Racing the Dark

by Alaya Dawn Johnson

  Leilani stared into her cup, her hands trembling. "But ... but this is my home. I love this island."

  "If you can stand to stay here and watch as it's slowly destroyed, stay. But something is happening to the spirits, and those things always affect the outer islands first. You're usually the rational one, Lei, but this time Kapa may be thinking more clearly."

  They sat in near silence for an hour afterwards, while Leilani sipped lukewarm tea and thought of what Okilani had said. Leaving would be the most painful thing she had ever done, but perhaps there really was nothing left for her and Kapa to do but move on. And Lana ... she didn't even want to think of what had happened to her daughter today. She was terrified that the haunted expression would never leave her face.

  Finally, Leilani stood up, and the elder looked at her calmly.

  "What have you decided?" Okilani asked.

  "Since the binding, my mother's mothers have lived here. But I think ... I must be the one who leaves."

  Okilani stood up and embraced her. "I wish you luck, my daughter. If we never meet again, perhaps your soul will find its way back here and find mine, still tied to the land."

  Leilani bit her tongue to keep back the tears.

  "Goodbye, earth-mother," she said, using the elder's formal title.

  "Goodbye, Leilani."

  As Leilani walked down the stairs, she was overcome with the saddest sensation that she would never hear Okilani's voice again.

  When her parents told Lana the next morning that they would be leaving the island, she could hardly summon the energy to feel anything at all. Without Kali or the mandagah, what was there to stay for, anyway? Of course, she loved the great trees in the grove and the smell of her island after a rainstorm, but none of those memories made her fight to stay. She would be traveling, then. Keeping her side of the pact with Kali. And seeing Essel, after all. She knew that she wouldn't seek out Kohaku. Her dreams of him seemed so childish and impossible, now. As though he had ever seen her as anything but a native of above-average intelligence. The only person besides her parents who had ever loved her had just died. What was a childish crush beside that?

  They packed all day, and the smell of the waterproof resin they had spread on the heavy canvas to protect their belongings made the house reek. It was a silent, somber affair. Even Kapa didn't seem very enthusiastic. That evening he left them to exchange his fishing boat for a barge roomy enough for the three of them and their belongings. Her mother packed everything with a look of fierce determination, as though she refused to doubt her decision. Lana stared at her mother and wondered what had made her change her mind.

  That night, after most of the packing was finished, she and her parents went to Eala's, so that they could give some kind of goodbye to the people they had grown up with and known so long. Everyone stared at Lana as she came in. Some people gave her tentative smiles; others turned away abruptly and stared at their drinks. Lana stared back at them, distanced from all the tension in the room. What did it matter, anyway? Tomorrow she and her parents would leave this place and she would probably never see any of them again-these people who knew what had happened to Kali, who knew that she had been visited by her ghost. Her father didn't seem to notice the tension. He was in his element here at Eala's. Today his grin was especially wide as he made his way to the center of the room, where he always sat to play his songs. He took requests that night, and a few others played with him. He looked happy there, and Lana could tell by the look in his eyes that he was dreaming of doing this every day in the city. Her mother looked vaguely ill and, after one last worried glance at her daughter, sat near Kapa and stared into space.

  Some of the tension in the room seemed to penetrate Lana's gray haze of indifference. Suddenly feeling awkward and inexpressibly sad, she moved away from her parents and sat near the kitchen in the darkest corner of the room. There was a pitcher of palm wine at the table, nearly untouched by whoever had ordered it. Lana stared at it, vaguely registering the boisterous music her father and his friends were playing. It seemed incredibly inappropriate, somehow. Kali was dead. Lana hadn't been able to move the logs that crushed her friend. They would never be able to keep the pact. A tear seeped out of her eye and was soon absorbed by the wooden table.

