When Water Burns

by Lani Wendt Young

  Daniel moved to take Salamasina in his arms. “Mama, please don’t cry. I have never doubted you and Papa’s love for me. I am blessed to have you for a mother.”

  For a moment there was only the sound of the ocean as mother and son embraced. And then Salamasina moved to sit on rocks by the water, motioning for us to join her. We sat where wet black crabs scuttled to hide, and listened as she told her story. Which was also the story of Daniel. And the story of the one they called the Wild Child.

  TWELVE

  Salamasina

  She remembered that day as if it were only yesterday. The day she had first met a wild child called Moanasina.

  Salamasina had already been removed from the sisterhood by then, but like everyone else on Niuatoputapu Island, she had heard of Moanasina before she even arrived. Her mother had been a teenager who concealed her pregnancy from her family and friends. When she gave birth, she had abandoned the baby in a village stream, and passing children had stumbled across the newborn in time to save her life. Moanasina’s father was rumored to be Tongan. A waiter at a local resort. Either way, neither parent had wanted her and Moanasina had been raised by various families in the village. Looked after by many but loved by none, she was a child who did not speak. A child who spent all her time in the ocean. Frolicking with dolphins. Throwing rocks at the children who caught a ponderously large turtle and tried to drag it to shore so they could tease it. Kill it. Cook it. A child who sabotaged the fish traps that the village boys put out overnight.

  When she was six years old, Moanasina summoned a tidal wave to destroy a Japanese fishing boat that was fishing illegally in Samoan waters. They had harpooned a whale, and the little girl had responded to its distress cries. From many miles away. Four of the fishing crew had been killed. Discreetly and swiftly, Nafanua had arranged for the child to be sent to the Tongan vasa loloa sisterhood as the best place to receive the training she needed to control her gift. A gift that was deadly and terror filled.

  But when you looked at her, you could not see it. She was a pale, thin thing. Just a frightened little girl who never spoke. She spent all her time in the ocean with a school of dolphins that were always close by. She ran away from the Covenant every other day. Away from her lessons. Away from the stifling company of sisters she did not know and did not want. And every other day, the telesā would hunt her down and bring her back. Punish her, hitting her with a coconut frond salu broom. She would stand there, biting her lip, never crying out as the salu cut her legs with the fire of a hundred biting red ants. And afterward, she would wait and watch for an opportunity to run away again, swimming far out to sea with her dolphins. Her only friends. Her only family.

  Until the day she met Salamasina. Salamasina was in the forest, gathering plants for her medicines, when there was a crashing through the undergrowth, the panting heaving breaths of a person running. Far off in the distance, there were shouts of people coming in pursuit.

  “This way! I saw her go this way.”

  Salamasina didn’t have to wonder for very long what was happening for, in the next instant, a little girl broke through a stubborn tangle of ilovea vines, coming to an abrupt halt at the sight of the woman carrying a woven basket of roots. The girl’s t-shirt was ripped, her lavalava skirt disheveled, and her face dirty with tears and sweat. They stared at each other as the sounds came closer. The girl threw a hunted look over her shoulder and then looked back, her eyes darting everywhere, searching for the best route of escape. Salamasina could tell this child of the ocean was a stranger to the bush. She gazed with fear at the shadows of the trees and there was disdain as she shifted her bare feet awkwardly in the grass. This child was not at ease with fanua. Against her will, Salamasina smiled. Salamasina hated the telesā vasa loloa sisterhood, the women who had raised her and then rejected her because she was not truly one of them. She knew who this child was – the most powerful vasa loloa in many generations. She should hate her. But as the girl darted to the other side of the clearing and tried to rip a path through the ilovea vines, Salamasina only felt kinship.

  “Quickly, hide in here.” She pointed to a hollow at the base of a tamaligi tree, in amidst the giant roots. “Hurry!”

  The girl regarded her with suspicious eyes. Why should I trust you? they asked.

  Salamasina was impatient. “I know this forest like no one else. You have nowhere else to hide. Get in there, now.”

