Obsidian and Stars

by Julie Eshbaugh

  To my surprise, Kol does come to my side. “My mother wishes to speak to me, but it shouldn’t take long,” he says. “After, would you walk with me?”

  A light behind Kol’s eyes flickers for just a moment, like a flame flaring up in a breeze, then just as quickly dies down again. But the brief moment it was there is enough. “Yes,” I say. “I would.”

  While Kol is gone, a woman of his clan approaches me. She is maybe a little older than Mala, her hair a mix of black and gray. She stretches out her cupped hand, and in it she holds an obsidian spear point. I can tell instantly that it was carved by Chev.

  “This was given to me by your brother,” the woman says. “I had admired the workmanship of the one on his own spear, and the blade on his knife. He thanked me, and we talked about other things. But the next time he came to our camp, he brought this one as a gift for me.”

  This story surprises me. It doesn’t sound like something Chev would do. But then, as I turn the spear point in my hand it catches the light, and for an instant, I see my brother’s eye reflected back at me. I see him in every careful cut made to the stone, and I realize I am being too hard on my brother’s memory.

  He enjoyed attention, yes. He liked to be admired for his craftsmanship, and he liked his work to be acknowledged. But he also was frequently generous. He insisted we bring a feast for Kol to this camp when he realized he’d been rude. And he’d painstakingly worked this spear point for a member of another clan, simply because she’d admired one of his own.

  My throat goes dry, even as tears fill my eyes. I lay the point in the palm of the woman’s hand, and she folds her fingers over it carefully. She pats my hand and walks away, straight into her hut, presumably to tuck away this gift my brother made for her.

  With no one else hovering to speak to me, I decide to take advantage of the chance to duck out of sight for just a moment. But as I pass the door to Kol’s hut, I hear his voice and then his mother’s, and my steps slow.

  If I hadn’t meant to listen, that changes when I hear my own name.

  “This isn’t about Mya.”

  “You’re right,” his mother answers. “It’s about you. And your father. And every other Manu—every Manu who’s ever lived, and every one who’s yet to live. It matters that much.”

  I stand still a moment longer, but when Kol replies he’s too quiet to hear, and Pek and Seeri are coming close. I can hear their voices. They are heading to the door of Kol’s family’s hut, and I try to appear to be going there, too.

  “Are you all right?” Pek asks. I remember the tears in my eyes.

  “Yes. Just taking a moment—”

  “There you are.” It’s Kol’s voice. He’s just pushed back the hide that hangs in the doorway of his hut. His mother steps out behind him. Her face glows in the sun that still hangs in the west. Still, her expression stays cool. “I have a few items of clothing I think will fit Noni,” she says. “She can change out of those torn pants.”

  “She’ll like that,” I say. We all turn to see Noni and Lees in the center of the meeting place. Black Dog is putting on a show, retrieving sticks. Mala walks toward her as Pek and Seeri duck inside the hut.

  Kol and I are alone.

  “Are you still willing to walk with me?” He smiles, and my blood crackles and sparks. My heart jumps as if it’s startled by his voice.

  Without a word about where we would go, we both head up the trail to the meadow.

  As we walk, I’m reminded of the tunic I still wear—my betrothal tunic. A strip of trim has loosened at the hem, but the pattern on the front is unchanged. “Do you recognize it?” I ask, just as we reach the field of grasses and flowers that inspired the tunic’s design. “Did you know—”

  “I knew. Of course I knew. I recognized the colors, and the shapes of the blades moving in the wind.” His finger alights on the tunic just below my chest and traces a seam where a section of caribou is stitched to a piece of otter. His hand stops just below my navel and his fingers fan across my stomach. “It’s beautiful.”

  We both stand motionless, as all around us the sun sets the whole meadow ablaze in light. The north wind gusts loud in our ears, every stalk of grass flattens under its weight, and yet the stillness of Kol’s eyes staring unflinchingly into mine is all I know. A tumultuous silence. An unruly stillness.

  Then Kol drops his hand to his side, I slide my eyes to the sky, and everything comes back into motion.

