The vision was so clear, she could see rain drops splattering on her hands. The smell of the sea was sharp today, whipped up fresh. The wind sang an eerie song as it moved through the rigging and snapped the taunt sails. A stinging cold cut through her wet clothing like so many needles. A huge wave smashed against the bow and the spray left a salty taste on her lips. Somebody screamed they were all going to die. Vaheana had never been happier.
She was at the wheel of a great ship she had never seen before. A tall thing of beauty woven together like a braid of wood, canvas and rope. A living breathing thing she could feel moving beneath her bare feet. A strong gust of wind slammed into them from the side, so she braced her foot and leaned with her ship. Yes, it was her ship. She didn't know where the knowing and familiarity came from, but it was there. She spoke the language of the pitching deck, the tension of the rudder, and the groan of the mast. The ship was not worried, it was doing what ships do, sailing.
On the day she was born, a tempest battered the island and tried to rip branches from trees and tress from sand. Her parents named her Vaheana, the Sand Maru word for storm. Her father taught her to be proud of her name, and to embrace a thing that others fear. Some of her best childhood memories were sitting with her father on a high spot watching the lightning. "The balance of energy is always the same, it just changes places. From sky to sand, from strong to weak, from fearful to brave," he would say. "The storm chose to honor you on the day you were born. It may draw ikaika (strength) away from others, but it will always give back to you."
In her vision, in the midst of the terror, there was joy. Men all around her yelled in fear. One man prayed to a God she had never heard of. Another man cried for a family left behind. Vaheana laughed. Lighting was her aumakua, her protective guardian. The ship leaned heavily with a wave and her hands slipped on the wheel. She needed more strength to weather the storm. Just then a lightning bolt struck the sea not half a mile from the ship, the thunder roared, and the hairs on her arms stood one end. She raised a fist into the air and screamed into the wind. "Yes! Ikaika!" Another lightning strike, this one behind the ship. It lit up the sea in front of them and showed her the path the ship needed to follow. It also lit up the faces of the terrified crewmen, looking behind her. The hair on the back of her neck was standing on end now, and the cold from earlier was forgotten. She was warm, she was happy, and she was full of Ikaika. "I am Vaheana!" she screamed, "I am the storm!"
Waking up was so awful, she nearly sobbed at the loss of the dream. It was like joy had been shown to her and then taken away. Vaheana didn't know if she could bear to get out of bed today, but knew she had to. There was something in her dream that stuck in her head, something important. Most of the crew in her dream were scared, and most of their faces were terrified; except one. One person looked at her with something different. She didn't know if it was curiosity, friendship, or admiration, but it had a hint of all three. She had never seen that face before until yesterday. The only face she recognized in her vision was a young sailor who washed up on the beach of her island yesterday. She didn't know his name yet, but she was going to find out today. She wanted to see his face again; to make sure it was the same one from her vision. He was tied to her vision in a way she didn't understand just yet.
Today she was going to meet that young sailor. She was going to learn his name and listen to his story. She was going to learn all she could to help her chances of standing on the deck of that ship and holding that wheel. Vaheana rolled out of bed and started to get dressed for the day. She could still taste the sea on her lips.
THIS IS AN EXCERPT FROM GERARD'S FORTUNE,
BOOK ONE IN THE SHARP TALES SERIES.
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