Later, I hear the feast getting under way in the center of camp, but I decide to remain in my hut a bit longer. I don’t want to run into you. At least not until Lo is here. After all that I learned about you today—about the cruel way you’ve treated Lo—how you preferred to destroy something that symbolized your status and position rather than turn it over to her—I don’t think I could stomach another tense and insincere exchange of pleasantries with you.
My mind floats back to the meal at your camp and the question you asked me—what traits would make a woman a good wife. My answer—cooperation, patience, lack of arrogance—I realize now that all these traits belong to Lo, and not a single one to you.
The music starts up. Kesh’s flute is clear and strong tonight. I can’t help but think that he is showing off a bit. But if Kesh is showing off, maybe that means that guests are arriving from the Bosha clan.
Maybe Lo has arrived.
I pick up my new parka, but I hesitate, remembering how I’d believed it to be a gift from you, only to learn that it was actually your way of returning a gift to me. Still, it’s the cleanest and nicest I own. I shrug it on.
Out in the gathering place, people are standing shoulder to shoulder. It’s impossible to get a view of the whole crowd. My entire clan is here, plus at least ten people from your clan. Smiling and nodding at a few of your clan’s elders who I recognize from my visit but don’t know by name, I snake between smaller groups, catching snippets of conversations—How has the hunting been for you this summer? How do you feel after such a long trip on the water? Everyone seems to be putting history behind them and making friends. No one would guess that our two clans had come so close to war just five years ago.
Out on the far side of the square, near the path that leads away from camp to the meadow, I find Seeri and Pek. Behind them in the gathering shadows I hear laughter, and squinting I make out the shapes of two figures running, a boy and a girl—my brother Roon and your little sister, Lees. A squeal pierces the air—I can only guess Roon has caught Lees, though her laughter convinces me she wasn’t too upset to be caught. “Stay out of trouble,” I call into the dark as I turn back toward the crowd. They both fall quiet as I walk away.
For a moment I wonder if they might be kissing, but then decide that they are both too young and childish. Probably whispering secrets or planning a prank.
Toward the center of the square, in a tight little knot, I notice my father and mother, your brother . . .
You.
I should come over. It’s only polite.
As I slide through the crowd, I feel your eyes on me. A strange tension stiffens my arms and legs.
It can’t be nerves. It’s only awkwardness, as I prepare to say as little as possible before turning to look again for Lo. Or maybe I’ll be bold enough to ask you if you’ve seen her.
Yes, that’s what I’ll say.
Just before I reach your side, though, someone catches me by the elbow. I spin, expecting Lo. The grin is already on my face when I recognize that it is Shava instead.
“Kol, have you seen Pek? We’ve been looking for him. You remember my mother?” Shava’s mother, Fi, stands beside her. It’s been two years, but I recognize her immediately. “She only wanted to say a brief hello to Pek.”
My grin spreads into a wide smile. The presence of Shava and her mother confirms that members of the Bosha clan are here.
“It’s good to see you,” I say, while looking past Fi. “Do you know if Lo is here yet? She said she might bring her father.”
“Her father?” Shava’s mother’s voice is the high-pitched call of a startled bird.
“Lo spoke of her father today.” Unlike her mother, Shava speaks in low and controlled tones. “She spoke of the promise she made him.”
“Oh, yes. Well, I haven’t seen Lo yet tonight.”
Their behavior is so odd; I need to send Shava and her mother on their way. “Pek’s on the edge of the path,” I say.
Let them find him fawning over Seeri. The sooner they learn the truth, the better.
But Shava surprises me. She sweeps an appraising eye in your direction, perhaps making note of the fact that you have been watching us all this time. “You go say hello,” she says to Fi. “I saw him just this morning. I would rather stay here and talk to Kol about honey.”
Shava’s mother leaves, and I find myself uncomfortably pinned between Shava and you. “Did anyone else come from your clan?” I ask Shava.
“I’m not sure others will be coming,” she says. Her eyes shift to you, then back to my face. “My clanspeople are not very friendly with the Olen clan. We were once one clan, you know.”
