Darkthaw (23 page)

“I know.” I cross my arms and look at him.

His forehead creases. “I—should not have said what I did.”

“Doesn't matter.”

Isi tilts his head, measuring me with that look. That Almighty-lovin' look that makes me doubt my own words. “It upset you.”

“I'm not upset!” I shout.

He raises his eyebrows.

I spin away from him and pace off toward the trees. I stop just outside the glow of the fire, trying to calm my mind, trying to get hold of myself. But all I can think is how bad I wanted to come out here.

And look what it's done.

I knew how much Sister Violet needed Kane, but I'd decided long ago that I was more important—that
this
was more important. I'm the reason they're out here. The reason Daniel and Nico no longer have a ma. Tears blur my vision, fill my throat.

Where is your home?
Elizabeth Sharapay asked me.
Why are you out here?

And I couldn't answer. I couldn't answer because . . .

I don't know anymore.

And if Nico'd had the Bleed—

“Em.”

I swipe my hands over my face quick, brushing away the stream of tears. Cross my arms.

He's behind me. A dark, unwanted shadow.

“Come back to the fire. The night grows cold.”

“So?”

“So there is no need to grow cold with it.”

“I feel like it.”

Silence.

“I know what you feel,” he says.

“No, you don't.”

“You feel that if you don't bring these boys back safe, you will never forgive yourself.”

I scrub at my eyes again and stare off into the black forest.

“You wanted this to be the start of your new life, and now you feel—”

“What do you care?” I snap, wheeling around. “I
am
death, remember? My new life has only brought disaster. It brought it to the settlement, it brought it to all the people who followed me. I'm the injured bird, the one you should never have helped. It makes no difference to you what I
feel
!”

He shifts his stance, like he doesn't know what to do.

“Go away,” I whisper, fierce.

He drops his arms to his sides. “You are right to ask me to leave.”

I stare off into the dark trees, trying to swallow around the lump in my throat, trying to breathe around the cold in my chest.

“But the things I said—those were wrong.”

My eyes go wide, and I blink furious, trying to keep back the tears that want to spill.

“I said them because I was angry and afraid,” he says. “As you are now.” I glance at him. He's looking at me in that way of his, the way that infuriates me but right now washes me in desire. Not desire for
him
, but . . .

Desire to be better. To be braver. Stronger.

I swallow.

“Come back to the fire,” he says. His voice is unfamiliar. Gentle.

I look into the black of the woods. Into those shadows that now look inviting because they make things disappear.

Think about the boys. About Matisa. About Kane.

We head away from the dark, back to the soft glow of our camp.

NICO MOVES AROUND LIKE NORMAL IN THE MORNING
, but he's still quiet, withdrawn. I ask Isi if we should be worried, but he says he'll come around. We set out, and today I'm real grateful for Daniel's chatter.

By midmorning the spruce forest thins out and gets marshy. We have to dismount and lead the horses, who are stumbling in the mud. Our moccasins make sucking sounds as we push through tall tufts of marsh grasses and willow.

I'm helping Daniel over a grass-covered fallen log when I notice that the mud is a strange orange color. As we continue, the orange gets deeper, like the sun sinking on the horizon on a hazy day. Soon we're passing through little streams of bright yellow and orange.

“Isi!” I call out, forcing him to stop and turn back.

I point to the ground.

“Paint mud,” he says, as though it explains everything.

I frown at him. Daniel takes a stick and drags it through the yellow muck and into the orange, blending the two.

“The earth here is full of minerals. The soil and water—the mud—create colors when the air strikes.”

I stare at Isi, amazed.

Both boys are stirring the pools now, and there's a small smile playing on Nico's lips. The first I've seen.

Isi studies him a moment. “Come, I will show you.” He leads his horse to the trees and wraps the lead rope around one. I do the same with the mare, and the boys and I follow Isi into the woods, stopping where the spruce thin into a large circle. Here, there is an entire clearing full of little pools of different colors. Several shimmer with the orange that caught Daniel's eye. A couple nearby are yellow. The pool nearest us is a brilliant green. And on the far side, there's a red like the rose hips in autumn.

Daniel looks up at us, his eyes round with wonder. “Can we . . . ?” he asks.

“Is it safe?” I ask Isi.

He nods.

“Go on, then,” I tell Daniel.

He grabs Nico by the hand and pulls him closer to the pools. They find sticks at the edge of the marsh and soon they're off, digging in the colors, pulling them out, and painting them on nearby trees and leaves.

Isi and I settle ourselves on fallen debris to watch. My foot is aching with the trek through the marsh, and I can't help but rub at it as I sit.

“You need that tincture,” Isi says.

I shrug. “It's fine.”

“It's not fine.”

I glance over at him, trying to figure if he's concerned or pointing out where I'm wrong.

“Em!” Daniel calls from across the orange pond. He holds up his hands. He's dipped the tips of his fingers in the paint mud. Nico stands beside him, and Daniel reaches over and paints a stripe on the arm of Nico's tunic. Nico squeals in delight and darts away.

My heart swells as I watch the two take turns decorating each other's sleeves. “That going to stain their clothes?”

“Yes,” Isi says. “But it does not matter.”

“True,” I agree. The youngsters are off to the green pool now. I put a hand to my brow to shield the glare of the sun, watch Nico's big eyes, his smile. And all at once I feel lighter, happier. “Rather them be laughing than clean,” I say.

“It is something Matisa would say,” Isi says, his face lighting in a rare smile. But a cloud of worry chases it away.

