Darkthaw (35 page)

He stares at us, his eyes wide and incredulous, looking from Matisa and Isi to me and Tom. As Matisa steps forward, he leaps from his horse. He lunges and pulls her into an embrace. I look to Isi. He's smiling wider than I ever imagined he could. Matisa laughs as the boy pulls back and embraces Isi the same.

This boy launches into their language, a string of talk. He seems to be asking questions without waiting for the answers. Isi finally halts him with a word, but he is laughing. Matisa looks to us, her face open. Happy.

“This is my cousin Eisu,” she says.

I raise my eyebrows. “Cousin like Isi?” I ask. “Or cousin?”

She laughs. “Cousin.” She gestures to me. “Em,” she says, “and Tom.”

Eisu gestures toward us and asks Matisa something in their tongue.

“Yes,” she says, and smiles. “These are the Lost People.”

Eisu looks at us. This time his gaze lingers, his dark eyes searching over us—over our strange clothes, no doubt, mayhap our strange skin, too. It's a strong gaze, like Isi's, a gaze I've come to expect.

“Welcome,” he says.

“Hi,” I say, and nudge Tom, who is silent. I turn my head.

Tom is staring at Eisu with a look I've never seen on his
face but know well in my heart. His eyes are wide, his mouth is open a breath. I nudge him again, and his eyes snap to mine, his cheeks going pink.

Eisu doesn't seem to notice. He remarks something, and Matisa bursts out laughing.

“What is it?” I ask.

“He says I am in big trouble for leaving the way I did and he hopes you were worth it.”

Now it's my turn to laugh. Tom joins, but it's a tad forced—like he's actually nervous about being worth it. I shoot him a look.

Eisu turns his head and speaks to Matisa.

Her shoulders heave with a relieved sigh. “Nishwa,” she tells us. “He made it.” She asks a question that Eisu answers in earnest. “And he caught the hunters before they left.”

My heart soars. I watch as Matisa and Eisu continue to talk. I catch Isi's eye, and he returns my look with his usual fierce gaze, but in it, now, is acceptance. I look to Tom beside me. He's regained his composure, somewhat.

And all at once I'm so happy I feel light, like air.

Eisu speaks, spreading his hands. Now he's not asking questions. He's saying something important, I can tell, because both Matisa and Isi lean in like it might hurry him along.

Matisa cuts him off with a question.

He hesitates.

“Eisu,”
she says, a warning in her voice.

He answers with a nod.

Matisa and Isi share a look. She looks to the west, gazes toward that valley.

“What is it?”

Matisa's eyes meet mine, and they are clouded. “Some of my people say the remedy has lost its power, that it no longer protects us.”

Tom and I exchange a look. “Why do they say that?” I ask.

“Six people have died from the sickness.”

I frown. “But . . .” If the remedy no longer works, then they have protected a secret for decades for nothing. And our plan to negotiate peace . . .

“Can he be sure they are taking it?” I ask.

“He says they are,” she says, soft. And in this moment I see her not as the fierce and mysterious dream figure who freed my people and brought the promise of a better life. I see her as she has always been: a girl. A girl who has finally reached her home but is still somehow lost.

I swallow, looking out across the dream lake, toward that valley I've never seen but somehow know deep down in my bones. Is it no longer the safe haven I dreamt?

I see Matisa caked in the dream soil of the Watch flats, sick with the Bleed. Me digging desperate-like, my hands heaping dirt upon her—burying her . . .

A rush of despair fills me. And then, anger. I close my eyes and clench my jaw. We have risked too much, given up too much, for my dreams to foretell her death. She has always believed that finding me will prevent disaster for those we love. I have to believe that, too. I press my palms to my brow and think hard. I think about burying her in that soil, with the river voices singing out . . .

My thoughts pause there. Something feels wrong. In the
dream, I'm desperate but not sad. Surely I'd be broken with grief if I were saying goodbye to Matisa?

And now I realize the image itself is strange: we don't say goodbye to our dead by burying them under the soil. We have always cast them to the Cleansing Waters to send them to their peace.

But if I'm not burying her, what am I doing?

Make peace with it
.

A flicker of hope starts in my heart. Mayhap there is more to all of this than either of us can see right now. Our dreams have not yet shown us the path, but that path feels in reach—like the long days of summer that stretch out just beyond the Thaw. If only we are patient, if only we weather the storm.

And I vow we will make it to those long days of sun.

“Let's go home.” I hold out my hand to Matisa. She looks up at me. “We'll see what needs to be done. Together.”

Our hands clasp and Matisa draws herself up, bringing her head high. I look to the valley of craggy rocks and snowcapped peaks, the wind whispering through the trees. My hair whips into my face as the breeze picks up, churning the waters of the lake into white waves that flash in the sun. And as I gaze out over the choppy, glittering lake, that fire inside me starts anew.

We set off west to the valley, my skin washed with soft air and the scent of evergreen. My bones sing out to this place I have never seen.

And my heart burns bright with promise.

Thank you to my agent, Michael Bourret, for championing this series from the start and for being responsive and generous and kind. I hope you are walking me through publishing for many years to come.

Thank you to my editors, Erica Finkel at Abrams and Rebecca Lee and Alice Swan at Faber & Faber, for helping me to re-see this book, for encouraging me, for pushing me to work hard. I am thrilled to have your enthusiasm and expertise.

My team at Abrams deserves enormous thanks for all of the support and kind attention to my work. Thank you to Susan Van Metre, Michael Jacobs, Jim Armstrong, Nicole Russo, Jason Wells, Mary Wowk, Jess Brigman, Elisa Garcia, Maria T. Middleton, Shane Rebenschied, Nancy Elgin, and Rob Sternitzky.

My team at Faber has my immense gratitude for believing in my work and for giving it the very best chance at success.
Very special thanks to Leah Thaxton, Grace Gleave, Emma Eldridge, Susan Holmes, and Hannah Love.

Thank you to my foreign rights agent, the supremely fancy Lauren Abramo. We will use those umbrellas some day! Thank you to my UK agent, Kate McLennan, for taking care of everything across the pond.

More thanks than can fit on this page are due my first reader Dana Alison Levy, who cheers me on even when my writing is awful and celebrates hard when it is not. Thank you for weathering my (often) ill-timed and (occasionally) panicked emails about
every little thing
.

Thank you to Bethany Griffin, Angela Sparks, and Rachael Allen for reading early drafts. Thanks to all of the litbitches for being my sooper sekrit writing batcave, and for making my very first signing (!) so memorable.

Merci beaucoup á Marc Piquette et á Thérèse Romanick, et merci á Louise Caron. Je suis trés reconnaissant pour l'assistance avec le francais. J'espère que un jour bientôt je n'aurais pas besoin.

Thank you to Carl and Reuben for taking my calls with kindness and humor. Thank you to Jennifer St. Arnault, nitotem, for sharing your knowledge so graciously.

Thank you, as always, to my Rimbey girls (Cake! Champagne! Drag queen ensemble!) and my Edmonton girlfriends (Childcare! Katecare!).

Thank you to my family for loving me and being proud of me.

Finally, thank you to my readers. I'm so grateful for you.

KATE BOORMAN
is a writer from the Canadian prairies. She was born in Nepal and grew up in the small town of Rimbey, Alberta, where the winters are long and the spring thaw is a highly anticipated event. She lives in Edmonton, Alberta, with her family, and spends her free time sitting under starry skies with her friends and scheming up travel to faraway lands.
Darkthaw
is the sequel to her young-adult debut novel,
Winterkill
.