by Beth Wangler
Nadina’s lips tremble. Maylani’s face is whiter than mine normally is.
“Rai,” Anik asks, “are you okay?”
I swallow and press a hand to my chest. The bush looks normal, except that it sits motionless in the middle of the path. That and the scrapes on my legs prove that I didn’t trip over my own feet.
The sky is clear again, bright blue and blinding. I don’t want to believe that an aivenkaite just inhabited the bush to kill me, but with the freak thunder and clouds, it’s the only thing that makes sense.
“I’m fine,” I say. “Let’s keep going.”
It’s silly; aivenkaites can move anywhere without me knowing, but I really want some distance between me and the bush.
Mayli rushes to Saviayr and clutches his face. “Saviayr, are you okay? By the spirits! You moved so fast, and I was sure for an instant that you both were going to fall.”
Savi glances at me, and I know the look is an accident. “I, uh, heard Nadina scream.” He avoids Maylani’s eyes. “I’m fine.”
Mayli clings to him but turns to me. “And you’re really fine, Raiba?”
I’m starting to shake, but I press my lips together and nod.
When we continue, Anik takes my arm and stays between me and the edge of the cliff. Wind tugs at my hair a bit too forcefully to be natural—or is it just my imagination? I clench my teeth, straighten my shoulders, and pray.
“So, that was weird, right?” Anik asks me. “It wasn’t just me?”
Despite everything, I have to laugh. “Yes, Anik.”
“Good. Okay. So what was it about?”
I shrug. I wish I knew.
Anik squeezes my arm. “I gotta say, Raiba, weird things have been happening around you a lot since Mayli got back. Should I be worried?” His long, smooth forehead wrinkles in concern.
I give Anik a half-smile. “I honestly don’t know.”
He watches me a moment more, then grins. “How many times do you think we can get Nadina to giggle today?”
It’s easy to smack his shoulder and say, “Mayli will murder you.”
Anik just grins. “What if we…” and he starts throwing out preposterous ideas.
We reach the bottom of the hill otherwise unscathed. Saviayr asks, “What in the world are the boats for?” Loose sand slides through the sides of our sandals.
Anik, Maylani, Sandat, and Nadina look at each other, silently debating who gets to tell. “He’s been making them for sixty years,” Nadina burst out with a giggle.
“He says he had a vision,” Sandat explains. The absurdity of Crazy Tolak is enough of a lure for him to set aside his hatred of Maraians for a while.
Anik says, “A light told Tolak to build the boats,” and Maylani finishes, “but he has to finish building before something comes.”
“What’s coming?” Saviayr asks.
Everyone shrugs. “Nothing,” Anik answers.
“He’s called Crazy Tolak for a reason, you know,” Nadina giggles.
Sandat rubs his chin. “Some have speculated that the spirits gave him the vision. But that’s crazy, of course. None of the spirits appear as lights.”
“If the spirits are even real,” Anik whispers, too quiet for anyone else to hear.
A head covered in unkempt white curls emerges from the hold of the nearest ship. Anik raises his hand and calls, “Good afternoon, Tolak.”
The old man’s steps falter. “Can’t talk,” Tolak calls back. “Must finish before…”
Fondness fills me for this old man. He’s the only person on Ira who is completely unconcerned with what other people think of him. I’ve liked him for that since the first day I saw him. Anik had dared Maylani to talk to him, and I went with her.
Tolak reminds me of a simpler time, before I knew loss and isolation, before my survival depended on convincing people that I fit in. His mania for building is unfortunate but being around someone so dedicated to a cause is refreshing.
Maylani laughs and swings her and Savi’s joined hands. “It’s good to see you, too! We’re just going to show my fiancé around. The wedding’s in two days; you’re welcome to come.”
“Oh, I…I can’t leave them.” Tolak gestures at the vessels, eyes unfocused. “It’s almost time.”
“Okay. Have a good day.”
Tolak continues with his work. Maylani leads us along the shore, pointing and chattering to Saviayr while Nadina giggles beside them.
“She’s making the worst decision of her life,” Sandat mutters to Anik. “Maylani shouldn’t marry that Maraian.”
For the first time, I agree with him—at least in part. Not that I would ever admit it. I step over a clump of seaweed. Flies of all sizes buzz around the dark green slime.
