Songstone Read online

  With a sigh, I finally climbed up and slipped inside the large common room where the people could visit their “medicine man.” As the door creaked shut behind me, Matiko’s evil swirled around my face, thick and black, choking me. Straining for a breath, I stumbled across the grass mats that lined the floor. When I stopped at the stone water basin in the corner, my eyes caught a movement at the window. A tiny, bright blue bird perched there.

  “You!” I whispered, filled with a confusing flurry of joy and panic. “What are you doing here?”

  He cocked his head to one side, as if inviting me to speak.

  “I’d ask you in, but it’s not safe.” I thought of all Matiko’s dried bird bones—and the things he did with them—and shivered.

  I slipped one sloshing jar of water down my leg to the floor, propped it between my feet, then shooed the bird away. He flew out, circled around, and landed on the windowsill again. He cocked his head, watching me with his shiny black eyes, as if he knew me.

  I sighed. “If you wish to stay you’ll have to be as silent as the dawn.”

  He didn’t look impressed.

  “As silent as the moon floating in the sky.”

  Still he remained.

  “Stay then, but you can’t come in.” I rested my jars against the twined timbers of the house, so they wouldn’t fall. After blowing on my reddened palms to dry them, I poured one jar into the basin.

  From behind the far wall, an eerie, moaning chant arose. I glanced uneasily at the thatched panel that concealed Matiko’s secret room of magic.

  “That’s Matiko,” I whispered, needing to tell someone, even if I was terrified he’d hear. It was such a relief to have someone to confide in, even if it was just a bird who couldn’t understand me. “He’s in there now, stooped over some steaming pot, most likely. Doing something awful, I’m sure.”

  What evil did he have planned today?

  As a hundred horrible possibilities flew past my unseeing eyes, the jar slipped from my grasp and cracked against the floor. Water gurgled onto the grass mats, wetting my sandals.

  Oh no.

  Matiko’s chanting stopped. The silence was a dead thing.

  I held my breath. He’d be so angry when he saw what I’d done—I’d torn my dress and now I’d cracked a jar—but I couldn’t move. I didn’t even know if air came into my mouth or left again. I could only stare at the panel.

  As if the bird didn’t care if he lived or died, he flew inside and perched on the basin. He began to drink from the droplets of water that circled the rim.

  “No,” I whispered and glanced anxiously at the panel. It shot back against the frame with a terrific crack of sound that made me jump. Matiko appeared in the opening, his eyes shooting flames of rage.

  The hiri rose with a mad fluttering of wings and darted through the open window.

  I stared after it longingly, wishing I could fly away too.

  Matiko stood before me, as tall, slender, and brown as a tree trunk. His paka belt hung low around his hips. The long leaves formed a skirt that brushed against his muscled thighs. The necklace of bleached lizard bones he wore around his neck made a clicking, clattering sound, even though he wasn’t shaking them as he sometimes did.

  “What was that?” he demanded, looking out the window.

  “Just a little bird,” I said, avoiding his eyes. Somehow I managed to pick up the jar and found it still mostly full. Only the mouth was cracked. I emptied it into the basin with arms that felt as limp as flax ropes.

  “You broke my jar,” he said, coming at me, his head weaving side to side, like a lizard after its prey.

  “I’ll fix it.” I set it aside quickly and grabbed up the other one.

  He snatched a length of my hair and twisted it in his fist. His eyes glowed when he saw me wince. Hot tears spurted from my eyes.

  Please don’t cry.... Don’t let him see.

  Don’t. Cry. Don’t even look at him.

  He pushed me away and poked his finger into my back. That hurt too, since I was sore from my fall, but I refused to wince again.

  “Your dress is torn,” he said.

  “I’ll mend it, Matiko pai.” The respectful address scraped across my tongue.

  “You’ll pay for th—” He coughed, ending his blast of words. Bloody spittle dribbled down his chin. He wiped it away and stared at the murky red stain on his fingers with a still sort of horror, as if it was lava oozing from the mouth of Mount Tul.

