“Squire,I’ll bloody well carry you if I must.”
He didnot answer.
“What’syour plan, exactly?”She stood above him, tall as a tower.“You gonna leaveyourself here, to die of thirst and sun?Gonna let the jackals gnaw you apart?That ain’t a good way to die.”
“Idon’t know.”
“You don’tknow what?”
He didnot answer.
“Isaac,come on.It’s only a little further.It ain’t a big task.”
Hegazed up at the remnants of the rocky ceiling.The sun was waning, and the airwas growing cold.
“Fine,”she said, slinging off her pack.“We’ll camp here, then.”
“Z.Please.Just go.”
Shebegan digging through her pack, unfurling her bedroll in a few waving shakes.
“Justleave me here,” Isaac said.“You know how to survive.You know the dunes.Youcan still—”
“Shutup.I’ll allow—”
“I’lljust slow you—”
“I’llallow,” she said, “that you’re beaten to shite.I am too, as it happens.We’ll camp here, exposure notwithstanding,and you’ll get up come the dawn, and I’ll forgive you for speaking suchnonsense.”
Helooked at her.She did not look back.
Zariawent through the motions of setting up camp.Time passed.Isaac laid on theconcrete, covered in sand and filthy clothes.As he listened to the sound ofZaria’s labor, he felt as if there was a hole in his chest, and the emptinesswas gnawing through him, and whatever life he had left was draining away, likeblood from an open wound.
“Isaac.Can I show you something?”
Hedidn’t answer.When she nudged his shoulder, she was sitting beneath a tent,preparing another broth in the bowl of his stone mortar.In addition to thewater and salted meat, she was breaking off clods of hardtack with a fewstrikes of her fist, stirring them into the improvised mixture.
“Haveto apologize,” Zaria said.“This whole journey of ours, I’ve been watching yougo at the hardtack like a rat chewing through brick.A flat tooth like youwould crack his pearls that way.”She kept stirring the soup with a finger.“You gotta let it soak a while.Gets it soggy.Notgood, mind, but better than rock.”
Isaacwatched the meat and hardtack float in the bowl, like it was something far awayand of no concern to him.
“Now,look.It’s already a bit better, isn’t it?”
Piecesof the hardtack were beginning to turn soggy, creating a dull listless texture.
Zariascooted a little closer.“Ponder that, a moment.You take this nastystuff—something hard and tough—and you do a little work, make a few changes,and, suddenly, it’s not so bad.Almost good, even.”When he didn’t respond, sheadded: “It’s like one of them metal forks.”
Heblinked.“A what?”
“Metalforks.Like, say, in a book.I know you’re good with those.”
“I’mstill not following.”
“Ametal fork!You know, like, one of them children’s tales about a dragon eatingchildren and such, when it’s really about the greed of a lord.It says onething, but means another.”
“Oh,”Isaac said.“Yes.You mean a metaphor.”
“Right.That’s what I said.”
