Songstone

By Lena Goldfinch

"...an original fantasy world inhabited by superstitious tribal nations and intriguingly developed characters." USA Today 

A sorcerer enslaves seventeen-year-old Kita with his forbidden black magic. She longs for freedom from her miserable existence, but her master's spells blind the villagers, and they can't see him for who he really is.

Each day, his magical hold tightens around her.

And there is no one to help her.

Then a young journeyman arrives from the other side of the island. In Pono, Kita finally sees her chance to escape...

The story of a girl who yearns for freedom, a boy determined to be more than what's expected of him, and the desperate journey that will leave them both forever changed.

A dark, twisty tale of sorcery, tummy-tingling romance, and island adventure.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lena Goldfinch
• Release date: Nov 7, 2016
• ISBN: 9781540143228

Lena Goldfinch

LENA GOLDFINCH writes heartwarming romance and romantic fantasy for adults and teens. She's a sucker for a good old-fashioned romance, whether it's a novel, novella, or short story, young adult or adult, fantasy or realistic, contemporary or historical. Elements of romance, fantasy, and mystery have a way of creeping into her writing, whether she's writing historicals or something light and contemporary. Her works include: * THE UNEXPECTED BRIDE (Sweet Historical Romance) -- Coming October 6, 2014, Now Available for Pre-Order! * THE LANGUAGE OF SOULS * AIRE * SONGSTONE * HAUNTING JOY * TAKE A PICTURE: A Novella * CHAIN REACTION: A Short Story (Prequel to HAUNTING JOY) Future works: HAUNTING MELODY (HAUNTING JOY : Part 2) "Danger, magic, romance, and royal intrigue, AIRE is a must read!" --NYT Bestselling Author JESSICA ANDERSEN "Looking for something fresh and new to read? Try Lena Goldfinch's AIRE." --SERENA CHASE, USA Today HEA "SONGSTONE sings with characters who come to life, a story full of magic, heart and adventure, and a world that lets you smell the sea air and feel the tropical sun on your back." --LISA GAIL GREEN, author of The Binding Stone "SONGSTONE...an original fantasy world inhabited by superstitious tribal nations and intriguingly developed characters." --SERENA CHASE, USA Today HEA "THE LANGUAGE OF SOULS...the perfect tiny romantic escape." --Tales of Whimsy Twitter: @lena_goldfinch FB: https://www.facebook.com/lenagoldfinch Pinterest: http://www.pinterest.com/lenagoldfinch Website: http://www.LenaGoldfinch.com

Book preview

One

Islammed the door shut behind me. The warm morning breeze flattened my woven grass dress against my thighs and swirled my hair away from me in a red stream. Like blood under water.

As I sucked in a soul-cleansing breath of salty air, my eyes drank in the soothing blues of the sea. The water seemed to stretch out forever before it touched the sky. How could the island spirits allow the day to be so blue, so bright and clear, when I could still hear the sounds of Matiko in his secret room, chanting his awful chants and practicing his evil magic?

I hated that sound. It pricked at my skin, much like a sharpened bird bone piercing the back of my neck.

I hitched my water jars onto my hips and hurried to the path. The sand crunched beneath my sandals. The morning sun tried desperately to burn a hole through the top of my head, and the scrubby trees in the village provided little relief. I thought of the stream at the foot of the mountain. I longed for the kiss of its cold, clear water on my ankles and for the cooling forest shade.

And I heard the stones calling to me:

Come to me. Come to me and sing.

I quickened my step.

Though I fixed my gaze ahead, I felt the village women carefully ignoring me. A group of boys crouched by one of the thatched huts, whispering behind their hands. You didn’t have to hear their words to know what they were saying, what they always said:

Is she really Huwi?

They stole a glance, but didn’t point. They didn’t dare.

For the Huwi were mysterious. They lived in the trees of the smoking mountain, among the ancient island spirits. They protected the sacred places—and they could turn to mist.

Don’t look into their eyes, mothers whispered, or they’ll steal you.

The mysterious tribe with pale skin and blood red hair.

Like mine.

That was why they didn’t point at me. That was why they didn’t look into my eyes. They feared I’d steal them away. Or turn into mist and call the ancient spirits to war. Turning into mist would be nice...but I couldn’t. I’d tried. I couldn’t steal anyone away either. So maybe I wasn’t Huwi.

I didn’t know who or what I was.

