Obsidian and Stars (Ivory and Bone #2)(36)

“Or else to confront me,” I say. “To change my mind about his proposition.”

Chev doesn’t reply, and I go quiet, too, letting his words echo inside my head. Weakening the clan. “You don’t believe that, do you? That an alliance with the Manu will make us weak? It can only make us stronger—”

“Be patient with Morsk, Mya,” Chev says. “He only wants what’s best. And he thinks the Manu may gain too much influence over the Olen, if so many sisters of the High Elder are married to sons of the Manu High Elder—”

“But we won’t be married to the High Elder’s sons. Kol is the High Elder now—”

“You know what I mean. But I understand you, as well. And I agree with you, mostly. I think the alliance with the Manu will strengthen us, as long as we are vigilant about our independence. We wouldn’t want to let ourselves be absorbed into another clan. There’s too much at stake—our history, our stories, our customs could all be lost.

“More even than that, it would go against the will of the Divine. Don’t ever forget who created the clans, Mya. The Divine established the Bosha and chose who would lead them. She did the same for the Manu. The will of the Divine must be respected. Look what happened when Vosk and Lo went against her will. When they tried to lead a clan they were never called to lead.”

These words stir up memories in me that flash across my mind, ending with the image of Lo’s lifeless body at the bottom of her grave. “Is that why you came for us? Because our family was chosen? Were you worried Lees and I would anger the Divine?”

“The Bosha and the Olen will rejoin, Mya, and our family is called by the Divine to lead that clan. That’s true, and it’s important, but that’s not the reason I came for you and Lees.”

All this Chev says while looking at the dirt, watching the lines his knife traces on the ground. But even though he won’t look at me—even though he won’t say the words—I know that he loves me. I know that he loves Lees. Only love would have moved my stubborn brother to leave our camp and come to us. Only love and the need to be sure he doesn’t lose us.

I realize, as I watch the twists and turns traced by his knife, that I must have known this in my heart all along. It was this truth that prompted me to take the action I did.

The truth that Chev would never let us go.

“You asked before if I would have stayed away,” I say. Chev’s hand slows. Is he nervous about what I might say? “The truth is I don’t know what I’d have done.” I pause until my brother’s hand stills and his eyes meet mine. Something in his gaze reminds me of the past, when we were still children. “I never really thought I would have to decide. I think I always knew you’d come.”

“How could you have known that? I didn’t even know what I would do—”

“Because you were called by the Divine to lead. That’s always been clear to me. I guess I knew you would do the right thing.”

My words are broken off by a sound—a sound of something moving. A swish of a step. The brush of a branch.

I hear it from the left, and Chev does too. I rise up on one knee, my spear ready, when another sound comes from the right.

Chev has his spear in hand so quickly, I never see him reach for it. The knife stays ready in the other hand.

I nod toward the left. I will walk that way. He rises to his feet without a sound and glances right.

With my back almost touching my brother’s, I turn my head slowly, sweeping my eyes from the highest branches to the underbrush. “Bears, wolves . . . Morsk,” I say. “It could be any of those.” His only answer is to prop the shaft of his spear onto his shoulder. I do the same, and we each take one step into the shadows. The shade deepens, then thins, as I reach the path. I stare down into a denser stand of trees, but nothing stirs.

On the other side of the path, I find tracks. Squatting down, I see that they were made by a wolf. I pivot in place, sweeping my eyes across the dark brush, searching for movement, when I hear a voice.

Chev’s voice. A quick short cry—my name? Then silence.

I start toward the place where I left him. I try to run. He needs you, I tell myself. He called your name. He needs help.

My legs move. My eyes search. But at the center of my being, I know that I will not be able to help. I know that the cry I heard was not a cry for help at all. It was a different sort of cry.

A warning.

I crash over the trail and into the shade, my feet stuttering to a stop when I reach the place where Chev and I sat together just a few moments ago. The grooves his knife carved into the ground leap out at me. They point in a line, and I follow the direction they point as I creep farther into the trees.

I don’t have to walk far. Only ten paces. That’s where I find him. He lies on his back, his throat slashed, his blood pooling in the open hood of his parka.

His knife is gone. His spear is gone. “No no no . . .” I hear myself speaking, muttering, as I drop to my knees and press my hands to his cold, still throat.

“No, no, no,” I say again, but this time it isn’t muttered. This time it rolls out as long hard sobs. Not a wolf. Not a bear. Not an animal at all. An animal doesn’t disarm its prey.

Only a human predator will do that.

I touch Chev’s cheek. His skin is cool. I bend over and press my lips to his forehead. “I love you. I love you,” I whisper. I had the chance to say it just a few moments ago. I should have said it. I say it now, over and over, hoping that somehow Chev’s Spirit still lingers and he hears me. “Don’t go,” I sob. “Don’t leave me. Don’t leave us.”