Author: Lindsey Pogue
Date: 2021-06-19 04:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Science Fiction
Description: *A HISTORICAL FANTASY & POST-APOCALYPTIC TALE* Courage. Love. Survival. The desert town of Sagebrush Canyon is a cesspit of corruption, shrouded in centuries of lies and deceit. But with the marshal now dead, the citizens of Sagebrush must pick up the pieces and seek the truth, which they soon realize is far more terrifying. The water is drying up, drifters are coming, and time is running out. After his father’s murder, Luke swore to protect Sagebrush against the drifters roaming the Dead Lands. And back on a mountain, pummeled by sleet and snow, Kaia has been safely tucked away from the merci

Earth and Ember

A Forgotten Lands Novel

By Lindsey Pogue

Copyright © 2021 Lindsey Pogue

All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission in writing from the author, except as used in book review.

This is a work of fiction. Characters, names, places, events or incidents are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to places or incidents is purely coincidental.

Editing by Lauren McNerney

Proofreading by Letter-Eye Editing

Cover Design by Deranged Doctor Designs

Contents

Other Books by Lindsey Pogue

Acknowledgments

Author’s Note

Glossary

Prologue

1. Luke

One Month Later

2. Luke

3. Luke

4. Kaia

5. Luke

6. Kaia

7. Kaia

8. Luke

9. Kaia

10. Luke

11. Kaia

12. Luke

13. Kaia

14. Kaia

15. Luke

16. Luke

17. Kaia

18. Luke

19. Kaia

20. Kaia

21. Luke

22. Kaia

23. Kaia

24. Luke

25. Kaia

26. Luke

27. Luke

28. Kaia

29. Luke

30. Kaia

31. Luke

32. Kaia

33. Kaia

34. Kaia

35. Luke

36. Kaia

37. Luke

38. Kaia

39. Kaia

40. Luke

41. Luke

42. Kaia

43. Luke

44. Luke

45. Kaia

46. Luke

47. Kaia

48. Luke

49. Luke

50. Kaia

51. Luke

52. Kaia

53. Luke

Epilogue

Other Books by Lindsey Pogue

About Lindsey

Other Books by Lindsey Pogue

www.lindseypogue.com

Survival/Post-Apoc Adventure:

FORGOTTEN LANDS

Dust and Shadow

Earth and Ember

Tide and Tempest

Borne of Sand and Scorn - Prequel (Free for newsletter subscribers)

SAVAGE NORTH CHRONICLES

The Darkest Winter

The Longest Night Prequel

Midnight Sun

Fading Shadows

Untamed

Unbroken

Day Zero: Beginnings

THE ENDING SERIES

After The Ending

Into The Fire

Out Of The Ashes

Before The Dawn

The Ending: Beginnings

The Ending Series: World Before

The Ending Legacies: World After

New Adult Love Stories

SARATOGA FALLS LOVE STORIES

Whatever It Takes

Nothing But Trouble

Told You So

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Acknowledgments

Thank you to my Patreon supporters for your monthly contributions.

You helped pay for this gorgeous book cover.

Tamara Pankonin

Laurie Keyser

Amanda Eide

Stephanie Edwards

Laura Price

Katelyn Bobbitt

Nicole Hartney

Sabrina Hatfield

Melinda Leininger

Julie Traina

Mindi Travis

Fred Oelrich

Helen Mays

Conrad Jellison

Author’s Note

Dearest readers,

I write this to you as I pause in the early stages of drafting this story to address a few things you should know before you begin reading. First and foremost, I’m loving this book so far. I’ve never written a story so rich in culture and history. While I will always have a soft spot for Dust and Shadow, which was a twisted road of secrets and discovery I hadn’t expected (and amazing characters that get to explore a world that fascinates me), Earth and Ember feels special.

When I started writing this book, I knew I would have to do a lot of research because my Native American knowledge is limited, mostly to what I learned in elementary school. However, I’ve always been fascinated and humbled by Native American practices and culture—by their love for the earth and nature, which I can easily connect to. So, I dove in to learn more about the tribes that have farmed the Arizona landscape for thousands of years. I’m continually fascinated by the Ancient Puebloans—by their descendants, the Hopi people—and their practices, which I’ve blended into this story with a history of my own making. This is a fictional, post-apocalyptic world after all.

While the society, practices, foods, and peaceful nature of these people are all true to history, I’ve put my own spin on them. Their culture has had to survive a sandstorm-ravaged world with melded beliefs and people, living in a dormant volcanic mountain that barely sees the light of day. So, while many of the names and most terms are authentic (I’ve provided a glossary of their meanings), some verbiage and cultural nuances have been altered for the sake of the story and reading ease.

So, now that I’ve bored you with my disclaimers and anecdotes, by all means, read on my bookworm friends! I hope you enjoy this adventure as much as I’m enjoying writing it. Sincerely yours, Lindsey

Glossary

TERMS

- Askook – snake
- Askwali – “thank you”
- Etsi – clan mother/Mother

- Hoonaw/Hon – White Bear; very powerful and able to cure ails; also called Hon, the actual spirit’s name

- Hopituh/Hopi – meaning “The Peaceful People”

- Katsina(s) – spirit being(s)

- Kiva – sacred ritual and ceremony space

- Kokyanwhuti (pronounced: koh-kyang-woo-tee or koh-kyang-so-woo-tee) – Spider Woman/Earth goddess

- Kweo – White Wolf katsina spirit; a powerful hunter who brings food to the village.

- Mana – butterfly (term of endearment)
- Maasaw – the world's guardian spirit
- Pahi – waterfall
- Sosho – snake/serpent - white man/devil
- Siiwi – onion
- Tawa – Sun God/Creator

NAMES & MEANINGS

- Ahkima – “warrior/protector”
- Awan – “somebody”
- Elan – “friendly”
- Istas – “snow”
- Kaia – “little wise one”
- Oona – “remember”
- Paco – “soaring eagle”
- Sakima – “king”
- Tarak – “star”
- Todi – “wind”
- Yoki – “rain”

ARIZONA NATIVE AMERICAN TRIBES INCLUDED:

- Apache – strategists and warriors
- Navajo – rug and blanket weavers
- Mojave – farmers, fishermen, and hunters
- Hopi – deeply spiritual and peaceful

Prologue

Kaia

Warm earth clings to my hands, and the thornscrub scratches against my legs as I steady myself, hiding in my father’s shadow and waiting for a pronghorn to show itself.

“Be still,” he whispers. He closes his eyes and holds his breath. “They are close.”

Straining, I listen for what the Great Spirit shows my father—a rustling breeze . . . antlers clacking against one another as two male pronghorns lay claim to the herd that follows them.

I smile. Yes, the pronghorns are close—just out of sight—and my mouth practically waters with anticipation. I brush my sweat-dampened brow with the back of my arm, squinting into the relentless heat as I raise my bow. It’s heavy in my small arms but aimed and ready all the same.

“If we are patient, they will come into view,” my father explains. “Even one buck could feed our people for a week.”

I nod, gripping the bow. It’s slick in my hand, and my back dampens under the weight of my arrows. My fingers tighten and I peer out at the valley, focused and determined.

“Your mother will give me an earful for bringing you,” my father whispers with a smile in his voice. “But it’s good to get into trouble every so often.” He winks at me.

“I like being down here, with you,” I whisper back. “It is better than Oona and Mother’s lessons.”

“It is your destiny, Kaia. You have the great Hon and Kweo in you—with the strength of the bear and the prowess of the wolf, you will be a strong leader to our people.”

I glare at the lowering sun. Lessons and pilgrimages with my mother and grandmother have kept me away from my friends. “I prefer the hunt,” I say, feeling defiant. “Mother will have to find a different etsi for when she is gone.”

My father chuckles, and there’s a softness in his eyes I’ve never seen before. “You will change your mind. And who knows, perhaps one day you can be both.” He lifts the carved Kweo from around his neck and places it over my head. Surprised, I peer down at the great wolf. It is his katsina, my father’s guardian and the essence of his spirit—powerful, instinctual, a hunter who always provides food for the village—and he’s given Kweo to me.

When I look at him, wide-eyed and mystified, he appears more somber. “He will guide you, when I cannot.”

A rustle in the brush ahead startles us, and a buck steps into view, grazing on the wolfberry branches that speckle the valley outstretched before us. A few other pronghorns meander after him.

“Get ready,” my father says so low I barely hear him, and my body coils with excitement and expectation. Slowly, I pull my bowstring taut with an inhale, my arrow locked in place. With one eye shut, I wait for the shape in front of me to focus.

“Do not let go until you are ready.” My father’s voice is sage and knowing, and I hang on his every word. “Never rush.”

I take a deep breath, and holding my mouth just right, my fingers begin to loosen.

“Yoki!” Elan shouts my father’s name, and the pronghorns startle, galloping away as the big man runs down from his post on the hillside. “Soshos are coming!”

I swallow my fear. The white faces have come.

Gunfire and shouting break out in the canyon behind us, and my father pulls me to my feet. “Take Kaia,” he says, shoving me toward Elan. “Go—hide her. I will help the others.”

“Father—” I whimper as I realize he’s leaving me.

“There are ten, at least,” Elan warns. “We must go, Yoki. You cannot—”

“I will not leave my men.” My father shoves me toward his greatest friend. “Now go!” he shouts, and with his bow and arrow in hand, he runs toward the reverberating sound of battle cries and bullets screeching through the canyon. My father runs like the wolf, chasing after its prey with fierce determination, and I fear what will happen if I take my eyes from him.

