Original Fiction -- Dust and Water, Part III
Story Master Post is Here
Art by skylar0grace is Here
Mix by pekori is Here
Type: Gen with undertones of femslash
Word Count: 25,000
Rating: R
Warnings: strong language, violence, character death, "offstage" M/M noncon sex
Part I // Part II // Part III // Part IV
Part 6
The next several weeks were exhausting for Aren. As the youngest and newest inmate, he was also the strongest and most energetic, and he found himself put to use for any number of chores and projects.
Once the tin had been purged in the river and was safe to handle, he was put under the charge of Hugh, the old man with the spectacles. Aren spent the better part of a hot day bending the metal with his bare hands to meet Hugh’s exacting specifications. This resulted in three new ovens, and the extra baking capacity meant that Aren was finally able to get enough to eat to quell the perpetual rumbling in his stomach.
Of course, to keep up with the increased baking, there was need for more flour, so following the manufacture of the ovens, Ailith “assigned” him to the old ladies, where he was made to grind teero into flour. The backlog of tubers took several days to get though, and every night when he staggered back to his barracks, his back and shoulders ached and trembled. His knees protested at the strain of bending over the makeshift trough, putting his full weight onto the handstone as he moved the granules to and fro. Though the old women still made their breads every morning, in the afternoons they shifted toward baking hard, cracker-like breads that looked as if they would keep for a lifetime.
Naturally the work in the fields continued, but the pace of harvesting had increased, and there was little push to replant a new field. Not only were the tubers dried and saved for grinding, but the stems were processed as well, being set to soak in a pool of standing water until they softened and could be broken to reveal the fibers within. Running these through a cluster of wickedly sharp spikes removed most of the chunks of stem, as well as a fair amount of the skin on Aren’s knuckles. The fiber that wasn’t used for spinning into thread was processed further by Hugh and Shay into thick sheets of highly textured paper that, unlike the cheap paper of the broadsheets, didn’t degrade immediately in the sun and contamination.
He had been taught to spin under Marit’s tutelage, and like everybody else, was expected to fill idle minutes with making thread. Marit set him a quota of so many spans per day, but he often missed it, falling exhausted into his bunk each night. Marit never scolded him, but took his lumpy, uneven thread every morning and returned to her hut with it. She spent her days in her barracks patiently weaving the lengths of cloth they used to protect themselves, working the thread through others that hung from her ceiling. They were weighted at the ends by sundry items which Ailith had brought back for her, including several cut-glass perfume bottle that cast little rainbows onto the walls of her room when the sun shone upon them.
Sometimes Ailith took Aren with her to the City, showing him the network of shelters she had created at great physical and mental effort. Sometimes they brought back more useful and tradable items, and sometimes they created more shelters. She showed him how to clear the pollution away and anchor the clear area to an object, and how to endure the pain and fatigue of carrying the agony back to the river where it could be purged away with mortifying consequences. Even working together, their explorations were slow. By the time that they reached the end of the network, they had scarcely enough time or physical strength left to create the newest link in the chain.
In the meantime, when the old man was not fussing with the ovens, he was hunched over a little table in the shade, his spectacles next to him, peering through a magnifying glass and writing tirelessly on their homemade paper. Shay never left him, but sat always by his side, speaking to him in a low voice. If Aren passed too close while they were working, they would stop and stare silently at him until he grew uncomfortable and left. He had the distinct feeling that they were keeping secrets from him, and he did not like secrets.
Gervais grew more erratic after his liquor had run out, going through spells of trembling and cursing as the supply wagon’s schedule grew more and more infrequent. One day he took some of the teero, cannibalized some metal equipment, and made a crude fermentation vat. Impatient for alcohol, he didn’t take the time to make a proper still, but that did not stop him from getting drunk on the crude material after he had filtered off the pulp through a stolen length of Marit’s cloth.
His drunkenness could be heard through the camp, but none of the others seemed inclined to confront him. Aren itched to deal with him, but he was never asked to, and at the end of the day he was usually too tired to think of anything other than sleep.
Matters came to a head one evening when he was too tired to sleep. Aren paced in his barracks, which were now somewhat more protected than they had been when he first arrived. Without warning, his door flew open, and he flinched at the surprisingly loud noise, throwing up his arms to protect his face from the swirls of dust that entered. Gervais fell into the room, clutching a bottle of his homemade liquor to his chest as he lay on the floor and reached up to play with the little flashes of dust that hovered over him.