  She poured herself a glass of palm wine. In the smoky torchlight, its natural golden hue looked luminescent. It looked like liquid fire, something that could burn all thought and emotion from inside her. Though she had never enjoyed the taste of it before, she relished the burning sensation as she poured it down her throat, finishing the cup in nearly one gulp. It felt nice, sitting in her belly like that. She filled her glass again and drank it all. Everything seemed to be going a bit fuzzy around the edges. The light looked brighter and her father's happy music didn't bother her so much anymore. Kali would have loved this. They could have danced together after drinking too much palm wine and then gone running on the beach. Lana always loved doing things like that with Kali.

  She poured herself another glass and couldn't help but cry when it seared her throat.

  It took Leilani a good two hours before she noticed that her daughter was quietly drinking herself into a stupor in a corner. She was passed out on the table, in fact, by the time Leilani thought to check on her. Suddenly panicked, she rushed to Lana's side and held her head up. Her daughter's eyes opened and she stared at Leilani as though she was trying to determine who precisely she was.

  "Mama?" she said.

  "Iolana! What are you doing?" Leilani moved the near-empty pitcher from Lana's fumbling reach.

  She blinked up at Leilani for a few moments before answering. "Drinking," she said.

  "I can see that. Why would you drink this much?"

  "I'm an adult. An adult ... you can't stop me."

  Leilani suddenly wanted to cry at the despair in her daughter's voice. What had happened to them all? "Lana, baby, I know you are. But why did you drink so much?"

  Lana shrugged. "It burned. I thought ... maybe it would burn it all away."

  Leilani closed her eyes for a second, and wished for the strength to help her daughter. "Lana, you can't take it away like this. It will just come back, and hurt more than ever. Trust me, I know."

  Lana stared at the table for a while, as though intensely fascinated with its rough wooden surface, pitted by years of use.

  "Is it my fault, Mama?" she said.

  "Is what your fault?" Leilani asked, painfully aware that she already knew the answer.

  "Kali ... that she died. She said it wasn't, but ..." Tears were sliding down her cheeks but she didn't seem to be aware of them.

  "No, Lana. It wasn't your fault. You did everything you could."

  "She said I ease death. I don't want to ease death! I don't want to be marked!"

  Leilani looked at Lana in shock. She hadn't told them what Kali had spoken to her about during her passing. Was her daughter marked? Terror gripped her at the thought. It made sense-too much, in fact. She had always felt that something was special about Lana. But in times like these ... being marked could hardly mean Lana would have an easy life. If she was marked, there was no way Leilani could ever protect her.

  She shook her head. She could do nothing about that now. She put her arm around Lana's shoulders and helped her out of the chair.

  "Come on, let's go home."

  Lana overslept the next morning and woke up with a splitting headache. She staggered into the main room, and saw that it was bare except for the pile of neatly packed items in the center of the floor.

  "Your room is all that's left to pack up, Lana," Kapa said.

  She tried to think of some appropriate response to that, but ended up running outside and vomiting. After her mother had settled her stomach with some unidentifiable, but warm, drink and some breakfast, Lana managed to pull herself together enough to help pack her stuff. She took her two special mandagah jewels out of her chest. From now on, she supposed, she would have to keep them close by, for all they terrified her. Unti
l her family settled down again, she had to make sure they were never lost. However much she had lost the morning Kali died, these jewels were the best reminders she would ever have of her old life. Nothing could change how much she loved diving, even if that path was closed to her now. For a moment, as she held the red jewel in her palm, she contemplated drawing back the curtains and showing it to her parents. But her mother had made a decision, and telling her now would only put their plans in question. Maybe one day, in some future she could hardly imagine, it would be possible to tell them. But for now ... she put the jewels into a smaller bag and stuffed that in her pocket.

  An hour later, they had loaded everything onto the barge and were ready to leave the only home she had ever known. It looked empty and soulless without their possessions-there was nothing left to remind her of her childhood, of her life there before her initiation.

  "Are you coming, Lana?" her father asked by the door.

