Page 117

Overnight, my brothers had become Sundau’s most popular attraction. When Takkan and I arrived at the shrine, half a dozen village children were crowded around the cranes, feeding them berries and rice kernels.

Hasho was among my brothers, and he clamored for his share. It buoyed my spirits to see him so animated. If not for his darkened wing, I would have forgotten about Bandur’s attack.

He looks well, remarked Kiki. Fatter than yesterday, too. Maybe I should’ve stayed in the shrine instead of loafing about in that old haunted hut with you.

As I glowered at her, Oshli appeared.

“I was wondering when you’d show up,” the shaman said. A cloth bag hung over his shoulder, and he tucked it to the side. “Make haste. The children may delight in your brothers, but I assure you, their parents are already plotting to stew them for dinner.”

That got me moving, and quickly. I whistled for my brothers to follow.

It wasn’t easy herding six overstuffed, excitable cranes into the jungle, but once their breakfasts had digested a bit, their minds seemed to sharpen.

The opposite was true with me. The deeper we ventured into the forest, the more my thoughts wandered. I felt clumsy here, tripping over the looping vines and meandering ferns—and my flesh was bait for the mosquitoes. I couldn’t have been farther from home, from what I knew and loved. And yet, part of me wasn’t ready to leave.

One day in Raikama’s homeland had only ignited my curiosity about her past. I wanted to stay and learn about the girl she had once been, but the pearl couldn’t wait. Neither could Takkan.

“What’s on your mind?” he asked, walking by my side while my brothers flew ahead. “Raikama?”

I grimaced. “Am I that easy to read?”

“Easier than when you had a bowl over your head.”

“You’re never going to forget that, are you?”

“Never.”

That earned a laugh from me, but my amusement was fleeting. I chewed on my lip. “I was thinking about how I used to beg her to tell me where she was from. She never spoke of her home, not even once. I didn’t even know her name…until the end.”

My voice softened. “I dreamt about her last night. To be honest, I can’t remember most of it.” I swallowed hard. “But when I close my eyes, I can still see the island as she did. I don’t want to lose that.”

“Then tell me,” he said. “Let me help you remember.”

I drew a deep breath, trying to summon Channari’s yearning to escape into the jungle. “She had names for everything, even the flowers that cling to the trees like strings of beads and pearls.” My voice grew thick as I went on. “She knew which barks cured stomachaches, which ferns tasted sweet if you fermented them long enough, and which petals turned bitter when you boiled them. She knew where to find orchids for every color of the sunrise, and how to soften palm fruits to glean their precious oil. She even knew where to find fireflies at night—by the low grassy hills beside the jungle—so that if her lantern were to go out, she could still find her way back to her adah’s house.”

I faltered then, my mouth going dry. “This was her home. After all these years, I finally know where she came from.”

Takkan said nothing, but he reached for my hand. I found that was all the comfort I needed.

The sacred tree wasn’t far from where our basket had landed, but I never would have found it without Oshli. He led us through a narrow ravine overgrown by bamboo and palm trees.

There, among a thicket of pale-barked birch and a sprawling field of white moon orchids, was a withered tree, little more than a stump.

I blinked. “This is the sacred tree?”

“This is all that remains,” said Oshli. “The tree itself died years ago.”

“Yet you remember.”

“It is my duty to remember what others have forgotten,” he said solemnly. “But I am simply a vessel. Some memories slip even my tightest grasp.”

I knew he was referring to Raikama.

The shaman gestured at the orchids, and a pair of butterflies fluttered up from their petals. His voice fell soft, almost tender. “They were Vanna’s favorite flowers.” A pause. “Channari’s too. The sisters were like the sun and moon, different as day and night, but they both loved orchids.”

“Vanna is buried here,” I said.

It wasn’t a question, and Oshli said nothing as he settled his lantern before Vanna’s grave. My brow furrowed, seeing that the lantern was lit though it was still day. Its light shone upon the orchids, steady and unwavering. Then my heart pinched as if struck.