Darkthaw (34 page)

“I—” I swallow. “I thought I was keeping you safe,” I say.

He looks over at me.

“I should've told you.” I choke on the words. “I'm so, so sorry.” Tears well in my eyes, but I brush them away and press on, determined not to cry.

He sighs deep and turns to me. Uncrosses his arms.

“And I understand if you want to stay here. I truly do.
But I can't bear leaving you, knowing you think I don't trust you.” My voice is closing off with tears.

His eyes go soft. “Em—”

“Because I do.”

He reaches for me, takes my hand in his, and just his touch, his gentle touch, starts the tears anew.

“I know,” he says. “Hey—” He cups the side of my face in one hand and brushes at the tears with his thumb. “I'm not angry.”

I search his face.

“I was,” he admits. “But I'm not anymore.”

“Truly?”

“Truly,” he says. “Thing is, I have no right to be.” He takes a deep breath. “I kept something from you, too.”

I draw back, my heart skipping a beat. What could he have kept from me?

“I knew my ma was angling for that crossing all along, even before we set out,” he says. “She knew we were headed west, but she truly wanted to head to the Dominion to look for kin.”

I stare at him, taking in his words.

“I think she was hoping to change my mind,” he says, “either before we reached Matisa's people or after.”

I remember feeling surprised she was so agreeable about the Jamesons. But mayhap it was more about that crossing. I think aloud, “When Nishwa got hurt . . .”

“It was an excuse to head where she wanted all along,” he says. “And by then, there was no talking her out of it. But I should've told her no from the start. Should've told her if
she wanted to come, it wasn't possible. I didn't.” He sighs. “I was hoping she'd give up on the idea.”

I stare at him, unsure if I'm hurt or relieved. “Why didn't you tell me?”

“You were so happy leaving the settlement. So sure of yourself, of helping Matisa. I . . .” He searches for the words. “I didn't want to ruin it. Didn't want you worrying about what my ma might decide.” He shakes his head. “But it wasn't fair to either of you.”

“Do you think she would've still come if you'd told her to forget going east?”

Pain flashes in his eyes. I realize this is something Kane's been battling with since the homestead. Wondering if telling her no would've dissuaded her from coming out here. Wondering if it would've saved her life.

I grab both his hands and hold tight. “It's not your fault,” I say, fierce. “We all make our choices.”

His eyes search my face.

“And we have to make peace with what they mean.” I grip his hands. “But my idea of my life out here? It always included you, Kane. Always.”

“I know,” he says, and I can tell by the heat in his voice that he means it. “I should never have said it didn't.” He takes one of my hands in both of his and pulls it to his chest. I can feel his heart beating beneath his shirt. “We belong together.”

I grasp his shirt with my fingers and pull him toward me, and he takes my face and pulls my chin to him. Presses his mouth to mine, soft. Careful. Searching, like he might find his way out of all of this in our kiss, but . . .

There is no way out.

He breaks away, and we stand, the dark air whispering velvet on our faces. The night sky is so vast above us it feels like it could swallow us whole. I tilt my face and let the starlight bathe it, take deep breaths, trying to drink this moment in. Trying to keep it in my heart forever.

Because tomorrow . . .

Tears well up in my vision, and I blink them aside as I turn to look at him. The stars shine bright on his dark head, his eyelashes. I hug my arms around myself, try to memorize his every feature. His large dark eyes, the new dark hair on his head. His shirt, open at the neck, showing collarbone and the curve of his chest. And those arms, the bare forearms I daydreamed on, hanging at his sides. Standing there so full of sadness but still so strong.

“I'll come back for you,” I say. My voice breaks, and I look to the stars again, blinking tears away. There's no sense in crying. No sense in doing anything but reassuring him it's all right.

“Em—”

“Soon as I can,” I say, firm. But he reaches for me, and I pitch into his arms, wrapping them around me, burrowing into his shirt. Breathing in his scent. Drinking him all in, trying to keep him with me, the memory of him on my body forever. A peace settles over me.

He pulls back. His eyes are grave. “Don't,” he says.

“Don't what?”

“Come back for me.”

The peace shatters. “What do you mean?”

“Promise me. Promise me when you reach Matisa's people, you will stay with them. Stay where you are safe.”

“I'm not promising that!” I cry.

“
Please
,” he says, his voice taking on a note of panic.

“But why?”

“Because I can't bear the thought of you coming back through this mess for me.”

“You said we belong together!”

“We
do
,” he says. “But you risking your life so it can happen is foolish.”

“I need you.”

“Em,” he says, his voice soft and sad. “Needing and wanting are not the same thing.”

I stare into his dark eyes. My gaze shifts to the bullet scar on his temple, to the reminder of the first time I thought I lost him. Sorrow washes me—so deep it near stops my heart. That same sadness stares back at me, reaching right into my soul.

I stumble forward, reaching for him, reaching . . .

And his arms are around me, and his mouth is on mine, and my despair shatters as desire surges through me, so hot and sure I no longer have the strength to stand. He pulls me to him, down with him, down into the soft prairie grass. And his hands are everywhere, his mouth is on mine, and my fevered skin is bursting into flame. I clutch at him, pulling his body against mine, desperate for his breath, his scent, his warmth.

