Grace unravels the note, tilting it so only she can see the contents. He leans over and catches a glimpse, recognizing the same code as the note he and Wren intercepted in Askala. He fights a wave of disappointment, realizing he’d have liked some news from home.
“Looks like it’s for you,” he says. “I can’t read that code.”
Grace shoves it in her pocket. “It’s just letting us know that a supply boat will be on its way at the next opportunity.”
“I didn’t think the Outlands had supplies to spare,” says Hawk. “Things are pretty barren over there.”
“Oh, it won’t be much,” says Grace. “Just fresh water mainly, which of course we won’t need anymore, and some hares. Maybe a bag of flour if we’re lucky.”
“What do you send them back in return?” Hawk asks, the sheer size of the clearing around him suddenly making a whole lot more sense. “I’m guessing timber.”
Grace gives him a tight-lipped smile, her lack of response her answer.
“You do realize if you keep doing that you won’t have any timber left to give, don’t you?” Hawk shakes his head, unable to believe what he’s just discovered.
“It’s a temporary arrangement.” Grace waves her hand like he’s worried about nothing “As soon as we’re self-sufficient here, the trade will stop. And thanks to you and the Seekers, that might be sooner rather than later.”
Hawk squats back down and finishes up with the jar of seeds. Sam would see that as progress—less wood being cut down to be shipped to the Outlands.
“I’d better get back to Corbin,” she says. “Thanks again for what you’re doing here.”
“If you see Sam, could you please ask her to come and find me?” he asks, feeling desperate but not especially caring. His need for Sam trumps any other emotion right now.
“Sure.” Grace smiles warmly at him. “He’s a good son, my Raiden. He’ll take good care of her. You don’t need to worry.”
Hawk grimaces. He can’t exactly tell Grace that this is precisely what he’s worried about.
“Can I ask you a question?” Hawk keeps his distance, studying her face for a reaction to what he’s about to ask.
“Ask me anything,” she says.
“Who’s the Falcon? And how did he die?”
Grace drops her smile for only a heartbeat but it’s enough to tell Hawk she knows exactly who he’s talking about.
“I have no idea.” Grace shrugs as she takes a few steps backward. Then, giving him a wave, she turns and walks away at a much faster pace than when she’d arrived.
Now Hawk doesn’t know what to think. On the surface, everything is going so unbelievably well. They’ve been accepted and allowed to stay. And they’re slowly sharing their knowledge with the Newlanders. So, why is every one of his senses on high alert?
Grace knows who the Falcon is and she’s not prepared to tell him. And Corbin had clearly sent her here to find out how well-equipped Askala is to defend itself.
Which reminds him of the stage one mentioned in the note found in Askala. These things all must be connected.
If only Sam were here, maybe they could figure it out.
SAM
Sam doesn’t like being in the Round House. The smoke is cloying. The light is terrible. And the people smell.
None of those help her lingering nausea after drinking the water. Thankfully, one vomit and she was relatively fine. Although, after spending almost an hour in here, her stomach has joined her lungs’ demand to leave.
But sacrifices need to be made, so Sam remains where she is, nodding as Corbin continues to talk.
“We came here with nothing,” he booms. “And look at what we’ve built.”
Destroyed, thinks Sam.
There’s a round of grunts from the others here. From what Sam can tell, that’s their role—agree with Corbin.
“We have enough timber to build hundreds of huts.” He points his spear at the fire in the center of the hut. “To stoke the fires of our Commander’s legacy.”
Sam has to cover her wince as she avoids glancing at the statue of Ronan. Corbin’s talking of creating more scars that will have to be healed. The world is still trying to recover from the previous generation’s devastation.
Corbin’s unwashed chest expands. “No one has died of starvation.”
Possibly malnutrition.
“And no one has taken it from us.”
This has Sam frowning. “Others have tried to take it?”
Corbin frowns at Sam as if she’s not supposed to talk. But that doesn’t make sense. Why would he have invited her here if he didn’t want to hear what she had to say?
“Of course they have,” he grunts. “We have what they want.”
“Food,” someone calls from the other side of the hut.
“Enough timber to build all the shelters and fires and weapons we want,” says another.
“Water,” says Raiden, who’s sitting beside Corbin.
Sam smiles at him. “You’re welcome.”
Big and strapping, Raiden already has the promise of his father’s physique and presence. Sitting on his father’s right hand side, he’s undoubtedly being groomed as Corbin’s successor. Making friends with him was a lucky stroke of fate.
Corbin scowls. “As you and your friends found out—if you come to take what is ours, you will be met with our spears.”
There’s a round of thumping feet and said spears. The protectiveness of what the Newlanders have is apparent.
“It’s a good thing we came to give then, isn’t it?” Sam says cheerfully.
She doesn’t point out that Corbin and his village don’t own the Newlands. Mother Nature is everyone’s and no one’s at the same time.
His understanding of that will come later.
Right now, they need to build connections. Common ground. Sam needs to find the spark of goodness that’s buried under Corbin’s smelly, hostile exterior.
“I could tell you all about the Pinus rhizophoras species you’re using to build your huts, if you like?”
The same timber that’s burning only a few feet away, making Sam sweat and probably start to smell as much as the others around her.
Corbin acts as if she hasn’t even spoken, staring intensely at the statue of Ronan.
Sam reassesses. Maybe biology isn’t Corbin’s personal area of interest. That’s too bad. If he understood the fascinating species he’s destroying, it’s possible he’d think twice about doing it.
She leans forward. “You’ll be glad to hear we brought soapwort seeds, Corbin. When the leaves are chopped and boiled, the liquid can be used for cleaning all manner of things.”
Like bodies.
And the few clothes these people wear, neglecting to protect their skin from the harsh sun.
This time, Corbin turns to Sam slowly. His gaze, hard and angry, settles on her. She almost flinches but doesn’t back down. Maybe hygiene isn’t a priority for him either, but she’s determined to find something they can connect over.
Raiden clears his throat, and Sam glances at him. He shakes his head imperceptibly. Sam leans back a little, the memory of Corbin’s hand slamming across her face flashing through her mind.