“You will be the first to hear all about it when they return.” He strides out, followed by Seeri. I grab my own spear—ivory tipped, like Kol’s—and absentmindedly reach for the beads in my hair. As I step through the door, I glance back over my shoulder. Lees is still on her feet. I have no doubt she intends to be at this gathering, even if she has to stay out of sight.
I walk alone to the beach—Chev and Seeri are already too far ahead for me to catch them—and I glance around, hoping to see Kol. The boats are back from the Bosha clan, but maybe he returned to his hut while I was in mine. When a male voice calls my name from over my shoulder I spin around, but it’s not him. It’s his brother Kesh. He walks with Shava, his betrothed from the Bosha clan.
“We’re so glad you’re all right,” Kesh says, as Shava embraces me.
“Kol came this morning to the Bosha camp to bring us the news,” Shava adds. Despite her training as a storyteller, she can’t quiet the shake in her voice as she describes the moment when one brother told the other of the loss. I bite the inside of my cheek, hoping the pain will distract me from the picture her words create in my mind.
While we stand on the edge of the path, a woman with white hair pulled back in a long braid strides by. She is petite, but her head is held high. “Is that Dora?” I ask.
“She came from the Bosha camp with us,” answers Shava. There’s something in her tone—she speaks so low, it’s almost a whisper, as if she is used to speaking about Dora in secret. “And the girl with her is Anki, her daughter.”
I look up at their backs as they pass. I remember them, of course, from Lo’s burial. But I also remember them from my childhood—from the days when I was a small girl and the Olen and Bosha lived as one clan. I remember Anki’s envy of my closeness with Lo, and how she and her brother, Orn, seemed so pleased when our clan split and my family went away.
Now Orn lies in a grave beside Lo’s—both victims of the attack they made on my family’s clan—but I’ve been told Dora and Anki played no part in the attack. Still, as I watch them go—mother and daughter side by side—I can’t control the flush of rage that rolls across my skin. Perhaps they didn’t help with Lo and Orn’s schemes, but they didn’t stop them, either.
This is what I’m thinking about—my reluctance to forgive and to trust—when we reach the beach. Someone has brought pelts from camp and strewn them on the dark sand, and people sit between the dunes, well back from the water’s edge. Three gray dire wolf hides lie on the higher ground, and I drop down onto one. Shava and Kesh sit beside me.
From this seat, I can survey the gathered crowd. Kol’s clan is represented by his mother, his brothers Pek and Kesh, and their father’s brother and his wife. From my clan I see Chev and Seeri sitting beside the two elders—husband and wife—who rowed my canoe to this camp yesterday, and my brother’s longtime friend and Seeri’s former betrothed, Morsk. He’s one of my brother’s closest advisors, so I’m not surprised he is here. The Bosha sit the farthest from me, on the part of the sand that begins to slope toward the shore. They huddle together like seals—Dora, her daughter, Anki, and two others I don’t recognize.
“Who is that, seated with the others from your clan?” I ask Shava.
“Oh, they’re both elders. The woman is a cousin of Lo’s . . . or a cousin of her father, maybe. Definitely part of that family. And the man is her husband. They’ve been helping to lead while we have no High Elder.”
I study their faces. I must know them—they would have been five years younger when the clan split and my family moved south. But I can’t place them. Just as I lean over to ask Shava their names, two sounds distract me—a rustling in the dune grass, and shuffling footfalls on the path.
I do not need to look to know who is creeping through the dunes. It can only be my sister Lees. I knew she would come to listen in. But the footsteps turn me around.
Coming down the trail is a boy whose warm eyes are dimmed by loss. A boy whose soft mouth is pressed into a taut line.
Kol.
He arrives with Urar, leaning close to him and speaking low, and I notice that he is limping. Memories of last night flash through my mind—his pant leg torn at the knee, blood flowing down his shin. I see the way he winces each time he takes a step with his left leg. I see the way he uses his spear to support his weight.
I watch him closely, my pulse growing quicker as his eyes flit from face to face. They move to Shava, then Kesh. My palms press against the ground beneath me, my fingers digging into the cool sand. His eyes will move to me next. I watch him, unblinking, until his gaze meets mine.
A twitch at the corner of his lip . . . I think he is about to smile. Heat floods through my chest and rushes up my neck.
And then his mother says his name and he turns away. She is welcoming everyone on behalf of his father, and she is introducing Kol to the gathered crowd.
He walks to her side, and I notice the limp all but disappears. He doesn’t want her to know how badly he’s hurt.
As he passes in front of me, he slows. His eyes touch mine again, and I am carried back to the moment when he saw me watching him in the canyon, when he first looked through my defenses and knew my purpose for coming here. For a brief instant he sees into me again, and then his eyes sweep back to his mother and he moves away.
My breath goes ragged. I listen to the beat of the waves, steady and constant, and try to draw that steadiness in. Memories flash through my mind like lightning—the flame illuminating Kol’s skin, the heat of his lips against my hand, Seeri’s question: Have you decided to refuse Kol?
“While my husband is still formally High Elder, I want to discuss some business between our clans that he felt was important. The Manu have ties . . . history . . . with both the Olen and the Bosha, and preserving those connections for the good of all was his constant thought and concern. So first, before business with the Olen, I wish to discuss the Bosha clan.” With that, she presses her gaze—heavy with grief but also with the weight of her question—onto Dora and the other Bosha elders. “Who will be the Bosha’s new High Elder?” She asks this question without a flinch of hesitation. There is nothing to indicate that she knows she is overstepping her rights. Perhaps she isn’t. The Bosha’s last High Elder, Lo, set fire to the Manu camp, putting all their lives at risk. Shouldn’t the Manu have the right to ask who will take Lo’s place?
The two elders who came with Dora and Anki glance at each other. Perhaps one of them is the new High Elder. I think I see a subtle nod from the woman. Her husband stands.
“We are happy to answer your questions. But first a confession, and a request for forgiveness. My name is Thern, and this is my wife, Pada. We are both elders of the Bosha clan. It is with shame that we admit that we were fooled by Lo. We failed as leaders, and our failure caused pain and damage.”