Chapter 16
One long minute at a time, darkness swallowed the cursed island where I sat.
Only hours ago, I’d told myself I’d never come here again. My back leaned against the cliffs where I usually chatted with Nori and Olinne. I’d half expected to find them here, but neither had shown.
I didn’t know if I was grateful or disappointed.
At the sound of splashing in the surf, my head snapped up, eyes searching for the source of the disturbance. For the Naiads. For my father. For any one of the islanders who refused to come here out of respect for Nahli. The possibilities stirred a pool of bubbling nerves in my stomach, each worse than the next.
But it was Kye who stepped onto the shore, just as he said he would, his face bright under the silver moon. It had been nearly four weeks since I’d pulled him from the water on this shore.
“Kye.”
He almost passed me, trudging up the beach, arms shaking out the exertion of rowing during mid-tide. At the sound of my voice, he stopped, gaze roaming the beach for me.
I stretched a hand from the shadows into the moonlight, waving slowly. He caught it, his gaze narrowing on me. Fist curled into his hip, he cleared his throat and set one foot on a rock, seemingly thinking of what to say.
After having hours to decide.
And rowing here alone.
“They already know it was me,” I murmured.
He clicked his tongue, head bobbing in slow affirmation.
I’d expected as much. Of course, the island knew it was me. Who else would they suspect, if not the witch who lured sailors to their deaths? They’d only tolerated me this long because none of them had ever died before.
What would they do with me now?
“Where is he?” I asked, though I knew. He was in my aunt or Akamai’s house, encased in salt and hau bark, awaiting his funeral pyre.
He crossed his arms. “Somewhere at the bottom of the channel, halfway between here and Leihani.”
My mouth parted. “You dumped him in the sea?”
Exhaling through his nose, Kye lowered himself beside me. Together, we watched the tide stretch and shrink, the sand blue under the light of the moon.
“Be glad he died of a knife to the kidney, Maren,” Kye said quietly, the fingers of his left hand rubbing the knuckles of his right. “It was a better end than what I’d have done to him, if I’d found him alive.” Hidden in the dark shadows, I could see only his arms and his thighs as he leaned into the edge of the rocks. “Do you want to talk about it?”
I shook my head. I could barely grasp it myself, let alone put into words what had happened only a few hours ago in my garden. My throat tightened painfully as I swallowed, and my fingers prodded at the increasingly sore tissue there.
That was how I knew it was real. The ache in my muscles, radiating down to my bones. The stiffness in my neck and lower back. The scores of raw, jagged lines along the backs of my arms. The echo of torn ligaments in my elbow. The reverberating sting that lanced up my arm when I flexed my fingers, where my hand couldn’t seem to forget the memory of a knife in its grip as I forced it into the body of another.
My eyes lifted to the constellations overhead, my personal map written in stars above—my ever-constant guides while at sea in my va’a. The flying whale, the mother bird, the singing maiden, the lonely sea. The last was my favorite, a cluster of stars layered over each other like waves of water, frozen in the night.
“So. It’s just you and your father?”
I saw the words for what they were—a method of distracting me from my thoughts. Eyes on the stars, I nodded, numb. “And my Nani when I was little. And Nola, Naheso, and my aunt.”
My throat tightened. Beside me, Kye’s body remained still as he watched me in silence. I swallowed, searching my thoughts for a way to entice him to talk about himself rather than ask me questions simply to fill the quiet air. “Do you have brothers and sisters?”
“Two of each.”
“Oh.” Most island families were of similar size, but my house had only ever been filled with my father and me—and distant, foggy memories of my Nani.
“Well, my father remarried after my mother died. The youngest two are my half-siblings,” Kye explained softly.
“How old are they?” Above, the stars twinkled. I’d been staring at the sky for hours, waiting for the stars. Waiting to watch them turn, twist, flicker.
“Eleven and eight.” He leaned forward. “Do you—”
I cleared my throat. “And how do they see you? Are you a role model?”