  "Kapa! This may be the last time she'll ever see it again. 11

  Lana turned around and looked between her parents. Her chest ached, but it had ached steadily ever since Kali died, and she knew that there was nothing she could do about any of it.

  "It's all right," she said. "I'm ready. We can go."

  They left the island a little before noon, when the sun was bright enough to reflect off the floodwater in gold sparkles that made them all squint to see. Her father poled the barge slowly-the water had receded, but since they lived so close to the shore, it was still easy to maneuver onto the waterways that connected the islands.

  There was no one outside. The water was still except for the ripples from their barge. Lana sat in the back and stared silently at the kukui groves. The majestic trees were slowly fading into the distance as she looked-her last view of her home. She thought of how she and Kali had sat in their high branches only months ago, thinking of Kohaku and their future. She wondered what would happen to her now-what did being marked mean? Was she destined to be miserable for the rest of her life?

  Her mother knelt behind her and put her hand on her shoulder. Lana looked back at her for a moment, and then relaxed. At least she still had her mother. They watched the kukui groves together after that, and stared together at the distant, proud figure of Okilani, standing high in the branches of her tree as though it was her duty to witness their departure. Lana felt her mother's hand tighten on her shoulder. Would they ever see the elder again?

  She thought of the jewels in her pocket. Did Okilani know she was marked? It was too late to ask her now. Her mother looked as though she wanted to cry, but was keeping the tears back by sheer force of will. Lana turned away and found her eyes drawn out to the ocean. The death shrine was silhouetted against the edge of the ocean, as clearly visible as she had ever seen it.

  They slept on the barge for the next two weeks. She spent her nights shivering helplessly under thin blankets, wondering how much colder it could possibly get on the inner islands. Her parents had agreed that her father should go ahead with his instruments and supplies to Essel first, while they stayed behind in Okika City, the major port town on the eastern side of Okika Island. The cityisland of Essel was at least two weeks away by clipper from Okika. When they first pulled into the docks, Lana was amazed at the lack of sand. Narrow, cramped city streets butted right against the water, filled with more people than she had ever seen in her life, and everywhere she heard people shouting. Leilani looked dismayed as well, staring at the loud, dirty scene. And this was a small city? What on earth was Essel like? How could her father survive in a place like that?

  Lana supposed that she and her mother would have to find work somewhere, because her father would be taking most of their savings with him to Essel. When he had settled in they would be able to join him. It had sounded like a fine plan sitting on the barge on the way here, but now that she saw the kind of place they would have to live in, she wondered if they would have been better off staying on the island, no matter what kind of changes Okilani sensed coming.

  By that evening, Kapa had found them a place to stay-a small but fairly clean room on the top floor of a boarding house near the docks of the Eastern harbor. The smell of the salt water and dead fish was strong, and the wind blew it straight into the room, which probably made it cheaper than it would have been otherwise.

  Some of the despair that Lana had been feeling for the past few days changed into acute anxiety. She tried not to show it for the sake of her father, but she knew that Leilani felt it as well. She needed a chance to catch her breath, to adjust to what her life had become. She needed it, but she knew better than to expect it.

  "Good luck, Papa," Lana said after they had moved their belongings into the small room.

  He looked at her and then they hugged tightly. "Don't worry. In a month or two you'll be able to come to Essel, too. Everything will be fine."

  Lana smiled, because she knew that he expected it, but she doubted her father's assurance. Here, they were all out of their depth. She loved her gentle father, but she couldn't imagine how he or any of them would handle life on Essel.

