“Before the split, their father and mother were trusted in every way. People went where Olen said to go, whether it was an order to follow the herd, to take kayaks out to fish, or to go on a gathering trip that would take days.”
The slope of the trail turns downhill as we navigate a tight bend that reveals the open sea below us. The view from this spot looks over the section of the shore where Lo’s clan is camped—the remnant of your clan. The people you left behind. I think of the fighting that took place between your clan and mine when you visited us five years ago. If what Lo says is true, that must’ve been right after you and your family had torn away from your own people.
We continue down the trail and the smoke from the hearthfires of Lo’s camp disappears behind a wall of trees. From here, the path descends sharply; it won’t be long and this walk will be over.
“So what happened to end that trust?” I ask. I’m not sure if I’m pushing too hard or asking the wrong questions, but I want to keep Lo talking.
“All right.” Lo stops beside a fallen tree that looks as if the last bad storm uprooted it. Its trunk crosses the path. Leaves, still green, sprout from branches that fan across the sloping ground like the spread fingers of a hand of the Divine. She sits down and pulls her legs up, perching her chin on her knees. I sit opposite her, in a patch of ferns that edge the path. “Olen began to lose the clan’s trust when he turned us away from the ways the Divine had ordained for us as mammoth-hunters—the ways of our ancestor, Bosha. Do you know her story?”
Bosha . . . The ancestor Lo’s clan—your clan—is named for. “I’m sorry,” I say. “I may have heard it when I was a boy, but I don’t remember.”
“I’m happy to tell you,” Lo says. “It’s a story I love to tell.
“Bosha lived a long time ago. She was a great hunter. With her husband she had two children—twins—one boy and one girl. One day, while Bosha was out hunting alone, she brought down a mammoth. The mammoth did not die quickly, though, and while it still had strength, it began to crush her. Knowing that her death would mean hunger and suffering for her family, Bosha pleaded with the mammoth. She didn’t beg for her own life, but for the lives of her husband and children. She asked the mammoth to use its dying strength to travel to the door of her family’s hut so that, when the mammoth died, they would have food to survive. The Spirit of the mammoth was so impressed by Bosha’s love for her family, it honored her request.
“After Bosha’s death, her husband grieved her deeply. In memory of her and her great skill as a hunter, he promised the Divine that he and his family would eat only mammoth and other herd animals for the rest of their lives.
“The Divine was moved by the sacrifices of Bosha and her husband, and she brought a great clan out of their offspring. Since then, the Bosha have always lived off the herds.
“But Olen turned us toward a new way of life. We built kayaks to hunt on the sea and we gathered more greens and berries. Some people murmured that Olen was forgetting the old ways. But there was still balance. We still relied on the herds.
“Then a day came that Olen and his wife announced a gathering trip. They wanted to travel to the other side of a stream where more shrubs and sedges grew, hoping we’d find a variety of berries and greens. The plan was to gather, but also to scout for a new home. The grassland where we camped at that time was heavily grazed by bison and mammoths, and the greens were growing scarce.”
She tips her face away from me, pivoting her weight so she is facing the sea breeze. Her gaze skims across the tents that make up her clan’s camp before turning to the sky like she’s studying the clouds.
“Mya was my best friend.” This statement pulls my spinning mind to a sudden stop. “We had grown up together. Our fathers were like brothers. I was like a fourth sister to Mya, Seeri, and Lees. So when this trip was planned—just overnight—as usual, I was included. The six of us went—their mother and father, the girls, and me—and in the beginning, I was excited. I was always happy to do things with that family.
“But the day we were gathering, Mya’s father ordered us all to split up. He said we needed to cover as much ground as possible. He wasn’t worried about any dangers. Cats, bears—our scouts had not spotted any on this side of the creek since the last full moon. He said we were safe. We were all given a digging stick and a large basket of our own and told not to come back to the place we had set up camp until it was full.”