“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.”
I watch Dora as Thern speaks. Her eyes flit briefly to Anki’s before returning to her hands, folded in her lap.
“This is why our answer to your question is that we have not chosen a new High Elder. Nor do we intend to. Instead, we hope to gain the forgiveness of the Olen clan, and ask them to allow us to rejoin them, reuniting the once-great Bosha clan.” He turns to face my brother. “If you will accept us, we would have you, Chev, as our High Elder.”
Though I didn’t recognize either Thern or Pada at first—there is a lean hardness to both of them that wasn’t there five years ago—I recognize their names, of course. Slowly, like seeing someone step out of a thick fog, their faces come back to me. I remember Pada especially, the second cousin of my best friend. She was older than us—beautiful and strong. I remember she kept her hair short to keep it out of her way in the hunt. My mother refused to cut mine to match, though I begged and begged. I wanted to be just like her, up until the day she chose to stay behind with Vosk.
She stood on the shore as I boarded the boat and Lo taunted me about my pendant. She was there when I crushed it under my boot against the rock. She called after us as we pulled away from shore, asking the Divine to forsake us and drown us in the sea.
I remember feeling so relieved that I still had my long hair—that I wasn’t like her. I cannot forgive her. I cannot accept anyone who so strongly rejected my family.
But Chev is different. He can accept anything, as long as he thinks it will lead to a return to the days when our father was High Elder of the Bosha. He gets to his feet from where he sits beside Seeri and crosses to the center of the circle. Thern meets him there and the two men exchange humble nods. So forgiving, so kind. But I see the slight shift in Chev as he fills with the knowledge of his expanding power. No smile, but heat rises in his eyes.
Mala stands. “I want to thank the Bosha elders for their openness,” she says. She steps forward, and Chev and Thern return to their seats. “I am certain that the Spirit of my husband is pleased to have this answer, as well.”
Mala lets her eyes sweep over the circle, addressing the group as a whole again, letting us all know that she would like to now speak about the Olen.
The time has come to discuss the Manu’s business with my clan.
Though I hear Kol’s mother’s voice, the sound stretches and bends into a low humming murmur, as if my head were underwater. I recognize the sound of my brother’s name, and the words thank you and the name of our clan. The word friendship swims through the hum, and willingness to help. Then she asks the purpose of the visit. It’s a formal question—part of custom. She can have no doubt what our purpose is. I saw it in her eyes the moment I stepped out of the boat and onto this shore.
The sound of the waves at the water’s edge, the wind rustling in the sea grass, and the echo of my own name—these sounds break through and fill my head. My eyes flick to Chev as he gets to his feet.
“I speak of my sister Mya first, because Kol is the future of the Manu clan. The Manu is on the cusp of new leadership—a great honor and responsibility will be conferred upon Kol soon.” Chev turns to face Kol, standing directly between us so that I cannot see his face. Something churns inside me like a catch of fish trying to escape the net. Every part of me twists and writhes. “The Manu have suffered a great loss, and we mourn that loss with you. But we also look forward to the future of the Manu. With that future in mind, Mala, I would like to betroth my sister Mya to your son Kol.”
My eyes are on the sand at my brother’s feet when he steps aside, opening the line of sight to the place where Kol sits. If I looked up, I could see his face. I could see what everyone else sees—his reaction to my brother’s words.
They are all looking at Kol. They all know what I want to know. What I need to know. So reluctantly, haltingly, I raise my eyes.
And when I see Kol’s face, his answer is there.
SIX
I see Kol’s face, and a little part of me dies. I have seen his smile before. But this is not a smile.
This is more.
The twist in his lips, the quickness in his eyes . . . they speak to me in a language I don’t completely understand. He opens his mouth and I think, Yes, now I will know what the words are, all these unnamed feelings will have a name.
“Mya,” is all that he says.
But spoken by Kol, that one word is enough. Because tucked within that word—tucked within my own name—are all the things that have no names. The sound of my name from Kol’s lips calls to me like the echo of a long-forgotten dream. He moves toward me, and all the coldness in me is replaced by the heat I see in his eyes. A heat that cancels out my fear of marrying the High Elder of the Manu.
At least for now.
“Mya,” he repeats, but in my name there is something different—a secret tucked away. “I have something for you,” he says.
He returns to the place where he sat beside his mother, and he picks up the pack he carried in with his spear. He brings it to the center of the circle and sets it at my feet. Everyone watches him. Every move he makes seems infused with meaning. He flips the pack open and takes from it something small.
A waterskin. A small waterskin that might belong to a child.
But then I recognize it. I’ve seen it before. It’s the pouch of honey—the very same pouch of honey I rejected when Kol tried to give it to me on the first day we met.
“I wanted you to have this once before as a gift from me, but you wouldn’t accept it. I wonder if you would accept it now, as a token of this day.” He lifts my hand and places the pouch in my palm. The honey inside feels warm from the heat of the sun. “Mya, will you honor me by being my wife?”
