Raging Star

NIGHT SIX

ME AN HERMES COME AT THE BUNKER FROM THE NORTH. I ain’t familiar with this approach, so despite I’m on the lookout fer it, we come upon it sudden. So sudden that the shock hits me in the gut. We’re on top of a low ridge among some trees.

Here it is. The little hill. In the middle of the sweetgrass meadow. It looks a hill like any other. You’d never think it held such a secret at its heart. The Wrecker bunker, deep within. The white room where DeMalo shares his visions of a long-fergot, long-lost world. The visions that I was witness to.

An here I am agin. I swing myself down from Hermes an look out over the meadow. Where he kissed me in a sudden summer rain. Where we ran through the grass, with my hand in his. Through the rain, through the woods, to his bed by Weepin Water. Where I gave myself to him. Took him fer my first. Where I lost myself in him an nearly didn’t come back.

The hilltop’s bin cleared of blackberry bramble. Gone, the rich fruit that smothered its slopes, that sweetened that hot summer day. The meadow’s bin cut. The ground’s hard with stubble, silvered an shaded by the moon. Shootin stars dash the night sky.

A nightpip kriks, quick an scratchy. Then it calls agin. Then, Saba! Over here!

I jump at the urgent whisper. It’s Jack. He’s crouched behind a bush not twenny foot away. He waves me to him, impatient. My cheeks burn as I make my way to him. Like he might of overheard my thoughts. The heartstone’s warm. I didn’t notice.

I leave Hermes in the trees with Jack’s pony, Kell. He yanks me down beside him. What’s with you? he hisses furiously. Yer stood there like a stooky an I’m pippin my damn head off. Shh! Guards comin.

As he speaks, two Tonton grunts lead their horses around the hill, one from each direction. They meet at the bunker entrance. A sturdy metal door set into the side of the hill, partly hid by a stray tangle of bramble. They take up position in front of it. They’re armed to the teeth an then some.

I says, Tell me you brought yer Tonton gear.

Jack gives me the look. Did-I-jest-hear-you-right? You told me, he says, you never wanted to see me wear that agin.

Typical, I says. You never do what I tell you. The one time you shouldn’t do what I tell you, you go an do what I tell you. Dammit, now you even got me talkin like you. Gimme that thing.

I snatch his long-looker from him.

So … I’ll dress Tonton next time. Or not. He shakes his head, bemused. By the way, he says, I like the fightgear. It’s very, uh … it’s very.

I squint, tunin the looker. Oh yeah, I fergot, I says. You got a weakness fer violent women.

Only one, he says. I’m most particular.

The guards come into clear view in the looker. Hello, boys, I says.

They’re too shadowed by the hill fer me to see their faces, but they’re stickin close to each other, almost shoulder to shoulder. Rattled by the fallin stars, judgin by how often they look at the sky. Maybe keepin count of the unquiet souls on the move, like Pa used to do with us. Their horses sense their mood an shift in restless unease.

Tell you what, says Jack. Middle of nowhere, middle of the night, two guards with full hardware … DeMalo’s got somethin in there he wants to keep safe. Well, there’s only one way in an only one way to git in. He picks up his bow from the ground beside him. I’ll take out the guy on the right, he says. You bag Lefty. I’ll count three.

Wait, I says. A bird, starkly black, crosses the white face of the moon. It sails towards us. Nero, I says.

My gut tightens with irritation. Emmi. She’s done it agin. She cannot be depended on. So much fer all her big promises.

Nero seizes the chance to buzz the guards. He knows an hates the blackcloaks. He drops silent from the night, straight at their heads. They cower with cries of alarm. As he swoops off, they huddle aginst the bunker door.

Guess they ain’t animal lovers, says Jack.

They’re afeared of him, I says.

Nero lands in a tree behind us. He drops on Jack’s shoulder an beaks my head.

Hey! I jerk away. Okay, I’m sorry.

What’s got him miffed? says Jack.

I’ll tell you later, I says. I lift the looker agin. As I watch, one of the guards steps from the safety of the doorway. He checks the sky, firestick at the ready, probly to see if Nero’s still about. I study his face, lit by the moon. He’s young. An he’s fearful. He says somethin to his mate. They’re both well jittery.

Let’s git on with this. Jack’s loadin his bow.

No, I says. We don’t need to shoot ’em.

An jest how do you think we’ll git in there? he says. Ask ’em nicely? Look at ’em, Saba, they’re trigger happy.

No, you look. I shove the looker into his hands. They’re afeared, Jack, I says. You can see it. They don’t wanna be here. They don’t like the starfall, they’re spooked by the crow, they’re out here alone an they’re young an green.

I see what you mean, he says. Maybe they heard the stories goin round about you. The fearsome Angel of Death an her miraculous escape from Resurrection. She killed ten men, twenny—no—thirty. It’s all bin hushed up an she’s still in New Eden. No, I heard she died in a blaze of fire. I met this guy, he seen her ghost with his own eyes. Ridin the night with her wolfdog an her crow, seekin vengeance on them that took her life.

It’s you that’s bin plantin them rumours, I says. I should of known.

I only fed what was already there, he says. Word spreads like wildfire in this place. The Angel of Death has a strong hold on people’s minds. The unbeaten fighter who killed a king an destroyed his kingdom. Powerful stuff. We gotta use every advantage we have.

Jack? I says. I feel a haunt comin on me.

It’s a waste of time, he says. If you don’t wanna kill ’em, I will.

No. We’re doin this my way, I says.

They’re in such a high state of nerves already. So close to real terror it seems cruel to push ’em over the edge. I feel kinda sorry fer ’em. I feel kinda bad about doin it. But not so bad that I don’t.

Jack sets the guards up. Unner strong protest, but he does it. Startin with wolf howls that—to my ear—barely pass muster, but they shake the guards pretty bad. As he does the wolf thing, he moves in closer, chuckin stones to rustle trees an bushes all around ’em. They’re panicked to such a frenzy of gunfire, it’s a wonder he don’t git shot. But he keeps his head down an stays on the move. Meantime, me an Nero an Hermes make our way behind the hill an sneak into a good position right on top.

We don’t have long to wait. Nature piles in on our side. She picks three of the brightest stars from the sky, loads ’em on her bow an lets fly. All three at once, side by side. In a show of unspeakable wonder, they scorch through the night like three small suns, their tails burnin fury behind them. The sky lights bright with their flash of fire.

Now. Go now. I throw Nero in the air. I haul the reins sharply. Hermes rears an squeals with his front legs flailin. Nero screams as he wheels above us.

It’s the Angel of Death. Back from the dead. Flung from the sky as a fiery star.

The guards stare, mouths open, frozen with fear. Then their guns hit the ground as they rush fer their horses. They stumble an trip an yell. In a panicky scramble, they race off pell-mell. The drum of their hoof beats fades to silence. An that’s it. They’re gone. We dared an we won.

Jack took a shot through the seat of his pants. He tells me next time I hold a target shoot he ain’t available. Then he picks the padlock an we go through the door in the hill.

I let Jack find DeMalo’s white room. I let him lead the way, with his rushtorch held high. After all, I’m s’posed to of never bin here before. I follow him down the steps, into the ground, through the long, narrow rooms with the bunks set into the walls. Each room leads on to the next one. Our torches splash shocks of orange light over the rough, packed-earth walls, roof an floor.

It smells jest the same as it did that summer day. Musty an earthy an cool. It feels jest the same as it did that day. Heavy aginst my skin. I hate unnerground. My brow wets with sweat. An I’m back in our Silverlake storm cellar.

That eight by eight hole in the ground hacked out by my folks with pick an shovel. Their first home when they settled at the lake. Where they lived while they built the tyreshack. Then it was our shelter from wild weather. Bad enough we had to fret out the storms in there. But on scorch days too—when the sun flays the earth an all that cling to her—that cellar was our only refuge. It never bothered Pa or Lugh or Em. But it surely did bother me. I felt I was buried alive. I take a deep breath. I ain’t buried. I’m fine.

This was a Wrecker bunker, says Jack. I seen somethin kinda like it before. It was a lot smaller’n this one, though.

I cain’t tell him what I know about it. That DeMalo found ten skellentons here when he discovered it an opened the door. Lyin on the bunks where they died. Probly shelterin from some calamity. One of the many that ravaged their world. If it was anybody else, you’d pity ’em their plight. Not the Wreckers. No pity fer them.