“You’re drunk again,” Aren accused, stepping over him to close the door.
“Of course. What the fuck else is there to do around here,” Gervais slurred.
Everyone else seems to keep busy,” Aren replied, concerned at the level of Gervais’s intoxication. In his experience with hedonistic junior officers, puking usually wasn’t far behind at this point.
“They think they’re going to escape,” Gervais waved the bottle erratically, little splashes dripping out of the leaky cap and falling over his hand.
Escape. The word hit him hard. Of course, that’s what they was trying to do. Extra teero and more ovens for more bread, more linen for wrappings, Ailith out every day in the city making more shelters. All of them, even the old people, were in on it….
His surprise must have showed on his face, because Gervais stared at Aren for a moment before breaking into uproarious laughter. “They never told you?” His laughter quieted and he wiped the tears from his eyes. “Priceless.”
“Get the fuck out of my room,” Aren snarled, reaching down to grab him by his shirt front.
Gervais’s head lolled back limply. “Stupid old people. When they first got here, we could have taken out the supply wagon. Goucher is an idiot, and even the old people could have distracted the soldiers while I killed them.” Gervais cracked his knuckles at the thought, and the bottle rolled away from him, leaving a boozy-smelling trail on Aren’s floor.
“They’re not going to take me,” Gervais continued as he managed to bring his elbows under him to support his wobbling upper body. “They’re gonna leave me here to rot. C’mon… You and me. The next wagon. We hate each other, but we can do this together. Then we take the wagon out over the desert, go our separate ways….“
“Right back into the thick of the Imperium,” Aren finished. “And just how would you escape from that?”
“Escape?” Gervais stared at him in confusion. “I don’t want to escape. I want to rejoin my fellows and kill more of you bastards.” Gervais staggered to his feet, clutching at the wall for support.
Aren grabbed Gervais and dragged him to the door. “I lost a lot of comrades to your sort,” Aren growled, opening it. The winds were picking up now in the fading twilight, and Aren could hear echoes of them on the desert side of the river. “You’re nothing but a spineless coward and a terrorist. If you had any balls you’d fight openly. I faced a lot of rebellions, and I have more respect for the people who stood out in the open and fought knowing they were dead already, than I do for you.”
“I’m not a terrorist!” Gervais yelled as he struggled in Aren’s grip, managing a lucky blow to the side of his head that sent Aren back against the doorframe. Gervais fell to the floor again from the recoil as he yelled back, his face purple with anger. “I’m a patriot!”
Aren spat on the floor next to Gervais. “A patriot who killed almost as many of his own people as he did the enemy! You disgust me.” Aren grabbed Gervais by the front of his shirt, throwing a punch that left his knuckles throbbing and Gervais’s nose streaming blood. Aren dragged Gervais across the floor, and kicked him down the stairs, feeling a rush of satisfaction as he felt at least one rib crack under his boot.
Gervais finally lost control of his stomach and vomited onto the sand in front of Aren’s barracks. At least it wasn’t on the steps; Aren supposed he ought to be grateful for that. Their altercation apparently drew the attention of the rest of the camp, because even over the murmur of the winds, he could hear a few doors creaking open. Shay rushed out from the shadows and knelt next to Gervais, wiping at Gervais’s nose with his sleeve. Ailith was there, as well, arms folded, looking down at the filthy, groaning man with disapproval.
“Take him back to his barracks,” she told Shay. “Everyone turn in for the night. It’s getting late.” There was the sound of shutting doors, and Shay pulled Gervais to his feet and dragged him off. “We’ll talk tomorrow,” she said, looking directly at Aren. “Goodnight.”
Aren waited until she had disappeared back into her hut, then entered his own, closing the door behind him and stuffing rags into the chinks for the night. The bottle of moonshine still lay on his floor, dripping and stinking.
* * *
“So,” asked Aren bluntly as they fought their way back from the City the next day, finally breaking the silence that they had held for most of their trip. “Why are you here?”
Ailith was leading, and she was silent for so long that he thought she hadn’t heard the question. “Depends upon your point of view. According to the judge that sentenced us at the trial, we were ‘illegally assisting resident incarcerated non-citizens’.”
Aren thought for a moment, trying to parse what that meant, until they burst into the next shelter, just outside the gates. “And from your point of view?” Aren reached down to readjust the wrapping over his shoe.
