Racing the Dark

by Alaya Dawn Johnson

  She freed one of her hands and began pounding on his back, shrieking as well as she could with her mouth covered. She didn't want this ...

  Just as suddenly as he had fallen on top of her, he broke off the kiss and backed away. Lana closed her eyes, trying to calm her high-pitched wheezing. Minutes later, unsure of what else to do, she looked back up at him. Tears were running from his wide open eyes and his hands were shaking.

  "I did not deserve this," he whispered, touching his tattoo gently. "Erlun trusted me too much. I am not a man, just a boy..."

  His sobs echoed off the rocks, filled with such wrenching pain that her heart opened to him despite herself. Tentatively, she reached over and touched his shoulder. He reacted to her gesture violently, taking his head out of his arms and shaking her off as though she had some deadly disease.

  "Do not touch me," he said. "You cannot. My ... my love is too strong. I cannot control."

  Lana gripped her elbows and looked away, trying to push away her shock and figure out what to do. But before she could decide, a large rock crashed to the ground with a deafening noise a few yards away. The burro brayed frantically and began tugging at its lead rope, which was attached to a nearby rock. With a sudden snap, it broke and the burro took off down the path, in the direction of an even louder rock fall. Lana glanced at Yechtak, but he simply looked stricken. She knew, however, that if that burro escaped with all their supplies, they were both doomed. She scrambled upright and took off after it, holding the blanket over her head to keep the falling pebbles from hitting her face. Behind her, she heard the roar of more falling rocks, but she ignored it. The burro had stopped its frantic run and was cowering in the shelter of an overhanging rock. She walked toward it slowly, amazed by the sudden, dead silence. The wind had abruptly ceased howling and the last of the rocks had fallen. The burro came to her almost gratefully and she stroked its head while she waited for her breathing to steady.

  She knew almost before she turned around that she was boxed in. That noise behind her had been too large for anything besides an avalanche. By the light of the first streaks of dawn, Lana saw the huge pile of broken red rocks hazily through the whorls of dislodged dust. Her legs could barely hold her up when she walked closer to it, leading the reluctant burro by the broken rope.

  "Yechtak," she called as loudly as she could, "are you all right?"

  After Lana had almost convinced herself that he was either dead or lying unconscious, she heard him clear his throat. "I am all right. This is best. We are separated."

  "Don't be crazy!" Lana shouted. "I have all the supplies! What are you going to do without water? How can I get to the ruins without you?"

  "I have some water with me. I will go another way and meet you there. Your way is simple. Follow the path until you reach a white stone shaped like a bird. There will be a tunnel. Follow the tunnel until you reach the mesa."

  She heard his footsteps walking away from her. She stayed for a long time calling his name, but he never responded.

  She and the burro could just barely fit in the cave beside the birdshaped stone. The statue was weathered and pockmarked, but the folded wings and open beak were still unmistakable, and she had breathed a sigh of relief when she saw it. She didn't know what she would do if she got lost in this maze. The death seemed to grow more insubstantial as they walked through the crumbling stone passageway, but it still followed her silently. The violent images that she was accustomed to seeing in its robe had vanished as well, making her think that this close to the wind's stronghold, the death must be losing its power. The thought cheered her even as she wondered what awaited her on the other end of the tunnel. Would the wind spirit help her, or had it simply called her here on a cruel whim? The tunnel widened and the path turned into a series of shallow steps that continued for an interminably long time. The tunnel was dark, but the death itself let off a cold glow by which it seemed both she and the burro could see. She lost all sense of time as she trudged up the stairs, her dusty sweat soaking her clothes. She was hardly aware of when they emerged at the top, except that the brighter light made her squint.

  "Your protection is almost ended," the death said quietly. "You'll be mine soon."

  Lana didn't even bother responding-she was too close to her goal, too close to surrendering herself to yet another spirit to think about the one already dogging her. Even though they had been destroyed five hundred years ago, and ever since subjected to the worst ravages of time and weather, the ruins on the mesa still had more than enough power to enthrall. Gigantic spires of deep red stone climbed to the sky even as their foundations crumbled beneath them. Toward the center of the mesa, what must have once been the main building was now reduced to piles of rubble, though even these were still commanding due to their sheer size. She wondered how anyone could have hauled so much stone to build such a massive structure in this remote wasteland of a place. It must have been very grand a thousand years ago. She, however, could not help but reflect on the irony of the scores of people who must have sweated and toiled to build a structure dedicated to the glory of a failed binding.

  Even though there was no discernable breeze on the mesa, her hair fluttered and the burro shuffled nervously. She climbed with it over a few scattered piles of rocks-some of which looked like they might be the smashed remains of statues-and tied what was left of its rope to a post sticking out from a ruined wall. She just hoped that the burro wouldn't bolt, no matter what happened to her. Even if she didn't succeed, Yechtak would still need the supplies to get back home. She looked back over the mesa and saw that its dead center was occupied by a tall circular platform, strangely undamaged given the destruction around it. It seemed like the ideal place to wait for the power she had come to meet.

