Page 1 of Ghosts and Ginger Tea

CHAPTER ONE

Iwas not a superstitious person.

But there was something strange about this night that made my skin crawl. It was almost as if someone were watching me from the dark bushes, daring me to look into the shadows to find what monster lurked.

An owl hooted, and I shook my head, keeping my eyes on the wet, rocky road. The full moon lit the way, a silvery glow I was truly grateful for, but I still felt as though my shadow chased me.

I’m not being followed, I laughed to myself. It was the dead of night. Nobody would be out and about now.

Except me. I squared my shoulders, held out my lantern, hiked up my skirts with the other hand, and started running. My black leather boots splashed in puddles of mud from the recent rainstorm, staining my white stockings. My hair, pulled into a proper bun earlier, now fell out, with long loose strands riding the wind behind me. Mother would disapprove of my lack of propriety.

If mother makes it through the night. I shook my head and wiped sweat from my forehead. Thinking like that was not something I could afford. With medicine from the local kahuna, the medicine man, my mother would survive another night.

I couldn’t lose my mother. My younger sister, Kiki, couldn’t lose mother. Mother was the heart of our home, the breath of our community, though in the last year she had hardly stepped foot outside of the home. It almost seemed inevitable that mother would pass on and go home to Kāne, the god of light and life, soon…

My foot slipped on a root, and I inhaled sharply. Life would indeed be dull without mother’s smiles and kind words, even though Kiki and I hadn’t received such love in a while. Our home felt barren. Cold.

There was nothing left for us here. Especially with my father gone…

Not now, Oli, I told myself. I didn’t need to think about my father. Besides, he had returned to Kāne. Dead for over a month. Worrying about him was like trying to make a pōhaku kōi float. Useless. He was gone, and our family was better for it.

Well. Sort of. At least we wouldn’t have to endure his drunken words and actions, even if I was going to get married off because of my father’s love of alcohol.

The fool…

A coconut frond rustled in the wind, and I slowed down to a walk, hoping to catch my breath. After all the time I spent in the ocean, how could I possibly be out of breath?

But I knew better. It was late, and, tired as I was, there was still something strange about the mist beginning to form around me and the strange breathing sound in the wind. It filled my stomach with anxiety.

Superstitions, I laughed nervously to myself, tucking a loose piece of hair behind my ear.

My boots crunched on the road, one of the few sounds on this silent night. I was so close to the village, where the medicine man lived. My blouse itched my neck, so I pulled at it for more freedom to breathe.

Maybe I’d be able to run faster if all of this did not constrict me, I thought, and glanced towards the sea, wondering if I’d have enough energy to go spearfishing the next day. There was so much to do, and so much money I still needed to earn for my family…

I froze in my tracks as a sound penetrated through the night and straight through my thoughts.

A conch shell. The blowing of the shell rang out true. Every insect, owl, and night creature silenced, emphasizing the noise.

A lump formed in my throat. The conch shell heralded the chief’s arrival.

But that sort of thing always happened in the day, not the night. Unless…

I’m imagining things, I told myself over and over.

A drum beat started, slowly at first, then it built up a rhythm, one that matched the rapid beat of my heart. It was almost hypnotic, a cadence pulsing like the blood in my veins.

I remained on the path; the superstitions running through my mind.

The night marchers frequent paths on nights of the full moon. I couldn’t help looking at the full moon above me and the wet path ahead. Was I on their path now?

The night marchers aren’t real. Those were spooky stories kupuna told their children to keep them in line. My grandmother scared my sister and me to where we wouldn’t go out at night for weeks.

Some people claimed to have heard the night marchers, but nobody had actually seen them. After all, the rule was that when the spectral procession passed, a mortal was to prostrate him or herself and avoid eye contact, praying to Kāne that the ghosts would pass and spare them.

But those were just legends, folktales, nothing more than myths. Surely nobody had died at the hands of the phantom warriors, because they weren’t real… right?

The drumbeats intensified, growing louder by the second. It sounded as though the noise approached from behind me.