“Now we listen. You’ll know it when you hear it—the whir of their wings. It comes and goes as they fly and land, fly and land.”
I close my own eyes and tune my ears, but I can’t distract myself from the murmured conversation between Lo and my brother. I try to make out their words, but they are too far away, their voices nothing but an intermittent buzz.
Hiking back to camp, I feel that the outing was at least partially successful—we tracked two bees that Shava spotted until they joined up with a larger group. Those bees led us to the shade in the foothills of the mountains. We discovered their hive in the middle of a stunted poplar, growing in a secluded grove protected by sharply rising cliffs at the edge of the meadow.
“We’ll watch it, now that we’ve found it,” I say. “Then later in the season, we’ll smoke the bees to calm them and cut a piece of the hive away.”
“This has been one of the best days of my life,” Shava says. Every head turns toward her; this statement is so strong. Shava meets my eyes and her smile is somehow odd. “I’ve seen so many bees but never really seen them—never seen how they live. Thank you so much for teaching me.”
Recognition washes over me. I realize Shava isn’t acting odd—she’s acting as she always has.
She is looking at me the way she has always looked at Pek.
FIFTEEN
It’s just before the midday meal, and as the group of us hike back to camp, the crunch of gravel underfoot and birdsong overhead is joined by music rising from the gathering place. A strange melancholy grips me—I haven’t been home for the midday meal for days, and the cold formality of your clan has made me long for the warmth of my own.
I’m homesick.
As we walk, I try to make out the song my clanspeople are singing, but the wind is at our backs and the sound moves out and away. Shava walks beside me, pummeling me with questions about bees and hives, so that what I can hear of the music is drowned out and incomplete.
It isn’t until we are just outside the ring of huts that I recognize the tune. The melody is simple—the kind that makes you want to sing along. Vocals dance over a plain drumbeat . . . Oh great Divine, you taught us to make rope of many cords. . . . Two cords are stronger than one. . . . This rope of many cords, wrapped and woven, will remain unbroken. . . .
This is the song of friendship my people were singing when my family arrived back on our shore and found Shava here visiting. I can only assume that more of her clan has arrived from their camp across the bay.
The trail ends at a gap in the huts that reveals the gathering place. A girl stands outside the circle, long dark hair, straight and loose, flowing down her back—a girl wearing an ill-fitting parka that appears to be borrowed from a brother.
I know it is you long before I see your face. Standing beside you, her posture tense and taut, is your sister, Seeri. She strides toward us as soon as Pek steps into view.
I want to ask why you’re here, who came with you, if your brother is also here, how long you will stay. But I realize that your rude treatment of me and my family wouldn’t merit that type of greeting. Instead I smile and turn to the girls who walk beside me.
“Seeri, Mya . . . this is Shava and Lo, our neighbors from the Bosha clan. They are camping across the bay and have come to visit.” I glance at Seeri’s face, but she is looking past my shoulder. I turn to you and your eyes are on the ground.
Such flagrant arrogance.
“These are our neighbors,” I repeat. “This is Shava, and this is Lo. We just came from an outing to the meadow. We went in search of honeybees.”
“And we were very successful,” Shava adds. A loud giggle escapes her, and my nerves jump along my spine.
I wait for your nods, for your acknowledgment of these strangers. My eyes shift from you to Seeri and back again. Both of you stare absently, ignoring the introductions being made.
Could it be rivalry that prevents you from greeting these girls civilly? Certainly not rivalry over me, but maybe Pek? I might expect disdain from you, but not Seeri, who has shown good manners under the worst of circumstances.
Until now.
“I’m sorry. I’m not feeling well. Please excuse me.” That’s all you say before you turn and walk straight to the door of the hut we built for you the last time you visited. You never even lift your eyes from the ground.
“I should go check on my sister,” says Seeri. At least she meets Pek’s gaze when she speaks. “But first I need to tell you both the reason we’re here.”
My eyes flick to my brother. He stands completely still, as if he fears he’s dreaming that Seeri is here and if he moves he may wake and it would all be gone. “My brother Chev regrets his behavior the night you were all in our camp. After you left he realized that he had treated you rudely. Too much mead, he says.”