“We were saving children.” Ailith stood motionless, a distant look in her eyes as she stared off to the horizon. “Sometimes we smuggled them out of the ghetto, gave them new identities and placed them with sympathetic Tyrunian families. Sometimes were were able to get them over the border to safety in one of the neutral countries. Other times we hid them within the Imperium itself.” After taking a drink she continued. “There were about a dozen of us in our group. We all had permits to enter the Itavan Quarter. The sisters and I were doctors, and Hugh was an apothecary. Marit kept our records, and the entire Temple took it upon themselves to find new homes for the children to go to.”
“You smuggled them through the Goddesses’ Temple?” Aren looked at her in surprise. “The one right in the main square, right across from the Tribunal building?” He gave a low whistle. “That took balls.”
She looked at him severely before indicating that it was time to move on, gesturing him to take the lead. “I’m not certain that I consider having balls to be a compliment. At any rate, Shay was the last one we were able to rescue, and he spent several days in the Temple while we tried to find out why his foster family never arrived. It turned out that the family that was to take him betrayed us to the Imperium, and a unit came for us at the Temple during the Festival. Which was when Gervais’ resistance cell set off their homemade bomb, and everything went to hell. We were all there at the time, and only the six of us survived.
“In addition, all our records went up in the fire.” Her face clouded with the memory. “Those records were everything. We were going to find the children we placed after… After the Imperium fell.” She looked almost apologetically at Aren.
“You’re certain the Imperium will fall?” The question intrigued him. He’d never considered the possibility. “It’s been strong for a long time now. All our enemies have been crushed. Why would it fall?”
“Haven’t you studied your history? All empires fall, eventually. The bomb blast in the square meant that Gervais and the few survivors of his ‘freedom cell’ were arrested at the same time we were. We were put on trial, sentenced, and brought here. We bribed the guards to let us stay together.” Her expression betrayed a flicker of disgust.
“And Gervais ended up here, too?”
“That we didn’t plan on. Three of the priestesses were killed in the blast as well, so you can imagine that Marit has no love for him, as noble and forgiving as she tries to be. All right. Your turn, though I think I’ve guessed most of it.”
He looked at her sharply. “Am I that transparent?”
“No, if anything you’re a hard nut to crack. But you spilled your guts on your first night here, in the river after you tried to escape.”
“Oh. Right.” He paid rather more attention to his feet than was necessary, and finally said, “Well, like you. A little. They called it ‘aid and comfort to the enemy’, but really, all I did was give an old Itavan woman some bread. She reminded me of my grandmother.”
“Seems a harsh punishment for compassion.”
“It got complicated. Some of the bastards in my unit had it in for me. Then word got around that I was part Itavan and…” he shrugged.
“But you had the option of shortening your sentence if you were able to extract details of your fellow prisoners’ contacts and network.” Ailith grabbed a handful of fabric between his shoulder blades and pulled him to a halt. “And they’ll be coming back soon.”
He froze, running through his options in his head. He could take her down, and he knew the way back from here. The old people were no threat, only Marit might be able to fight him. But what then? There was still nowhere to go that he knew of, except - “Were you going to leave me behind when you tried to escape?”
Her grip grew stronger, the cloth tightening around his throat. “Gervais has been talking, I see. He’s pretty astute for a drunkard.” She released him, and gave him a none-too-gentle push to get him walking again. “I’d hoped the drink would dull him enough to keep him clueless. We hadn’t decided yet,” she continued as they walked on, slogging against the thickness. “The others didn’t mind. The ladies, in fact, are quite fond of you. I was actually the holdout. I wasn’t convinced that you weren’t going to betray us. I’m still not, actually. Which is why you will be coming with us. I’m not letting you out of my sight, or anywhere near where you can find your way back to the Imperium. What we’re protecting is too precious.”
It took a moment for him to digest what she had said. “Nowhere near the Imperium? Where are you…?”
He turned to her as they climbed the last hill before the river, ready to fight his new capture, when they were interrupted by the sound of gunfire and the distorted, muffled sounds of frightened yelling.
Part 7
“No!” Ailith pushed past him, stumbling and sliding up the sand dune toward the noise. Aren stumbled after her, grabbed her ankles and pulled her down onto the sand with a dull thud. Ignoring Ailth’s muffled complaint of outrage, Aren kept pushing her down, using his body weight to restrain her as he wriggled on his belly to peer over the top of the dune.
