The Sea Breeze Still Whispers
Chapter
(Nukutaeao)
Waves lap gently at the reef, just as they always have, washing over the pristine white sands.
As the sun sets, plumes of smoke rise from the cozy homes of the islanders. The glowing Sea Mother’s Eye lanterns hang high above, shimmering in the dusk, all pointing the way back home.
Kamuta
- Fatutu, let’s do one final check on the canoes. We don’t want Toa tipping into the sea during tomorrow’s race.
Fatutu
- Toa’s been rattling with excitement for days. If he falls in, I doubt it’ll be the canoe’s fault.
- Besides, brother, you’ll be the one that has to dive in after him!
Kamuta
- He swims a lot faster than I do.
The canoes are neatly lined up on the beach, each showing different degrees of wear.
Painted and adorned by various Nukutai hands, they stand like a row of strange, silent gravestones.
Fatutu
- We haven’t made a new canoe in a long time.
Kamuta
- These old ones are enough to carry all the young folks of Nukutaeao. Paddle out to Itiiti, circle around to Miti and Vaipuna, then come back to Meli …
Fatutu
- Not if you count me! By next year, I’ll be old enough to paddle too!
Hearing the faint mix of complaint and anticipation in his sister’s voice, Kamuta falls silent for a moment as the sea breeze stirs around them.
Kamuta
- Fatutu, for next year’s canoe race around the island, I’ll build you a new boat. How about that?
- We’ll find a tree with the straightest trunk, shape the prow just right. When the wind and waves come, you’ll ride them like they’re part of you.
Fatutu
- Kamuta …
Kamuta
- Fatutu will have her own canoe, one that no one can catch, because she’ll be the fastest on the water.
He paints a shining vision of a new canoe. But behind him, a wave looms silently above them, as tall as a mountain, like a curtain of black.
And it falls.
Kamuta
- Fatu … tu …
Fatutu
- …!
- Brother … Toa … Where are you? Where did you go?
- Wait for me! I’m coming!
The sea rises and falls, and the girl’s thin voice fades under the rush of waves.
But no one answers.
The water wraps around her with familiar weight. And Fatutu knows exactly where it’s carrying her.
Fatutu
- I want to go home. I’ve been gone too long. Brother, Toa, are you gone now?
Fatutu floats through the open sea, eyes straining toward the horizon where ocean meets sky—unbroken, unending.
Her island has sunk beneath the waves.
Fatutu
- Gone … it’s all gone …
- Gone …
- Miti, Vaipuna, Meli … our islands …
- I shouldn’t have left. Why did I leave?
- …
Her question is swallowed up like a drop lost in the ocean—without ripples, without reply.
???
- Fatutu!
- Wake up, wake up! Fatutu!
Fatutu
- …
- …!
- Selone?
- Kamuta …
Realizing the nightmare is over, Fatutu immediately shuts her mouth.
Selone
- That was another bad dream, wasn’t it?
Fatutu looks for words but only nods.
Selone lifts her shell necklace, placing one shell gently against Fatutu’s forehead.
Fatutu lifts her own in reply and presses it to Selone’s brow.
Selone
- “Swept into the tide, scattered by the wind, gone into the mist.”
Fatutu
- “Let the siren’s song not lead me astray; let nightmare’s voice not steal me from my home.”
Selone
- “The shell’s warning keeps me on course. Its grooves show me the path.”
Fatutu
- “I will return. I have returned.”
Selone
- You taught me that song, remember?
Selone’s words pull Fatutu out from the cold sea of her nightmare at last.
Fatutu
- That was the day you and Toa snuck out to sea and got caught in the storm, right?
Selone
- I wanted to pick Compassare from Itiiti that day—just one more sprig for my Sea Mother’s Eye. I didn’t listen to the shell’s guidance, and I talked Toa into taking me.
- Our canoe had barely left the shore, but the wind suddenly swept us out to sea. Toa paddled with everything he had, clutching that Compassare the whole time.
Fatutu
- Brother was holding back tears when he realized you were gone; he was so worried. Remember how you and Toa got such a scolding?
Selone
- For a long while after, I was terrified, afraid that making it back had just been a dream, afraid that maybe the ocean had taken Toa after all.
- So you sang to me.
- I will return. I have returned.
Fatutu
- Selone …
- How are you doing now? I mean, since we came here, we don’t …
- Live as closely as we used to.
Selone
- …
It’s not an easy question to answer.
Before offering each other comfort, the two friends begin to feel how small their tribe is now, and how fragile.
Selone’s tears fall hot on Fatutu’s arm, cooling over her tan skin.
Fatutu pulls her in tightly. Their shell necklaces knock together with a soft sound.
Selone
- I’m sorry, Fatutu.
- At least it’s nice here. I’ve learned to write their language. I’ve been to their library. I’ve learned so much about the outside world.
- But it’s nothing like what we imagined. We believed in those stories so much that we never thought to understand what was really out there.
- We never thought we’d leave …
- Even when we knew how it would all end.
- I miss Toa. I miss Kamuta. I miss our island, our home …
Slow rivers of tears carve across Fatutu’s skin, sharp with grief.
She pats Selone’s back; she can do nothing else. Trying to hold back their shared sorrow is like standing against a falling wave.
Fatutu
- I’m here, Selone.
- We won’t lose each other again.
- Brother and Toa have already reached where they’re meant to be. Their souls rest in the depths of the sea; they aren’t truly lost.
