Ivory and Bone(16)

“Yes,” you say without looking at me, and I know that I have discerned things correctly. Chev had wanted to find a match for you, and we have disappointed him.

I wonder how differently things would have gone if Chev had left your sister at home. But then, even if you’d come alone, you would’ve found all the same reasons to reject me. Perhaps it would be you swooning over Pek—the born hunter—rather than Seeri.

Maybe that’s what Chev regrets the most.

At the boat, your brother moves quickly. Roon chatters the whole time about the clan he met on the western shore. As you set your pack into your brother’s hands, you whisper a message into his ear.

“This clan from the west,” Chev says to Roon. “You told my sister earlier you thought someone was creeping through the camp last night—maybe someone from that clan? Maybe even a spy?”

Roon twitches and a smile flits across his lips, but then he wipes it away with his hand. “I thought I heard something, but when I walked outside, no one was there. It could’ve been a spy, I guess. Just as likely it was a Spirit, sent by the Divine to draw me to the shore.”

“A Spirit . . . Perhaps. Or perhaps a ghost . . .” Chev’s eyes move to your face and I wonder if we are all thinking of the same thing—the woman who lost her life five years ago on the hunt. Could her ghost have paced our camp last night? Could it be that the violence that took her life ties her Spirit here, preventing it from climbing to the Land Above the Sky?

Without another word, Chev moves quickly to prepare the canoe. His haste removes any opportunity for ceremony or formality as we part. Pek wades into the water, his sealskin pants and boots protecting him from the icy cold, and holds the canoe steady as you and Seeri step in.

“Such an incredible boat,” Pek says, and the sincerity in his voice almost breaks my heart. “The skill of your clanspeople is truly impressive. I hope to pay a visit to you and meet the people of your clan soon.”

I’m surprised Pek would say something so bold. Could our parents have put him up to it?

“We will look forward to meeting you all again . . . someday,” Chev says. His noncommittal response is as good as a “no” to my brother’s proposition. He gives a small nod to my parents. “Arem and Mala, we thank you and all the Manu for your hospitality.”

Then the three of you push out. Three paddles stab hard at the water, drawing you quickly away from our shore.

As you round the point to the south where, even in summer, ice runs down from the eastern mountains like a frozen river to the sea, I catch a glimpse of a lone kayak far out on the horizon. The sun shines bright and the outline of a paddler is illuminated, long, loose hair whipping in the wind.

My heart pounds a drumbeat in my chest that rolls outward like an echo, vibrating along my skin. I turn and clutch Roon by the arm. “There!” I shout, pointing to the shape on the sea.

But just as I do, a cloud slides in front of the sun. Gray mist shrouds the water in shadow.

Ghost, spy, or just a trick of my imagination, the lone kayaker I’d seen so distinctly just a moment before is gone.





SEVEN


Seeri loved the sealskin blankets. This is the one true thing my mother and Pek have fixated on since your boat disappeared around our bay’s southern point.

By afternoon, Pek and I are out on the water, hunting seals.

We each paddle a kayak custom-built by our aunt Ama from sealskin stretched over a frame of mammoth bone. Even our paddles are works of careful craftsmanship—their shafts carved from well-chosen spruce limbs, perfectly fitted to pairs of blades shaped from finely worked driftwood, capped at both ends with ivory. These kayaks are not just boats we sit in, like the canoe you and your siblings use, but they are almost like clothing we wear, tied at the waist and braced with straps over our shoulders to keep water out. “It will keep you comfortable. . . . Comfortable and safe,” Aunt Ama said the first time I climbed into it, my legs sliding into the dry cavity under the deck. And she was right—I am both comfortable and safe. But still, I am miserable.

Grasping the paddle balanced across my lap, I’m reminded of yesterday’s hut-building efforts and the deep fissures left in my palms. By last night the cuts were healing, sealed with a crisscrossing pattern of dark purple scabs. But scabs are no defense against seawater, and out here today, my palms sting and burn.

If only this were just a simple fishing expedition, one where Pek and I could float in a quiet cove with the sun on our backs, enjoying the warm air of early summer as we drop a net into the still-frigid waters to see what fish we might bring up. I could use a chance to rest and sift through all the things that have been done and said since you arrived yesterday. I feel out of balance—my thoughts have been stuffed to overflowing while my hopes have been drained dry. I know some time spent thinking—alone in the meadow maybe—would fix it, but my family has other plans for me. Instead of lying in a meadow, I find myself paddling out toward a cluster of rocky offshore islands, armed with a harpoon of walrus bone tipped with walrus ivory, tied to a long rope of tightly knotted kelp.

With his paddle, Pek points into the distance. Dark shapes stand out against the sun-bleached rocks—the seals are out. Our chances of success seem strong. I thank the Divine for this small blessing. I don’t think I could take another failure today.

Before we reach the small islands where we will hunt, I pull my boat up next to my brother’s and slow my paddling. He looks over to me, squinting into the sun. “You all right?” he calls.