Jack says, We must be near the centre of the hill by now.

We are. We’re in the tight little corridor. It squeezes us towards the white room. We’re at the closed door. Jack opens it with caution an peers inside.

He says, Nuthin beyond here. You think this is it?

Must be, I says.

We’re talkin in whispers. Like there’s somebody here besides us. An there is. DeMalo. This is his special place. I got this crazy notion he’ll be able to tell that we was here. Maybe right now, this moment, wherever he is, he knows that I’m in his vision room. It’s foolish, I know. Impossible, how could he? But still. My heart’s thumpin hard.

Well, yer the one with the feelin, says Jack. After you. He bows me through the doorway.

I step inside. Close it behind you, I says.

The darkness here is deep. Our torches dash at the shadows an retreat as we play ’em around the room. It’s completely different from the rest of the bunker. Smooth white walls with rounded corners. Twenny paces across each way. A smooth white floor with a domed ceilin. It seems much bigger’n the last time I was here. Mind you, as well as DeMalo an me, there was a dozen Stewards an two Tonton guards in here.

Jack walks slowly around the room, scopin out the walls. What these’re made of, I got no idea, he says. He runs a hand along them. Smooth an cold, he says. Still in good shape, after such a long time. Some kinda fancy Wrecker tech. They seem to be made in sections. I guess that’s how they brought ’em in.

On these very walls, I seen light bloom to the dawn of day. Daylight brightened around us as the music of birdsong an stringboxes sweetened the air. All that was wonder enough. But it was only the start.

I touch the walls where I seen eagles fly. Where giant fish leapt through the oceans. Where herds of beasts galloped vast plains. Where forests an mountains an rivers an lakes an creatures an birds an people dazzled my eyes with sights of such glory that a lifetime ain’t enough to think on ’em. To recall the rapture that shattered my heart. Even if I was to live a hunnerd year.

I stand in the middle of the room, like he did. I close my eyes. But I don’t feel a thing. It’s cold an it’s dark an that’s all. Without DeMalo, it’s dead.

Nuthin, I whisper.

Jest a room where a man has visions, says Jack. People do. Like yer friend, the star reader girl. What did you think we’d find here?

I dunno, I says. There was somethin, Jack. There is, but I cain’t git at it. It’s like it’s … jest at the edge of my sight or my hearin or— I let out my breath in frustration. I smooth the wall with my hand. I says, Auriel’s th’only other person I know who has visions. Whadda you know of such things?

Me? He shakes his head. I hang with the lowbrows, he says. Readers of salt spills, entrails an ashes. Every last one a humbug. The only visions they have is from too much white lightnin.

DeMalo has his at dawn, I says. His visions, I mean. Ain’t that right?

I think so, I dunno, he says. Listen, Saba. We came, we had a look, there ain’t nuthin here. But, hey. It ain’t bin a complete waste of time. I got my butt shot at. You must be pleased about that.

I’m sure you deserve it fer somethin, I says.

Oh, I most certainly do, he says. He kisses me. Softly. Sweetly. C’mon, he says. Let’s scram, we seen enough.

He waits while I take a last look around the room. So what was that about? That click of the trigger in my head an my gut. The tingle, the tremble of possibility. It grabbed me last night, so powerful, when Jack was talkin about DeMalo. The sudden certainty we needed to come here. That here we’d find some kinda answer. This was pointless. A fool’s errand.

As we make our way back through the rooms with the bunks I says, So why’d you think the guards?

Jack says, Why the guards, why the dogs, why does he move from house to house, why does he only eat an drink what his hands touch an nobody else’s.…

Becuz I drugged him, I think to myself. Two drops in his wine from a tiny brown bottle. Eccinel, that’s what Slim called it.

DeMalo ain’t easy is why, Jack’s sayin. We shook his throne when we blew Resurrection. He don’t know when or where we’re gonna hit him next.

All right, I says, I hear you.

We can trash his playroom, he says. You wanna go back?

No, I says, we’ll leave it.

A cool night breeze stirs the earth air of the bunker. A little ways ahead, I can see moonlight stream down the stairs. Jack’s up ’em an out like a shot. He hates these Wrecker places. Claims they’re full of ghosts. I dunno about ghosts, but I’m more’n ready to git outta this tomb. I put a foot on the first step. What was that? From the corner of my eye I caught a gleam. My torch jest glanced on somethin. I cast about till I find what it is. My skin prickles all over.

The gleam is metal. A lock on a door. A lock that’s bin sanded an oiled. The door’s set well back in the shadows. You’d hafta to be lookin to see it.

Jack, I says. Git back down here.

It’s a tumbler lock. Alone, I’d be outta luck. But I ain’t. I’m with Jack. So I’m in luck. He’s got a lifetime of scoundrel knowhow. Sure enough, he’s cracked tumblers before. He protests, he wants to go, but I prevail. Jest a quick look inside, then we’ll be gone.

He listens an turns. Listens. An turns. He woos that lock open. An we go through the second door.

This time, I light our way. Torch in one hand, shooter in the other. The ground beneath our feet slopes downwards. Gradual, like a long, slow ramp. Here, too, the walls an floor is hard-packed earth. The ceilin’s shuttered with planks. Propped up with struts an girders.

I says, Whoever made this place didn’t have comfert in mind.

Maybe they had to do it in a hurry, says Jack.

I take a closer look as we pass. There’s signs of fresh repairs. Many of the shutter planks look new. It’s bein kept in good order. We go down, down, deeper into the earth. The air grows cooler an thicker. I hate it. I sweat. I breathe deep.

Finally, Jack stops. Okay, we seen enough, let’s go, he says.

As the words leave his lips, I take a step. There’s a click-click-click-click. We’re blinded by light. I shoot, on instinct, an dive at the ground. Wood cracks. Dirt rains down on top of us. My shot must of hit the roof. Probly smashed a shutter plank. As the din fades to silence an no one shoots back, we slowly git to our feet. We cough the dust from our throats. We stare as we brush ourselfs off.

Eight roundels of light cling to the walls ahead. Four line the left wall. The same on the right. They shine a straight path to a iron slab door. With a big iron wheel in the middle of it. Jack an me look at each other. His eyes gleam pale in his filthy face. His hair’s dusted thick with dirt.

Door three, he says. Be my guest.

Sudden sweat wets my hands as I crank the wheel to the right. It moves smoothly. Well oiled, like the lock. There’s a soft hiss. I feel the door sigh. I tug an it swings wide open.

Let’s see what he’s got in here, says Jack.

As we step past the door, red lights appear in front of us. They’re scattered all over, high, low an in between. There’s a lot of ’em, but they ain’t bright. Not like the ones on the ramp outside. These murmur a dull glow. Like the last of a sunset on a cloudy winter day.

It’s our movement that triggers the lights, says Jack. Somehow it sets ’em off.

We lift our torches. It’s a room full of cupboards. Rows of cupboards. Heavy wooden ones, tall, with glass doors. Trunks an metal chests. Boxes an crates an barrels cut in half. Anythin that could be fitted with a shelf seems to be here. They’re stacked an tucked an crowded together. There’s shelfs in every single one. An every single shelf is filled with jars. Glass jars with lids.

The jars hold seeds. Seeds of all colours an sizes an shapes.

It’s a seedstore, I says.

A Wrecker seedstore, says Jack.

He starts to move along one of the rows. I make my way down the next one. Starin, touchin. This feels like a dream. It don’t seem possible there could be so much here. Some jars is full, right to the top. In some only a small handful of seeds. There ain’t a speck of dust. It’s all perfectly clean. Shelfs, jars, floor. The air is dry an cool. A bit musty but there ain’t no damp. Each jar has a bit of old paper stuck to it with a hand-drawn picture of what the seed is. Flowers. Vegetables. Fruits, trees, grasses. With a figger of a man to show how tall it’ll be, full grown.

I’m making a new world, one blade of grass at a time. Healing the earth and its people.

I wedge my torch between two metal cupboards. I take a small jar an hold it to the light. The seeds inside gleam. They’re tiny an thin, a kinda reddish colour. I give ’em a gentle shake. They shift an sigh in their long, dry sleep.

Jack’s voice falls dead in the muffled air. There’s tree seed here, he says. If I’m readin these pictures right, they’re good fer drylands. His torchlight bobs on down the row.

Now it makes sense. What DeMalo said to me. When he’d drunk the drugged wine an his guard was down. Jest before he passed out in my arms.

