Ivory and Bone(69)

We each have a spear, but once in position, on this windy, rain-drenched ridge, you and I move wordlessly, collecting a stockpile of large rocks. It’s slow, hard work, but the effort keeps our blood warm. When we’ve collected every rock we can lift, we station ourselves at a break in the low brush that lines the ledge. From here, we can watch for boats approaching the beach far below, but we cannot be seen.

For now, the sea is empty. The gray expanse of water rolls outward to the horizon.

We wait. The temperature drops and the wind increases, blowing hard from the north, right into our faces. Tiny shards of sleet prick the skin of my cheeks.

Hunched beside me, you speak for the first time in a long while. “We met on an early summer day. Today it is winter again.” Your voice is soft and low. Your brother, crouched just a few paces away, doesn’t seem to hear you. These words are for me only. “How is it possible that winter has returned?” you ask.

“Winter hasn’t returned. She isn’t really back. She’s just making a last assault, hoping to hang on.”

“And what will happen? Will winter triumph?” You let your eyes leave the sea for just a moment to glance at my face, maybe to gauge my expression.

“Of course not.” As I answer, my eyes fix on a tiny shadow on the water near the horizon. “By this time tomorrow, she will realize she has been defeated. Summer will return with all its force and winter will be a memory.”

“There!” Chev shouts and points into the distance at the shadow I am watching, now growing and moving in.

They are here.

We remain quiet and hidden as the first of the boats—I count eleven in all—lands on the beach. As the paddlers step out onto solid ground, Chev emerges from hiding and calls out from our vantage point high above them. “What do you want here?”

A stocky, bowlegged boy spins at the sound of Chev’s voice. He lifts his face to search for the source of the sound and I recognize him. This is the boy who was on the beach the day I walked Lo home.

This fleeting recognition robs me of my focus, transports me for just an instant from the present to a moment in the past. But an instant is all it takes.

The boy raises his arm and extends it behind him. This is the boy called Orn. I recognize his stance, his clamped jaw. . . . These scattered thoughts distract me until a spear flies from an atlatl in his hand.

Its flight is fast and true, and it pierces Chev’s parka just below his collarbone. Rainwater tinged red with blood streams down his chest.

Chev lets out a small sound—more gasp than moan—and collapses to his knees at my feet.

On the beach below, Lo’s clanspeople scramble for cover as rocks rain down on them from the southern cliff. Like an anthill kicked by the toe of a boot, measured order is replaced by frantic motion. Screams rise—people may be hurt—but I hardly notice. All my attention is focused on Chev.

Crouching beside him, I place one hand on his chest and one on his back, then gently ease his weight backward until he is sitting on the ground. His eyes flash wide, staring blankly over his suddenly pale cheeks. I bend close to him, squinting at the place where the spearhead penetrated the hide of his parka, but with the rain still falling, it’s impossible to distinguish how heavily he is bleeding. I don’t dare remove the spear. Instead, I press both hands against the wound.

“We need to get him to the healers,” I say. Dark red liquid leaks between my fingers before diluting to a pale pink stream that collects in a pool in his lap. “I can’t tell how hard he’s bleeding. . . .”

I look up to ask you for help getting Chev to his feet, but you are not watching me. You don’t appear to be listening to me, either. All your attention is on your spear. You snatch it from the grass at your feet and raise it to your shoulder.

Chev sees you, too. He reaches forward and grabs the hem of your pant leg. “No.” Both of us startle at the strength of Chev’s voice. Despite the haze that begins to cloud his eyes, his voice is clear. “He’s of our clan. He’s Dora’s son—”

“He just tried to kill you—”

“He tried, but he failed. That doesn’t make it right for you to kill him.”

Your face hardens. You will not listen, I think. You will not obey your brother. But then you let the spear slide from your shoulder, roll to the edge of your fingers, drop from your hand. It splashes in a puddle and thick mud splatters my face.

As I drag the back of my hand across my chin, you drop to your knees and reach around your brother’s waist. An embrace? Before I can process your actions, you spring to your feet. “Fighters from my clan are posted at the foot of this cliff, guarding the trail that leads up here. I’ll send help,” you say, “but I have to get down there. I have to help protect my people.” Before I can answer, you turn on your heels and fly down the trail to the beach.

“My knife,” Chev breathes. “She took it—the blade I keep in my belt.”

It’s all I can do not to take off after you. These are the people who set fire to my camp, who caused the pain I saw on Pek’s face. One of them has already tried to kill Chev. Any of them might try to kill you.

I grab your spear from the mud, wiping it clean in the crook of my elbow so that I can get a firm grip. I realize there’s no question—I must follow you. But I can’t leave your brother here to bleed to death. And I don’t know how long your clanspeople can hold back Lo’s followers and keep them from reaching this cliff.