The guards had returned, but there was no sign of the supply wagon. A pair of soldiers held Gervais between them while a third beat him with the butt of his firearm. “Try to take us out, will you, motherfucker…” the soldier snarled as he drew his rifle back to land another blow upon the motionless man. A short distance away, a fourth soldier lay on the ground, the handle of a makeshift knife protruding from his chest. The doors to all the barracks had been wrenched open and there was no other sign of life in the camp.
“Hurry up, take care of him,” one of the soldiers holding Gervais said through clenched teeth. “Those were the orders. Go up and down the river, dispatch the prisoners. There’s not much time, and we’ve got three more camps to do.” His eyes unfocused slightly, appearing to be listening to something inaudible to the rest. “HQ says troops are moving in to the capital now, and they’re trying to keep the ’Porters alive as long as they can for us.”
“Shit, this place is killing me!” the soldier beating Gervais replied. “Whose bright idea was it to send us in here without shielding?” Another heavy blow landed on Gervais’ already pulpy face. “But I want to take care of this one personally. I lost my brother in the Festival bombing…”
“Well, make it fast,” barked the first. “It hurts like hell to hold on to him. Damn, but these people are contaminated! It’s a wonder they’re not dead already.”
Aren wriggled further up the dune to better see and hear what was happening. “Stay down,” he whispered back to Ailith. “They’ll leave soon and then we can…” He stared blankly at the empty space where she once had been. Pulling himself a little higher to peer over the top ridge saw Ailith stumbling and falling down the far of the dune. At least, he noted, she had the good sense try try not to splash as she entered the water.
“Stupid, stupid….” He muttered, looking about for how he was going to get down unseen.
There really wasn’t a way to sneak unseen back into the camp. Their best bet was to have waited and stayed hidden until the soldiers left. Then, they could have returned in safety and seen to the injured, but it was a little too late for that now. Shrugging helplessly, Aren flung himself down the dune after Ailith, veering off to the left to put some of the barracks between himself and the soldiers.
Fortunately, the soldiers’ backs were to Ailith, and Gervais was too far gone to notice anything, which allowed them to get closer than they might have otherwise. The soldier conducting the beating heard the approaching pair first, and turned in time to grin cruelly as he lifted his rifle to his shoulder. As Aren dove behind his barracks, he heard a shot, followed by a metallic thud, then a peal of coarse laughter. Aren peered around the corner of the building to see that Ailith had picked up one of the ovens and thrown it at the soldier but it hadn’t been enough to deflect the shot. She staggered backward as a red patch formed and spread across the right side of her chest.
“I’ll take care of this one,” the soldier said, lowering his rifle and advancing upon Ailith. “You two go flush out the other one.”
Aren grinned cunningly. Fair enough. He’d be the decoy. He hoped Ailith could take care of herself for a few minutes, because he was about to have his hands full. The first thing he needed was a weapon. There wasn’t much metal around here. The ovens, the tools, Gervais’ still…
“Gotcha, motherfucker…” A shot rang by Aren’s ear, and he rolled under the barracks next to him, quickly passing through to come out the other side. He’d forgotten that the contamination made him completely obvious to anyone who was not acclimatized to this area. He might as well be wearing a limelight for all the good hiding would do. All right then, finesse was out. It looked like his only option was to use brute force and his bare hands. It was one thing to do a clean kill from a distance; at least there was subtlety, and even an odd sense of artistry in it. But hands-on killing, where you had to feel your enemy’s skin beneath yours, hear his last gasps as the life drained from his eyes… That was something else completely.
That was exhilarating.
Aren ran headlong around the corner, completely surprising the soldier on the other side, who had obviously expected to chase Aren around the compound for a while longer. The one weapon Aren did have was the residual magic still streaming from his body from their earlier trip to the city. Aren flung himself at the soldier and wrestled him to the ground, grinning at the other man’s gasp of pained surprise. “Got you, motherfucker,” Aren gloated, putting all his weight on the fallen man’s back and pressing his face into the sand with both hands.
In any other situation, Aren knew the soldier might be able to throw him off and continue fighting, but being sandwiched between the pain of the sand and Aren’s body the soldier was at a distinct disadvantage. It was still a slow, brutal death, however. The soldier wriggled under him, struggling vainly against suffocation until with one final twitch he was still. Aren waited a few more moments until he was certain the other man was dead, then took the soldier’s firearm and knife. He checked the revolver - one bullet left. Tugging at the limp corpse, he yanked off the belt of extra ammo. Aren shoved a handful of bullets in his pocket, filled the pistol’s chambers, then strapped the gunbelt and knife on under his robes.
