I catch myself. I was about to say that I do like you. I was about to say that if circumstances were different, I might actually like you very much.
Water sloshes in my boots as we reach the clearing—I wasn’t dressed for wading. My pant legs are soaked through with ice water from the knees down.
We catch up with you in time to see you drag Lees into a hut, without a word of thanks or even a glance back.
I turn toward the hut where I’ve been sleeping—your hut—and I remember waking to find you there. I’d been naive enough to assume that you were worried about me—that you were there out of concern instead of duty.
But in so many ways, you’ve shown me your true feelings. The return of the pelt I’d sent you as a gift. Your ungracious behavior now that Roon and Lees are safe.
It couldn’t be more obvious that you have no concern for me at all.
Which is fitting, since after today, I have none for you.
TWELVE
A terrible evening fades into a terrible night. Despite the softness of the pelts I lie on, enough salt water splashed on the cuts on my back to cause them to ache and throb. For a long time I toss restlessly, and just when I resign myself to lie awake all night I fall asleep and become lost in a nightmare.
In the dream I’m running up and down the bank of a river, pursued by a cat I never see, one that casts a shadow three times the size of the one I killed. I run and run, but I can’t escape it—it’s always right over my shoulder. Finally, I feel its hot breath on my neck and I turn and throw my spear with all my strength.
But as I turn, I find that the cat is not there. Instead, I’ve struck you with the spear; it juts out at me from a gaping wound just below your collarbone. Your eyes dim, and you crumple at my feet. I turn in place, calling for anyone to come help me try to save you. But when I bend to pull out the spear, it isn’t you lying in a pool of blood. It’s the mammoth, the one that haunts me, still staring at me with that look of defeat, still silently beckoning me to throw myself into the dark hole that opens up in its eye.
When I wake in the daylight, the back of my neck drenched in sweat, I thank the Divine that the final night in your camp is behind me.
My family emerges from our borrowed huts before the morning meal, but Chev meets us with a basket loaded with dried berries—many I’ve never seen before—as well as several parcels of salmon, cooked and wrapped to be eaten on the journey.
No one else greets us from your family. Only your brother and the oarsmen who will row us back to our own camp are outside, as the covered meeting space buzzes with quiet preparation. The rest of your camp is silent and still.
Pek carries my bag to spare my back as we head down the trail to the beach, and following this path this morning fills me with an echo of the fear I felt last night. Roon runs ahead of me. Even this morning he overflows with a sense of adventure. It’s odd, I think, how the thing you love most in a person can also be the thing you sometimes wish you could change.
The path seems to have doubled in length while we slept. I don’t remember passing under so many trees before reaching the water. The soil underfoot becomes sandy and the trees more scraggly. Just as we come to the spot where the trees give way to shrubs and grass, I hear a voice calling my name. I turn, but I see no one.
I hesitate. Last night’s nightmare is still too clear in my mind, I think. My senses are tricking me. Scanning the trail just once, I turn again to follow my family, who have all gone ahead of me and are probably loading the boats, wondering where I am.
I emerge from the trees and suck in a breath; the strip of rocky beach looks so different in the daylight. Even low in the sky at our backs, the rising sun has burned away the horrors of mist and shadow that were so perfectly illuminated by the setting sun last night. The briny scent in the air is a welcome sign that we are heading home and I can leave the bad memories I’ve made in your camp behind.
I’m within just a few steps of the rocks when I hear it again—a voice calling my name.
I turn, and this time the source is clear. This is not a voice from my nightmare, but the voice of your youngest sister, Lees. She runs hard down the trail from camp, waving her arms to catch my attention.
When she reaches me, she stops and looks into my face with the expression I’d seen at last night’s meal—the expression I’d mistaken for innocence. I know better now. It’s far from innocence. It’s more an expression of cunning.
“Did you run all the way here to say good-bye?” I ask.
“To say good-bye, yes, but also to say I’m sorry. I caused a lot of trouble last night—”
“You did—”
“But I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry for everything.”