Just then, Roon calls her name from the water, but when we both turn, we see Kesh grab him by the arm. They are already seated in a boat and I can see Kesh isn’t risking any wild behavior from Roon. Maybe Lees and Roon had hoped for a more personal farewell—perhaps even an embrace—but they’ll have to make do with a vigorous wave.
“Kol!” my mother calls. “Everyone’s set to go.”
“Good-bye, Lees. Try to stay out of trouble,” I say. She smiles that cunning smile and I begin to turn away.
But before I can turn, she grabs me by the shoulder. I’m caught off guard, and I spin my head around to face her. As I do, she pushes up on her toes and presses a soft kiss against my cheek.
I step back. “Was that a thank-you for helping you last night?”
“No,” she says. She lowers her voice, as if she is about to bestow upon me some rare secret. “That wasn’t from me; it was from her.” She turns and looks up the trail and right there—right at the place where the last trees cast a blanket of morning shade—you stand.
You raise your arm and wave. Such a small gesture, but the simple movement of your hand fans a flame inside me that I’ve tried again and again to smother out.
Without thinking, I raise my hand and wave back. I want to jog up the trail and speak to you, but I’m not sure what I want to say.
“Kol!” Now it’s the voice of my father. “What’s wrong?”
“Be safe,” your little sister says, “and come back soon.”
I want to ask Lees if this message, like the kiss, was sent by you, but my father calls my name one more time, so I turn and hurry to the water’s edge. Wading out to where the water reaches my knees and my feet ooze into the silt of low tide, I climb into the long canoe and we are off.
When I look back over the beach, Lees still stands waving, but you are gone.
As soon as we push into your bay, we head out beyond the pull of the tide to deeper, calmer water. From here, the coast is a long swath of green—an unbroken line of trees soaring above rocky gray cliffs. At places, the cliffs tower high over the sea and at others, they bend so close to meet it that they are no longer cliffs at all, but low bluffs that wrap around cozy inlets.
We move farther north, and the wind grows cooler as the trees grow thinner. Here, the rocky shore is interrupted by frozen waterfalls that plunge to the edge of the sea. These rivers of ice run down from the ice-covered peaks of the coastal mountains. They are as cold as they are beautiful, but still my heart warms as they come into sight. We’ve reached a boundary, a sort of gateway to the north. I’m reminded of the moment on my hike south on the inland trail when I realized the mountains were all at once behind me, holding back the north wind, protecting the south from the chill that blows constantly down over the Great Ice.
Out here on the water, I know those mountains aren’t far. Soon, the north wind will blow hard against my face again. Soon, the trees on the shoreline will disappear. Already they’ve diminished to a broken line of scrubby, tangled patches where there is still sufficient shelter to the north. Just ahead the line of land bends west. When we reach that bend, the mountains, still white bumps against the sky that could pass as low clouds, will rise up to welcome us.
My mother sits in front of me. She turns and smiles. “You look hungry,” she says, misreading only slightly the look of longing she sees on my face. She unwraps slabs of fish and passes them to me, my father, and the two oarsmen who wordlessly paddle this boat—one at the head and one at the rear.
Out on the water ahead of us, my brother Pek leads our group in the kayak he used to come to your camp, while another oarsman from your clan paddles from the rear seat. Pek had argued that he could handle the boat by himself, but considering the distance, it was decided the presence of an extra paddler made more sense than my prideful brother paddling alone with the second seat empty. Behind us, a second canoe similar to this one but a bit smaller in size—a boat I suspect may be the exact canoe Roon and Lees took out last night—carries Roon and Kesh as well as two more oarsmen from your clan. Roon is almost finished with his piece of fish—that boy is always hungry.
I pivot in my seat again, turning my back to the shore and facing west, allowing myself a long moment to look out at the horizon—ever constant despite the changing coastline. I linger over a few deep breaths, reveling in the familiar scent of the sea and the whisper of the paddles as they cut the surface. So familiar . . . I let my eyes close and I almost feel that I’m home. I open them again and imagine that the sea beside me is the sea that stretches from our bay.
It’s then that I notice them—distant shadows moving across the gray sea.