I wanted to tell you. I’ve found something amazing. If it’s what I think it is, it’s going to change everything.

He could reseed the whole earth with all this.

Saba, c’mere. Jack’s voice sounds a tight, urgent note. With clumsy hands, I put the jar back where it came from. I hurry to find him at the far end of the room. It’s clear of cupboards here. There’s four tables bin pushed together to make one big table. Books an papers cover the top of it, piled in neat stacks. There’s stone fatlights to work by. A chair. A cot with a blanket. An a half-empty bottle of wine. DeMalo. He works here. Sleeps here sometimes, it seems.

Jack’s lookin at the end wall. Starin up at it. There’s big sheets of heavy paper tacked the length of it. They’re coloured, mainly pink, yellow an orange. With thick blue snakes an thin blue lines an blue splodges of all sizes. Words in black. Numbers too. A lotta squiggly lines.

What is all this? I says.

They’re maps, says Jack.

I only seen dirt maps before, I says.

Well, look on these real good, he says. He takes my hand an pulls me to the furthest map on the left. This one’s New Eden, he says. Divided into sectors. See the numbers? Weepin Water, where we are now, that lies south, right? Sector One.

Uh huh, I says.

He puts his finger on the map. I figger that puts us about here, he says. Got that? Okay. He tugs me along to the next map. Here’s New Eden agin, he says. You see the shape? This is how it sits in the land all around it. It’s the one an only green patch. That must mean trees an growth. Becuz we know all these yellow bits an they’re bleak. We got the Raze to the east, to the west lies the Waste, to the south—d’you see?—here’s the Black Mountains, an south of them lies where Hopetown was, an here’s Sandsea—

—Silverlake’s there somewhere, I says.

It won’t be on no map, he says. An here, to the north, it’s the Shield all the way to this big stretch of blue. Must be water.

New Eden looks so small, I says.

He moves me to the next map. On this one, it’s even smaller, he says. On the next one, New Eden’s jest a dot. Saba, d’you see? This is the world beyond. Beyond any place you an me ever bin. This is a world we never heard of, never dreamed of.

How come there’s numbers all over? I says. They’re everywhere. I go back to the second map. The Waste, I says. An the Raze an south of the Black Mountains. I glance about. From the maps with their numbers so tiny an neat. To the table with its stacks of papers an books. There’s numbers on these papers, I says.

Numbered maps, says Jack. Numbered papers. There’s numbers on these rows of cupboards. A number on every cupboard. Did you notice the seed jars have numbers? It’s a plan, Saba. To plant.

I stand stock still. I stare at Jack, not seein him. Every hair on my head shivers. The tiny hairs on my arms. To reseed the earth, I says. This is what it’s all about.

This is why the locks an the guards, says Jack.

The resettlement party, I says. This is why they was headed to the Raze. It explains the new bridge at the Eastern Defile.

It explains why DeMalo was with ’em, says Jack.

That worn leather bag strapped over his chest. His hand went to it, touched it from time to time. As if to make sure it was still there.

I bet he was carryin the seeds, I says. He wouldn’t trust nobody else.

He’d wanna be the first one to sow, says Jack. To teach the Stewards how to grow an care fer whatever it was.

One blade of grass at a time.

He actually meant it. He can actually do it. A new world. A healed earth. With grass an trees an crops to have food enough fer all. But not fer all. Only fer them he deems worthy. His Chosen ones.

My head’s tight with tryin to make sense of this. I open a book. I stare at the letters I cain’t unnerstand. The words they make tell DeMalo what to do. If only we could read these, I says. Tommo reads some. Maybe if we brought him here, he could—

That’s detail, says Jack. We don’t gotta read to know what this means. DeMalo will rebuild the bridge an be sowin seed in the Raze within a couple of weeks. He’ll start with test beds, I figger. To see what takes an what don’t. Hell, he might of done that already. He’s planned this real careful. With this seedstore an his book knowledge an fear an guns to power the project—Jack sweeps a hand at the maps—he’ll make everywhere jest like New Eden. A green paradise of slave labour, all controlled by him. Yes sir, yes my lord, yes my master, my king. With nobody old or sick or weak or anybody less than perfect. He’ll decide who’s fit to live.

While the hive pumps out endless Steward drones to work work work work work, I says. His Chosen Ones. What a lie. They’re slaves too. You jest cain’t see their chains.

We’re silent fer a moment, lookin at the maps.

We thought it was jest New Eden, I says.

The tyrants I’ve known don’t think small, says Jack. Their ambition is usually their undoin. But none ever sat on a arsenal like this one. If anybody can do this, he can.

We gotta stop him now, I says. Before it gits beyond us. There’s numbers all over these maps. There won’t be nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide. Nowhere to live free or be anythin or do anythin other than what DeMalo decides.

There won’t be nobody runnin, says Jack. Fear’s a powerful weapon. If people fear you, you control them. Most of these New Eden folk ain’t never known freedom. An they never will know it, unless we win it fer them.

I reach fer Jack’s hand. It’s warm an strong. A hand to hold on tight to. We stare at the wall. At the future laid out so starkly. A future earth, a future people controlled by DeMalo.

Yer right, I says. He can do this. He has the will, the belief an the power.

Case closed, Jack says. We kill him. I go back inside the Tonton right away.

No no, I need to think, I says.

About what? He looks at me in disbelief. How can it not be clear to you yet? DeMalo needs to go. Speakin of which, he says, we need to go. It’s easy to lose track of time down here. The new guard shift’ll show fer duty at dawn. We wanna be well away by then.

In silence, we crank the wheel an close the great door. We press the cracked roof plank into place an scuff away the fallen dirt on the ramp. If we don’t leave cause fer him to look up, DeMalo might not notice the damage. Jack sets the tumbler lock dial back to where we found it.

Now the light from outside that streams down the stairs ain’t moonlight. It’s dawnlight. Pale an uncertain.

Told you, says Jack.

As I douse my torch, I hear it. Faintly. From inside the bunker. My heart jolts. Then it starts racin. I grab Jack’s hand an make fer the stairs.

He frowns, pullin aginst me. Hang on, he says. I hear music.

I don’t hear nuthin. We gotta go, I says.

He shrugs me off. Yeah, he says. Sounds like it’s … comin from that room. You must hear it. Listen. There.

Faint but unmistakable. It’s music. My eyes meet his. It’s too dangerous, I says. Please, let’s jest go.

He stares at me a moment. Then he takes off at a run. Towards DeMalo’s white room.

I hare after him. Through the rooms with the bunks in the wall. I know this music. I heard it before. It’s the sound of his visions. DeMalo. He’s here. In the room. There ain’t no guards, the bunker door’s open. Anybody else would come lookin fer the cause. Not him. He’s playin with us. Drawin us in.

I’m jest in time to see Jack reach the door. Reach fer the handle. His shooter held next to his head.

Jack! I says. Don’t!

He dumps his torch. We’re in total blackness. I inch forwards, feelin the wall. I got my gun at the ready. My throat ticks with fear.

A line of light glows as he cracks the door open. Then, slowly, slowly, it widens. Gentle light spills out. Light an birdsong an sweet stringbox music. That’s all though. No outcry. Nuthin else.

Saba! Jack calls to me softly.

I hurry to join him, still tense, still alert. But there ain’t no need fer our shooters. We’re the only two people here. Jack stares in confusion. So do I, but fer a very different reason. Dawn glows on the walls of the room, all around us. The air that was dead is alive with music.

The light brightens an brightens to the gold of fresh mornin. The music grows louder an quicker. The walls leap to life. Jack starts with surprise. An, jest like I remember from before, we’re soarin above grasslands, lush an green, with a bird’s-eye view of the world below.

What the hell is this? he says.

Great herds of beasts thunder the plains, with snow-topped mountains in the distance. It’s still magical. Incredible. Unimaginably beautiful. Last time, I wept. This time, I don’t. It’s DeMalo’s vision. But without DeMalo.

I got no idea, I says.

Jack’s tried to touch one of the shaggy big-horned creatures as it leaps from crag to crag. Jest like I did when I seen it. Suspicion darkens his face. Visions, my ass, he says. This is Wrecker tech. That trickster sonofabitch.

Eagles fly beneath his hands as he feels the walls. Seekin to know how they work. Far from bein overcome like I was, he takes little notice of these glimpses of a long-gone world.

