“The three of you helped bring in this food; you will take your fair portion. I will not risk angering the Spirit of the mammoth that died so that we could all eat.” This comes out as a proclamation rather than a comment. My mother’s tone has the definitive note she usually reserves for my brothers and me.
I drop my head and try to appear too caught up in my task of wrapping meat to notice what is being said. But then the door flips open and shut, light from outside splashing momentarily across the kitchen floor. Before I look up I know it’s you—I already recognize the unique cadence of your steps.
You stand with your sister, just inside the doorway. Seeri’s hair is tied up in a braid that wraps around her head, a style my mother and most of the women of my clan wear almost every day. I notice that your hair, as it was yesterday, is loose, falling over your shoulders and down your back. You are both dressed in the clothes you wore on the hunt.
“We know you do not need our help to successfully bring down game.” These words come from Seeri. “Thank you for the privilege of accompanying you yesterday. We all learned so much.” Her eyes are fixed on Pek, and for the first time, her clear intentions toward him ruffle my nerves. Suddenly, I can’t stomach the sight of the tender expression on her face. My eyes move to yours. You stare at the ground, falsely occupied in making a mental inventory of my mother’s kitchen supplies. I guess it’s what I should expect of you. You wouldn’t accept my gift last night. Why should you even look me in the eye to say a proper good-bye?
“We can all learn from a hunt with Pek, that’s certain,” my father says. “He’s one of the best with a spear that I have ever seen.”
I’m stunned. I wouldn’t expect my father to make such a blatant play to impress the three of you. Then again, I’m not intimately involved in managing and governing the clan, as he is. My parents are both elders of this clan, and there have been frequent meetings of the council lately. They would have a far better understanding of our situation—of the need to move south and the ways cooperation with your clan could reduce the risks involved with such a move. The ways a betrothal could encourage such a friendship.
I would rather our clan face extinction than reduce myself to playing for your affections, but my father, I see now, is feeling the pressure.
“There used to be a girl in this clan called Shava,” my father says. “She was so impressed by Pek’s hunting that she wanted to marry him. She cooked every kill he brought in for the entire clan. She tried to make herself the ideal partner for him, I suppose.”
Father’s eyes cloud over and I can see in his smile that he is thinking back on Shava and perhaps wondering why we were ever so careless as to let her slip away.
“Pek wasn’t interested in that girl, though, no matter how many mats she piled high with grilled bison or mammoth,” I interject. The eyes of every person in the room snap to my face. It’s quite bold to interrupt your own father as he relates a tale, especially if your father is Arem the High Elder, but I feel I need to put a stop to this one. “Apparently, being a great cook for a great hunter doesn’t necessarily win his heart. Her cooking wasn’t enough to buy his affection,” I say, turning to look directly into your face.
You swallow. “Where is she now? I notice there are no young women in this clan.”
Pek jumps in to answer. “We met up with another clan about two years ago—it turned out to be the clan of her mother’s family. Her mother had left them years before to marry into our clan, but her husband had died, and when we crossed paths with them again, she was reunited with her family. Shava and her mother returned to the west with her mother’s native people, to their territory beyond the northwest hills.”
This simple story by my brother touches some nerve in you. Your head whips around in his direction. “What clan? A clan to the northwest? What clan is that?”
“Mya.” The voice of your brother interrupts you sharply. I notice a very small shake of his head, a message to you. “Do not pester our hosts with such questions.”
There are secrets here, I realize. Clearly, there is something your brother does not wish to discuss. But whatever secrets your brother wishes to keep, they do not interest me. “Excuse me. I’ll carry the first load to your boat,” I say, filling up my arms with packages of meat. I move toward the door, careful to keep my eyes on the floor as I pass by you.
To my surprise, you follow me out into the cold morning light.
“Kol.” I stop, acutely aware that this is the first time you’ve ever addressed me by name. I’m not sure how I feel about the sound of it. Your voice is halting, less confident than usual. “If cooking isn’t the best way to attract the interest of a hunter, what would you say is better?”
