Ykka sighs. “Yeah. So through really is the best way.” She eyes Esni, who must have been arguing for around. Esni sighs, too, and then shrugs, conceding the argument.
You face Ykka. “Whoever made this forest, if they’re still alive, has the skill to precision-ice half the comm in seconds, with little warning. If you’re determined to go through, we’re going to have to set up a watch/chore rotation – the orogenes with better control, I mean, when I say ‘we.’ You need to keep us all awake tonight.”
She narrows her eyes. “Why?”
“Because if any of us are asleep when the attack comes” – you’re pretty sure there’ll be an attack – “we’ll react instinctively.”
Ykka grimaces. She’s not the average feral, but she’s feral enough to know what will likely happen if something causes her to react orogenically in her sleep. Whoever the attacker doesn’t kill, she very well might, completely by accident. “Shit.” She looks away for a moment, and you wonder if she doesn’t believe you, but apparently she’s just thinking. “Fine. We’ll split watches, then. Put the roggas not on watch to work, oh, shelling those wild peas we found a few days back. Or repairing the harnesses the Strongbacks use for hauling. Since we’ll have to be carried on the wagons tomorrow, when we’re too sleepy and useless to walk on our own.”
“Right. And —” You hesitate. Not yet. You can’t admit your weakness to these women, not yet. But. “Not me.”
Ykka’s eyes narrow immediately. Esni throws you a skeptical look, as if to say, And you were doing so well. Quickly you add, “I don’t know what I’m capable of now. After what I did back in Castrima-under… I’m different.”
It’s not even a lie. Without really thinking about it, you reach for your missing arm, your hand fumbling against the sleeve of your jacket. No one can see the stump, but you’re hyperaware of it all of a sudden. Hoa didn’t think much of the way Antimony left visible tooth-marks on Alabaster’s stumps, it turns out. Yours is smooth, rounded, nearly polished. Rusting perfectionist.
Ykka’s gaze follows that self-conscious touch of yours; she winces. “Huh. Yeah, I guess you would be.” Her jaw tenses. “Seems like you can sess all right, though.”
“Yes. I can help keep watch. I just shouldn’t… do anything.”
Ykka shakes her head but says, “Fine. You’ll take last watch of the night, then.”
It’s the least desirable watch – when it’s coldest, now that the night temperatures have started to dip below freezing. Most people would rather be asleep in warm bedrolls. It’s also the most dangerous time of the watch, when any attackers with sense will hit a large group like this in hopes of catching defenders sleepy and sluggish. You can’t decide whether this is a sign of trust, or a punishment. Experimentally, you say, “Can I have a weapon, at least?” You haven’t carried anything since a few months after you left Tirimo, when you traded away your knife for dried rose hips to stave off scurvy.
“No.”
For rust’s sake. You start to fold your arms, remember you can’t when your empty sleeve twitches, and grimace instead. (Ykka and Esni grimace, too.) “What am I supposed to do, then, yell really loud? Are you seriously going to put the comm at risk because of your grudge against me?”
Ykka rolls her eyes. “For rust’s sake.” It’s so much an echo of your own thought that you frown. “Unbelievable. You think I’m pissed about the geode, don’t you?”
You can’t help looking at Esni. She stares at Ykka as if to say, What, you aren’t? It’s eloquent enough for both of you.
Ykka glares, then scrubs at her face and lets out a mortal sigh. “Esni, go… shit, go do something Strongbackish. Essie – here. Come here. Rusting walk with me.” She beckons sharply, in frustration. You’re too confused to be offended; she turns to go and you follow. Esni shrugs and walks away.
The two of you move through the camp in silence for a few moments. Everyone seems keenly aware of the danger that the stone forest presents, so this has become one of the busier rest stops you’ve seen. Some of the Strongbacks are transferring items between the wagons so as to put essentials onto those with sturdier wheels, which will be less heavily loaded. Easier to grab and run under pressure. The Hunters are whittling sharpened poles from some of the dead saplings and branches near the camp. These will be positioned around the perimeter when the comm finally sets up camp, so as to funnel attackers into kill zones. The rest of the Strongbacks are catching naps while they can, knowing they’ll either be patrolling or made to sleep on the outer edges of camp when night falls. Use strong backs to guard them all, says stonelore. Strongbacks who don’t like being human shields can either find a way to distinguish themselves and join another caste, or go join another comm.
Your nose wrinkles as you pass the hastily dug roadside ditch that is currently occupied by six or seven people, with a few of the younger Resistants standing around to do the unhappy duty of shoveling dirt over the results. Unusually, there’s a brief line of people waiting for their turn to squat. Not surprising that so many people need to evacuate their bowels at once; here in the looming shadow of the stone forest, everyone’s on edge. Nobody wants to get caught with their pants down after dark.
You’re thinking you might need to take a turn in the ditch yourself when Ykka surprises you out of this scintillating rumination. “So do you like us yet?”
“What?”
She gestures over the camp. The people of the comm. “You’ve been with Castrima for the better part of a year now. Got any friends?”
You, you think, before you can stop yourself. “No,” you say.
She eyes you for a moment, and guiltily you wonder if she was expecting you to name her. Then she sighs. “Started rolling Lerna yet? No accounting for taste, I guess, but the Breeders say the signs are all there. Me, when I want a man, I pick one who doesn’t talk so much. Women are a surer bet. They know not to ruin the mood.” She starts to stretch, grimacing as she works out a kink in her back. You use the time to get control of the horrified embarrassment on your face. The rusting Breeders obviously aren’t busy enough.
“No,” you say.
“Not yet?”
You sigh. “Not… yet.”
“The rust are you waiting for? The road’s not getting any safer.”
You glare at her. “I thought you didn’t care?”
“I don’t. But giving you shit about it is helping me make a point.” Ykka’s leading you toward the wagons, or so you think at first. Then you move past the wagons, and stiffen in surprise.
Here, seated and eating, are the seven Rennanese prisoners. Even sitting they’re different from the people of Castrima – all of the Rennanese being pure Sanzed or close enough not to matter, bigger than average even for that race, with fully grown ashblow manes or shorn-sided braids or short bottlebrushes to heighten the effect. Their prangers have been put aside for the moment – though the chains linking each prisoner to their set are still in place – and there are a few Strongbacks standing guard nearby.
You’re surprised that they’re eating, since you haven’t made full camp for the night yet. The Strongbacks on guard are eating, too, but that only makes sense; they’ve got a long night ahead of them. The Rennies look up as you and Ykka approach, and that makes you stop in your tracks, because you recognize one of the prisoners. Danel, the general of the Rennanis army. She’s healthy and whole, apart from red marks around her neck and wrists from the pranger. The last time you saw her up close, she was summoning a shirtless Guardian to kill you.
She recognizes you, too, and her mouth flattens into a resigned, ironic line. Then, very deliberately, she nods to you before turning back to her bowl.
Ykka hunkers down to a crouch beside Danel, to your surprise. “So, how’s the food?”
Danel shrugs, still eating. “Better than starving.”
“It’s good,” says another prisoner, across the ring. He shrugs when one of the others glares at him. “Well, it is.”