  He wiped his hand down his belt of paka leaves, gave me a stinging slap across my cheek—that was all—and disappeared into his secret room. He slid the panel shut behind him with the softest thud.

  I stared at it, trembling.

  What had just happened?

  * * *

  The rest of the day, I went about my chores with an uneasy feeling hanging low around my neck, as if I’d stolen Matiko’s necklace of lizard bones and strung them there. I patched the cracked jar with wet clay, mended my dress as best I could, dug a basketful of clams from the beach, and completed a hundred other chores that required too little thought. All the while, my stomach was churning, because I knew—I knew—something terrible had happened.

  The island may as well have sunk deeper into the sea, swallowing half the villagers.

  The sky may as well have wrapped the sun in a black blanket of forever night.

  I kept looking around, checking the steady ebb of waves, checking the sun’s slow climb and then its calm descent toward the sea. By the time night fell, my neck muscles were so tense they seemed to have been carved from stone.

  I jumped when Matiko slid back his panel and entered the common room.

  “I have clams,” I said stupidly. After I fished some out of a jar where I’d been keeping them wet, I piled them—raw, like he liked them—onto a naranga leaf that was about the size of a man’s hand. I slid them across the basin toward him.

  He didn’t even blink. His eyes were fixed on me with a strange burning intensity.

  Matiko cupped a small earthen bowl in one palm. In his other hand he pinched a thin, white bird bone, sharpened to a terrifying point.

  I knew, I knew he planned to take my blood. Right then. It wasn’t even morning, when he came to my room and I pretended to be asleep.

  He grasped me by the head and thrust me down. My knees cracked against the hard floor. The grass mats were too thin to cushion the rocky ledge, and I bit back a scream of pain. I wanted to push him and send him sprawling in his belt of paka leaves, but when I was young I used to fight him and I’d paid for every struggle. Oh, how he enjoyed making me pay! How he enjoyed stealing my breath. I clenched my teeth and let the scream fill me up inside.

  Matiko shoved my hair aside, baring my neck, and I felt a sharp sting as he pierced my skin, not once, but twice.

  Twice.

  But...but...he only ever took one drop. Every morning. One drop. A single, glistening, red drop of blood. Then he’d disappear into his secret room of magic, and he’d chant. Soon something terrible would happen to a poor villager who’d offended him.

  That was Matiko’s way.

  Now his way had changed. It must have something to do with his bloody cough. I’d known it meant something evil. Something evil for him, and, worse, something evil for me.

  I watched him, tasting bitter bile on my tongue, as he carefully tapped the bird bone against his bowl—as if my blood were too precious for words—and stalked away with it.

  I pried my fingernails from my palms and crawled to my feet, wondering if he was planning to take another two drops in the morning.

  Or if he’d take three, or four...

  Or if he’d decide he finally needed it all.

  A chill of dread whispered through my soul.

  Three

  DURING THE NEXT seven days, Matiko stole twenty-nine drops of blood.

  I often caught myself fingering the sores on the back of my neck. I caught myself gazing upwards too, convinced the sun had stopped its slow flight across the sky. The barest sliver of a moon teased me each night.

  Matiko’s power grew every day. Wherever I went, his power held me, wrapped around my neck like a heavy, ever-tightening rope. It hung down my back and dragged behind me with every step I took.

  Twenty-nine drops of blood.

  I’d counted every one.

  I was convinced that not long from now, I wouldn’t have a single drop left.

  One afternoon, I fought my weariness as I worked beside Matiko in the main chamber of his house, tearing piles of na-nui leaves into thin strips, a simple chore I could do half asleep. I glanced out the window often, but it seemed my hiri friend never intended to return.

  With a sad frown, I pulled off another long strip of leaf and handed it to Matiko. He held it over the fire until it turned from a dark, shiny green to crispy brown. Curls of smoke swirled around me. My eyes and nose burned. The bitter taste of burnt leaves coated my tongue. All the while, Matiko’s chants droned on and on. On and on and on. When he stopped at last and the house fell to silence, I let out a soft sigh of pleasure.