“Kaia, come,” Elan bites out, but I scream as I see the soshos riding up over the ridge. Two of my father’s men come out of the brush and fall in step behind him, throwing their spears and shooting their arrows.

As Elan tugs me toward the canyon, I stumble and shriek, craning my neck to watch the horrors unfold behind me. My father shoots arrow after arrow, taking down one sosho and then another. But when more men on horseback gallop around the foothills, I know my father and his men are outnumbered.

“Father—” I scream, but Elan covers my mouth and lifts me against his chest as he runs to where the thicket is dense and caves are etched in mountain stone.

The earth shakes. My vision blurs. And then we’re in the shadows of a sandstone spire. The branches of the wolfberry scratch my face and pull at my hair as Elan shoves me deeper into the bushes, out of sight, crawling in after me.

My heart pounds, and I can barely catch my breath as I watch the world through shimmering tears. The shouts of the soshos mixed with the battle cries of my father and the others are soon overpowered by the thundering of horse hooves and the ear-splitting ring of bullets flying through the air. Dust clouds obscure my view. Limbs are flailing, and horses are falling. Men shout in anger and pain, and then, I watch my father fall.

“No—”

Elan’s hand clamps harder over my mouth, his protective arms squeezing me tighter. “Shh,” he coos, his voice a deep, demanding hum in my ear, but I can barely hear him as my body is wracked with sobs.

My heart hurts, my throat burns, and I can barely comprehend what I’m seeing as I watch the soshos tie my father’s ankles with a tether and drag his lifeless body away.

I spring up in my blankets, clutching my chest. My skin is damp with sweat and I wipe the moisture from my eyes, staring into nothingness. The memory is still so vibrant despite the nine years past, I can barely catch my breath.

I’m in darkness, not the valley floor. It smells faintly dank from the damp stone walls of the mountain, and of sweet sap from the sagebrush Oona burns in the room below, and I sigh with a guilty sense of relief.

I am home and safe. I force myself to soak up the realization and welcome the brisk cave air nipping my exposed skin as I fall back against my feather-stuffed pillow. Exhaling a deep breath, I try not to think too much about my dream. Or my father. Or the ache in my chest left in my parents’ absence.

But it’s no use. Rolling my eyes, I toss my fur blankets back. Sleep will be impossible, so in my restlessness, I decide to be useful until it’s time to leave with the hunting party.

After pulling on my tunic and tying my fur vest around me, I wrap my legs in deerskin to stave off the cold, determined to prepare the paint and ready the horses for today’s trip. I run my fingers through my hair, grimacing as I tug at the knots in the ends. My fingers move quickly as I braid my long hair into rows and out of my face, and I’m just finishing up when I hear the door open and close, and whispers emanate from the room below. Perhaps it is earlier than I thought, and Oona is reciting her morning prayers. But then I hear a different voice—a familiar, deeper one, and I freeze, straining to listen.

“—and they are gone,” he says almost too faintly to hear.

I creep toward the ladder, leading from my room to the living space below, and peer down. Elan stands beside my grandmother, dressed, but not in his hunting clothes.

My grandmother nods at his muffled words, relief and gratitude softening her wrinkled face.

Gone? My jaw clenches as I hurry down the ladder. “Who is gone?” I bite out.

Oona and Elan look at one another as if they’ve been caught scheming.

When neither answer, I glare at them. “Cole?” I breathe. “The hunters?” I can feel the blood rushing to my cheeks and through my fingers. I fist my hands at my side. “You let them leave, without me?” I grit the words out, resentment tasting like ash in my mouth. This was their plan all along. Placate me, allowing me to think I could finally go, only to send the others out in the cover of darkness without me.

Oona takes a hesitant step closer. “It is not safe in the valley for you, Kaia.”

Fire ignites in my veins. “It is not safe for anyone, not for years. But we must hunt,” I say coolly. “I am no different from them—”

“You will be etsi,” Oona growls at me. “Whether you want to be or not, that is your destiny. We cannot risk losing you—”

“I am not the etsi.” I take turns scowling at each of them. “I will never be the etsi.” But as I say the words, I feel the choice turning to dust, escaping into my looming future. If not me, who? If not soon, when? Brushing past them, I leave Oona and Elan in my furious wake, too angry to look back. And with each step toward the quiet calm of the village, a cool draft envelops me. You will change your mind. My father’s words echo in my head, but even as chills trickle over me, I refuse to listen.

1

Luke

ONE WEEK LATER

A hawk cries in the arid afternoon, the earth cracks beneath the horses’ hooves, and the two-day journey between the protective foothills of the mountains and the outskirts of town feels longer than usual. It’s been over two-hundred years since the Shift decimated the landscape and intensified the sun, and still, some days it feels unbearable.

Just when I don’t think I can take another hour under the blistering sun, I see the sandstone spires of Sagebrush Canyon come into view. The canyon that hides us away from a world of savages and sandstorms.

“It’s about damn time,” Doyle mutters beside me. He spits the tobacco from his cheek, and his bedroll and sand cape flap against the saddle as he quickens his horse’s pace. “I want to see what the men brought back from their roundup.” Doyle sounds almost giddy as I nudge Tuck into a trot beside him.

Doyle’s a lot of things, but his knowledge of the Dead Lands and the savages—or drifters, depending on what story the marshal’s men are spinning for the sake of the townsfolk—has gotten a few of the guys out of some bad scrapes, so he’s a good deputy to have around in a sticky situation.

Having never been on patrol with Doyle, until now, I’ve never experienced his renowned dedication to his job for myself. But with nothing other than shelter upkeep with me this trip, he’s restless. I see it in his eyes, enlivened again by the promise of tales from returning deputies whose patrols take them further away from home every time. With our resources depleted, excursions extend beyond the foothills to explore nearer the lightning belt to the west, providing new dangers and adventures to recount. Not that I’ve ever gone.

Even at twenty, the marshal continues to shelter me, as if I don’t already know how treacherous life is out here in the desert. It doesn’t matter that I’ve been working with him and his men in some capacity since I was fourteen, Marshal Cunningham keeps me busy with a route of my own. Maintaining what few dilapidated hideaways the deputies have in the great expanse isn’t easy work, especially with the threat of sandstorms increasing, but it is busy work. And the more stories I hear about Doyle and the others saving our people from savages, or scouring the lands beyond Sagebrush, the more it feels like the marshal is purposefully preventing me from living the life I’ve been working toward, and the possibility of avenging my father’s death.

“The marshal sending me on these bullshit rounds . . .” Doyle mutters and glances my way. “I don’t know how you do it, O’Brien, but this piddly shit is pointless.”

I can’t help but agree. “It would be nice if he and Ashford would stop sending me on these water hunts and maintenance runs,” I say over the creak of our saddles. “I’m tired of only hearing about patrol.”

“Ashford likes throwing his weight around, but don’t worry, kid,” Doyle says with a wink. “Things will be different real soon.”

I’m not sure what Doyle means, but when the hot, dry wind picks up and the shadows of sandstone spires stretch across the desert floor, I know we’re close to the canyon and secret stream, and I’m too eager to splash water on my face and feel it against my parched tongue to question him. Because water means home. It means rest, protection from the sun and wind, a bath, and food that doesn’t have sand in it. Even a single day outside the town of Sagebrush Canyon is enough to ensure us deputies stay focused and determined to keep the town hidden and safe. No one wants to live out here, because no one could.

I rub the back of my neck, my skin gritty beneath my fingertips. “At least this outing was uneventful,” I muse aloud.

That earns me a bored look from Doyle, and his dark brow lifts in the shade of his hat before he shakes his head. He slows his horse. “An uneventful patrol means we’re not doing our job,” he quips. “Every time we come back empty-handed, it gives the savages more time to plot and plan and regroup. We should be flushing them out, not waiting to run into them and hoping we don’t—you don’t want to end up like your father, do you?”

My eyes narrow on him as I pull Tuck to a stop beside him. “Obviously not,” I say, my voice as hard as the steel cages we’re forced to live within to survive the sandstorms. Every time one of the men talks about the day my father died, it hardens another part of me. “Or,” I counter, annoyed, “uneventful means all the years and deaths leading up to now weren’t for nothing.”

Doyle’s gaze lingers on me, as if he’s conceding to give me that, at least. “I remember when you were a snot-nosed kid, hanging around to groom our horses and clean our saddles . . . When did you grow up, Luke?”

My eyes harden on him. “The day you told me the savages killed my father, I reckon. I was lucky not to be like the other orphans left behind in this never-ending battle. And I’ve been wanting to show the bastards what Sagebrush is made of ever since.”

“Like I said,” Doyle drawls with a smirk. “You’ll get your reckoning, kid. In time . . .”

His words are too ominous to ignore this time. “Are you going to fill me in, or leave me guessing?”

Doyle scratches at his bearded jaw a moment, then finally says, “Let’s just say some of the boys and me are ready for a bit of a change. But the timing has to be right.”

A chill runs down my spine in spite of the suffocating heat. I might get impatient with the marshal and Ashford, but I wouldn’t bite the hand that feeds me. The marshal and his right-hand man are the only two people who help me take care of all I have left in this world—June.

I remain quiet and we click our horses onward again, their steps brisk as we draw closer to the sandstone spires marking the entrance to Sagebrush. A couple of miles beyond it lies the Mason farm and the river. At least what’s left of it.

