The scents of smoke and fish roll from the kitchen. I hear Mala’s voice coming from inside, and I slow my steps, listening at the door for Kol, but I don’t hear him. I don’t see him in the meeting place, either, though many of the Manu have already gathered for the meal.
In my family’s hut, I find Seeri alone. “There you are! They’ve called us to the meal. Chev and Lees are already outside.” Seeri’s eyes shift to the hem of my pants, dripping water onto the floor. “Were you wading?”
“I went out with Ama this morning. We brought in a kill of six seabirds.”
Seeri’s face pinches for a moment, like she’s caught between laughing and crying. She runs her hand across her face and smiles—a slow, soft smile—and shakes her head. “You are already doing what’s best for the Manu clan, already behaving like the betrothed of the clan’s High Elder.”
My stomach tightens at her words, and I fold myself onto the piled hides that form my bed. “Seeri,” I start, my voice tentative. “Can I tell you a secret?”
She sits down across from me. The pinch returns to her face, but now it’s changed. “You’re my sister. You can always tell me your secrets.” But her eyes are wary.
“For so long,” I start, my voice carefully measured, “I couldn’t forgive the Manu. I blamed them for our mother’s death. I hated them. But then I met Kol and all that changed. My feelings for Kol softened my feelings for the Manu. I forgave them. I even decided I could become one of them. I could join their clan to be with Kol.”
I watch Seeri stiffen at these words. We’ve talked this over many times in our hut back home—the way our betrothals will separate us. If I marry Kol, I will join his clan, since he will be the next High Elder of the Manu. But if I leave the Olen, then Seeri will be next in line to be High Elder, after our brother Chev. So if she marries Pek, he will have to join the Olen.
Seeri and I will separate, and so will Pek and Kol.
“But now I’m terrified. I was happy to become betrothed to Kol. I knew that one day he would be High Elder of the Manu. One day, but not now.” I drop my head, and I feel the ivory beads in my hair shift. The beads Ela braided into my hair for my betrothal. “I know I’m ready to be betrothed to Kol,” I say, “but I don’t know if I’m ready to be betrothed to the Manu’s High Elder. It’s all happening so soon. I thought I would have lots of time before I had to be the spouse—the partner—of the leader of the clan that took our mother’s life.”
Someone shuffles by the door of the hut, and I worry that I can be heard outside. I feel like a traitor. For the longest time, I thought my feelings for Kol made me a traitor to the memory of my mother. Now I feel like a traitor to Kol. No matter where I place my loyalty, someone is betrayed.
I tip my head back, turning my face up to the vent overhead. The room feels small and airless.
“You have nothing to be ashamed of,” Seeri says. “I’m sure I would feel the same way in your place. Pek probably feels the same about joining the Olen.”
“I know, but . . . This is so hard for me to say.”
“What is it?” Seeri’s words are clipped. A dread has crept into her voice. “What is it you can’t say? Have you changed your mind? Have you decided to refuse Kol?”
The door pulls back just a bit. A boy outside clears his throat. I jump up, hoping to see Kol, but it’s Pek.
“Sorry. I don’t mean to disturb you—”
“Is Kol with you?” I ask.
“He’s across the bay. He went to the Bosha this morning. To give them the news and bring Kesh home.”
Pek takes a step into the room, and my attention catches on the ways he’s changed since yesterday. The hollows under his eyes and the sag in his shoulders. Seeri, too, even with Pek right beside her, seems dimmed by grief today. All but her eyes, which are burning with the fear that I’ve changed my mind about Kol.
“My mother asked me to call you to the meal,” Pek says. “She won’t start without you.”
This courtesy of Mala’s weighs on me like a heavy obligation. I’d love to stay in this hut—take my mat alone as I did the first night I visited the Manu—but that would be unacceptable. I mean something to the Manu now; I have a place in their clan, though that place is rough and unformed, like the blade of a new knife only half-carved from a piece of obsidian.
Once in the meeting place, Roon greets me with a mat of fish and arrow grass. The rich, oily scent of the fish reminds me how empty my stomach is. I haven’t eaten since we arrived yesterday.
Chev, Lees, and Morsk—Chev’s closest friend, who served as one of our party’s rowers—are seated with Kol’s mother and several other elders of his clan. When she sees me, Mala waves for me to come and sit beside her.