It’s like the walls hold the memory of the past, he mutters. Somethin must set it off. With the lights, it was us, our movement did it. But this was playin already, so what triggered it?

Trigger. Light. Memory. Suddenly I remember. The tiny pinprick of light in the ceilin.

As it grows to a weak beam, I start to see DeMalo. He stands in the centre of the room, right unnerneath it. He lifts a chunk of clear, glassy rock. The light beam latches onto it. The rock begins to glow with a faint pink light. But not jest the rock. The whole room. The light grows stronger. Birds begin to sing.

DeMalo ain’t here now. There ain’t no rock. But still the birds sang. Still the day dawned on the walls of this room. I stand in the middle an squint at the ceilin. It’s harder to see now the room’s so bright. I can only jest see the pinprick of light in the dome above me. If you didn’t know it was there, you wouldn’t think to look. You’d never notice it.

Jack, I says. Could it be triggered by light from outside?

He’s beside me in a second. We stare up. You genius, he says. The first light of day sets it off. Somehow it gits in here, maybe … through a pipe or somethin. I cain’t hardly see that. What made you look there?

I dunno, I says. I jest looked up an there it was.

The music plays on. The lost creatures of the lost world roam the walls all around us. They fly the skies. They swim the waters. Lakes an rivers an the Big Water. What DeMalo called the ocean, the sea. I never thought I’d see these sights agin. My heart cracks open wide, to fill itself with them. Greedily. Hungrily. I’m glad I don’t hafta hide how I feel. After all, I’m meant to be seein it fer the first time.

It’s beyond wonderful, I says. I would never of imagined this.

Wonderful fer sure, says Jack. But it ain’t nuthin to do with DeMalo. If this is triggered by the dawn, it happens every day. All that Pathfinder malarkey. He ain’t nuthin but a high-stakes con man.

He’s lied, I says. About everythin.

Don’t sound so surprised, he says. Anyways, lyin’s hardly the worst of his sins.

We sat in the sweetgrass meadow that mornin. The Stewards, DeMalo an me. The breeze dried my tears as he spoke. Of the music on the wind that led him to this room.

As that new day dawned, I had the vision. Just as you’ve seen today. Mother Earth revealed to me, through me, the glories of our world as it was. And she revealed to me my destiny. You are the Pathfinder, she told me. I have chosen you to heal me.

We’ve all believed him so completely. That’s becuz he believes it hisself. He’s told the tale so often, it’s become the truth even to him. At what point does that happen, I wonder. That you start to believe yer own lies.

It’s quite the make-believe he’s cooked up, says Jack. The dream of Mother Earth reborn, DeMalo the big hero with his visions.

On the walls all around people walk an run an dance. Long ago gone. Long unremembered an long unmourned. The Wreckers. But in this moment, they live fer me an Jack. I think of the ten skellentons, lyin in them bunks. Whoever they was—man, woman, child—they closed the door in the hillside one day an shut theirselfs in. Knowin their refuge might well be their grave. That they’d seen the last of the sky.

Suddenly I git it. They go together, I says.

What goes together? says Jack.

The seedstore an this room with these visions, I says. They left it fer us. Fer those who might come after. When them people lay on them bunks fer the very last time, they died with hope. That somebody would find this one day. But they didn’t mean fer someone like DeMalo to find it. A gift like this, a gift to the future, the chance to start over with them seeds … it’s meant fer all of us. Not jest people, but the earth itself an every creature. It’s fer the common good. The many. Not the few. They meant fer it to be used rightly an justly. These visions tell us so. Look!

Around the walls there’s the young an the old. The strong help the weak. The healthy tend the sick. All manner of people together.

He’s stolen this place, I says. He ain’t no visionary. He’s a thief. He’s a liar.

Saba, says Jack. We better go.

His voice right behind me makes me start.

It’s dawn, he says. The guard change. Remember?

He takes me by the hand an we run.

We ride into a strange kinda mornin. Uncertain day born of unsteady night. Short winds dash at us then die. Clouds threaten, then calm in a watery sunlight. At last a lumpy grey sky thumps down like a lid an sharp picks of rain razor us. It settles to a mean-tempered dank of a day. Jack jams his hat low an wraps his cloak high. Nero’s quick to wriggle inside it an hitch a ride. Me, I got my coat an my sheema. But it ain’t long before we’re miserably damp.

It’s all cloud an sharp rain inside of me as well. My thoughts clod an churn. Feelins spike me, slash at me. I try to grab ’em as they pass. Try to hold on long enough to take a good look.

One. DeMalo don’t have miraculous visions. It’s a trick. A cheat. He ain’t who he says he is. He ain’t what he says he is. He discovered the bunker an its secrets by chance. He claimed them fer his own an began to misuse them.

Two. He must be revealed fer the fraud that he is. Everybody needs to know about the visions. By everybody I mean the Stewards an the Tonton. The only way they’d believe is if they seen it fer themselfs. My Free Hawks an Jack’s gang, we’ll jest tell them what we found an they’ll believe us.

Three. What’s my next move? My next play in this endgame he’s declared? Whatever I do, I gotta use what I know to our best advantage. I gotta be wise, be cool. Think, plan, then act. In the right way, at the right time, when he least especks it. But I got so little time, there ain’t no chance in hell that I’ll—stop, stop. Be cool. Stay calm.

Four. Four. It’s unbelievable. It’s shameful. But here it is. The cold stone of betrayal burns in me. I feel betrayed by him. By DeMalo. I feel deceived by him. I know this tight lump, hard right of my heart. I felt it when I thought Jack had betrayed me. You only feel betrayed if you place yer trust in somebody. If you believe what they tell you. I believed DeMalo. Believed him when he told me I was special. That I warn’t like nobody else. I believed that meant he would tell me—me above all others—the truth. But he plays me jest like he’d play anybody. He baits his line an reels us in. An what was my bait? My arrogance, my self-regard an the weakness of my flesh fer his. I swear, when DeMalo hauled me from Weepin Water that night, he landed me on shiftin sands. Me, who used to think I stood on bedrock.

I realize Jack’s stopped. That I’m stopped becuz he’s leaned over to grab hold of Hermes’ bridle. Guilty heat breaks on my skin. As if he might be able to hear my thoughts.

Sorry, I says. Did you say somethin?

I said, this is where we part ways, he says.

We’re at HorseArch, in the middle of the boulderfield. The worn hindquarters of a stallion rear atop the crumbled stone archway.

Jack sits back in the saddle. He edges Kell away. Puts distance between us. His hat hides his eyes. He’s only said one thing since we left the bunker. Lucky fer us they was late. That’s when we’d reached the safety of the wooded ridge an looked back to see the two relief guards appear. Since then, not a word, an that’s strange. Jack ain’t no chatbox, but he’s social. There’s always some to an fro with him. It ain’t like him to leave me alone with my thoughts fer so long.

You bin awful quiet, I says.

I got a lot on my mind, he says.

His distant tone slams the door in my face.

Yeah, I says, this changes everythin, don’t it? The seedstore, the fake visions. D’you think I oughta tell Lugh an the rest what we found?

Not yet, he says. It’s way too big. We’ll keep it between us fer now.

Right, I says. Listen, I wanna meet with yer network today. You an me an them. Can you git ’em all together later on?

He says, I thought we agreed it was safer you didn’t.

That was before all this, I says. I need to talk to ’em right away.

What about? he says.

Jest tell me where to meet you.

Sector Four, he says. At the watermill on the Don River. I’ll see you there late afternoon. It’s short notice, but I’ll git as many as can come. With a click to Kell, he tugs the reins an turns to the north.

Hey, I says.

He looks back.

You got my crow in yer coat, I says.

I fergot, he says. He’s asleep. He reaches unner his cloak. C’mon you, wake up, he says.

He picks him out an with a shake an a squawk, Nero takes to the air. Rain or no, he’ll be glad to fly. He’s bin tucked inside there fer ages.

Jack, I says.

He waits. His hat’s still low over his eyes. I’m shut out. He’s shuttin me out. This ain’t like him at all. Unease heats my belly. Sticks my words in my throat.

What’s wrong? I says.

Nuthin. It’s jest a lot to take in all at once. I’m gonna catch a little sleep, he says. You should too. I’ll see you later.

I’m glad you was there, I says. That it was you an me. We always do make a good team. I wouldn’t of wanted to be with nobody else.

