Obsidian and Stars

by Julie Eshbaugh

  Ama loads her sling as I stand back, studying her. “Watch me once first, all right?” she says, though she doesn’t even turn toward me to check if I’m listening. All her attention is on the birds and on the weight of the chunk of ivory in her sling. Her wrist flexes, the sling bobs up and down, and then it’s spinning over her head.

  Above us, the shags fill the sky like a cloud of gnats over the grassland when the air first warms in the spring. They are so thick, their broad wings overlap like layers of clouds. Their black bodies block the glare of the sharply angled rays of the rising sun.

  The sling whips at the end of Ama’s arm, sailing over her head, whirring with a loud whoosh . . . whoosh . . . whoosh . . . as it cuts through the air near my ear. Then her hand twists and she releases one end of the sling. The ivory stone flies.

  The birds rise up, as if they float on an unseen wave of air. All but one. One bird falls, soundless except for the thud of his body on the ground. Ama hurries to him. With one jab of her spear through his neck, she is sure he is dead.

  When she returns with the bird and the retrieved piece of ivory, a wide smile spreads across her face. “You are very good luck, I see. Now it’s your turn.”

  I push down all the thoughts that try to float up—that I am not good luck, that her kill had nothing to do with luck at all, but only skill.

  I take my turn, mirroring each of the steps—loading the sling, the spin, the release. I close my eyes and picture the ivory landing the strike I need. I open them just as Ama lets out a burst of sound—Yes!—and I hurry to her side. She stands over a huge bird, its wings spread wide across the beach, its skull broken. “Nice shot,” says Ama. “Dead before he hit the ground.”

  A sudden rush of joy floats up and fills my head with heat.

  But then Ama runs off to find the ivory, and I bend to scoop up the bird. A patch of feathers has been knocked from its head, and bright red blood oozes onto the sand. I turn my eyes away when I pick it up, keeping my gaze fixed on the surface of the sea. The sunlight swoops sideways on the waves—I’m dizzy. Vomit rises in my throat, but I swallow it back down.

  The hunt continues, and though I occasionally miss, Ama lands almost every one of her throws. Retrieving the chunks of ivory proves to be the most challenging task of the morning, but by the time the net is full, we’ve brought down six birds. Together we lift the net and haul it to the deck of the kayak. The birds shift, a tangle of feathers, blood dripping as we carry the load across the beach. When a trickle flows out of the net and onto my hands, it brings me back to the mammoth hunt, to the sight of Kol cradling his father’s bleeding head. As Ama balances the net across the kayak, satisfying herself that it won’t tip into the sea, I squat at the edge of the water and wash the blood away. The sea is sharp and piercing with cold, but I hold my hands submerged until they go numb.

  It’s like this—with red fingers so cold they can hardly wrap around the shaft of the paddle—that I help Ama bring the boat back into shore. Kol’s young cousins crowd around us. They wait patiently in the shallow water as I untie the sash of the kayak that wraps around my waist. Ama is already out of the boat, and the oldest of her sons helps her haul in the net full of birds as the younger two take my hands and help me onto shore. My legs shake beneath me and the youngest boy laughs. “That happens when you sit a long time on the cold sea.” I smile, but I know better. It isn’t cold or stiffness, but the memory of blood that makes it hard for me to stand.

  “We’ll bring in your birds with our catch,” says the oldest, a boy made of long limbs and a toothy smile. He lifts his gaze from my face to the sky. “The morning meal is about to be served, and then it will be time to prepare. The burial will take place when the sun is at its peak, at the time of no shadows.”

  When the Divine is at the center of everything, I think. When the Spirits of the dead rise right to her side.

  My eyes slide to the ridge that encloses the bay to the south—the place I’d seen Kol walking earlier with the tools to dig the grave. The ridge is bare now. The tide slaps a steady rhythm against the boats, like a heartbeat. A chill runs down my spine, and I hurry back up the trail alone, wondering if I might find Kol along the way.

  FIVE

  The scents of smoke and fish roll from the kitchen. I hear Mala’s voice coming from inside, and I slow my steps, listening at the door for Kol, but I don’t hear him. I don’t see him in the meeting place, either, though many of the Manu have already gathered for the meal.

  In my family’s hut, I find Seeri alone. “There you are! They’ve called us to the meal. Chev and Lees are already outside.” Seeri’s eyes shift to the hem of my pants, dripping water onto the floor. “Were you wading?”

  “I went out with Ama this morning. We brought in a kill of six seabirds.”

  Seeri’s face pinches for a moment, like she’s caught between laughing and crying. She runs her hand across her face and smiles—a slow, soft smile—and shakes her head. “You are already doing what’s best for the Manu clan, already behaving like the betrothed of the clan’s High Elder.”

  My stomach tightens at her words, and I fold myself onto the piled hides that form my bed. “Seeri,” I start, my voice tentative. “Can I tell you a secret?”

  She sits down across from me. The pinch returns to her face, but now it’s changed. “You’re my sister. You can always tell me your secrets.” But her eyes are wary.

  “For so long,” I start, my voice carefully measured, “I couldn’t forgive the Manu. I blamed them for our mother’s death. I hated them. But then I met Kol and all that changed. My feelings for Kol softened my feelings for the Manu. I forgave them. I even decided I could become one of them. I could join their clan to be with Kol.”

  I watch Seeri stiffen at these words. We’ve talked this over many times in our hut back home—the way our betrothals will separate us. If I marry Kol, I will join his clan, since he will be the next High Elder of the Manu. But if I leave the Olen, then Seeri will be next in line to be High Elder, after our brother Chev. So if she marries Pek, he will have to join the Olen.

