Keepers of the Moon

Hautamahine, 909 CE

Hautamahine, 909 CE

I could hear the rushing of the ocean, the crashing of the waves and the sounds of large birds. I could feel the washing sand against my face and the sun on my back. I could see it through the red haze of my hair. Everything hurt and I couldn’t lift my arms or legs. I knew that I had reached land, but the memory of the storm still raged in my mind. My body was still being tossed by the waves and my lungs were still fighting for air. My heart beat in the rhythm of the passing storm, still too fast.

And yet.

I still longed for the ocean and the swelling waves. I still wanted to feel the salt spray on my skin and the rigging in my hands. The sand was unwelcome, the steadiness of the shore was uncanny. I needed to go back.

The feeling was so strong that I pushed myself up with stiff limbs and a moan escaped from my lips. I was dizzy, too dizzy and let myself fall into the warm sand again. The ocean still washing at my feet. Not close enough.

Voices penetrated my mind, excited and worried voices. A language I didn’t speak, but a beautiful language nonetheless. I could feel the connection to the water in their words and the adventurous nature in their tone. These people didn’t live from the ocean, but with the ocean. I felt their love, it was the same as mine.

Soft hands turned my body over and carefully brushed my hair from my eyes. I blinked against the fiery sun, but even then I could see the eyes. The dark pools, that radiated life in its purest form. Kind and adventurous eyes. Eyes that questioned where I came from, how I got here and if was alright, all at the same time. They were the eyes of a young lad, with dark sun-kissed skin and shimmering black curls. He said something to me, but his words made no sense and I couldn’t move.

He proceeded to lift me up and with amazing ease he walked over the beach, followed closely by the other people that had found me. The canopy was a welcome break from the bashing sun and the smell of flowers awakened my senses. For so long the ocean had been my only companion, that I’d almost forgotten what a tree looked like. The large bright green leaves reached up towards the sky, searching for the sun. Heavy green coconuts clustered around the top. It was a sea of green, set against the bright blue sky.

Strong but careful arms took me deeper into the ocean of trees all the while chanting a string of reassuring words. My body was already healing, I could feel some of my strength return into my limbs. He carried me to a small village where the houses had no walls, but sturdy woven roofs made of coconut and pandan leaves. I could hear the chatter of people and the buzzing of children all around. I heard an elderly voice speaking animatedly about something, people listening with awe. I could hear the rush of the wind through the open buildings and working hands weaving and cooking. A humid warmth stuck to me now that I was put down onto a woven mat inside on of the buildings.

Now that I was no longer in contact with the ocean I could feel my heart yearning and my stomach was protesting at the steady ground. Yet the cold stone was a welcoming sensation after so many burning days. I let out a sigh of relief.

The dark brown eyes reappeared in front of my face, they still looked at me with worry and curiosity. Though his words still made no sense. Someone else lifted my head slightly and poured some fresh water into my mouth. I swallowed and only now I felt how dehydrated I was. I realised that I had lost all track of time, with no way of knowing how long it had been since the storm set me adrift. I just knew that my boat was wrecked and that I was stuck for the time being.

Nothing new there.

I had been sailing for over 30 years, learning everything I could about the ocean and the world. I had a pretty solid map already inside my head. I learned quickly enough that the world was a whole lot bigger than just Keltia. Now I found something new and I was as excited as I was scared. Because sometimes the people I met on my journeys were less than friendly, or had such different perspectives on life that I would be in danger. But the soft voices and their connection with the ocean made me feel slightly better.

I slowly sat up, looking at their beautiful round faces, dark curls and decorated skins. They were only wearing skirts made of pandan leaves. The young lad that carried me here handed me another cup of water which I gratefully drank.

‘Thank you,’ my voice was still raspy, I just hoped that I could convey my gratitude, because neither of us could understand each other.

The boy just nodded and looked at me with more and more curious eyes. A young lady combed her fingers through my hair, while feeling the stubborn curls with her fingers. Other people joined in and compared my skin to theirs and mine was incredibly white next to theirs. Their hands also caressed my light green cotton shirt and white silky trousers. I’d apparently lost my shoes because I wasn’t wearing any.

Still too dizzy to stand up, I brushed the sand of my face and shook it out of my hair. There was so much of it. In order to stop the people from touching me I combed most of my hair back and quickly braided it. This way it was no longer in their hands and in my face.

The boy started talking to me, but I couldn’t follow him. His language was unlike any other I ever heard before. The sounds were short, yet musical. Just as before I could hear the connection to the ocean in the words and their drive to explore the world. When he finally understood that I didn’t get a word from what he said he stopped. A little defeated he looked at me.

He was beautiful.

Then he put both hands on his chest and uttered a single word.

‘Manaia.’

He repeated it when I didn’t respond. Then it hit me.

I too put my hands on my chest and doubted for a second.

‘Mairin.’

He smiled at me and repeated my name.

If I had known then, what I know now, I probably never would’ve stayed. Yet I didn’t know, so the island would be my home for the next century and never leave my mind again.