The truth was Noni found me. She was just a child herself when she found me at the edge of the forest. I was a baby, crawling in the dirt, hungry. Alone. Maybe I was crying—maybe that was why she took me home. That was her mistake. When Muna, Noni’s mother, washed me and saw all my white skin—as pale as bleached bones—she screamed. Still, she’d kept me, for a while anyway. I stayed there until I was eight, until the day Matiko came for me.

I need a servant girl, he’d said, and Muna let him take me. Just like that. I remembered a rush of air against my heels as the hut door closed behind me. Maybe Matiko cast a spell on her. Maybe he only let her see what he wanted her to see. That was what he did after all, but I knew she wasn’t sorry, none of them were. I supposed I wasn’t sorry either, not then.

Sorry didn’t come until later, when I learned what Matiko really was.

That was an old story now—how I didn’t look like any of them. I didn’t have their warm brown eyes or their thick, beautiful, nut-brown hair. Mine was straight and red.

When I was little, Noni would play with my hair. She’d take it in her hands and let it spill through her fingers like water.

Kita, I love your hair! she’d say. It’s so beautiful and slippery! Then she’d laugh.

Every time Noni had said that, I pictured eels squirming in a fishing basket. Eels were slippery and good to eat, but they weren’t beautiful. Noni’s words and laugh had been a lie. I’d never be beautiful, not like her.

By the time I got to the stream, the other village girls were already kneeling at the edge of the rushing waters, with their backs to me. High above, Mount Tul loomed over them, watching them like a disapproving mother. Though they were crouched at her ankles, they didn’t seem to notice her scowl or the trail of smoke rising off her brow. They just laughed and chatted, filling jars or washing dresses. The sound of their tinkling liquid laughter was like a sun-warmed tidal pool.

I wanted to be in that pool too. Laughing. Chatting.

Smiling at one of those girls and seeing her smile back at me.

I jerked my jars closer to my sides, pressing them tightly into my flesh until it hurt.

You’ll never belong.

You’ll never be one of them.

I tried not to look, but, out of the corner of my eye, I found Noni. Today she was sitting on a boulder on the far shore, apart from the others. Her baby boy, Ruoni, nestled against her shoulder, and he grabbed at her grass dress with his chubby little fist. Noni’s beautiful dark brown hair floated past her shoulders and brushed like a veil of wispy feathers all along her waist. How pretty she was.

Why was she sitting by herself? Facing this way....

I gripped my jars, wondering.

Noni’s gaze landed on me. Her face lit as if the sun had just struck it.

Oh no. Most days she just watched silently and let me walk by, but today, it looked like she was going to wave me over. Didn’t she know we could never be sisters, not really?

Kita! she called out, her smile a flash of white against her golden skin.

Silence fell like a blanket over a fire, choking it in an instant.

Every girl snapped her head toward Noni, their eyes wide with panic. They glanced back at me and just as quickly turned to their jars. Except for Tairua, a girl my age—sixteen—who kept staring. Her eyes stabbed me, sharp as thorns.

I shot a glare back.

See? My eyes are green.

Maybe I’m Huwi. Maybe I am!

Tairua spun away and stared down at the dress in her hands. Then she dunked it in the stream and held it under. Drowning it.

All the while Noni was smiling—as if she couldn’t see all this, or was ignoring it—and she kept scooping her free arm toward her.

Waving me in: Come, Kita, come.

A cock of her head: Oh, just come.

I ducked my chin, seething as I skirted by them, edging as far away as I could on the pebbly bank. I heard Noni call out again, and I wanted to scream at her and maybe shake her too.

Stop it, Noni! If you don’t do it for yourself, do it for little Ruoni. Don’t let him grow up like me.

As it was, the village girls tolerated Noni, probably because she was so pretty and loved to laugh. Whenever she spoke to me though, I could feel them drawing away from her too, like the low tide. I couldn’t understand why she took such risks. She wasn’t stupid, so she had to know she was better off without me. Well, for whatever reason, she’d called out to me, and that left me with the unpleasant task of ignoring her.

I weaved through some larger rocks on the bank of the stream. Sheer walls of sand-colored stone rose high above me on either side, but I was so intent on my steps that I barely noticed.

Soon I heard the sounds of water splashing behind me and the joyful squeal of girls giggling. Now that I was gone they could go on with their day, as if I’d never been there. Could Noni?

They’d find a way to punish her, I knew. Not with fists, of course, but with the stinging slap of silence. Their rejection was cruel, a writhing thing that could wrap around your whole body. I shook my head. Noni was much older than me, almost twenty-one, and married. She had a baby. She didn’t need me.

