Obsidian and Stars (Ivory and Bone #2)(33)

Still, little by little, I rise.

Hand over hand, foot over foot. My fingers dig so deep into the cracks within the stone, my skin tears and blood coats my hands. I hardly notice. It doesn’t matter. All my focus is on my toe pressing into the rock, finding a foothold. Then another. The climbing gets easier. I pull in a breath, and a hint of hope expands inside me.

When I can see over the top of the wall—when I can feel grass under my reaching hand—I let that hope take hold. I scramble up the last few steps until I’m standing, looking down on Kol and the bear.

From here, I can see the size of him. He is tall enough to look Kol in the eye, and he is almost as wide as Kol’s arm span. Even the spears protruding from his side look small and inconsequential from here.

I move quickly, scooping up three big stones from the ground. Breathless and shaking, I fling the first one at the path behind the bear. It lands hard, and I throw the second from behind him, hitting him squarely in the back. He swings his head around. The last rock lands against his rear leg, and the bear lets out a growl of warning as he shifts his feet, lumbering in a circle toward the unseen aggressor that would dare attack him a second time from behind.

With the bear distracted, I turn my attention to Kol. I watch him sweep his eyes over the ledge until he sees me. Relief flashes across his face. I want to shout his name, but I don’t dare make a sound. Instead I silently drop to the ground and reach for him.

Flat on my stomach, I extend my arms. Kol takes my hands.

The ground, cold and hard, digs into the skin of my hips. Kol’s arms interlace with mine and I shift all my weight back, pushing hard into the ground beneath my knees.

My blood-slick hands slide along the inside of Kol’s sleeves, and a sticky red trail coats the sealskin. Kol slips away, slithering out of my grip.

I lunge forward, grabbing his hands, and one foot catches under him. His weight shifts. He pushes off that foot, and he moves closer to me. My hands clutch the hide of his parka, and he springs upward. All at once, his chest rises over the edge of the rock. One leg swings over. Then the other.

With one final grunt, he flips his body onto the ground beside me.

For a moment I hover over him. Relief crowds out every thought, and I forget to speak. I forget to cry. All I do is drop to the dirt beside him and pull him into my arms.

I would stay like this if I could. I wouldn’t need to ask him how he came here or why. I wouldn’t need to ask him anything at all. If I could simply lie on the ground here and hold on to him, knowing he is safe.

But he won’t lie still. He sits up, and before I can stop him he is climbing to his feet, running a hand over his hair.

It comes away coated in blood.

For a moment, he stares wide-eyed at his hand. “I think,” he starts, but he doesn’t finish. His left leg buckles beneath him, and he drops down hard onto his knee. “Still a little weak, I guess,” he says. I remember the night of the stampede. The deep cuts in his knee.

I crouch down in front of him. “How bad are you? Can you walk?”

He slumps forward and blood runs across his forehead and down his cheek. I think of Noni and her feverweed—the claims she made that it could stop the flow of blood. Would I know the plant if I saw it? My eyes sweep the sparse shrubs and vines that grow between the rock face and the trees.

Before he gives me his answer, a twig snaps.

Then another.

The sound comes from the shade of the woods, just about fifteen paces from the ledge . . . just ten paces from where we sit.

I look at Kol, and I realize what a grave mistake I’ve made. To climb the rock to get above him, I was forced to drop my pack and leave it behind. My pack with the atlatl and darts.

And our spears are in the bear.

I reach for my knife—the small thin blade of flint tucked into Ama’s sling that is tied at my waist, and I know that this weapon will be useless against a short-faced bear. Or a wolf. Or any other predator that might step out of the shade and into the sunlight.

I glance back at the way we just came, wondering if it would be possible for us to flee by going down the rock face. I could retrieve my pack. But would we be putting ourselves back in the path of a wounded bear?

Could Kol even make that jump, I wonder, as he swipes more blood away from his eyes.

One more snap of a twig—this one louder than the others before it, and I prepare to scramble down. I’ll help him. . . . I’ll ease him over the ledge.

But then I hear my name, and I turn back.

At the edge of the clearing, just this side of the trees, stands Chev.





FOURTEEN


Framed by the branches that edge the woods, my brother’s face peers at me like the face of a ghost. My thoughts reel, fighting and thrashing at the end of an unseen cord like a harpooned seal fighting against the rope.

Chev couldn’t have known where to find us without Kol. Kol must have brought him here. Because here he is, not surprised to see me, but surprised to see Kol on the ground, blood flowing down his face.

“What happened?” Chev asks, as he rushes to Kol and drops to his knees. He takes his head in his hands, tilting it to look at his wound.

Watching him, I want to shout for him to back away. I want to scream that he is not needed to tend to Kol’s injuries. But I know it won’t help Kol if I fight with my brother now. Instead, I speak in a voice just loud enough to be heard. “I can take care of him. There’s a plant on this island that slows the flow of blood. I’ll find some. We can use it to treat his wounds.”