  Indecision warred with fear and then the girl hurried over to crouch down into the hollow. Salamasina grabbed the basket of roots and dumped it on top of her, quickly arranging them so that the girl was well concealed.

  Just in time, as the pursuers broke into the clearing. Three young telesā, beautiful and haughty in the surety of their position as vasa loloa. They halted when they saw Salamasina, who had resumed digging for choice roots with her knife. The eldest of the group threw her a question. “We are hunting for a young girl, a disobedient girl. Did she pass by here?”

  Salamasina ignored her for a moment, concentrating on a stubborn root. The telesā shifted on their feet and the leader reprimanded her, “Woman, I asked you a question. Did you not hear me?”

  Salamasina paused and looked up, shading her eyes in the afternoon sun. “Yes, I heard you.”

  Again there was an expectant silence in the clearing, enough so you could hear the call of the wood pigeon and the distant constant roar of the ocean. A second telesā jumped in. “Well, if you heard her, then answer the question. Don’t you know who we are?”

  The older telesā gave a sneering laugh. “I know you. You’re Salamasina, one of the ungifted ones.” She turned to her sisters, “She used to be one of the Covenant until they realized she was no true vasa loloa and they gave her away to the old healer in the village. Her true calling, digging for roots in the dirt where she belongs.”

  The other two joined in her laughter. Salamasina slowly rose to her feet and their laughter dimmed.

  “So roots-digger, you know then who we are and what we can do to you if you don’t speak up and answer our question?”

  Salamasina spoke and her words were carefully measured. “Yes, I know who you are and what you can do.” She lifted the bush knife in one hand and tapped the blade gently against the palm of her other hand, regarding first the blade and then the women who stood opposite her. “I also know that you are a long way from the ocean. The nearest water source is five miles from here. Too far away to be of any use to you.” A smile. “So here we are. The three of you vasa loloa and me, the roots-digger. With a knife.” With casual ease, Salamasina swung the bush knife, arcing it over her head like a fire knife, spinning it from one hand to the next, the steel blade glinting in the sun as she swung it lightly from one hand to the next, confident and at one with the blade.

  The telesā looked at each other and some unspoken agreement was reached. The leader spoke, “We don’t want any trouble with you. We are seeking a runaway from our sisterhood, a young girl. A skinny little thing. Have you seen her?”

  Salamasina brought the spinning blade to a halt and pointed off into the distance behind her. “That way. She came through here and ran that way. Not too long ago. She is a very little one and it will not be difficult to catch up with her.”

  The leader gave her a slight nod before turning to the others. “Quick, we have wasted enough time with this one. Let’s go.”

  The trio ran across the clearing and into the bush in the direction pointed out by Salamasina. But before the leader went after the others, she stopped to look back at the older woman. “I will not forget your insolence. One day, soon, we will meet again and next time roots-digger, it will be on my terms, and you will pay respect to vasa loloa.”

  Salamasina shrugged. “I look forward to it.”

  As soon as the women were out of sight, the clump of roots and leaves shifted and the little girl peered out. Still fearful. Questioning. Salamasina brushed away the debris and helped her to stand. “It’s alright. They’ve gone. You can come out now.
”

  The little girl stared and her silent eyes asked, Why? Why did you help me?

  Salamasina spoke gently. “I have no love for the vasa loloa. And as you just heard, they have none for me. Now come, let’s be away from here in case they realize we have misled them and they return.” Quickly, she gathered up her pile of roots and leaves, gently replacing them in her basket before walking across the clearing in the opposite direction from the telesā. The little girl watched her walk away, not following. Still wary. Still hesitant.

  Salamasina paused. “Are you coming? Or do you want to wait for your sisters to come back? It’s up to you.” She turned and continued on her way through the brush.

  The little girl made her decision and went after her, not walking too close though. Just keeping a safe distance away. Ready to bolt at any minute. Salamasina continued talking, ignoring the girl’s silence.

