But today is not about me. Today is about Kesh. I watch him as he sits cross-legged on the ground in the center of the meeting place playing his flute with a force of joy that bends the notes and turns them skyward, as if they belong to the birds or even to the Divine.
My sister-to-be, Shava, sits close beside Kesh. Funny, I think, how a girl can annoy two brothers and enthrall the third. Yet at this moment, Shava’s usual anxiety replaced by contentment, I can imagine the sweetness Kesh sees in her. Memories flash, images lighting quickly in my mind’s eye, of Kesh and Shava, eight or nine years old, playing on the beach. Before Lil gave him the flute, Shava was his partner in digging up worms. And after, as he learned to play, she was always his first audience when he learned a new song.
Was Kesh in love with Shava even then? Did it break his heart when she fell for Pek? When her family left our clan?
The meal is over but the music plays on. A few of my cousins, too young to remember the last time our clan had a wedding, get up and dance. I move toward the center of the crowd and the sound and movement swirl around me. The world outside this tight circle of family blurs and loses meaning. My mother’s sister grabs my hands and spins me around. I close my eyes and try to block out any thoughts beyond this ring of happiness and hope.
For a moment—a brief fleeting moment—it works. But then I open my eyes to right myself as I turn in place, and I notice something move outside the circle of dancers.
A hand pushes back the hide that covers the door to your hut, and a figure steps out into the light.
You.
Chev emerges from the hut behind you and you turn your attention to him, as if the two of you are completely unaware of the celebration going on just feet away. Do you hope to get away to the boats without having to speak to me again—without being noticed?
If this is your hope, it fades a moment later when Shava calls out Chev’s name.
Chev stops, his eyes scanning the faces of the people crowding the gathering place. He appears surprised, and well he should. It’s almost unheard of for a young girl to so forcefully demand the attention of a High Elder, especially one from another clan. But Shava doesn’t seem to care much for the expectations of society.
My mother, who was carrying a skin of water around to thirsty dancers, hurries to the edge of the ring and intercepts your brother. “I’m sorry,” she begins. “The girl has just become engaged to our son—”
“Which son?”
“One of the younger ones—Kesh. I believe you met him when we visited your camp. He is only fifteen, so there won’t be a wedding until his older brothers are betrothed, of course.”
Before my mother can say another word to try to smooth things over, Kesh appears at her side, trailing behind Shava, who walks with a sense of purpose directly to Chev’s elbow.
I can’t help but move closer myself, my eyes on your eyes, but you never notice. You watch Shava warily, sensing, as I do, that this is no usual greeting.
“Sir,” she starts. “I hope you’ll excuse me. This may seem like a strange time for me to approach you, but what I have to say cannot wait. I’ve been watching your door, waiting for you to emerge from your hut all morning. I have something very important to tell you—a warning, in fact, about an attack that is planned against you. An attack that could come at any time.”
It seems as if every eye in camp has turned toward Shava—her shocking words release an almost palpable force of tension into the air. My father must feel the pull even from inside the kitchen. He emerges through the door along with several elders from my clan and yours, their focus locked on the tight gathering in front of your hut.
“What’s going on here? Shava, give our guests some room.” My father’s booming voice announces his arrival, and Shava cringes.
“I’m sorry, it’s just . . . I just . . . I felt the need to say something, to warn Chev and his whole family about the danger that is coming.” Shava’s expression clouds with self-doubt. Her gaze shifts over her left shoulder and then her right, until her eyes settle on her mother. We all watch as Fi gets slowly to her feet from the spot where she’s been seated all morning beside Kesh and crosses the gathering place with a gravity that makes something spin in the bottom of my stomach.
“Don’t worry,” says Shava’s mother. “You’re betrothed to a son of the Manu, and this is your clan now. You owe no further loyalty to Lo.”
Lo?
I startle at the mention of her name. What could she have to do with danger and plots to cause harm?
“Shava, if you have something to say, just say it.” I’m surprised by the tone of my own voice, but I can feel the sudden weight of your eyes on my face—a weight that fell there the moment Shava’s mother mentioned the name of your old enemy. My only thought is that there must be some mistake or even a purposeful deceit. Why else would Shava choose this morning, the morning after you and I argued about Lo, to attach her name to some incredible accusation of a plot against Chev?