I sit up.
It’s morning. By the shade of light streaming from the gap in the hide overhead, I can tell it’s very early—not long past first light.
The quake felt so real, but the longer I’m awake, the more I wonder. I reach back into the murky gloom of sleep, to the moment right before the ground beneath me shook. . . .
I was dreaming of Kol.
He was beside me. . . . We were in the cave high in the cliff near my camp, lying together beneath the mammoth hide I’d wrapped him in when the cold sea had almost frozen the life out of him. My skin was pressed to his skin, but the cold was gone, replaced by a searing warmth. Kol leaned over me, and the shadow of his face fell over mine. . . .
And then the ground shook. And I sat up.
Nothing in our makeshift tent is out of place. The pack of food still hangs from the notch where it was suspended to keep it off the ground. Even the waterskin loosely looped over the pack hasn’t fallen.
Just a dream, I tell myself. But I shiver as the memory of Kol’s warmth slips away.
I slide out of bed, careful not to disturb Noni or Lees, and slip on my boots and my parka. Grabbing my spear, I step out of the warm stillness of the tent and into the chilly breeze of the beach.
The stillness falls away—the world outside is active with momentum. My heart’s rhythm falls in time with the rush of the waves, the whisper of the wind in the trees that cling to the ledges behind me. My head swivels on my shoulders, and there, high up on the cliff, something moves. Something big.
The sun is rising on the other side of the island, and the western shore is still shadowed. Yet I know I saw movement.
My hand flinches on the shaft of my spear. My eyes search the stirring leaves, hoping to see it again. An elk? It must have been an elk. The quick glimpse of a broad brown back passing between trees, so far out on the edge of the cliff so early in the day. Only an elk would trust its footing on those steep ledges above the sea.
Lees and Noni will sleep a long time yet. I could be back before they wake, dragging a kill behind me.
It isn’t long before I’ve packed supplies and gathered up weapons. Along with my spear, I take an atlatl and darts. I wrap the sling Ama gave me around my waist again today and drop some palm-sized rocks into my pack. I slide my waterskin over my shoulder.
The trail from the beach winds up the cliff wall, climbing and switching back a few times, splitting off at different ledges that overlook the beach before breaking into smaller paths. Some head back to the shoreline at the foot of the cliff. Others wind down the gentle slope that descends from the cliff’s southern face, where trees spring up, protected by the steep rock from the north wind. I stay on the main trail, following it all the way to the top of the cliff, to an overhanging rock that gives a startling view out over the water in every direction. It’s beautiful, but there’s something lonely about the vast stretch of unbroken sea, and I don’t linger.
From here, the trail winds around the peak and drops slowly down into trees, toward lower cliffs that border the western shore. With each step the light dims and the shade deepens, as the trail becomes a broken pattern of shadow and sun. The shade pushes in so close, I can feel it on my skin like the cool mist that rises off the water early in the morning. I peer through the growth that borders the trail, looking for both predators and prey. Dense swaths of trees alternate with open clearings, and at intervals light pours through gaps, filling me with a sense of something peering back at me—something unseen.
Still, when I stop and search the brush, I find no sign of the elk I saw earlier.
I begin to think of turning back when I hear the laughing sound of running water—the spring must not be far. Noni told us that a creek runs from one of the highest points on the western edge of the island, filling a lake in the woods south of the cliffs. Though she’d been on the island only a few days before we arrived, she’d explored, searching out sources of water and feverweed. Noni loves the lake—she said it lies so still and wide it reflects the clouds. I tell myself I will hike there when the girls wake, after we’ve had a morning meal of fish and cleaned the elk I’ll be bringing back to camp soon. I tell myself all these things to quiet the voice of doubt that whispers in my thoughts—doubt that an elk was ever there at all.
Then something moves in the corner of my sight. Something beyond the trail, beyond the trees that edge the path. Something is coming.
I hear it moving off to my right—the side of the trail that skirts the cliffs. A dark shape like a living shadow slides between the trees, bending back branches that snap as it passes. Spots of pale sunlight catch in its fur, fewer than twenty paces from where I stand. A smooth, brown coat covers a wide, high back.
The elk. It must be the elk. As it moves behind me, gravel and twigs crunch under its feet. I stop.
Peering into the space where the animal passed, I notice a wide swath of flattened underbrush. The thought of bringing in a kill of such size thrills me, but I hesitate. The wind blows in off the water, and something like dread crawls across my skin.
Another twig snaps, and I realize my prey is getting away. I practically run back up the trail, watching for movement through the trees. About halfway back toward the overhanging rock, I finally catch up to it.
