Thirty-two

Tsilu

Light snow is falling, soft and silent.

Where I curl beside the fire with my cape tucked beneath my feet, I watch the sparse white flakes spiral out of the night sky. The wind has died down, and it’s dark. Very dark. I can’t see anything beyond the halo of firelight. Though, on occasion, when the fire flares, I glimpse Crane sitting on a rock, keeping watch. The shoulders of his black cape have collected the snow and make slightly lighter patches against the background of night.

Flakes of snow melt on my eyelashes, creating false tears that glitter in the light. I don’t know what to do about the things that happened today. I feel like I’ve been beaten with a club, every nerve in my body numb from the stunning revelations. My mind is blank. Just listening to my heartbeat. Watching the flames sputter in the falling snow.

My memories are coming back. They keep flashing into existence behind my eyes, filling in more of the story of my life. It’s so strange that I recall the desperate run after my father found me. He picked me up and ran through the darkness, clutching me against his chest, whispering, “No, no, no…”

I remember him rocking me in his arms every time we stopped to rest. I remember the sound of his agonized voice, begging me to forgive him, promising me that everything was going to be all right. I was going to live again. Swearing that he loved me.

How can I remember those things if I was dead?

Through the false tears, the firelight is a dancing prism of rainbows. Crane shifts out in the snow. His boots scrape the rock. His cape flaps in a sudden breath of wind.

Can he truly be my grandfather? He said there aren’t many members of our family left. How many? Three? Just him, me, and my father? Or do I have cousins and aunts and uncles? Is there a real family waiting for me out there somewhere? Not long ago, Grandfather Tocho told me that I would soon have my first blood moon, and then we’d have to start thinking about men I might marry. The only man I could think of was Kwinsi, but Grandfather had smiled and said, “That might not be a good match.” When I asked why not, he said he couldn’t explain, just that I should start thinking of other possibilities.

Now I wonder if maybe Kwinsi was too closely related to me—maybe of my real clan, or even a close cousin—and Grandfather Tocho knew it. I pray I have a chance to ask him that. Not that it matters now.

To keep Kwinsi’s pack dry, I pulled it beneath my cape when I lay down to sleep. The figurines have been talking off and on all night. Mostly, they talk to one another about the cold or the storm, but sometimes I think they’re trying to talk to me. They call my name, then their voices fade into nothingness, as though they’ve decided to retreat and talk more among themselves before they truly reveal themselves to me.

Hugging the pack against my stomach, I quietly say to the figurines, “Grandfather Tocho said you could send your souls flying. Can you fly to him? Please protect him. Tell him I love him with all my heart, and I’m trying to find him.”