Kared's Children - Chapter 9

She touched his shoulder. Instantly Damon awoke, chilled, to stars and the early morning darkness. He sat up, more than anything wanting to go back to sleep. In his dreams Southland, Bedelia, Borja were still alive. But this new girl, the Elown, seemed ready to leave. She crouched near a fire, a small one she must have built while he slept.

"Once you wash your face or whatever you do," she said, "Come sit by the fire. This will warm you."

Damon pushed himself from his thin blanket and stumbled toward the brook.

. . .

Aleda watched him go. She’d been up most of the night, preparing the alabears she’d caught, skinning them, slicing them, and hanging them to dry in the smokehouse Xeter had kept not far from his hut. She’d also stored a few thin strips of meat in her pack, less than she might have taken, because the city boy was squeamish at the sight of meat. She understood what might have caused him to become that way. She’d found him amid the dead. She didn’t know what kind of knowledge he had about the land, but even without the meat she’d be able to keep him fed until they reached the Badlands. With luck, the journey across the Graywillow territory would take only a few days.

She’d never had a quarrel with the Graywillows, at least, not one that she hadn’t resolved. Unfortunately, resolution with the Grays meant killing them. And though they were stupid and clumsy, they also were big and terribly strong. Luck in the past didn’t suggest she’d be lucky in the future.

She hoped the city boy could fight. The old one had said that the heir to the sword was a guard. She’d found guards to be almost as clumsy as Grays.

But the old one had possessed a lot of confidence in Damon. He’d told her he was a jewel waiting to be polished. "Not unlike someone else I once knew," he’d said, meaning her. He’d called her a knocknut so many times: hard on the outside, soft within. But few people knew her inside: her sister, Xeter. Maybe one other. She didn’t expect Damon ever to know.

But he’d saved Xeter’s life. For a while. The thought made her weaken. She could not weaken; she’d have to be strong. They had a long journey ahead of them that promised much struggle. That struggle would begin when Damon saw Rowan.

She had seen the city and still couldn’t believe what she’d seen. She hadn’t liked it so much; despite what the city-dwellers thought, it was dirty and crowded. But she couldn’t refuse to acknowledge its splendor-its high towers and thick walls, its pendants, brightly painted, its energy and noise. Rowan had been crawling with life. Now, though, it was rubble. Rubble over which lay the thick stink and silence of death. She hoped the scavengers would have moved on by now. She didn’t want Damon to see the birds or wolves picking at the flesh of those he had known. It was a shock for her to see what had happened to it, and she hadn’t lived there.

Damon came toward the fire and crouched across from her, in his usual spot. He crossed his arms.

"The fire will help," she said.

"Thank you for building it."

He looked like a child. She felt herself weaken again. She had to be strong. She gestured toward the prairie rabbit strips that were cooking on a rock in the fire. "They’re done. Eat. We won’t eat again until mid-day."

"No, thank you."