Ivory and Bone(4)

My father raises his eyes, judging the progress of the sun. “We should start on our way. The Divine has brought us strong hunting partners, and I suspect she may be sending more good fortune our way. If I am right, we will have a kill before the sun is high in the sky.”

My mother pulls at the collar of my father’s parka. He is stubborn and insists upon leaving it open at his throat on all but the coldest days of winter. He pushes her hand away, but he can’t stop his lips from curling at the corners. “Don’t fuss with us, Mala; we need to get on our way,” he says. “Besides, when we get back, you will have six hungry hunters to feed. You’ll need time to get the kitchen going for the midday meal.”

My mother used to join in on the hunts, but that was a long time ago. Now the clan kitchen has become her personal dominion. Knowing this, and knowing what your visit clearly means to my mother, I can only imagine the sort of meal we have to look forward to.

Mother gives nothing away. She simply shakes her head and turns to our guests. “Be safe,” she says. Then she pulls up the hood of her parka and starts back the way you all came.

Father defers to me to lead the way to the herd. I’ve been out here in search of hives every day since we last stalked mammoths—unsuccessfully—seven days ago. I know where the herd is gathered, just beyond the ridge that rises to the east.

I may be leading the way, but my father stays close behind. He makes sure he stays close to Chev, too. As we walk, my father explains features of the landscape and points out places where saber-toothed cats have been found to hide. This spring, these cats have become more active rivals for our game, but my father does not mention this. Pek walks almost shoulder to shoulder with Seeri, off to our right. I cannot see or hear you at all—not even your footfalls on the grass. I assume you are following at a distance, but I don’t dare turn my head to check.

Maybe the thought of hunting mammoths sickens you the way it does me. Maybe that’s the cause of your sullen silence. I doubt this is true, but I try to convince myself that it might be. More likely, there is a boy waiting for you in your southern camp and your head and heart are with him instead of with us. Or maybe you are thinking about what took place five years ago, the events that almost led our two clans to war. Perhaps you are reluctant to follow an armed enemy onto unfamiliar ground.

If I let myself think about it hard enough, I’d probably be reluctant, too.

Once we cross the open grass, I lead the group to a path that rises through the rocky foothills of the mountains that form the eastern boundary of our hunting range. Within these hills are tucked hidden plains and alpine fields where this particular herd of mammoths often chooses to graze, out of the open. As we walk, the grass gives way to gravel, and the grade becomes steeper as we slowly climb. At intervals, the path narrows. Rough boulders encroach from either side. By necessity, our party is forced to travel in single file.

I look back once to make sure we are all together before we navigate the final set of turns. It’s then that I see you, just a few paces behind me. I’m startled to find you there. My brother and your sister have dropped back, and I suppose you ended up in front by default. I’m certain my face gives away my surprise at finding you so close.

Your gaze is unflinching. It has weight. Part of me wants to shrug it off; part of me wants to hold very still so it doesn’t slip away from me.

“What’s wrong?” you ask.

“Nothing.” Your eyes are heavy-lidded, but I know not to be fooled—you are not tiring. A spark glows in your dark eyes. They are at once impossibly dark and impossibly bright, alive with activity, as if a million thoughts churn behind them. I imagine a honeybee—the way it zips from bloom to bloom. That is how I imagine your thoughts moving behind those heavy-lidded eyes.

My own eyes move to the rocks at my feet. “We’re almost there. I wanted to let you know. The path gets a bit rough here. You should watch your step.”

Thankfully, we are indeed almost there, and as we navigate the final bend toward the south, the scene that opens up in front of us is enough to distract from the stiffness of the previous moment. The path widens and turns at the head of a broad mountain meadow blanketed by wildflowers and tall grass, irrigated by twin rivulets of meltwater that run down from the ice to the north and the snowcaps that crown the peaks farther east. The two streams merge about midway across the meadow, creating a deep, still pool. Around that pool stands a family of six mammoths, their light brown fur glowing almost red under the bright sun.

I stop and let everyone catch up. The herd is downwind from us, so I worry they will soon know we’re here. I usher everyone to a space behind a large outcropping that acts as a natural windbreak.

My father steps up beside me, and it’s clear that from here on, he is taking lead on this hunt. It doesn’t wound my pride to yield to him. It’s customary for the most experienced hunter to take the lead, and in our clan, that’s always my father. He pats me on the shoulder, and I take my place a half step behind him on his right.

My father crouches, and we all follow his cue. Bent close to the ground, we move through the shadows that obscure the eastern edge of the meadow. The sun beats bright against the low rocky wall to the west, but while the sun rises, the brush that grows along the gravel track to the east is still covered in cool morning shade. Out in the open, gusts of breeze flatten the tall grass, but in the shelter of the ledges, the air hardly stirs.