Then I am running toward him.
If the others see me, they pay no attention. They keep one eye on the trail while fading farther into the dense growth, sliding between the lower branches of trees so thick with dark leaves, they block out the sky. Only thin threads of light filter through to the ground.
I reach Kol. He lies on his back, his eyes staring up at the treetops overhead, as if he’s not quite sure what just happened. The skin of his face, dripping with sweat just a little while ago, is now dry and hot to the touch. I drop to one knee and wind an arm around his waist. His eyes shift to me and he mutters one word. . . .
“Mya.”
Pulling him toward me, his weight slouching against my shoulder, I stumble after the others, who are already hidden from view.
We follow them to a jumble of boulders that spring from the ground near the edge of the woods, right before it drops over a lower ledge of the cliffs, straight down to the sea. The whisper of waves mixes with the breeze in the trees, and the scent of salt filters into the thick fragrance of evergreen and dead leaves crushed under our boots. We duck behind a rock the size and shape of a sleeping mammoth. Not far away, just a few paces deeper into the trees, I see three shadows—Seeri, Pek, and Morsk—as they flatten to the ground behind another large rock.
My gaze traces the trail that cuts through the trees less than twenty paces away. My ears filter out the layered noises around me—the waves below, the wind, the flutter of wings—listening for the unmistakable sound of footfalls.
And then I hear it, distinct and clear.
Something moves through the splashes of light that dot the path. We all hold still, soundless, as it draws closer, stepping into view.
Not an elk. Not a bear.
A woman. Two women, side by side. One with dark hair, one with white.
Dora and Anki, spears at the ready, are moving along the path. They are moving away from the center of the island—away from the lake—the place where we hope to find Lees and Noni.
We will be fine. This is what I tell myself as I watch them. We are covered in the thickest of shade. We are motionless, as if the Divine has turned us to the same stone we crouch beside.
It won’t be long. It won’t be long. . . . They will pass us. They will continue back the way we came, moving farther and farther away.
But then a sound comes from deep within the woods. A howl. Something bounds toward us through the trees. Toward me.
Dora and Anki stop. They turn and look as Black Dog comes hurtling out of the deep woods behind them. They watch as he stops, howling, just five paces from the place I hide.
They each raise their spears above their shoulders. They each train their eyes on the dog.
And they each take a step off the trail—a step toward the five of us.
But Black Dog sees them, and he knows. His instincts tell him that they are a threat. One long, final howl pours from his throat and he turns and flees back the way he came.
The women slow. Like me, they must be wondering the meaning of what just happened. Why would a wolf run right to this spot to howl? Was it a warning? And if so, who was it meant to warn?
I watch the two of them as the wind stirs the leaves, swirling the light that splatters the ground like the liquid surface of the sea. For just a moment, light washes over my shoulder, Kol’s back. We are exposed. Their eyes slide over the ground, searching, their focus shifting with the light.
Dora takes a single step toward the place where we hide, and my heart stops.
She takes a second, tentative step, and my heart restarts, pounding like a drum.
Her eyes sweep over the ferns and thickets, but they don’t quite reach the rocks. Instead, she stays closer to the place where Black Dog stopped, sifting through the undergrowth with the sharpened flint point of her spear, as if she expects to find some hidden object. She lifts her eyes once, letting her gaze alight on first one tree, then another, searching the branches overhead.
The longer she stands under these trees, the more her eyes will adjust to the lack of light. If she were to flick her gaze over us now, she might see us, covered as we are by mere shadows and a thin layer of spindly branches.
We crouch shoulder to shoulder, and I slide my hand into Kol’s. His fingers are cold, and I want to lift them to my lips, but of course I don’t dare move. I want to speak to him, to tell him I’m sorry I didn’t see how sick he is, but I don’t dare even breathe his name.
All I can do is swivel my head to search his face, to gauge his condition.
His eyes are on Dora and Anki, but his gaze is clouded. Still, as Anki strides closer, his eyes narrow. His attention sharpens. I turn my attention to Anki, too, and I see the thing that has Kol riveted.
I see the knife in Anki’s hand.
My brother Chev’s knife. The one with the obsidian blade. The one that was taken from his body when he died.
She swings the knife as she walks, twirling it in front of her . . . she is playing with it like a child. She takes another stride and tosses it into the air. It flips once and she catches it by the handle. Like this is all a game.
The sight of Chev’s knife—this perfect confirmation that she is the one who killed my brother—reignites my rage. It’s as if a coal had burned down to a smoldering ember, but now the sight of the knife in Anki’s hand is like breath on that ember, flaring it back to life.
She takes another step, tosses the knife even higher, watches it flip once . . . twice . . . then snatches the handle out of the air.
My eyes flick to the shadows where I know Seeri hides. I cannot distinguish even her outline. Does she see this? I wonder. Does this rage burn in her, too?
Then the Spirit of my brother puts an end to Anki’s brazen game. She tosses the knife up, letting it tumble end over end, and reaches out to catch its bone handle. But something slows her hand, and the blade flips around and slices her palm. She cries out—a sharp gasp of pain—as it slips from her grasp and drops into a tangle of briars and shade.
I bite my lip, holding back the taunts that fill my mouth.
But then she drops to the ground, crawling on her hands and knees just a few paces away, searching for the knife. She is so close, I fear she will hear Kol’s ragged breaths, but she is consumed by her need to find the knife.
She is completely unaware of our presence, I think. She is completely unaware of how easy it would be for me to kill her.
I watch her, and the fingers of my right hand—the hand that holds the shaft of my spear against the ground—begin to tingle. My eyes move to Dora. She is watching Anki, too.
In my mind, I take the shot. I plant my spear in Anki’s back.
But then what? How long would it take her mother to retaliate? If Kol were well, I could count on him to take down Dora, but he’s far too weak. And the others are too far away for me to signal.