- They’ll always be there to watch over us.
Is that true?
They feel hollow, like she’s not sure what to believe anymore, but they feel like the right words to say to keep her friend and her afloat.
Fatutu
- Our home—our island—it will survive as long as we do.
(The Hall in the Suitcase)
Sonetto stops quietly, a paper form in her hand signed with small, careful writing.
Sonetto
- Timekeeper, Miss Fatutu has submitted a request. She …
- She’s asking for a form of arcane skill that can put her into a peaceful sleep, or, if not possible, then any medicine that might help.
Vertin
- Medicine?
Sonetto
- She’s been plagued by nightmares. She didn’t explain what they were about. Perhaps she didn’t want to relive them.
Vertin
- I see.
- I can understand her pain. Did she say anything else?
Sonetto
- No, Timekeeper. She passed the form to me and left without a word.
- I must note that Miss Fatutu’s request was written exceptionally well. By the book, really. Not many people manage to be that precise.
The Foundation’s forms are painfully tedious. It’s nothing short of remarkable that Fatutu managed to navigate through them herself.
Vertin
- I’ll see what I can do to streamline the application and approval process for everyone in the suitcase. We don’t need to be burdened with this kind of unnecessary paperwork.
- As for our friend, Fatutu, if she wants to rid herself of memories she no longer wants to revisit, then I think there might be a better way than arcane skill or medication.
- But it’ll take time.
(TO BE CONTINUED …)
(Rehab Center, Laplace)
Fatutu
- No! Toa, brother!
- I … I’m coming to save you!
- The storm is coming. The shell … our island …
- I’m sorry.
Fatutu lies on the examination bed, eyes shut tight, brow furrowed, mumbling in her sleep, fighting against the weight of her dream.
(Rehab Center Hallway, Laplace)
Sonetto
- It’s strange to see Miss Fatutu look like this. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen her so troubled.
She peers through the window, watching with quiet worry.
Sonetto
- Timekeeper, it’s strange. When she’s awake, she never shows any sadness at all.
- Even when she first submitted her request, she didn’t seem afraid or sad. It felt oddly clinical, like she was only asking for cough syrup.
- She’s been so warm and kind to everyone here. She never let on about this, even as she was doing so much to help others.
- I suppose I just don’t understand her. If she’s hurting so much inside, why wouldn’t she let us know?
- Timekeeper, could it be that she still doesn’t trust us?
Vertin
- Asking for our help may not be her first instinct right now.
Sonetto
- …
- The Foundation looks out for everyone. All she had to do was ask.
- I had hoped she would want to be friends.
Vertin
- I’m sure she does, in her own way. We just need to give her more time.
- We’ll be here for her. But she has to settle in first—learn to feel safe.
Sonetto
- Understood.
- Let’s hope Mesmer Jr.’s Artificial Somnambulism Therapy can help Miss Fatutu recover.
Mesmer Jr.
- You may not want to set your expectations too high. This treatment is far from a panacea.
The therapist steps out from the recovery room, pristine as ever, speaking plainly and without pretense.
Mesmer Jr.
- I evaluated this “patient” earlier. I had been preparing to guide her into a dream state, but before I could begin, she had already entered one on her own.
- It’s just as you see there.
- But there’s nothing so complex about her nightmares. Nothing that requires Artificial Somnambulism Therapy.
- This is nothing less than pure and unfiltered homesickness.
Sonetto
- Is there any other way to ease Miss Fatutu’s pain?
Mesmer Jr.
- Ease her pain?
- As I said, you may be overestimating our capabilities, or perhaps I should say underestimating the nature of her suffering.
- I would never argue that Artificial Somnambulism Therapy is anything other than a remarkable leap in science.
- It’s helped correct behavioral issues caused by the “Storm”—paranoia, compulsions, violence—those things, yes.
- But it can’t erase or even relieve the pain.
- At best, dream-guiding might offer a momentary distraction from the nightmares, but it would be a false comfort—escapism.
- We can’t rely on Artificial Somnambulism to save her.
Sonetto
- …
Vertin
- …
The rebuke leaves no room for argument.
Vertin
- Miss Mesmer, are you saying you won’t treat Fatutu?
Mesmer Jr.
- I’m saying I have no treatment suitable for her.
- All I can offer is some help falling asleep.
- I wouldn’t recommend anything more than a hot bath and a cup of warm milk.
Vertin
- I see.
Mesmer Jr.
- She’ll wake soon. Despite what I’ve said, I believe she is capable of overcoming her pain. But there’s nothing more I can do to help.
With that, the no-nonsense therapist turns and walks away, leaving no opening for further questions.
Sonetto
- Fatutu …
Her gaze lingers on the girl beside her. Then, without a word, she looks away again—quietly, unnoticed.
Sonetto
- There must be something we can do.
Vertin
- Let me think.
Some things can’t be undone. Like glass shattered across the floor, too broken to piece back together.
Their present problem seems just as daunting. Side by side, the two lean against the wall in silence.
They’re searching for a way to heal something as abstract as “heartache.”
Yet suddenly, footsteps interrupt their thoughts—light, hurried, like wind chimes jingling with urgency.
Barcarola
- Fatutu!
- Where is Fatutu? Is she in there?
She grabs a sleeve, then someone’s hand, eyes wide with concern.
Before anyone can answer, she’s already flung herself toward the window, peering in at Fatutu lying on the recovery bed.
