Obsidian and Stars (Ivory and Bone #2)(69)
We both stretch out on the tall grass. Purple and white flowers—so small from above—stretch past the corners of my eyes, reaching for the broad blue expanse of the sky. I feel like we are floating side by side in water, like the grass is a wave upon the sea.
“I can’t say yes to a merger of our clans,” I say. I have to say it. It’s the truth.
“Not now, or not ever?”
I lie still, let my eyes fall shut. “I feel like it’s not my decision to make,” I say. “It’s like trying to decide if the sun should rise. Or if the sea should freeze, or melt again in the spring. It’s not my decision to make. It was decided by the Divine, a long time ago.”
“Well, then that’s a shame,” Kol says. “Because I brought you here to tell you that I’ve made the decision to do whatever you choose. If you choose a merger, we will merge. If you choose not to, then we won’t . . . and I suppose then our betrothal will end.”
We lie there and listen, as if listening for bees, but Kol is right—it’s too late in the day. The sky hardens from blue to gray. Kol stands and holds out his hand. “It’s late. We need to go back.”
I climb to my feet, resisting the urge to wrap my arms around his neck. “I decide that the sun will not set,” I say.
“Be careful. Even things that the Divine decided long ago can change. A winter storm can come in the spring. A cavern can be torn open to become a stream. Even the Divine can change her mind.” Kol’s face is momentarily striped with black and gold, as slanting streaks of sun mix with shadows. Something shimmers there—a meaningful twist of his lips—but by the time I really see him his hair falls across his eyes and his face is lost in darkness.
He takes a few strides and I watch him go, letting his words repeat in my head. A cavern can be torn open to become a stream. . . . Even the Divine can change her mind.
I stand still so long, I have to hurry to catch him. We walk the rest of the way back to camp in silence.
TWENTY-SEVEN
In the morning we board the boats early, but not so early that Mala doesn’t make sure we eat first. “It will be a long day,” she says. “A long, sad day, and hunger will only make it worse.”
We will take six boats—Mala herself will come. “To be present at your brother’s burial,” she says, squeezing my hand. I smile at this gesture, and though a part of me wants to flinch away, I don’t.
Urar, the Manu healer, reluctantly agrees that Kol is well enough to paddle, though he would prefer he travel in one of the canoes, rowed by an oarsman.
“My mother and Noni will ride in the canoe,” Kol says. “I’d rather paddle with Mya.” I startle a bit at this, having assumed I’d once again travel with Lees, but before I can speak Lees is at the water’s edge, climbing into a double kayak with Roon.
Urar helps Noni into the canoe. “Don’t forget to look,” he says. He’s asked her endless questions about feverweed, and though they went hiking with Lees and Roon, they found none near the Manu camp. Kol has even promised to take him north to the island to gather it if none is found closer, so I hope some is found. I shudder at the thought of any of them heading back into Tama territory.
The trip south to our camp passes quickly, and with every new landmark—the frozen waterfalls that run to the sea, the first tree-covered ridges—the blood in my veins seems to heat. The wind calms, and the air thickens against my skin as we get closer. I should be happy to be home, yet when the rocky cliffs that border our bay first come into view, my throat tightens and I gulp in deep breaths.
Soon I will have to look into the eyes of Yano and tell him his lover is dead.
Kol and I are still far out on the sea when the first boat lands on the beach. It’s the canoe that carries Mala and Noni. Kayaks paddled by Seeri and Pek and then Shava and Kesh are next. Heads lean together. Hands point out to the second canoe. People are learning about my brother’s death. Members of my clan are gathering—even from this distance I recognize Ela, Yano’s sister. She raises her head and shades her eyes with her hand. Her gaze sweeps over the sea.
She is looking for me.
When we land, she comes to the side of our kayak. She sees me with Kol and her eyes crinkle—I suddenly realize she knows we’re betrothed. She doesn’t congratulate us, though, of course. She’s already heard about my brother.
“I’ll go bring Yano,” she says. “Do you want to come with me? To speak with him?” Her eyes swim with tears. Her fingers tug at the hem of her tunic. “I just can’t believe it. I can’t believe . . .”
Ela’s tears change her—they transform her into the little girl she used to be. I remember that girl so clearly, the girl who shed tears over the smallest things but stopped almost as easily. But this is not a small thing. These tears will not stop when the sun comes out or someone takes her for a walk. We aren’t children anymore.
We find Yano in the hut he shares with my brother, carving a mask. It’s a wolf—a mask commonly used in weddings—and I realize he’s carving it for me. When he sees me in the doorway his face lights up—the ember of concentration in his eyes catches and glows into something more diffuse and warm. “You’re back,” he says, his voice floating up, his tone light, but it lasts only as long as it takes for him to register our faces. Then his eyes tighten. His mouth thins.