  “I hope you haven’t bruised these ginseng roots. It took me a good two hours to collect this many of them. And these mangosteen leaves are from a secret tree that only I know the whereabouts of. They are the key ingredient in a treatment for migraine headaches. Not many people know where to find mangosteen trees on this little island …”

  Somewhat calmed by Salamasina’s prattle of plants, roots, and medicines, the little girl moved closer to her so that eventually they walked side by side. After a while they came to the edge of the forest and before them was sand. Rock. And ocean. They stopped at the sight and Salamasina glanced down at the little girl beside her. She was a child transformed. The wariness and suspicious fear was gone, replaced by relief and a joyous lightness. Her eyes feasted hungrily on the gently lapping waves on the shoreline. The distant crashing white surf where ocean communed with coral reef. Salamasina saw her joy and felt only sadness. All her life she had wanted to feel that way about the ocean. All her life she had longed to commune that way with the blueness that surrounded their island so she could be truly her mother’s daughter. So she could be one with her vasa loloa sisters. But it had never happened. No matter how hard she tried. No matter how much she wished it. Where her sisters spoke to the ocean like a friend – a mother, a lover – she had only ever seen it as an impassive and unpredictable force.

  She sighed. “You’re Moanasina aren’t you? The wild child they brought here from Samoa? The vasa loloa they cannot tame?”

  The little girl nodded and her eyes were troubled.

  “Why do you keep running away from them? It’s obvious you’re one of them. Why do you keep rejecting your sisterhood?” Salamasina tried not to let her hurt and bewilderment show but it was hard. This child had what she had always longed for and yet – she didn’t want it. That cut at her more than she thought possible. After so many years, she had thought she had well and truly gotten over it. That she had successfully ‘moved on.’ But here now, with this child, this unwilling vasa loloa, all the hurt came rushing back. She repeated the question and this time her tone was harsh. “Why don’t you want to belong?”

  The little girl had taken several cautious steps out onto the sand, eyes searching in every direction for pursuers. Her body was poised to make a run for it. But she paused. Turned back to Salamasina and spoke. Every word was awkwardly voiced, as if unused to being sounded. “Because I don’t need a family. A sisterhood. Because I already belong. With them.” She pointed out to the playful ocean. Where a pod of silver dolphins danced. She smiled at Salamasina. “Thank you.”

  And then the little girl ran across the golden sand, into the frolic of white surf and dived into the ocean, surfacing again to swim with powerful strokes out to where her true family waited. One larger dolphin took her onto its back and together the pod moved away from the shoreline, farther and farther out until Salamasina could no longer see them. She thought that would be the last time she would ever see the little girl.

  She was wrong.

  Two weeks later, Salamasina had dropped her guard. She was no longer avoiding the ocean or watching out for the vasa loloa. Rumor had it that the wild child was still not found. Salamasina smiled a secret smile every time the villagers spoke of it. She was glad the little girl had escaped. She imagined how frustrated that would make Tavake the Covenant Keeper – that a mere child had defied her – and Salamasina was happy. She hoped that Moanasina had gone far away over the ocean and would never come back.

  Salamasina was at the rock pools to gather seaweed. She was alone. As dusk was beginning to creep in, turning azure blue ocean into purple-black gloaming. And that is when they came upon her. The same three telesā vasa loloa led by the threatening one, the one with the sandy brown hair who had grown up in the Covenant at the same time as Salamasina. The one they called Vahalesi.

  “See, sisters? Ungifted ones do more than dig for roots. They scrabble for seaweed and shells. What have you got there, Salamasina?”

  Slowly, Salamasina rose to her feet, trying not to betray her fear, cursing her foolishness. She was out on the beach alone with three telesā vasa loloa. She had her knife but that was a small comfort. She knew too well what vasa loloa could do with the full might of the ocean at their backs. She stood and faced them, tall and proud. She would not run. She wouldn’t give them that satisfaction.

  “You know Vahalesi, it’s funny how much you loathe root-diggers as you call us, and yet you are happy to use our medicines and drink our elixirs for youth and beauty. Goodness only knows what you would look like without them.”

  The other two laughed and Vahalesi shut them up with a look of loathing. “Oh, you think it’s funny do you? Well, do you want to know what amazes me?” She took several steps forward. “It amazes me how much disrespect you have for us telesā when you know how much we can make you suffer.”