He leaned into the rocks, thumb tapping his knee. Then he scoffed under his breath. “Their mother probably doesn’t think so. Are you tired?”
“No,” I lied, brushing sand from my ankles.
My eyes were heavy. But I’d spent the last few hours reaching for sleep’s hand, only to have it yanked from my grasp. I hadn’t been able to sleep since arriving. I”d tried several times, but every time I closed my eyes, I was haunted by my uncle’s face as I left him, pale and disbelieving.
“So…you lost your mother young,” I murmured, then instantly regretted the conversation my words invited.
He was quiet for long enough that I thought he might not have heard me. But then, “She died of pneumonia when I was nine.”
I shifted, uncurling my legs and stretching them, every muscle in my body as rigid as the rock I leaned on. Why had I asked about his mother? Seconds ticked by and my cheeks grew warm. How obvious was it that I was so unpolished compared to him?
“How old are you now?”
“Twenty-six. How old were you when you lost yours?”
I dared a glance at him, but his dark silhouette was turned toward the sea, lashes stirring as his eyes roamed the waves.
“Not quite two.”
“Do you remember her at all?”
I inhaled, shaking my head. “No. I have dreams, sometimes, of her singing. Not with words, just melody. But I don’t know if it’s a true memory.” I faltered, realizing I’d never confessed such a thing before. “What do you remember of your mother?”
His mouth curled, thinking as he watched the waves. “A lot of things. Her tucking me in for bed. Kissing me goodnight. Playing on the beach with my brother and sister, finding seashells to bring home. Her funny stories. She had a low, rich accent. As a boy, it was like listening to someone speak in lullabies.”
Lullabies. Was it a universal idea to all children that their mother always sang to them? “How so?” I asked, grateful for the sound of his voice after hours of listening to nothing but the one in my head. Even if he only shared childhood memories.
He considered my question. “She rolled her R’s with the flick of her tongue, like they didn’t exist. She would have pronounced your name Medden.” He dropped an octave on the last word, his voice like velvet.
A warm shiver ran down my back, and something pulled at my center, hearing him say my name, even in his mother’s accent. “Do you look more like her or your father?”
Fingers laced together in his lap, he sighed. “Her. You favor your father, but I see something else in you too. Where was your mother from?”
I gave a half-shrug. “We don’t know. She tried to tell Makua. She drew maps in the sand and gestured with her hands, but he could never figure it out. He used to point ships out to her, every time one came to port with a flag he hadn’t seen in a while, but she just shook her head. Eventually he gave up trying to figure it out, but sometimes I think he’d still like to know.”
His brows raised with interest, and he pressed in close, scrutinizing my face in a way that sent my heart beating fast against my ribcage. “You see traders from every corner of the world here. What nationality do you think you share?”
I shook my head, willing him to lean away as my pulse drummed inside my ears and my mouth went dry. “I’m not sure. I’ve never seen myself.”
He gave me an odd look, then straightened, a notion occurring to him. “There are no mirrors here.”
“I think a few islanders have them in their homes. But I’ve never seen one.”
He stared at me in quiet surprise. “You’ve never seen yourself?”
Though it was clear he was trying to distract me, I tilted my head to consider him, the numbness inside giving way to vague curiosity.
What was it like, to come from a world brimming with such luxuries as reflective glass that he might be shocked to find I’d never seen a mirror?
As a child, I used to wait for tide pools at sundown, when the light was ahead of me, and the water was dim enough to see my reflection. I’d been informed, numerous times, that I resembled my mother, though generally not in the kindest way. A lifetime ago, when the island children refused to let me play, I’d clung to the idea that I had another set of people in the world. Waiting for me.
I swallowed. “All Leihaniians look the same. I doubt I need to see one.”
