Obsidian and Stars (Ivory and Bone #2)(3)
Something inside me lurches sideways at the thought of this disparity—Kol out hunting, running, working with his wits and his weapons, while I stand here, expectant, dressed in these stiff, formal clothes, holding a spear like an ornament instead of a weapon.
I’m broken from my thoughts by the movement of the others up the path. Seeri gives my arm a small squeeze as she passes, and when I look into her face she beams as if a light burns inside her. I need to try to be more like her. Relaxed. Trusting. Willing to let people see that there’s light and heat in me, too.
I told Kol I trusted him the day of Lo’s burial, lying next to him in the grass, his cool hand on my back, his warm lips on mine. That memory never leaves me. If only the trust I felt that day could be just as constant.
We travel in a quick procession up the slope to the center of camp, to the meeting place. The whole clan is out, readying the midday meal, and everyone jumps to their feet, calling to us, offering us each a place to sit and food to eat.
If they notice my clothing, my hair, all the hints to my purpose in coming here, they make nothing of it. The meal is mussels and roasted lupine roots, and the portions—though far from skimpy—are not robust. My mat is far lighter than at any other meal I’ve shared with this clan. My thoughts go to Kol and the hunting party, as I realize the pressure they must feel.
After we eat, Lees helps Roon gather empty mats before the two of them disappear into the kitchen. Good for them, I think, envying the lack of notice they enjoy. Chev seems oblivious to the preference they clearly show each other. Instead, he is caught up in speaking with Mala and other elders—Mala’s sister, Ama, who brought in the shellfish, and a man I believe to be the High Elder’s brother.
As they talk, the clan goes back to their tasks. Two boys sit down with Urar, the Manu healer, to help him sort sharply fragrant herbs. A group of women twist stalks of stinging nettle into twine. Mala talks and smiles, smiles and talks, but her eyes move frequently to the shadows of the huts, measuring their progress along the ground. The wind shifts, from a gentle sea breeze to gusts coming down from the east, and she shivers, even though it is far from cold. Her sister, Ama, moves to sit beside her, leaning close and saying something into her ear.
When the sun is hanging over the tops of the spindly trees that stand out in silhouette across the ridge to the west, my brother finally goes quiet. Mala’s mouth draws down at the corners. Her eyes have darkened.
“We’ll go and look for them,” my brother says. “They do not know that we are here, so they take their time. We will go call them home, and help them bring in the kill.”
“I should come to lead the way,” Kol’s mother says, turning in the place where she sits on a large stone beside the unlit hearth, looking over her shoulder toward the meadow as if she might have heard something. I look up too, but the only new sound is the call of geese passing overhead. There is nothing new to see but the even strokes of their wings.
“No need,” says Chev. “You should wait here, in case they return by another route. I’m sure we remember the way into the hills since the last time we hunted with your clan.”
Kol’s mother falls silent. The chorus of conversation of those scattered around the meeting place goes quiet too.
How can any of us remember that hunting trip and not remember the saber-toothed cat that I killed, the cat that threatened to kill Kol? How can we think about any hunting trip between our two clans and not think of death?
We move quickly, and before the sun has brushed the tops of the trees on the ridge, Seeri, Chev, and I are ready to hike north into the meadow, then east into the hills. Lees and Roon will stay here. They are not too young to face the risks of hunting—Lees has hunted many times at home—but perhaps too young to come along on a trip such as this one, with so much uncertainty about what we might find. No one says this, of course, but everyone thinks it—probably even Lees and Roon.
I raise my hand to shield my eyes as I look back at them—Mala, Lees, and Roon—and the wind rattles the ivory beads in my hair. I had forgotten they were there. My hand moves to touch them, to trace over Ela’s handiwork, and Lees lifts her hand and waves.
Roon waves too, and my mind catches on the sight of them, standing side by side. A thought leaps to me as I hurry to catch up to Seeri, who strides behind my brother up the sloping path.
Do not think of it, I tell myself. Do not open a flap in the roof and let such a thought blow in. And yet the thought is there.
Of the three of us—me, Seeri, and Lees—Lees is the only one who is certain to see the boy she came to see.
TWO
We take the trail we walked with Kol’s parents, on that morning not long ago when the three of us arrived, uninvited, on the Manu’s shore. The day we hiked to the meadow to meet Kol and his brother Pek.
The day I first saw Kol and first learned his name.
We hike in silence, except for the birds that nest in the grass, fluttering into flight as we shuffle by. When we are well away from camp the rising ground levels off, the north wind blows hard against our faces, and the tall grass mixes with wildflowers.
We’ve reached the meadow, and Kol is everywhere.
I imagine I see him as he was on that morning when we first arrived, the morning my heart overflowed with insult and contempt. He stood with Pek, watching us approach, and I felt his assessing gaze.