The stillness dissolves like a snowflake on water.
As one, the mammoths turn and rush toward us, their feet carrying massive and twitching bodies over the ground. Chev, Seeri, and I clamber over the jagged boulders that border the pass, struggling to get out of the way.
As I climb higher I look behind me, my eyes sweeping the lower end of the pass. Pek scrambles onto the slabs opposite me, out of danger. Farther below I see Kol, and behind him—not far, maybe an arm’s length away—his father.
At the foot of the pass, shadows ripple like water. Everything—the ground, the sky, the sun itself—trembles with the motion of the herd.
Kol does not slow, but he turns. I see him reach back, his hand open for his father. He expects him to take his hand.
I watch. He is there. He is running right behind Kol.
A sound knifes through me—a violent breaking of rocks.
I see Kol, his hand out, his head raised as he shouts to his father—and then the place he stands is washed out by a swiftly flowing current of broad backs and tusks and raised trunks. The herd runs by like a river, raging and churning after a storm.
And then the river runs dry. The mammoths are gone. Only the whisper of falling dust remains.
From my perch above the pass, movement catches my eye. A hand slides out from under deep shadows and broken rocks—Kol’s hand. The same hand I’d seen him stretching out behind him toward his father.
He pulls himself up, and all I see of him is the top of his head. Even through the gloomy shade, I see his hair turning crimson as it fills with blood. I hear a voice call out his name—my own voice. I hurry down over the rocks, but before I can reach him, he’s on his feet, stumbling forward.
He moves only three steps before he drops to the ground. I think he must have collapsed—light-headed from blood loss, or maybe something worse. I rush to him, and when I reach his side—when I drop to my knees at the spot where he fell—I realize that things are much worse.
Much, much worse.
Bright red blood runs in the gray dust. It pools, dark and thick, in a rut, cut into the ground beside a long, shallow ditch.
And in that shallow ditch at the edge of the pass, beside a trampled and shattered spear, lies a trampled and shattered body.
The body of Arem, the High Elder of the Manu.
The body of Kol’s father.
Kol leans over him, takes his head in his hands, and tries to raise him up. Words tumble from his lips. “Don’t worry. Don’t worry. I’ll take care of you. I’ll take care of you.” Cradling his head, he pulls him to his chest. Blood flows like water over Kol’s hands. If he notices, he doesn’t let it show.
He rocks his father against his chest, and I realize he has no hope of saving him, and he knows it. He knows it is too late. His only hope now is to comfort his father as he goes.
He eases himself onto the ground beside the place where his father lies, still cradling him in his arms. For a short time, both chests heave, both men gulp in air. Both backs stiffen against the hard, cold ground.
But then Arem’s hands slide from the places where they cling to Kol, his arms dropping into the dirt. His back softens and his chest stills.
But not Kol’s. Kol’s chest heaves as he lets the lifeless body of his father slide from his arms. He does not get up, but stays where he is, stretched out beside his father. He is in no hurry to leave his father’s side. Instead, he lays his own head on his father’s chest, and weeps.
Time passes, but the sun remains, squatting on the horizon. Its rays hug the ground, drawing the shadows of mountains from the smallest of rocks. This is the time of year when the sun dips below the horizon only in the middle of each night, when the Divine leaves the Land Above the Sky to feed its fire in preparation for its next trek into day.
I stand with Chev and Seeri, at least twenty paces from Kol, his brother, and his father. The body of his father. They’ve asked us to wait, to give them time.
So we wait.
As the sun sinks, its warmth flees, and a torrent of cold sweeps over the ground. It seeps through my tunic. Without the protection of the parka I would normally wear on a hunt, it soaks right into my bones. My teeth clench but still they chatter, rattling in my head.
The sun is half hidden behind the western hills when Kol and his brother get to their feet and remove their parkas. A shiver runs through me as I watch Kol, stripped from the waist up, crouch and slide his parka under his father’s shoulders. Pek slides his own under his hips. When they tie the sleeves, they have fashioned a sling to carry the body home. Before they lift it, Kol runs both hands through his hair, shaking his head as if to clear it. Drops of blood splatter his bare chest, and his hands, still stained with his father’s blood, are wet again, this time with his own.