  “My mother and I talked,” Kol says, leading me farther up the path, walking into the wind. I think of his father. The last time either of us passed through here was the day he died. “I told her you and I had discussed a merger of our clans.”

  I stop. The words I heard through the walls of the hut come back to me. It’s about every Manu who’s ever lived. Every one who’s yet to live. “She’s against it,” I say.

  “She is.” His hand swings at his side and he hooks a few of my fingers in his. “And I listened to her. But nothing she said could convince me. Nothing made me sure that a future together was impossible.” He stops. Tilts his head at the lowering sun. “It’s too late in the day for bees, but . . .”

  We both stretch out on the tall grass. Purple and white flowers—so small from above—stretch past the corners of my eyes, reaching for the broad blue expanse of the sky. I feel like we are floating side by side in water, like the grass is a wave upon the sea.

  “I can’t say yes to a merger of our clans,” I say. I have to say it. It’s the truth.

  “Not now, or not ever?”

  I lie still, let my eyes fall shut. “I feel like it’s not my decision to make,” I say. “It’s like trying to decide if the sun should rise. Or if the sea should freeze, or melt again in the spring. It’s not my decision to make. It was decided by the Divine, a long time ago.”

  “Well, then that’s a shame,” Kol says. “Because I brought you here to tell you that I’ve made the decision to do whatever you choose. If you choose a merger, we will merge. If you choose not to, then we won’t . . . and I suppose then our betrothal will end.”

  We lie there and listen, as if listening for bees, but Kol is right—it’s too late in the day. The sky hardens from blue to gray. Kol stands and holds out his hand. “It’s late. We need to go back.”

  I climb to my feet, resisting the urge to wrap my arms around his neck. “I decide that the sun will not set,” I say.

  “Be careful. Even things that the Divine decided long ago can change. A winter storm can come in the spring. A cavern can be torn open to become a stream. Even the Divine can change her mind.” Kol’s face is momentarily striped with black and gold, as slanting streaks of sun mix with shadows. Something shimmers there—a meaningful twist of his lips—but by the time I really see him his hair falls across his eyes and his face is lost in darkness.

  He takes a few strides and I watch him go, letting his words repeat in my head. A cavern can be torn open to become a stream. . . . Even the Divine can change her mind.

  I stand still so long, I have to hurry to catch him. We walk the rest of the way back to camp in silence.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  In the morning we board the boats early, but not so early that Mala doesn’t make sure we eat first. “It will be a long day,” she says. “A long, sad day, and hunger will only make it worse.”

  We will take six boats—Mala herself will come. “To be present at your brother’s burial,” she says, squeezing my hand. I smile at this gesture, and though a part of me wants to flinch away, I don’t.

  Urar, the Manu healer, reluctantly agrees that Kol is well enough to paddle, though he would prefer he travel in one of the canoes, rowed by an oarsman.

  “My mother and Noni will ride in the canoe,” Kol says. “I’d rather paddle with Mya.” I startle a bit at this, having assumed I’d once again travel with Lees, but before I can speak Lees is at the water’s edge, climbing into a double kayak with Roon.

  Urar helps Noni into the canoe. “Don’t forget to look,”
he says. He’s asked her endless questions about feverweed, and though they went hiking with Lees and Roon, they found none near the Manu camp. Kol has even promised to take him north to the island to gather it if none is found closer, so I hope some is found. I shudder at the thought of any of them heading back into Tama territory.

  The trip south to our camp passes quickly, and with every new landmark—the frozen waterfalls that run to the sea, the first tree-covered ridges—the blood in my veins seems to heat. The wind calms, and the air thickens against my skin as we get closer. I should be happy to be home, yet when the rocky cliffs that border our bay first come into view, my throat tightens and I gulp in deep breaths.

  Soon I will have to look into the eyes of Yano and tell him his lover is dead.

