QUILLER
Firelight flutters across the ceiling of the sea cave.
RabbitEar and I sit on either side of our son’s body waiting for the final verdict from our sacred elders. One hand of time ago, they gathered on the far side of the village to talk in low voices. I’m certain they are delaying to give me and RabbitEar more time to accept the truth before they must tell us what we already know.
Running my hand over Jawbone’s bloodless face, I say, “RabbitEar, he’s very cold. Can you fetch him a hide from our lodge?”
“Yes, of course.”
He walks away with our three girls trailing like ducks behind him. I’m relieved to have a few moments alone with Jawbone. He looks so peaceful now. His mouth curls into a faint smile and both of his eyes are closed. He could simply be asleep and dreaming. I want to believe this.
RabbitEar ducks from the lodge carrying a caribou hide with our girls trotting behind him. The children have gone as silent as rabbits hiding in the brush from a hunting wolf. They long ago stopped crying. Now, they just follow us wherever we go in the village.
“This will keep him warm, Quiller.” RabbitEar kneels and drapes the hide over Jawbone.
Little Fawn hovers behind RabbitEar’s shoulder. After a few heartbeats, she whispers in his ear, “Are you cold, too, Father? May I fetch your heavy coat?”
“No, but thank you,” he answers. He sits back down in front of Jawbone, pulls the caribou hide up beneath the boy’s bloodless chin, then gently tucks the edges around Jawbone’s arms and legs.
“We’re right here, son,” I whisper. “We’ve been here all along.”
The elders’ circle breaks up, and Hoodwink resolutely hobbles back toward the fire.
RabbitEar watches him like a warrior who knows he’s about to be ordered to throw down his weapons. His fists clench.
Hoodwink gives us a tight smile as he lowers himself to sit beside me and slips an arm around my shoulders. In a soft voice, Hoodwink says, “Your son is running the Road of Light to the campfires of the dead. You should not be sad, he—”
“No!” I say. “His soul is here in the village! I feel it here right beside me!” I drag Jawbone’s limp body into my arms to protect him from the villains who want to take him away.
Hoodwink peers into RabbitEar’s eyes, imploring him to do something.
RabbitEar reaches out to touch my hand. “Quiller, it’s time to prepare our son for the burial scaffold.”
“You’re not putting Jawbone on a burial scaffold! I’ll kill you if you try to do that!”
The hatred in my voice stuns even me. I sink back on my heels, and watch the soft firelight fall across RabbitEar’s sad face while I gaze into his eyes, eyes I know so well—and so little. We grew up together, but we’ve only been married for three summers. At this moment, I don’t know him. He’s shared my bed, saved my life a dozen times on war walks, and helped me raise four children, but right now he looks at me with the eyes of a baffled stranger.
Petting Little Fawn’s hair, RabbitEar rises and walks across the cave to crouch in a spot overlooking Mother Ocean. The waves of zyme are an endless blanket of light green and dark green, adorned with moonlight.
Relatives and friends gather around RabbitEar, trying to talk to him, to ease his grief, but he breaks into sobs and shouts, “Get away from me!”
Rocking my son in my arms, I say, “It’s all right, Jawbone. Everything’s going to be all right.”
But my gaze glides to Hoodwink. Most of the village is looking at him, waiting for what they know comes next. After a decent interval, the sacred elder stands and raises his hands to get everyone’s attention, then his melodic voice lifts in the death song. Villagers join in, announcing to the ancestors that an honored child of the Sealion People is on his way to share their campfires.
Only Mink does not sing. He watches me.
Finally, he crouches at my side. “Tell me what to do.”
“I—I don’t know. I can’t think.”
Mink sits with me in silence for a time, listening to the singing as he stares out at the ocean. “You’ve never flinched at death, Quiller. You face everything head on. RabbitEar isn’t as strong as you are. He needs you more than you know.”
“I can’t even help myself, Mink.”
“You don’t have to do this alone. The entire village is here to help. I’m here to help you.”
Mink casts a glance over his shoulder. “Several of the women have already begun quietly gathering the things they’ll need to wash and dress your son. You won’t have to do that.”
Like water draining from a cracked bowl, all of my strength seeps away. I bend down and kiss Jawbone’s cold forehead, then I bury my face in his hair and just breathe in my son’s scent.
“Mother?” Little Fawn strokes my hair. “Jawbone wouldn’t want us to be sad.”
For the first time, sobs silently shake my chest. I can’t speak.
Mink holds out his arms. “Let me take him? I’ll be gentle.”
Before I realize it, I’ve made my decision. I lift my son into my friend’s arms, then stagger to my feet.
“I . . .” I’m suddenly at a loss for words. After a deep breath, I continue, “I’ll find a place on the rim above the village to build the burial scaffold. I don’t think RabbitEar could bear it. Not only that, he needs to rest.”
“With your permission, I’d like to carry your son into your lodge and place him beside the fire where the women can care for him.”
“Yes, he—he’s been cold a long time. Do you think you can convince RabbitEar to stay with him? He’s completely exhausted. Maybe he’ll get some sleep.”
Mink nods. “I can.”
I gaze into my old friend’s dark eyes. “After that, will you help me build the scaffold?”
“Of course. Let me take care of Jawbone and speak with RabbitEar, then I’ll meet you on the rim. Is there anything special I should bring?”
I think back to the day we were throwing rocks into the silver tube after visiting the cavern of blue faces. “Our son would want soft buffalo hides to rest upon, and colorful ribbons fluttering from the mammoth-rib posts. Red and blue. Hoodwink keeps a basket of ribbons in his lodge.”
“I’ll see to it.” Mink rises with Jawbone clutched in his arms and walks away.
The strange otherworldly roars of the Ice Giants seem tortured tonight, as though they, too, grieve the loss of this Sealion child. My gaze scans the children sitting with their parents around the village. We have so few children left. I frown when I see Loon and Chickadee sitting alone in front of our lodge, waiting for their brother.
Little Fawn lovingly pats my back. Long blond hair drapes down the front of her hide cape, and her eyes are as blue as pieces of sky fallen to earth.
“Are you all right?” I ask.
“I’m all right,” she answers bravely. “But Mother, I told Loon and Chickadee to sit down and wait. I told them you’d come and explain what happened. They need to hear someone tell them the story in detail, so they can understand.”
“Gods,” I say and rub a hand over my face. Of course they are waiting for me. “I—I’m sorry. I should have already done that. Forgive me?”
“Father needed you. We could wait.”
Dragging myself to my feet, I take Little Fawn’s hand and gather every shred of strength I have left. My little girls watched their old families torn apart by lions, just as Jawbone did. They don’t need coddling; they need the truth.
As we walk, I say, “Your brother loved you very much, do you know that?”
“Yes,” she answers in a trembling voice. “I loved him, too.”
I squeeze her hand. “I know you did.”
All day long I’ve been searching behind my eyes for the cave covered by the buffalo hide. The place where no one is looking. The place where I am innocent.
I can’t find it.