She presses up to the glass.
Barcarola
- Fatutu, wake up! Fatutu …
Sonetto
- Ms. Barcarola.
Sonetto starts to step forward, but a hand reaches out to stop her. Her superior gives a slight shake of the head—wait.
Barcarola
- I have something very important to tell you, Fatutu!
Her voice reaches through. Fatutu stirs from her bed, her eyes flutter open softly, searching for the calling voice.
Barcarola
- You’re awake! Fatutu!
She leaps toward her like a dolphin sailing up over sunlit waves, in an irrepressible motion.
Fatutu
- Barcarola?
Barcarola
- Chiaro, who else would it be?
- Time to wake up. There’s something far more important than sleeping to be done now!
Fatutu
- What is it?
Barcarola
- It’s trade season!
Fatutu
- …
- …!
Barcarola
- The trade season is just about to begin!
(TO BE CONTINUED …)
(Inside the Suitcase)
The festival of trade sparks a lively wave of chatter. The atmosphere shifts entirely.
Fatutu
- There’s a trade season here too? I never knew …
Barcarola
- Certamente! Think about it. When you used to trade your goods, they would be passed along through more trades and end up in even farther places!
- So, with so many goods and people moving around, it’s only natural to hold a festival here!
Fatutu
- I guess … that kind of makes sense?
Barcarola
- It makes complete sense, Fatutu! Just think, now, of course, not every place people trade is like your island, so there aren’t any ships around, but it’s really very similar.
- The one we have here is called … um …
She darts her hand backward. Her nimble fingers portray an obvious message in precise and desperate motions: “Help.”
Vertin
- … The “Suitcase Trade Fair.”
Barcarola
- Sì, yes! The Suitcase Trade Fair! What a lovely name, simple but with a solid musical quality.
- And, out there, it’s not just the Nukutaeao trade seasons and the Suitcase Trade Fairs. There are so many more like … the Gem Sparkle Fair, the Fruit Showmarket, the Lakeside Market, the Secondhand Beach …
- All year round, there’s always another market!
Fatutu
- For the whole year?! Then when do you outsiders ever stop?
Barcarola
- We don’t! Everyone’s always on the move from one trade season to the next, round and round.
Fatutu
- That’s … that’s …
The island girl’s eyes widen. The sights and sounds of the outside world leave her momentarily stunned.
Fatutu
- That’s incredible.
- Back home, once the trade season ended and the ships left, we stopped thinking about it entirely. We’d go back to repairing our fishing boats and keeping the pests out of the fruit trees.
- We’d prep our canoes for the races, sort and polish shells, or kick a ball around before the sun went down.
- We wouldn’t think about it again until the ships returned, and then the sailors and merchants would trade our fish, fruit, and crafts for other goods.
- We always just waited for someone to come and trade with us.
- Nukutai people need time to live our lives, time to relax.
Barcarola
- Ma certo! But the trade season is still important to the Nukutai people, isn’t it?
Fatutu
- Of course. During the trade season, we’d trade for medicine, tobacco, and dyes. Once, I traded for some little ceramic flowers that I shared with Selone—one for each of us.
- And once a butterfly made of tin, but the sea air rusted it away only a few days later.
- The trade season has always meant a lot to the Nukutai.
Kindred spirits. Barcarola lights up and clasps Fatutu’s hands in hers, as if anchoring herself to a newfound certainty.
Barcarola
- And the Suitcase Trade Fair is important too!
- We’ll have a huge festival—two days long, with vendors, customers, and everyone involved!
Hearing this, the usually composed Sonetto draws a sharp breath.
Barcarola
- That is why, Fatutu, we truly, truly need you!
The passionate young musician locks eyes with her, holding such a sincere and joyful gaze that Fatutu can’t help but grab her hand.
Fatutu
- If there’s anything I can help with, I … I’ll do my best.
- If the Suitcase Trade Fair is anything like the Nukutaeao trade season, then—
Barcarola
- It’s nothing like it!
The musician’s energy surges into a crescendo in a tempo impossible to fully keep up with.
Barcarola
- What I mean is, we haven’t got nearly enough goods to sell. We need to design our invitations, and the venue setup still needs to be figured out.
- When it comes to holding a trade fair, we’re nowhere near as experienced as the Nukutai.
- But! We’re already moving full speed ahead with preparations, and I—
She pats her chest with elegant pride.
Barcarola
- I intend to grace this Trade Fair with a musical performance—a show for the ages!
- Now, Fatutu, we have but one major problem.
Fatutu
- What kind of problem?
The flurry of energy comes crashing to a focal point. Fatutu seems unable to imagine what sort of problem there could be.
Barcarola
- We … must light up the night!
- You see, the Suitcase Trade Fair is set to last two days and … one night. But we’ve run into some issues, because we don’t have, uhm … light … for the nighttime …
The gifted musician is nearly as capable at improvising events as she is with music, but still trips over a sour note.
Luckily, someone else is able to carry the tune.
Vertin
- Here’s the situation. We have a researcher in the Wilderness who’s using our backup power for some experiments.
- I suspect his energy usage has gone well beyond what he noted on his official application.
- And more than that, we have a woman here who depends on a steady supply of power to keep her medical devices operating.
- As you can see, we’re in a predicament. The energy reserves inside the suitcase aren’t quite stretched.