He answers with a tip of his hat. Then he flicks the reins an moves Kell out. I will a turn of his head. Look back, look back, gawdamnmit Jack. I ache fer a smile. Or a wave.

Jack! I call. The fog deads my voice. They’re melted to the mist as silent shadows. He probly didn’t even hear me. Nero perches on HorseArch an caws his impatience to be gone.

He’s right. I got much bigger things to deal with. I ride a thoughtful trail back to Starlight Lanes. I sort an sift an consider. All the words I bin hearin an speakin. What I’ve seen an thought an felt.

Whaddya make of this place, Mercy? Of New Eden?

Things ain’t always what they seem to be. People neether. The Chosen of New Eden, they’re all tryin to be what DeMalo says they are. Do you see? Not entirely real.

DeMalo an his visions. The bunker. The seedstore. It’s the lodestone. He’s the lodestone. Brothers an sisters an fathers an mothers. Stewards stolen from their families.

You’re paired with a boy you don’t know. Sent off with this stranger to work the land an make healthy babies for New Eden. How do you feel?

Natural feelins don’t come into it.

They got no skills, no knowledge, no trust between ’em. They hardly know each other. It won’t take much to make their house crumble. It don’t stand on strong foundations.

Strong foundations. Family. Blood ties. Babies taken from the Stewards.

Not one of them girls wants her baby to be took from her. They try to hide what they feel, but I seen it in their eyes, their faces, every time.

Weak foundations. DeMalo’s weakness. Our strength.

Think like me, like me, not him.

Jack an me at the Irontree. He nearly had me undressed an I never noticed.

Boy, do you work fast.

Yer a movin target, I hafta. Here, lemme help.

I button, he unbuttons. I tuck, he untucks.

Do. Undo.

When you start to pick it apart, their house will crumble. Undo it. Fast. Quickly.

What do you believe, Saba?

On the whole, I’d say we’re stronger fer love.

Then I’m thinkin like me. Not like him.

The Starlight Lanes sign appears through the treetops. With its comet an stars an words that meant somethin to somebody, once upon a time ago. Then I catch sight of Molly. A little ways ahead, she slips from the woods onto the trail. She’s all rosy aglow an not quite tucked in. The day’s changed its mind since the mizzle of dawn. Now, early mornin sun sifts through the treetops. It gleams her hair golden as it rivers to her waist. Tied back, like always, in a tousled tail. She appears to have half the woods stuck in it. A battered bucket swings in her hand. She swings her hips with cautious abandon.

Mornin, I call.

She jumps from her skin. She whirls around. Dismay gives way to a wide smile of welcome. I bin pickin mushrooms, she calls, holdin up her pail. Oh! Nero’s jest landed on her shoulder. An a very good mornin to you, she says. Delicately, he picks a piece of moss from her hair. He gives it to her. Well, she says, thank you.

Followed by a leaf, then a twig, then another leaf. I’ve reached her by now. She’s very pink an very flustered. I tell you, she says, yer so lucky to have short hair. Mine collects everythin. Moss an twigs an—

Men? I says. Or should I say boys? I swing myself down from Hermes.

Her smiles crumple to woe. Oh gawd, she says, I swear, Saba, I didn’t mean fer this to happen. I had no idea. He jest—

Hey, I says. Calm down, don’t worry, it’s okay.

It is? she says.

This is me, remember? I says. You of all people know I ain’t in no position to preach. How could I return yer kindness to me with harsh judgement? An … he is handsome an charmin an, as we all know, he can be very persuasive—

Well, it warn’t so much that as—

—as the fact he’s bin after you since the moment he laid eyes on you. Yer only human, Molly, I says. Yer the loveliest, most gorgeous woman. You bin on yer own a long time. An I gotta tell you, it don’t ezzackly come as a shock.

It don’t? There’s wary surprise in her eyes, in her voice.

I seen you, I says.

Oh?

At Em’s party. You touched his hand.

Touched his hand, she says.

When he was goin on lookout duty, I says. You was at the food table with Mercy and he walked by you an you touched his hand.

Right, she says. You seen that.

I was th’only one noticed, I says. I didn’t mention it to nobody an I won’t. Molly, you so deserve happiness. Of anybody I know, you deserve it. Fer a night, a week, fer the rest of yer life. The only thing is— You gotta admit, it’s bin pretty stormy with you two already an I jest don’t want … I dunno, a lovers’ quarrel or somethin to cause more problems.

Say no more, I unnerstand completely, she says. I would never do nuthin to jeopardize this fight. I’ll talk to him, to Creed. He ain’t really my type anyways.

Oh, no, I didn’t mean that you had to—

It’s all right. She presses my hand an smiles. You can set yer mind at rest, she says.

Oh, Molly. Yer beautiful, weary brown eyes. Where hope’s so faded an thin, I could weep. I seen her today, Moll. Jest fer a moment. Barefoot, her hair a golden river down her back. Cheeks flushed, eyes bright with possibility. It was you. It was her. The girl you once was. If only I’d come along the trail a bit sooner. Or passed a little later. She could of walked in the sun a bit longer. I’m sorry.

I kiss her on the cheek. Her skin’s soft as dew. She smells musky an warm, of lovers in the woods. You better let Nero tidy yer hair, I says. But don’t be long. I got somethin to talk to you all about.

I find ’em at Peg’s flyer field. Tracker leads me up the hill behind the junkyard to the long stretch of scrubby grass on top. It’s from here that Peg tries to make like the birds. This mornin, with the help of Moses an Bean an far too many ropes, they’re all doin their sweaty best to launch her latest junkcraft to the sky. I call ’em to order, but they’re so childishly excited that they won’t be deterred. The whole thing’s ridiculous an doomed. I give up. They won’t be long.

Slim shouts advice from the safety of his slingchair. I sit an stare at the ground an think about what I’m gonna say. By the time Molly turns up with Nero an her leaf-free hair an Mercy, who she met on the path, they’ve managed to tangle the windcrank, the camel, the mule an all of them in a week’s worth of knots an then some.

It’s a moment’s fun. The day’s turned out fine. How I’d love to join them. Be carefree fer once. But my time’s runnin out. I got a tyrant to topple.

This is a joke, right? Creed’s ready smile ain’t nowhere to be seen today. From his sullen mouth to boots that positively twitch to kick at somethin, he bristles spiky discontent.

A joke? I says. Far from it. It’s the only way we can win.

Win? He looks around, with a half-smile that’s more like a frown. You hearin this, folks? he says. No guns, no bows, no blastpacks, no knives. We’re gonna fight the man with—what was that you called it? Oh yeah—bad manners.

Disobedience, I says.

We’re all stood or sat or sprawled in a kinda circle. Each accordin to their own state of mind. I’m on my feet, holdin fast to my ground. We’re still on the hilltop at Peg’s flyer field. She tends to her junkmetal love. Mutters an cackles as she untangles it from the mess of ropes an does things with spanners an bolts. Nero plays one of his favourite games. She puts somethin down, he nips in an steals it. She’s so busy, she don’t pay our talk the least bit of notice.

I says to them, It’s like I said. DeMalo’s built New Eden on fault lines. Lots of ’em an he don’t even know it. The main one is he’s broke families apart. That goes aginst nature. It goes aginst feelin an blood ties. He believes them things make fer weakness, but he’s wrong. They’re strong an they endure an we can use ’em to beat him. Mercy’s told you about the babyhouses—how the mothers are when their infants git took from ’em. That’s one fault line. Tonight I plan to make a little rumble there. If it works, if I’m right, that fault line will start to crack open. Then we’ll go to work crackin open the other fault lines. The slave gangs. An Edenhome. We’ll do it right unner their noses. They won’t notice what we’re up to till it’s too late. Once we got enough cracks, at the right moment we make a big gawdamnn rumble an the whole thing will break wide open. New Eden will crumble.

Silence. But what a clamour. Slim plucks at his whiskers. Ash works her boot heel into the dirt. Between the rest of ’em—Lugh an Tommo an Creed an Molly—there’s frowns an raised eyebrows an looks an so on. From her seat on a rock, Mercy gives me a tiny smile.

A big gawdamnn rumble, says Ash. What kinda rumble you talkin about?

I cain’t say yet, I tell her.

You don’t know, says Creed. You got no idea, do you?

A good leader responds an adapts, I says.

An that does make him smile. At last. You ain’t a good leader, he says.