I turn to study you. This is a trick question, I’m sure, but I can’t imagine what the trick is meant to accomplish. It doesn’t matter. Last night you were quite direct with me. I won’t hesitate to be just as direct. “Perhaps something more personal,” I say, “like accepting small gifts that are offered without assuming they are meant to buy you. Even if you could gather all that you wanted at home.”
Your lips part and your focus slides from my face; for a moment, you stare into the air, trying to piece together how I came to know the words you used last night. The softness of confusion fades and your features sharpen as you arrive at the only plausible explanation—that I heard you through the walls. As your eyes return to mine they narrow and draw together until a crease appears between your eyebrows.
“You shouldn’t listen at doors.”
“I couldn’t help but hear,” I lie. Still, what difference does it make now? After I raised my spear at you, your opinion of me is clearly unsalvageable.
“You misunderstood my refusal of that gift,” you say. “Maybe my words were too strong, but what I meant was, you can’t purchase a person’s affections. They have to be won naturally.”
Behind me, I hear the clan waking up. People stir inside their huts. I feel the need to end this awkward conversation before there are witnesses to it.
“Well, we have Pek and Seeri as an example, don’t we? They have certainly come to share a mutual affection naturally. Clearly ties between our clans will be forged by those two.”
You drop your eyes and take a step backward toward the kitchen. “I don’t think that will happen.” Your voice, like your eyes, has dropped. You speak so low I can hardly hear you. “They are an impossibility—Pek and Seeri—she is promised to a boy in our clan—one of Chev’s closest friends.”
Your words confuse me, though their plain meaning is clear. Still, it can’t be true. If Seeri is betrothed to a boy in your clan, why would she lead my brother on the way she has?
And why would Seeri be betrothed before you, since she is younger? Certainly your family wouldn’t have looked for a match for Seeri before you were betrothed.
Or could it be that you are already promised, too?
I’m sure it’s obvious how your words have stunned me. I shift the packages in my arms and steady myself on my feet when, without warning, someone knocks into me from behind.
I spin around to find my brother Roon, his face flushed. Though he’s younger and smaller than me, he’s strong and sturdy, and when he grabs hold of my shoulders he upsets my balance and sends three packs of meat tumbling from my arms to the ground.
“Roon! Watch what you’re doing!”
I bend to pick up the dropped packages, which, thankfully, did not unwrap and spill into the dirt. You retrieve one that landed at your feet, and my brother takes it from you and hands it back to me.
“I’m sorry; I just ran all the way from shore. I got up early this morning—very early. I’m not sure that I ever really went to sleep last night. It was as if I could hear someone creeping outside the huts, wandering through the dark. Anyway, when I got up I found nothing, but I could feel something there; you know? It was like the Divine was calling to me. I found myself all the way down on the western shore before the sun came up, and I kept walking un
til well after it rose. And what do you think I found?”
“Don’t make me guess, Roon. Just tell—”
“Another clan! There is another clan, Kol, camping on the western shore of the bay. Two of them—a brother and sister—were out gathering kelp and they spoke to me. They said they come from land to the north and west.”
“A brother and sister?” Your voice is urgent and unexpected, like a crack of thunder out of a clear sky.
“Yes—”
“From what clan? What name are they known by?”
“I don’t know—I didn’t ask them.”
The color drains from your face, but I can’t begin to guess why news of this clan should affect you so.
“Girls . . . ,” Roon whispers. I know he’s excited to talk to me, but I find myself watching you as your attention turns inward. You gaze into the air as if looking at something, but your eyes stay unfocused. “The brother and sister who spoke to me told me there are several girls in their clan. . . .”
Dragging my eyes from your face to Roon’s is difficult, but when I finally turn my attention to my brother I see the triumph in his expression. He has explored over the grassland and along the coast, searching for some indication of another clan—any clan—but especially a clan with girls of marrying age.