“I want to thank you for bringing in the game,” she says as I take my place. “Ama was full of praise for you when she brought the birds to the kitchen.” She reaches out her hand and places it on mine in a simple gesture of affection, but I snatch my hand away. Heat rushes up my neck. I instantly regret my reaction—it was thoughtless at best, an insult at worst—but Mala lets it go. She pats me on the shoulder. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize my hand was so cold.”
“It’s not. I—I was startled,” I stammer. I know I should take her hand, return her gesture of friendship to make it right, but I can’t. I can’t let anyone mother me, not even Kol’s mother.
Not yet.
As soon as the meal is over, Mala announces a meeting of the clans—all three clans—Manu, Olen, and Bosha. It’s clear she’s discussed this already with Chev. He’s not surprised.
“Some clan business,” Mala says, “that should be taken care of before the burial.” I look at the sky. The sun is more than halfway up—the meeting must start soon. But then I hear voices coming from the shore. Boats have landed—Kol has returned. All at once I realize why Mala wants the clans to meet.
She wants to betroth her sons before she buries her husband.
I want to linger in the meeting place for Kol. I want to see him—I almost need to see him—to see that he’s walking without a limp and know that his wounds are healing. But Seeri won’t let me wait. The moment the mats are cleared, she’s rushing me into our hut to primp.
“This meeting is not something you go to with your hair arranged by the sea breeze,” Seeri says. “Sit. I’ll fix it the best I can.” I drop down onto my bed and she pulls out an ivory comb. She untangles a strand that hangs down my back and leans over to whisper in my ear.
“You haven’t changed your mind about this betrothal, have you?” she asks.
“My feelings for Kol have not changed.”
“Good,” she murmurs. “Now hold still.”
I hold my head upright, letting her redo a braid she’s dissatisfied with. A shaft of sun pours in through the vent, and I watch motes of dust rise and fall with the small shifts in air caused by Seeri’s quick fingers. It’s peaceful, and my pounding heart begins to calm.
The motes of dust scatter as the hide that forms the door is swept aside and Chev strides in. For a moment, he stands in the doorway, studying me. Lees slides in so close behind him, she’s in before the door can fall closed. “It’s time,” Chev says. There is something bubbling under his skin—a forcefulness he is struggling to keep in check. I’d like to think it’s a sort of joy at the betrothal of his sisters that’s stirring him up, but I can’t help imagining that it’s something else—a sense of what is about to happen—a sense of the expansion of the reach of his clan and his own power.
Maybe it’s a bit of both.
“Bring your spear,” he says, grabbing one of his own from where it leans against a wide beam carved from the thighbone of a mammoth. “We’ll be convening on the beach.” He turns to look at Lees. “For privacy,” he adds.
But Lees has always been stubborn. As Chev moves to the door, Lees tries to follow. “This is a private gathering of clan leaders,” my brother says. “You are not invited.”
“But if my sisters are to become betrothed—”
“You will be the first to hear all about it when they return.” He strides out, followed by Seeri. I grab my own spear—ivory tipped, like Kol’s—and absentmindedly reach for the beads in my hair. As I step through the door, I glance back over my shoulder. Lees is still on her feet. I have no doubt she intends to be at this gathering, even if she has to stay out of sight.
I walk alone to the beach—Chev and Seeri are already too far ahead for me to catch them—and I glance around, hoping to see Kol. The boats are back from the Bosha clan, but maybe he returned to his hut while I was in mine. When a male voice calls my name from over my shoulder I spin around, but it’s not him. It’s his brother Kesh. He walks with Shava, his betrothed from the Bosha clan.
“We’re so glad you’re all right,” Kesh says, as Shava embraces me.
“Kol came this morning to the Bosha camp to bring us the news,” Shava adds. Despite her training as a storyteller, she can’t quiet the shake in her voice as she describes the moment when one brother told the other of the loss. I bite the inside of my cheek, hoping the pain will distract me from the picture her words create in my mind.
While we stand on the edge of the path, a woman with white hair pulled back in a long braid strides by. She is petite, but her head is held high. “Is that Dora?” I ask.
