Ivory and Bone (14 page)

Their eyes skim the trail behind us. “Where’s Shava?”
asks Orn.

“She stayed behind. There are other visitors in the camp today—Chev and his family.”

The boy’s eyes briefly widen, but then narrow as his mouth contorts into a scowl. He is stocky and bowlegged, and there’s something about his squared stance and clenched jaw that suggests he finds this news of your family irritating. I would guess he’s about the same age as you. He would
remember your
departure five years ago.

“They came to visit us,” I say. I drag my eyes away from the boy’s face. His grimace stirs something uncomfortable in me. “They arrived just before you first camped on our shore.” I almost say more—that since you first arrived, our two clans have forged a friendship—but I know that your family is unpopular with the people you left behind, and I don’t want to start anything.
Yet I can’t look at the boy. The look of haughty disdain on his face at the thought of your family offends me, though I’m not sure why.

“So of course Shava would stay,” says Lo. “I doubt she even realizes who Chev and his sisters are. She hadn’t yet joined our clan when they left. She and her mother were still living with the Manu until just two years ago. That was when our clan stopped to visit
yours, Kol. Do you remember that?”

“I do,” I say, “but I don’t remember meeting you.”

“No.” Lo looks out over the water for a moment. She’s thinking about that visit, and so am I. “We’d been on a long journey. We’d been searching for mammoths, but hadn’t had success. My father took only the elders when he approached your camp.”

I remember this visit, of course, and as Lo speaks, all at once
I remember the Bosha’s High Elder—Lo’s father. He’d come into our camp looking thin and tired. All the Bosha elders had looked hungry.

“Your clan fed our elders and sent heaps of mammoth meat out to where the rest of us were camped. My father learned that the girl who cooked the mammoth—Shava—was descended from our clan. He took this as a sign from the Divine.

“He invited Shava and her mother
back into the Bosha clan. Shava had prepared the mammoth that sustained us, and he believed she would bring good fortune to our clan.” Lo pauses, then hastily adds, “I believe that, too.”

“Let’s hope you’re reading the signs correctly,” says Orn. “I’m not sure Shava is very valuable. Or bright.”

My hands curl into fists at my side. I may find Shava irritating, but she grew up with me and my
brothers. When Pek refused to be betrothed to her, one of his reasons was that she was too much like a sister to him. She may be pushy and tactless at times, but I do not want to stand here and listen to a stranger criticize her.

There is something about Orn—a smug sense of superiority—that I do not like. I turn away from him and Anki. I should say my good-byes to Lo and begin the trek back to
my own camp.

That’s when I spot the paddler out on the water. We all seem to notice her at the same time.

“It’s Shava,” says Orn. “I thought you said she stayed behind.”

We all wait, watching as Shava, with some difficulty,
steers the double kayak into shore. Lo and I run into the waves to pull her in.

“What’s going on?” Lo asks. “We hiked all the way here because you wanted to stay.”

“I
came to get my mother. After you left, so many people asked for her. She lived with the Manu so long, and they miss her. I know she would love to see them, too. I looked for you so we could take the boat together, but you and Kol were already on your way.”

Shava stands with Lo on the opposite side of the boat. As we drag it onto shore, Lo speaks to her, but I can’t hear her over the splashing
and the sea breeze. I hear only Shava’s reply.

“I will. I told you that I will.” Then she hurries up onto the sand. Without saying a word to me or anyone else, she disappears up the path that I assume leads to the Bosha’s camp.

“Don’t let Chev and his clan keep you away,” I say, once Shava’s gone. I would like to speak to Lo privately, but I’m forced to include Anki and Orn. “I want you all
to feel welcome in our camp. Chev is our guest, but so is Shava. So all of you could be.” I turn to Lo. She fiddles with the pendant of bone around her throat. When I look at her she lowers her eyes. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe there is a deeper rift here than could ever be bridged by an invitation to a single feast. “You promised to come tonight,” I say, in a
quiet voice I hope only she can hear.

“And I will,” she says. Her voice is a low murmur, matching mine.

She glances up and meets my gaze. At my back, the sea spray is strong, and the breeze blows cold against Lo’s face, reddening her cheeks and pinning loose strands of hair to the damp skin around her eyes. “I’ll be there tonight, but for now, I need to go. I made a promise to my father, and I need to see it through.”

