Obsidian and Stars (Ivory and Bone #2)(40)

“No.” I know what’s coming next before he says it.

“And you didn’t see Morsk before you found Chev dead?”

“No,” I say. For just a moment, the world around us dims. A cloud must be passing in front of the sun. And at that moment, I feel Kol draw closer to me. The stark outlines and bright contrasts fade. Light softens on his face. I hold his gaze as I shake my head. “I didn’t see him, but I believe him. I believe he came to warn us.” Kol flinches, and I remember my own sense of disappointment when I realized Morsk wasn’t my brother’s killer. The disappointment of not being able to avenge Chev so easily.

Yet Kol doesn’t drop his spear.

“Don’t you trust her?” Morsk asks. I notice his weight shift again. He leans in toward Kol—toward me—ever so slightly. “Because her judgment is the only one that matters to me. She is my High Elder now.”

She is my High Elder now.

These words roll through my mind like an echo as the cloud rolls away from the sun. Stark white light reflects from every surface. The words roll outward, then back in. But it’s not Morsk’s voice I hear, or Kol’s, or even Chev’s. It’s the voice of my father, as if he stands behind me at this very moment, one hand on my shoulder, whispering in my ear. She is my High Elder now.

The sensation of my father’s presence is so strong, I reach up and touch my shoulder, expecting to lay my hand on his. My fingers brush across my tunic—it’s warm from the heat of the sun.

Seeri’s right. We’ve been standing here too long.

“I trust that Morsk has come to help us,” I say. “And now we need to do all we can to find Lees and Noni before anyone else does.”

Seeri strides forward, her shoulders swinging as she steps around Kol and Morsk. She may have been patient during their standoff, but she is ready to move. Pek, always aware of her needs, stays close by her side. “Where do we go from here?” he asks.

“Noni—the girl we found here—told us of a lake to the south of the cliffs. She was anxious to take Lees there.”

And so we cross the path and step into the woods—woods that grow thicker and darker on the southern slopes of the cliffs, protected from the north wind. We cannot trust the trails. We need to stay out of sight.

The farther we travel under the trees, the more the island seems to belong to the Spirits—a place where they dwell between the shadows and sunlight, rustling in the canopy with the wind. We hurry along a swath of brush that’s been laid flat, maybe even by the bear we faced earlier.

If I’m leading, Seeri is just beyond my shoulder. I can feel her presence, hear her strides in time with my own. It’s a comfort to me to know she’s there. Because in this moment, Morsk’s words still ringing in my ears, I feel strangely alone. Kol chooses to stay behind—to let me take the lead—and I want to look back, but decide not to. Not yet.

Maybe it’s best if for a little while, we are both alone with our thoughts.

How could this have happened? How could Kol and I have both become High Elders so soon after becoming betrothed? And how can I marry the High Elder of the Manu and still lead the Olen? This was never meant to happen—Chev was to lead the Olen. It was never to pass to me.

But now that it has, can I step aside? Can I let the role of High Elder pass to Seeri or to Lees? The forest shivers with each step I take, as if a crowd is parting. I feel a crowd of Spirits pressing around me—Spirits of all the living things within this forest, but also the Spirits of the dead—my father, my mother, my brother. I feel them gathering around me now, watching me, coaxing me to act.

But what would they have me do?

I know what Chev would have me do, and I feel the weight of the responsibility that he must have felt himself, responsibility to ensure the future of the clan. I know that my father would remind me that I owe loyalty to my family. But what about the loyalty I owe to Kol, my betrothed?

This thought of Kol slows my steps, forcing me to turn around. Seeri and Pek are over my right shoulder. Morsk is close on my left. But Kol is far behind, his movements labored.

I realize, all at once, that it was more than the need for solitude or the desire to give me time with my own thoughts that has kept him hanging back from me. And it was more than anger on his face when he confronted Morsk. It was even more than pain.

It was illness.

The clenched jaw, the sweat on his forehead, the limp in his gait. He is ill, and I failed to see it. I was too caught up in my loss of Chev and my fear of the Bosha to notice how much he needed help.

As soon as I see him—struggling over the brush-covered ground, laboring to lift his left leg high enough to clear the undergrowth—I hurry back to him.

But as I rush back the way I just came, Kol motions to me. He raises a hand—he’s warning me to stop.

I slow, turning to follow the line of his gaze out of the trees, over the trail that leads farther downhill toward the lake. Voices float toward us, weaving through the woods. Someone is approaching.

I signal Seeri, Pek, and Morsk, who seem to have heard the voices too. I wave a hand away toward the deeper shade, motioning for us all to move farther from the trail.

Then I turn back to Kol. Our eyes meet just before his lids fall shut. He drops his spear, his knees buckle, and he collapses to the ground.





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