The wind picks up, and I lick my dry lips, suddenly so thirsty my tongue feels swollen.

“How many of them have you killed, anyway?” Doyle calls over his shoulder.

I unwrap my water pouch, confiscated from one of the savages at some point over the years, just like my horse. “I’ve injured a few men during a maintenance run a couple years back, but I’ve never killed one—that I know of, anyway.”

“You’ll get your time, kid. And if we’re lucky, the injured sons of bitches slinked off to die anyway. You’re a good aim. I saw the heart shot on that wolf you brought back last year. Fed the deputies for a few days, at least.”

I nod, and let what little water I have left trickle over my tongue to tide me over. I’m tired of talking, and knowing the water is close makes me nudge Tuck on a bit faster.

“We’ll cut through the canyon, water our horses, and see if the men are at the mill already, unloading the goods they brought back.”

I’ve barely lowered my water pouch when I see movement from the corner of my eye, and Doyle and I stop our horses short. Savages wrapped in furs barrel out of the canyon on horseback, rushing so fast their pelts are flopping against their saddles, and they don’t see us coming across the valley.

I drop the water pouch, adrenaline rushing in my ears.

“Son of a bitch—” Doyle pulls his pistol as I do, a dozen thoughts racing through my head as I realize they’re rushing away from the Mason farm—away from town. They’ve stolen something or killed someone. It’s all that makes sense. But I hesitate as I realize there are only two riders and one of them is a woman. Something about this doesn’t feel right.

But Doyle doesn’t falter. He shoots the woman, the sound resounding across the desert floor. The horses spook and she falls to a crumpled heap on the sand.

Doyle aims at the other rider, who is too busy watching the woman fall to her death in horror, to notice Doyle pulling the trigger. But nothing happens. Doyle’s gun locks, and he curses at me. “Dammit, O’Brien—shoot ‘em!” he commands.

Heart racing, I aim my pistol and lock eyes with the savage as he finally registers us in the commotion. I see the realization in his eyes—the anger and the fear, right before he turns his horse to flee.

My mind is a tornado, and adrenaline surges through me as I exhale and squeeze the trigger, not wanting to be the reason the savage gets away.

Tuck spooks under me as the bullet cracks through the air. The savage’s mustang rears back too, and the man hunches over and slides off his shaggy horse with a thud on the dry earth.

The savage is dead. That’s one less to plot and scheme against us, and I should feel victorious. Instead, even as a small sliver of retribution flares inside of me, something hollow and putrid does too.

One Month Later

2

Luke

The heat is dry and clings to the sweat and sand on my skin as I brush Tuck’s back, watching as the dust falls away from his rusty colored coat. His eyes blink so slowly in the shade of the barn and afternoon breeze, I’m sure he’ll fall asleep. Between the unrelenting sun, the wind, and the constant uncertainty during our time in the Dead Lands over the past several days, I don’t blame the mustang for being exhausted.

“Feels good to be back, don’t it, buddy?” I murmur. His ears shift back to me, but he doesn’t move. Two sandstorms during our weekly maintenance run turned two days into five, and even if the steel siding of the buildings around me are near blinding in the glare of the afternoon, it’s reassuring to know we have shelter, food, water, and a sense of safety now that we’re back. Even if everything is different now.

Doyle wasn’t lying when he’d said he and some of the men were planning something. Only, in his efforts to take over the town, he ended up as dead as the marshal.

I hear the boisterous merriment of the deputies on duty inside the garrison next door and wonder if any of them care that Marshal Cunningham, the man who made them what they are and gave them every luxury this place has to offer, is gone.

I finish grooming Tuck after a few more strokes and reach for the grain bin. His head whips around so fast, I can’t help but chuckle. “Oh, now you’re awake.”

Tuck nods enthusiastically, the fringe of his mane catching in the tepid breeze.

“All right, all right,” I mutter as he nudges me greedily. “You earned it—”

“O’Brien,” Holyworth drawls.

I pause, Tuck and I both peering at the deputy standing by the water trough. A rolled cigarette hangs from between Holyworth’s wrinkled lips, and a plume of smoke surrounds him, as usual.

“You headin’ out?” He spits off to the side, his eyes shifting between my mustang and me. Holyworth looks envious that he wasn’t invited. Our routines have been brought to a standstill, and I get the sense he’s been cooped up too long since the old marshal’s death, days ago.

“No,” I tell him. “I was out there with Carter on a maintenance run. We just got back.”

Holyworth leans against the side of the barn and crosses his arms over his chest. His bushy eyebrows and the scar across his cheek make him appear more grizzled than he is. “You see anything out there this time?” It’s a question that would’ve been asked with a trill of anticipation two weeks ago, but now, Holyworth sounds guarded. Maybe even skeptical.

I shake my head. “Nope, nothing. If it’s a war Clayton’s worried about, the savages haven’t made a move yet.” In fact, they’ve been quieter than usual for over a month now, which only leads me to believe they’re planning something big.

Holyworth flicks the tip of his cigarette and the ash breaks off in the breeze. He watches the way the smoke curls as he turns the butt between his fingers. Though he’s older than me, he’s seen little action out there over the years, which is a good thing, one would think, but Holyworth seems unsettled.

I pick a thistle from Tuck’s mane but keep my eyes on Holyworth, watching him closely and waiting for his impending questions.

“You’ve seen them out there,” Holyworth muses. “When you shot those two a month back.”

My jaw tightens at the memory.

“Is what Doyle was harping on about for all those years true? Are the savages as dangerous as he said, because Clayton and Ashford think—”

“They haven’t seen what we’ve seen,” I reassure Holyworth, bristling a little. I might not have witnessed as many savages as other deputies have, but the few I’ve seen with spears and guns didn’t hesitate to fire upon us, and they clearly hadn’t when they killed my father. “They’re dangerous,” I tell him. “Just like any man, savage or not, who wants what they can’t have. Make no mistake about that.” The words are a necessary reminder to both of us. “Doyle might’ve been crazy and deserved his end, the greedy son of a bitch, but he wasn’t lying about that part. We’ve got enough dead men to prove that.” It’s what I have to believe to keep the gnawing, unsettling feeling trying to rear its ugly head at bay.

“Yeah, Doyle was batshit crazy,” Holyworth mutters. He shakes his head and pushes off the wall. “I can’t say I miss the bastard all that much.”

“Unfortunately, not everyone feels that way,” I grumble. Though I’m not entirely sure I’m talking about myself. I owe Doyle my life, after all. Without his encouragement, I might be dead now instead of the savage I shot. But that doesn’t feel quite right either.

“Well, welcome back to hell,” Holyworth says wryly, and squishes his rolled tobacco under his boot, then he continues on his way.

“Hell?” I grin. Though I can’t necessarily argue with him about that, not in a world where sand and thirst are more terrifying than savages or drifters could ever be, I know it’s not all bad. “Surely Cora or Jasmine can help you forget your misery!” I call after him.

Holyworth’s chuckle carries on the breeze and he disappears into the garrison. Cigarettes, fresh clothes, horses, a decent room in the barracks with the other deputies, unlimited women and drinks at Mistress Hannah May’s—those are the perks of being a deputy, which I’ve never taken for granted, knowing where I could’ve ended up had old Marshal Cunningham not brought me into the fold as one of his men. Maybe that’s why it’s so difficult to come to terms with the changing tides in Sagebrush. With the old marshal dead, the marshal’s son, Clayton, and his betrothed, Miss Josephine Mason, are changing everything.

I stare blankly at the horizon for a few beats. Clayton claims his father led the town with fear and secrets, and that we can’t live in a world like that anymore. But exaggerations were made to keep people in Sagebrush safe, especially from themselves. Marshal Cunningham had told us that much. If the townspeople learned the location of the only stream running through the Mason property, what little water we had would be at risk—not divvied up and shared, but hoarded and consumed—and possibly gone forever.

No matter what’s happened in the Dead Lands over the years, nothing changes the fact that it’s always been us versus everyone else; savages, errant drifters, or both. I would continue to patrol and protect the people of this place—to protect June—no matter what Clayton feels is right now that the old marshal, keeper of decades’ worth of secrets, is dead. I owe it to the men we’ve lost to do that much. I owe it to my father and to June after all she’s done to care for me since his passing.

Tuck paws at the ground and cranes his neck to look at me.

“Yeah, yeah. You’re hungry. I know . . .”

With a final pat on his back, I walk the tack bucket over to the wall of hooks inside the door and exchange it for one filled with grain. Other horse heads pop up as I hang it in Tuck’s stall. They whinny with enthusiasm, but they’ve all been in the shade, lounging on holiday while Tuck and I have been out making rounds, so this most definitely is not for them.

When I head out to get him, I meet Tuck’s big, brown eyes blinking at me. We’ve come a long way since the men found him wandering the Dead Lands with painted white circles on his hindquarters and feathers in his hair. He’s not only my riding partner, but he’s become my friend, and something tells me he feels the same way.

His tail whips excitedly at the promise of food awaiting him inside.

“Stay out of trouble while I’m gone, all right?” I untie him and lead him into the barn. “If I hear you impregnate one of the mares again—” I shake my head. “Just, don’t do it. Okay? Lord knows we’ve already got too many mouths to feed, thanks to you.” He snorts in answer. “For some reason,” I say, looking wryly at him, “I don’t believe you.” Once in his stall, I remove Tuck’s halter and I’m almost knocked out of the way as he scarfs down his lunch.