  Leilani hugged her husband tightly. Her body was shaking, but she seemed to have managed to keep the tears back. Lana turned tactfully away and walked to the window as they said their goodbyes. The sun was setting over the harbor and the huge fishing vessels-larger than any she had ever seen-were all coming into port. Brawny sailors wearing strange, weather-stained clothing hauled huge nets of helplessly flopping fish off the boats and onto large carts. She saw women walking around as well, wearing brightly dyed loose pants and matching button-down shirts that flapped around their knees. They wore heavy socks with their sandals that would have been entirely too hot on her island, but seemed to be standard dress here. Lana was wearing a shirt, but it barely covered her belly button, and people had been staring at her and Leilani as they walked through the streets. Kohaku had told her that women on the inner islands rarely showed their breasts or wore short pants. On very formal occasions, he had said, women might wear a sheer top, but it was generally seen as a rustic practice. Just one more thing she would have to adjust to.

  "See you soon, Lana. I love you."

  She turned away from the window. "Goodbye, Papa."

  She and her mother stared at each other when he shut the door. Somehow they would have to survive. Somehow.

  3

  OHAKU'S JOURNEY BACK TO ESSEL was plagued with the most extraordinary bad luck, such that he finally saw the familiar spire of the Kulanui towering above the rest of the town a full three weeks after he had planned to arrive. Between unseasonable rains, unexpected schedule changes, and leaking boats, Kohaku had begun to wonder whether he would ever get home at all. Finally away from the hated ship, he waited in line beside the bustling docks for a street vendor who was selling sticks of rounded sweet potato dumplings. They were ten kaneka each now-fully double what they had sold for when he left a year ago. The dripping sugar that burned his tongue tasted of home, though, and he found he didn't mind the price very much at all. He downed five on the spot and then waited in line yet again so he could order ten more to bring home to his sister, Emea. Her frequent illnesses made it difficult for her to get out much. She probably hadn't had a chance to eat sweet potato dumplings since Kohaku had left for the outer islands. The thought made him lose his appetite-maybe he shouldn't have left her alone, no matter how forcefully she had insisted that he go.

  But still, he could hardly wait to see her again. The frustration he had felt at Lana's rejection of his incredibly generous offer had rankled him during his journey home, but now it seemed to dissipate with the thought of his sister. Really, what had he expected from someone raised on such an anachronistic backwater? Lana might be intelligent, but it took a particularly strong character to overcome such a crippling background. He had offered to rescue her, but she hadn't been smart enough to want rescuing. But Emea would have liked her, he thought unexpectedly, and felt a moment of pure regret for opportunities lost, different roads taken.
He hurried down the familiar seashell-lined streets, completing what was usually an hour-long walk in forty minutes. He lived with his sister on the middle floor of a boarding house right at the foot of the great volcano, Nui'ahi. It was an awe-inspiring sight at dawn, with the bright orange sun coming up behind the smoking top.

  He took the stairs two at a time but slowed before he opened the door. Emea was sitting by the window, in the special seat he had built for her before he left. Some embroidery rested on her knee, but her hands were idle and she stared into space with an air of almost inexpressible sadness. At that moment, her golden hair seemed brighter than the sun itself. Once again, Kohaku found himself stunned by the beauty of the sister their mother had died giving birth to sixteen years before.

  She turned abruptly when his shadow fell on her. Her frown of surprise widened into a smile that seemed to cover her whole face, and she ran to him.

  "You're back early," she signed, using the language they had created together so that she could have some way of communicating.

  "There were some disasters on the island," Kohaku signed. "It was impossible to conduct any more research, so I decided to leave. I wanted to get back sooner ..." He paused and looked at her. "It's been such a long time," he said. "How have you been?"

  For the next twenty minutes, Emea's hands moved so quickly Kohaku had a hard time following what she was saying. She must have been starved for conversation. She could communicate a little with the landlady who sometimes kept her company, but the only person who really knew her language, since their father died three years before, was Kohaku. Emea had been deaf since a nearly fatal fever when she was five years old, and it hurt him to know how isolated she was from other human beings because she couldn't hear. Men would admire her in the streets when she took walks with him, but the looks on their faces when they realized she was deaf often made him want to keep her inside forever, just to protect her from that sort of pain. He had debated for months whether or not to leave for the outer islands for his research, but finally she had told him to go, that she would be all right on her own.