I know I would be.
I glance over at Lo, trying to move only my eyes instead of my whole head, in hopes she won’t catch me looking at her. I think she may be interested in me, but she isn’t very forward about it. I just wish I had a better understanding of her feelings. With Shava and Seeri, there’s no doubt they adore Pek. With you, there’s no doubt you consider me unworthy of you.
Finally, the silence is broken. “I used to search for hives a lot when I was younger,” says Lo. “My father would take me.”
“I’ve never had the chance,” says Shava, the words flying out in a rush. “When I was growing up in this clan, I spent a lot of time helping in the kitchen, but it was always Kol or Urar who brought in the honey. But I’ve always wanted to try it.” She waits a moment, perhaps to see if anyone else has anything to add. This must be a piece of advice Lo gave her. As the “new” Shava shows herself more and more, I begin to wonder if Lo came along only to enable Shava to be close to Pek. “What about you, Pek? Do you enjoy searching for beehives?”
At first Pek doesn’t answer at all, and I think he’s being intolerably rude. He doesn’t have to flirt with Shava, but he can’t be rude. I’m about to say something to him when he finally turns and looks back at us from his place ten paces farther up the trail. “If the right person were here, I would be happy no matter what we did.”
Lo pauses on the path for a moment, tracing the toe of her left boot in the dirt. Shava stops behind her, but she isn’t as subtle as Lo—her face is like a shattered shell, as broken as the one Pek held up on the beach.
“Is there a girl—” Shava starts.
“Yes. There is.” Pek hesitates just a moment longer before turning and plodding on. There’s nothing for us to do except follow him until we reach the southern edge of the meadow.
The last time I was here was the morning I met you.
Not much time has passed since that morning. We have seen only one full moon since that day. Still, the abundance of life in the grass is startling. As we walk, insects spring out in front of our feet—grasshoppers are everywhere. I head for a spot in the center of a cluster of blue flowers that spread out like frost covering the ground. When we get there, no bees are visible, but I know that doesn’t mean they’re not here.
“This is the best part,” I say. “Or at least, the most challenging.”
My gaze moves over first Pek’s face, then Lo’s, then Shava’s. This is the first I see the tears in Shava’s eyes in response to Pek’s blunt confession of his feelings for Seeri. It’s hard for me to understand her endless optimism, considering he rejected her so thoroughly a few years ago. Maybe my mother has given her the idea that there is hope.
Or maybe, she thinks she’s really in love.
My attention moves from Shava’s red-rimmed eyes to Lo’s ambiguous expression. I try to decipher the tension in her lips, but I understand so little about girls. I look away. Pek stands brooding at the edge of our group, so far away from the rest of us he’s beyond the patch of wildflowers. I can only study the back of his head; he stands with his hands on his hips, facing into the wind coming cold over the Great Ice.
I glance back at Shava. The hurt I see in her reminds me of the hurt I’ve seen too often in Pek. I can’t stand it anymore.
“Let me show you the best way to track bees,” I say. I lie down in the grass and gesture to the place next to me. “You need to lie down, close your eyes, and listen.” Shava lies down on the grass and as she does, her hand brushes mine. I glance at her but she is just closing her eyes.
“Now what?”
I wait for Lo to lie down on the grass on my other side, but she shuffles out of sight, heading over to try to talk to my moody brother.
“Now we listen. You’ll know it when you hear it—the whir of their wings. It comes and goes as they fly and land, fly and land.”
I close my own eyes and tune my ears, but I can’t distract myself from the murmured conversation between Lo and my brother. I try to make out their words, but they are too far away, their voices nothing but an intermittent buzz.
Hiking back to camp, I feel that the outing was at least partially successful—we tracked two bees that Shava spotted until they joined up with a larger group. Those bees led us to the shade in the foothills of the mountains. We discovered their hive in the middle of a stunted poplar, growing in a secluded grove protected by sharply rising cliffs at the edge of the meadow.
“We’ll watch it, now that we’ve found it,” I say. “Then later in the season, we’ll smoke the bees to calm them and cut a piece of the hive away.”