  Trying to ignore the fear that suddenly gripped her innards, she pulled the glass wind jar from her pack and, after a moment's thought, slung the bag over one shoulder. She would regret being without her blanket or water when it grew dark. She gave the burro one last pat on its head and started walking toward the center of the ruins.

  "I can't go any farther," the death said when she reached the base of the platform. A ladder of step-sized holes had been bored into the stone at regular intervals. She took her hands from the holes and looked back at the death.

  "Then stay," she said. "I'm sure you won't be parted from me for long."

  She took a great pleasure in climbing up the rock before it had a chance to respond.

  After she clambered over the top, she sat silently for about ten minutes, reveling in the view and the simple pleasure of feeling alone again. Soon, she would be at the mercy of yet another spirit, but for now, her time was her own. Geas were strange, weren't they? They were as much about surrender as control. She hadn't understood that when she was still with Akua, but she did now. Terror and hope, bound in one irresistible package.

  Then she picked up the glass jar and pulled out the cork.

  The wind that she had called with the spider-crone back in the Kalakoas came roaring over the mesa. For a few heady moments she smelled the rich, damp aroma of loamy earth and air teeming with all kinds of life. What a difference from this arid, nearly barren place. Instead of gradually fading away, the wind picked up even more fervor and intensity, blowing around the platform until it was like a wall on all sides. A large, vaguely human shape, made entirely from frantically pulsing wind and swirling red dust, flew forward until it was a few feet away from her. She was shivering uncontrollably, but she forced herself to stare into its hideously malleable face.

  "I have come," Lana said to it. "A solitary pilgrim to beg help from the one that broke free."

  The dust in the wind's makeshift body seemed to glow. "And why should I grant help to a descendent of the Binders? Dare you think I owe you something?" Though she could barely hear her own voice, the wind's words pierced her ears and made her shivering even more pronounced.

  "Spirits never owe," she said, squinting against the dust swirling around her face. "Humans
sacrifice, and spirits grant. I only ask that you allow me the chance to sacrifice. Did you not call me here? Do you not know why I come, instead of resigning myself to the death that chases me?"

  The wind's laugh was so piercing that her knees nearly buckled. "I do, of course. I know you are Iolana bei'Leilani and you come on behalf of your mother, who knows more than you think of what you have done for her. But perhaps I did not call you here to help you. What if I only called you here to see who this girl was, she who has caused such ripples among the ones that remain bound?"

  "I have come," Lana said with a lot more bravery than she felt. "What do you see?"

  "A young, naive sapling who understands only a small part of the danger that chases her. You don't see what you are involved in, sapling, do you?"

  "I understand that I must save my mother. But I don't know enough, I don't have enough power ... you think I don't understand those things? That's why I came halfway across the world to find you."

  The wind laughed again, and this time Lana was forced to sink to one knee. "Ah, desperate, but not entirely stupid. But my time for vengeance has long passed, and I would be a fool to kill a girl that death itself regards as important enough to chase. You might keep it bound just yet, for all your naivete"

  Lana could hardly contain her shock. "You mean ... you want the spirits bound, even though ..."

  "The binding is hideous. It forced me into to a shape against all my nature. All the spirits rebel against it, but only I broke free. I have existed in the world before death was bound and after ... and I prefer the world after. So, it seems I owe you Binders something, after all. I agree to grant your request."

  The wind's pseudo-body suddenly broke apart and dust swirled around her, getting caught in her nose and making her sneeze violently. The sounds of the wind began to increase in force.

  "Do you know the sacrifice of the wind?" the dust screamed.

  Lana thought back to the days when Kohaku had taught her about the spirit bindings. She could almost hear his voice in her head. "Time ..." she said slowly, "Time and pain."

  The wind decreased to a mild breeze. It reformed in its vaguely human shape before her and smiled. "Good," it said. Very slowly, it leaned forward and caressed the back of her head. Then it kissed her lips. Its kiss was smooth and dry-miles away from the hot desperation of Yechtak's mouth two days earlier. This time, however, she didn't dare struggle. She let it kiss her and stayed silent even when it pulled away, wondering why her body felt so charged with power.

  "You cannot speak," it whispered, "or open your mouth to scream until the third rising of the sun. If you speak, the death will take you. If you leave this altar, the death will take you. On the third dawn, you will have the gift I grant you: You will become a black angel. So long as you fly, the death will not be able to take you."

  Lana stared at the wind spirit, but did not even dare gasp. A black angel? There had only been two in known history, and both had presaged great destruction. In fact, the second black angel had given herself as the sacrifice that allowed the wind spirit to free itself. With another bone-shuddering laugh, the wind faded from the promontory and Lana found herself alone again.

  So she had bet, and she had lost.

  A pain greater than any she had ever known flared along her back. She dug her palms into the stone, bit her lip, and waited.

  The death could not step onto the promontory, but it could circle around it, taunting and tormenting her when it knew that she was powerless to even voice a retort. It would call out to her with Kali's voice, begging Lana to save her and then blaming her for her death. Lana cried, but she did not speak and she did not move.