“Sandat, she’s chosen him,” Anik says mildly. “Besides, Saviayr can’t be blamed for how he was born, any more than you or I can.”
“My father sent news today of a slave revolt on the mainland yesterday,” Sandat says. “No one was killed, thankfully. They managed to get the rubbish under control and executed about twenty of the leaders. Most of them were Maraians. Yes, she’s making a huge mistake marrying one of those worthless dogs. It’ll be nothing but trouble for her. You watch. It’ll bring all of us bad luck.”
I clench my teeth so hard that I fear my jaw might snap. This will be your life, a voice in my head says. This is what awaits me: Endless years of empty existence, surrounded by those like Sandat who hate me and my people. No hope of marriage, trapped on this island. With my cousin moving away and creating her own family, Ira has never felt smaller.
The prospect almost suffocates me.
Up on the hill, a shadow catches my eye. A dark figure looks down on us. “Lev,” I whisper.
“What’s that?” Anik breaks off his languid responses to Sandat to look at me.
I shake my head. “Nothing.”
Sandat and Anik pick their conversation back up, but I ignore them now. Last night’s realization fills my mind. As soon as I can get away, I have to go find Lev. He can help me escape this life.
We don’t stay long. Crazy Tolak and his boats are Ira’s most remarkable feature, but they scarcely take half an hour to see. Each boat is exactly the same. Each boat is remarkably plain.
When we return to the villa, Tatanda greets us at the gate. His usual frown is deeper, edged with anxiety. “Have you seen Pitka?”
We look at each other. Fear colder than anything I’ve ever felt bites into my stomach.
“She didn’t come with us,” Maylani slowly answers.
“Have you checked her room?” Anik offers, all humor gone from his voice. “Sometimes she crawls under her bed.”
Tatanda scowls. I haven’t seen him this agitated since the plague struck our family. “I’ve looked five times. She’s not in the house. I hoped she was with you.”
I remember the wistfulness on Pitka’s face last night when Maylani sent her home from the bonfire. “She tried to follow us.” I’m absolutely certain.
There’s a frozen moment while everyone takes a deep breath. Then Tatanda gives a curt nod. “Sandat, Nadina, you check the market, just in case she went the wrong way. Nihae, Elesekk,” he tells Saviayr’s parents, who hover in the shade of the house, “stay here in case she’s just hiding. The rest of us will spread out and go back to Tolak’s bay.”
No one responds; we just jump into action. Tatanda, Maylani, Anik, Saviayr, and I spread out and turn back the way we just came. Maylani stays on the trail. I veer off left, far enough away to see farther but close enough to see and hear Maylani. Tatanda and Anik go to the left, while Saviayr takes the small strip of land to the path’s right.
We alternate calling to Pitka. Silence answers our calls.
Please, I beg Aia, let us find Pipit. Please, don’t let her be hurt.
Chapter 10
Moments before, Ira felt like it could fit on the eye of a needle. Now it feels impossibly large.
I used to think Pitka was safe. How much trouble could a little girl get i
nto on such a small island, without coyotes or any other predators except the occasional hawk and rattlesnake? Now, the dangers seem endless. Whenever the ground dips, my heart jumps to my throat. I glance over at Saviayr, so close to the edge of the coast. In how many places does the hill drop into cliffs dozens of feet tall? Pipit could so easily have wandered too close and slipped to her death.
“Pitka!” I call, desperation making my voice louder than ever before.
We’re near the black scar of the dead fordue mine when Saviayr shouts. He bends over the edge of the cliff. Maylani takes off running toward him, which tells me all I need to know. I yell for Anik and Tatanda and sprint after them. My skirt almost trips me. I yank up the hem and pump my arms.
When I reach them, Savi is on his stomach. His arms dangle over the edge. “Don’t move, Pitka,” he’s saying. “It’s okay.”
I edge up beside him. On a ledge below, about three times as far away as she is tall, Pitka clings to the cliff’s side. She stares at the rocky shore yards below.
Maylani is crying Pitka’s name. I almost do the same. Then I catch myself. The ledge under Pitka isn’t big. If she moves too fast, she could fall. I can’t startle her. Instead, I crouch next to Saviayr and will the terror out of my voice. “You’re okay, Pipit. Stay right there. We’re going to save you.”
