Chapter 4
Olinne and Nori waited for me on the beach of Neris Island.
“Did you help it?” Olinne asked without preamble. “The walking traitor?”
“Was it hideous?” Nori asked, a slanted smile curving her lips.
“I didhelp him, and he was…” I paused to consider the question. “Nice,” I lied, my tone demanding the subject to be dropped.
“He hasn’t left. We can smell him.” Nori lay sunbathing in the shallows.
“No, he hasn’t left. But I hope he does soon.” I sat on the water’s edge, toes in the sand. The vision of him gazing at me from across the garden flashed in my mind, complete with the hungry stares of every island woman in the background, waiting for me to—what? Sprout claws and fangs? Pounce on him and drag his lifeless body back to a secret lair somewhere?
It’s not safe here. That’s the witch’s garden.
Cursing inwardly, my fingertips found the knot that had formed at my temple.
“I do not trust his smell,” Olinne said.
“Nor do I,” Nori replied. “Filthy traitor.”
My eyes rolled under my hand. The Naiads’ tirades toward men had dominated our conversations since the day we’d met, and I’d long since learned not to argue. I wasn’t sure where their terror of sailors had originated, or why they didn’t seem to fear the men of Leihani the way they feared travelers of the sea, but it didn’t really matter. Convincing the Naiads that men were harmless was like convincing the islanders I wasn’t a witch. Their minds were made, and there was no changing them.
Not that I wanted to. I had more use for dried bat guano than I had for men.
At least guano made useful fertilizer.
Olinne dipped her chin, filling her mouth with water and releasing it in a gush over Nori’s head. Nori glared at her, swiping her copper tail to send a splash of water back. The crest of an oncoming wave neutralized it, and Olinne grinned mischievously as she sank below the surf, white-blonde curls disappearing under the water.
“She can never let be after the round moon. It provokes her.” Nori tilted her head toward the vacant water Olinne had resided in the moment before. I snorted, absently chewing a strip of sugarcane as I settled my buckets, preparing to begin my daily hunt for clams on the isolated beach.
“His blood smells like syrup,” Nori said.
I lifted my head in surprise. “You can really smell his blood from this far?”
“Pulpy. Rich. Sweet. The blood of a pampered life.”
Slightly disturbed, I narrowed my eyes, unsure if she was serious or simply trying to needle me. “A pampered life? How do you know?”
“They all smell that way. Before they harpoon you and strap you to their ship’s prow.” She flashed a rare grin, white teeth visible along the sides and back of her mouth.
I was past the age of feeling threatened by a sharp Naiad smile.
“What does my blood smell like?”
Nori considered me for a moment, slanting near enough that I leaned away. The Naiads rarely came so close. Her skin was luminous, a lush glow under the warm sunshine. She inhaled deeply, tilting her head to one side, like she’d scented something she hadn’t expected.
“Life.”
She was teasing me.
The Naiads often spoke in riddles when I asked direct questions, giggling as they evaded sharing any knowledge. Sometimes it was warranted, like when I veered too close to a subject I knew they couldn’t reveal to a human.
But other times, it was so pointless and frustrating I’d like nothing more than to kick sand in their scales, climb in my va’a, and ignore them for a week.
“Don’t worry about the boy,” I said.
“Boy.” Nori’s mouth curled as she lay in the shallow water. She swirled her index finger in the tide, inciting a tiny whirlpool, sending flecks of pale sand spinning. “An innocent title for a traitor.”
I frowned, watching bubbles rise from the dimple my toes had left in the sand. “Man, then. You have no reason to believe he’s a traitor.”
The words flew from my mouth as if they had wings of their own, and I stiffened at hearing them. Why was I defending him? I didn’t even know him. But he’d come to Leihani in a rowboat; he may as well have climbed into his own coffin when he entered the ocean. I couldn’t imagine why anyone would cross a sea in a tiny wooden vessel. Unless they were running from something. Maybe he was a traitor.
Nori continued stirring the water. “Stranded barefoot for miles in a desert of broken glass, the creature pretends to not see when she passes an oasis of shoes.”