“This has been one of the best days of my life,” Shava says. Every head turns toward her; this statement is so strong. Shava meets my eyes and her smile is somehow odd. “I’ve seen so many bees but never really seen them—never seen how they live. Thank you so much for teaching me.”
Recognition washes over me. I realize Shava isn’t acting odd—she’s acting as she always has.
She is looking at me the way she has always looked at Pek.
FIFTEEN
It’s just before the midday meal, and as the group of us hike back to camp, the crunch of gravel underfoot and birdsong overhead is joined by music rising from the gathering place. A strange melancholy grips me—I haven’t been home for the midday meal for days, and the cold formality of your clan has made me long for the warmth of my own.
I’m homesick.
As we walk, I try to make out the song my clanspeople are singing, but the wind is at our backs and the sound moves out and away. Shava walks beside me, pummeling me with questions about bees and hives, so that what I can hear of the music is drowned out and incomplete.
It isn’t until we are just outside the ring of huts that I recognize the tune. The melody is simple—the kind that makes you want to sing along. Vocals dance over a plain drumbeat . . . Oh great Divine, you taught us to make rope of many cords. . . . Two cords are stronger than one. . . . This rope of many cords, wrapped and woven, will remain unbroken. . . .
This is the song of friendship my people were singing when my family arrived back on our shore and found Shava here visiting. I can only assume that more of her clan has arrived from their camp across the bay.
The trail ends at a gap in the huts that reveals the gathering place. A girl stands outside the circle, long dark hair, straight and loose, flowing down her back—a girl wearing an ill-fitting parka that appears to be borrowed from a brother.
I know it is you long before I see your face. Standing beside you, her posture tense and taut, is your sister, Seeri. She strides toward us as soon as Pek steps into view.
I want to ask why you’re here, who came with you, if your brother is also here, how long you will stay. But I realize that your rude treatment of me and my family wouldn’t merit that type of greeting. Instead I smile and turn to the girls who walk beside me.
“Seeri, Mya . . . this is Shava and Lo, our neighbors from the Bosha clan. They are camping across the bay and have come to visit.” I glance at Seeri’s face, but she is looking past my shoulder. I turn to you and your eyes are on the ground.
Such flagrant arrogance.
“These are our neighbors,” I repeat. “This is Shava, and this is Lo. We just came from an outing to the meadow. We went in search of honeybees.”
“And we were very successful,” Shava adds. A loud giggle escapes her, and my nerves jump along my spine.
I wait for your nods, for your acknowledgment of these strangers. My eyes shift from you to Seeri and back again. Both of you stare absently, ignoring the introductions being made.
Could it be rivalry that prevents you from greeting these girls civilly? Certainly not rivalry over me, but maybe Pek? I might expect disdain from you, but not Seeri, who has shown good manners under the worst of circumstances.
Until now.
“I’m sorry. I’m not feeling well. Please excuse me.” That’s all you say before you turn and walk straight to the door of the hut we bui
lt for you the last time you visited. You never even lift your eyes from the ground.
“I should go check on my sister,” says Seeri. At least she meets Pek’s gaze when she speaks. “But first I need to tell you both the reason we’re here.”
My eyes flick to my brother. He stands completely still, as if he fears he’s dreaming that Seeri is here and if he moves he may wake and it would all be gone. “My brother Chev regrets his behavior the night you were all in our camp. After you left he realized that he had treated you rudely. Too much mead, he says.”
Seeri attempts a laugh but no one else even so much as smiles. Pek still stands motionless. I turn to Shava. Her eyebrows are drawn together in a scowl. She watches Lo, as if waiting for cues.
“Chev’s heart is burdened with regret. He says he owes your clan a celebration in Kol’s honor. My whole family has come, as well as our clan’s council of elders. We’ve brought a feast to serve in your camp tonight.”
“Your council of elders? Does that mean your brother has changed his mind about—”
“He says he values your clan’s friendship very much. He’s brought this feast as a show of good faith. Those were Chev’s own words—good faith. He is sincere about building a bond with the Manu.”