I
hike back to camp alone, thinking of Lo the entire time, except at brief intervals, when the thought of you somehow creeps in, unbidden and unwelcome. Your face appears in my mind’s eye—the memory of your expression when you sprang from the woods while chasing the elk, landing right in front of me. I remember the sound of your voice when you first saw my wounded back, the curve
of your throat above the white bone pendant that hung around your neck at dinner.

The memory of that pendant takes on new meaning now. Do you, like Lo, wear a replica of the one you destroyed?

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.

“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.

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.”

“I hardly think you need to be taken care of,” I say.

A murmured laugh rises in your chest. Maybe it’s because of your supine posture, or maybe because a thickened breath of bitterness mixes with the exhale of levity, but the laugh breaks in your
throat.

A stretch of leg, an arch of neck that rolls down your spine to your hips, and all at once you sit up. Your shoulders lift from the bed and your face floats toward me, your hair stirring a scent of smoke into the sweetness rising from the open honey. My heart gallops, but there’s something else—a heavy ache, a hole behind my racing heart—a clutching hunger that claws at me, calling to
my attention the soft curve of your throat, the warm glow of the skin just below your ear, the tension in your lips as they curl into a cryptic grin. “Another question?” I ask, focusing my attention on the echo of your words repeating in my head—
Chev needs to find a mate for me
. “Why wasn’t your brother’s friend, your sister Seeri’s betrothed—why wasn’t he promised to you, since you’re the oldest?”

The grin vanishes. Your teeth press into the corner of your bottom lip.

“By the time of Seeri’s betrothal, I was already betrothed. I was betrothed so long ago I can’t remember a time when I wasn’t. The match was forged when I was a little girl and still lived with the Bosha clan.”

This answer, so calm and measured from your lips, sends my heart sputtering again.

“Another boy? Did he stay behind
when the clans split?” It occurs to me that maybe the boy is still in the Bosha clan. Maybe you hope that you will be reunited.

“No,” you say. “He came with us when we left for the
south, but he never saw it. Before we reached the southern shores, he died.”

The next few moments seem to stretch out and pass slowly. I feel your words hang in the air like a ghost.
He died
. Of all the things I’d
expected you might say—all the reasons I’d thought you might give for not being promised—this was not one of them.

“As for the possibility of being promised to Seeri’s betrothed, you met him, right? He isn’t the most subtle or humble of men. Not that I’m particularly strong in those traits, myself. Maybe that’s why he doesn’t like me—”

“Seeri’s betrothed doesn’t like you?”

You slide back, the
presence of the ghost grows heavy like a weight, and I wish I hadn’t asked so many questions. Your attention is on the space behind my shoulder, and your expression has turned dark. “I won’t lie to you—the possibility of marrying me instead of Seeri was offered to him, but he had no interest in the idea.” You drop your eyes to the floor and then quickly raise them to meet mine. If you are harboring
any feelings of self-pity, they don’t show. “I imagine he had the same reasons you laid out yourself that night in my camp. Your thoughts on the traits that make a woman a good wife? I believe my sister’s betrothed would list the same characteristics—patience, a lack of arrogance—and Seeri has those things. And
that
, I assume, explains why he chose her.”

I search my memory, trying to recall exactly
what I said that night. I know I deliberately chose things I believed you lacked. Why was I so confrontational? Was I hoping to humiliate you, to punish you for rejecting me?

But then I remember—it was you who wanted confrontation. As soon as things began to settle down, you had to ask a question that would ramp things up again.
What traits in a woman make her a good wife?
you asked me. I had
tried to smother the confrontation, but you fanned the smoldering embers. You wanted the flames.

It’s my turn to slide back, drawing my damp palms across the coarse coat of a giant bearskin, a pelt I considered luxurious before I saw the riches of furs and hides in your own camp. I’m far enough from you now that perspective returns, and as I take you in, I realize the extent to which you have
misled me.

For these few moments, sitting here in this close, dim space with you, my senses confused by unfamiliar scents and flavors and the curl of your lips, I almost forgot all that I learned about you today from Lo. I almost forgot the mistreatment she suffered at the hands of your family, at your
own
hands.