It’s depressing.
And the thought of him experiencing yet another disappointment makes my chest quake.
“It’s a scudding lie, Asher. You know that, right? The gods deserted us, and they’re never coming back. No combination of stars in the sky is going to bring green back to these wastes. All those signs of fertility—comets and star showers appearing at certain times? They’re meaningless. It’s just us trying to make sense of this rusted life, grasping for something—anything—to make us feel less alone. The gods might as well be yelling at us to scud off, and we’re still putting faith in them. It’s pathetic. And then for parents to feed all those lies to their kids? It’s cruel. I wish my ma never told me about the gods. I wish she—”
I stop abruptly, tears burning my eyes. Ma believed in them until the moment she died. I want to call her foolish for having such faith, but she’s gone, and I can’t bear to speak ill of the dead.
What would I tell Bay if she asked about the stars one day? Is it better to tell a lie if it helps people feel safe or hopeful? Or is it better to be honest, even if the truth hurts?
Asher’s still frowning. “You shouldn’t talk like that.”
“You sound like Indie.” The lump in my throat grows larger, because she’s gone, too. I flop down and roll away from Asher, tucking my hands beneath my cheek.
It’s deathly still for a moment. Somewhere far off, an owl screeches.
“Maybe rebirth isn’t coming,” Asher says quietly. “Maybe the gods have deserted us for good, and the stars are just lights in the sky, and green only exists in a Verdant we can’t find. I still think having hope can’t hurt. It got me through the darkest moments of my life. Maybe it will get you through yours.”
I grunt, unconvinced. Hope won’t save me. Action will. I need to get to Powder Town. Find someone who can read the map. Trade the knowledge with the General in exchange for my pack’s freedom and guaranteed entry into the Verdant—if it even exists. Only that will bring order back to my life.
I can feel Asher looking at me, waiting for a response. The brand practically tingles.
“Delta?”
I stay still, pretending to be asleep.
“I’ll take first watch,” he says finally. There’s a rustle of clothing, then the crunch of gravel as he walks to the outskirts of our small camp.
The night falls silent and I shiver, suddenly lonely.
Is it possible to miss someone even when they’re right beside you? I’d ask the gods, if only there were any up there, listening.
Chapter Nineteen
We rise early—before the sun is truly up and the world is a hazy hue of russet red—and hike in silence. By late morning we’re out of the worst of the mountains and looking down at the foothills that stretch out into the wastes.
I flip up the collar of my jacket, protecting the tender skin on the back of my neck from the climbing sun. “What now?” I ask. The land ahead is flat and sprawling. If the General’s men show up in saddles, they’ll catch us in no time.
“Let me see those binos,” Asher says. I lift the strap over my head and drop the pair I stole from the Loyalists into his outstretched hand. He scans the open terrain. “If we head due west, we’ll hit the Serpent River. That’s the same river you call Dead River—Powder Town just has a different name for it. Once we hit the Serpent, we can follow it south into town.”
“But?” I say, sensing a catch.
“But that’s what the General will expect. And we’ll be an easy target on open ground.”
“I told you we should have taken the horse,” I grumble.
“It wouldn’t have fit through the tunnel and probably would have lamed itself climbing out of the mountains at the pace we were moving.” Asher hands back the binos. “We’ll take the most direct route. Go southwest.”
I peer through the binos. The land to the southwest is just as flat, just as open, and the air is rippling. It’s not a mirage, I realize. It’s steam. I catch movement in the corner of the eyepiece. Scalding water shoots toward the heavens, billowing and spouting.
“Through Burning Ground? Are you crazy?”
“They won’t expect it.”
“Because it’s a deathtrap.”
“Taking a horse through will be impossible. They won’t be able to follow in the saddle. That means we can keep our lead.”
The geyser stops erupting, and I lower the binos. “We’re going to die,” I grouse.
“I know you’ve got no faith in the gods, but what about me, Delta? An experienced guide.” He flashes me that boyish smile again, crooked and sly.
“You’ve been through this way before?”
“How else do you think I got to Powder Town without getting caught?”
I don’t mention that surviving Burning Ground once is already a miracle and entering a second time is probably pushing his luck. We’re out of options. I shrug and wave a hand at the dangers awaiting us.
Again, Asher leads.
* * *
Despite being a traitorous leech, Flint told the truth about Burning Ground; there are obvious signs that warn a traveler of dangers.
The pools of water look magical—crystalline, so blue they are almost green, clear enough that you can gaze straight into their rocky depths. It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. I try to imagine an entire ocean this color, Zuly’s tanker floating on it. How serene this world must have been before the gods turned their backs on it—on us.
But as beautiful as the pools are, they are also deadly, so hot they can boil you alive, and the warning is obvious along their edges, where rings of rust red and sunset orange and honey yellow encircle the water. Steam billows off the surface, disrupting the otherwise perfect reflection of the sky. A smell lingers in the air, rotten, like bad eggs.
We give each pool a wide berth, but they are often fed by tributaries from other pools, creating a cobwebbed maze of hot water. We hop over what we can, but sometimes we are forced to zigzag along a runoff until we find a safe place for crossing.
So much for our lead.
I keep glancing over my shoulder, but the wastes behind us are empty, and even when I use the bios to scan the mountains, there’s no sign of activity. Maybe the Loyalists gave up their search. It doesn’t seem likely, but I let myself believe it. We have enough to worry about.
The heat in Burning Ground is even worse than the heat of the wastes, which isn’t a thing I thought possible. My under layers are drenched, and even the air seems sweaty. I feel like I’m standing in the cookhouse at Dead River, right alongside a pot of boiling stew, steam coating my limbs.
“There’s one thing I can’t figure,” I say as we walk.
Asher hops a forearm-wide tributary. “What’s that?”
“You escaped Bedrock,” I say, leaping after him, “made it through the tunnel and out of the mountains, crossed Burning Ground, and arrived safely in Powder Town?”
He nods.
“So when the hell—or maybe I should ask why the hell—did you fall in with Bain and Cree?”
He flinches, but keeps leading without comment.
“I asked you a question, Asher.”