Well, that made all the sense in the world.
I stooped to pry a crustacean from the sandy bubbles. “Consider me enlightened, Nori, listening to you speak of creatures needing shoes. You don”t even have feet.”
“I do not need feet to sense lies.”
What in Mihauna’s name? Lies?
Arms wide in confusion, I shot her a look. “Who is lying, Nori?”
She only chuckled, tail flicking like a cat amusing itself with a mouse. “You are. To yourself.”
I gave a sharp sigh, hands on my hips. “Listen—”
“Don’t bring him to Neris Island. My queen would not tolerate it. It is against Naiad law for a human to see—”
“I wouldn’t bring him here. I wouldn’t let him see you.”
Nori’s eyes darkened. “He would have to be killed if he did.”
I swallowed, crossing my arms. “I know.”
“It’s law.”
“I know. I wasn’t even going to—”
“And do not mate with the boy.” Nori enunciated the word as though I didn’t understand the meaning of it, rolling onto her belly, her wine-red hair like blood streaming from her scalp. “You would never be rid of him.”
I threw an exasperated hand through the air. Mate with him? Of all the ideas under the sun and moon I might dredge to life, mating with some Calderian was the least likely to ever solidify into action.
The thought alone made me want to throw salt water in her face. “He almost drowned in shallow water. He doesn’t have two halves of a brain to rub together. Trust me, I’m not going to mate with him.”
Playing with her whirlpool, Nori ignored me.
“The only thing I want is for him to leave,” I told her, yanking the bucket up so I could travel down the beach, away from the Naiad and whatever odd mood she was in.
A week or more passed, and the stupid man still hadn’t left.
I ignored him, of course, though my eyes and ears always seemed to search for him. I’d hear a voice across the fields, and look up to realize it was his, chatting with Nola and Kimo as they deboned their meal. Or I’d hear a scuffle through the grass just after the fishing boats returned, but it was Kye, not my father, who crossed under the palms to rinse off in the water.
He seemed intent on pausing in front of my house to do things like stretch or observe island insects with vague curiosity. Of course, the entire moon-damned island seemed to follow him around.
Scowling, I could only sit on my veranda and wait for them to pass. My father sat beside me, pretending not to notice both my foul mood and the flocks of mindless islanders as they tramped through our yard. A sizzle snapped through the air between our feet, his fish smoking in the underground oven—the sign of a successful day on the boats.
“Another sailor went missing this morning,” my father said.
I paused briefly, lowering the buckets to the floor, eyes hard on his face. “Which ship?”
Across the fields, loud, feminine laughter broke the silence of the neighborhood, and a strange twinge of frustration vibrated in my head as my cousin Nola emerged through the eastern palms, leading Kimo and the Calderian down the path to Palunu and Naheso’s house. Nola and Kimo disappeared up the steps and out of view, but Kye halted when he looked across the crop lines and caught my eye.
I quickly glanced away.
I’d passed him on the trail that morning. His blisters had receded into his flesh, leaving large and inconsistent patches of brown. His red veins had also begun to fade, his freckles dark, leaving the illusion someone had sprinkled brown sugar across his nose and shoulders.
Even under the mask of a half-healed burn, it was clear a handsome face lay hidden below. High cheekbones, a cupid’s bow mouth, the dark shadow of an emerging beard drawing dusky hollows in his taut jawline.
It had been over a week since he’d landed in Leihani. Why was he still here?
“The Andiamo,” my father answered, raising a brow as his own eyes darted to the young man.
The Andiamo was one of Leihani’s frequent visitors, buying the bulk of tuna in the dry season.
I shook my head, ignoring the question buried under my father’s wandering gaze.
He gave a subtle nod in Kye’s direction. “He’s an eager learner,” he said, plucking the smoked fish out of the oven. “Willing to jump in with a knife to free a net caught on the rocks or to retrieve a speared fish. Decent swimmer too. Maybe not as fast as an island boy, but he has good lungs for diving.”
“No clues where the missing Andiamo sailor went?” I asked, unwilling to let him drive the subject elsewhere. I snapped a corner from my filet and popped it into my mouth.