- We can provide lighting from sunset to about ten p.m., but after that …
She subtly shifts her gaze toward the musician. The bow is rosined, and the stage is hers once more.
Barcarola
- After that, we’ll be cast into total darkness!
- In the dark, vendors won’t see their crates, customers won’t see the goods, and no one will be able to see me playing!
- An unspeakable tragedy, I’m sure you’ll agree.
Just imagining a lonely, pitch-black performance is enough for her to conjure a well of tears at the corner of her eyes.
Hands still held tightly in the musician’s delicate grip, Fatutu can’t help but start worrying alongside her.
Fatutu
- I have an idea!
- We can make Sea Mother’s Eyes, just like we did on the boats.
- They’ll stay lit all night long. If we make enough of them, they can light up the festival long after it gets dark.
She reaches over to wipe away Barcarola’s tears. The gesture is natural, unthinking, intimate.
Fatutu
- I’ll even set up extra Sea Mother’s Eyes around your stage.
- That way, everyone will be able to see you shine like a star above the ocean as you play!
Barcarola’s tears come to a sudden stop, and she looks deeply into her friend’s eyes.
Then, she throws her arms around her with an emotional hug, bursting into even louder sobs.
Barcarola
- You—You’re just—
The words tumble out like notes from a melody she never quite finishes. In the end, she still can’t say exactly what kind of girl this islander is.
(TO BE CONTINUED …)
(Bedroom, Suitcase)
Strips of palm bark cover the ground. Bundled Compassare, sealed jars of animal oil, and a basket of clean white shells.
A hand-crafted windmill turning in the breeze, a box of pigments ground from scorched reef rock, a Nukutai, and a musician who sails with the tide.
Barcarola
- Fatutu, look!
She holds up a piece of tree bark to her face, peeking through two holes like a child discovering something new.
Fatutu
- I’ve found one, too.
Fatutu finds another piece of bark, lifts it in front of her face, and speaks through the cutout mouth hole.
Fatutu
- I look like I’m from the forest. Does that mean I’m a … drueed?
A strange new story, an unfamiliar word, and a clumsy pronunciation.
Barcarola
- You’ve been reading!
Fatutu
- Selone was teaching me. It’s fun to read all the world’s stories.
- I’m still learning, so I’m not very fast, but they talk about so many things I’ve never even heard of before.
Barcarola
- You’re doing amazing already, Fatutu.
She follows Fatutu’s instructions, untying the Compassare and dipping each strand into the oil, one by one.
Barcarola
- This smell is … It’s very special, I must say.
Fatutu
- Compassare has many uses. It’s a medicinal herb. It helps with stomach pain, inflammation, warts.
- Before the ships ever came to Nukutaeao, we often used it to help cure ourselves.
- When we first started trading with outsiders for their medicine, many of the elders didn’t trust it. They called it poison.
- They only believed in our island’s herbs.
Barcarola
- But Compassare alone can’t heal everything.
She learned the importance of having medicine on hand many times over during her sea voyages.
Fatutu
- To the Nukutai, endurance is a virtue. If you get sick at sea, there’s no shore to dock at—you can’t stop.
- We ride out storms and waves, cast our nets, haul the catch, and return home when they’re full. Even if you’re hurt, you do your part. When you’re back on the island, your kin will heal you.
Barcarola
- Have you gone through something like that?
Fatutu
- Yes. We were out at sea, and a lightning storm hit. The whole sky turned blood-red, and the lightning split the waves.
Fatutu
- Everyone was soaked. The boat pitched high, and we clung to the rails with all we had so we wouldn’t fall overboard.
Barcarola can’t help but picture it in vivid detail. She has seen how terrifying a storm could be on the open ocean, but that was in the relative safety of a cruise liner.
Fatutu
- I heard lightning strike a crate. It cracked open, and our hala fruits and red snappers rolled into the sea. That was the scariest trip we ever had.
Barcarola
- How did you make it back?
Fatutu
- We simply shut our eyes and sailed through the storm.
Fatutu
- We put on a charm made from burned Compassare root. It helped keep lightning away.
Barcarola runs her fingers over the root in her hand, its twisted shape soft but dry to the touch.
Fatutu
- Before we left, we consulted the Shell’s guidance. It told us we’d return safely.
- But the Shell doesn’t tell you what will happen, only how it ends.
- When we got back, I looked at the roots. They’d turned to black ash, and the wind had carried them away.
Barcarola
- Wow …
- I never imagined these leafy things could be so magical.
Fatutu
- Compassare … Compassare …
She picks one from Barcarola’s hand. The dried plant curls slightly, its leaves dulled without water.
Fatutu
- A Compassare’s use depends a lot on how it’s grown. On Nukutaeao, there are many types.
Fatutu
- The kind we use for Sea Mother’s Eyes is the most common. It needs sunlight, so we plant it in bright places. It stores up the sun’s light during the day and glows in the dark.
- When we return from sea, the light of these Sea Mother’s Eyes leads us back to safety.
Fatutu
- The kind that wards off lightning is planted high up, in a place where it can witness lightning firsthand. That’s how it learns to avoid it.
- We climb to the highest cliffs on the island and scatter the seeds there.
Fatutu
- The medicinal kind, well, some we grow by the shoreline, some near fruit trees, and others have to be planted directly in the sea.
She lists the growing methods one by one, but her voice sinks as she continues.
Fatutu
- These … are the last Compassare.
Barcarola
- …!
- The last?
