KUJUR
The Flame Bird staggers to a stop at the edge of the shimmering violet haze, and her feet seem to go out from under her. When she topples onto her side and her talons claw the ground as she tries to rise back up, I run forward with tears welling in my eyes.
“Flame Bird?” I fall to my knees at her side. “Tell me how I can help you.”
She struggles to rise again, but it’s a futile effort. Her huge head thumps the dirt.
“There must somethin’ I can do!”
The buffalo will wait, but not too long. Go. Go now.
Her breath is hot, fevered, and she’s lost so many scales on our journey that her hide has dark splotches amid the silver.
“I’m not goin’ until you’re strong enough to come with me,” I say.
Lying down beside her, I pet the scales beneath her luminous eyes. My closeness seems to comfort her, for the Flame Bird leans her heavy head against mine, as though we are two old friends together for the last time.
“You’re goin’ to be all right. I’ll make a fire to keep you warm while you sleep.”
Her nostrils flare as she sniffs the fragrant desert wind, then her enormous shining eyelids flutter closed.
These final moments are quiet—the wind sighing through the sage, a single owl hooting, and the sounds of my sobs muffled against my sleeve.
“I’ll be right here,” I promise. “You rest now.”
For another half hand of time, I stroke the scales that run down her beautiful throat. She’s a huge, hulking creature, but gentle and otherworldly. I knew the moment I saw her that she was an ancient being. Like me and dire wolves, I suspect she was re-created by the Jemen, but I’m sure her kind flew the skies millions of summers before our most ancient ancestors were born.
“I’m here,” I say to let her know she’s not dying alone.
Suddenly, beneath my hand, her muscles contract, then a shudder works through her. When it fades, her body relaxes and her breathing slows until I can barely feel her chest move.
“Don’t go. Please don’t go!”
Something amazing and precious is about to pass out of the world forever, and I am the only witness. How can that be? I pet her muzzle beneath her pointed teeth.
She doesn’t move.
“I’m building a fire right now.” Rising, I run out toward the violet haze to gather dead sticks from beneath the sagebrush.
As I move along, I study the haze. Like a wall, it seems to rise from the earth and shoot straight upward into the sky. I bend down to pick up another stick, and smell the haze. It has the brittle mustiness of the deepest crevasses in the Ice Giant Mountains, but somewhere out there, buffalo sing in deep rumbling voices. Calling and calling . . .
I long to step through the haze and find them, but I won’t leave the Flame Bird when she needs me the most.
Turning, I tiptoe back and lean my sticks together like lodge poles, then I pull my firesticks from my belt pouch.
After I have a good fire going, I silently stretch out with my back pressed against the Flame Bird’s. Her chest faintly rises and falls. I hold my breath while I wait for it to rise again. The black pupils of her silver eyes have narrowed to slits.
She’s so still.
I wait and wait, but her chest never rises again.
Burying my face against the Flame Bird’s scaled throat, I cry.
Then . . .
In the firelit darkness, music glitters. Buffalo songs. I feel their rumbling voices slip around behind my clenched teeth and, weightless as spider-silk ribbons, twine their way toward the hide that sways in the back of my head.
As though born of the music, a shadow springs to life and runs toward me. Quick and light. Then a gray-mantled child steps from behind my eyes and into this world. It wavers and disappears like a trick of moonglow in the forest.
I sit up with my heart pounding. “Who are you? What—what’s happenin’?”
He’s out there, standing just beyond the firelight, but he’s not quite solid, more like see-through ice, filled with pale recollections of light that gleamed long, long ago in a faraway place I cannot even imagine.
“Come on, Kujur! We must hurry.”
My breath catches.
One thousand summers from now in the villages of the dead, I’ll know that voice. I scream, “No! Leave me alone!”
The other boy steps forward and extends his hands to me. “I didn’t mean to run! I couldn’t help it! Stop blaming me!”
There’s something familiar about his voice. I stare at him, breathing like I’ve run for days straight. “What? You ran?”
“Mother told me to! I know I should have picked up my spear and killed the lion that took Father, but I—I was so scared I couldn’t think. I couldn’t . . .” Sobbing, he covers his face with his hands. “Don’t you remember?”
“No, what are you . . .”
Like a flame in a dark lodge, understanding flickers through my terror. Slowly, it drains away until all that’s left is a hollow throbbing in my heart. I recognize those sobs, for they are mine. I heard them three summers ago on the night the lions killed my whole family.
“You . . .” I shake my head, trying to get my thoughts to fall into some sort of order. How is it possible that I did not know him? Couldn’t I face him?
He mews, “I didn’t mean to run.”
He looks so small and thin standing there. I swallow hard. “But . . . if you hadn’t run, who would have saved Little Fawn, Loon, and Chickadee? Who would have kept them safe until Quiller found you hiding in that boat?”
The other boy lifts his head and stares at me with tears running down his cheeks. “There was no one but me. Everyone else was dead.”
“That’s right. If you hadn’t run and protected those three little girls, you’d all be dead. There wouldn’t be anyone left of the White Foam clan.”
He wipes his nose on his sleeve. In a pathetic voice, he asks, “We are all that’s left?”
“Yes.” I frown at him. I don’t understand why he has not been able to move on from that night. It’s like he’s stuck, living it over and over. “But because of you, we lived, and we are happy and loved. We were adopted by Sealion People. No one could have taken better care of us than Quiller and RabbitEar have.”
The other boy sniffs and smiles at me. When he edges closer, I do not run.
Quietly, he says, “Kujur, we should go. The buffalo are running away. We must catch them.”
I take a deep breath and hold it in my lungs, allowing the truth to filter through me. I finally understand why the Flame Bird died to bring me here.
“I’m ready. I’ll follow you.”