“Yes, I do know—”
“You do? Because when I spoke about it to your family—to your father and mother—they had no idea—”
“I didn’t learn it from my family.”
From the corner of my eye, I see you move in closer. Did you hear me just now, acknowledging that I know you were once one clan? Can you guess it was Lo who told me?
A fire burns in the central hearth and its light sets your skin glowing as you move toward me. I can’t resist the urge to turn and look at you.
“You know the history of our clan?” you ask. And I know—I hear it in a small tremor in your voice—you fear what Lo may have told me about you.
But why care what I think of you? How could my opinion matter, except to satisfy your own pride and vanity?
“Some,” I say. I turn and look into your face, one side lit by the cool half-light of evening, the other glowing warm from the light of the fire. In your eyes there is a spark of something, like an ember just before it catches the kindling and everything bursts into flame. “Lo told me enough.”
“I doubt that,” you say. “It’s a complicated story.”
I notice for the first time that you are dressed in clothing reserved for the highest occasions. I would almost believe you were trying to make a good impression, but who could you be hoping to impress? Instead of your usual ill-fitting parka, you wear a long tunic of sealskin, cut to fit the lines of your body perfectly. I assume this is a new garment, constructed from the pelts brought by Pek. The tunic has a hood that lies open across your back, your long hair spilling into it. Leather ties lace up the neckline at your throat, but you’ve left it open. Around your neck, glowing like snow in the firelight, is the pendant, so similar to the one Lo showed me today. You notice my gaze and your fingers trace across it. “Do you recognize it?”
“I do. Are they identical?”
“This one is ivory. The one Lo wears is bone.”
Of course, I think. Bone is porous, rough, and common. Ivory is lustrous, smooth, and strong.
If Lo is to have a pendant of bone, you must have one of ivory.
A sigh comes from over my shoulder and I only just remember that Shava is still beside me. “Do you think we will go hunting for hives again tomorrow, Kol?”
I hesitate to answer. I would love to go. I would love to go alone.
Before I can construct the best reply, Shava takes advantage of my silence. She wants to talk about bees. “Mya, have you ever had the chance to taste Kol’s honey?”
Once again, I’m amazed by Shava’s boldness.
“I regret that I have not,” you answer. “I had the chance once. But I was foolish, and I didn’t appreciate the value of the offer that was being made.”
My eyes lock onto yours. You stare back at me, and your lips curl just a bit.
“Sometimes I let my pride get in my way. I fail to thank someone who saved my clan from a predator, or saved my sister from drowning in dark, icy water. Or I refuse a gift of honey that was offered in the spirit of friendship.”
“That’s too bad,” Shava says. “I’ve tasted it myself, so I know what you missed. Such a shame. After all, what would life be without honey?” She giggles.
“Please excuse me,” you say. Dropping your eyes, you hurry away, melting into the crowd in the direction of the huts.
&nb
sp; “Well, she’s quite rude,” Shava says.
I watch you as you make your way to the edge of the crowd.
“She clearly doesn’t like you very well,” Shava adds, and as she says these words, you flick one quick glance over your shoulder.
And I see it: the ember that had been glowing in your eyes is ablaze.
EIGHTEEN
I watch you until the door of your hut pulls back and then falls shut behind you again. When I shoot a quick glance at Shava, I find her staring at me as if she intends to read my thoughts. “I’d like to find my brother Kesh,” I say. I don’t really need to see Kesh, but I’m looking for an excuse to get away. I move to step around Shava, but she perks up instantly.
“That sounds wonderful. Let’s go.”
I want to tell her I have something personal to discuss with Kesh, but her face gives away some hidden awareness of my plan. She smiles, but behind her docile features I see an edge of cunning—a mental rehearsal of her response should I suggest that she stay here. Something in that contrived innocence seems pitiful—I see her suddenly as someone well aware of her status as a person others are frequently trying to avoid. Maybe it’s because you’ve made me feel less than welcome myself at times, but I can’t help but sympathize with her a bit. “This way,” I say. I turn and head toward the musicians in their place by the entrance to the kitchen. I almost offer my arm to Shava, but think better of it. I’m sure she needs no assistance in keeping up.