  Seeri and I will separate, and so will Pek and Kol.

  “But now I’m terrified. I was happy to become betrothed to Kol. I knew that one day he would be High Elder of the Manu. One day, but not now.” I drop my head, and I feel the ivory beads in my hair shift. The beads Ela braided into my hair for my betrothal. “I know I’m ready to be betrothed to Kol,” I say, “but I don’t know if I’m ready to be betrothed to the Manu’s High Elder. It’s all happening so soon. I thought I would have lots of time before I had to be the spouse—the partner—of the leader of the clan that took our mother’s life.”

  Someone shuffles by the door of the hut, and I worry that I can be heard outside. I feel like a traitor. For the longest time, I thought my feelings for Kol made me a traitor to the memory of my mother. Now I feel like a traitor to Kol. No matter where I place my loyalty, someone is betrayed.

  I tip my head back, turning my face up to the vent overhead. The room feels small and airless.

  “You have nothing to be ashamed of,” Seeri says. “I’m sure I would feel the same way in your place. Pek probably feels the same about joining the Olen.”

  “I know, but . . . This is so hard for me to say.”

  “What is it?” Seeri’s words are clipped. A dread has crept into her voice. “What is it you can’t say? Have you changed your mind? Have you decided to refuse Kol?”

  The door pulls back just a bit. A boy outside clears his throat. I jump up, hoping to see Kol, but it’s Pek.

  “Sorry. I don’t mean to disturb you—”

  “Is Kol with you?” I ask.

  “He’s across the bay. He went to the Bosha this morning. To give them the news and bring Kesh home.”

  Pek takes a step into the room, and my attention catches on the ways he’s changed since yesterday. The hollows under his eyes and the sag in his shoulders. Seeri, too, even with Pek right beside her, seems dimmed by grief today.
All but her eyes, which are burning with the fear that I’ve changed my mind about Kol.

  “My mother asked me to call you to the meal,” Pek says. “She won’t start without you.”

  This courtesy of Mala’s weighs on me like a heavy obligation. I’d love to stay in this hut—take my mat alone as I did the first night I visited the Manu—but that would be unacceptable. I mean something to the Manu now; I have a place in their clan, though that place is rough and unformed, like the blade of a new knife only half-carved from a piece of obsidian.

  Once in the meeting place, Roon greets me with a mat of fish and arrow grass. The rich, oily scent of the fish reminds me how empty my stomach is. I haven’t eaten since we arrived yesterday.

  Chev, Lees, and Morsk—Chev’s closest friend, who served as one of our party’s rowers—are seated with Kol’s mother and several other elders of his clan. When she sees me, Mala waves for me to come and sit beside her.

  “I want to thank you for bringing in the game,” she says as I take my place. “Ama was full of praise for you when she brought the birds to the kitchen.” She reaches out her hand and places it on mine in a simple gesture of affection, but I snatch my hand away. Heat rushes up my neck. I instantly regret my reaction—it was thoughtless at best, an insult at worst—but Mala lets it go. She pats me on the shoulder. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize my hand was so cold.”

  “It’s not. I—I was startled,” I stammer. I know I should take her hand, return her gesture of friendship to make it right, but I can’t. I can’t let anyone mother me, not even Kol’s mother.

  Not yet.

  As soon as the meal is over, Mala announces a meeting of the clans—all three clans—Manu, Olen, and Bosha. It’s clear she’s discussed this already with Chev. He’s not surprised.

  “Some clan business,” Mala says, “that should be taken care of before the burial.” I look at the sky. The sun is more than halfway up—the meeting must start soon. But then I hear voices coming from the shore. Boats have landed—Kol has returned. All at once I realize why Mala wants the clans to meet.

  She wants to betroth her sons before she buries her husband.

  I want to linger in the meeting place for Kol. I want to see him—I almost need to see him—to see that he’s walking without a limp and know that his wounds are healing. But Seeri won’t let me wait. The moment the mats are cleared, she’s rushing me into our hut to primp.

  “This meeting is not something you go to with your hair arranged by the sea breeze,” Seeri says. “Sit. I’ll fix it the best I can.” I drop down onto my bed and she pulls out an ivory comb. She untangles a strand that hangs down my back and leans over to whisper in my ear.

  “You haven’t changed your mind about this betrothal, have you?” she asks.

  “My feelings for Kol have not changed.”

  “Good,” she murmurs. “Now hold still.”

  I hold my head upright, letting her redo a braid she’s dissatisfied with. A shaft of sun pours in through the vent, and I watch motes of dust rise and fall with the small shifts in air caused by Seeri’s quick fingers. It’s peaceful, and my pounding heart begins to calm.

  The motes of dust scatter as the hide that forms the door is swept aside and Chev strides in. For a moment, he stands in the doorway, studying me. Lees slides in so close behind him, she’s in before the door can fall closed. “It’s time,” Chev says. There is something bubbling under his skin—a forcefulness he is struggling to keep in check. I’d like to think it’s a sort of joy at the betrothal of his sisters that’s stirring him up, but I can’t help imagining that it’s something else—a sense of what is about to happen—a sense of the expansion of the reach of his clan and his own power.

  Maybe it’s a bit of both.

  “Bring your spear,” he says, grabbing one of his own from where it leans against a wide beam carved from the thighbone of a mammoth. “We’ll be convening on the beach.” He turns to look at Lees. “For privacy,” he adds.

  But Lees has always been stubborn. As Chev moves to the door, Lees tries to follow. “This is a private gathering of clan leaders,” my brother says. “You are not invited.”

  “But if my sisters are to become betrothed—”

  “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 th
e 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?