and the other villagers away and taken me to a tribal pool where I soaked for a long time. She’d even washed my matted hair. Afterwards, she’d offered me a clean work dress, one that belonged to Pono’s older sister, Kalea. It was simple, but lovely, woven in a pattern of red and black grasses. Kalama then swept me to their medicine man’s hut to have my sores slathered with a mash made from koromiko leaves—koromiko leaves, of course.
It hadn’t been that long since the leaves had been applied, but my sores were already starting to fade. I sat now, clean and well-fed, on a thick woven flax mat, floating as if I were a weightless mist, wrapped in comfort and sweet relief. So, this is what it’s like to have a mother, I thought with an inner smile.
I tried to ignore Pono, who sat stiff-backed across from me, as if I’d insulted him with my praise. I’d never understand him.
“Pono,” his mother said, hovering over him. “Did you rub that coconut butter into your hand?”
“Yes, Mama,” he said, flicking a glance at me.
His mother frowned at him, no doubt displeased at his lack of enthusiasm. “I made your favorite, tasty hinau cakes. Why aren’t you eating? Don’t you like them?”
“Thank you, Mother.” He took a steamed fruit cake from her and nibbled on it. “It’s perfect, so swee—”
“She’s Huwi,” Niri interrupted, reminding his mother, for the hundredth time it seemed. He hadn’t stopped scowling at me since I’d walked through their door. “She’ll kill us in our sleep.”
I raised my brows, but didn’t say anything. He wouldn’t believe anything I said anyway. Pono simply grunted, a rude, irritated sound that I supposed was meant to make his brother close his mouth. It didn’t work. Niri continued to pace around the hut floor making dire predictions about their fate. I was going to smother them one by one with my hands. Or pull their spirits out through the holes where their eyes had once been.
Pull their spirits out through their eyes?
How did he imagine such things?
I sat in silence, trying to ignore Niri. I had piles of delicious fruit cakes, a new clean dress, hair that had been washed and carefully brushed so it hung, straight and smooth, over my shoulders.... I had a mother mothering me, and there was no way I was going to let Niri—or even Pono’s stiff, punishing silence—spoil it.
“Enough!” Kalama waved Niri out the door. “She’s a sweet child, Niri pai. Why must you always see the worst?”
He didn’t budge. With a sigh, she gave him a little push. He finally left, grumbling under his breath.
“You’re already looking much better, child,” she said to me, smiling broadly.
“Thank you, for everything.” I grinned at her. She’d sent awful Niri away, and the hut already seemed brighter and filled with sweeter air.
Kalama spread her hands wide. “You are welcome to anything in our home.”
I looked around, admiringly. “It’s a beautiful hut.”
Pono’s mother leaned close and whispered, “Pono built it with Niri and his father.” She looked at Pono and raised her brows meaningfully.
“What?” he said, grumpy.
“Nothing. Eat your hinau.”
He frowned and took another grumpy bite of his fruit cake. I shook my head, sharing a secretive smile with his mother.
“If you are well tomorrow,” Kalama said, “we’ll present you to Arawea. If not, we’ll wait another day. As long as it takes. But for now, all you must do is rest.”
My smile widened. I couldn’t help soaking her attention in, much like a dry plant soaks in the rain. Now, if only I could still the quiet nervousness in my stomach—a knot that reminded me I’d eventually have to face Arawea, a woman who’d known me most of my life, the first half of my life as a Huwi foundling and the second half as Matiko’s servant girl.
* * *
Two days later, I felt much better. I looked better too. The worst of my sores had faded to a pale pink and the rest had disappeared completely. I almost felt whole again—and well fed. Kalama was an excellent cook and made sure Pono and I ate almost non-stop. To my relief, I never once saw Matiko’s shadow in the sky.
