Ivory and Bone(50)

“He was seventeen.”

Without speaking, we both get to our feet and start down the trail. I think of the girl you were, twelve-year-old Mya, and how much you lost that day. Your mother, your betrothed. How different a person you would be if that day had never happened.

Did you love him? I think not, since you never say his name, but then, maybe his name is too precious to say out loud.

Chev’s face comes to my mind—his willful brow and unyieldingly stubborn gaze. He led half your clan into the unknown—his own mother, led to her death.

You walk slightly in front of me, the mother stone still in your grasp. We reach the ring of huts and you follow me back to my door.

“He never made it to the south,” I say, though I’m not really addressing you. I’m just thinking out loud, letting it all take form and meaning in my mind. We duck into the hut. The space is wrapped in a sheen of amber light as if warmth itself were visible. “He’d sided with Chev—with you and your family. And yet he never made it to see the bountiful south. He could never have known he was going to his death. That if by some chance he’d chosen to stay with the Bosha, if he’d chosen to stay under the leadership of Lo’s father—”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” The harshness of your voice tears me from my thoughts. I turn to see the same glare of contempt in your eyes that I’d seen on the day of our hunt. “Are you saying that to stay with Lo and her wretched father would have been a better choice—”

“I’m only saying he would have lived. He couldn’t have known it then, of course, but his decision to leave with your brother was his undoing—”

“The decision to come ashore at your camp was his undoing! It wasn’t Chev who killed him. It wasn’t Chev who killed our mother—”

Something burns in your eyes, something fierce and frightening, and though it terrifies me, I cannot resist it. I cannot stay safely away.

A quick uptake of breath fills my lungs.

“I’m not making a judgment,” I say. “I’m only pointing out the senselessness of it all. None of those deaths—your mother’s, Tram’s father’s, your betrothed’s—none of them would have happened, if only your brother and Lo’s father—”

“Stop!” You turn in place as if to leave, only to whirl back to face me again. A scent stirs in the air, musky and dark. “I don’t know what kind of story Lo’s imagination produced for you, but I can assure you that nothing she told you was the truth—”

A flash of heat burns through my chest as the sound of Lo’s name rings in my ears. Her name, spat with such venom from your lips, as if it were a common curse.

“Are you saying it’s not true that you mistreated her—”

“Mistreated her? Is that what she told you? That I mistreated her—”

“That you all mistreated her. That you, your brother, your father—”

“My father? She spoke against my father, did she?” Your cheeks flush red, whether with shame or anger I can’t be certain.

“Do you deny it? Do you deny that her safety was neglected by your father on a gathering trip? Are you saying she lied when she told me that she was lost and spent a night alone, outside on the grassland, while she was supposed to be in the care of your father and mother—”

“I do not deny it. I do not deny those events. Yes, she became lost. Yes, she was with my family. But I am convinced that whatever sad tale of mistreatment she told you is completely and utterly false—”

“Then here’s your chance. Free me from my misconceptions. Tell me the truth.”

You stare into my face unflinchingly. Without meaning to, I take a step back. “I will not be made to answer to her lies. She is no longer of any consequence to me.” You pause to catch your breath, the words flying out of your mouth like angry bees pouring from a hive. “Maybe Lo is the perfect girl for you. She certainly wouldn’t hesitate to accept a gift for fear it was an attempt to buy her affections.”

“I have never tried to purchase anyone’s affections. Not hers. Not yours.” I stoop to pick up the honey in its lovely cup made from a leaf of some distant, exotic tree. I had been so happy to see this gift. It had seemed such a fitting peace offering.

If only it could have been.

“You should take this with you,” I say, shoving it into your hand. “I wouldn’t want you to be accused of trying to purchase mine.”

I get only a glimpse of the western sky—the streaks of red having faded, yielding to the hard dull gray of water in winter—before the door drapes closed behind you.





TWENTY


I return to the feast, but it holds nothing for me.

My brothers Kesh and Roon are busy making fools of themselves, taking turns lifting the heavy stones that encircle the hearth to show off to the girls. Shava and Lees applaud and call out cheers of encouragement. The giddy quality of their voices prickles me and I slow my steps. Even our mother calls for a spear-throwing contest between them, but thankfully the night is growing too dark.

Chev sits near the fire with my parents, my aunts and uncles, and the elders of my clan and yours. A bowl of mead rests within reach of each person. I notice that no one has come from the Bosha except for Shava and her mother—not Lo, not her father, not even Orn or Anki. No one accepted my invitation. Chev stands with a flourish, with the self-importance of someone about to make an announcement of great weight. I ignore him. Chev’s proclamations don’t interest me.