Kesh stops playing when he sees me approaching. He clambers to his feet to look over my shoulder. “Shava—I haven’t spoken to her since she came back,” he says, a bit too loud.
I’d forgotten. Shava and Kesh had once been close. They’d played together as children and had been almost inseparable until she fell for Pek.
“I’m so happy to see you,” he says, sliding over to make room for her to sit beside him on the flat stone he occupies near the hearth.
“I’m so happy you still play the flute,” Shava answers. “I wish I could play.”
“I could show you. . . .”
I’ve never noticed the shyness in Kesh, but I guess there was never reason for him to act shy. Handing Shava his flute, he shows her how to hold it. I slide away when he begins to show her the ideal way to pucker her lips.
Food eventually is brought out and people crowd in and seat themselves on the ground, which has been strewn with clippings of soft stalks that your clan must have brought from the south. The food is perfect—roasted bison and mussels stacked high on every mat. My mother tries to help with the distribution, but an elder from your clan—a man old enough to be my father’s father—gently scolds her and tells her to have a seat. He is clearly in charge of food preparation and takes his responsibility very seriously. “This feast is to honor your clan. It is our gift to you,” he says.
His words remind me of the lessons my father has taught me about generosity and service to others, and how the Divine requires these traits in a clan leader. As I watch, my mother smiles and sits down.
A crew of women and a few men of about my parents’ age carry out wave after wave of mats. One man weaves through the clumps of seated figures passing out drinking bowls—not the ornately carved cups of bone we drank from in your camp, but shallow, tightly woven bowls coated with resin. Chev follows behind him pouring mead from a large waterskin into every one.
With all but the servers seated, I’m able to scan the crowd more easily—I see Pek and Seeri, Roon and Lees, my mother and father. But Lo is nowhere to be seen. And, I notice, neither is Seeri’s betrothed.
Of course, neither are you.
Second helpings are being brought out when I get to my feet. The food is excellent, but a sense of loneliness overcomes me as I notice that even Kesh is leaning toward Shava as if telling her a secret. This is a familiar feeling to me—this sensation of being more alone the greater the size of the crowd. I felt it the morning I met you—it was the feeling that drove me to the meadow pretending to search for honeybees when I was certain it was too early to find them. I needed to escape some invisible pressure, and I have that very same sensation now.
Getting to my feet slowly, I ease into the shadows on the far side of the kitchen and disappear behind it. Moving along the outside of the ring of huts, I make my way to the door of my family’s home fairly confident that no one has seen me.
I exhale a deep breath, the kind of breath that burns my lungs like I’ve been holding it all day, and duck under the mammoth hide that drapes over the doorway, only to step back quickly when someone inside the hut moves.
I’d expected to find the hut empty. Instead I find you standing next to my bed.
“I’m sorry.” That’s all you say. You don’t move, but stand frozen in an awkward posture, caught between coming and going. In your hand is a small cup made of intricately folded dark green leaves that are unfamiliar to me. “I wanted you to have this,” you say. You glance around, looking for a place to set the cup, and I become intensely aware of how cluttered my family’s hut is. A set of harpoons Pek and I are carving from a core of ivory lies jumbled at your feet.
You set the cup on one of the pelts that serves as a rug. “It’s a gift.” From where I stand, I can see the golden color of the thick liquid inside.
You’ve snuck into my hut to leave me a cup of honey.
“Honey from your home? From the south?”
Your eyes are on the tiny vessel at your feet as if you hope that it will spontaneously answer my question on your behalf. I feel somehow embarrassed for you, though I’m not sure why. “Well, I’m anxious to try it,” I say, hoping to set you at ease a bit by acting—inexplicably—like this gesture of yours is completely normal. “Would you like to share it with me?”