Pitka’s head whips up. Tears darken the dirt on her face. “Raiba?” Her voice is impossibly small.
Tatanda and Anik pound up behind us. I hold out an arm to keep them back. “It’s me, Pipit. Keep looking at me. You’ll be okay.”
“Raiba, I’m scared.”
“You’re going to be fine,” I promise. Please, Aia, let that be true. “Anik, we need rope.”
I don’t take my eyes off Pitka, but footsteps sprint away. Anik is fast, despite his clumsiness. He’ll be back soon.
Savi croons to Pitka, “Just hang in there a little longer. We’re going to get you out of there.”
We keep a ceaseless stream of reassurance up until footsteps announce Anik’s return. I glance away long enough to see Elesekk and Nihae with him. Savi touches my arm and rolls away from the side of the cliff. I continue calming Pitka but listen with half my attention.
“I’ll go down to her,” Saviayr says.
“No, it should be me,” Anik protests.
“I’m smaller,” Saviayr points out. “And I’ve done this before. We’ll need you, Tatanda, and my dad, maybe even the girls, to pull us back up.”
There’s another couple heartbeats of protestation, but no one wants to leave Pitka where she is. Tatanda and Anik agree.
When Saviayr reenters my peripheral vision, I scoot aside to make room. Then the other men slowly lower Savi over the side of the cliff. Pitka whimpers at the shower of dust and pebbles that he loosens.
When Saviayr reaches the ledge, I call back, “That’s enough. Wait a moment,” to the men holding the rope.
The rope cuts into Saviayr’s waist, around which it is wrapped. He holds onto the cliff with one hand and holds the other out to Pitka. One shuffling step, and she’s within Saviayr’s reach. He keeps a hand on her back. As Pipit inches closer, Saviayr wraps his arm fully around the girl’s waist. The muscles in his arm tense. Pitka wraps her arms around Savi’s neck and buries her face against his chest. Saviayr whispers something to her before he looks up. Our eyes meet, and he nods.
“Okay,” I call to Tatanda, Anik, and Elesekk. “Pull them up.”
The next moments are endless. Saviayr and Pitka slide upward at a torturously slow pace. Saviayr tries to keep his feet against the hill, but his hands are occupied with relieving the rope’s tension and clutching Pitka. Several times, he bangs against the cliff. Savi flinches, but he never loosens his grip.
At last, his hand reaches the top of the hill. Maylani and I lay on our stomachs and pull Pitka from Savi’s arms. When the little girl is safe, Maylani drags her away to the trail and drops to her knees. Both girls start crying, rocking each other in crushing embraces.
Tatanda looks like he would give anything to join them, but he digs his heels in and heaves Saviayr higher.
Nihae replaces Maylani beside me. We grab Saviayr’s arms and pull. Once his chest is above the hill, he scrambles the rest of the way up himself. He rolls over and lays with his arms stretched out, panting.
Relief smacks against me. I sob out a laugh. For half a heartbeat, I almost collapse on top of Saviayr. I remember myself just in time.
On the path, Pitka is invisible underneath Maylani, Anik, and Tatanda’s arms. The rare smile and even rarer tear shining against his beard lessen the weight of Tatanda’s many rebukes. I slip up beside them and wrap my arms around Maylani and Anik. “Never do that again, little squirrel,” Anik begs.
Tatanda carries Pitka on his back to the villa, whispering in her ear the whole way, while she keeps her arms around his neck and grins. Anik thinks to ask one of the neighbors to tell Nadina and Sandat we found Pitka. We go inside to clean up.
When the rope burns on the men’s hands and the scratches on Pitka’s arms and face are the only visible reminders of the afternoon’s misadventure, Sandat and Nadina burst into the house. Their reactions are less overwhelming than ours were, but both grin to see Pitka safe. A servant announces dinner, and we welcome the distraction.
Pitka refuses to sit anywhere but between Saviayr and me.
After Tatanda’s blessing, Maylani gives a brief account of the rescue to her friends. She kisses Saviayr, saying, “Thank you for saving my sister.”