“So then there might really be a chance—”
“I have to go,” Seeri says, and almost as quickly as you, she turns on her heels and disappears in the direction of your hut.
“He must have second thoughts, right?” Pek’s face is a study in contrasts. His eyes are the eyes of a man who’s been lost in a dark cave and who’s finally found the tiniest glimmer of light through a thin crack in the stone—his eyes are alight with the possibility that he’s finally found the way out.
But his mouth belongs to a different face. His mouth is a hard flat line—the mouth of a man who knows his hopes are false, a man preparing himself for the coming sting of disappointment.
“Is one of those girls her?” Shava asks.
Neither of us responds. “Is one of them the girl you spoke of earlier?” she asks Pek.
“It’s none of your concern,” he says, his words jumbling together as if he can’t spit them out fast enough. He turns and heads back up the path in the direction we came.
For a long moment the three of us stand there in silence. Voices reach us from the huts—Chev and my father, laughing.
“I need to leave,” says Lo. “I need to get back to my own camp.”
“But there’s a feast—” I start, but stop when I notice the intensity of my tone. I won’t let myself sound desperate. I take a deep breath and start again. “Wouldn’t you like to stay?”
“I’m not invited—”
“You’re our guest. Of course you’re invited—”
Lo turns her face up toward the sky to the west, and for a moment I think she is wavering, but when she speaks, it’s clear her decision is firm. Perhaps she was just searching for words.
“I promised my father I’d help him with something after the midday meal. He’s our High Elder. I couldn’t break a promise to him.” Lo smiles, but distance opens between us. “Ready, Shava?”
Shava flinches when Lo says her name. It’s subtle, but unmistakable. “I didn’t make a promise to your father to return at a particular time.” She speaks in the tenuous voice of a child who knows she’s going to be in trouble.
“My father will be expecting both of us,” Lo answers. Her tone carries meaning beyond her words. Is a threat implied? “And how would you get back? We came in the kayak together. I need you to paddle it back with me—”
“But this is my old clan. I want to stay for the feast.”
“I have an idea,” I offer. “There’s a trail along the cliffs that circle the bay. It takes longer than crossing by kayak, but it leads to the other shore. I could show you the way. I’ll walk you back to your camp right now, Lo, if you’ll promise to come back later tonight for the feast.” I allow myself the indulgent risk of touching Lo—a light, brief touch on the wrist. Her skin is warm. “You could bring your father with you. My father, I know, would welcome the chance to meet him.”
Lo purses her lips. She shifts her weight from foot to foot as she thinks. “All right,” she says finally. “If you’ll walk me, I promise to return tonight. But Shava, may I speak to you briefly—alone—before I go?”
Shava looks from Lo to me and then back to Lo again. “Of course,” she says.
“I’ll go to the kitchen and get a waterskin for us to take,” I say. As I walk away, I tell myself that Lo is most likely giving Shava advice about Pek. I will not let myself hope that she wants to say anything in private about me.
Lo and I take the trail that winds through the thin forest of birch trees that grow in the rocky soil near the shore. This swath is among the few patches of trees we have within our hunting range—these weathered, spindly trees that manage to dig their roots into the narrow strip of soil that forms a buffer between the sea and the wide stretches of grassland. The path is steep in spots, climbing up the cliffs to a summit that overlooks the bay before turning and heading back down to the western shore. In a few spots, the forest floor grows rocky, and it’s dangerous if you don’t watch your step. Still, it’s mostly easy on our feet, carpeted by sedges and mosses that form a cushion under the soles of our boots. And it’s secluded and private, so it’s the path I choose. Lo doesn’t seem to mind.
The day is bright, and the path is covered in broken splashes of sun and shade. Wind off the sea stirs the branches, creating a rushing sound that almost sounds like rain. I glance at Lo as she walks just an arm’s length from my side. Her eyes are down, carefully watching her feet to avoid sticks and exposed roots. The light flits across her dark hair like stars in the night sky. Something inside me longs to reach out and touch her, and I find myself imagining her tripping, her toe getting stuck on the edge of a rock and her balance being lost just enough to justify a hand under her elbow or even better, an arm thrown hurriedly around her waist.
