Obsidian and Stars

by Julie Eshbaugh

  I flinch at Kol’s words, and I hope he doesn’t see. I’ve feared the same thing today. I’ve feared that we would never marry. But not because Kol would die, but because Chev has died, because Arem has died. I feared our new duties to our clans would tear our betrothal apart. That the need to lead separate, independent clans would mean we would have to stay separate and independent, too.

  But Kol hasn’t thought of this. Or if he has, that’s not what he wants to talk about now.

  “I wasn’t afraid of you living a long life without me,” he continues. “I wasn’t afraid even that you would forget me. You would marry someone else someday. It would be better if you did forget.

  “But I was concerned about one small thing. I was worried I would never get to dance the wedding dance with you.”

  The sun has sunk so low that it gives little warmth. Cold seeps up from the hard ground. Yet despite the chill, my body warms. My hips turn, tilting me toward Kol. I lean in, almost close enough to kiss his lips. “We could dance right now,” I say. Heat runs down my spine. I lean closer.

  Just as my cool lips press against the heat of Kol’s, a sound snaps my head around.

  The sound of a dart sticking into the ground.

  I tear myself from Kol and spring to my feet. A spruce dart identical to the one that pierced Noni sticks up at an angle just an arm’s length away. I pivot, searching the darkness that spreads in every direction, broken by only the smallest swaths of light. I see nothing, nothing, nothing . . . but then another dart lands a bit farther from my feet, but a bit closer to Kol. My gaze flicks to the place it came from and I see her—Dora—her bright white hair glowing in the scattered twilight. She is running hard straight for us through the trees.

  She must be out of darts. She shoulders a spear, and she is closing in, nearing the distance she needs to make the strike. I lunge for Anki’s spear. The shaft, sticky with blood, feels right in my hand.

  I step out, putting distance between me and Kol. I know what she wants. She’s not here to kill Kol; she’s here to kill me. And despite the shadows, despite the trees, despite the way she seems to struggle to get a clear view of me, she is determined to take the shot. So I encourage it. I step out just far enough for the slanting rays of the sun to slash across my face. Her steps slow . . . she takes three sliding steps forward and releases the spear.

  Even before it’s out of her hand, I’m diving back into the shade, toward Kol and toward the ground. The shot falls just short, nicking my calf as I fall.

  I look up, and my eyes meet Dora’s. She smiles, the same meek smile I first saw when she climbed out of the kayak on the shore of the Manu’s camp, her arms laden with sealskin to help them rebuild the camp her son had tried to destroy.

  A smile that is a lie.

  Her eyes are on her spear just a few paces from my feet. She has no hope of retrieving it before I can get off a shot. Judging by her smile, she’s out of darts, too.

  “You’re making a mistake,” Dora says. “I know you think I came here to kill you, but I didn’t. I came here to stop you from marrying a boy from the clan that killed your mother. She was a friend of mine, and if I have to kill him to honor her memory, that’s what I’ll do.”

  Dora stops. Her eyes cast a quick glance over her shoulder. She’s thinking about escape. “Even in your last moments,” I say, “you’re still a liar.” She pauses, hesitates, just long enough for me to raise Anki’s spear. Then she turns and runs back the way she came—back toward the cliff.

  As I chase her, I hear her suck in heavy, labored breaths. She’s still winded from the hard climb up the cliff from the beach. The evening air grows colder—the north wind sweeps over the cliff from the sea—and my own lungs burn. My eyes tear and my cheeks sting, but I never slow.

  Within ten paces of the cliff wall, I catch up to her. I am well within range. I think of my sisters on the beach heading for the boats, maybe even coming back with them by now. I think of the possibility Dora has her own boat at the base of the cliff, maybe loaded with other weapons. How if I don’t stop her, she could reach the others faster than I could.

  And I throw the spear.

  It sails true to its target, but she drops to the ground and rolls just in time. It grazes her hip and bounces in the dirt.

  From where I stand, I assess the distances. She is closer to the dropped spear than I am. She could be armed before me. She sees it too. Her eyes give away her desperate need to reach it, but her mouth, twisted in pain, gives away the extent of the wound on her hip.