With a chuckle, I close him in. The wooden stall door protests as I latch it, and grabbing my hat, I embrace the afternoon. The heat of the day smacks me in the face as I step out into the full sun. One would think I’d be used to the weather, growing up in a dusty, sunburnt town like Sagebrush Canyon, but some days it’s harder to ignore it than others, especially after days on patrol when my skin is too tender and dry from being out in the elements. It’s at that thought I decide a little detour is in order.

“What do you say, Luke?” Bastian asks from the other end of the bar. “One more round?”

I shake my head and down my last shot, knowing the past two hours are two hours too long, and I need to visit June.

“Ah, come on.”

I chuckle as Bastian stumbles over and slaps my shoulder.

“Nah, I gotta go.” I startle as a tinkling laugh caresses the back of my ear. I glance back to find Cora, one of Hannah May’s ladies beside me, smelling of sickly sweet jasmine that I’ve only ever smelled in this place.

“It’s good to have you back, Luke,” she simpers. “It’s been . . .” Her gaze skims the old, drunk, beer-bellied men that fill the saloon and she shudders. “Lonely without you.”

I can’t help a grin, and I wink at her. “It’s good to be home. Thanks, Cora.”

As she leans in to kiss my cheek, the door to the Brass Rail flies open.

Jacob Henderson, the doc’s son, steps inside. I eye him up and down, surprised as hell to see him in the saloon. He might as well be a saint compared to the rest of us, and being in an establishment such as this paints his cheeks pure crimson. I grin, taking in his clean, crisp suit, and his black, combed backed hair. He puts the rest of us to shame, and I can’t help but appraise my three-day-old, sweat-dampened shirt and dusty pants.

His eyes lock on me. “Luke—” He clears his throat as he comes closer. His attention sweeps briefly over Cora and he flashes her a timid smile as he bows all gentlemanly-like in greeting. He’s always had a crush on her, ever since grade school, and I bite my tongue to hide my amusement at his utter discomfort being in here.

Cora waggles her fingers in a slight wave. “Hi, Jacob. We don’t get to see you in here, well, ever.”

Jacob, my best friend since I was nine, clears his throat. “I—um—I’ve been looking for Luke,” he explains, nodding to me. “I heard you were back—I was hoping, but . . .” His eyes flit around, grazing the drunkards and scantily clad women as if his senses are on overload.

Chuckling to myself, I grab my pack. “I just got back,” I tell him, and nod a goodbye in Bastian’s direction, then I follow Jacob out the door.

“What is it?” I ask as we step out on the main road. I peer south toward the gleaming windows and tattered awnings lining the storefronts.

Whatever Jacob needs must be pretty important if he found the nerve to come into a place of such debauchery to collect me. It’s not that Jacob is a prude or a holy man, just inexperienced in ways I can’t fathom, having grown up in a place like Sagebrush. Debauchery is all we have to keep us sane, and yet Jacob is the epitome of gentlemanly manners and breeding. Even if decorum and respectability rotted away centuries ago with the rest of the world. Now, all that’s left is five hundred souls trying not to die of thirst in the last true civilization we know of.

“I need your help with something,” he says as he follows me toward the grocers. I should pick up a few fresh goods to take home to June. While I know it’s not likely she’s gotten any better in the five days I’ve been away, I try not to think about her health getting worse in my absence either.

I spot a little beggar girl sitting under the shade of a tattered awning in a faded purple dress a couple of sizes too big, and stop to toss her a few coins. That earns me a toothy, dimpled smile, so I toss her another one with a wink, glad someone has something to smile about in this place, and continue down the road.

“Well, spit it out, Jake,” I say, passing the alleyway that leads to the Grunge. The scent of urine and old meat assaults my senses, and I have to hold my breath. I’ve lost track of how many times I’ve asked June to move away from this part of town and into the deputy housing with me, near the outskirts of Sagebrush. It’s a part-time place for me to sleep with how little I’m in town, but it would be more comfortable for June with the luxuries we’re afforded, even if she’s full of reasons why it won’t work: it’s too far from town; we’d get on each other’s nerves; she’s happy right where she is. And maybe all of it is true, but I also know she doesn’t want to be a burden, despite the number of times I tell her she’s not.

“I have a meeting with Ashford, Clayton, and Miss Mason.”

My brow furrows. “You’ve been sucked into that then, have you?”

Jacob looks at me askance. “We’re discussing the peace treaty mission.” He says it as though it’s an honor to be part of the inner circle, but I’m not sure I like how upside-down and sideways the three of them have made everything feel since they stepped in. Or that I believe any sort of peace is possible.

“I want you to come with me,” Jacob says, thoughtful.

“Yeah? And what would the point of that be?” I eye the townspeople going about their daily business, more skittish than usual after Clayton and Miss Mason unveiled everything they’d learned in the old marshal’s passing: the embellishments the deputies have always spouted to keep people within the boundaries of town safe; the truth that the water is drying up and that it’s all we have to sustain the Mason farm, which we rely on almost completely to feed us; and that we’re in imminent danger of the savages—the drifters—because of what we’ve done to them over the years. I shake my head, unnerved by how much things are changing.

Everything the marshal did was to keep everyone safe, and I’m not convinced the townspeople knowing the truth changes anything. “You know how I feel about all of this, Jacob. I won’t be any help to you.”

“Actually,” he says, holding up the stack of books and journals in his hands. “Maybe you can fill in the holes. You’re more familiar with the drifters than I am, and Clayton asked me to bring all the research I could—everything the old marshal had me combing through about the Hopi medicines and remedies from before the Shift.”

I frown. “He had you researching their medicines?” That’s news to me.

“Yeah,” he says with a glimmer of satisfaction, and our boots crunch against the dusty street. “A few months before he died, he asked me to look into it. He wanted me to find a cure for little Isabel. I have a bunch of other research on the natives, too. Now that we’re no longer in the dark and know who the drifters really are, Miss Mason thinks it could be helpful.”

“Isabel Cunningham is sick?” I ask, struck by how little we’d really known about the marshal’s personal life. First his dealings with the Mason family over the years—what he’d done to their mother and then to Josephine. Now, a sick daughter.

Jacob’s blue eyes shadow as he dips his chin. “The Choke,” he says glumly, hesitant.

The Choke? And the marshal had been searching for a cure? That bit of news warrants my attention, and I stop and face him. “And you think I can just drop into this meeting you’re having with them?”

Jacob shrugs. “Ashford asked me if there are any deputies I trust. And unlike Clayton and me, you’ve seen the drifters—I mean, the natives . . . or whatever. I only know what I’ve read and heard. And Ashford rarely went out on patrol.” Jacob could’ve asked any deputy to attend the meeting with him, but he asked me, and I can’t pass up the opportunity to learn more about a possible cure for the Choke.

Deciding fresh produce can wait another hour or two, I nod. “Lead the way.”

3

Luke

“Welcome,” the butler says as we step into the Cunningham estate.

Jacob smiles warmly at the man, but my attention fixes on the giant entryway cast mostly in shadows. Strips of sunlight filter in through the curtain seams, but even in the dim light, I see the house is decadent. I’ve been here twice before over the years, ogling the rich colors and shining woods that are unlike anything else in Sagebrush. The Cunninghams are town royalty, the marshal’s lineage dating back to the beginning, and everything about their estate boasts as much.

I hear a giggle above, and a girl of about twelve or so peers down at me from over the banister, her curls falling into her cherub-round face. The marshal’s youngest daughter, Isabel. She giggles again, as if she’s about to get into some mischief, then I hear a woman call her name from one of the rooms.

“—now back to your studies!”

With another giggle, Isabel scampers away, but not before I hear a familiar sounding cough.

“Come,” Jacob says, nudging me toward the study just off the entry.

“—fine, then we send a party out, not a patrol,” Clayton says as we step inside. “Sooner rather than later. Peace is far too important now, and it’s long overdue.”

Those words would’ve never been uttered by the late marshal, but then, Clayton Cunningham is nothing like his father—not in stature or temperament. Even as he stares down at the map flattened across his desk, I can see the gears of his mind churning. There’s nothing hiding behind shadowed eyes, and no double meaning behind veiled words, because Clayton has no reservations, though perhaps he should.

I’ve never had much of an opinion about Clayton, heir to everything, because he never had much of a presence. Until his father’s murder, he’d spent his days drinking and gambling his luxuries and freedoms away like the rich boy he’s always been. But the marshal allowed it, and I felt honored to be among the men he relied upon to keep both Sagebrush and his family safe, whatever the cost. It’s easy to see why Doyle begrudged Clayton so much, though, and it remains to be seen if Clayton is the leader this town needs.

When he finally notices us, his attention shifts from Ashford standing beside him, to Jacob.

“Ah, Mr. Henderson,” Clayton says, hands resting on his hips as he glances between us. “I see you brought a friend.” The new marshal eyes me carefully, as he does with all the deputies remaining since Doyle’s failed rebellion and shootout at the old mill a couple of weeks ago.

“Yes, Marshal.” Jacob reaches for Clayton’s hand. “I thought he could be helpful.”

“Please, call me Clayton. I prefer it.” He shakes Jake’s hand. “It’s strange enough taking my father’s place as it is.”

Jacob nods though he seems hesitant.

Clayton offers me his hand as well.

“Luke,” I tell him, introducing myself.

