“Yes, you will,” Rosalind says.
Jolie opens her mouth again, then closes it, hands clenched at her sides. The fight drains out of her, leaving something quieter and more dangerous behind.
“This is not over,” she says.
“No,” Rosalind agrees. “It’s beginning.”
She looks around the tent, meeting each gaze in turn.
“This discussion will be reported to the full council. Adjustments will be made. Safeguards debated, but the direction is set.”
Her eyes return to me.
“You go to investigate,” she says. “Find what is there. See. Listen. Return to us with as much information as you can safely gather. First and foremost survive. Second, verify if this city that will be exists and we can be led there.”
No one argues. The tension doesn’t vanish, but it does settle. Reshaping itself into something harder and more deliberate. A plan is forming. And whether we’re ready or not, Tajss is no longer waiting.
3
TALIA
My heart is pounding and my head spinning as I leave the Council tent. I pause outside to take a deep breath, leaning my head back to stare at the broad open red sky. The walls of the valley cast shadows across the camp, keeping the temperature bearable.
A deep ache in my bones tells me I’ll need a does of epis soon. The almost magical plant adjusts my human physique to tolerate the incredible heat. I know, fundamentally, that it is doing things to my genetic structure, but what I don’t know. My skills in the sciences are for teaching grade school. A broad understanding but no in depth knowledge.
That should bother me, but it doesn’t. What’s the alternative? We all saw what happened to those who refused to take epis. It seems like a lifetime ago since the Human First movement took a stand on their principles. If only we’d known then that all we had to do was wait them out.
Personally the children make everything worth it. The crash to the planet and all. No, not the loss of so much life, but we arehere and I refuse to dwell on the past. These kids, they’re the future and I will lay my life down for them.
Even if it means going into the desert. My heartrate has settled into something resembling normal and it’s easier to breathe. The next thing is to find out more about this one who is going to escort Rverre and me. I shake the malaise off my limbs and begin looking.
It takes some time but I find him where the camp thins. Not quite on the perimeter, but not fully inside it either. He’s at a narrow point of the canyon watching in what looks like a combination of watchfulness and withdrawal. Close enough to respond if something goes wrong. Far enough to breathe.
Korr sits on a low rock, one knee bent, forearms resting loosely against his thigh. The open desert stretches behind him in rippling gold and shadow, but he keeps his body angled toward the stone, back half-shielded, as if the land itself is something that might strike if he turns the wrong way.
He isn’t patrolling which seems strange. I assumed he would be, though I don’t know why.
For a moment, I consider turning back. I don’t need this. The council meeting left my nerves raw and my thoughts tangled enough. I should be organizing supplies. Laying out the lessons for the children and making lists that feel like control even when they aren’t.
I should do those things, but instead I step closer. As I approach I hear a sound. It takes a moment to recognize the soft scrape of a blade against wood. Measured and deliberate. He’s carving.
The stick in his hands is dark and smooth, polished by years of handling. Not a weapon. Not decorative either. It fits his griplike something meant to be held often, turned over and over. He works carefully, blade angling shallow as he cuts a single line, then pauses to study it before continuing.
I clear my throat. He doesn’t look up.
“You shouldn’t be out here alone,” he says, speaking softly.
“I’m not,” I say. “You’re here.”
That earns me a brief, assessing glance. His gaze flicks over me before settling back on the stick.
“You’re not armed,” he says.
“I’ve noticed.”
“Then don’t wander.”
“I didn’t wander,” I reply. “I walked.”