“She came from the Bosha camp with us,” answers Shava. There’s something in her tone—she speaks so low, it’s almost a whisper, as if she is used to speaking about Dora in secret. “And the girl with her is Anki, her daughter.”
I look up at their backs as they pass. I remember them, of course, from Lo’s burial. But I also remember them from my childhood—from the days when I was a small girl and the Olen and Bosha lived as one clan. I remember Anki’s envy of my closeness with Lo, and how she and her brother, Orn, seemed so pleased when our clan split and my family went away.
Now Orn lies in a grave beside Lo’s—both victims of the attack they made on my family’s clan—but I’ve been told Dora and Anki played no part in the attack. Still, as I watch them go—mother and daughter side by side—I can’t control the flush of rage that rolls across my skin. Perhaps they didn’t help with Lo and Orn’s schemes, but they didn’t stop them, either.
This is what I’m thinking about—my reluctance to forgive and to trust—when we reach the beach. Someone has brought pelts from camp and strewn them on the dark sand, and people sit between the dunes, well back from the water’s edge. Three gray dire wolf hides lie on the higher ground, and I drop down onto one. Shava and Kesh sit beside me.
From this seat, I can survey the gathered crowd. Kol’s clan is represented by his mother, his brothers Pek and Kesh, and their father’s brother and his wife. From my clan I see Chev and Seeri sitting beside the two elders—husband and wife—who rowed my canoe to this camp yesterday, and my brother’s longtime friend and Seeri’s former betrothed, Morsk. He’s one of my brother’s closest advisors, so I’m not surprised he is here. The Bosha sit the farthest from me, on the part of the sand that begins to slope toward the shore. They huddle together like seals—Dora, her daughter, Anki, and two others I don’t recognize.
“Who is that, seated with the others from your clan?” I ask Shava.
“Oh, they’re both elders. The woman is a cousin of Lo’s . . . or a cousin of her father, maybe. Definitely part of that family. And the man is her husband. They’ve been helping to lead while we have no High Elder.”
I study their faces. I must know them—they would have been five years younger when the clan split and my family moved south. But I can’t place them. Just as I lean over to ask Shava their names, two sounds distract me—a rustling in the dune grass, and shuffling footfalls on the path.
I do not need to look to know who is creeping through the dunes. It can only be my sister Lees. I knew she would come to listen in. But the footsteps turn me around.
Coming down the trail is a boy whose warm eyes are dimmed by loss. A boy whose soft mouth is pressed into a taut line.
Kol.
He arrives with Urar, leaning close to him and speaking low, and I notice that he is limping. Memories of last night flash through my mind—his pant leg torn at the knee, blood flowing down his shin. I see the way he winces each time he takes a step with his left leg. I see the way he uses his spear to support his weight.
I watch him closely, my pulse growing quicker as his eyes flit from face to face. They move to Shava, then Kesh. My palms press against the ground beneath me, my fingers digging into the cool sand. His eyes will move to me next. I watch him, unblinking, until his gaze meets mine.
A twitch at the corner of his lip . . . I think he is about to smile. Heat floods through my chest and rushes up my neck.
And then his mother says his name and he turns away. She is welcoming everyone on behalf of his father, and she is introducing Kol to the gathered crowd.
He walks to her side, and I notice the limp all but disappears. He doesn’t want her to know how badly he’s hurt.
As he passes in front of me, he slows. His eyes touch mine again, and I am carried back to the moment when he saw me watching him in the canyon, when he first looked through my defenses and knew my purpose for coming here. For a brief instant he sees into me again, and then his eyes sweep back to his mother and he moves away.
My breath goes ragged. I listen to the beat of the waves, steady and constant, and try to draw that steadiness in. Memories flash through my mind like lightning—the flame illuminating Kol’s skin, the heat of his lips against my hand, Seeri’s question: Have you decided to refuse Kol?
“While my husband is still formally High Elder, I want to discuss some business between our clans that he felt was important. The Manu have ties . . . history . . . with both the Olen and the Bosha, and preserving those connections for the good of all was his constant thought and concern. So first, before business with the Olen, I wish to discuss the Bosha clan.” With that, she presses her gaze—heavy with grief but also with the weight of her question—onto Dora and the other Bosha elders. “Who will be the Bosha’s new High Elder?” She asks this question without a flinch of hesitation. There is nothing to indicate that she knows she is overstepping her rights. Perhaps she isn’t. The Bosha’s last High Elder, Lo, set fire to the Manu camp, putting all their lives at risk. Shouldn’t the Manu have the right to ask who will take Lo’s place?