“Uh—Luke’s just come back from patrol. And he knows more than I do about the Dead Lands.”

Clayton’s stare is keen and curious, taking me in as if he’s not sure what to think, and I’m certain he’s wondering whether he can trust me. I feel as out of place in this room with Clayton as he feels being called the marshal. “Welcome,” he finally says.

Ashford watches us for a moment, then peers down at the map on the desk, all business again. “What damage has been done is only festering,” he muses. “I’m not sure there’s much chance of peace at this point, but we must try.” When he looks at me, I know he expects me to add something to the importance of his advice, but I can’t.

“Patrol was quiet,” I say with a shrug. “Other than Carter, I saw no one for five days. There’s nothing much to report.”

“The drifters’ sudden disappearance could be for a number of reasons,” Clayton ponders after a breath. He leans down and studies the outdated aerial map, its sketches from decades ago partially faded. With a quick peek at it, I’m not even certain it’s accurate anymore. “They live up in the mountains,” Clayton says, peering up at Ashford. “You’re certain of that?”

“Yes.” We say it at the same time, and Clayton glances between us.

“Well then . . .” The new marshal straightens. “Regardless of where they are or what they’re doing, we know the situation isn’t getting any better and we can’t risk them getting to us first and being caught unaware. That shootout stunt Doyle pulled has left us with less than half of our deputies. We’re more vulnerable now than ever.”

“I don’t think they know where we are, exactly,” I offer. “We’ve always cut them off in the Dead Lands, at least as far as I know.” I recall the two riders a month ago, leaving the stream on horseback. They were the closest we’d ever seen them, hence Doyle’s parading their bodies through town as if they’d been trophies.

“That’s reassuring,” Ashford mutters, but I’m not certain if he’s being sarcastic. As the old marshal’s confidant, Ashford rarely went out on patrol, which is where I’ve always wanted to be. So we never worked much together, unless he was conveying orders. Seeing him so close with Clayton now is strange. Then again, as I recall both of their approaching nuptials to the Mason sisters, being close-knit isn’t so surprising; soon he and Clayton will be brothers.

“Still.” Clayton clears his throat and shakes his head. “We need to get to those mountains—we need water, and they stand between us and it. The decades of looting and terrorizing them is going to make our lives a lot harder—”

“They’re not innocent in all of this,” I interrupt. My cheeks flush, and I regret talking out of turn the instant I do. But then I remember, this isn’t the marshal I’m speaking to, it’s Clayton, mayor-elect per his request. I don’t fear him. I’m not entirely sure I even respect him.

He straightens, his blue eyes locking on me. “Perhaps that’s true,” Clayton says tersely. “But our past actions toward the drifters ensure they view us as enemies and won’t help us willingly. Does it not?” He takes a few steps closer, his eyes never leaving mine, and I can feel Ashford’s and Jacob’s gazes on me as well.

My body tenses, and I lift my chin. That Clayton calls the savages drifters, like the rest of the oblivious townsfolk, sets him even more apart from those of us who’ve lived the truth along with his father. All the while he’s been drinking his life away.

“Ashford told me about you, Luke,” Clayton continues, studying me far too closely. “The youngest deputy we have, working for my father since you were fourteen and got your first pistol. You’ve got a vendetta against the drifters for killing your father when you were ten. A neighbor woman took you in after, and now she’s ailing.”

My chest burns with the knowledge he shares so openly, as if he knows me in the slightest. And his words make my jaw clench as I fist my hands at my sides so as not to do something I know I’ll come to regret.

“Ailing with the Choke, just like my sister, Isabel,” Clayton adds quietly.

My brow twitches as I picture the giggling, cherub-faced girl from the stairs.

“I imagine you’d do anything to help June after her kindness to you, just as I would do anything to help my sister—to give them both a better life.”

His words hang in the air, heavy and weighted as if he’s waiting for me to disagree, but I can’t.

“I know the idea of peace doesn’t come easily for you, Mr. O’Brien, and given the past, I understand that, but if you knew what I do—if you’d read the letters passed down from generation to generation since the Shift by men like my father, twisting this world in a way that benefits them most and at any cost to others—you might see how much of the blame rests on our shoulders.”

Clayton exhales heavily, as if he’s forcing himself to take a breath. “Regardless of who has done what, the fact of the matter is that the water is drying up, and whatever the reason is in those mountains. We need to find a solution if we’re to survive. We have livestock and crops to sustain. Besides, we need more safety if we’re to send men further out in search for metal and materials to retrofit our buildings that are crumbling into sand. Just like June’s place is.” He says the last part slowly so that his words sink in, and I try not to gape at him in surprise. Clayton knows far more about me than I ever would’ve expected or thought he cared to, and it’s unnerving.

He tilts his head, focus razor-sharp as he speaks his next words carefully. “We need to get to that water, no matter how guilty or innocent any of us are in all of this. Therefore, we have to find a way to make peace with them. Don’t you think?”

Two minutes ago, Clayton was just a pretty boy next to the rugged memory of his father; he was a wilting shadow with a mountain of a man’s memory to live up to. But he’s shrewd. He knows more than I gave him credit for and is clearly invested in the wellbeing of the people of Sagebrush—if for no other reason than to take care of his sister. He’s formidable in his own right, and I give him a quick nod.

“If we’re not careful,” Clayton continues, glancing from me to Jacob. “The natives will eventually find us or make their move, and we’ll have to be ready for that too. Unless,” he continues, “we work to do something about it now.” He walks back to his desk. “Do either of you disagree?”

Jacob shakes his head earnestly. “No. Not at all, Mr. Cunningham.”

Clayton takes a sip of amber liquid from his crystal glass, then looks to me, waiting.

I want to tell him he’s been living in a cloud the past two decades while I’ve watched men die in front of me—that Ashford can feed him all the information he wants, truth or not, but it means little when you don’t know how life in this place really works without the money and protection he’s always had because of his father.

But when I see movement from the corner of my eye and notice Miss Josephine Mason leaning toward the unlit fireplace, every terse word and combative thought vanishes. Miss Mason’s dark red hair is messily pinned atop her head, a tendril of it loose and curling down the middle of her back as she absently rubs a fur pelt between her fingers.

I can’t help but stare blankly at the back of her bodice, as if I can see the scars I’ve heard mar her flesh beneath it. The rumors were rampant for days before and after the old marshal’s death, rumors of the pain he’d inflicted on her as a child after killing her mother in a jealous rage. If all of that is true, I wonder how she could sit in the old man’s study with his son, as if she’s a fixture here herself.

“Well,” Clayton hedges. “Are you with us, Mr. O’Brien, or not?”

It’s then I realize I can’t claim that Clayton is ignorant of the way this place works, because the truth is, there is much that I don’t fully understand yet myself. And while I might be bitter and distrusting, my gut has never steered me wrong, and it tells me I am as oblivious as the rest of them in so many ways.

“Fine,” I agree, mindful of June, myself, and the rest of the sick and weary living in Sagebrush.

“Good.” Clayton turns back to the map. “So, how is it we don’t know where they live in the mountains?” he asks. “After all these years, no one has located them?”

“The sandstones along the foothills of the mountain range are slick and dangerous to travel,” I tell him. “And without knowing the correct path, we could get lost and die simply trying to find them.”

“It’s a risk,” Ashford adds. “There are caves everywhere they could be stationed at. It would be like walking into an ambush.”

Clayton rubs his jaw, eyeing the map. “Jacob, show us where the old settlements used to be before the Shift, based on your research. It’s what they’ve always known and they might still frequent them or the surrounding areas. We can start there.”

Jacob happily walks to the desk, leaning over it and staring at the tattered parchment before he cracks open one of his journals. He flips through pages of dates and circled words, like Industrial Revolution, environmental forces, and black lung. Toward the end, he scans sketches and trails his fingers down one page and then another, skimming his chicken scratch. “They were land people—farmers.” Jacob shakes his head. “Whatever information we have about their lives before has changed too much to know anything for certain. They would’ve grown crops here,” he says, pointing to the map. “But if that’s true, wouldn’t our men have found them long before now?”

When I see a list of herbs in his notebook I can barely decipher, let alone pronounce, and a few locations sketched out with question marks beside them, I realize they’re grasping at straws.

“There are no farms or settlements,” I tell them. “But they’ve been known to set up makeshift outposts in the foothills.” I point to the unmarked terrain along the mountain range on the map. “We’ve found a few of them over the years. We think they use the outposts to re-group and hide from the storms, tucked away in rocks and caves like Ashford says, but close enough to the valley floor they can hunt, scavenge—whatever they want.”

“Draw it,” Clayton says, handing me a quill. “Everything you know—draw it so we can see. And I want to know what sort of weapons they have, what sort of skills, and what we’re to expect when we find them.”

“They have rifles—our rifles,” I say, sketching a sad excuse for a foothill settlement. “Guns they’ve taken from our dead and learned to wield against us to save their own skins . . . I’m not sure how many or how much ammunition they’ve hoarded. And they have their own weapons as well—knives and spears—”

“And arrows,” Miss Mason says, her voice quiet, but I’m not sure if it’s from sadness or because she is deep in thought. She turns to us, her slight frame regal in a way I’ve never noticed before as she straightens her shoulders and smooths out her blue skirt. “They have bows and arrows. I’ve seen them.”

Clayton watches her, a thousand questions in his gaze, but he only asks one. “Have we ever been attacked by them first?” His eyes shift to me and then to Ashford.