I can’t quite see its edges. It’s hidden by thick shade, but now and then it presses against branches and moves under the light. At a small opening in the trees that allows a circle of sun to reach the ground, I see the height of its back.
That’s when I know it’s not an elk. It’s far too big. The peak of its back is far too high from the ground.
I continue to follow it, as the mistake I’ve made sinks in. Not an elk. Not a deer. Much bigger. My fear sharpens as the dark shape moves into a clearing at the end of the path, right at the overhanging rock.
It’s a short-faced bear. His shoulder is as tall as the top of my head.
Terror stills my feet. I’m certain that he will soon smell my scent and turn on me. I draw a deep breath and prepare to run.
But then I see what the bear sees, and I know he won’t turn around. He is pursuing other prey. Right in front of him, at the end of the trail, a man stands with his back against the ledge of rock.
Kol.
He doesn’t see me. The bear is too big—so big he blocks Kol’s view, so big he blocks his escape.
The rock ledge pins him from behind—the drop over its side is too long and steep—and the path to his right is blocked by the bear. But there is another path to his left—a trail that follows the ledge of the rock wall. I see him throw a quick glance down that path before turning his full attention back to the bear.
He takes a slight step to the side, keeping the bear in front of him, but positioning himself so he has a route behind him. I watch him—his eyes darting from the bear to the trail and back again. My breath comes so quick, I feel as if I’m struggling not to drown. My heart kicks like legs treading water.
The wind blows in, and on the air is the scent of the bear and something else. Something like cold blood. The blood of all the prey the bear has killed. Though the wind is cold, sweat beads on my lip and my brow.
Kol’s back leans against the ledge, and he bends out as far as he can. His arm extends over his shoulder—the arm that holds his spear.
One spear. It looks so small beside the huge bear—too small to stop him, or even to make a difference. But what options does he have? He cocks his arm, bringing his hand behind his ear, and fires his spear into the bear’s side.
The bear’s growl is sharp and clear and cuts through all other sound. But he doesn’t drop. He doesn’t even sag. Kol’s spear sticks out from his side, a deep gash torn through him, but still he has strength. Sound pours from his open jaws. The sound itself seems to push me back. I dig my heels into the dirt beneath my feet, refusing to be moved. My spear slides in my hand as I ready my shot.
And then the bear rears.
All his weight moves, and the sight of him—dark, rippling with power—reminds me of the sound of thunder. His huge back legs straighten, and he lifts his massive frame upward. He teeters, the only sign that a spear has been planted in his flesh, and brings a huge paw forward, landing a blow to Kol’s head. Kol ducks, but the bear’s claws scrape across the back of his scalp.
He falls, landing at the bear’s feet, but he doesn’t stay down. He isn’t giving up. He crawls away, trying to reach the path behind him.
I focus on the hole in the bear’s side, torn open by Kol’s spear. I have just one shot. Then we will both be unarmed. I need to make this strike count.
But before I can throw the spear, Kol pulls himself up. Blood leaks from the gashes in his scalp and runs down his hair, beading and dripping onto his shoulders. He moves so slowly, like a small child putting weight on his feet for the first time, unsure if he can trust his legs to hold him. But they do hold him, and as I watch, he turns his back to the bear and stumbles forward, almost falling.
But he doesn’t fall. He catches himself. And then he runs.
The path behind him hugs the cliff as it descends, and he stumbles more than runs, falling forward with every step. The bear stays right behind him, not giving up.
But I won’t give up either.
I follow, hoping for the trail to open on the perfect vantage point—for the Divine to reveal to me the perfect chance to take the perfect shot. Only the perfect shot could bring him down. I hurry to stay close, but then Kol stops in the middle of the trail.
In front of him and to his right, a face of smooth rock rises straight and unbroken, towering over his head. To his left, the path drops off to the ground below, too high a drop to jump. Kol reaches up, feeling for a ledge. From where I stand, slightly uphill of him, I see that just above his hands, the rock levels off. A flat terrace, wide and grass covered, is only a small space above the reach of his searching hands.
The bear growls again, a guttural sound full of fatigue and pain. The wound Kol gave him is taking a toll, yet he doesn’t withdraw. He doesn’t turn and look back the way he came, wondering if there might be an easier way to feed himself today. Maybe he knows his wound is bad—maybe he knows he’s dying. Whatever his reasons, his focus stays on Kol. Still, the bear doesn’t move in. Not yet. He’s waiting, gathering his remaining strength for a final assault.
My choices are few. I could strike with my spear, or I could try to get above Kol—to the terrace that’s just beyond his reach—to try to pull him up. My eyes scan the deep gash under the bear’s ribs. Blood pools in his coat. Could I land a second strike in the same place? Would it be enough to drop him? If not, what will he do? Will he kill Kol before I can move to help him?