As the trees high above me closed in tighter, their cooling green shade swallowed me up. I stopped to wipe the sweat from my brow, telling myself I shouldn’t have let Tairua get to me. After all, if she and her friends were brave, they’d hike into the shade too. The water was cooler here, sweeter, but they were too afraid of shadows. Too afraid of wandering onto some sacred patch of ground and being swept away by the Huwi.

I glanced into the leaves above and, for a moment, I could almost feel eyes on me.... That tingly sensation of being watched crawled up my back. Feeling silly, I shook it off. If the Huwi wanted me they could have come for me long ago, right? Firming my chin, I bent and dipped my jars into the stream.

The call of the stones was more subdued now, but I still felt the tug on my heart. I set my jars in the stream to fill with water and left them there. In an instant, I saw my stone—a long, flat boulder with its face turned upwards—catching the bits of flashing sunlight that streamed through the trees. It seemed to be waiting for me.

Come. Come to me and sing....

Like Noni, scooping her arm in and trying to draw me near.

I felt a flutter in my stomach, knowing when I sang, I had to let the world around me fall away. My hands started to tremble. I rubbed them down the skirt of my dress, tracing the bumpy weave of dried grass stalks with my fingertips. Soothing.... Calling my racing heart to rest.

I took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, listening as it whistled between my teeth.

Even if I didn’t have a friend to laugh with, I had something none of those other girls did. I could meld song into stone like old Napiro, like the storytellers of ancient days. But my songs were for no one, not really. Not like they were supposed to be, for everyone, to carry the island’s stories on forever and ever. Even so, I sang.

I sang for the leaves—for the birds and sky.

As I breathed in the cool, refreshing air, forest smells filled my nose: the damp scent of freshly-turned dirt and the pungent, musky scent of drying leaves. These smells reminded me of other mornings, years ago, when I first learned what I could do. How I’d sneaked up here where the trees were dense. How I kept looking over my shoulder, even though Matiko never followed me here. I remembered the thrilling pound-pound-pound of my heart, knowing I was keeping a secret from him.

I rubbed the back of my neck and traced the pattern of tiny scars there, as pebbly as grains of sand. His mark on me. All for his terrible black magic. His magic held me always, tightening like a rope around the sensitive skin of my throat. Threatening to steal my breath if I dared go too far.

Matiko couldn’t see me here. He couldn’t do that. He could hold me with his power. He could steal my blood—and he did, every morning—but he didn’t know about this.

He never will, I promised myself with a determined smile.

Feeling calmer now, I kneeled and dipped my hand in the stream. Then I placed my moistened palm on the boulder and began to rub the roughened surface of the stone in a circular motion.

A beat thudded through my pulse, echoing in my ears like a drum.

Power surged through me: a restless, burning fire, rushing down my arm. It spurted from my fingertips. I tingled everywhere with it.

An image filled my blank mind, as real as the forest air and the stone beneath my palm. A flower bloomed, its plump white petals opening to the sun. I couldn’t feel the stone any longer, even though I knew I was still gliding my hand across its surface.

Kita was gone.

I was the flower.

I was its light, fruity fragrance, floating on a warm island breeze. Flowing over rocks and twigs toward the embrace of the sea....

Bringing a smile of pleasure to a little girl on the beach.

And I was the little girl. I gathered the breeze, bending my arms, sweeping the fruity-sweet scent to my face. Then I began to dance, this little girl inside me, even though I never danced. Twirling around and around and around...my bare feet pounding against the hard, flat sand.

The song thudded through me:

O Arawea, Arawea went down to the sea

And there she met a handsome stranger

---

He took her hand; he took her heart

They danced in the sand; they danced in the sea

---

A le la A le li

---

O strong warrior, O stranger here,

do not take my daughter away from me

---

O dear chieftainess, can’t you see?

My hand and my heart has she

---

She bowed her head; she gave her praise

But send to me a song, dear daughter,

when you go from me

---

O le la O le li

---

Yes, my chieftainess, my mother,

when I go, I will do as you say to me

---

O le la O le li

O li la li la li le....

My voice trailed off softly as I rubbed one last circle into the rock. My whole body pulsed with the heady sensation of power and satisfaction. Would some brave young village girl stumble upon this boulder one day and listen to my song? I traced the stone with my fingertips, feeling the hollow I’d left there. Would she rub her palm here, just so, and hear the words of my song in her heart? Would she too wish for a love like Arawea’s?

I hugged that delicious thought to myself and sank back on my heels.