  Slowly, the wings were beginning to burst from her skin. Blood ran down her back, soaking into her pants and shirt. When she realized that part of the agony was being caused by her shirt constricting the growing wings, she roughly tore two holes into the worn fabric. By the time the first sun rose, the baby feathers and growing bone structure stuck out perhaps two feet from her body. Occasionally, she heard the wind, but it was always as a faint whisper, as though it were merely checking on her. The death, on the other hand, was implacable.

  The wet blood baked onto her skin in the blistering sun. Flies landed on her back and buzzed around her ears. She barely had the energy to shake them off, and touching her back to brush them away made her want to vomit. About once an hour, she allowed a trickle from her water skin to wet her lips. Even though she desperately wanted more, she knew that she would have to ration the relatively small amount over the next two days. Survival was all that mattered, the only real meaning that could enter her mind as the sun made its way across the sky.

  I won't let you die, Mama, she repeated silently to herself as the monstrous black wings ravaged her back. I won't.

  The second night, Lana dreamt of water. Everything else she forgot when she awoke, but she was left with a penetrating sense of terror and a conviction that she had, somehow, been drowning. Had her wings dragged her under? That seemed to trigger a memory, but then it vanished under a renewed onslaught of pain. Of course, she thought, how could an angel ever swim?

  She felt the urge to scream so strongly that she was forced to stuff her fist into her mouth until she could calm down. It hadn't even occurred to her before, but the undeniable reality made her want to toss herself off the edge of the platform and let the death have its way with her.

  She would never be able to dive again. A creature of the water, she had now bound herself permanently to the wind. She was becoming a paradox, a character in tales parents told their children: not an angel, but a waterbird.

  Long ago (her father always said, when he had minutes to spare and she begged him for the story) before humans existed and the islands were just the blackened offspring of the union between earth and fire, a strange creature lived beneath the sea. It had no name, for it was merely one of thousands of half-spirits that existed in those days.

  What did it look like? (she would ask) The purest, most beautiful mandagah fish (her father said), with eyes like green jewels and skin that flashed and swirled with different colors. And large, larger even than he.

  This creature was the least of its kind, yet it longed to be the greatest. And not within the confines of its people and traditions, but in a grander, far more dangerous way. This creature decided that to be the greatest of its kind, it must leave the water.

  So it approached the great Kai in its coral palace.

  "Kai," it asked, "can you grant my desire? Can you give me wings to escape the water?"

  The Kai shook its great head. "I have not the power to change your nature, water creature. Return home, accept your fate."

  But the creature refused to give up. It approached the earth spirit, just now entering its half-slumber.

  "I also have not the power, water creature," it answered. "Return home, accept your fate."

  So the creature, stubborn and determined, approached the wind. "Oh master of air," it asked, "please, do you have the power to release me from this water?"

  "Only one power can change your nature, water creature, and I have it not."

  "Which power is this, great wind? How have I never heard of it?"

  The wind laughed. `Ah, you have heard of it. The power that transforms movement to stillness, presence to absence, something to nothing. Have you never felt it?"

  The creature understood. "Death?"

  "If you have the courage to face it."

  So the creature searched for death, but it was harder to find in those days of spirits great and small.

  After many years of searching, the creature found the death by its side.

  "Death," he said, "you alone have the power to change my nature. Can you give me wings to leave the water?"

  "Why not step through the gate? That is the truest change."

  The creature was afraid. "I do not long to die, Death."

  So Death decided to grant the creature's sincerest wish. Its body transformed from that of
a great fish into something between two states-a waterbird.

  At first the waterbird was happy. But it discovered that it could no longer swim.

  Why not, Papa?

  Because its body had too much bird for the water (he said).

  It called for the death, but it did not return. So it crawled, so slowly the journey lasted years, to the surface. Here, it thought, finally I'll be great. But on the surface, it could fly, but it couldn't breathe.

  Why not, Papa?

  Because fish can't breathe out of water, Lana, like you can't breathe underwater.

  "Death," it gasped as it died. "Come here, take it back. I don't want to be this half-thing anymore."

  "But I gave you exactly what you desired, waterbird."

  "Please save me!"

  At the sight of the creature's distress, Death relented. "I cannot change you back," it said, "but I can give you a halfway place for your halfway body."

  And so the death took the waterbird to the netherworld between death and life, where it guards and lives to this very day.

  Why was the waterbird so stupid, Papa?

  We all long for things we shouldn't have, Lana. Thankfully, most of us never get them.

  The third night, Lana began vomiting. She didn't know how much blood she had lost by now, but the slickness on her back and her persistent dizziness did not reassure her. All she had to do was make it through one more dawn. Yet the hours had never stretched so long before, and the pain had reached a pitch that was almost unendurable in this enforced silence. Her throat itched with the need to scream, to weep. She could feel new muscles forming in her back, strong enough to move the huge black wings that had now grown as tall as she.

  "Lana ... I'm dying," said the death to her, using her mother's voice. "Please come. Please come and save me."