Fatutu
- Yes, the very last from Nukutaeao. After this, we won’t plant them again. We won’t grow them anymore.
Her hands suddenly tremble as she holds this fading piece of home.
Barcarola
- Oh, Fatutu, but are you sure?
- Can we really use these for Sea Mother’s Eyes? Just to light up the Trade Fair … Is that really okay?
Fatutu
- …
- Of course it is.
She smiles, though it doesn’t quite reach where it should.
Fatutu
- Selone and the other Nukutai—we all agreed already.
- Miss Timekeeper, our friends in the suitcase, and the Foundation staff—they’ve all helped us so much.
- We want to do this. We should do this. Letting these Compassare light the Sea Mother’s Eyes once more is a beautiful ending for them.
- If we just leave them tied up in a corner, then they’ll just be regular grass—not the Compassare of Nukutaeao.
Barcarola
- But, but …
She can see her friend is speaking with conviction.
Fatutu
- Miss Barcarola, the Sea Mother’s Eyes will light up your stage. I’m so very happy about that.
- Let’s finish these together, okay?
- Just like we did on the boat.
(TO BE CONTINUED …)
(Bedroom, Suitcase)
The night is quiet.
A melodic knock raps on the door, careful and a little hesitant.
With a soft click, the door opens on its own, spilling out a warm yellow glow.
She peeks her face in, almost like a dolphin bobbing her head out of the water.
A figure is waiting under the lamplight, just like the stories said.
Calm as a tree.
Barcarola
- Hello.
Green eyes look into hers, patient, ready to listen.
Barcarola
- Pardon me, I know it’s late … I worried you might already be resting.
Druvis III
- No need to be so formal, Miss Musician.
Nightfall is the only time she could squeeze in to come visit the reclusive lady.
Barcarola
- I have a question. And it’s really quite important to me, so …
Druvis III
- If it concerns me, I’m happy to offer what help I can. Please, ask.
Barcarola twists her fingers into her skirt. The hem bunches in her hands. The druid before her holds a quiet authority.
She hopes for—but also fears—the answer.
Barcarola
- Ms. Druvis, I wanted to know …
- If there is a way to transplant Compassare.
Druvis III
- …
Even a short rest between beats makes her heart clench.
Druvis III
- You mean you want to grow Compassare inside the suitcase?
Barcarola
- Y-yes! Is that possible?
Druvis III
- Even in my time, it was rare. It only grows on remote islands far away.
- For a short time, plants like those became madly popular. Then, not long after really, they were replaced by pills and miracle elixirs.
The lady walks alongside creeping vines and silent trunks as she combs her memory.
Druvis III
- I suppose it was a matter of patience. There aren’t many willing to wait around for a plant to grow.
- That’s part of why, even when trade reached those islands, Compassare never made its way beyond them.
- I’m afraid that plants, like people, have homelands. Compassare cannot thrive anywhere else.
The answer strikes Barcarola with all the force of a broken string in the middle of a performance and carries with it the very same hot panic.
Barcarola
- You mean there’s no way at all? I don’t know much about plants, but what if I’m very careful? Like, incredibly, super careful?
- Even if I might only grow one …
Druvis III
- Plants are much pickier than you might imagine.
- Perhaps you might plant it here, yes, but whatever grows from those seeds would no longer be Compassare.
Barcarola
- You mean it’d just be normal grass?
Druvis III
- The people of Nukutaeao know their soil. They grow their Compassare in ways passed down through generations. It’s more than just grass. It’s an integral part of their culture.
- And culture cannot be so easily transplanted.
Barcarola
- But what about Fatutu?
- She used the last Compassare to make those Sea Mother’s Eyes. It’s my fault.
A quiet sigh.
Druvis III
- You came here for your friend.
Barcarola
- I wanted to help her, but everything seemed more simple in my head.
Druvis III
- Your friend already came to see me earlier.
Barcarola
- …!
Druvis III
- She knew the nature of Compassare. She knew what would happen when it left the island.
- Still, she asked me whether there was any magic that could keep Compassare alive outside its home?
It was a simple, beautiful wish—one heartbreaking to answer.
Druvis III
- She thought I might be like a druid from a story she read, someone who could do anything. She placed her hopes in me.
- If we were truly inside a story, I would rewrite this chapter for her.
- But the story of nature can only be written by nature itself.
Barcarola
- …
- Thank you, Ms. Druvis.
A vine curls up to her shoulder, its open leaves brushing her cheek.
A small tree planted nearby, stirred awake by arcane skill, gently offers its presence.
Druvis III
- This is a Lumin tree. Its leaves and buds can glow. Break off a twig and place it in water. It will grow roots.
- Once the roots clump, plant them in soil, and the branch will grow back into a tree.
- Perhaps it will help you light up the night.
The water in the vase gently ripples as the Lumin branch sways.
Following guidance from her nature-loving friend, she trims the branch at a slanted angle, finds a slender-necked vase tucked away in the corner, and fills it with clear water.
Sure enough, it begins to glow, lighting up a small corner of the room.
The event is drawing near. She intends to bring this glowing branch with her today, hoping it will soothe the ripples in Fatutu’s heart.
(Bedroom, Suitcase)
Barcarola
- Maybe this means we won’t need to use as much of their Compassare.
- Fatutu … Fatutu?
- Emm?
The room where they were making Sea Mother’s Eyes together is empty now.
All the Sea Mother’s Eyes have been completed, neatly lined up against the wall.