It’s a lot to ask, I know, I says. This is a new idea. But don’t dismiss it outta hand.

Creed laughs. Why shouldn’t we? he says. We got a whole weapons dump ready an waitin. Hey, Slim, there’s plenty of ammo in that secret store of yers, right?

Plenty, he says.

Why wouldn’t we use it? Creed opens his arms to receive everybody’s agreement. We’re fighters, he says. It’s what we know, what we’re good at. We bin beatin the Tonton in straight fights all along. This ain’t no different.

Why fight if we don’t hafta? I says.

He says, That blast at the bridge must of done somethin to yer brain. It sure as hell rattled yer nerve. Ever since then, you bin all, thou shalt not kill. I tell you, that’s hard to swallow, comin from you. They didn’t call you the Angel of Death fer nuthin. Remind me. How many dead on yer dance card, dear?

Our eyes hold. He’s gone fer the wound. Anger raises its head in me. Growls low in its throat. I silence it with a twitch of my hand.

I’ll fight if needs must, I’ll kill if need be. But it ain’t smart to fight this fight with bows an guns an bombs. Fer three reasons, I says. Number one. Look at how many they are an how few we are. How few real fighters, I mean, not jest bodies—no offence to nobody.

Slim looks at Mercy an Molly. She means us, ladies, he says. The old, the lame an the slow.

Oh, I ain’t always slow, says Molly. She’s propped on her elbows, legs stretched out, studyin her bare feet with drowsy content. They’re small an shapely an, fer feet, they’re remarkably pretty. Creed eyes her like a hungry dog. Go on, Saba, she says. We don’t take no offence.

If we keep this a gun fight, I says, they’ll have the upper hand in no time an we’ll be dead. Reason two. Even if we could keep ’em on the run fer a while, the terrain of New Eden don’t favour guerilla action. Everythin’s too close an we ain’t got enough places to retreat to. Pretty soon they’ll know where all our foxholes are an we won’t have nowhere to hide.

I keep lookin at them, each one in turn. Tryin to read their faces, their eyes, as their thoughts turn an chase. Choosin my words with care. Slowin myself down when I start to talk too fast.

Reason three, I says. I bin learnin a lot about New Eden. From Mercy an other sources. Information has come my way about DeMalo. I cain’t tell you no more right now, but I can tell you this. Knowin what I do, the smartest an best way to beat him is without a shot bein fired. An I believe it can be done. That we can do it.

I don’t, says Creed. An I don’t believe you believe it neether. The first sign of trouble, you’ll be reachin fer yer gun or yer bow. It’s who you are. Yer brother here says you was born with a bow in yer hand. I only had to see you in action once to know that.

Ash says, Sorry, Saba. I stuck with you all the way so far, but I jest cain’t see how this would work. I mean, you even talk about bringin the Stewards onto our side … She shakes her head. It’s a nice thought, but yer dreamin.

I never heard of such a thing—a fight with no fightin—an I’m a thousand years old, says Slim. Sorry, sister, I’m with Ash on this one.

Me too, says Tommo.

What about the rest of yuz? Mercy? I says. Molly? Where do you stand? Lugh? How about you?

Lugh says, Sorry, but I’m with the doubters. Even if it did work, it ’ud take ages.

I ain’t so sure about that, I says. If we don’t try, we’ll never know. One chance to prove this can work. That’s what I want. Tonight at the babyhouse. An if it works, you’ll all support this. We’ll roll it out fast. Babyhouses, slaves, Edenhome, the lot. Come on, Lugh. One chance.

He looks at me a long moment. Then, All right, he says. One chance. Me an Em’ll support you that far. Right, Em?

My eyes tell him thanks. Emmi nods. She’s kept her distance since I got back. Now she’s usin Tracker as a shield between her an me. She coaxed him to sprawl over her lap. She hugs his neck, her face half-buried in his fur. She’s ashamed over Nero. After all her sworn vows to do better. But I ain’t gonna chew her out. I don’t even give her the hard eyeball. I’m jest gonna leave her an see what happens.

Creed looks a world full of scorn at Lugh. Yeah, well, you would go along with her, wouldn’t you? he says. Even if it was the most crackbrain notion ever. Which it is.

I wouldn’t be so sure. Molly sits up straight, suddenly brisk. If there’s somethin that runnin a hooch joint learns you, it’s that there’s more’n one way to settle a fight. So far, this one’s gone down the usual dismal road. Ike’s dead, Jack’s dead an Bram an Maev an yer other friends too. I ain’t ready to join ’em jest yet. She shrugs. We should try this. We’d be fools not to.

Well spoke, says Mercy. I’m with Saba.

I’ll need yer help tonight, Mercy, I says.

Only if I won’t be a hindrance, she says. No guilt on your side, no blame on mine.

Four aginst four. Slim digs in his pocket. Think I got a coin in here somewheres.

I says, This is too big to rest on a coin flip. I want everybody with me. If this works an we roll it out, we all hafta do it, believe in it, stick with it. Not jest one or two of us an the others go off with guns. I ain’t crazy, I promise you. An this ain’t some desperate idea I came up with becuz I lost my nerve. It’s the only thing that makes sense. It is risky. It’s gonna take more nerve an more smarts than anythin any of us ever done before. If I’m right, we could win without nobody gittin hurt. Please. One chance, that’s all I ask. Tonight. One action. No weapons. Lemme crack open that fault line an see what happens. Whaddya say?

Slim slaps his knees. I say, help yer Uncle Slim to his feet. Tommo an Ash haul him from his slingchair. He grabs my hand, yanks me aginst his bulk an I’m fixed with his hard one-eyed stare. He says, We played a cool game of chicken with the Tonton that day, you an me. There ain’t nuthin wrong with yer nerve, Miss Death. Go on, then. You show me somethin I ain’t never seen before. Prove me wrong. Far as I’m concerned, you got yer chance. He lets me go. That makes it five to three, he says.

Six to two, says Tommo. I believe in you, Saba.

A smile breaks over my face fer him. Thanks, Tommo, I says. My breath starts to come more easy.

Ash stares at me. With a little frown that says I’m a problem she cain’t work out.

Yer the one planted this idea in me first, I tell her. Back when we first caught sight of Resurrection. That huge fortress risin up in front of us. A garrison of Tonton inside with their arsenal of weapons. All of them. Only five of us. It seemed so impossible we jest about lost heart. Not you. Tiny things can cause big trouble, that’s what you said. We did. An we can do it agin.

She starts to nod. Skeeter bite brings fever, she says. Little thorn sticks in you, yer blood goes bad. All right. Let’s see you do this thing. That makes you the only holdout, Creed.

Slim says, Jump off the cliff with the rest of us, son. You never know, we might jest sprout wings an fly.

Creed’s bin eyes-to-the-ground, arms crossed over his chest, shakin his head from time to time. I don’t believe this, he says. All of yuz. It’s a complete waste of time. Go on, do what you like. He starts to walk away. He raises his voice, not lookin back as he says, When you crash, come find me an we’ll talk about a proper fight. That’s if I’m still around.

Creed! I call after him. One chance! C’mon!

He waves a hand in dismissal an disappears over the edge of the hill.

I got it! cries Peg.

We all turn. She’s grabbed hold of the windcrank on the nose of her airbuggy. She hangs her weight to shove it around. It turns. Once. Very slowly. Then, very slowly, the whole thing collapses.

I’m headin down the hill to find a quiet place to think when Ash comes chasin after me. Wait up! she calls.

There bein only room fer one on the narrow, zigzaggy path, she has to stick behind me. As we pick our rocky way down, she says, Pretty wild idea. You changed yer tune some.

Whatever it takes, Ash. My mind’s clear on this, I says. Like I said, it’s the only thing that makes sense.

There’s the scrabble of feet behind us. We look back to find Emmi an Tracker in pursuit. He flies past, leapin the rocks like a mountain goat, an disappears.

’Scuse me, comin through! As Emmi squeezes an elbows past Ash, her feet slide out from beneath her. Whoops!

Whoa! Ash grabs her collar to save her from a tumble. What’s the hurry, ma’am?

Em clutches herself upright, hangin on my arm. She looks at me. With her clear as a summer raindrop eyes. I won’t ever let you down agin, not ever, she says. I’m gonna step up, I swear. You’ll see.

Then she’s squirmed past me, scramblin headlong down the path.