  Swifter than thought, a single flick of her wrist, and Vahalesi held a coiled whip wire of water in her hands. Summoned from the darkening ocean beside them, she wrapped one sinuous end around her wrist. “You need to learn some respect. You need to be reminded who we vasa loloa are. By the time I’m done with you, roots-digger, you will beg me for mercy.”

  Before Salamasina could react, Vahalesi wielded the wire with deadly accuracy and lashed her across the face, narrowly missing her eye but tearing into her cheek. Salamasina cried out at the searing pain. But Vahalesi was only just getting started. She waved the rippling, silver wire of water over her head and then coiled it around Salamasina, pinning her arms to her sides, stinging at her flesh. She yanked viciously and tugged. Salamasina was forced to the ground, landing with her face in the sand, all the air knocked out of her.

  For a ragged moment, she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t feel. She tasted blood and sand in her mouth. She spat, trying to raise her face from the ground, trying to stand but unable to move because of the suffocating grip of the water coil. Vahalesi pulled at the ropes and jerked Salamasina so she was lying on her back, so she could look up at her jeering face.

  “So roots-digger, you still want to laugh and make jokes about vasa loloa now, ah? You still think you can defy me?”

  Vahalesi didn’t like it when Salamasina refused to answer. The ropes coiled tighter, cutting into her arms, pressing like a heavy weight into her chest. Salamasina winced at the pain, but that was not enough for the telesā vasa loloa. She summoned another whip wire of water that curled up out of the ocean, coiling, dancing, rippling to Vahalesi’s command. This one wrapped itself around Salamasina’s throat. Choking her. “Now what do you want to say to us, roots-digger? Hmm?”

  Terror gripped Salamasina as her need for air became a burning, raging need. She twisted her body this way and that, uselessly fighting to get free as her vision began to cloud.

  Vahalesi laughed at her distress. “What was that? You want to say something? Here.” She relaxed her grip on the coils at Salamasina’s neck and leaned closer to her face. “Are you ready to beg now? What did you say?”

  Sweet air rushed into Salamasina’s lungs as the chokehold eased. And with it rushed fury. She swore viciously as she spat in Vaha
lesi’s face. Blood, sand, and spit.

  Too late, Vahalesi recoiled in disgust as the others joined her in her outrage. It was unheard of for anyone to dare speak to a vasa loloa in such a manner. Vahalesi slapped Salamasina’s face and then stood to kick her again and again. In the face, the stomach, everywhere – screaming maniacally, “You dare to insult me!”

  “Kill her, Vahalesi,” the others chanted. “Kill her now.”

  Their cries were only a dim blur now as the stranglehold resumed around her neck, as the kicks and blows intensified. But just before she slipped into unconsciousness, the blows ceased. The chokehold abruptly released. And there was screaming. Only, it wasn’t her doing the screaming. Dimly, Salamasina realized that she was no longer being restrained, the water coils were gone and instead the air was filled with a rushing, roaring sound. She struggled to her feet, blocked out the pain in her face, her arms, her ribs. The sight before her was awe inspiring.

  Standing on the sandy shore a few feet away was a little girl in worn, wet rags. She stood staring, expressionless, at three swirling whirlwinds of water, three tall columns of water and in each one, a woman was held captive. In each one, the churning water viciously spun and battered at a woman who kicked and struggled for release. Their resistance was futile though as the water held them prisoner as if in the midst of a spinning washing machine. And still the young girl stood and stared at them with uncaring eyes. In that moment Salamasina was afraid of this child, this vasa loloa who was powerful enough to use the ocean against her own sisters. Her breath caught in her chest, a pain-wracked breath as she winced. She had at least one cracked rib, she was sure of it.

  “Moanasina, what are you doing? Let them go.”

  The girl turned to her with an impassive face. “Why should I? They were going to kill you. I heard them. And besides, do you know how many times they beat me when I was in their stupid sisterhood? No.” She turned her attention back to the water prisoners. “I’m waiting.”