  Kol and I are still far out on the sea when the first boat lands on the beach. It’s the canoe that carries Mala and Noni. Kayaks paddled by Seeri and Pek and then Shava and Kesh are next. Heads lean together. Hands point out to the second canoe. People are learning about my brother’s death. Members of my clan are gathering—even from this distance I recognize Ela, Yano’s sister. She raises her head and shades her eyes with her hand. Her gaze sweeps over the sea.

  She is looking for me.

  When we land, she comes to the side of our kayak. She sees me with Kol and her eyes crinkle—I suddenly realize she knows we’re betrothed. She doesn’t congratulate us, though, of course. She’s already heard about my brother.

  “I’ll go bring Yano,” she says. “Do you want to come with me? To speak with him?” Her eyes swim with tears. Her fingers tug at the hem of her tunic. “I just can’t believe it. I can’t believe . . .”

  Ela’s tears change her—they transform her into the little girl she used to be. I remember that girl so clearly, the girl who shed tears over the smallest things but stopped almost as easily. But this is not a small thing. These tears will not stop when the sun comes out or someone takes her for a walk. We aren’t children anymore.

  We find Yano in the hut he shares with my brother, carving a mask. It’s a wolf—a mask commonly used in weddings—and I realize he’s carving it for me. When he sees me in the doorway his face lights up—the ember of concentration in his eyes catches and glows into something more diffuse and warm. “You’re back,” he says, his voice floating up, his tone light, but it lasts only as long as it takes for him to register our faces. Then his eyes tighten. His mouth thins.

  “What’s happened?”

  I try to speak. I’m not sure how to say what I have to say. I haven’t planned the words. “It’s Chev,” I start.

  That’s all I get to say. Yano is past me and out of the hut. I wonder who he will find first. Who will be the one to tell him? But it doesn’t matter. Ela’s tears told him. My sunken eyes told him.

  He already knows.

  When Ela and I return to the beach, Yano is in the water, leaning into the canoe. His tunic, hands, and face are smeared with the red ocher that covers Chev’s body. Morsk, Lees, and Seeri stand together on the sand, their posture tense, as if they are on the verge of movement. As if they are about to stride into the shallow water and bring Yano back. I notice all of them drip seawater from the knees down and I know that they aren’t about to go after him—they already have. But unlike Yano, the frigid water chased them back.

  But not Kol. Kol still stands beside Yano, holding his arm. Holding him up.

  I stride right into the water. My gaze falls on my brother, lying in the canoe. The red ocher changes him—removes the familiar from his face—and I am so grateful for it.

  As I approach I hear Kol’s voice, his words a low murmur. Coaxing . . . coaxing. But Yano ignores him as if he can’t hear. He bends at the waist, leans to Chev’s ear, his own voice a murmur I can’t understand.

  “Yano,” I say when I see Kol shivering, his body rigid with cold. “Please, help me. Kol has been sick. He’s been burning with fever. I know he won’t come out of the water until you do. I know he won’t leave you. So please, for Kol’s sake. Please come up onto the sand so Kol can get warm.”

  Yano may love my brother, but he is also a healer. He looks at Kol, as if he’s noticing him next to him for the first time. His head falls forward—part nod, part defeat—and he lets Kol lead him up onto the bank.

  Soon everyone is gathered in our meeting place, under the canopy. The midday meal is served, but no one is thinking about food. Everyone is talking, sharing stories about Chev, about all the ways he was like our father, the ideal High Elder.

  I know these stories are meant to soothe me, but they do just the opposite. I feel like a fish held in the talons of an eagle. Every time someone speaks my brother’s name, I feel a little more of my flesh ripped away, the bones of my memories exposed. Soon I will be picked clean, with nothing left to call my own.

  But if I’m hurting, at least I’m not alone. My sisters sit in a circle around me. Yano and Ela are directly across from me, beside a large fire. It must be warm, I think. Yet Yano still shivers as if he were standing in the water beside the canoe. My own hands are still cramped with cold.

  My eyes search the crowd, and though I don’t want to admit it to myself, I know I am looking for Kol. He must be here. He is so good at this—so comfortable comforting others. But he’s not here. Could he be sick? Could the cold water have brought back his fever?