But no one really wants to dwell on what just happened. I imagine that they, like me, can’t get all the images of what could have gone wrong out of their head. So Tatanda prompts Sandat to speak of Ira’s politics. My uncle wants Anik to join the discussion, but Anik only adds flippant comments and teasing remarks. When Anik drawls, “Yeah, old Tankrok sure proves that age begets wisdom,” after a particularly mortifying tale about the island’s oldest man, Tatanda shoots him a silencing glare.
I ignore the discussion entirely. On a small island like Ira, politics are mainly local gossip. Instead, I eat, occasionally squeezing Pitka’s hand. Only when the talk turns across the sea to the mainland do I start paying attention.
“Your father has been away for several weeks now,” Tatanda observes to Sandat.
“Yes,” Sandat agrees. “He writes me daily reports of his business. My family owns an estate in Izyphor,” he informs Saviayr.
“Really?” Saviayr must have perfected that emotionless tone in his service to the royal Yrin, as I have never heard it before.
Sandat nods. “Oh, yes. He’s had to stay there on business for a while. Our slaves are getting very restless—why, our overseer was ready to renounce his post before my father went! I don’t know but that he’ll be forced to sell the lot of them and purchase better.” Sandat’s lip sneers up.
My stomach clenches. Selling would mean breaking apart families, scattering a community. Mothers and fathers would be torn from children. Husbands and wives would be separated. Siblings might never see each other again.
Pitka says, “Ow.” I realize I’ve been squeezing her hand and force myself to relax.
Tatanda frowns and shakes his head. “They ought to learn their place in the world.”
Their place in the world. The food in my mouth suddenly tastes bitter. I return the flatbread to my plate and wipe my hands. How is it any human’s place in the world to be treated like an animal of burden? Old scars on my back twinge. I remember when I received the wounds that made them.
I was barely fourteen, the age at which the Izyphorns make their slaves begin heavy work. As long as the sun shone, I worked. The slavemaster had me making bricks with a score of other Maraians. We lugged water from the stream, churned mud and straw with our feet, and shoveled the mixture into molds. Each day, we broke out new sunbaked bricks and hauled them a mile to the building project. Wooden yokes cut into our shoulders and enabled us to carry more.
We trudged single-file, e
yes fixed on the ankles of the person ahead, so I had a clear view when a sandal shot out in front of the woman before me. She tripped—and her yoke cracked in the process. The slavemaster, whose own foot had caused the accident, drew his whip and rained lashes on her.
Rage blinded me. I leapt in front of her without a thought.
Pain!
“So you think you know better than me?” the slavemaster sneered. “Very well. You’ll receive her beating and your own.”
When Saviayr and his parents returned at sunset, I was curled on the ground shaking from a fever. Yorchan was laying a clean, damp rag over my raw back. Savi’s face was murderous.
He was about to storm out and attack the slavemaster when I croaked out his name.
I sneak a glance at Saviayr’s face and think I can make out a shadow of that hatred now.
I don’t regret my wounds, and I don’t regret stopping him from seeking vengeance. Had he not stayed with me that night, Saviayr would be dead.
“Your father is my old friend,” Tatanda says. “Let me know if he needs anything I can offer.”
“Thank you. Your support is invaluable when dealing with the rebellious Maraians. No offense meant.” Sandat nods at Saviayr and his parents.
The three force smiles that do not quite succeed. “If it’s all the same,” Saviayr replies, “quite a lot taken.”
Maylani squeezes his arm. “Saviayr, don’t be that way.”
“Maylani, these are my people he’s talking about. If I spoke ill of the Iranines, wouldn’t you be offended?”
“What ill could you have to say against us?” Tatanda demands, his frown as fierce as the Izyphorn sun at midday.
Anik answers, “He didn’t mean it that way, Tatanda. It wasn’t about us, was it, Saviayr?” Anik laughs like it was a joke but fails to relieve the tension.
Saviayr continues talking to Sandat. “You should be more careful how you treat your Maraian slaves. The Maraians will not be subservient forever. One day, we will rise up and become a great kingdom.”
My free hand clenches in a fist. Passion stronger than I’ve felt in a long time burns like a bonfire in my chest. “Let it be so.” My lips form the words in silent prayer.