At last, he turns toward me. His eyes are red-rimmed and damp. “Could you help me?” he asks.
Biting my bottom lip to hold in a sob, I nod. “Of course.”
Kol squats at my feet and lets me look at the gash on the top of his head. Blood cakes his hair into clumps, but using water from my own waterskin, I rinse it away, careful not to let any drip onto his bare skin. It takes almost all the water I have before I can see the cut in his scalp. “It’s not bad,” I say. I let out a deep breath, relieved to see that this injury shouldn’t need any special care. “The cut’s a bit jagged but not long—maybe the length of my thumb. And not deep.”
“Thank you,” Kol says, but the words fracture and become a groan as he straightens to his feet. His left knee buckles, and he clutches my arm and holds on to keep from falling.
Looking down at his leg, I notice blood running from the hem of his pant leg and over his boot. Dirt mixes with it, forming a sticky dark mud. “Let me look at your leg,” I say, but Kol steps away.
“It’s fine.”
“Kol—”
“There’s no time right now. When we get back to camp I’ll look at it—I’ll let Urar look at it—but there’s not enough time to worry about that now.”
I want to argue, but I don’t. He’s right. Especially about Urar. Kol needs a healer, and the sooner we return to camp, the better. Kol and Pek need to get back into parkas. The cold air stirs and I notice Kol is trembling. Seeri and Pek stand huddled together, her arms around him for warmth.
“Can I help carry him?” my brother asks. He stands away from us, closer to the body. His voice sounds strange, like I’d almost forgotten he was here. Chev usually doesn’t stay quiet for so long, but I can tell by the look on his face that he isn’t sure what to say.
“No, but thank you,” Kol says. “Pek and I can manage.”
The two brothers lift their father’s body in the makeshift sling, and Kol nods for us to follow. Like this, they lead us out of the foothills. We walk in single file, Kol and Pek carrying their father’s body at the head of the line. Arem’s legs hang down, but his head is wrapped in the hood of Kol’s parka. The laces are pulled tight and wound around Kol’s hand in such a way that his father’s head is supported by the sling.
I think of Kol attending to this detail, tying the laces beneath his father’s chin, and my throat closes so tight, I can’t swallow.
We reach the Manu camp after the sun has fully set and the sky is the blue-black of a summer night. Most of the clan is still awake, shadows huddled in the meeting place with Mala, but while we are still too far away to be clearly seen, she hurries to Kol and Pek’s side. It’s too dark to see her face, but I know when I hear the cry come from her throat that she knows what Kol and Pek carry. She knows her husband is dead.
The body is placed in the center of the meeting place, and everyone from Kol’s clan crowds around. The fire burning in the central hearth had nearly gone out, but Urar adds kindling to help it grow. Kol’s uncle carries wood out from the kitchen—this fire will burn throughout the night. Pek emerges from his family’s hut wrapped in a clean parka and heads right to Seeri’s side. Chev joins Lees and Roon among the mourners. I find myself alone, listening and watching from the edge of things. I hear Pek, Chev, Seeri—their voices overlap as questions swirl through the crowd. It’s only when he touches my hand that I realize Kol is not with them.
“I don’t want to bother Urar,” Kol says. My hand burns where he touches me, though his fingers are cold. He hasn’t pulled on a parka yet, and I notice the hairs on his neck standing up in the cold light from the fire. His breath mists the air. Through the din of voices, the healer’s voice stands out. He’s offering a chanted prayer over the body. Kol’s icy fingers wrap around my hand and tug me toward him. “There’s not much light, but could you come look at my knee? If you could clean the wound—”
“Yes,” I say.
He drops his eyes, and I feel like there’s something else he wants to say, but he doesn’t. He pushes through the bear hide that drapes across the doorway to his hut, pulling me in behind him.