Already someone had planted flowers at its base, and they bloomed as white as the stone.
“Mallick will be on and off base for the next couple weeks. You know how to send for him or for me if you need to. And I need those weekly reports, detailed.”
“We’ve been over it, Fallon. Detailed weekly reports. Anything unusual or noteworthy that comes out of scouting missions, you hear asap.”
“They’ll attack again. The PWs, and very likely government or military out of D.C. Watch the skies, Colin.”
She let out a breath. She had to trust he was ready. She’d already sent Taibhse and Faol Ban back to New Hope. Now it was time for her to join them.
So she turned to him. “Listen to Mallick. Learn from him. You’re in command—but you’re not president.”
He grinned at her. “I like fighting better than politics.”
“Clearly, but don’t forget the politics. Train them hard, Colin.”
She looked around the base, at the soldiers and recruits on the training grounds, the volunteers working the gardens, tending the livestock. Laughter filtered out of the house they’d outfitted as a school, and the scent of fresh bread wafted out of another they’d designated as a base kitchen.
More than a base, already more, she thought. A community in the making.
“Train them hard,” she repeated. “Within the year, we take D.C.”
“We’ll be ready.”
She turned to him, hugged him hard. “Keep them safe,” she said, then swung onto Laoch. “You’re still at least a little bit of a jerk, but I love you anyway.”
“Same goes.”
Laoch spread his wings. She flew up over Arlington, circled once, then soared toward New Hope.
She wanted the flight rather than the flash, and used it to make maps in her head of the land below. Too many roads not yet cleared or in impassable disrepair. What had been cities, what they’d called suburbs, developments of houses, centers for shopping remained largely deserted. The land itself had taken over in the two decades since the Doom so grasses grew thick and high, trees spread like weeds. Over them, through them, wildlife roamed in herds and packs, and she imagined the rivers and streams below busy with fish and waterfowl.
With their mad mission to eradicate magickals, to enslave, the Purity Warriors had done little to nothing to tend the land, to build. Raiders raided, and left destruction in their wake. What government there was seemed focused on rule, and the battles in the major cities, and still, she knew, on their work to contain and restrain those with powers they refused to understand.
She wouldn’t make the same mistakes, and wouldn’t aim her focus so narrowly.
She veered west, studied the hills, the forests, waterways, fallow, overgrown fields, and the buildings—houses, vast shopping areas, and service centers.
Twice she took Laoch down for a closer look when she saw signs someone had settled. A broken trail, a few houses in good repair, a cow in a pen.
She marked the locations in her mind, continued home.
When she landed, Ethan gave a shout, and with Max, his closest companion, and a pack of dogs, raced over from the farm.
Under a tattered, faded ball cap, Ethan’s hair was damp with sweat. Both boys smelled of horses and dogs and dirt. Max, gangly like his father, waded through the dogs to lay a hand on Laoch’s neck.
“We were watching for you,” Ethan told her. “Mom said you’d be back today.”
“We’ve been helping Dad and Simon with the haying.” Max gestured out to the field and the oft-repaired baler. “But they said we could come when we saw you up there. Your mom made cherry pies, and mine’s going to pick sweet corn.”
“We’re going to have a cookout.” Already Ethan hefted her saddlebags. “Because you’re back.”
“Sweet corn and cherry pies?” Fallon dismounted. “When do we eat?”
Because nothing pleased them more, she turned Laoch over to them. They’d cool him down, groom him like a king.
She hauled her bags in through the kitchen.
Pies with glossy cherry filling, bold red through the golden latticework crusts, bread, fresh and scenting the air, wrapped in cloth on the counter. Wildflowers in a jug, peaches ripening in a bowl, potted herbs thriving on the windowsill.
After the battle and the blood, the work and the worry, here was home.
And here, she realized, was what she needed to bring to the world as much as peace.
She dumped her bags—they could wait. Now she opened the fridge, found another jug. And grateful, filled a glass with her mother’s lemonade to wash away the heat and thirst of the journey.
Travis came in, nearly as sweaty as Ethan.
“Saw you coming in.” He grabbed another glass. “Had to finish something up, but I wanted to come by. Is everything okay with Colin, with Arlington?”
“He’s good. The base is secure.”
“Haven’t had a chance to talk to you really.” He glugged down lemonade. “We’ve made good use of some of the stuff you sent back—got a couple houses furnished and supplied already. The mayor and council and committees are working to help the people who wanted to come here settle in.”
He grabbed a peach—just underripe as he preferred. “We had the funerals last week. It was rough.”
“I should’ve been here.”
“Everyone knew why you weren’t. We’re going to have a memorial. The council voted on it, since we always have the annual on the morning of the Fourth, but we’re going to hold one for the placing of the stars. Now that you’re back.”
“It’s good. It’s right.”
“The last of the wounded were discharged a couple days ago. Most are already back in training. It was rough,” he repeated, talking quickly through it as he bit into the peach. “But taking three bases—and, Jesus, Arlington—then your broadcast after?”
With a satisfied head shake, Travis gestured with the peach. “Arlys printed it out, word for word, and posted it. Anyway, the mood around here is strong. In the last week, we’ve gotten fourteen more recruits from the outside. Mick just sent word they’ve pulled in eighteen. Eighteen.”
“Duncan?”
“He’s pretty remote, but Tonia told me—and she’s going to meet up with you as soon as she can get away—he had seven last count. And one’s a doctor, or was a—what’s it—intern when the Doom hit.”
“That’s good news, and we’ll need to go over all this. But now—”
“Here it comes.” He held up his hands, one holding the half-eaten peach. “First, we were a little busy dealing with the deserters, and keeping the wounded and medicals from getting overrun.”
“Which is why you should have let me know.”
“Busy,” he repeated, “and pretty much under control. Plus, in the thick of it?” On a shrug, he bit into the peach again, the underripe fruit snapping crisp as an apple. “Mom was like—wow, just wow. I’ve never seen her in full battle mode, you know? The thing was, she had Dad out, like in a trance so she could treat the bullet wound. These PWs break through the lines to try to get to the mobiles and escape, and Mom’s zap! Zap, pow!”
To demonstrate, he jabbed one fist, then the other. “Seriously, she took out three of them before you could fucking blink. And I’ve gotta say, Rachel’s no slouch. Grabs a scalpel with one hand, smashes this dude with an elbow, then slices him open. Then Hannah?”