I repeat it as the sentry guides me down the hill I just worked so hard to ascend, back through the streets, and to the clearing just inside Powder Town’s wall. I truly think it will be fine, even as the crowd gathers, bleary-eyed with sleep but curious to see who could possibly want to escape this haven. I still think it’s fine as the Prime steps through the crowd, dark skin aglow in the moonlight, expression sharp enough to cut. I think it’s fine right until the Reaper steps into view behind her, towing Asher by the meaty part of his arm.
She shoves, and he staggers forward, joining me in the clearing.
“What did you do?” he hisses.
“For breaching their pledges to me and the Trinity,” the Prime announces, “for making our pillars weaker rather than stronger, Delta of Dead River and Asher of Alkali Lake are banished from Powder Town immediately.”
“But only I ran,” I argue, my stomach twisting. “Asher had nothing to do with it.”
“You told me he would stay because of you. If you’re leaving, he goes with you.”
“He didn’t want to leave. I asked him to, and he wanted to stay. He . . .” I glance at Asher. His mouth is a thin line, his eyes like fire.
“You are both banished,” the Prime repeats.
Before I can get out another word, the Reaper’s sentries are dragging us from the clearing and into the wastes. With a shove, I go sprawling, my chin glancing the ground.
I’m spitting dirt from my mouth when the gate slams closed behind us.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“Has your brain rusted?” Asher screams.
I stand wordlessly, dusting the dirt from my pants.
“Have you lost your scudding mind?” he goes on. “I don’t even have my gear. I hope you’re happy, Delta. I hope you’re prepared to die on the wastes and be picked apart by vultures, ’cus that’s what’s going to happen to us.”
I feel for the straps of my rucksack, confirming that it’s still there, that the Prime didn’t confiscate it.
“I have some supplies,” I say. “We can share.”
“Scud off.” He starts walking south. I can see his slingshot poking from the back of his waistband, so he did manage to grab some gear, or maybe that always stays stowed within arm’s reach. He’s got no jacket, though, to stave off the cold nights. No scarf or goggles for unexpected squalls. And nothing to eat.
“Where are you going?” I call after him.
“Wherever you’re not.”
“Asher, I didn’t mean for this to happen. I went alone.”
He keeps walking.
“You think I want to be out here with you?” I yell. “Some lying bit of dirt who conned me and lied to me and doesn’t care about my pack? We could save them, Asher. We could save them and make things better for everyone in the wastes, and you don’t care.”
He spins around hastily, and there’s a glint in his eyes, something detached and menacing. It reminds me of the version of him I saw that first night in Bain’s and Cree’s wagon. The kind parts of him buried beneath a callous heart.
“I’m only alive because I put myself first,” he snarls. “That’s how I survived Bedrock. It’s how I survived the wastes. The moment I got soft—the moment I decided to try to find you and the pack—everything fell apart. So when I found you at the Vulture’s Roost, I told myself no more. Just get to safety. Lie low. Breathe a little. Live. I got us to safety. We could have stayed in Powder Town, Delta. We could have stayed!” His eyes flit up and down my frame. “Do you think you’re special in your guilt? That you’re the first person to feel responsible for your pack? I watched mine get slaughtered. Burned. Beheaded. Shot through the chest. You lose people on the wastes. You can’t save everyone. I learned that lesson at nine. It’s about time you learned it, too.”
“So what? You just give up on people?” I scream back. “You run?”
“If you have to, yes. And you pray to the gods for forgiveness. And you try not to drown in your guilt. And when you find a bit of safety, you don’t spit in its eye. Especially not when you’ve been given a second chance.” He glances at the Powder Town wall, then back to me. “Gods damn you.”
He turns and strides off.
“Where are you going?” I call again.
“South. To Zuly’s. Maybe she’ll take me in.”
“You’ll never make it without supplies.”
“I’ve got you to thank for that.”
“Asher, don’t be stupid.”
“Scud off,” he says again, and he keeps going, slipping into the shadows.
“Fine! Go!” I scream into the darkness. “It’s not like I want you around anyway, you coward. I’ll find it on my own. I’ll save them on my own. And since I have supplies, I’ll be just fine, and you’ll be the one picked apart by vultures.”
My words echo back to me, and I stand there a moment, feeling like a toddler throwing a tantrum. Still, I expect him to emerge from the shadows, drawn back by logic. He won’t even make it to West Tower without water. But he doesn’t return, and I’m left alone with the darkness, the guilt.
I face north.
It’s like Ma said all those years ago. Asher’s his own person, free to make his own choices. I didn’t mean to get him cast from Powder Town, but it happened, and I can’t change it, and I certainly can’t beat myself up over his choosing to walk to certain death instead of staying with the rucksack filled with provisions.
That’s his call.
He’s choosing himself. I’m choosing my pack.
That’s all there is to it.
* * *
Despite the late hour, I’m wide-awake, high-strung and focused. Might as well take advantage of my energy and the coolness of night.
I follow Powder Town’s wall as it ropes around the settlement. Where it butts up to the foothills, I continue north. For a while I can see the Serpent to my left, winking in the moonlight, but it flows down the hills from the west and is soon behind me. I wonder if it’s the last free-flowing water I’ll see between here and the Verdant.
I walk well into the night, until the foothills start to fade out. There, I curl against one of the last boulders and sleep briefly. Just enough to feel rested. When I wake, dawn’s first light is spilling over the wastes.
I fish the binos from my rucksack—the same pair Asher and I lifted off the Loyalists after escaping from the Barrel. As I scan the horizon, my heart beats rapidly at the prospect of the Verdant in the distance, a swatch of brilliant, fertile green. Instead, all I can see is sand-colored earth stretching on forever. Of course. The map wasn’t to scale, and at minimum, I probably have fifty clicks to go.
I glance over my shoulder.
Asher’s trailing me, his hair brilliant in the morning sun.
I don’t slow down, but I don’t try to lose him either.
* * *
By the worst heat of the day, I rest. Sit down on the cobweb-cracked earth right in the middle of the wastes and drape my scarf over my face. It’s as hot as all can be. Sweat drips over every crevice in my body. I should sleep now, and I must, because suddenly a boot’s nudging my side and I’m dragging my eyes open.