I open my mouth to say yes, of course we have, but I stop myself. After everything that’s been divulged in the past couple of weeks, I’m not entirely certain anymore. I’ve never had them come out of the darkness and try to slit my throat in the night like I’ve heard so often. I’ve seen bloodstained dirt and their bodies, and I’ve seen them from yards away, but I’ve never seen them ambush riders firsthand. I’ve never watched the bloodshed with my own eyes, save for what happened with the two riders Doyle and I shot in the canyon.

“According to stories,” I say instead.

“We’ve always lived in fear of them—always acted without thought,” Ashford adds, and walks over to the French doors. “And based on your father’s journal, Clayton, we have no idea how many of them there actually are. There were hundreds generations ago, tribes of people, some just like us, who took to the mountains for safety. How many are left is anyone’s guess, and we have no idea what we’re walking into.” He peers out at the few shrubs and mesquite trees that break up the barren land surrounding the estate.

“Christ,” Clayton curses under his breath, and rubs his temple. “I never wanted to inherit this godforsaken town, but this . . .” He looks at Miss Mason, perhaps for guidance.

“Whatever your plans,” she says, taking a step closer to our broken circle. There’s worry in her gaze as she stares into Clayton’s eyes. “You must remember that, unlike us, they are clearly patient.” She glances between the three of us. “You must go with men who will not act on instinct or in fear. We must be smart about this if we have any hope of peace—any hope of surviving a conversation with them.” She lets her words sink in. “We must do whatever we can to show them we mean no harm, not anymore.”

“I wouldn’t trust them coming to us to speak of peace,” I tell her. “And I’m certain they won’t trust us either, no matter what we say.”

Ashford sighs, crossing his arms over his chest. “Perhaps we can trade with them,” he offers.

“These people have farmed this land and lived here far longer than we have,” Jacob starts, glancing at the map. “They’ve learned how to adapt, that much is clear. The mountains offer them protection and water—for all we know, they’re the ones who are blocking the river from us. And if what we’ve known all this time is a lie,” he continues, staring pointedly at me, “and we’ve been seeking them out to harm them, not the other way around, we may not have anything they want or need that’s worth a possible peace.”

“They’re not likely to turn down food, weapons, or women,” I say, and while that earns me a few unappreciative glances, everyone knows it’s true.

Miss Mason holds out the fur pelt in her hand. The apprehension that darkens her hazel eyes is unmistakable as she steps closer. “They were peaceful when I met them, and I believe there is hope. Though you must find a way to speak to the right people, otherwise whoever goes may not come back,” she adds, and swallows thickly. Her eyes are fixed on Clayton, and I wonder if she’s silently pleading for him to stay behind.

It’s then I realize the hardest part comes next. Deciding who would give up their life for an impossible peace. With the old marshal newly dead, what would happen to Sagebrush if Clayton was killed too? The Cunninghams have always led this town—they are this town. Chaos would descend—deputies would fight for power. Fear would run rampant with no established leader.

“I think Luke should go,” Jacob says.

“What?” I nearly choke. Eyes wide, I stare at him. I can feel everyone’s gazes shift from him to me.

Jacob shrugs. “Why not? It makes sense. You know where the outposts and safe places to hide are—how to maneuver sandstorms. You know how to use a gun—” He lifts his palm defensively and peers around. “You’ve been out there half your life, Luke, and you want peace with them just as much as anyone.”

I’m about to correct him when he points to the herbal remedies in his journal. “We don’t have these plants anymore, Luke. They likely do, or know where we can get them.”

My mouth clamps shut as the deep-rooted resentment and distrust I have for the savages almost gets the better of me. But as much as I hate that Jacob’s right, I know he is. It pains me to admit June’s near her end, and I know that when she’s gone, I’ll have nothing left. A possible remedy for the Choke—even the slightest hope—would be worth whatever hatred I’d have to swallow to give June a semblance of ease in the last days that remain of her harsh, and exhausting life.

A lump forms in my throat and my eyes shift around the group, landing on stern, uncertain faces.

Miss Mason, specifically, looks at me warily, judging me and perhaps not fully trusting me, and I don’t blame her.

“I would trust Luke over the other deputies,” Ashford finally says. “He has more to lose.” Though I detest the fact that he’s talking about me as if I’m not in the room, Ashford is right about trusting me over the others. Holyworth, Marsh, Carter—they’ve lived and breathed the old marshal and Doyle far longer than I have. They have loose tongues that would squash any hopes of peace, no matter how temporary, and their cushy lives with all the women and booze they could ever want would make them all too quick to pull the trigger. I, on the other hand, can’t act as easily; Doyle showed me that.

“I will go,” I finally say. “The other men would likely wind up dead. But—” I meet Clayton’s gaze, pinning him in place. “If I go with you, I’m doing this for June and a possible remedy for the Choke, just as Jacob and your father discussed. I want whatever you get from this as payment—as much of it as I want, for June.”

Clayton’s eyes hold mine for a few heartbeats before he shifts his thoughtful gaze to Ashford. The deputy dips his chin in answer.

“And,” I add.

Clayton’s gaze cuts back to mine with a flare of irritation.

“You give me your word you’ll take care of June as best you can if something happens to me—like you would your sick sister.” I look at Miss Mason. “Give her the same care and comforts.” I don’t like the strain in my voice, and while I’m not sure I should trust that Clayton will keep his word, I feel certain Miss Mason would.

Clayton inclines his head. “You have our word.”

Miss Mason appraises me a second longer than I expect, and I almost think I’ve got her compassionate nature all wrong, when finally she concedes. “Of course we will.”

Running one hand through his sandy blonde hair, Clayton peers down at the map again. “Now, to decide who else must go with us.”

There’s barely a second’s pause before Jacob says, “I will,” shocking the shit out of me. Although he’s a good guy, he’s not a fighter in any sense of the word, nor does he like to get dirty. “I know some of the language,” he offers, holding up the book. “At least the basics. Luke told me once he heard them speaking in their native tongue, which means some of them might not speak any English at all. We don’t know who we’ll come across.”

He’s right. I can still hear the man’s foreign curses the day I watched the woman fall to the ground. I push the memory aside. “Not to mention,” I add, “we’ll likely need your medical skills if we’re going to come back in one piece.”

“It’s settled then,” Ashford says. “The three of us, and I’ll bring Andy along. He’s the best tracker we have.”

“Jonathan,” Clayton says, shaking his head. “What about Scarlet and Tobias?” He pauses, his voice earnest, and I recall the orphan boy who lost his caregiver in Doyle’s quest for power. “You have them to think about—”

“And you have this town and Miss Mason,” Ashford counters. “Since we’ve taken him in, Scarlet and Tobias have gotten on well together. They will be fine while I’m away. But if you go on this mission and don’t come back, this town will be ruined. You cannot leave, not with everything so unsettled. I can go with Luke. They won’t recognize me, and as long as we’re careful, they may be more curious than anything. Besides, we don’t want a larger group, it would only draw more attention. We can’t appear threatening.”

Clayton curses and sits down in his father’s high-back chair, running his hands over his face as the weight of uncertainty settles in around all of us. This is really happening. We are riding into the unknown, filled with danger so outside of our control, it will be a miracle if any of us are standing here days from now.

“You must also bring them a peace offering,” Miss Mason adds, looking at Ashford. “We must acknowledge what we’ve done—give them some sort of recompense, some closure.” She stares at the canyon on the map, where the river runs through the edge of the town. Miss Mason taps it absently. “Where are their things?” she asks, her voice distant. “Their furs, their bows and arrows—everything they had on them before they were killed must go back.” There’s a bite to her voice that wasn’t there before. A commanding tone I would never dare cross.

Their furs and bows and arrows . . . I can imagine the savages perfectly on top of their horses, but it was so much a blur, I don’t know what happened to their belongings after I’d pulled the trigger.

“I’m sure their belongings were logged in the ledgers,” Ashford says.

“You’re sure about that?” Clayton lifts an eyebrow. “Those ledgers were a wild goose chase last time I looked at them. Doyle’s men were stealing from my father for years.”

Ashford nods. “I’ll find them,” he assures Miss Mason. His tone is almost sympathetic. He doesn’t only respect her, I realize, but he cares about her, perhaps like a father would his daughter.

She eyes him carefully. “Scarlet will not be pleased to hear you’re leaving. You could be gone for weeks.” Or not return home at all, goes unsaid.

Ashford straightens and glances around as if he’s reading the room, weighing what each of us is leaving behind. “I’ll speak with her—to her and Tobias both. They must understand.”

“Well, then.” Clayton leans back in his chair, exhaustion darkening his features. “They were a peaceful people once, according to my father’s journals. Some of them were at least, and used to trade with us before the Shift, despite our troubled past. We must have faith that this will work because we need that water.” Clayton flips over three more glasses and fills them with whiskey. “We have a lot of work to do,” he says, and looks at me. “Mr. O’Brien, tell us everything else you know.”

4

Kaia

They are three days late.

That’s three days of idly waiting, the distance between sunrise and sunset stretching further and more desolate than the desert floor without rain.

Three days of worrying what’s keeping the hunters, and three days shrouded in constant cloud cover, making it impossible to see any life beyond the cliffs. Snow settles in the mountain peaks surrounding us, katsinas’ protective veil against the soshos—the white devils, greedy like vultures that scavenge the sands below.