Hey! I call. Come back here so I can yell at you. Don’t think you ain’t in trouble, Emmi.

She’s a rocket, that girl, says Ash. What’s the trouble?

She let Nero go loose when I told her to keep him with her. Unreliable Em strikes agin. I shake my head as we go on.

Ash says, Hey, Saba. You thought any more about what I said?

Thought about what?

Nero, she says. Who might of snatched him like that. You must of noticed. He’s okay with all us females—even Peg, an he don’t know her. But he’s still nervy with the boys—men—whatever. He don’t trust ’em. That tells you somethin right there.

That bit of cord Emmi handed me. It’s still in my pocket. I ain’t gave it another thought.

I stop. I turn to her. So who’re you accusin, Ash, huh? My brother? Tommo? Slim? Absolutely not. Never. An Creed an me, we might have our differences of opinion, but I’ve trusted him with my life. Jest like I have all of yuz, an you ain’t never let me down. I got no reason to suspect any of yuz.

Who did it, then? she says.

She ain’t gonna leave this, I can tell by her face. An I sure as hell cain’t tell her it was a Tonton doin DeMalo’s work. That would only lead to more questions. It’s five nights to the blood moon. I could scream at her fer wastin my time like this.

Look, I says. I got a pretty good idea who did this an why. As her mouth drops open in surprise, I says, I ain’t at liberty to say no more than that. I glance up at Nero, who’s sailin around above us. There warn’t no harm done to Nero an that’s the main thing, I says. I don’t wanna talk about this agin, Ash. I got a lot to do, a lot to think about.

She’s lookin at me like I jest sprouted another head. Fine, she says, whatever. You got big things on yer plate. No problem.

I know her. I know how her mind works. Ash, I ferbid you to go pokin around, I says. There ain’t nuthin to discover here, believe me. An I don’t want you talkin to nobody about it, an I want yer word on it. I hold out my hand to her. C’mon, gimme yer promise, right now.

You are so wrong-headed on this, she says. But I stare her out till she shrugs with bad grace. On yer wrong head be it, then, she says. She grabs my hand an gives it her usual. A quick, hard tug towards her, like it’s a stuck pump handle.

Ash’s word is solid. With her promise to me handset, we carry on down.

I need Mercy with me at the babyhouse. I won’t know ezzackly what my plan is till I meet with Jack an his New Eden rebels later today. But if we’re gonna go baby stealin, we’ll need somebody who’s skilled with infants. Who better than Mercy? She also knows the workins of a babyhouse from the inside.

So I’m forced to tell her about Jack. She don’t know him an she’s only newly arrived among us, so she ain’t had her prejudice set about him one way or the other. Unlike everybody else, I think I can trust her with this secret.

On our way to the meet spot, the watermill in Sector Four, I fill her in on Jack an his New Eden rebels. How Bram, with the help of his woman Cassie, had carefully an slowly put together a little gang. How they’d hardly got started when he got killed in action. How Jack took them over. How him an me work together.

Mercy don’t say much. She nods from time to time. At the end of my piece she says, The heartstone burns for this man. Am I right?

Well, I says, you ain’t wrong.

The mill’s in a dip of a valley, on the shouty little river called the Don. The old waterwheel creaks its way around, like a crone with a bone complaint. The mill’s greenly damp an ancient. The millstone rumbles inside. A white cloud of flour billows from a window.

Jack ushers Mercy up the steep stone steps. Ages of feet have worn ’em to a friendly sag in the middle. She holds tight to the rope handrail. I follow behind an glance at the river below. It’s so clear I can see the stones of its bed. They gleam pale an round as faces. Long strands of weed stream around them like hair.

My heart slams in my chest. I grab the rail. Lean over to look. There. In the water. Lyin on the riverbed.

The current combs weed through her long wild hair.

My mother.

In the water.

Dead.

She lies, whitely dead, in her bed of pale stones.

Eyes closed.

A smile on her lips.

Like she froze while she dreamed of roses.

An I lie with her.

Me.

I’m there.

Cradled in her arms,

asleep.

Flushed with life,

a smile on my lips,

clasped in my dead mother’s arms.

I rear back. My breath chokes in my throat.

Jack’s halfways through the door. Wavin me on, wonderin why I’m laggin. C’mon, would you? He sees my face. What is it?

With a gasp, I look agin. Pale round stones pave the waterfloor. Weed strands wave an weave. She’s gone. I’m gone. Not jest gone, never there.

Are you okay? he says.

I nod.

When the dead grace my days as well as my nights, it’s a sign of my unquiet soul. But then … maybe I’m jest tired. I didn’t sleep. That’ll be it. That’s all it was.

Saba, says Jack. They’re waitin.

I straighten up. I try a smile. I’m comin, I says.

The great millstones have groaned to a halt. Their rumble still shudders in the air. Inside, a heavy mist of fine white flour drifts an sifts to the floor. As we pass through the millroom, we send it whirlin an dancin. Jack leads the way up a ladder in the corner, through a hatch to a room in the rooftop of the mill. It’s small an seems crammed full of bodies. But there’s only six of ’em. We three make it nine. The floor’s bin cross-boarded so’s the flour cain’t sift through the cracks. A breeze trickles through a open window.

There’s Vain Ed, the miller. Dusted flour-white from curls to boots. Handsome as george an none too bright. A mousy Steward couple, Manuel an Bo, with the quartered circle brands on their foreheads. Skeet, a runaway slave with a scarified face. His eyes fly to the pale skin that collars Mercy’s neck. They seek out the long double x brands on her arms. You can jest make ’em out through her threadbare sleeves. Skeet an Juneberry—JB fer short—seem to be together. I’d say they’re ages with Mercy. Skinny an tough with long hair matted into ropes, they smell of sweat an earth, of the woods they roam in secret.

From Jack, I know that JB’s one of the last resisters of the Clearance. Some fled, like the folk at the Snake River camp. Some got killed fightin fer their patch. A few, like JB, took to the forest. Treedogs, they’re called. Livin high among the branches, movin swiftly on foot to make trouble fer the Stewards who stole their land. Most of ’em’s bin caught. Like Slim’s friend, Billy Six, spiked to a post.

An there’s Cassie. I bin dreadin this. Meetin her. I should of done it ages ago. Right away after Bram got killed. Instead I shirked it like the coward I am. I don’t dare glance her way. She’s perched at a open window with her arms crossed tight. But I feel her eyes burnin holes in me.

I speak my piece. The same kinda things I said to my Free Hawks. How New Eden’s built upon fault lines. If we got them to shift, DeMalo’s whole project would come crashin down.

Kill DeMalo, his whole project crashes down, says Jack.

Jack an me disagree on this point, I says. I don’t say he ain’t right. But that way leads to bloodshed. Not jest DeMalo’s, probly all of ours an then some. Look, what I mean is … at the moment we’re actin like DeMalo’s power is somethin solid, like a mountain, to be chipped at with guns an bombs. The fact is, everybody in New Eden is the mountain. He stands on top of it.

Explain that, says Jack.

Okay, I says. What does DeMalo need to carry out his plan to heal the earth? One. He needs labour. The Stewards to work the land. The slaves to build the roads an do the work that breaks backs. Two. It’s a plan fer the generations, not jest a few years. That’ll take a steady stream of labour. So the Stewards hafta produce children an keep on producin them. Three. He needs the slaves an the Stewards to stay here an do what he decrees without question, so he needs the Tonton to enforce his will. He needs a helluva lotta people. Every single one of ’em makes up the mountain. His power depends on them completely. If they decide not to be that mountain no more, he’ll have nowhere to stand. He’ll fall. If even one bit shifts, the whole thing starts to weaken.

Jack listens. He takes it in, every word. I cain’t tell if he’s surprised that this is where my thoughts an feelins was leadin me. What fell into place as I rode alone from the bunker to Starlight Lanes. So clearly that I believe it’s bin whisperin in me fer some time, only I was too busy fightin to hear it. I cain’t tell what he thinks. It’s a far cry from a plot to kill DeMalo.

As fer the rest of ’em, they stand aginst the walls, not lookin at me even once. With closed faces an probly closed ears. They couldn’t make it more obvious. They’re only here as a favour to Jack. Their loyalty lies with Cassie. Her man, Bram—their friend an leader—is dead thanks to me.

If I don’t win her over, I got no chance with them. An I need their insider knowledge of the Stewards. But right now it don’t look good. Not at all.

