Kared's Children - Chapter 19

That was something he was beginning to understand about her: she’d spent so much time alone, maybe she just didn’t realize how difficult she was. But, so far, whenever he complained, she’d changed her behavior. That was a remarkable flexibility, and it said a lot about who she was.

He’d tell her that, some day, maybe, though probably not, if they made it through this trip alive.

. . .

She was dreaming of home and of someone who loved her. Who it was, she wasn’t sure. Not her father. Not her mother, Lia. Not anyone she’d known as a child, but someone else, someone for whom she just was beginning to realize she might share those feelings. Then she awoke, and was staring at the dawn as it broke across the Keike, purple and red, the grasses still dull, the rock to the north massive and still.

She looked at Damon, who was lying, his hands behind his head, among the thick grass. He was awake, but hadn’t noticed that she was.

It was the first time he’d awoken before her. She couldn’t stop the thought: probably because she hadn’t spiked his food. Her guilt returned, but she dismissed it. A mistake: that’s all it had been. If not a mistake, a necessary act. At any rate, done. He’d complained to her, justifiably, and she had promised not to do it again.

She tested her voice. "It’s beautiful, isn’t it?"

He turned his head to look at her. "Yeah, it is." He observed her a moment. "Did you just wake up?"

In answer, she sat up and fluffed her hair. "We should go soon." Her voice was scratchy, but stronger.

He sat up, too. "Okay."

She looked at the small pile of roots they’d gathered the night before. "You should eat now. We won’t find food where we’re going."

Damon stood and stretched, then put on his tunic. "I have a pocket. I can take a couple."

"Take the Ken. It keeps."

Damon removed the Ken, three fat, round roots, from the pile. Only two fit in his pockets. He offered her the remaining one.

She shook her head.

"You need to eat," he said. "If we have to go over a day on only one root each, you need to build up as much reserve as you can."

She considered what he’d said, then took it.

He picked up a black, twisted root. "What’s this called again? Egg?"

She nodded.

"The only two edible roots that grow on the prairie?"

"That’s right."

He brushed the root primly with his fingers, then looked at her. "What?"

"I didn’t say anything."

He ate it; she watched him eat it. They’d had it the night before, and it tasted like nothing so much as plain bread, but he gobbled it as though it were an exotic delicacy, and then cleaned and ate another, standing above her and watching the rocks while he did it.

She waited. The Ken he’d given her was in a pocket. She saw how hard he was trying to convince himself he wasn’t worried. She knew he needed to be worried. They’d need him worried while they traveled within the dry stone walls. The Ela was a dangerous, dead place. She didn’t like it.

But she didn’t look at its rocks. She didn’t need to. They’d be inside them soon enough.

. . .

After he’d eaten his fill of Egg and Ken, they closed up their gear and secured their packs with a few simple moves, then crossed the bare field to enter the thick rocks. As they neared the opening she’d indicated last night, Aleda waved a hand and said a word; a dim grey smudge appeared on the stone to their right.