  Dora raises herself on one knee, lunging for Anki’s spear. Time slows, and I notice small details—the curl of the grass under the hand of the wind, the shadows of birds flying west toward the sun. I think of those birds—I wonder if they are black shags, flying to their nests out at sea. And I notice a sound, the howl of a dog, and a voice calling my name.

  I turn and look back, just a momentary glance over my shoulder. Kol stands, leaning on the shaft of Lees’s spear like a walking stick. “Use this,” he says, and he holds it out to me.

  And so I turn and run, knowing that as I run to retrieve Lees’s spear, Dora is retrieving Anki’s.

  My feet fly over the ground. I feel like an elk or a deer. I grab the spear and spin. Dora is struggling to rise to her feet. Blood pours from her hip. She moves slowly, getting only to her knees before I am closing the space between us, preparing to take the shot. She wobbles, climbs to her full height, shifts her gaze from me to Anki’s spear and then to the cliff behind her.

  She makes her choice and staggers toward the cliff.

  I am still chasing her—still closing the distance in hopes of making the shot—when she plunges over the edge and down to the sea below.

  I have to look. I have to be sure I see Dora’s body broken on the rocks or floating in the tide.

  But the tide has come in. The rocks have disappeared. High water splashes against the base of the cliff wall. I do not see a kayak waiting for her. And I do not see Dora’s body.

  I stand looking out at the sea for a long time, but I never see a sign of any living thing.

  I don’t find Kol at the edge of the trees where he gave me the spear. Instead I find him back at Noni’s side. He has found Noni’s pack, and he’s searching for something.

  “We need to signal them,” Kol says, pulling something small from the pack. “We need to set the signal fire—”

  “What you need to do is stay out of sight. Move farther back from the cliff, away from the beach and sea. Take Noni and Black Dog with you—”

  “And you will do what?” Kol asks, getting to his feet. He’s shaky and avoids putting weight on his left leg, but he stands. “Give the Bosha the chance to kill you? You agreed to use a signal. It was your idea.”

  “He’s right.” It’s Noni’s voice. Her eyes are open. She’s found the feverweed and packed a bit more around her wounds.

  I recognize the thing in Kol’s hand—a fire starter. “We’ll find a place near the edge of the trees—a place where the fire will be seen,” Kol says. “Noni says she can walk that far.”

  Kol turns, expecting me to follow. But from beyond the ledge a sound rolls up, mixing with the beat of the waves that whip against the cliff. It echoes back again—not the sound of water on water, but rock falling on rock.

  Rocks are falling, and I can’t help but worry that someone is making them fall. Maybe Dora survived after all. Maybe it’s Noni’s father.

  I stride to the edge of the trees, peering through the eerie glow of twilight. Motion shifts at the ridge where the ground drops away. A silhouette takes shape, climbing to the top of the cliff face and rising up into the slanting light, stretching to the full height of a man.

  Thern. He stands and unfolds his arm, and in his hand is an atlatl. He loads a dart. His focus shifts—I wonder if he is searching for me, or Kol, or even Anki or Dora—but then something in his movements strikes me as halting. He lifts his other hand, drawing it over his eyes, and I know he is bli
nded by the setting sun over my shoulder.

  For one small moment—a moment no wider than the breadth of a single hair on my head—I feel relieved. He can’t see to shoot the dart. He doesn’t have a clear view.

  But then the moment dissolves like foam on a wave, and Thern takes the shot anyway. The atlatl comes forward and the dart flies straight. He’s luckier than Anki, and nothing deflects his shot. But it flies wide, sailing past the place I stand, landing somewhere in the trees behind me.

  I turn. Kol still stands with the fire starter in his hand, but his eyes are on Thern. I wonder if he—like me—is wondering where the others are. Hoping that they are still on the beach with the boats. That nothing has happened to them, and they are still coming.

  “Go set the fire,” I say. “Keep this near you.” I toss Lees’s smaller spear onto the ground beside him, but keep Anki’s with me.

  Thern loads another dart. His arm cocks back, the dart stabbing the sky as he readies his throw. I hesitate for only a moment, knowing that I will have only one shot. I squat down, hoping I can’t be seen in the undergrowth, and I raise Anki’s spear to my shoulder.