The palm-bark shells are finely woven, carefully crafted, decorated with white seashells, and seamlessly merged with the Compassare roots.
Barcarola
- She finished them already! Did she even sleep?
- Where did she go?
She rushes out from the room like a stirring wind.
Sonetto
- Miss Barcarola?
Barcarola
- I … I can’t find Fatutu.
Sonetto
- Miss Fatutu?
Barcarola
- We promised to make the Sea Mother’s Eyes together, but she finished all of them during the night! And now she’s gone.
Sonetto frowns, thinking.
Sonetto
- Today’s the Suitcase Trade Fair. There’ll be more people around than usual. Let’s split up and ask around. See if anyone’s seen her.
Barcarola
- Great!
Her skirt flutters behind her as she dashes off in search of her friend.
(Camp - Morning)
An open-air campsite is starting to take shape into the impromptu Suitcase Trade Fair.
Half-open crates, rolled-up clothes, signs, standing lamps, little tents.
Barcarola weaves through the scattered clutter as Fatutu’s name lies coiled on her tongue.
Barcarola
- So long as Fatutu can hear me, she won’t just stay quiet.
She inhales deeply, building up a voice that could rival any instrument, just about to shout—
—when a hand taps her on the shoulder.
Vertin
- Miss Barcarola.
Barcarola
- Huff—*cough*
The gasp of air chokes her all at once, and she’s left coughing uncontrollably.
The culprit gently pats her, waiting for the coughing to settle.
Vertin
- We’ve found Fatutu.
Barcarola
- Is she alright? Is she safe?
Vertin
- I think she needs a bit of time to herself. Sonetto and I chose not to disturb her.
- She’ll reach out again when the time is right.
- Would you be willing to be there when that moment comes?
Barcarola’s feet answer faster than her mouth.
She leaves behind only the sight of her retreating back and a voice drifting from afar.
Barcarola
- Of course, I would!
(TO BE CONTINUED …)
(Lakeside)
The stillness of the girl sitting in front of her contrasts with the rush of her arrival.
The lake lies quiet, holding a long, wordless note.
Fatutu
- Miss Barcarola.
She pauses.
Her shell necklace hangs low. Her fingers run over its ridges again and again, finding deep and familiar grooves.
Fatutu
- I remember you once said that you made the decision to leave your home all by yourself.
The ocean breeze swept across the deck that night as three girls shared secrets. Some kept theirs close; others let them drift.
Fatutu
- What did that feel like?
Faced with the calm and direct question, Barcarola allows herself to slip into memory.
She remembers when she chose to leave, standing in the plaza of Cremona, looking out toward the river, picturing the open sea beyond.
A white dove took flight, skimming past rooftops. By the time it flapped again, she felt she was already aboard.
Wind in her hair, heart soaring.
She had never imagined someone would ask her this. Perhaps to everyone else, the answer seemed obvious: a daring musician who sailed the waves should be fearless.
But her friend is from a world so different from her own. The answer she gives now must feel just as strange.
She hesitates. The moment hangs like the seconds before a symphony.
Barcarola
- It was what I wanted. I felt … happy.
- In Cremona, all anyone could ever talk about and play was the violin. I didn’t want to hear just one instrument my whole life.
- I wanted to go everywhere, to find every instrument in the world, to hear them, to play them.
- That was my dream, and it still is.
- I think “home” means something different to everyone.
- Cremona means something else to me now than it did then.
- I do miss it sometimes.
- You could say it was only after leaving Cremona that I came to miss it at all.
Fatutu slinks her head into her shoulders.
Her shells are clinking between her fingers.
Fatutu
- You’re right.
- We lived on our island, knowing nothing of the world beyond.
- And because of that, we never wondered what the outside was like. We were content with what was in front of us.
- The Nukutai don’t stay away from home for long. We only ever set one course.
- Maybe … maybe it does mean something different. For us, it was the thing we were most afraid of losing, afraid of drifting away from it—never to see it again.
Barcarola
- Tutu?
Fatutu
- When we went out to sea, when we fished or planted, we only ever dealt with our own kin.
- We never trusted the merchants we traded with. They were always outsiders to us.
- Then, when the island sank, we felt we had to trust, but we trusted the wrong people, and we lost our way.
- I started doubting things the moment I stepped on that ship.
Barcarola
- I remember. You were already starting to think maybe the outside world wasn’t as scary as they said?
She nods almost imperceptibly.
Fatutu
- I saw how the crew would cry out to one another, their faces so full of joy, like how Nukutai smile after the trade season.
- I saw that girl—the other musical girl from the suitcase. She had her own ship. She stood there so proud, so striking.
- And then I saw you, Barcarola.
- People boarded the “Free Breeze” from all over the world, and they’d all stop to listen to your music.
Her words ring with so much sincerity that the musician can’t quite bring herself to face her friend.
Fatutu looks out over the lake, in a stare that feels calm but tangled, like a knotted rope that’s come loose, only to twist again.
Fatutu
- Then I thought, if this world is really so full of hate and despair, why is everyone here so happy?
- And if we were wrong, and the world wasn’t cruel, why did it swallow our island whole?
Barcarola
- I don’t think it was anyone’s fault. We just lived through a storm the likes of which no one’s ever seen.
A storm that dragged nearly everyone into the depths, without mercy.
Barcarola
- When I first left, all I really wanted was to see what instruments people in other lands played and what kind of music they made.