One down, two to go. Aren could either go to them, or wait for them to come to him. In a waiting game, he would win. They couldn’t long withstand the poisonous climate of the camp without help, and from what they said earlier, it sounded as if they were in a hurry. But there had been a gunshot earlier, and if Ailith had been hit… He needed her to show him the way through the city. Since she’d obviously been planning this for while, she must have a way to do it. And the fact that she had taken him with her, acclimatized him to the City, showed him the way to make shelters and how to avoid the glowing souls, meant that she needed him for something, too. Like it or not - and his anger ensured that he did not right now - they were stuck together for a while.
Cocking the pistol, he walked boldly back to where he had last seen Ailith. Only one soldier was there, and he had his back to Aren as he forced Ailith backward toward the river. Aren began to run toward them when a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye stopped him. He whirled, but only made it partly around before he heard the whirr of a bullet scream by his face and thud dully into the barracks behind him.
Aren’s grin widened as he felt the thrill of bloodlust kick in. He raised the pistol and fired off one shot, knowing before the bullet even left the gun that it would hit its mark. The soldier’s face had time for one blank look of surprise before a red circle exploded in the middle of his forehead and he fell lifeless to the sand.
Satisfied, Aren turned his attention once again to the last soldier, who by this time had driven Ailith into the water. Her frantic splashing sent brilliant drops of water flying up into the bright sunlight, contrasting sharply against the roiling murkiness on the other side of the river.
If the sound of Aren’s shot hadn’t given him away, the look on Ailith’s face as she saw him fire would have. Aren’s grip on the pistol tightened as brought his weapon around to cover the last soldier, who had wrapped an arm around Ailith’s neck and had his pistol against her head. “Aren-fucking-Krasny. Colonel Rorik’s little ass-boy. Are you going to actually try and save her?” he called scornfully. “You’re a bigger traitor than we thought.” Aren could see the soldier’s finger tighten on the trigger. “Doesn’t matter. I’m under orders to shoot you all.”
Whether by accident or design, Ailith stumbled and fell in the river, pulling the soldier off balance with her. That moment of distraction was all Aren needed. Dropping his firearm on the sand, he leaped at the soldier and sent the both of them plunging below the surface of the river. After a few frantic moments of scrambling and splashing, Aren landed a a solid blow on the soldier’s face. Stunned, the soldier was able to offer little protest as Aren clumsily dragged him to the opposite bank.
As the soldier left the protection of the water he screamed in agony as the full force of the poisonous magic hit him. Aren wasn’t too happy about it either, but at least he was swathed in his linen robes. Aren had no time to draw this fight out any longer, and with a quick gesture, grabbed at the other man’s head and snapped his neck.
Aren looked back at Ailith, who was still sprawled in the river, her face pale and eyes wide as she stared, motionless, at him. The water around her swirled red as the current carried away the blood flowing from her wounded shoulder. Aren shrugged and came back to her, breathing a sigh of relief as he reentered the water. “Don’t go all hysterical on me,” he growled. “You’ve seen death before.”
She took a breath at last, and closed her eyes. “I have,” she replied quietly. “But I’ve never grown accustomed to it.” She pulled aside her clothes to look at the wound and grimaced. “And I’ve never seen anyone I know well actually do it.”
He didn’t reply as he walked out of the water to retrieve the pistol. “All right.” He opened it, refilled all the chambers, and snapped it shut. “We’re getting out of here. You’ve obviously planned this for some time, so show me what you meant to do.” He held the weapon in such a way that it might or might not have been a threat.
She ignored him, pulling herself out of the water and walking past him as if he hadn’t spoken. He followed her at a distance, passing the body of Gervais, lying still and quiet on the ground. A quick check showed that he was dead. He found the sisters under their ramada, surrounded by the strewn remains of their ovens and grinding equipment. They lay as they had fallen, their eyes wide and glassy, gnarled hands still clutching at each other for comfort.
Aren jumped and the hair on the back of his neck stood up as a wild cry shot across the sands. He recognized Ailith’s voice and ran across the compound toward it. He paused in the doorway to Marit’s hut, knowing what he would find, but reluctant to look. At last, he cautiously peeked in.