Cassie stares at me with naked despisal. Unlike the rest, she ain’t took her eyes offa me. Not fer a second. She fills the air with such black hatred that I feel it closin around me. As I speak, I can feel myself gittin redder an redder in the face. I start to think how stupid I sound. How stupid I must look. My lips dry an I git more an more unsettled till I’m fumblin an mixin my words. An it ain’t jest me. They’re all shiftin, uncomfortable. Vain Ed elbows open another window.

Jack warned she’d be rough on me. I espected it. Figgered I even deserve it. But still. I ain’t never bin flayed by ill will before. An I’m shocked at the change in her. Grief’s clawed her soft round face. Gnawed the smile from her lips. Her pretty brown hair used to hang loose an wavy. Now it’s scraped back, knotted tight, like a punishment. The circle brand on her forehead stands out starkly.

You got the power, I says. He can only rule if you let him. If you do what he says. If you stay obedient. D’you see?

I stumble to a finish. To thick silence.

Cassie curls her mouth in scorn. Fault lines, she says. Mountains. The mountain crumbles, DeMalo falls, an we all join hands an dance in the sun. Who’d of thought it could be so easy?

All right, I says. Tell me this. What’s the one thing about this place that bothers the Stewards most? One of DeMalo’s rules that people don’t unnerstand or believe to be unjust. They might not say it, but they think it, feel it in their hearts to be unfair.

Silence. Mercy’s eyes go around the room. They stop on Bo, the plain-faced Steward girl. She’s lookin sidewise at her man. Manuel with the wispy beard. They bin huddled together, eyein me like I’m some creature they bin warned not to approach. I only jest now notice—Bo’s got the tiniest start of a baby belly. She looks at me.

They take away yer baby, she whispers.

The attachment of parents to their child is powerful, says Mercy.

So if you was to … take yer baby back from the Pathfinder, from the babyhouse, I says, that would be a powerful thing to do. That would start to shake the mountain. Any mother an father doin that is bein disobedient to the Pathfinder an New Eden. They’re takin a risk. A big one. Whoever does it is gonna have fear. But their desire fer their child will be greater than their fear. Once they have their child, an they’ve conquered their fear once, they’ll start to lose their fear. He controls by fear. If people don’t fear him no more, his power goes.

I wait fer a moment. To let all that sink in. To see if I can tell what they’re thinkin. Have I got to them? Moved them?

Mercy an me’s gonna go on a recce to the babyhouse tonight, I says. We’ll take a child if it looks possible. I’m askin fer yer help. You know the girls here. We need yer inside knowledge.

Cassie laughs. A dry huff of breath, nuthin more. Us? she says. Help you? Work with you? What, you mean like Bram did? Becuz that turned out so well, didn’t it?

I’m sorry, Cassie, I says. I am most truly sorry.

She says, Yer truly sorry an he’s truly dead an his body’s still unner the rock where you left it. An I’m paired with a new man, a stranger who sleeps in my bed an watches me with hawk eyes an that’s how it goes in New Eden.

Vain Ed says, A woman whose man disappears fer no reason is suspect.

Cassie speaks with tight care. To her skirt, to her sleeves, as she tidies what’s already perfectly tidy. You took everythin from me an now you want more, she says. You’ve had all yer gonna git from me. I let Bram go with you to rescue yer sister. He never came back. An you didn’t even have the decency to come an tell me he was dead. I had to hear it from a stranger. From Jack. At least he knows how to treat people right.

Cassie never liked me, never trusted me, an she never made no bones about it. Now she hates me. Bitterly. I’ve known the lash of her tongue before, but I’m feelin a bit sick from this onslaught. I glance to Jack. He gives me a what-can-I-do? look. Mercy clasps her hands knuckle-white on her lap. She cain’t speak up fer me, I gotta take this on the chin. But her eyes steady my spirit.

That was wrong of me, I says. I should of come. An I meant to, but—

But what? Cassie’s on her feet. She squares up to me. What? You had somethin better to do? she says.

No, I says, of course not. I’m sorry, Cassie, I should of come to you as soon as I could.

Well, you didn’t, she says. You can pack yer I’m sorrys an take ’em to hell with you.

If I was you, I’d probly hate me too, I says. But hangin on to blame won’t bring him back. It’s no way to honour his sacrifice.

Sacrifice! she hisses. You dare talk to me about sacrifice! She lunges an belts me. Slaps my face so hard that my head snaps back.

Jack takes a step. Mercy half-rises. I stop ’em with a hand. Cassie stares aghast, eyes wide. She didn’t plan to do that. Ed’s arm goes around her shoulders. His jaw dares me to touch her. My cheek flames an stings. I’m seein stars. But I welcome the hit an the pain. I’ll take them any day over the knife of her eyes.

I’m glad I didn’t hafta meet you in the Cage, I says. I deserved that. Please, can we try to work together? I hold out my hand. She looks at it. She looks at me. She’s set her face back to shun.

I am sorry, I says. I cain’t ever repay what I owe you. I cain’t ever make good yer loss, much as I want to. All I can do is try not to waste the chance that Bram gave us. I need yer help to do that. An, fer now, I believe you need mine. Please, Cassie. Let’s try this. If it works like I hope, you’ll all be able to carry it forwards on yer own. You won’t need me.

She goes back to the window to sit an stare out at nuthin. She’s finished with this. With me. That means the rest of them’s done with me as well. I read on Jack’s face what’s all too clear. My past mistakes damn me completely. What made me think I could win Cassie over? Comin here was a mistake. An maybe a dangerous one. If her hatred is hot enough to betray me.

I says, DeMalo is weak, but he believes he’s strong. Yer strong, but you believe yer weak. I nod a farewell. Let’s go, I says to Mercy.

As Jack lifts the hatch door, she gits up from her stool. She hesitates, then holds out her hand to Skeet. After a moment, he takes it. We never did git innerduced, she says. My name is Mercy. My home is Crosscreek. A sweet green valley that sleeps in the sun.

Her words shift his gaze into memory. He says, quietly—like he’s lyin in a bunk in a slave hut in the dark an he don’t want the guards to hear, like a chant he says inside hisself, over an over—he says, My name is Skeet. My home’s a cart. It’s got yellow wheels an a horse called Otis to pull it.

Shared trials forge instant bonds. Mercy lays her other hand atop their clasped ones. He does the same.

The girl ain’t perfect, my friend, she says. But she’s cut from rare cloth. I’ve pledged myself to her, come what may.

He says, JB here’s bin treedoggin fer a year or so. I bin with her a few months. We spoil a well, fire a hay barn, but they always come lookin fer us, beatin the woods with dogs. Sometimes they find one of our gaffs an fell the tree. We ain’t gonna git no faster, eh Junie B? Someday, maybe soon, our luck’ll run out. An they jest repair the damage an carry on an … funny, somehow I never stopped to ask myself if there might be another—maybe a better way.

When he’s done, there’s a awkward silence. That streamed outta him as if him an Mercy’s the oldest of comrades. Like they’d bin in the middle of a long conversation.

Maybe it’s time you did, says Mercy. Maybe it’s time we all did.

Their hands part. I move towards the ladder. I’ll go first an guide her down safely.

Hey Bo, ain’t there a girl went into the babyhouse a few days ago? Manuel speaks quickly, a bit too loudly. You know the one. I think she’s nearby the new turnpike.

I pause.

You mean that—oh, what is her name? Bo frowns an snaps her fingers. Dian, that’s it.

Vain Ed scratches his head. Naw, he says, that don’t sound right to me. Cherry?

Y’know, now I’m thinkin it could be Eula, says Manuel.

You three wouldn’t fool a child with that hopeless play actin. Cassie turns from the window. Her eyes meet mine in wary truce. Her name’s Rae, she says. She’s fifteen. She started havin pains a month before her time. I know her. I think she might go along with it. I’ll come with you.

Thanks, I says.

What about Hunter? says Bo. You won’t git out at night without him noticin.

Cassie’s lips tighten. He’s partial to a drink or five, she says. So long as I’m back by dawn.

My heart takes heart. The air starts to breathe. I don’t chance a handshake, but I give Cassie a small nod. She may never fergive me. We may never be friends. She may never entirely trust me. I don’t see all that as so bad. The only thing that matters is she’s willin to try an work together.

We’ll go as soon as it’s dark, I says. You an me an Mercy an Jack.