They care for their offspring, and it will be their undoing.
I block these thoughts from my mind. To a hunter, these birds are not individuals. They are game. Game that live in relationship with the clans, just as the Divine ordained it.
The game give their lives so that we can live. And in return for feeding our children, the Divine gives them food for their own children to eat. This is the relationship between the clans, the game, and the Divine. It has always been this way, since the Divine made the first woman, and told her to reach her hand into the sea for the first fish. And from the bones of the first fish, she made the first spear point to shoot the first deer as it grazed on the grass the Divine had given it. This was the plan of life the Divine gave to the first woman, and it has held the world in balance ever since.
Ama loads her sling as I stand back, studying her. “Watch me once first, all right?” she says, though she doesn’t even turn toward me to check if I’m listening. All her attention is on the birds and on the weight of the chunk of ivory in her sling. Her wrist flexes, the sling bobs up and down, and then it’s spinning over her head.
Above us, the shags fill the sky like a cloud of gnats over the grassland when the air first warms in the spring. They are so thick, their broad wings overlap like layers of clouds. Their black bodies block the glare of the sharply angled rays of the rising sun.
The sling whips at the end of Ama’s arm, sailing over her head, whirring with a loud whoosh . . . whoosh . . . whoosh . . . as it cuts through the air near my ear. Then her hand twists and she releases one end of the sling. The ivory stone flies.
The birds rise up, as if they float on an unseen wave of air. All but one. One bird falls, soundless except for the thud of his body on the ground. Ama hurries to him. With one jab of her spear through his neck, she is sure he is dead.
When she returns with the bird and the retrieved piece of ivory, a wide smile spreads across her face. “You are very good luck, I see. Now it’s your turn.”
I push down all the thoughts that try to float up—that I am not good luck, that her kill had nothing to do with luck at all, but only skill.
I take my turn, mirroring each of the steps—loading the sling, the spin, the release. I close my eyes and picture the ivory landing the strike I need. I open them just as Ama lets out a burst of sound—Yes!—and I hurry to her side. She stands over a huge bird, its wings spread wide across the beach, its skull broken. “Nice shot,” says Ama. “Dead before he hit the ground.”
A sudden rush of joy floats up and fills my head with heat.
But then Ama runs off to find the ivory, and I bend to scoop up the bird. A patch of feathers has been knocked from its head, and bright red blood oozes onto the sand. I turn my eyes away when I pick it up, keeping my gaze fixed on the surface of the sea. The sunlight swoops sideways on the waves—I’m dizzy. Vomit rises in my throat, but I swallow it back down.
The hunt continues, and though I occasionally miss, Ama lands almost every one of her throws. Retrieving the chunks of ivory proves to be the most challenging task of the morning, but by the time the net is full, we’ve brought down six birds. Together we lift the net and haul it to the deck of the kayak. The birds shift, a tangle of feathers, blood dripping as we carry the load across the beach. When a trickle flows out of the net and onto my hands, it brings me back to the mammoth hunt, to the sight of Kol cradling his father’s bleeding head. As Ama balances the net across the kayak, satisfying herself that it won’t tip into the sea, I squat at the edge of the water and wash the blood away. The sea is sharp and piercing with cold, but I hold my hands submerged until they go numb.
It’s like this—with red fingers so cold they can hardly wrap around the shaft of the paddle—that I help Ama bring the boat back into shore. Kol’s young cousins crowd around us. They wait patiently in the shallow water as I untie the sash of the kayak that wraps around my waist. Ama is already out of the boat, and the oldest of her sons helps her haul in the net full of birds as the younger two take my hands and help me onto shore. My legs shake beneath me and the youngest boy laughs. “That happens when you sit a long time on the cold sea.” I smile, but I know better. It isn’t cold or stiffness, but the memory of blood that makes it hard for me to stand.
“We’ll bring in your birds with our catch,” says the oldest, a boy made of long limbs and a toothy smile. He lifts his gaze from my face to the sky. “The morning meal is about to be served, and then it will be time to prepare. The burial will take place when the sun is at its peak, at the time of no shadows.”
When the Divine is at the center of everything, I think. When the Spirits of the dead rise right to her side.
My eyes slide to the ridge that encloses the bay to the south—the place I’d seen Kol walking earlier with the tools to dig the grave. The ridge is bare now. The tide slaps a steady rhythm against the boats, like a heartbeat. A chill runs down my spine, and I hurry back up the trail alone, wondering if I might find Kol along the way.
FIVE
The scents of smoke and fish roll from the kitchen. I hear Mala’s voice coming from inside, and I slow my steps, listening at the door for Kol, but I don’t hear him. I don’t see him in the meeting place, either, though many of the Manu have already gathered for the meal.
In my family’s hut, I find Seeri alone. “There you are! They’ve called us to the meal. Chev and Lees are already outside.” Seeri’s eyes shift to the hem of my pants, dripping water onto the floor. “Were you wading?”
“I went out with Ama this morning. We brought in a kill of six seabirds.”
Seeri’s face pinches for a moment, like she’s caught between laughing and crying. She runs her hand across her face and smiles—a slow, soft smile—and shakes her head. “You are already doing what’s best for the Manu clan, already behaving like the betrothed of the clan’s High Elder.”
My stomach tightens at her words, and I fold myself onto the piled hides that form my bed. “Seeri,” I start, my voice tentative. “Can I tell you a secret?”
She sits down across from me. The pinch returns to her face, but now it’s changed. “You’re my sister. You can always tell me your secrets.” But her eyes are wary.