I want to tell Roon how proud I am that he finally accomplished the goal that’s been driving him for so long, but I’m interrupted by the sight of your brother coming through the door of the kitchen, followed closely by Pek and Seeri. Pek carries another three packs, identical to the ones in my arms. Chev sweeps his eyes over me, and I become acutely aware that I left the kitchen quite a while ago, claiming to be heading to your boat. His eyes move from me to you. “I’m sorry to take you away, Mya,” he says, “but it’s time for us to leave.”
“We’ll walk you down to the shore,” my mother says. “Pek, why don’t you carry Seeri’s pack—”
“That’s quite all right.” Chev’s voice is stern and his tone fills in some answers to questions that have been swirling in my mind. Now I understand this unexpected early departure. Chev is anxious to separate Seeri and Pek, to return her to his friend at home.
If Seeri is promised to another boy, this trip wasn’t meant to find someone for her. Perhaps Chev came here to find a wife for himself? I always assumed your brother had a wife, though I’m not sure anyone has actually said so. But if he were searching for a wife, why would he bring his two sisters along? No, this trip could have been for only one purpose—to find someone for you.
Chev’s eyes meet mine and he holds my gaze for a moment before turning his attention to you. “We have appreciated your hospitality greatly. Isn’t that right, Mya?”
“Yes,” you say without looking at me, and I know that I have discerned things correctly. Chev had wanted to find a match for you, and we have disappointed him.
I wonder how differently things would have gone if Chev had left your sister at home. But then, even if you’d come alone, you would’ve found all the same reasons to reject me. Perhaps it would be you swooning over Pek—the born hunter—rather than Seeri.
Maybe that’s what Chev regrets the most.
At the boat, your brother moves quickly. Roon chatters the whole time about the clan he met on the western shore. As you set your pack into your brother’s hands, you whisper a message into his ear.
“This clan from the west,” Chev says to Roon. “You told my sister earlier you thought someone was creeping through the camp last night—maybe someone from that clan? Maybe even a spy?”
Roon twitches and a smile flits across his lips, but then he wipes it away with his hand. “I thought I heard something, but when I walked outside, no one was there. It could’ve been a spy, I guess. Just as likely it was a Spirit, sent by the Divine to draw me to the shore.”
“A Spirit . . . Perhaps. Or perhaps a ghost . . .” Chev’s eyes move to your face and I wonder if we are all thinking of the same thing—the woman who lost her life five years ago on the hunt. Could her ghost have paced our camp last night? Could it be that the violence that took her life ties her Spirit here, preventing it from climbing to the Land Above the Sky?
Without another word, Chev moves quickly to prepare the canoe. His haste removes any opportunity for ceremony or formality as we part. Pek wades into the water, his sealskin pants and boots protecting him from the icy cold, and holds the canoe steady as you and Seeri step in.
“Such an incredible boat,” Pek says, and the sincerity in his voice almost breaks my heart. “The skill of your clanspeople is truly impressive. I hope to pay a visit to you and meet the people of your clan soon.”
I’m surprised Pek would say something so bold. Could our parents have put him up to it?
“We will look forward to meeting you all again . . . someday,” Chev says. His noncommittal response is as good as a “no” to my brother’s proposition. He gives a small nod to my parents. “Arem and Mala, we thank you and all the Manu for your hospitality.”
Then the three of you push out. Three paddles stab hard at the water, drawing you quickly away from our shore.
As you round the point to the south where, even in summer, ice runs down from the eastern mountains like a frozen river to the sea, I catch a glimpse of a lone kayak far out on the horizon. The sun shines bright and the outline of a paddler is illuminated, long, loose hair whipping in the wind.
My heart pounds a drumbeat in my chest that rolls outward like an echo, vibrating along my skin. I turn and clutch Roon by the arm. “There!” I shout, pointing to the shape on the sea.
But just as I do, a cloud slides in front of the sun. Gray mist shrouds the water in shadow.