  Thern’s attention sweeps left to right, scanning the trees, searching for a target. Is it possible he does not see me? He takes a tentative step into the space between us.

  He may not see me yet, but I have only another moment or two before he does.

  My hand goes damp with sweat, the heavy shaft of Anki’s spear slipping in my grip. Thern takes a half step closer, then another. With each step, the time I have to prepare my shot contracts, but the chance I have of landing the shot grows. So I wait.

  Behind Thern, something moves. Something calls my attention to the ledge that drops to the sea. A shadow that bends and changes—one moment long and flat to the ground, the next crouching, then straightening into a man. Just as Thern did before him.

  Morsk.

  He hurries to his feet, raises his spear overhead, and locks his eyes on the place where I crouch. Unlike Thern, he sees my hiding place.

  And he is running hard right for me.

  TWENTY-THREE

  Morsk flies across the open grass, his eyes locked on mine, his spear ready.

  My heart pounds in my throat and in my temples. Could I have misjudged Morsk completely? Could he have been helping Dora and Anki all along?

  But then Morsk sends his spear toward its goal—not me, but Thern. The shot is strong and accurate, but Morsk’s target is quick. He drops to the ground and Morsk’s spear flies over his back, landing in the dirt behind him.

  This is my chance. Thern doesn’t know I’m here. He believes Morsk to be his only opponent—an opponent who is completely unarmed.

  Thern leaps up. Ignoring the dropped spear, he pulls another dart from the pack slung over his shoulder. He turns his attention to Morsk, who stands empty-handed with only the cliff behind him.

  I know I will have only one shot before I’m exposed. While his attention stays fixed on Morsk, I creep closer. I don’t want to squander my chance by rushing.

  But Thern isn’t ready to kill Morsk just yet. He has suffered five long years, and he wants to condemn Morsk for siding with the people he believes caused that suffering.

  My family.

  “You’re willing to kill me,” Thern says, “to save men who are already dead. Olen is dead. Chev is dead—”

  “How do you know Chev is dead?” Morsk calls.

  “Anki told me,” Thern answers. “She told me she killed him herself. She is not far away. If I don’t kill you, she surely will, just to punish you for your loyalty to him.”

  I want to shout to Thern that Anki has already been here, that she is already dead, and that he is next. But I hold all my words inside and stand to my full height. All I have to do is throw Anki’s spear. I think of Anki dying in front of me, as I ready to take another life. My hand is damp on the spear. Anki killed my brother, but this isn’t Anki. My arm shakes. My heart pounds in my chest. But then Thern takes aim at Morsk and I know I have to act.

  My throw is straight. The spear sticks in Thern’s back, not far below his left shoulder. He spins, and his wide eyes meet mine. He doesn’t drop, doesn’t even fall to his knees. His rage fuels him. Reaching around with his right hand, he plucks the spear from his back. A thin trickle of blood seeps from the wound, but Thern shows no sign of weakening.

  “How lucky,” Thern says. “I’d much rather kill you than Morsk.” He readies the spear. My eyes find Morsk’s dropped spear on the ground but I have no time to run to it. But I don’t need to.

  Over Thern’s shoulder I see Morsk running toward him. He tackles him and the two men crumple to the ground before Thern can take the shot.

  As they struggle, both of them reaching for Morsk’s spear, I run to it and claim it. Thern’s dropped atlatl is not far away. I hurry to scoop it from the grass, but Thern grabs at my ankles, tripping me as I run past. I fall, and Morsk’s spear flies away from my clutching hands. Anki’s lies only a few paces away, and the knowledge that I am completely unarmed sends a surge of fear through me. I clamber forward, my hand extended out in front of me. I am almost there when a dart lands just beyond my reaching fingers.

  A shape shifts and stirs at the edge of the cliff. I look up to see a person standing right where Thern first appeared, and Morsk right after him. An empty atlatl hangs at her side.

  Pada.

  She laughs, a strange high sound. “Unarmed?” she asks. Her hand slides into her pack. Despite the fading light I can see the shape of the carved spruce dart, see her slide it into her atlatl. I dash toward Anki’s spear. Just as my hand closes around it I hear a cry—sharp and edged with pain—burst into the air and scatter on the wind.