But, this place that keeps us safe—this dwelling that was our ancestors’ blessing generations before now—might be our unmaking.

I peer up at the thickening storm clouds that rarely disperse, and a frigid gust whips across the mountain, catching the falling water from the cliff overhead. Mist kisses my skin, cool against my face. A warning from the katsinas to tame my wandering thoughts, perhaps and quiet my budding fury.

Leaning against the carved stone, I watch Ahkima gathering his men together on the lookout below. All of them are dressed in brown and gray fox furs, but Ahkima stands out—confident, strong, and always so serious. He is a good warrior, one of the last true leaders we have to fight against the soshos.

Anger warms me from the inside out. That Ahkima’s leading another mission down the mountain to search for our people should make me feel better, but if he returns with no sign of Cole, I’ll once again have to hide my fury and disappointment, as well as my fear.

The katsinas chide me again, but with a bone-chilling gust this time, and I pull my furs closer to my ears. Though it clears my mind to be away from the others, I’ve lingered outside too long.

As I turn to head back into the mountain, Ahkima’s dark eyes meet mine. I wish I could go with him, that I could be at his side, searching for my people, but Oona and Elan would tie me down before they let me step foot off this mountain, especially now.

Ahkima lifts his chin, his jaw clenching with determination and a promise to do all that he can to bring my cousin back to me. After our silent farewell, I leave the wind and darkening skies behind and step into the stone tunnel. Oona will skin me alive if I’m late to my birth day marking ritual.

Wind howls through the tunnel as I make my way toward the village. The layers of quartz and sandstone have kept us safe since the Great Storm, hiding us from the dangers of the desert lands to the south, and protecting us from the constant blizzards that have flurried to the north for generations. But the mountain has left us with only stone and earth, too wet to yield much, so we wilt along with our depleted resources.

Intermittent torchlight shadows the path as I weave my way deeper into the mountain. The stories of life before the violent winds and torrential rains are so different than the world we live in now—the stories of my ancestors’ farming the earth, so dry it crumbled between their fingers. A life of sunshine, hot and inescapable. Rows of corn as far as the eye could see; rolling hills of sagebrush, the stone mountains only mirages in the distance instead of what feels like our inescapable tomb.

Those are the stories Oona still tells, always with a lilt of hope in her voice, or perhaps it’s certainty that our people will find balance once again. She tells her stories to the children and shows them the drawings of our ancestors who came to the mountains long before they settled on the valley floor, but I pay no mind to her tales. I know life as it was before the Great Storm is impossible, no matter what Oona’s spirits tell her.

“Kaia.” Muna says my name with a barely perceptible hiss as we meet in the mouth of the cavern. Being one of our council elders, she often views me with silent judgement, which isn’t surprising. “Ahkima says he leaves again before dark.”

I focus on the lines etched in her face, the hard purse of her mouth as she speaks, and I refuse to look away despite my discomfort in her presence. “Yes, he’s readying the others below. I suspect he’ll be gone for a of couple days, at least.”

“And you think it wise for them to venture out, knowing what’s befallen the hunting party—”

“We know nothing for certain,” I tell her, resenting the harsh finality in her tone. “And Ahkima will do as he wills.”

Muna’s eyebrows lift, but the hard set of her features is unwavering. Much like her son, Muna is serious, but unlike the concern and affection I see in Ahkima’s eyes, Muna’s gaze holds scrutiny and censure. She hated my mother, and she will always hate me because I am my mother’s daughter. Part of me has come to accept it, even if I don’t understand why. Another part of me resents such a cold-hearted shrew for breathing when my mother no longer does.

“Be steady, be patient, in all that you do. Never feed the beast.” Hearing my mother’s voice in the back of my mind, I bite back the remarks forming on my tongue, and without another word, we exchange a sharp but courteous nod, then carry on our separate ways. I glance back in time to see Muna disappear through the tunnel behind me. Probably to say farewell to her only son.

I bristle when she’s out of sight, straighten my shoulders, and pray she is wrong, even if I’ve tried and failed not to assume Cole, Tiva, Tate, and the others have met their end at the hands of the soshos. Muna’s snide comments don’t help ease my mind either.

Although our people have been peaceful since the Great Storm, there is an undeniable tension between some of the council elders and myself that grows heavier as my ceremony draws closer. Muna doesn’t think I’ve earned my status. If only she knew how much I agree, nor do I want it.

With a deep breath, I continue into the plaza, the center of our hidden village, and into a sea of tan and dark-skinned faces. No matter the uncertainty that awaits my people outside the mountain, inside feels like an entirely different world. For all the rituals and beliefs that I question daily, the pride I’ve always felt in the Hopi people—in all the clans from all corners of the desert that make up our tribe—never wavers. Everyone has a purpose and fulfills it without hesitation, a legacy my mother and her ancestors have left behind, for me.

Remembering the looming birth day markings awaiting me, I shut my eyes and let the scents and bustling life of midday calm me. The basket weavers chat quietly among themselves with dried, yellow rabbitbrush spread out on hide blankets, awaiting use. The dull scent of smoke, boiling pine, and roasting yucca root fills my nostrils and lingers in the cool air that catches the breeze through the cavernous space.

Children sit around the fire, listening to elder Sakima’s stories of old as they mold their clay katsina dolls that will watch over them as they sleep.

“You must use caution,” Sakima says in a brittle voice as he deftly smooths the palmed-sized figure in his hand. The little girls and boys use pointed bone to shape their dolls. “Your parents will never forgive me if you lose a finger.”

Some of the children giggle, then their mouths contort just right as they concentrate again, their attention once again on their task.

“Like the sun god did for us,” Sakima continues in his warbly voice, “we mold the katsina with grace and respect. They will protect us, if we do. We were born from the earth just as they will be, though we were breathed to life by the goddess below.”

“Kaia!” I meet Lena’s gaze outside her family’s adobe, one of many surrounding the plaza, where she and her mother burn sage and dissect dried cactus fruit. “Any news?” she asks as I draw closer. Since Lena is our resident dye maker, and her mother our most gifted herbalist, they can always be relied upon to be brewing tinctures and stews, so I’m not surprised to find herbs and dried flowers laid out on the stone in front of them.

I inhale the steady plume of incense constantly surrounding their home. Though her mother continues to hum, Lena blinks at me with brown eyes that appear almost black against her pale skin. “Ahkima has gone in search for the hunters,” I tell her.

She busies herself thoughtfully, but I know she is deciding whether or not to tease me. “And you are not going with him?” The amusement in her voice is obvious as she looks at me through her lashes. Growing up together, Lena knows as well as everyone else that Ahkima and I have been inseparable most of our lives, though now, things feel different, even if I’m not certain why.

“No, of course not. You know Oona would never forgive me.” If I even came back.

With a shrug, Lena sets aside a bundle of sage wrapped in yucca root. “And you always do as your grandmother says?”

I can’t help but crack a small smile, which feels foreign in the somberness that’s settled upon the village the past few days. “Not always,” I admit.

She shakes her head, her amusement fading. “It’s for the best, you know? Cole’s leaving without you was maddening, yes—but imagine your possible fate had you gone with them. We would be wondering what happened to you these weeks past, just as you worry for him.”

I look anywhere but at her, not wanting to hear the same lecture I’ve already heard from Oona a dozen times over. “Perhaps they went further west this time, toward the burnt lands.”

Lena’s forehead crumples with sympathy but I raise my eyebrow in defiance, daring her to disagree that it’s possible.

Finally, she concedes. “Whatever their reasons for being late to return, that you didn’t go is for the best,” she repeats. Only this time, she grins. “You would no doubt find yourself in more trouble than they have. You have a weakness for it. Like when we decided to sneak away and visit your parents’ grave without Elan . . . That was a disaster.”

I roll my eyes. “We were twelve, and it’s not our fault there was a blizzard.”

“Perhaps not, but what about the snowbank and the rockslide?” There’s humor in her voice, though when we were younger it wasn’t the slightest bit entertaining. “We could’ve died out there, frozen to death at the top of the mountain.”

“But we didn’t,” I say. Elan found us, Ahkima by his side. He’d tattled, I was sure of it, but I was too happy they’d found us and brought us home to be angry with him.

Lena’s mother continues to hum, still lost in her own world as she tends to her herbs.

“Speaking of troublesome youth, where is Nico?” I glance around for her little brother. Though Lena is light skinned like her father, a descendant of a sosho from generations back, Nico is a brown-faced cheeky thing who takes after his mother, quiet but mischievous.

“Practicing his English with Gerta and the others. They wish to perform at your ceremony.” Lena smiles widely, knowing it would be unheard of to veer away from tradition, even if I wish we could.

“A private performance, perhaps.” I smile at her and steal some dried blood-red Saguaro fruit from her basket and pop it into my mouth. “Besides, who said there was going to be a ceremony?”

Lena practically snorts, as if I’m joking.

“I should go,” I say.

She hands me another piece of dried fruit. “For the road.” The Saguaro is mildly sweet and reminds me of my mother, so I savor the flavor on my tongue.

As I’m about to leave, Kimi turns to me, her herbs temporarily forgotten.

“Take care, my child,” she says kindly. She bows her head and hands me a dried sage leaf. “There is much change ahead.”

I blink at her. “Thank you,” I say, gracious but a bit tentative. Lena’s mother turns back to her humming and herbs, and I peer at the adobes lining the cliff above.

