Horde (Razorland #3)(22)

“What?” he demanded.

“I just wondered what you saw out there and what the trip from Salvation was like.”

“Awful. I had no idea if you were safe, if I’d ever see you again. And this time, I didn’t even get a kiss good-bye.”

“That’s not what I meant.” He had to know I was looking for concrete information about the terrain and the number of Freaks.

“Forget it,” he said. “The colonel is waiting on my report.”

It wasn’t hard to read his mood. “That’s not the only reason you’re hurrying off.”

Stalker eyed me, his mouth flat. “I get it. You’d rather have him, broken, than me whole. If that didn’t clarify my chances with you, nothing would. But you can’t have what you want either, Deuce. I can’t be your friend, feeling like this. Give me some time, and then…” He shrugged. “Maybe. No promises. Just … leave me be.”

“Take care of yourself,” I said softly.

He strode off without looking back, shoulders straight. At least his leg’s healed. Part of me was glad it was over—that he’d finally given up. The rest felt bad that I’d hurt him and given him the wrong signals out of ignorance. Sighing, I went to the mess hall, where they were wrapping up dinner; I was among the last to be served, then I spotted Momma Oaks and the rest of my family across the sparsely populated room. I wove through the tables and sat down with them. They all looked a little better than they had the night before.

“Have you heard anything?” I asked, regarding their official status.

Edmund shook his head. “There’s a council meeting this evening to decide our fates.”

“They wouldn’t just turn us away,” Rex said, but he didn’t sound as sure as he wished.

I didn’t reply since the enclave made a practice of exactly that. In all the years I lived there, they’d made one exception—for Fade—and only because his will to survive fascinated them, the way he’d lived feral and alone, bereft of protection or support. That implacable core made me admire him more, even as I promised myself I’d always be there to fight for him. It was time someone did.

“It sure is strange here,” Momma Oaks whispered then. “They don’t pray before meals, did you notice? And the women go around dressed like men.” She aimed a look at me, as if she’d just realized something. “Is that how you felt when you first arrived in Salvation?”

I smiled at that. “Yes. But if I adapted, you can, too. I don’t think people here mind that you have your own customs.” But that brought a question to mind. “How come you don’t know more about the other settlements? I can tell none of you have ever been here before.”

My mother looked shocked at the idea. “Of course not. Longshot handled all contact with outsiders. It’s been our policy for hundreds of years to limit our exposure to worldly ways.”

“It was supposed to keep us safe,” Rex whispered.

Edmund’s shoulders slumped a little. “Yes, we believed that by conforming to the covenant the original settlers made with heaven and by living plain, simple lives, God would spare us from the trials that plagued others.”

“So … Longshot kept Salvation from being … sullied?” I wasn’t sure that was the right word, but my parents nodded, so I must be in the vicinity.

“He acted as a buffer, handled all of our trade runs and when trappers and traders came to town, he did business with them outside the walls,” Rex added.

That much, I remembered; I just hadn’t known why. “But if you were so worried about bad things getting in, why did you let the four of us stay?” Before, I just thought they were kind folks in Salvation. I hadn’t realized they were so insular. Now I was genuinely curious.

Momma Oaks answered with a quote from the book Caroline Bigwater used to haul around. “‘Train a child in the way he should go, and when he is old he will not turn from it.’”

“You took us in because we’re young,” I guessed. “You thought we’d learn your ways.”

Edmund smiled at me. “That’s not why we welcomed you, Deuce, only the official town policy on strangers.” Then his face fell. “Or it was.”

“Don’t think about it,” my mother whispered.

Drawing in a breath, Edmund rubbed Momma Oaks on the shoulder. “We can build a life here, if we’re welcome. Surely even soldiers need good shoes.”

I glanced down at the worn, poorly made boots that most of the men were wearing. “I’d say they’re crying out for you here.”

“I’d like to apprentice and learn the family trade,” Rex said hesitantly. “I understand if you won’t take me back, though. I’m pretty old to start from the beginning and I’ve likely forgotten what little you managed to cram into my head, before—”

Edmund smiled. “Of course, I’m happy to have you. That only applies if I can find a workshop here, of course.”

Momma Oaks was scrutinizing the green shirts and trousers that everyone wore. “Their clothes are in rags. I wonder if they know how to weave or sew, here. I could set up a shop, too.”

It was good to see them making tentative plans, imagining how they could build. Their hope renewed my own, fortified my determination to find the place I belonged. So far, I liked Soldier’s Pond better than I’d enjoyed Salvation—not that I had wanted the town destroyed. They took us in and kept us safe to the best of their abilities, and I’d always be grateful.