But a hollowness sweeps me. And something breaks inside.

I bury my head in his chest, and he holds me tight while I cry a river of tears.

THE THAW COMES LIKE A FEVER. ONE MOMENT
the frozen winds of
La Prise
are shrieking in your head like they won't ever stop. The next: silence. A dead calm.

And the Thaw comes, bursting into existence, rushing light and water everywhere. Through the land. Through your blood.

Like an answer to your prayers.

You wake from your icy nightmare and you know. You know that life isn't forgotten. You know the things you dream of are still in reach. You know they're possible.

You know, because you've waited so long for this.

With the Thaw comes promise.

The drip of ice melting from the boughs, the small green shoots that have been waiting, patient, for their day in the sun—all signs that life begins anew. That
your
life begins anew. And finally, finally, you can choose that new life. You can choose the unknown. The path is clear.

But it's not that simple.

In the Thaw's haste to bring life, to free what was buried, some things are swept aside and pulled apart. As the land explodes with new purpose, rushing out to greet the sun, some things perish.

Some things are left behind.

The Thaw has unearthed many things. Thoughts I have kept frozen below about what I have brought upon the people I love, fears long buried. The notion my pa might have died for my dreams that were wrong, that his sacrifice was for nothing.

Choosing a new life is not simple.

I lift my eyes beyond the hills to the horizon. The mountains in the distance gaze back with stony faces, dark clouds hang over their snowcapped brows. The hills roll gentle and soft around us. A great herd sifts along the grasslands to the southwest.

The sky is brightening from dusty pink to gold, dusting the tops of the hills before us—sunrise, but somehow just like the very first sunset I ever saw. I was standing on the fortification wall with Andre and I thought my heart might burst from its beauty. From the mystery of it all.

The last time I saw Kane, he was alone, watching us leave from the top of the west-most hill.

A lone poplar against the prairie sky.

I promised him I wouldn't be back. Told him I wouldn't risk my life to return. And I turned away.

But I didn't turn because I don't want his hands in mine. I didn't turn because I think my path lies elsewhere. I turned because a fire has started in my heart I didn't want him to
see. It burns away my doubt and fear, lights me up with purpose. And its flame reveals one thing that's certain: I've never been good at telling the truth.

The Thaw bursts into existence with promise. But in her rush to bring hope she also brings despair. She is a spring flood, nourishing the trees but destroying new nests and plants along the river. She is not all that you dreamt.

But her promise remains. And if you are patient, if you remember this, you can weather her storms. The long days will arrive, shimmering in shades of green and light, and, with them, new life.

And I will return to start that life.

With Kane.

THE MOUNTAINS SEEM FULL OUT OF REACH. WE
climb grassy hills that become dotted with rocks as we press west, our eyes on the mountain-scarred horizon. So far away. A lifetime. Matisa and Tom speak together in hushed tones. Isi is focused and silent.

There is no sign of
sohkâtisiwak
.

We travel all day before arriving at a dark forest. The mountains disappear behind rows and rows of black spruce. Our horses bend to the task of traversing the impossible land. Pressing through swamp, they pull their hooves clear of muck and grasses. We climb over deadfall, make a miserable campfire beneath the tall and scraggly spruce.

My nights are dreamless, and the hours blend one into the next: row upon row of spruce, pressing forward, the horse's stumbling steps beneath me, the darkness of the forest echoing a darkness creeping into my mind.

When I am sure we have lost our way, sure the forest is all there is, all there has ever been, we arrive.

The forest thins, emptying us out into their midst: the mountains.

Large and looming, stretching tall to the skies, covered in spruce and not—sheer cliffs ending in bright white snow. The air here is different: fresh and heavy, with a bite beneath. The ground under our feet becomes both rocky and soft. Carpets of juniper stretch out low and fragrant, and the trees here look hardy—as though they made the decision, years ago, to survive no matter the odds.

Matisa points ahead, to a valley deep in the mountains. “Our home,” she says.

But I know. I know because I have dreamt this place. I know this smell, this air, this ground beneath my feet. We press west into the shadows, and a river that appears beside us urges us on. It appears and disappears, winding fierce behind walls of rock, its white water singing like it's calling our arrival.

We reach my dream lake.

It lies in the valley, calm and shining like a polished stone—a color I have seen only in my dreams. Not blue like the prairies skies, not green like the new spring buds. Something in between, and so beautiful my heart might break.

“Matisa,” Isi says.

I tear my gaze away to see where he gestures.

There is someone coming along the shore. A rider on a white horse. The horse gallops fast—a white flame—and the rider's long dark hair streams out behind like smoke.

I look to Matisa. She smiles.

The rider crosses the distance in moments, pulling up in front of us, his horse's hooves clattering on the rocky shore. Now I see the horse is not white but smoke-gray, and its
rider is a young man. He, too, is beautiful—his hair is glossy, his cheekbones are high, and his lips are curved. He wears the same blue-colored clothing that Isi and Matisa wear, but his chest is covered with a leather plate, and his wrists and hands are wrapped with leather, too, his fingers free and gripping the reins.