My brother who called him a friend, who trusted him. Tears fill my eyes, but I still see clearly enough to kill my brother’s traitor.
He gets to his feet slowly, his arms extended at his sides, his eyes wide. I know he feels the fear—I imagine the pounding heart in his chest, the throbbing pulse in his temples, the numbness that runs up his arms as his blood chills—and I drink it in. I revel in the thought that my brother’s killer knows that I am about to kill him.
“He trusted you.” I don’t know why I say this. To shame him? “But I knew it was a mistake. I knew you were an enemy from the moment you backed me into a corner in my own hut—”
“Mya—”
“Don’t even say my name—”
“Fine. But please listen. I’m not an enemy—not to you, not to Chev—”
“Don’t say my brother’s name either,” I spit. “How can you stand there and lie? He told me you followed him to this island. It isn’t hard to figure out what happened—”
“I heard him call your name! I was looking for him—for you—to warn you both!”
There’s something in his voice, like the wind bringing a storm. Something urgent is at its core, and it makes me listen. I don’t want to. . . . I want to believe that he is Chev’s killer, because it would be so easy to kill him.
I don’t lower my spear. I keep it aimed right at his chest. I remember the fear I felt, however fleeting, when Kol flinched toward me with his spear raised on that first hunt together. That is the fear I wish for Morsk to feel, even as I give him a chance to speak. “Warn us of what? You were seen, Morsk. You were seen by Chev and by Kol. They saw a canoe follow them. They knew you were pursuing them—”
“Why would I come in a canoe? One man alone in a canoe? Think about it—”
“And yet you’re here! You expect me to believe that you found us without following—”
“No, I did follow. But I didn’t follow your brother.” His eyes drop—his gaze sweeps over Chev’s body on the ground—and I can’t help but look, too. My heart chokes in my chest as if a fist is closing around it. When I meet Morsk’s eyes again, I see my own pain reflected there, and for the first time since I found him over Chev’s body, I feel a flicker of doubt that he killed my brother.
A sound starts in the back of my mind. A quiet buzz. It grows and stretches, filling the empty spaces between my thoughts, becoming a roar. In my mind’s eye I see two double kayaks—Kol and Chev, Pek and Seeri—all rowing hard, pushing north toward this island.
And behind them I see another boat. A canoe, pursuing the people who matter to me most to an isolated place where they are unseen and unprotected.
I think I know the answer even before I ask the question. “So who were you following? Who was following Chev?”
I drop my spear to my side as Morsk answers, as he names the paddlers I see in my mind’s eye. “The Bosha. Dora and her daughter, Anki. And the elders who spoke at Mala’s meeting. Thern and Pada.”
I knew. Somehow I knew not to trust them. When I saw them in Kol’s camp, something cold and dark seemed to cling to them. Now I know what that something was.
Revenge.
Morsk’s gaze sweeps down the length of my arm to my lowered spear, then springs back to my face. “So you believe me?”
I don’t answer. I can see that Morsk is suffering, and I know that if I said I believed him, it might lessen his pain. But I don’t want to lessen Morsk’s pain. Not yet. I’m still not sure if I trust him.
“Then where are they?” I ask. “If you didn’t kill Chev, where are the people who did? Why didn’t they kill me too?”
“I think they saw me. Maybe they thought they were outnumbered or had lost the chance to surprise you. I didn’t see them, but I heard them running away.”
I think back to the moment I heard Chev call my name. Hadn’t I heard footsteps, too? If Morsk is telling the truth, could his presence have actually protected me from Chev’s killers?
I drop onto my knees beside my brother’s body. I tighten the laces of his parka, tugging the collar up and over the gash that circles his throat. His blood has a thick, dark scent, like damp clay. His skin is cool, though it still holds a hint of warmth. I could almost fool myself into believing he’s still alive, if his eyes weren’t open in a lifeless stare.
I can’t help but wonder what they saw last—Dora standing over him? Or her daughter, Anki? Did the person who cut his throat do it with his own knife? Did she gloat when she killed him? Did she mention Lo or Orn?
I drop my head to Chev’s chest, my body shuddering with sobs. I don’t know what to do now, and I don’t care. I can’t imagine a world without my brother in it. I don’t want to know that world. I want to stay here by his side. “I love you,” I whisper again. “For all the times I didn’t say it, I hope you knew it to be true. I love you.”
I kneel like this for a long time, until finally my sobs slow. Morsk doesn’t speak, though I know he is still there. I hear his feet crunching over the leaf litter on the ground, pacing in an ever-widening circle. Finally, I sit up. I look down on Chev’s face—his eyes still wide, his tan skin dulling to gray. I touch his left eye and then the right, pressing his lids shut. “I love you,” I say one more time, knowing I can never say it enough. Then I look around for downed limbs that might be nearby, anything usable for lashing together a travois.
“Do you have twine?” I say, not even looking up at Morsk.
“Mya . . .” My hand falls on a long branch, and I lift it to check its length. One end is rotted, and I let it fall. “Mya, we can’t take the body with us.”
I let these words wash over me, still reaching around the underbrush. “If you don’t have twine, we may be able to find vines. Otherwise we’ll need to carry him—”
“No. Mya, we can’t.” And there it is in his voice again—the urgency of the oncoming storm. “The people who did this to Chev—they have other targets. They didn’t come here just to kill your brother. You’re also a target. You need to move—to find your sisters and warn them. You need to help the living—”
“But if we leave him . . .” I break off. I can’t say it. If we leave him, his body could be eaten by scavengers. Dire wolves. Even buzzards. “I can’t leave my brother behind,” I say, but even as the words pass my lips, as quiet as a whisper, I know it’s what I have to do.
Because Morsk is right. I have to help the living. My sisters. Any of us could be the next victim. Even Kol. I have to warn them. That’s what my brother would want me to do.