Free Island's End by Padma Venkatraman Page B

ahead.
    “Where should I go now?” I try not to sound disappointed, and yet I cannot help wishing the plants had something more for me—like a prayer or a magical object that would keep the strangers away from our island forever.
    Walk northeast for four days. By night on the fourth day, you will reach the cliff that stretches across the north of the island. Climb the rocks and you will find your oko-jumu waiting at the top. Take as many leaves and as much juice as you can to feed yourself and to heal your people in times of need.
    From my medicine bag, I take out the empty wooden vessels that Lah-ame gave me. Carefully, I pinch off many leaves and drain every drop of juice into my vessels. I fill them all and place the leaves in my pouch.
    The sooner you start walking, the sooner your journey will end.
    “I thank you,” I say, picking up my mangrove branch again. My spirit feels so calm and soothed in the plants’ presence that it is hard to leave them behind. Yet I am also eager to see Lah-ame again and celebrate my successful journey with him.
    Remembering what Lah-ame taught me about keeping direction by looking at the sun, I start walking northeast. At each step, I test the ground ahead with my branch, although I see no more pits of hungry mud. The juice of the insect-eating plants swells in my stomach, which feels as heavy as if it were filled with meat. And although my ears are irritated by the zzzt, zzzt of mosquitoes, the juice works better than fresh body paint to keep both them and the leeches away.
    Slowly, the ground underfoot becomes firmer. Glad not to have mud squelching between my toes, I move faster. By sunset, I see short trees poking up into the sky. They are not as tall or as thick as in our jungle, but it feels good to see them and better still to leave the stink of the swamp behind. I stop and rest beneath a tree for the night.
    The next morning, Pulug-ame sends a gentle drizzle. I hold my mouth open to the sky and let the sweet water moisten my tongue and trickle down my throat. Over the next two days, the rain gets even lighter. I wonder if the tribe, too, is walking back up the island or if they have returned to the dry-season village already.
    Late in the morning on the fourth day, I see the cliff rising up like a distant wall. My footsteps quicken and I reach the foot of the cliff at twilight. Holding my rattle high above my head, I shake it in celebration.
    A new burst of strength gushes into my tired limbs at the thought that I will soon be with Lah-ame again. “I, Uido, found the insect-eating plant and I carry its healing waters!” I sing out, although there is nobody to hear me. My feet kick at the ground in a dance of joy and my triumphant spirit seems to leap as high as the cliff.

19

    E ager to be back with Lah-ame, I start up the cliff path. The clay is smooth but not slippery and it smells pleasant, like wet body paint.
    A short while later, in the moonlit darkness, I reach the top of the cliff. I suck in a long stream of air, enjoying the salty taste I know so well. A soft wind kisses my bare skin as if in welcome as I listen to the familiar song of the ocean far beneath me.
    Although Lah-ame is not yet here, I sense that he will come soon. Too tired to go any farther, I lie down on my back, drenching my body in a great pool of moonlight.
    When I awake, midday sunshine pours across the ground and Lah-ame is standing near me. “Welcome back, Uido,” he says. “From the very beginning of your training I knew you would succeed.”
    He reaches down and pulls me into his arms. His breath is a calm breeze on my face and I feel his spirit glowing with pride and happiness.
    “Thank you for your guidance, Lah-ame,” I say, though the words seem too small. I can only hope he senses the depth of my gratitude.
    “So,” he says, letting me go, “your training with me is almost at an end. There is just one last thing. Uido, would you like to fly?” He runs his hand over his white