And at that moment I know what Kol has done. Yes, he’s found a way to take away the horror we’ve all felt since last night. He’s given us something to look forward to for tomorrow, after his father is buried today. And he’s done it all with this simple gift, something he brought with him here, to prove to me and everyone else that he hasn’t been backed into this betrothal, but came seeking it.
“Yes,” I say, and I bring the pouch of honey to my lips, bringing Kol’s hand with it. I press a kiss to the inside of his wrist, holding it there long enough to drink in the scent of his skin mixed with the salt breeze and the sweet honey.
Behind our backs, people stomp their feet and cheer. A ripple of words passes around—congratulations to our families. Kol just keeps that smile on his lips and that fire in his eyes, and I realize it might truly be possible for me to love the future High Elder of the Manu.
Kol tips his head close to my ear. “You are so beautiful. You are the only reason my heart is not consumed by sorrow today.”
I pull back and look at him, at the muted glow in his eyes. The muted s
mile on his lips. I nod, and walk with Kol back to his place in the circle, where I sit down beside him on a wide bearskin pelt.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see something stir the dune grass that spreads toward the path. Something is there. If the circumstances were different, I wouldn’t even notice it, or maybe I’d assume it was a bird or a vole.
But I know that it’s not. I know it is my sister Lees, staying hidden, listening. I can only imagine how much she will have to say to me in the hut tonight.
My brother, who had been hovering just at the edge of the circle, returns to its center. His eyes are a bit puffy and his cheeks slightly flushed.
“I would like to speak now about my younger sister Seeri and the second son of Arem and Mala, Pek.” My brother hesitates, raising a large hand to his face and covering his eyes. He draws in a long, slow breath. Could it be that he’s overcome with emotion? He’d wanted Seeri to marry his friend Morsk. She and Pek had fought him—had worked to change his mind. Could he have found their love so moving?
“Chev.” Kol’s mother leaps to her feet like a rabbit escaping a snare. “If Seeri is interested in a betrothal to Pek, such a betrothal would honor and please our family, as well. My husband and I have always wanted a union between Seeri and Pek. If that is what she wants.”
“It is,” Seeri starts, climbing to her feet as quickly as Mala had. She is so lovely. There is a vulnerability in the way she stands—her hands floating at her sides, all her weight tilting forward as if she is about to unfurl wings and fly. “It is what I want, as long as it is still what Pek wants.”
With all eyes on him, Pek’s chest gives a single heave, and he raises his face. Wordlessly, he gets to his feet and moves to Seeri, who takes his hand.
They worked to be together, I think. They suffered through uncertainty and worked to change Chev’s mind, and now they have a future. My thoughts are distracted by the sound of cheers. Pek holds Seeri out at the end of his arm, as if presenting her to the gathered clan leaders, and she blushes. But I don’t see even a hint of embarrassment on Pek’s face, damp with tears. I stamp my own feet in approval.
“I know Arem would be filled with happiness at these betrothals,” Mala says, emotion breaking through her voice for the first time today. “Even though we will lose Pek to the Olen, we know that he will not really be gone to us, as the Manu look forward to a strong alliance with the Olen. In fact, I think it won’t be long until we will have a third betrothal, between our youngest, Roon, and your sister Lees.”
My brother, still standing, takes a step back from Mala. He drops his eyes, clears his throat, shakes his head. “I’m sorry,” he says, “but that betrothal won’t be possible.”
Up until these words from Chev, I’ve been slumped contentedly against Kol’s shoulder. But now I sit upright. I must have misunderstood him. But I see the look of confusion on Mala’s face, and I know I heard him correctly.
“The Olen are in a difficult situation, despite these advantageous betrothals today. Pek will be a great gain for our clan, and I’m happy to have him as a brother. But his marriage to Seeri creates a problem for the Olen. I am the clan’s High Elder, but I am childless. That will not change. The Divine knows the next High Elder will not be my child. So the Divine looks to my sisters. The oldest, Mya, will be the wife of the High Elder of the Manu. Seeri, the next, has also chosen to marry a Manu, and despite Pek’s many strengths, he would not be the ideal father to the child who would grow to lead the Olen clan.”
A hole opens inside me, rippling wider, as if this proclamation of Chev’s is a stone dropped into a dark lake. Without knowing what I intend to say, I climb to my feet. “But Pek is an excellent hunter. He’s skilled at boat-making and hut-building—he and Kol built the hut we sleep in—”
“All this is true. If those were all the things necessary to father a strong High Elder, I would happily relent.” He pauses, and looking around seems to notice for the first time that every person gathered here is watching him, waiting for this explanation. He closes his eyes and rubs his fingers across his brow. “Let me tell you a story,” he continues.
“There was a High Elder who needed to take a warrior with him to face an enemy clan. He could take with him his son or his son-in-law. His son-in-law was the better fighter, but he had been born into the enemy clan. So the High Elder took his own son as his companion on the journey. He was the better choice, because he would have unshakable loyalty.