Marit lay on the floor in front of her loom, her blood spattering the white, newly-made cloth that still hung from the ceiling. Ailith rocked wildly as she knelt next to Marit’s body, face blank with grief as she continued to wail. She suddenly fell silent and began to speak in a low voice. Aren had to step nearer to hear her. “She knew her death was coming. She saw it. She knew death was coming for all of us, but not when or how. We never told the others, I made her promise not to…”
Ailith lunged for the cloth, yanking it down with an angry cry. “Marit said we couldn’t fight against it, but I tried! She just didn’t know when…. I thought I could get us out before it happened….”
She buried her face in the cloth, sobbing as her words of grief grew more and more incoherent. Aren reached down and gave her a rough shake. “Come on, snap out of it. We’re still alive. Now get up and come on. Sooner or later they’ll realize that the patrol isn’t going to check in.”
Ailith lifted her head from the cloth and looked up at him, her eyes still dull and distant. “She never saw you, though. It might come down to you.” She snorted. “Wouldn’t that be something.” She grabbed his arm and pulled herself up. “Come on. First we have to take care of the bodies.”
“We don’t have time.” He ground his teeth in frustration. “I tell you, patrols have to check in at specific times, or else they are considered lost and people come looking. I can guarantee that they’ve already missed at least one check-in.”
“I’m not going to leave her - them - like this!”
“We have no choice!” He grabbed at her arm and started to pull. “Nothing’s here to disturb them, anyway.” It was true. Scavengers were unable to live in this area, and not even flies were present to molest the bodies. Only sun and sand, and time, would slowly cover and care for them.
She yanked her arm out of his grip. “You can give me two minutes.” Turning her back to him, she bent and lifted Marit by the shoulders, dragged her to her bed and lifted her awkwardly onto it. Smoothing Marit’s hair and clothes, Ailith sat gently on the edge of the bunk holding her hand for a moment before placing it gently on her chest She leaned forward, closed Marit’s eyes and whispered something in her ear before spreading the new cloth over her for a shroud.
“Come on,” she said aloud, and it was her turn to pull Aren toward the door. He allowed himself to be dragged to the old man’s barracks. Hugh had been shot as he sat at the table, the pen still in his fingers. Shay was slumped in the corner with his face to the wall, the back of his head soaked with blood.
She snatched up the blood-spattered paper under Hugh’s hand, looked at it, then began to paw frantically through the rest of the items on the rough table. “Where are the rest…” She grew more agitated, nearly shouting in her frustration. “Where are the rest?”
As she searched, Aren turned the boy over. “Ailith…” There were several pages roughly folded and tucked into Shay’s shirt, covered with the meticulous handwriting of the old man. It was divided into columns, with lists of names and commentary. He began to skim it. Pallaton Zafer (Greneyle Province; parents Tonial and Merana) -Temple 3rd Snowmonth; Yprian Orphanage 6th Snowmonth…..Gillen Trimbur (unknown family, name from note pinned to clothes) - Itavan Qtr., died 8th Windmonth greatpox….Mansai Freeny (parents Markel and Meta)- Kerrigan’s caravan for delivery to Whitehorse Jaheen 12th Windmonth ….
Ailith rushed over and let out a victorious cry, snatching them up and quickly glancing them over before shoving them into her own clothes. “All right. We need bread and water, enough for at least a few days.”
“I thought you said your records had been burned.”
“They were, but Shay was bored one day and read them.”
“Ah.” The boy’s eidetic memory. That explained it.
He followed her to the baking area, taking the empty pack she shoved in his arms and filling it with linen-wrapped loaves. “We’ll need a lot more water. What are we going to carry it in?” Aren asked.
“Extra water skins,” she replied without missing a beat, opening a small storage box under the hut and pulling out half a dozen.
“Skins?” he didn’t know whether to be amused or outraged. “You hid them deliberately from me!”
“Otherwise you might have tried escaping again. And then you’d be dead.”
He took one and turned it over in his hands. Something about it looked familiar. “Hey!” He was definitely upset now. “That’s my leather vest!”
“It made two good skins. Now come on.”
They rushed to the river and filled them, then threw the packs on their shoulders. “Well?” she asked, looking at him strangely. “Feel like fighting fate?”
“Huh?”
“Never mind. Come on.” And with that, they crossed the river and went back into the City for the last time.
Continue to Part IV