I can’t be sure, but I also can’t stand to wait and do nothing any longer. I creep as close to the bear as I can and throw my spear.
It pierces the bear’s hide, lodging no more than the width of a hand below Kol’s. The bear turns and looks back in my direction. His head dips but he does not fall. Instead, he swings back around to face Kol.
I have to climb. I have to try to pull Kol up.
I shrug off my pack and run my hands over the cliff wall. It’s steep, its surface pitted and ridged, and my fingers dig into narrow crevices above my head. With this tenuous grip, I pull one foot up—one small step—and wedge my toes in place. Then another step—just as small, just as difficult.
Still, little by little, I rise.
Hand over hand, foot over foot. My fingers dig so deep into the cracks within the stone, my skin tears and blood coats my hands. I hardly notice. It doesn’t matter. All my focus is on my toe pressing into the rock, finding a foothold. Then another. The climbing gets easier. I pull in a breath, and a hint of hope expands inside me.
When I can see over the top of the wall—when I can feel grass under my reaching hand—I let that hope take hold. I scramble up the last few steps until I’m standing, looking down on Kol and the bear.
From here, I can see the size of him. He is tall enough to look Kol in the eye, and he is almost as wide as Kol’s arm span. Even the spears protruding from his side look small and inconsequential from here.
I move quickly, scooping up three big stones from the ground. Breathless and shaking, I fling the first one at the path behind the bear. It lands hard, and I throw the second from behind him, hitting him squarely in the back. He swings his head around. The last rock lands against his rear leg, and the bear lets out a growl of warning as he shifts his feet, lumbering in a circle toward the unseen aggressor that would dare attack him a second time from behind.
With the bear distracted, I turn my attention to Kol. I watch him sweep his eyes over the ledge until he sees me. Relief flashes across his face. I want to shout his name, but I don’t dare make a sound. Instead I silently drop to the ground and reach for him.
Flat on my stomach, I extend my arms. Kol takes my hands.
The ground, cold and hard, digs into the skin of my hips. Kol’s arms interlace with mine and I shift all my weight back, pushing hard into the ground beneath my knees.
My blood-slick hands slide along the inside of Kol’s sleeves, and a sticky red trail coats the sealskin. Kol slips away, slithering out of my grip.
I lunge forward, grabbing his hands, and one foot catches under him. His weight shifts. He pushes off that foot, and he moves closer to me. My hands clutch the hide of his parka, and he springs upward. All at once, his chest rises over the edge of the rock. One leg swings over. Then the other.
With one final grunt, he flips his body onto the ground beside me.
For a moment I hover over him. Relief crowds out every thought, and I forget to speak. I forget to cry. All I do is drop to the dirt beside him and pull him into my arms.
I would stay like this if I could. I wouldn’t need to ask him how he came here or why. I wouldn’t need to ask him anything at all. If I could simply lie on the ground here and hold on to him, knowing he is safe.
But he won’t lie still. He sits up, and before I can stop him he is climbing to his feet, running a hand over his hair.
It comes away coated in blood.
For a moment, he stares wide-eyed at his hand. “I think,” he starts, but he doesn’t finish. His left leg buckles beneath him, and he drops down hard onto his knee. “Still a little weak, I guess,” he says. I remember the night of the stampede. The deep cuts in his knee.
I crouch down in front of him. “How bad are you? Can you walk?”
He slumps forward and blood runs across his forehead and down his cheek. I think of Noni and her feverweed—the claims she made that it could stop the flow of blood. Would I know the plant if I saw it? My eyes sweep the sparse shrubs and vines that grow between the rock face and the trees.
Before he gives me his answer, a twig snaps.
Then another.
The sound comes from the shade of the woods, just about fifteen paces from the ledge . . . just ten paces from where we sit.
I look at Kol, and I realize what a grave mistake I’ve made. To climb the rock to get above him, I was forced to drop my pack and leave it behind. My pack with the atlatl and darts.
And our spears are in the bear.
I reach for my knife—the small thin blade of flint tucked into Ama’s sling that is tied at my waist, and I know that this weapon will be useless against a short-faced bear. Or a wolf. Or any other predator that might step out of the shade and into the sunlight.
I glance back at the way we just came, wondering if it would be possible for us to flee by going down the rock face. I could retrieve my pack. But would we be putting ourselves back in the path of a wounded bear?
Could Kol even make that jump, I wonder, as he swipes more blood away from his eyes.
One more snap of a twig—this one louder than the others before it, and I prepare to scramble down. I’ll help him. . . . I’ll ease him over the ledge.
But then I hear my name, and I turn back.
At the edge of the clearing, just this side of the trees, stands Chev.