  Getting to my feet, I pick my way through the crowd, heading for Ela’s hut, the place where Kol and his family are sleeping tonight. But even before I reach the ring of huts, I meet Kol coming the other way.

  “I was looking for you,” I say. A softness lifts Kol’s eyes for just long enough for me to see he isn’t sick.

  “I needed to step away . . .” He sees the question in my eyes, though he must know I would never ask. “It’s too soon, I think. My father—we gathered around to talk like this about him just days ago.” Kol shakes his head in the way he does when he wants to shake off a feeling or a memory. He glances at me, then away.

  Is he holding himself away from me because of last night? Does he think I’ve all but rejected the idea of a merger? Or is it the memory of his father as he says, or even something else?

  “I’ll be right there, if you want to go back,” I say. “I think I need a moment away from it all myself.”

  “I understand,” he says, and then he’s gone, leaving a wake of confusion behind him.

  Passing the hut Chev shared with Yano—the place where Chev’s body has been laid until his burial tomorrow—I hesitate. If there is one person I wish to speak to now, it’s Chev. I push through the door of the hut before I can question myself.

  Seal oil burns on moss wicks in two shallow stone lamps. My fingers trace along the wall of the hut as I enter, skimming the edge of the room. Everything glows the color of warmth—the lamplight, the red ocher—but still my blood lies frozen under my skin.

  “Chev,” I say. I stop. If I could talk to him, if I could ask one thing, what would it be? If I had only one question?

  “I don’t want this,” I say. “The Divine has called me to a role I don’t want.” I pause. I wonder how many times Chev had the same thought. How many times did he wish the weight of leadership could be carried by someone else? “I am trying to do as you would have me do, to lead as you would lead, to put the clan first, at all costs.” A sob leaps up in my throat but I swallow it down. “But the cost is so high.” This last word is like breath from my mouth. Like mist on cold water. Insubstantial.

  Meaningless.

  “So this is sacrifice,” I say. “This is how you lived.” I swallow again, and my throat burns. “I’m sorry I didn’t acknowledge you more.” My eyes move to the door. The hut feels small. I am all at once in the doorway, brushing back the hide, stepping into the sunlight.

  Yano stands just beside the door. One glance at his face tells me he heard every word I said.

  “Kol is looking for you,” he says. “I think he wants you to take a walk with him—”

  “We took a wa
lk yesterday—”

  “I think he wants to talk—”

  “We have talked.”

  “Mya, come sit with me.” He tugs me by the arm, dragging me back into his hut, right to my brother’s side. “Sit,” he says, but in a voice so soft no one could refuse. I fold myself onto a bearskin that covers the floor beside my brother’s feet.

  “Mya, you are not the same person your brother was. Yet you have been called to lead. The Divine knows that you will choose what’s best for the clan. Your brother would know that, too. But you need to do what you think would be best for the clan, even if it’s not what you think Chev would want—”

  “But it’s not what I think he would want. It’s what I know he wanted—”

  “The Divine has called you. This is your time to lead.” A hand rises to Yano’s lips, then drops again. “Chev’s time has passed.” Yano blurs and loses shape. My eyes fill with tears at the cruel truth that Chev’s time is over. “Remember,” Yano says. His voice is like heat—I feel it more than hear it. “Sometimes what’s best for the future is different from what was best for the past. I know Chev would want the clan to be strong but also for you to be happy, and for the people to thrive, no matter what the clan is called or who is said to be the High Elder.”

  My eyes meet Yano’s. His face is swollen with emotions held back. He and I share a pain so deep, and yet he has brought me a different kind of peace. I don’t know what I will do, but I know that I’m not alone. “Thank you,” I try to say. The words don’t come, but he sees them on my lips.

  When I step out of Yano’s hut, swiping the backs of my hands across my eyes, I find Kol, waiting for me.

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  “Would you walk with me?” I ask.

  Kol’s eyes curl at the corners, a momentary smile. “I was hoping to. I thought you might say no.”

  “I still might say no—”

  “I meant to the walk—”

  “We’re still betrothed. We should spend time together—”