At the sound of a swift, sharp trill, I sprang to my feet and searched the canopy of crisscrossing branches high above. Nothing moved. No shapes loomed over the ledge. There was nothing, only leaves, thin, fingerlike, gray-green branches, and sparkling bits of sunshine breaking through.

Surely the Huwi wouldn’t attack on such a bright day, and so close to the village....

Surely, it wasn’t Matiko, not here. He never followed me. Why would he? At any moment his power could snap around my neck. A shiver went through me at the memory of the last time. I rubbed the sore spot on my neck where his magic always was, chafing my skin.

There was another panicked trill:

Come!

I stumbled across the rocky bank. There, at the top of a steep outcropping of rock, I spotted a brilliant flash of blue—a bird. It was a tiny hiri, one that could have stood comfortably on my palm with two of its friends.

I squinted, wondering why it couldn’t fly. As it frantically rose and fell again, I saw its leg was trapped in a snare, the kind young boys practiced with.

Oh, you poor thing, I said, feeling a rush of pity.

I looked up the wall of rock and winced. If I fell, I could easily snap my neck. But if I did nothing the bird would die. It would stay there trapped until thirst and hunger finally took it. What an awful way to die. The thought upset me so much I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep at night. How could I? I’d lie awake wondering if it was still alive or not.

After taking a breath for courage, I began to climb.

"Hello, Hiri," I said, as I picked my way up the steep slope. I was almost to the top, when my sandals slipped out from under me. The rocks tore my palms, but I held on, barely. The bird let out another shrill cry. The poor thing sounded terrified. I blew a strand of hair out of my eyes.

I’m coming. I stretched, but the snare was still too far to reach. As I hoisted myself upward, the rocks teetered under me again. I gasped and grabbed a handhold, catching my balance. Leaning into the rock, I pushed myself higher, one little bit at a time, until I was able to pinch the dangling end of the snare between my fingertips.

There! I tugged downward, uncoiling the snare with a sharp pull. Then I slid...down, down, down, sharp rocks raking over my hands. I cried out and toppled backward. I fell to the stony bank with a thud that jarred my bones. The snare landed across my face, and for a moment I lay there, winded and unable to move.

Letting out a groan, I pushed the snare off. Every part of me hurt, but nothing seemed broken. My palms were the worst. They burned and throbbed. I held them up to my face and saw several scrapes. They stood out, red and raw, against my too-white skin. Blowing on my hands to cool them, I scanned the ledge above me and saw a flash of blue.

Can you fly? I called, sitting up and groaning again as my scrapes and bruises complained.

The bird darted through the branches. With a lighter call, it plunged down, straight at me. I flung my arm over my face, but it was too late. The bird struck, its tiny beak piercing my forehead. I cried out and glared as it flew away. It perched on a high branch, shaking out its feathers as it watched me.

Why did you do that? I demanded. Ungrateful little bird! I was only trying to help.

I scrambled up and, not thinking, brushed the pebbles off my back. Not only did it hurt my already aching fingers, but I felt bare skin just below my ribs. I’d torn my only work dress. If Matiko saw, he’d be furious. I’d have to mend it quickly in my room before he noticed. When was I supposed to do that? I had a hundred chores.

Aren’t you glad to be free, bird?

The bird flew down again and hovered before me, its wings fluttering wildly. I grabbed a handful of pebbles and flung them at it. The hiri darted over my head. Singing out another trill, it flew up through the leaves and disappeared.

I gingerly felt the aching spot on my forehead. When I drew my hand away, I saw a single drop of bright red blood glistening on my thumb. Ungrateful little bird. Shaking my head, I rinsed my burning hands in the stream and washed my face. When I felt my forehead again, I found nothing. It was as if the bird had never touched me.

How strange.

I let my hand drop to my side.

I looked around but didn’t see a flash of brilliant blue anywhere. It was gone. Free to fly away and go wherever it wanted.

The snare lay crumpled near my feet. I picked it up and began to twist it in my fingers, hating it. I twisted and twisted until the flax fibers tore. It broke in two and I threw the pieces aside in disgust.

Seeing that the sun was much higher now, I gathered my jars. I was going to be late even if I ran the whole way back. And Matiko would be waiting.

Two

As I walked back to Matiko’s house, its shadow fell over me, heavy and dark. I stopped and glared up at it for a second. To me, it was all that was evil, but maybe to someone else’s eye it would have looked impressive, magnificent even. It was the largest house in the village after all, perched high on its ledge, overlooking the rest of the village. Its walls were made from ropey, earthy-brown timbers, which coiled around and around like some great snare, ready to snap me up. Not unlike that poor bird.

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