Angling forward to look me in the eyes, Kye watched me, his own gaze carefully guarded like he wanted to disagree. But he sucked a gulp of air, swallowing whatever argument that had been on the tip of his tongue. Instead, he leaned in, reading my eyes and skin as if following the words of a handwritten letter, looking for hidden details of my ancestry. I stiffened.
His golden irises burned, speckled with pale dust under the moon.
“I could tell you what I see,” he offered softly.
“No, thank you,” I said. I didn’t want to hear what he thought I looked like. I knew well enough.
A murderer. A traitor. A coward.
Exhaling a shaky gust of air, I fixed my gaze overhead once more. My wrist throbbed. My throat tightened. Inside me, an ache deeper than tissue and marrow began to crack its way to the surface, sharp splinters driving into my flesh.
I waited for him to move away. To sit back against the rocks, relinquishing the space between us. His breath brushed my cheeks, sending a scent of mint collapsing around me.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m not good at this. Jokes and stories I can tell—”
“I don’t want to talk about it.” My voice broke, and tears sprang free from my lashes.
“I’m not talking about it.” Kye swallowed, leaning back against the rocks.
“He left the chicken in the water,” I blurted, despite my own words.
“I know.”
I turned my head, meeting his gaze.
“One of the islander’s chickens went missing, and he thought a hawk had taken it. But I remembered seeing one the morning of the shark attack, tucked under Naheso’s arm. I didn’t make the connection until a few hours ago, seeing him in the marshes. But you knew someone had put it there.”
I nodded, watching the tide. The clouds shifted overhead, draping luminous moonlight over us both.
“Do you believe we go to Perpetuum when we die?” I asked, unable to keep the burning question from my mind. Where had Naheso gone, after I killed him? Where was he now?
Kye stole a glance at me and exhaled, his eyes hard on the distant waves. Something like irritation seemed to fizzle over him, though when he spoke, his voice was little more than a soft murmur. “Yes. There’s a prayer we say to Theia in Calder when someone dies.” He swallowed, his voice softening as he recited the words from somewhere deep in his memory.
Mother moon, take my hand,
Lead me to the after land.
Beaches warm and water pure,
My body young with fresh vigor.
Mother moon, take my pain,
Let it be a drop of rain.
Upon the shore where I shall live,
With each wave, let me forgive.
Mother moon, take my soul,
Lay my body in a hole.
Let not my loved ones cry for me.
Tell them I wait by the sea.
I stared up at the sky, eyes shifting over the frozen stars. The wind kissed moisture from my cheeks.
The Calderian version of Perpetuum sounded like Leihani. It gave me an odd sense of comfort, imagining Naheso walking a beach like that of his island home. From the corner of my eyes, Kye gazed at me, jaw hard and eyes burning.
“Don’t mourn a man who tried to kill you,” he finally said, a stillness in his body.
“When and how should I mourn him, then?”
Golden eyes churned in the dark, but he didn’t answer.
I couldn’t quite name the energy that came from him. Pity, maybe. Judgement. Scrutiny. Curiosity.
But Naheso was my uncle. My second father. Didn’t I at least have the right to grieve the man I thought he was?
Despite whatever reasoning Kye thought was superior to mine, I couldn’t deny that having him nearby gave me some semblance of peace. Swallowing, I sank to my side, laying my cheek into the cool sand, where I watched him for no reason other than something about his quiet presence soothed the aching pressure in my bones.
I took my time drinking him in. The dark roots of his hair. The faint freckles planted by the sun. The crescent-shaped scar, pale over his lower lip. His island tattoo, lines and arrows and triangles, peeking out from his open shirt, both at his rolled-up sleeve and under the collar at his neck.
I wasn’t sure if he’d stay. It seemed a risk to his reputation, to have left and returned in the middle of the night on the day an islander had gone missing. But I supposed my people were so intent on my guilt, he had little to fear.
We sat in silence until the quiet whoosh of waves lulled my eyes closed. The sea broke over the beach like a beating heart, and I followed its rhythm to the boundaries of consciousness, finally letting myself step off the edge.