Of course you’ll decline. It’s obvious you can’t wait to escape from my company. You’re practically twitching with embarrassment.
Just as I’m shifting to the side of the door to let you pass, you answer, “Yes.” Clearly, I can’t read you at all.
“Oh, all right.”
Faint light bleeds in through just a few open vents in the walls, but I’d almost believe your cheeks color pink as your feet shuffle beneath you.
I offer you a place to sit on the haphazard pile of pelts that collectively form my bed. I seat myself on the bed opposite—Pek’s bed.
Suddenly I can’t quite think how to share the cup. If I were alone, or even with my family, I would simply dip my fingers in it. But the thought of eating honey with my fingertips in front of you seems far too intimate.
Then you surprise me. You pick up the cup and tilt your head back, tipping it above your mouth until the honey runs down onto your tongue. It drizzles onto your lips but you run a finger across them to catch it before any drips onto your chin. All your self-consciousness melts away as you move your finger from your glistening lips and smile. “Your turn,” you say.
I take the cup. Before I can second-guess myself, I follow your example. Honey, warm and sweet, trickles onto my tongue. My eyes find yours, and I catch you staring.
“It’s excellent. Different from the honey I gather here. It’s a bit lighter in taste. Different flowers . . .” I realize that I am talking quite fast. I replace the cup of honey on the floor between us for fear I might lose my grip and let it spill. “Different flowers give honey a different flavor. There’s something smooth and mellow in this honey. It’s good. Really very good.” I wish I could stop babbling. “Did you gather this yourself?”
Even before the question is out I regret asking it. The answer will be no, of course. And somehow asking the question feels like I’m passing judgment on the answer.
“No, I wouldn’t know how. I’d like to learn—”
“I’d be happy to teach you—”
You fall silent. Are you remembering the encounter earlier today, when I found you here in camp after hive hunting with Lo and Shava? “Maybe. I think I’d be interested in learning where honeybees hide this far north—”
Something in the way you pronounce the word north makes me flinch. You possess the most confounding ability to say things that are insulting or critical without showing any awareness of how your words might sound.
“You really hate it here in the north, don’t you?”
“Hate is a strong word.”
“A strong word, but no less the right word.”
“Perhaps.”
Should I offer you a taste of the honey I’ve collected here? Is there any hope that you might see, as I’d hoped on the night I’d first offered it to you, that not everything in my clan’s camp is bitter and cold? It’s so tempting to offer it again—to have a second chance at the exchange that set us on the wrong path. But I decide against it. I don’t want to bring up that evening right now.
“Can I ask you,” I start, my voice low. But then I stop myself. Why do I insist on asking you questions? Part of me suspects the less I know of you, the better.
“Ask me anything,” you say, which, I must admit, seems a bit bold coming from a girl who, when I first entered this hut, appeared painfully embarrassed. But that was a Mya I’ve never seen before, and she has vanished.
She has been replaced by the girl across from me—a girl who sits with a casual ease that is clearly calculated. You sit with your feet tucked up beneath you, forcing your posture just slightly forward, leaning into the space between us. Your hair drapes over each shoulder, framing your face and neck in just the right balance of shadow and light. I can see your eyes but I cannot read them, which only makes me want to see them more.
“Fine.” I slide my hands under my thighs to ensure I will resist the temptation to brush your hair from your eyes. “Why did your family come to the north to visit us in the first place? It’s clear you hold no interest in my clan, and only five years ago there was enough trouble between our clans to stir whispers of war.”
You lean back on one elbow and stretch your legs. Your face slips into shadow—all but one eye, sharp and intense, illuminated by a pale shaft of light streaming through an overhead vent. “It’s simple—it’s because there are boys here. Isn’t it obvious? Chev needs to find a mate for me. After all, Seeri is betrothed, but I am the oldest. Chev is hesitant to allow Seeri to marry before me. I think he’s afraid if he doesn’t find someone for me soon he’ll be stuck taking care of me forever.”
Ivory and Bone Page 14