“If Seeri marries Pek and he joins the Olen, where will their child’s loyalty be? To the clan of her mother or her father? How can their child be the next High Elder if that question can’t be answered?”
“But,” Mala says, “Mya will be the mother of the next Manu High Elder, and she wasn’t born into the Manu clan. Yet I have no doubts about her loyalty.”
“Because you have no choice,” my brother answers. “There are no young women in this clan. But there is a young man in the Olen, one who could marry Lees and be the father of the next High Elder.” He turns in place until his gaze falls directly on Morsk, who climbs to his feet. A murmur ripples through the gathered crowd.
“Why didn’t the High Elder in your story take his daughter on the journey, instead of his son or his son-in-law?” I ask. Chev doesn’t turn toward me to answer. To do so would be to acknowledge this challenge I’m making to his authority.
“Because she was already dead,” he says.
I watch him warily. “You’re imagining problems that don’t exist,” I say. “Seeri’s child with Pek will make an excellent choice for the next Olen High Elder.”
Finally Chev turns, and when his eyes meet mine, they are heavy and dark with sorrow. Or perhaps regret. “That’s easy for you to argue,” he says, his voice diminished—almost resigned—under the burden of my gaze. “You’re not the High Elder. Your only concern is for your family. But I have to give the good of the clan equal weight to the good of my family. Perhaps even more weight. You’ll never really understand that, because now that you’re betrothed to Kol, you’ll never be the Olen High Elder.”
A noise distracts me—a scuttling across the ground behind me. I look back and catch sight of Lees, dirty from crawling in the damp grass, scrambling to her feet. Before I have the chance to move, she takes off running up the path toward camp.
I swing my head around, and I see that Chev’s gaze rests on the place where Lees just disappeared from view.
There is no use trying to reason with Chev here. In private it would be difficult. With this audience, it would be impossible.
Kol squeezes my hand, and I can see by the concern in his eyes that he saw Lees, too. “I’m sorry,” I say. “I have to go after her.” I slip my hand out of Kol’s grip and hurry away.
The path to camp is empty. I walk all the way to the ring of huts alone. Lees must have moved fast. I creep along the outside edge of the huts, crouching low in what little shade they throw. I know the Manu must suspect that betrothals are being discussed today, and I don’t want to raise any questions by being seen alone. So I stay out of sight and consider where I might find my sister.
I head first to the hut of Kol’s family, but the door hangs still and everything’s silent. Standing outside my own hut—the hut Kol and Pek built on our family’s first visit so we would always feel welcome in this camp—I hear the shuffle of feet from inside. I slide through the door, expecting to find my sister and Roon.
Instead, I find myself face-to-face with Morsk. He must have followed right behind me when I left the beach. And like me, he took care not to be seen.
There’s something disconcerting about his uninvited presence here in this private space, but I refuse to let him see my unease. “I don’t know what you’re doing here, but if you’re looking for Lees, I’m quite sure she doesn’t want to see you.”
Morsk replies with a quizzical smirk. He runs a hand through his hair in a disarmingly shy way. Under different circumstances, I might concede that Morsk is handsome, but as my brother’s conspi
rator in a plot to control my sister’s life, I see nothing attractive about him at all. Any charms he might possess are as alluring as venom.
“I’m not looking for your little sister,” he says. “I’m looking for you.”
“Me?” I take a step back. Morsk is broad across the shoulders, and all at once he seems to fill the room. “Why are you looking for me?”
“I have a proposition for you.”
I take another step back, but Morsk takes two steps closer, coming within arm’s reach. I draw in a deep breath and remind myself that he’s close enough to kick in the groin. “Which is?”
“I know you don’t want Lees to be forced to marry me. And I don’t either, actually. I’d much rather have you.”
Sometimes when I’m startled, my head fills with a buzzing sound that drowns out the world. But not now, not this time. Instead, a stark silence stretches between me and Morsk, a silence wide and glaring like a field of deep snow. The only sound that breaks through is the sound of Morsk’s exhaled breath as he takes a half step toward me.
I let the point of the spear I hold at my side angle toward his chest, not as a threat, but as a reminder to myself that I am safe. He can’t control me. Not Morsk, not even my brother. Thoughts tumble and fall in disorder in my mind. “I thought you didn’t like me,” I say.
He smiles, but his smile is for himself, not me. “I didn’t think I did. But when we crossed paths with the Manu again, I changed my mind about you. I realized I didn’t want a girl like Seeri after all—a girl who would fall right into the open arms of a Manu boy. I wanted someone with enough nerve to resist the clan that killed her mother. I saw the way you rejected Kol, the way you refused to accept a man who I myself find quite unacceptable. I saw the way you fought to protect your people when Lo and her clan attacked.
“Your brother wants one of his sisters to carry on the Olen High Elder line, but it doesn’t have to be Lees. Lees is safe—you can make sure of it. With one word, you can save Lees from her betrothal to me. All you have to do is take her place.”
Obsidian and Stars Page 5