- But before I could even find those instruments, I saw the passengers instead. And I saw that they were happy.
- I also noticed that so often their first requests were to ask me to play something from their homeland.
- Sometimes it brought them comfort; sometimes it didn’t.
She remembers those passengers, caught in moments of joy, followed by long, aching silences.
Barcarola
- I realized then that there is no one in the world who is truly happy all the time. We all carry a little regret and a little sadness inside of us.
Fatutu
- You’re right.
- That’s something you only understand once you’ve set sail beyond your own shores.
- Even so, knowing all this …
- We paid too high a price.
She lifts her shell necklace. Each piece a different shape, worn smooth by time.
Fatutu
- In Nukutaeao, when you trust someone, you carefully pick out a shell, polish it with care, and add it to their necklace.
- You can tell who is the most loved by who has the longest necklace.
- It would trail to their ankles, then wrap around their neck—once, twice, three times over.
She has one of those long shell necklaces, a symbol of the trust from the Nukutai.
Fatutu
- I always dreamed of having the longest necklace.
- And we’d always … always be in Nukutaeao, with my brother, Toa, and Selone.
- We’d always be there together.
She holds her head steady, as if trying to keep her gaze from falling into the deep water ahead.
Until at last she can’t carry the weight anymore. She folds at the waist, falling like a wilting leaf.
She buries her face in her hands and trembles.
Tears stream out through her fingers, falling one by one into the lake.
It becomes a deep and sorrowful sob.
Fatutu
- I always feared what my brother told me, that if we stayed away from home too long, the shells would crack and never be whole again.
- He’s gone now. Toa’s gone. We left Nukutaeao. And these shells … they’re still whole.
Fatutu
- Kamuta … brother … I … I wish more than anything that what you said was true.
- I really, really do wish it were.
(TO BE CONTINUED …)
(Camp - Morning)
Sonetto
- Timekeeper? Are these all the things you plan to trade at the Trade Fair?
Vertin
- Yes. These were the only books I could find that were still in decent shape.
Sonetto
- Advanced Clock Repair, The Beauty of Poetic Cadence, Mastering the Art of Communication …
Sonetto glances over the titles, a flicker of surprise in her eyes.
Sonetto
- Have you read all of these, Timekeeper?
Vertin
- I’ve finished them.
Sonetto flips through the books. The pages are crisp, clearly read but well-preserved, almost new.
Vertin
- What are you holding there, Sonetto?
Sonetto
- Oh, just some collage journals. I decorated the covers.
She seems unsure of how to explain her creations, opening the covers, closing them again, then opening them once more.
Sonetto
- You can paste anything on the blank pages inside. There are no rules.
Vertin
- I remember you used to make these back in school.
Sonetto
- Ah, yes, Timekeeper. It’s a—a habit of mine.
Vertin
- I’m sure someone at the Trade Fair will like them.
Sonetto
- Mm, I hope so.
- Timekeeper, Miss Barcarola told me she and Fatutu are preparing some things to trade as well.
- This is all thanks to you and Miss Barcarola. I never imagined we’d be hosting a trade fair here.
She looks at the stalls taking shape. Each one is fitted with a Sea Mother’s Eye, waiting to be lit under the afternoon sun.
Sonetto
- And so many people showed up today.
Sotheby
- Oh! Watch out for the potion chest. There are still a few Startle Hoppers in there for my potion ingredients. They’ll guarantee that Ms. Sotheby’s booth is the highlight of this Jigjog Trade Fair.
- Also, also, my Typhon charm! It has to hang right in the center! Little Typhon will bring me tons of customers!
Sonetto
- Miss Sotheby, please keep a close eye on your belongings.
Ms. NewBabel
- My dear alchemist, you simply must take a look at these newly bred critters—intelligent, docile, and perfect for potion testing.
- Oh, darling, don’t worry. Today’s trades are just for demonstration. I wouldn’t dream of going all out.
A lively voice calls out from the side.
X
- Welcome, welcome! With funds presently dwindling, I’ve been forced to liquidate some of my most beloved inventions!
- A round-the-clock paperless printer! Critter footprint transfer analyzer! Pixel conversion lenses!
- Cash accepted, as well as trades for worthy inventions …
The crowd swells. The place is buzzing.
The first-ever Suitcase Trade Fair officially begins.
A gentle melody floats through the air, opening the day’s celebration.
Barcarola plays her Crackling Box. Some stop to listen; others pass by, eager to browse the bustling stalls.
Some hesitate. Some haggle.
And more still are drawn to the stall beside her.
Sea Mother’s Eyes from Nukutaeao, shell necklaces, conch whistles, woven walking sticks …
And the people who brought them from Nukutaeao.
These handmade items from the sea draw eyes from all around. One after another, visitors gather at the stall.
Fatutu
- Welcome! Come see what Nukutaeao has to offer!
Nukutai I
- These necklaces and sticks are handwoven.
Nukutai II
- These shells once kept us safe on the sea.
Barcarola shifts to a cheerful tune, lifting spirits even higher.
Selone
- We welcome all trades and traders. Browse as you like!
Little by little, items are taken and more are left behind, filling the Nukutai stall.
As dusk settles, Sea Mother’s Eyes pass from hand to hand, lighting every corner of their outdoor site.
Wherever the musician plays, the light burns a little brighter.
A Lumin branch, newly sprouted and finding its roots, stands in a slender-necked vase.