Ghost, spy, or just a trick of my imagination, the lone kayaker I’d seen so distinctly just a moment before is gone.
SEVEN
Seeri loved the sealskin blankets. This is the one true thing my mother and Pek have fixated on since your boat disappeared around our bay’s southern point.
By afternoon, Pek and I are out on the water, hunting seals.
We each paddle a kayak custom-built by our aunt Ama from sealskin stretched over a frame of mammoth bone. Even our paddles are works of careful craftsmanship—their shafts carved from well-chosen spruce limbs, perfectly fitted to pairs of blades shaped from finely worked driftwood, capped at both ends with ivory. These kayaks are not just boats we sit in, like the canoe you and your siblings use, but they are almost like clothing we wear, tied at the waist and braced with straps over our shoulders to keep water out. “It will keep you comfortable. . . . Comfortable and safe,” Aunt Ama said the first time I climbed into it, my legs sliding into the dry cavity under the deck. And she was right—I am both comfortable and safe. But still, I am miserable.
Grasping the paddle balanced across my lap, I’m reminded of yesterday’s hut-building efforts and the deep fissures left in my palms. By last night the cuts were healing, sealed with a crisscrossing pattern of dark purple scabs. But scabs are no defense against seawater, and out here today, my palms sting and burn.
If only this were just a simple fishing expedition, one where Pek and I could float in a quiet cove with the sun on our backs, enjoying the warm air of early summer as we drop a net into the still-frigid waters to see what fish we might bring up. I could use a chance to rest and sift through all the things that have been done and said since you arrived yesterday. I feel out of balance—my thoughts have been stuffed to overflowing while my hopes have been drained dry. I know some time spent thinking—alone in the meadow maybe—would fix it, but my family has other plans for me. Instead of lying in a meadow, I find myself paddling out toward a cluster of rocky offshore islands, armed with a harpoon of walrus bone tipped with walrus ivory, tied to a long rope of tightly knotted kelp.
With his paddle, Pek points into the distance. Dark shapes stand out against the sun-bleached rocks—the seals are out. Our chances of success seem strong. I thank the Divine for this small blessing. I don’t think I could take an
other failure today.
Before we reach the small islands where we will hunt, I pull my boat up next to my brother’s and slow my paddling. He looks over to me, squinting into the sun. “You all right?” he calls.
“She didn’t leave you willingly,” I say. I feel like I need to tell Pek this, to undo any sense he may have of rejection. “Her brother, Chev—he took her from you. Mya told me. Seeri is promised to Chev’s close friend. He took her from here because he could see how she felt about you, how you felt about each other.”
Pek doesn’t answer. Instead he drops his head, digs his paddle into the water, and makes a wide turn around me. Perhaps I’ve said the wrong thing. Perhaps it would have been better to leave him wondering if she’d rejected him. After all, Mya had called Pek and Seeri an impossibility.
Pek circles around the front of my kayak and pulls alongside me so we’re facing each other. His head is lowered, but when he raises it and meets my eyes, he flashes a wry smile. “I already know,” he says.
“You know? How do you know?”
“Seeri told me.”
“But then why are we out here hunting seals? Why do you persist in planning a trip to their camp—”
“She’s not married yet, is she? So there’s still a chance. Things could change.”
Where does Pek find this kind of faith? Is he being foolish or wise? Distracted by these questions, my focus wanders from the surface to the sky, until Pek dips his paddle into the sea and flips icy water in my face. Startled, I wipe my eyes with the backs of my hands just in time to catch a fleeting glimpse of his laughing face before he ducks his head and paddles hard for the rocks. Seals sunbathe on at least ten ledges above the spray. I stab at the water in pursuit of Pek, but as we draw close we both slow our pace. Now, closing in, stealth overrides speed. Diverting our course around a smaller island that blocks us from view, we slide across the surface as soundlessly as possible.
Ivory and Bone Page 5
