PoraBora

Chapter Twenty-Four

Even in a musk of color, the shape of it was unmistakable. Pora had found it in just the same way, over two years ago. Then the waters had been blue past the tip of his canoe, and he had stood and laughed and known that it was meant to be his home.

Now, his island was as brown as the sea. Pora struggled to breathe over the fumes of the oil stench, and his throat pulled shut.

The pastures were dark and dead beneath the stagnant waters. Once all but flat, the sand had been disturbed into hills and valleys. The growth was either pulled up or starved of sunlight.

The coral reefs were even worse.

Chunks had been crushed. Polyps lost their algae, their color depleted by the oil. There were no fish to be seen that weren't dead on the surface. Pe's island had been a prettier sight.

Pora pulled himself onto the beach, examining dejectedly the broken or missing trees, the trampled thickets, the dirt and sand that had been washed apart. He couldn't think for the rot, but pushed himself, because he had to truly see what he had done.

There was no movement. What plants there were were made heavy by oil so that even a breeze was stifled. Dead things floated, but the surface was too thick to drag them along. Tiny waves tried to reach the shore, but they sputtered into nothing.

He stepped up the hill. His home fared no better than the beach: The carapace was all but gone, while his tools, his hammock, and his bowls had been carried away, either disappeared under the oil or taken by the sea.

He couldn't live here anymore. Pora closed his eyes and took a deep breath, which made him gag and his eyes water. He tried to remember the island as it had been, with color, with life, with friends.

But then he saw Yuppa. Pora raced down to the eastern beach, sliding, slipping over the oil before he came to his knees beside the turtle.

The natural and brilliant greens, blues, and bronzes of Yuppa's shell had been replaced by murky brown until he looked like he was grown from the oil itself. His mouth hung open. No bugs came near.

Pora already knew. It was why he hadn't called out. But hope still climbed in his throat as he nudged the turtle.

"Yuppa?" he tried.

There was no response. Pora found the head, and wished he hadn't.

He stayed there. He didn't know how long and didn't really think about it. Yuppa had always been a good friend, never eating more than his share. Never needing the stick to guide him.

He had counted on Pora.

"I'm sorry."

Pora rose to his feet. It was his fault. All of it, and every thought was another hit to his stomach. He squeezed his eyes shut. But he had to look. He had to see it. Feel it. Understand what had happened. What he hadn't even tried to stop.

"Pora?"

It was the younger girl. Samuelu's apprentice.

"You live here?"

Pora could only nod.

"All alone?"

"No. With Yuppa, with Umba, with Tota and Bora...."

It was hard, saying their names. How many others were unmoving in the oil?

"Tota," repeated the girl. "Yuppa. These are names?"

"Friends. Tota is...Tota is sick, and Yuppa is...." Pora looked down at his friend.

"I'm sorry," mumbled the girl. "What happened?"

He didn't protect them. Pora found it difficult to say the words. But what had happened was obvious. Keasau was angry.

"Your bird is still huhuoo. On Ila'i, with Pe's Kohanuma."

"Tota?"

"Kenepoa pule'a nu Tota. Is Tota your bird?"

"Yes. Tota is a sandpiper."

"He was still alive. When I left."

Pora nodded slowly. Still alive. Tota was still alive. He hadn't been eaten, or killed, or left to die on the beach. Someone was watching after him. Someone on Pe's island.

He had to go back. He couldn't just leave Tota on that island. But would Tota even come with him? Would Tota even trust him anymore, after he had failed him already?

Pora climbed back to the top of the island. Iumili followed, slipping in the oil. They were both of them covered in it. He was ill. She looked away.

"How did this happen?" Pora sniffed.

"Maybe Keasau got away," said Iumili.

"Got away?" Got away? What did she mean? Had...had Keasau been held captive?

And they both saw something on the horizon.

"It's a boat," said Iumili. "Maybe we can get help!"

There was another. And another.

And another. It wasn't just a boat. It was a fleet.

"Ouwe! Pe! Pe, pipikiki ku komiliamilia!"

The girl ran back down to the beach, waving to Pe, shouting. The other girl wouldn't have seen them over the island.

Pora squeezed his hands together. Had they come for him, to take him back to try again? Or had they come for Keasau?

Maybe he had misheard. Surely no one would chase a god.

Pora watched the fleet from the crest of his home. He hoped Bora would keep his distance from their propellers. He would see him again, he knew, but now it was Tota that needed him.

Tota, and his island, and all the islands else that these people and their oil were destroying.