Roar (Stormheart #1)(62)
“They’re what Bait was before he found us, before he snuck his way into Finlagh. In the wilds, most towns don’t last long. A few years, maybe a decade if they’re exceptionally lucky. The towns patch themselves up as best they can after every storm, but sometimes, there’s not enough left to patch up. People of the wilds are superstitious. They won’t rebuild on the bones of a town the storms saw fit to wipe away. So instead, they pick up and leave, looking for somewhere new.” He thought for a moment, his lips twisting. “You might have heard them called the Scourge.” He hated that word, as if people in need of help were a plague to fear. He would have expected reasonable people to understand that in the wilds, they all stood an equal chance of their homes being destroyed. Storms were not selective. They did not search the inhabitants of the town before striking. They raged, uncontrolled and indiscriminate, and they destroyed anything in their path.
Roar shook her head. “I’ve not heard that name either.”
He climbed out of the Rock and dropped to the ground, Roar on his heels. He pulled down the metal shade over the glass dome of the Rock, blocking the contraptions inside from curious eyes.
They walked out to meet the group as they approached. From what he could tell, it was mostly women, children, and a few older teens. An old woman spoke for them, her hair nearly white and her skin like parchment that had been folded too many times. Her knowledge of the common tongue was shaky, but eventually he understood that their town had been leveled two weeks past by a twister. Those who survived left together, but the dozen or so before him now were all that remained of those survivors after two weeks wandering the wildlands.
Locke led the woman to the row of plants that Jinx had grown near the camp. Bushes of berries and herbs and a few root vegetables. He told her to take whatever they’d like. Jinx could grow more in a moment. If the old woman thought the small garden on the side of a broken road was odd, she did not comment, too grateful for the additional food. As he spoke with the old woman, Roar wandered among the people, checking to see if anyone needed medical attention. For the next hour, the remnants stayed at the camp, some washing up in the river, others just resting their feet, and too many searching out Roar for her help bandaging cuts and scrapes, including several young men who did not look injured to Locke at all.
He was relieved when she retreated back into the Rock.
The matriarch began gathering her people, readying to set off once more, and Roar came darting out of the Rock, a piece of parchment in her hands. When she came to a stop next to Locke and the old woman, she thrust out the parchment. “Here,” she said, offering what appeared to be a crudely drawn map of central Caelira. She had marked Pavan, Finlagh, Falmast, and Odilar to the south. She’d roughly sketched various rivers and forests and other identifiable features, and then she’d drawn large x’s over a few regions and circled others. It took him a moment of looking to realize what she’d done. “In case you cannot find a town to take you in. The areas I’ve crossed out are known for frequent storms, but the places I’ve circled are less active. I cannot guarantee safety, of course, but maybe this will give you a better chance.”
The woman’s hands shook as she took the map, and she took Roar by the nape of her neck and kissed each of her cheeks. She whispered something Locke couldn’t understand, and Roar answered in that same purr as when she’d spoken Taraanese. When Roar reached beneath the collar of her tunic, tugging off the crystal he’d given her, he stepped in.
“No,” he snapped. “That is yours. You keep it.”
She lifted her chin and narrowed her eyes. “If it’s mine, then it’s mine to give away.”
Sighing in exasperation, he pulled her aside, crystal still swinging from her fist. “I know you want to help, but if we gave away our wares to every person who needed something, we’d never have them to sell.”
“I’m not trying to give one to every person. Just to her.”
“And then what will you do without a crystal? Contrary to what you seem to believe, Jinx does not have unlimited magic. It takes time and a great deal of energy to make those, and then she must rest between, all while still doing her other duties as a hunter.”
“I’ll pay for another for me.”
He scoffed. “I’m not going to let you pay. You’re one of us.”
“Then I’ll buy one for her,” she said, jerking her chin toward the matriarch.
He opened his mouth to argue, but could find no more words. He would get her another crystal. Roar still saw good in this world, and he wished he could do the same. He pitied the remnants, but he knew the wilds too well to think they could walk this land on foot for long and survive.
But maybe Roar was right, maybe this would give them a fighting chance. He waved a hand for her to proceed, and then tried not to hear that worn and weary old woman weep between words of gratitude.
The matriarch hugged and kissed Roar upon the cheek several more times before the group continued on, dust rising around their feet as they searched for safety where there was none.
*
They stayed two more days camped in that spot, and Roar watched the others with envy as they went off to hunt. She spent her days training. Locke watched as she ran and swam, shouting orders and questions as she climbed up and down trees until her hands were scraped raw. He made her leap from branch to branch as if there were a flood below her and her only means of escape was to scurry like an animal through the canopy. She gritted her teeth through it all and imagined dunking him in the river again to give herself an added boost of determination.