Ivory and Bone(28)

As these words echo in my head, my younger brothers, Kesh and Roon, pat me on the arms and make a scene of congratulating me. “Quit showing off,” I say under my breath. “It’s bad manners.”

“Kol,” Chev calls. “Come take your place at the head of the line.”

I search the periphery of the crowd until I find my brother Pek. He looks back for a moment—I know he’s seen me—but then he turns away.

All his life he’s out-hunted me. Now when it really matters, I’ve come and shown him up.

As I try to shake off the feeling that I’ve let my brother down, a girl of about twelve comes up to me and takes me by the arm.

“Kol?” she says. “I’m Lees. Chev is my older brother. They wouldn’t take me along when my siblings visited your clan, but I’m happy to meet you now.”

Lees looks like a miniature version of Seeri—her face is crowded with wide eyes and a broad smile. She rounds up my family—all except for Pek, who I see across the crowd has joined up with you and Seeri—and steers us into line ahead of everyone else.

After a short time under Lees’s supervision we each have a mat containing bison meat, roasted water parsnips, and a small portion of the meat from the cat so that we may each take in a bit of its Spirit’s strength. But making our way back to sit, we are stopped frequently by members of your clan who introduce themselves and wish me well. Everyone is friendly and polite, but I can’t shake an eerie sense of disconnection that started when I first saw the masks—a disorienting sense of being outside myself, looking in. It’s as if the Spirit of the cat still claws at me, as it makes its way to the Land Above the Sky. I cough, and the acrid taste of smoke fills my mouth.

At last, Lees leads us to a place to sit, right beside her brother Chev and her sisters—you and Seeri. Pek is beside Seeri, and although I attempt to take the place on the opposite side of him, Lees takes it herself and I find myself seated between your brother and my father.

Sitting beside Chev, I notice his demeanor is subtly changed. Maybe it’s because we are in your camp. An aroma of sweetness wafts from his breath, and a skin lies on the ground beside him. Is he already drinking mead? A large knife made of a heavy point hafted to a bone handle rests to the right of the skin. Surveying the group seated around him, Chev lifts the knife and with it skewers a piece of bison and stuffs it into his mouth. He turns toward me and a hazy lack of focus clouds his eyes.

His cheeks flush red as he smiles at me.

“Let me introduce you, our visitors from the north, to one of my oldest friends, Morsk.” He stands, and with the knife he points to a man of about his own age seated directly across our small circle from Seeri and Pek. “He is Seeri’s betrothed.”

My mother’s eyes blink rapidly before her head spins toward Pek, who looks away. My father swallows hard and then coughs into his fist. Like the day we were all introduced in the meadow, a taut silence fills the space between us. And like that day, I am tempted to fill that silence with tradition.

I could get to my feet and move to Morsk’s side. We exchange nods—the customary formal greeting. I could introduce my parents and my brothers Kesh and Roon. I could break the growing tension.

But is that best?

I have spent long stretches of time with my father, learning what the Divine expects of a leader, what qualities she will bless and honor. I know that I need to show patience in the face of anger. I know that harmony needs to come before my own pride.

Sometimes these qualities are easy to embody. But not today.

I hope that harmony is not what the Divine requires here, because I cannot bring myself to work for it. Not now. Looking at my parents’ stunned expressions, I see that Chev has used the fact of Seeri’s betrothal as a weapon. He has claimed control over this meeting between our two clans, but my father will not allow him to keep it.

“We were not aware that Seeri was betrothed,” he says. If he’s trying to conceal his shock at this news and his sense that Pek has been cheated or led on, he doesn’t succeed. It’s quite clear he is offended.

He turns in his seat and scans Seeri’s face as well, though she has turned her attention to her food and seems to have no intention of ever looking up again. My father lets his eyes rest on her long enough that his glare comes across to all the rest of us as an accusation. “How long has this arrangement been in place?” he asks, his eyes never leaving the top of Seeri’s head.

“For years,” Chev says, stuffing another large piece of meat into his mouth with his fingers. “As a brother, I want the best sort of husband for my sisters, Seeri included.”

“And what makes the best sort of husband?” my mother asks.

They are so bold. They are teetering on the edge of rudeness, but I can’t blame them. Chev has set them up, and they are right to fight back.

“Well, in this case, I would say the best sort of husband is one who is familiar. Morsk has been my friend my whole life. We learned to fish sitting side by side in the same boat. I can trust him. There’s no dark history between our families that has yet to be resolved.”

I startle at this mention of history. Could Chev be using Seeri’s betrothal to Morsk to provoke a discussion of the past? I turn my eyes to you, remembering what you said to me about the specter of distrust and resentment that will forever overshadow our two clans. Are you glad the past is being dragged out into the light?