Obsidian and Stars (Ivory and Bone #2)(70)

“What’s happened?”

I try to speak. I’m not sure how to say what I have to say. I haven’t planned the words. “It’s Chev,” I start.

That’s all I get to say. Yano is past me and out of the hut. I wonder who he will find first. Who will be the one to tell him? But it doesn’t matter. Ela’s tears told him. My sunken eyes told him.

He already knows.

When Ela and I return to the beach, Yano is in the water, leaning into the canoe. His tunic, hands, and face are smeared with the red ocher that covers Chev’s body. Morsk, Lees, and Seeri stand together on the sand, their posture tense, as if they are on the verge of movement. As if they are about to stride into the shallow water and bring Yano back. I notice all of them drip seawater from the knees down and I know that they aren’t about to go after him—they already have. But unlike Yano, the frigid water chased them back.

But not Kol. Kol still stands beside Yano, holding his arm. Holding him up.

I stride right into the water. My gaze falls on my brother, lying in the canoe. The red ocher changes him—removes the familiar from his face—and I am so grateful for it.

As I approach I hear Kol’s voice, his words a low murmur. Coaxing . . . coaxing. But Yano ignores him as if he can’t hear. He bends at the waist, leans to Chev’s ear, his own voice a murmur I can’t understand.

“Yano,” I say when I see Kol shivering, his body rigid with cold. “Please, help me. Kol has been sick. He’s been burning with fever. I know he won’t come out of the water until you do. I know he won’t leave you. So please, for Kol’s sake. Please come up onto the sand so Kol can get warm.”

Yano may love my brother, but he is also a healer. He looks at Kol, as if he’s noticing him next to him for the first time. His head falls forward—part nod, part defeat—and he lets Kol lead him up onto the bank.

Soon everyone is gathered in our meeting place, under the canopy. The midday meal is served, but no one is thinking about food. Everyone is talking, sharing stories about Chev, about all the ways he was like our father, the ideal High Elder.

I know these stories are meant to soothe me, but they do just the opposite. I feel like a fish held in the talons of an eagle. Every time someone speaks my brother’s name, I feel a little more of my flesh ripped away, the bones of my memories exposed. Soon I will be picked clean, with nothing left to call my own.

But if I’m hurting, at least I’m not alone. My sisters sit in a circle around me. Yano and Ela are directly across from me, beside a large fire. It must be warm, I think. Yet Yano still shivers as if he were standing in the water beside the canoe. My own hands are still cramped with cold.

My eyes search the crowd, and though I don’t want to admit it to myself, I know I am looking for Kol. He must be here. He is so good at this—so comfortable comforting others. But he’s not here. Could he be sick? Could the cold water have brought back his fever?

Getting to my feet, I pick my way through the crowd, heading for Ela’s hut, the place where Kol and his family are sleeping tonight. But even before I reach the ring of huts, I meet Kol coming the other way.

“I was looking for you,” I say. A softness lifts Kol’s eyes for just long enough for me to see he isn’t sick.

“I needed to step away . . .” He sees the question in my eyes, though he must know I would never ask. “It’s too soon, I think. My father—we gathered around to talk like this about him just days ago.” Kol shakes his head in the way he does when he wants to shake off a feeling or a memory. He glances at me, then away.

Is he holding himself away from me because of last night? Does he think I’ve all but rejected the idea of a merger? Or is it the memory of his father as he says, or even something else?

“I’ll be right there, if you want to go back,” I say. “I think I need a moment away from it all myself.”

“I understand,” he says, and then he’s gone, leaving a wake of confusion behind him.

Passing the hut Chev shared with Yano—the place where Chev’s body has been laid until his burial tomorrow—I hesitate. If there is one person I wish to speak to now, it’s Chev. I push through the door of the hut before I can question myself.

Seal oil burns on moss wicks in two shallow stone lamps. My fingers trace along the wall of the hut as I enter, skimming the edge of the room. Everything glows the color of warmth—the lamplight, the red ocher—but still my blood lies frozen under my skin.

“Chev,” I say. I stop. If I could talk to him, if I could ask one thing, what would it be? If I had only one question?

“I don’t want this,” I say. “The Divine has called me to a role I don’t want.” I pause. I wonder how many times Chev had the same thought. How many times did he wish the weight of leadership could be carried by someone else? “I am trying to do as you would have me do, to lead as you would lead, to put the clan first, at all costs.” A sob leaps up in my throat but I swallow it down. “But the cost is so high.” This last word is like breath from my mouth. Like mist on cold water. Insubstantial.

Meaningless.

“So this is sacrifice,” I say. “This is how you lived.” I swallow again, and my throat burns. “I’m sorry I didn’t acknowledge you more.” My eyes move to the door. The hut feels small. I am all at once in the doorway, brushing back the hide, stepping into the sunlight.