Wild Girl Chapter 6: the Valley

Then, KOA

Tiny bit of HOUSEKEEPING before we get into today’s chapter: thanks so much for following along with Koa’s story! Please hit the ❤️ to tell me (and Substack!) that you’re reading…and If you’re new, begin with the Prologue and read the other chapters to catch up!

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Star

Koa’s hands tightened into fists on the mare’s mane. Her tension translated to Star, because the horse picked up her pace.

There was no village center in the Valley, only a string of individual houses spread throughout a dense jungle along the unpaved road. Broken rock walls, from when the Valley had been densely populated, were a haunting reminder of what had been before the tsunamis. 

At a certain point the road was the only way through that section of the Valley. Koa kept Star moving quickly; evening was coming and the people of the Valley were back in their homes—but some would be out in their taro fields, working, now that the heat of the day had passed. 

Koa and Star forged two of the three streams that crossed the road, veins of water running through the wrist of the Valley. She passed a dilapidated cottage set back from its accompanying taro patch, a small place painted dark green with once-white trim. The place has been abandoned for a good while, but not long ago, a young family had moved in. 

Koa nudged Star to a canter, eyeing the abandoned child’s bike outside the back door and a clothesline that fluttered with various sizes of clothing—but she need not have worried. The blue glow of a television shining against the glass front window told her what the family was currently occupied with. 

Ella didn’t have a television. Koa had never seen what must be fascinating, to keep people so glued to a box inside a house.

Koa could identify every leaf and type of plant along the route, and almost all of it, except for the koa and ohia trees, was from somewhere else: the tall Java plum trees that arched overhead, the strawberry guava waiwi bushes from Brazil. Himalayan ginger that thrust up through the mossy rocks that had once been the walls and floors of Hawaiian hales. Colorful hibiscus grew to twenty feet tall here in the well-watered soil, and they dangled bright red blossoms over the road. 

Koa reached a clearing where a small raised wooden platform constructed of pallets was sheltered by a section of someone’s tin roof that had blown off in a storm. Like most things in the Valley, the Free Pile, painted bright turquoise with its name picked out in yellow,  it had been built of scavenged materials.

Koa slid off Star’s back. She took off the pack, unzipped it, and dug past her book and the fish fillets to grab the dense, knobby lumps of sweet potato. Each was a gentle pinkish brown color, as large around the middle as her fist and tapered on the sides. She piled the tubers at the edge of the platform where they’d be easily visible to passersby, then crossed over to the plastic cabinet in the center of the shelter where the Valley’s residents recycled clothing and household items. 

Koa’s attention went first to the books, piled in the bottom section. She squatted to peek through a teetering stack that occupied one corner: several dog eared Harlequin romances, a John Grisham the size of a brick, a book on Hawaiian mythology. Koa grabbed that; she was always eager to learn more about her culture.

She moved on, looking for something in the vampire, fantasy, or action adventure category. She saw nothing of interest until she spotted a newer-looking title, Wired Rogue, by Toby Neal, an author she’d never read. She was attracted by the bold silhouette of a woman standing against a red background of palm trees. She flipped it over and her eyes widened at the description: the thriller was set here in the Valley, at the yoga retreat center. 

“What!” She exclaimed. For years she’d  had been careful to avoid going near the place with its tents and weekly van loads of visitors. "This I have to read," she murmured, and slid it into the backpack. 

Next came clothing. Koa sorted through a mound of mixed garments, everything from zippered baby sleepers to grubby men’s work shirts. She chose a pair of wet/dry surf trunks that might fit, and then held up a dress. Flowing, soft fabric in teal blue was scattered with clear sequins that caught the light like the scales on the ulua. 

Koa stuffed it in the backpack quickly, trying to stifle her inner monologue. (where would she wear such an impractical garment? A dress meant to be seen, and no one would ever see it. A dress for dancing, and she had no music even. It didn’t matter, she wanted it and it looked like fish scales and she’d be a mermaid when she wore it.)