Ano pursed his lips, drumming his fingertips on his knee.
I faced him, exaggerating the slow rotation of my jaw as I chewed.
“I don’t know why you won”t spend time with people your own age. You and Nola used to be inseparable.”
Digging out a fragile bone, I snorted. My cousin and I had been close when we were very young. But that had been years ago, before Irah and the other sailors disappeared.
Ano would likely never understand. He was a popular man among the locals. A friend to everyone, my father was a blade of grass in the thatched roof of Leihani. Accepted. Flexible. Woven into the band of the island village.
I was a wooden plank trying to squeeze into the trusses. I wasn’t the right size or shape or color.
I didn’t fit.
Lifting my gaze, I stole a glance at the man I’d pulled from the water, then almost choked.
Mihaunaalive, he was standing in the pathway with his arms crossed, blatantly staring at me.
Go away, you simple-minded fool.
Everyone was out this time of day. All my neighbors; every islander on the west side of Leihani. And there the man stood, gawking at me like a witless napkin for all of them to see.
“Are they all watching, Makua?” I whispered, the bottom of my stomach somewhere under the floorboards of the veranda.
My father shrugged. “A few. They’re only curious.” He cocked his head, waiting for me to address the man who obviously wanted to talk to me. But my father was wrong. The islanders weren”t curious. They watched with something deeper than mere curiosity. Something rooted in wary glances and guarded stares. Suspicion. My father would never understand because no one would ever be suspicious of anything he’d ever done, except falling under a witch’s spell and marrying her.
I dusted my hands and turned away from Kye, impatient for my father to answer my question about the sailor.
Even though I knew the answer. There were no clues. There never were.
“No idea.” He heaved a sigh, leveling me with obsidian eyes.
They”d been my Nani’s eyes, too, when she was still alive. The same I’d inherited. As a child, I used to love gazing into them as my father told stories. His irises were black as volcanic glass, and just as reflective, stealing the sun’s rays and shining back with twinkling intensity. And like volcanic glass, they were sharp enough to cut when he wanted them to be.
At his words, I nodded, ignoring my father’s weighted gaze as he watched the Calderian give up and wander off. I swallowed the stupid impulse to stretch my neck and count how many islanders had witnessed Kye standing in front of my house like his head had detached from his body.
Next time, I’ll let the fool drown.
I took a small bite of fish, letting my mind roam back to the missing sailor.
It had happened before. Twenty-three years ago, my mother had drifted into island waters clutching a broken wine barrel. Leihani had embraced her as their own—until sailors began to go missing. Then, when I was not quite two years old, Alana died, and the disappearances stopped.
But they’d started again six years ago, when a celerite, a small speedy ship, moored in the Leihani harbor. I remembered the captain, so clearly a pirate. Pirates stopped often enough in Leihani, usually to hide from Calderian authorities after plundering some other ship or mainland. They never attacked; the island itself had little wealth to steal.
But the cabin boy—Irah. The captain’s son. I still remembered his kind green eyes, the way he’d watched me wander across the pier, his hands full with his father’s iron tinderbox as the captain puffed his tobacco pipe, the boy’s own face a mixture of curiosity and apprehension. Not the sort of apprehension islanders looked at me with, as though I were a toxic cloud that floated across the island without their permission. A kind of nervousness that made my own belly twist and squirm with something new and thrilling I couldn’t explain.
He’d befriended me. Young and na?ve, I’d let him. Had let him walk me around the beaches, immune to the stares as we passed through the markets and ignored the fisherman’s wives who dipped their heads together and gossiped about the witch’s daughter and her new friend. Had shown him how to dig for clams, how to mend a net with dandelion roots. Had snuck out of my house after my father fell asleep to meet him at the base of the mountain and watch the stars, swapping constellation stories.
Had helped him get to Akamai’s house when a coughing fit had left him gasping for air. Salt Sickness, he’d explained. An ailment of the lungs he’d been born with. I remembered the words, thinking it an apt name for an affliction a pirate boy might have.
Then, the next morning, I’d woken to find he’d vanished.
And every islander’s finger had pointed to me.