  Matiko scowled at the sound. He narrowed his eyes at my dress again, so I angled away from him to hide my sloppily repaired tear. Twice, he’d switched the backs of my knees as punishment. The stripes still burned and pulled uncomfortably tight whenever I moved.

  “You fell down the ravine, didn’t you?” Matiko said, as he turned the leaf over to brown the other side. This was now the third time he’d asked about the day I’d met the hiri bird and come back with my dress torn.

  I jerked to attention, tightening my grip on the leaf I was holding and bruising its delicate skin. Certain that Matiko meant to slap me again, I flinched instinctively, but he kept staring at my dress. A frown spread like a wasting disease across
his face.

  “No, I didn’t,” I said quickly, putting all my strength into convincing him. This was a game of sorts. A game where it felt like my life depended on him believing me, no matter what I said.

  “The tear—”

  “I have many friends among the village girls.” Interrupting him sent a small thrill of terror through me. “They’ll tell you I didn’t fall. Ask any of them.”

  Matiko scowled as he fanned his browned leaf to cool it. He didn’t like the idea of me having friends in the village, naturally, but he didn’t know whether to believe me or not. Even though he’d work on strengthening his spell over the next few days, and find inventive ways to punish me, I didn’t regret my lie.

  He stuffed the browned leaf into his sack and smashed it down, first with his fist and then with a molten pestle, breaking it into a fine powder that could be used to cure a fever, or cause one, depending on which chant he sang over the victim.

  “I’m not buying you another dress,” he said, choosing to threaten. Which meant he was out of questions.

  On the inside, I smirked. On the outside, I simply bowed my head and kept my eyes downcast, like a good servant girl.

  “I’d never think it, Master.” I handed him another strip of leaf.

  He grabbed my hand and crushed my little finger as he wrenched the leaf away. My eyes smarted. I turned my face so he couldn’t see the sudden rush of tears and kept working.

  He’d seen though—he must have—for his hollow cackle bounced along the twisted timbers of his house. The noise slapped against my ears, making me want to crush the rest of the delicate na-nui leaves into the mats under my feet. It took all my skill not to cradle my throbbing hand. Instead, I smiled softly to myself, as if nothing he did mattered, knowing it would torment him. I couldn’t let him win, not ever.

  Hearing a tap on the door, I looked up and, with a rush of relief, hurried to open it.

  “Sister!” Noni greeted me. She held Ruoni in her arms, and he started to squall loudly over her shoulder. “Please show me to your master.”

  I could only stare, remembering how I’d once called her sister too. Noni was always so quick with a smile, so quick with laughter, and her eyes usually shone with good humor. Gifts I feared I had too little of. Today her eyes were filled with dark clouds and her mouth was tight with worry.

  “Ruoni’s sick.” She cupped his head in her hand as if it were an eggshell she feared might break. He kept crying, never stopping to breathe it seemed.

  I stepped back and called, “Master, this girl has brought her sick child.”

  Matiko was already setting his sack aside. He grimaced at the baby and waved for Noni to come in. “Stop the child’s crying.”

  “I’m sorry, Matiko pai, but he’s sick and won’t stop,” Noni said, bowing respectfully.

  Matiko pai? I rolled my eyes. As if Matiko was as great as the old spirits of the mountains.

  He must have seen my expression, for his eyes flashed with a fire that said: I’ll make you pay for that.

  Just once, I wanted him to pay. No, I wished he’d pay until he was sick of paying. Until he was dead. That’s what I wished. I wished Noni could see Matiko for what he really was, but she couldn’t. No one could. It was the spell. Always the spell. I’d learned years ago that it didn’t matter what I said or did. Everyone would only see what Matiko wanted them to see.

  I was the only one who knew Matiko practiced black magic behind his secret panel. I was the only one who knew he cast spells over the villagers and kept his evil hidden behind the smooth mask of his face. I was the only one who knew he did what was forbidden: he used human blood. Mine.

  With a crawling shiver, I returned to my chores: fanning the bitter smoke out the door, filling jars with crushed na-nui powder, and sweeping the grass mats. When I was done, I started cutting the ripest of the melons I’d bought for Matiko at the village market. As I worked, I listened. I listened without letting Matiko or Noni know I was listening. It was a gift of sorts, this way of being seen-but-unseen.

