Obsidian and Stars (Ivory and Bone #2)(79)

“No,” Kol says. “Your father was already dead when Morsk died.”

Noni nods. “I’m glad. I already hate him. If I knew he killed Morsk, I would hate myself, too.”

“Don’t say that,” I tell her. My voice is so bright, like a spark flying from the flame. Noni jumps. “Don’t ever blame yourself for what others have done.”

Noni looks past me. “I won’t,” she says, but I’m not convinced she means it.

As everyone talks, I sit on the ground and lay my head against a stone beside the hearth. Looking up, I take in the canopy that covers us, the work of Morsk’s own hands. I recall the meal my clan had with Kol’s family in this very space, and the way Lees had bragged about Morsk’s skill in building the covering. Kol slides closer to my side. “There was a time when the sight of this canopy angered me,” he says. “A time when I resented it. But never again. From tonight on, it will be a monument to the man who built it.”

I draw a breath, thinking of the rivalry between Morsk and Kol at the very end of Morsk’s life. I remember his proposition that we marry, and his promise to make sure I never regretted the decision if we did. But most of all, I remember why he did those things. “He loved the Olen clan,” I say.

“He did,” Kol answers. “He may have been saving me when he died, but he was out there to defend this clan. To defend the Olen and to defend its High Elder.”

My heart seems to float in my chest. I feel as insubstantial as the smoke rising from the fire. These words are the gust of wind that scatters me. I realize that Morsk gave his life for the clan I lead, and I can’t let it be for nothing.

In the morning I wake early, despite the fact I went to bed just before first light. As soon as I’m awake my sisters are up, making me wonder if they were waiting for me. Our brother and our friend will be buried at midday. I’m not surprised that they couldn’t sleep.

Yano and his sister, Ela, as the clan healers, will arrange for the graves to be dug and make other preparations for the ceremony. “Please,” I say to Ela, “don’t let Yano help dig the graves. I’m sure there are others who can do it. And if it can be done without asking those who fought alongside Morsk against the Tama, I think it would be right to spare them from that task.”

“You are a good High Elder,” Ela says. She surprises me—this isn’t something I ever thought I would hear Ela say—and I’m both pleased and saddened at the same time. Saddened because I never wanted this role, and today more than any day I will not be able to deny that it is mine.

I wander out to the meeting place, but I find it empty. People not helping dig the graves have stayed in their huts. Grief is so much harder in the cold light of day, without the fire and the sheltering dark. Daylight exposes what should be here, but isn’t.

I hope to see Kol, but his family stays away. “Maybe they’re sleeping,” says Pada, who, along with Thern, slept in the kitchen last night. I suppose she has noticed my eyes drift to the door of their borrowed hut too many times.

“Maybe,” I say, but I doubt it. I imagine Mala wants some time with her sons. Perhaps she is talking to Kol about the future of the clans, perhaps telling him again that she believes a merger would be a mistake.

Or could she be saying something else? Could she be telling him that she’s changed her mind about the idea of a merger? Could it be that she—like me—can’t deny how well our clans worked together to drive the Tama away?

My thoughts are interrupted by Seeri. “You should come prepare for the ceremony,” she says, tugging me by the hand. She wears a plain tunic made from the stiff hide of an elk. I glance at the sky. The sun is already high up, half hidden behind a net of clouds. “You’ll be standing at the head of the graves. Let me do your hair.”

Back in the hut, I dress in a sealskin tunic that once belonged to our mother. It used to be quite big on me, but Ela took it and cut it down to my size after complaining that nothing I wore from her fit. It’s open at the neck, and my carved ivory pendant—the one that had been my mother’s, the symbol of our clan—hangs against my skin just above the laces.

When the sun is almost at its highest, Ela and Yano come to call me to the graves. “As the High Elder, you should lead the procession out of camp to the ridge,” Ela says. I notice small things about her: bloodshot eyes. Red ocher staining the palms of her hands. “I’m going ahead,” she says. “A few of the children are helping me carry the drum and the masks.”

My stomach clenches at the thought of these things—all the necessary pieces of a burial. The drum, the masks. The bodies laid in pits lined with mammoth skins.

I’m glad I had nothing to eat because I don’t think I could keep it down.

After she leaves I turn to Yano. His eyes are shadowed in violet. I suspect he hasn’t had a moment of sleep since we brought Chev home. Looking at him now, he seems so alone without my brother, so small. “Ela said masks, not mask,” I say. “Please tell me you’re not doing the dance with her—”

“I want to,” he says. “It’s important. It hastens the rise of the dead to the Land Above the Sky. How could I do less for Chev than I would do for any other member of this clan?”

I choke down a sob. I can’t break now. I need to stay as strong as Yano. “My brother always knew he was lucky to have you—”