Two Sea Mother’s Eyes carved with musical motifs lie near it with special decorations.
Three little Typhon lanterns, traded between Sotheby and Fatutu, sway gently with the music.
Besides …
Lucy
- In bartering, where value is judged on the spot, estimations of a trade’s final worth must be assessed through future use.
- Number of items requiring high-power output: 0.
- Internal suitcase power supply usage: 20%. Ranking: … Low.
- Consider your energy use here adequately compensated.
Vertin
- Thank you for your generosity, Madam Lucy.
Lucy
- Don’t sweat it.
Before midnight, everything the Nukutai had brought to trade is gone.
Vertin
- Miss Fatutu.
Fatutu
- Timekeeper! We’re all out of things to trade. Are those what you got from the fair?
She sees a few books, neatly tucked at Timekeeper’s side.
Vertin
- Just the ones … that didn’t get traded.
Fatutu
- I see!
- Timekeeper, I saved a shell necklace for you.
A necklace strung with shells—a dazzling array of shapes and colors—delicate and distinct.
Fatutu
- This one follows the traditional Nukutaeao style more closely.
- Timekeeper, all of us are truly grateful to you and the Foundation for letting us stay here.
Selone
- For Fatutu and all of us to have a new home, we’re so thankful.
Nukutai I
- Yes, those complicated forms—we never could’ve filled them out without your help.
Nukutai II
- Especially that library registration.
Vertin
- Of course. Are any of you interested in these books?
The islanders squint at the titles, trading thoughts and guesses about their meanings.
Selone
- “Clock Repair” … Ah, for the machine they use to tell time …
Fatutu steps closer, a question shining in her eyes.
Fatutu
- Timekeeper, I’ve been meaning to ask you something.
- A long time ago, my brother told me that if a Nukutai were ever to leave their home, their shell would crack.
She runs her fingers along her necklace. Each shell remains intact and unbroken.
Fatutu
- I never quite understood if he meant it. We never ventured far enough to see.
She passes the necklace to Timekeeper. Even under the night sky, it gleams under the Sea Mother’s Eyes.
A quiet, distant power still flows within, tracing every line, gliding through its grooves.
Vertin
- I can feel it.
- Could it be that your brother was right? It’s just that …
- You never left your home. That’s why it’s still whole.
The island girl doesn’t seem to have a reply or a reaction ready.
Until a Nukutai voice calls her name.
Selone
- Fatutu! Timekeeper! We’ve decided.
Nukutai I
- We’re keeping this one—Mastering the Art of Communication!
They walk over to Fatutu, wearing smiles that are as familiar to her as the grooves of her shells.
She’s seen them by the bonfire, on the beach, opened wide in song, and riding the ocean wind—they always knew they could go home.
Because it was always beneath their feet, behind them, or just ahead.
Fatutu
- Could it be? That’s …
- … That’s wonderful.
(TO BE CONTINUED …)
(Lakeside)
Fatutu
- Selone, did you finish your book?
Selone
- I did, but I didn’t understand most of it.
- It says when facing different people, you use different greetings, and even different smiles.
- I get the greeting part, but I guess I’ve never noticed how smiles can be different.
- The book says, “Lift your eyebrows, then curl your lips up,” like this.
She lifts the corners of her mouth with her fingers, trying to mimic the motion.
Then drops her hands, and laughs.
Fatutu
- I get it! Remember how brother used to laugh like that when he had just caught a fish? Or when he was climbing trees for fruit and fell out—that was another laugh, all wobbly and silly.
Selone
- It did seem to help the pain. Maybe we need to learn this silly kind of laugh to feel better?
Fatutu
- All we really need to do is learn to laugh again.
Selone
- Like this?
She lets out a bold, familiar laugh.
Nukutai I
- Sound’s just like the old days!
Nukutai II
- No one needs to teach us how to laugh.
Fatutu
- Exactly. The Nukutai people have always known how.
The calm lake ripples with the sound of laughter.
When the first proverb appears on the shell, we reach the shores of elsewhere—the island, the upturned palm of Mother Sea.
The once drifting boat now beds itself in the golden sand.
When the second proverb appears on the shell, we kindle the fire—the crackling warmth, the spark of hope.
The joyful people are long blessed as one.
When the third proverb appears on the shell, we accept the sea’s gift—the rolling waves, the plentiful fish.
The cool sea breeze cradles us.
Selone
- Fatutu, I’m heading back to the library.
- I’m going to start a new book.
- I’ll tell you about it next time!
Nukutai I
- That clock repair book was interesting after all; we’re going to try our hands at it.
Nukutai II
- Took us all day to read one page!
Nukutai I
- What a project!
The people of Nukutaeao head off again, busy with their new lives.
Fatutu remains behind, facing out at the water of the lake.
Her hand reaches for her chest, to a shell necklace that holds new pieces.
A music note pin, dancing between waves.
A miniature vintage record.
A collage stamp showing the four seasons.
A delicate silver pocket watch on a single chain.
Together, they form part of a brand-new necklace.
The island girl closes her eyes, wondering where the wind might carry her.
And softly hums a tune.
“Swept into the tide, scattered by the wind, gone into the mist.”
“Let the siren’s song not lead me astray; let nightmare’s voice not steal me from my home.”
“The shell’s warning keeps me on course. Its grooves show me the path.”
“I will return. I have returned.”
(THE END)