“How far to the grove?” I ask.

“We should reach it this afternoon,” he says. “Did you”—he dips his head—“did you dream about her again?”

“No,” I answer. “But we're meant to go to this grove, I'm sure of that.” I don't tell him what I've decided: that the part of my dream that concerns Matisa is asking me to account for what happened in the settlement. Feel like it's reminding me that I'm running off into the wild looking for my new life, but I haven't made peace with what happened in my old one.

He nods, but I can see he's trying to look unconcerned.

“Isi, if she's not at the grove . . .”

“I will find her,” he says, firm.

I don't ask what he plans to do with us. We've slowed him enough already; he'll want to go on his own. And what will happen when he does find her? Will he tell her where he's left us? Or will he pretend he doesn't know, insist she go home to the safety of their people? What will I do then?

I realize with a pang that what's also bothering me is that
he'll
be gone. Even though he's prickly. Even though he makes rash decisions. So used to having him near now, having him watching over us.

“You love her.” It's out of my mouth before I know I'm saying it.

He doesn't answer, but his silence tells me everything.

“I thought you were family,” I say, thinking about how such relations were forbidden in the settlement.

“Because she calls me her cousin?” He laughs. “I think we have a different idea of family. Family isn't only about being blood.” He picks up a stick and drags it through the mud beside him. “When we were children, I was trouble for my mother. Matisa's
moshum
was not of my direct blood, but he welcomed me like I was his own. He would find things for me to do. Matisa always talked to me and listened like she understood, like we were equals, when we clearly were not.”

I look him over careful, his strong nose, his long dark hair gleaming in the sunlight. Most times he looks ready to leap up at the slightest provocation, but right now he looks relaxed, gentle. And, right now, he is the equal of anyone I can imagine.

“Are you . . .” I don't know his words to describe it. “Life mates? Meant to be together?”

He draws a circle with the stick. “Matisa has always been lit from the inside with purpose, and it is not finding another to share her life. Many”—he smiles—“many have tried. They call her
âmopiyesîs
.”

“What does it mean?”

“It is a small, beautiful bird that moves from flower to flower so fast you think your eyes have played a trick. Impossible to catch.”

“Well, I'm grateful you love her.”

He looks at me.

“Otherwise, Daniel and I would've been on our own.”

He is quiet.

The silence is broken by the distant laughter of the boys.

He puts the stick down. “When Matisa started telling us about her dreams, I liked the idea of the adventure.” He looks over at me. “And when she was determined to come find you, I came to make sure she would be safe, but”—he hesitates—“I didn't want her to be right.”

“I know that,” I say. “Just can't quite figure why.”

“I didn't understand how a girl from a group of Lost People could matter. You were the newcomers from our stories. The ones who brought death. And I . . . had ideas about what kind of people would be so lost, so stuck in time, to begin with.”

My eyebrows raise.

He shrugs. “I thought you were fearful and backward.”

I chew on this and realize the truth in it. “We were. Always thought I was so different from everyone, but I wasn't: I wasted a lot of time being afraid.” I don't mind admitting this to him.

“No. You weren't afraid; you risked death to find Matisa. You did it again to free the people you loved.”

I shake my head. “I
thought
that's what I was doing—freeing them. But I don't know anymore. My pa—”

“Em.” He cuts me off. “When you decided to go back to the settlement for your father and friend, you were choosing freedom. And that moment I saw you with new eyes. I've . . . been telling myself I didn't.”

Heat creeps into my face. “You've been pretty clear that who I am has put us in danger, time and again.”

“I told myself that because I was afraid.”

“Of what?”

“You.”

I swallow hard. Afraid of me? Can't be right. Isi always knows exactly what to do; he's the one who makes me feel like I don't know up from down.

“I sensed you had a rare strength. You have proved it.”

I snort. “Proved it by limping painful slow or proved it by pitching a fit in the trees in the dark?”

He laughs and shakes his head. “You mended my wound, buried your people, then walked days into the wilderness to help rescue a child.” His face grows serious. “Matisa was right to come after you. You belong out here.” He's leveling me a look I've never seen.

A shriek calls our attention back to the ponds. Daniel and Nico are racing toward us with hands full of bright orange, mischievous grins on their faces.

I push to my feet. “Don't!” I call in mock horror. I point to Isi. “Get Isi!”

The boys shift their path and barrel toward him, but at
the last second Nico swerves and jumps at me, getting his orange hands all over. I sink to the ground, laughing, trying to deflect the mucky hands from my skin. Daniel tackles Isi in a similar manner, swiping his cheek with the paint and getting it in his hair.

We tussle with the youngsters, who are hooting and hollering, until I cry mercy so Nico gives up. Isi grabs Daniel's hands in one and tickles him with the other until he yells for the same. We all roll onto our backs, heaving deep breaths and staring at the white-blue sky.

I look over at Isi, and his eyes meet mine. The heat from the earth rises, causing the air between us to shimmer and dance.

Something has shifted between us, like an invisible thread connecting us, heart to heart. Something like the way Matisa and I are connected. Something, also, like the way Kane and I are connected.

I can see he feels it, too.

In the afternoon, we come upon a field. In the distance are rolling hills and, beyond them, the glint of a river in the setting sun. My heart leaps at the familiar sight of those waters—the one marker that grounds me in this vast land.

Isi passes me the spyglasses and directs my gaze to the south. A short way along the river lies a forest of tall trees. Green. Dotted with white.