The two elders who came with Dora and Anki glance at each other. Perhaps one of them is the new High Elder. I think I see a subtle nod from the woman. Her husband stands.
“We are happy to answer your questions. But first a confession, and a request for forgiveness. My name is Thern, and this is my wife, Pada. We are both elders of the Bosha clan. It is with shame that we admit that we were fooled by Lo. We failed as leaders, and our failure caused pain and damage.”
I watch Dora as Thern speaks. Her eyes flit briefly to Anki’s before returning to her hands, folded in her lap.
“This is why our answer to your question is that we have not chosen a new High Elder. Nor do we intend to. Instead, we hope to gain the forgiveness of the Olen clan, and ask them to allow us to rejoin them, reuniting the once-great Bosha clan.” He turns to face my brother. “If you will accept us, we would have you, Chev, as our High Elder.”
Though I didn’t recognize either Thern or Pada at first—there is a lean hardness to both of them that wasn’t there five years ago—I recognize their names, of course. Slowly, like seeing someone step out of a thick fog, their faces come back to me. I remember Pada especially, the second cousin of my best friend. She was older than us—beautiful and strong. I remember she kept her hair short to keep it out of her way in the hunt. My mother refused to cut mine to match, though I begged and begged. I wanted to be just like her, up until the day she chose to stay behind with Vosk.
She stood on the shore as I boarded the boat and Lo taunted me about my pendant. She was there when I crushed it under my boot against the rock. She called after us as we pulled away from shore, asking the Divine to forsake us and drown us in the sea.
I remember feeling so relieved that I still had my long hair—that I wasn’t like her. I cannot forgive her. I cannot accept anyone who so strongly rejected my family.
But Chev is different. He can accept anything, as long as he thinks it will lead to a return to the days when our father was High Elder of the Bosha. He gets to his feet from where he sits beside Seeri and crosses to the center of the circle. Thern meets him there and the two men exchange humble nods. So forgiving, so kind. But I see the slight shift in Chev as he fills with the knowledge of his expanding power. No smile, but heat rises in his eyes.
Mala stands. “I want to thank the Bosha elders for their openness,” she says. She steps forward, and Chev and Thern return to their seats. “I am certain that the Spirit of my husband is pleased to have this answer, as well.”
Mala lets her eyes sweep over the circle, addressing the group as a whole again, letting us all know that she would like to now speak about the Olen.
The time has come to discuss the Manu’s business with my clan.
Though I hear Kol’s mother’s voice, the sound stretches and bends into a low humming murmur, as if my head were underwater. I recognize the sound of my brother’s name, and the words thank you and the name of our clan. The word friendship swims through the hum, and willingness to help. Then she asks the purpose of the visit. It’s a formal question—part of custom. She can have no doubt what our purpose is. I saw it in her eyes the moment I stepped out of the boat and onto this shore.
The sound of the waves at the water’s edge, the wind rustling in the sea grass, and the echo of my own name—these sounds break through and fill my head. My eyes flick to Chev as he gets to his feet.
“I speak of my sister Mya first, because Kol is the future of the Manu clan. The Manu is on the cusp of new leadership—a great honor and responsibility will be conferred upon Kol soon.” Chev turns to face Kol, standing directly between us so that I cannot see his face. Something churns inside me like a catch of fish trying to escape the net. Every part of me twists and writhes. “The Manu have suffered a great loss, and we mourn that loss with you. But we also look forward to the future of the Manu. With that future in mind, Mala, I would like to betroth my sister Mya to your son Kol.”
My eyes are on the sand at my brother’s feet when he steps aside, opening the line of sight to the place where Kol sits. If I looked up, I could see his face. I could see what everyone else sees—his reaction to my brother’s words.
They are all looking at Kol. They all know what I want to know. What I need to know. So reluctantly, haltingly, I raise my eyes.
And when I see Kol’s face, his answer is there.