  Pada drops to her knees, a dart protruding from her arm.

  Not a dart of spruce like the Bosha make. Not of ivory like the Manu make. I remember Noni’s answer when asked what the Tama use to carve darts. Bone.

  The dart in Pada’s arm is made of bone. This dart was thrown by a member of the Tama clan.

  With Anki’s spear in my hand, I climb to my feet, and I lose my breath. Behind Pada I see them coming. Boats—six kayaks—are heading for the bottom of the cliff. Just as her uncle warned, Noni’s father is here.

  “Get down!” Thern calls to Pada, and he lunges for his atlatl. A woman climbs over the ledge not far from where Pada stands. In her hand is her own empty atlatl. She reloads with a new dart and aims again at Pada.

  I have no time to think. I can only react. Not to protect Pada, but to drive the Tama woman back—to protect all of us, but Noni most of all. I reach back and make the throw, hand over shoulder, and Anki’s spear lands in the Tama fighter’s shoulder, but it doesn’t stick. My angle was bad, and it falls away. She drops to the ground and picks it up, her attention shifting from Pada to me. She reaches back, the spear held behind her ear, ready to repay my throw with one aimed right at my chest. But she’s careful, deliberate. As she steadies her aim, I grab Morsk’s dropped spear and send it flying toward her.

  This second throw is much more accurate than my first, and much less tentative. The spear plunges deep into her side and she drops to her knees.

  A flash of relief is washed away by panic when I see another figure—a man—scale the cliff, a dart already loaded and ready to throw.

  It flies at me. I roll away, but not before it cuts my ear. But when I look back at the man who attacked me, I see him fall back, one of Thern’s darts in his chest. He tries to get his feet beneath him, but he can’t stop his momentum before he tumbles over the ledge.

  While I try to pull myself together—try to sort friend from foe—Morsk runs past me. He grabs his weapon from the place it fell beside the woman I speared. He comes so close to her I fear she will throw him from the cliff, but she is too weak to do any harm. Instead she pulls Anki’s spear from her side, drops it to the ground, and retreats back over the cliff wall.

  Pada grabs the dropped spear. She turns to me, and I flinch. But she no
ds. “Thank you,” is all she says as she tosses the spear to the ground at my feet. “More are coming,” she adds. Loading her atlatl, she turns again to face the edge of the cliff.

  The battle with the Tama has slowed just enough for me to take note of not just Pada’s shift in allegiance, but Thern’s too. A loaded atlatl in his hand, he has a clear shot at Morsk. A pivot would give him a shot at me. But he readies, like Pada, for the next Tama over the wall.

  But the next person to appear isn’t a Tama fighter. It’s my sister Seeri. She and the others must have seen the smoke of Kol’s signal fire. Whatever might have delayed them, I’m glad they are here now. Seeri clambers over the ledge and hauls Lees up behind her. Pek appears at the very spot where the Tama woman disappeared, his spear on his shoulder as he ascends.

  Just as they all clear the wall, Lees calls out. A dart sticks in her upper arm—a Tama dart that came from below. Seeri scoops her up and sweeps her behind her as two Tama men come over the ledge at once—one carrying a spear, the other reloading his atlatl.

  Before I can think or weigh my actions, Anki’s spear is out of my hand, heading for the man with the empty atlatl—the man whose dart protrudes from Lees’s arm.

  It flies true, but the man has already turned away to seek his next target. The spear lands squarely in the middle of his back, lodging right between his shoulder blades.

  He drops to both knees. His atlatl and dart slip from his hand as he falls. The fear pressing down on my chest eases just a bit at the sight of his dropped weapon, and a deep breath rushes into my lungs.

  Anki’s spear stands out from his back at a hideous angle, like some grotesque and unnatural tusk. He flails, twists, and turns, but he cannot reach it. He cannot shake it loose. The more he tries, the thicker the trail of blood running down his back becomes. Turning in place, pivoting from his knees, he looks back to find his attacker. He sees me, but he also sees Thern and Pek, running right for him.