mind—Anna had been nauseated and Uma had brought her outside for fresh air; Anna had to go to the bathroom and left the hut. But I knew that these scenarios were unlikely. Anna had been too sick to leave her bed. She couldn’t lift an arm, let alone walk. And besides, it was the middle of the night, the sky black and moonless—not the moment for Uma to take Anna outside. A sensation of dread filled my mind. Something terrible had happened.
Carefully, so as not to wake her, I wrapped Isabelle in a blanket and walked outside, wandering through the darkness in search of Uma. But a strange silence met me as I walked through the village. The stone huts were dark and quiet and, as I peered into them, one by one, I saw that they were all empty. In fact, the entire village was empty. Not a voice to be heard. Not a fire burning in the fire pits. Not a person asleep in her bed. I held Isabelle close, feeling her warmth, smelling the sweet odor of her skin, wondering what to do next.
I was on my way back to the hut when I smelled something odd in the air. An acrid scent, like burning pine. Then a noise from above, a low rhythmic humming, half song, half moan. I strained to hear it, half believing it to be the distant bellow of an injured animal. But the more I listened, the more I knew that this strange sound was not an animal. It was not the wind. It was the low, rumbling vibration of human voices. The Icemen had gathered together and they were singing.
Holding the baby close to my body, I climbed the long, steep path to the hot spring, then beyond, to the grotto, its wall of crystals shimmering black in the darkness. The tribe was not there but somewhere above, where the evergreen trees thinned to rock and sky. I had never climbed beyond the grotto, and it took some time to find my way through the tangled branches of trees, but I followed the sound of voices, and soon the air thickened with skeins of gray smoke. Finally, holding Isabelle tight, I hoisted myself over the ledge of a rocky promontory and emerged onto the flat of a stone plateau.
I found the tribe gathered around a bonfire. I had been right. Anna was dead, her body laid out on a pallet near the fire. Dressed in animal skins, with wildflowers woven into her hair, she looked more peaceful in death than she had in the weeks I had known her. I felt overwhelmed by regret and sadness. I had promised to take her away from there, and to reunite her with her family, and now it was too late.
I moved closer to the bonfire, transfixed by the spectacle. Half naked and chanting, dancing and drunk and frantic, the Icemen had worked themselves into a kind of fervor. Even the children—Oryni, Laya, Saba, and Xyra, whose hair I brushed and whose clothes I mended, who had taught me their language and treated me like a sister—were wild with a frightful energy. Perhaps demons inhabited me as well, because I couldn’t turn away.
“Drink this,” Uma said, coming to my side. She gave me a bowl. I took a long sip of a bitter and herbal liquid. A chemical rush moved through me as I finished and gave the bowl back to Uma.
“What are they doing?” I asked, gesturing to the dancing.
“We are calling our ancestors,” she said. “We will ask them to take the child.”
“You’ll bury her up here?”
“After our ancestors accept her,” she said, glancing at the bonfire, “she will burn.”
My gaze returned to Anna, her long, fine hair gleaming in the light. Tears filled my eyes, tears of sadness, but also of anger. Her death was a terrible crime. I thought of what her parents must feel, never knowing what happened to her. I thought of what Greta felt after losing Joseph. Aki and Jabi had killed this child, and I had allowed it to happen.
“You must never take another child from below,” I told Uma. “Speak to the others. Tell them I won’t allow it. Tell them it is wrong. If you promise to stop, I will help you survive. I’ll bring you medicine and supplies. Everything you need. I promise. But you can never bring another child here.”
Uma looked at me, her eyes wide with surprise and, I thought, relief.