  The baby’s not eating, Noni was saying. She feared he’d grow weak from no food. Matiko asked if the baby was sleeping.

  No, he’s not.

  Not at all?

  Only when he exhausts himself from crying and can’t stay awake....

  Matiko began mumbling under his breath, though I could barely hear him over the baby’s wails. He wandered to the other side of the room and squinted at the shelves of jars lining his walls. Still the baby cried. He wailed some more. It was a painful noise, one that cut through the coiled timbers of the house and beat against Matiko’s sensitive ears, I knew. After taking a moment to delight in his irritation, I selected a smooth naranga leaf and brought it back to the serving stone, where I’d been cutting melon.

  Noni caught my ankle as I passed and stopped me.

  “Have you seen Muna?” she asked. “She looks so old now, older than her years. Don’t you think?”

  I shook off her hand and ignored her. Why would I want to talk about the woman I used to call mother?

  Noni shrugged. “I’m worried about Hilo too. He hasn’t returned from his fishing.”

  I grimaced. Noni and Hilo had married last year, and they were always sending these sweet little glances at each other, looks that made my chest ache. I’d resolved to ignore Noni, so I was dismayed to hear my own voice asking, “How long has he been gone?”

  “Eighteen days.” She shifted her baby to her breast. When he refused to suckle, her shoulders drooped and her lips turned down in the saddest frown. “It’s foolish, but, in a dream, I saw him. He was living with the Whanene tribe. He’d found another woman there and built a hut.”

  Startled by this, I met her troubled eyes and just as quickly averted my gaze.

  Deep inside, my heart was still burning from her mentioning our mother. Why had she said anything? I didn’t realize I was biting down on the inside of my cheek until I tasted the salt of my own blood. I hadn’t asked to see my sister here with her perfect golden-skinned baby. I hadn’t wanted to notice Ruoni’s hair was growing in and was now a dusting of perfect, tiny brown curls.

  I didn’t want to feel anything for Noni. Was I supposed to feel grateful that she’d found me at the forest’s edge so many years ago? As the story went, I’d been abandoned and left to crawl about in the dirt, but I’d often wondered if I’d had a mother somewhere looking for me. If I had, how long would a mother look before she gave up?

  I didn’t want to think about such things!

  “Perhaps he has....” I said, as if giving Noni’s dream great consideration. “You’ve grown a little fat, sister.”

  “I’m not fat!” Noni swatted my knee. “It’s just the baby. I’m soft and full of milk.” She kissed Ruoni’s damp forehead.

  “No, you’re fat.” Matiko stopped working long enough to throw the cruel words over his shoulder. “Hilo always liked girls with long, slim limbs.”

  “Hilo loves me,” Noni muttered under her breath. She patted Ruoni’s back and made little soothing noises, but her brow was knotted with worry.

  I scowled at Matiko’s back, wondering if I’d drawn his attention to Noni with my stupid comment. I squirmed, suddenly uncomfortable. I didn’t want to feel guilty. I didn’t want to feel anything. Even so a small part of me longed to tell Noni how pretty she was. How I’d often seen Hilo gazing at her as if he’d forgotten how to think. How his face softened whenever he caressed little Ruoni’s head. Noni would have known how to say all the right things. Even though I could hear the words circling my head, they jammed in my throat. I’d never been able to say the right thing, even when I most wanted to, and I couldn’t say it now.

  I glared at Matiko, hating him, hating his horrible, cruel words—hating myself for the awful things I said sometimes. Maybe I spent too much time with him. Maybe I was becoming like him. At that thought, a small corner of my heart shriveled up. I watched as Matiko selected a jar from his shelves. When he bent over the fire and began spooning tiny white flakes into a steaming bowl, I quickly cut out the heart of the melon—the sweetest, juiciest part—Matiko’s favorite. He loved anything sweet, but especially the heart of the melon. And utopi nectar, of course—his most particular weakness.