Obsidian and Stars (Ivory and Bone #2)(82)

I swallowed my hot fear down and stepped closer. Mala turned to me, and a tremor of joy ran over my skin when I saw her smile.

By the third day, the camp buzzes like a hive. In the morning, groups leave camp to hunt and fish, and in the afternoon, they head out to gather. They come back with overflowing baskets—Shava and her mother, Thern and Pada, Kol’s aunt, Ama, and her sons. Even Noni and Black Dog go along. Ama gives Noni a little extra attention, and her boys give extra attention to the dog. Noni doesn’t seem to mind. She seems happy to be a part of something again. At night, they all sleep under the roof that Morsk erected over the meeting place.

The morning of the wedding comes, though my bridal tunic is far from ready and I know it never will be. “It’s beautiful,” Ela says.

“Beautiful,” echoes Mala, who has joined us in Ela’s hut to help.

Today I let Mala do my hair. Like Ela did for my betrothal, she threads ivory beads into my braids, but today she adds tiny purple flowers gathered from our meadow, and tiny white feathers. “They will glow in the moonlight,” she says.

I think of this—the moon will soon catch in the beads and feathers in my hair. And I know that by the time that happens—by the time the sky is dark and the moon is out—I will already be Kol’s wife.

The ceremony will be held on the beach. It’s the only open space in camp that has enough room for everyone to gather. Weddings call for a large fire, and when I smell the smoke floating on the breeze, my stomach swims. Mala must see my nerves in the way my eyelids flutter and my fingers rub the trim at my tunic’s hem.

“Don’t worry,” she says. “Today, you can do no wrong. Today, everything is right.”

When the sun is just beginning to set, painting a wide path of gold across the sea, Kol comes to the door of my hut to ask for me.

Pushing back the bearskin, I look out and see him framed by the twilight sky. His face glows in the fading sunlight, a star burning in each eye, and I’m transported back to the first night we met. The night he came to the door of my hut to offer me a pouch of honey. The path we stepped onto that day has led to this door. His lips curl—not into a half smile but into something much warmer and brighter, something I can’t help but return. “Would you walk with me?” he asks, holding out his hand.

I place my hand in his, and together we walk the path to the beach. Kol leans his head toward my ear.

“Are you happy?” he asks.

“More happy than I’ve been since . . .” I stop myself. No. That’s not right. “More happy than I’ve ever been.”

When we reach the fire, we are greeted by our healers, Urar and Yano. Ela is hidden out of sight—she will soon appear in a mask. But for now we are compelled to sit while all the others of our clan stand. A drum plays an urgent beat, a beat that makes my heart quicken, and from Kesh’s flute a melody floats over our heads, carrying our joy to the Divine.

When it’s time, everyone takes a seat on pelts that have been scattered on the ground, and from behind us a dancer emerges in a wolf mask—Ela. She circles me and Kol, then winds between the two of us and the fire, bending low to look into our faces. I see her eyes, but behind the mask they seem distant and strange. I feel the power of the mask, transforming Ela into the thing it represents.

A wolf. To remind us of the bonds of the pack, a bond that can’t be broken. I can’t help but think of Black Dog and of Noni, and of all the ways that a pack is more than family or even clan. Ela’s wolf eyes prick my heart, but I don’t turn away. Not until she does. When she finally drops her head and turns, I shiver and look over at Kol. He smiles, but I can tell by his eyes that he saw the wolf in Ela, too.

At the end of the ceremony, Kol and I share a cup of mead. I catch Kol watching me as I peer over the rim of the cup. The liquid burns down my throat and warmth rises up through me, lightening my head. I place the cup in his hand. His head tips back and he drains the last of the liquid. I watch the muscles of his throat as he swallows and I know it is done.

We are wed.

Later, the musicians gather to play and lots of people press closer, ready to dance. The first song is the song of Manu—Kol’s favorite. Kol leads me to a spot in the circle that forms.

“I don’t know this dance,” I say. Shame sends heat up my neck and I feel my ears burn. I would know it if I hadn’t run away to hide in my hut the first night we met.

“Don’t worry; it’s easy,” Seeri says. She and Pek push into the circle next to us, just as the first line is sung.

Manu was a hunter lost in a storm, wandering far from home . . .

My sister tries to teach me, but she makes so many mistakes, Pek tells her she needs more lessons herself. Their laughter fills me up, so much I feel it overflow my edges.

After the dancing has gone on for a long time, Kol leads me to a place a few steps away from the crowd. He brings an elk skin, and we wrap ourselves in it as we lie back against a dune.

The sky blazes pink and gold, edged in the red of blood and of flame. The sun’s light fades from the sky as the moon rises behind us. Stars are coming out. Not bright white like in winter, but the dim shimmer of the stars of the summer sky—the sky that never goes completely black.

“It’s a blessing,” I say. Only the thin elk skin separates us from the cold sand, but I don’t shiver. Lying next to Kol warms me. “It’s a blessing that the Divine lets us look up and see the hearthfires of the dead. To know they are so close. Watching us. Waiting for us to join them.”