For some reason, this thought brings you to my mind. I remember the cold disdain in your voice as you made your excuses and ran away to your hut when I’d introduced you to Lo.
“Do you mind if I ask a question? If it’s something you’d rather not answer, just say so.”
Lo wobbles as her foot settles on a loose rock, and for a brief moment I think I will have to reach out to catch her after all, but she rights herself and regains her balance almost instantly.
“Ask me anything you want.” Her tone is open and inviting, and I convince myself that the reason she doesn’t look up is to ensure she doesn’t land on another wobbly rock.
“Well,” I start. I stop a moment and watch Lo’s hair bounce against her back, and once again, I can’t push the thought of you from my mind. Your hair is a bit longer and straighter than Lo’s. Hers has the waves of hair that’s been braided while wet.
“I wanted to ask you about the girls I introduced you to earlier. Seeri and Mya. Have you met them before?”
“Are you asking because they were so rude to me?”
A gust of breeze blows her hair, obscuring her face, but it doesn’t matter. As soon as she answers I know she knows you. There’s anger in her voice—a wound that hasn’t healed. Or a debt left unsettled.
“It was impossible not to notice,” I say.
“Of course it was. Those girls are worse than rude. They’re selfish. The whole family, the sisters, their brother . . .”
We walk a bit farther in silence. My heart quickens, but I can’t be sure if it’s reacting to the climb or to what Lo said. The path turns away from the coast a bit and rises to a rocky slope. I let Lo go ahead of me, but that denies me the benefit of watching her face. I feel that if I could see her face as she spoke I might decipher some sort of mystery. Not just a mystery about the cold reunion I’d witnessed, but a mystery about you—about what experiences in your past have made you so rude and arrogant.
Not that it ultimately makes a difference to m
e. If you choose to be unfriendly and superior, I can only feel fortunate not to have been matched to you.
In this stretch of the trail, the ground is eroded to the rock bed below. Boulders stand out at angles, allowing us footholds, but the steepness makes my heart pound harder and my breath come quicker.
“So, when did you meet Mya and Seeri? Do you know them from before they moved south? Did they visit your clan as they passed through five years ago?”
“Five years ago . . .” Each word crackles from Lo’s lips like new wood hissing in the flame. Finally, she stops and looks back at me. Even from a distance, her eyes are like fresh-cut obsidian, hard and dark, but with a glow deep inside. “They didn’t pass through my clan.” The whispering in the trees falls silent. “They are my clan.”
SIXTEEN
My pulse quickens, drumming in my temples. I hurry to catch up to Lo, leaving the trail and scrambling over a steeper section of rock, so that I reach the crest at the same moment she does. I take in the hardened angles of her usually rounded face—the tight lines drawn around the edges of her mouth—before she hurries ahead again.
“They are your clan? How is that possible? You’re from the Bosha clan. They call themselves the Olen. . . .”
She doesn’t reply, doesn’t speak at all. The thrumming in my head grows louder, making it hard for me to think.
Lo continues to climb, though she slows her pace. I stay as close as I can; I don’t want to miss a whispered word of her answer. Finally, without looking at me, she speaks. “Until five years ago, we were all one clan. They were part of the Bosha. Their father, Olen, was our High Elder. But there was a rift and they abandoned their own people. They left us—Chev, his sisters, and about half the clan.
“Before the split, their father and mother were trusted in every way. People went where Olen said to go, whether it was an order to follow the herd, to take kayaks out to fish, or to go on a gathering trip that would take days.”
The slope of the trail turns downhill as we navigate a tight bend that reveals the open sea below us. The view from this spot looks over the section of the shore where Lo’s clan is camped—the remnant of your clan. The people you left behind. I think of the fighting that took place between your clan and mine when you visited us five years ago. If what Lo says is true, that must’ve been right after you and your family had torn away from your own people.
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