“What’s her meaning?” Lena asks, brow furrowed again. “Where do you go now?” Unlike her mother who is faceted to the beliefs of our ancestors, Lena is a free spirit who dares to question the old ways, like me, and often forgets them entirely.

So not to insult Kimi, I force my snide comments from my tongue. “To see the scribe,” I mutter, looking at Lena with a tight-lipped smile.

Her eyes widen and shift from my face to my neck. “Oh.”

“Yes, oh,” I mutter. The markings are my birthright and symbolize adulthood, a display all men and women receive on their eighteenth year. I glance at the markings on Lena’s wrists and arms, far different from the ones I will receive. While hers boast the transformation of girl to woman, my markings will signify my lineage and a future that is uncertain, the weight of it too great and looming.

But with a deep sigh, I accept my current fate. “Thank you.” I hold up the last Saguaro fruit before plopping it into my mouth. Lena offers me a small wave and I head through the plaza for the cliffs. Oona waits for me up there, probably cursing my tardiness as she peers out the window of the scribe’s quarters.

I barely make it a few more steps when a deep, familiar voice reaches my ears. “Kaia?”

I turn around as Elan steps out of the woodcarver’s place. Elan barely fits through the doorway, and as he straightens, I notice a bow in hand. He frowns. “I thought you were with the scribe.”

“Yes, well, I’m running a bit late.” I offer him a sheepish grin, though I welcome another distraction.

“You were on the landing again,” Elan guesses, but I don’t bother responding. “To say goodbye to Ahkima?” Though he doesn’t say it, I know he’s grateful I didn’t get any bright ideas and decide to go with him on his journey down the mountain.

I nod, even though Ahkima’s leaving is only one reason I went out for air. I glance up at the scribe’s quarters, wondering if it’s not too late to get out of my birth day markings and all I fear that lies ahead. But Elan, my most fervent protector, worries too much about me, so I don’t bother him with the details.

Instead, I look at the bow in his hand. “Have you finally decided to learn?” I ask, almost hopeful. “I could use some real competition.” I nod to the tunnel leading to the hunter’s practice range and smile at him. Being the age my father would be, were he still alive, I’m surprised Elan’s decided to pick up a new skill, especially since he’s one of many villagers stuck in the ways of the old. “Have you finally given up your axe?” And the white devils’ gun.

With a straight face and smiling eyes, Elan hands the bow to me. “Not for me . . . For your birth day.”

I accept it on instinct and lift a quizzical brow. “Are you trying to tell me something?” I smirk, but my amusement fades when I notice the bear carving where sinew meets bow, and my breath falters. “Hon?” I look into Elan’s pale blue eyes, clear and expectant.

“Your katsina,” he starts, and I nod. Yes, my katsina, and the significance of such a gift makes my heart swell. “For your transition,” he explains. “Your father would want you to have one of your own—one that will help protect you. He would be proud of you.” The warmth in his voice nearly brings tears to my eyes, and suddenly the future, as looming and uncertain as it is, seems almost too heavy to bear. Not without my parents. I can’t do any of it without them . . .

I force myself to swallow. “Askwali, Elan.” I thank him, my voice low and rough, but there is nothing I can do to prevent it. I grip the bow tighter in my hand. The rituals, the ceremony—I’ve been reluctantly waiting for this next phase in my path, but now that it’s here, I am more fearful than ever.

Elan says nothing, our exchange meaningful but silent as we stare at one another until finally, he glances away. “Your grandmother is waiting for you.” Elan’s voice is solemn because he knows how much I dread the future, and he nods toward the adobes settled on the highest cliff of the cave. It’s where my family home sits, where chieftains and leaders have lived for generations before me. Now, Oona and I are the only ones left, and the empty rooms are like ominous voids waiting to be filled, my future waiting to be embraced, and I fight the urge to run in the other direction.

“Walk me to the scribe?” I ask Elan instead, not wanting to be alone.

With a nod, he falls into step beside me, and we weave our way up the stone pathway. My heart hammers in my chest and my furs are suddenly stifling. Every lesson has led to this moment. Every trial. Each death, whether it be villager or the loved ones dearest to me, has shaped me into the person I am—the leader I must become, even if I’m not yet ready.

I take Elan’s hand in mine, surprising us both, and I lead him up the stone steps to the scribe’s adobe.

Before I can thank him again for such a beautiful gift, Oona shrieks my name. “Kaia!” The wicker door opens and she takes my hand, hers warm and wrinkled in mine, and ushers me inside. The air is thick with a potent incense I’ve never smelled before and it nearly burns my eyes.

The scribe stands in a beaded and feathered robe, a perturbed look on his decorated, narrowed face. I can barely make out his dark eyes against the black and blue painting his features, and I swallow thickly.

“You are late,” Oona says, glaring at me.

Elan is about to leave us, but I shake my head. “No.” He and Oona balk at me, knowing tradition forbids anyone but family to witness such a sacred moment, but Elan and Oona are my family. “Stay,” I tell him, though it’s more of a command.

Oona and Elan exchange another look before Elan moves to the back of the adobe room, lit only by candlelight.

“Disrobe,” the scribe says without ceremony. He’s always been an expressionless, tight-lipped man—just as frightening to me now as he was when I was a child—and I can’t tell if, like some, he is against my approaching accession, or if he’s simply doing his job and marking a young woman on her eighteenth year. Either way, he’s a spindly man whose hands shake too much for comfort as he picks up a Saguaro thorn. It’s nearly enough to tip the scale and make me flee, but the small part of me that clings to the beliefs of our people, hopes the markings will protect me from the sickness that claimed my mother and the soshos that plague the desert floor, as the symbols are meant to.

My palms and brow sweat, though I school my expression into one of indifference and drop my furs to the floor. Elan turns around as I remove my top, but Oona is quick to hand me a wide cloth. I nod in gratitude and climb onto the raised cot, then cover my exposed breasts.

I’m not sure where my mind goes after that, only that the prick of the needle against my skin goes unnoticed as the significance of the day settles over me, haunting my thoughts.

Sitting at the edge of the crystalline pool, I stare up at the mineral columns spearing down from overhead. In this particular cave, where the water is still, it’s calming and settles the hum in my body that vibrates just below the surface.

I peer down at my tender flesh. The markings on my neck and chest are different than I remember my mother having, bigger and more vibrant. They are red and tingling and feel alive on my skin. I thought I stood out as a child, being the daughter of descendants from the Unification Council, but now I am marked as such. Forever and for all to see.

The rush of the river beyond the cave is a distant murmur. It’s not just the absence of chatter and the whir of wind through the tunnels above that I crave, but this sacred place I often retreat to, known only to Oona and me.

Peeling off the last of my clothes, I let out a heavy breath and lose myself in my still, blue reflection. My outline is the same as it’s always been, though I feel as if everything has changed in a single moment. This morning I was just me, eighteen and fighting against the future I didn’t want. Now, I’m a step closer to that future and it feels as though I can no longer escape it. If I refuse my heritage, it would be a dishonor to my people. If I accept the etsi, I accept that I am taking my mother’s place; I become a prisoner to my fate despite my wavering belief in everything my people believe. I cannot help but feel . . . lost.

Cupping the water in my hand, I pour it over my shoulders and it trickles down my chest. The water is cold, but that’s expected, and my skin no longer reacts the way it used to when my mother would bring me here as a little girl, when I struggled to get along with the other children. My skin was lighter than theirs, my eyes too bright. As if my lineage didn’t set me enough apart, my appearance did.

“I know it is difficult,” she would say as she bathed me, her voice in the quiet calming my nerves. “But you must accept the etsi one day. You are the daughter. You are special and this is your future.” In a village where women are the voice of the people, it is the greatest honor that an etsi have a first born daughter. Even if I was the only child my mother would ever have.

“As etsi, you will give the people hope and they will love and respect you. But you must watch the fire that burns in your heart. Your passion and quick tongue must not make you reckless, and you must never forget that all of this is for the people and our survival. Not for you.” I’m not sure if my mother’s words were meant to inspire or guilt me, but I’ve never forgotten them. Some days, when I miss her the most, I even resent them.

Oona believes my wandering soul is amplified by the emotions and unrest of my ancestors. And because of her idyllic nature, my grandmother also believes my Claiming—starting with my markings—will ground me. Not Kaia, the soon-to-be etsi, but Kaia, leader of her people. Leader of an entire broken village and a sanctuary for landless people.

But who can live up to such a fate? Certainly not an orphan holed up here, speaking words to placate her people instead of fighting for them.

And if I fail my mother’s memory?

Chest nearly too tight to breathe, I slip into the water and immerse myself completely. No more dwelling on what cannot be undone today.

5

Luke

June’s windows are dark by the time I finish my meeting with Clayton and Ashford. I don’t expect her to be awake at this hour—I don’t know that I even want her to be—but even as cowardly as I am, I can’t leave without seeing her once before I go. Especially since I don’t know when I’ll be coming back. If I come back at all. I push away the thought of my potential death, leaving her to mourn, and hating the way it hurts my heart to imagine her eyes filled with tears.

The front door creaks open as I step into her apartment nestled in the rank-scented Grunge with the other factory workers. There might’ve been a time when she could pluck a chicken faster than any of them, but that time has long past. And I wish June would let me do more for her. But among the poor is where she’s always lived, and June’s too proud to let me take care of her any better than I already am. I might be getting old, but I’m not incompetent, dammit.

Quietly, I shut the door behind me. Ignoring the cool draft that comes through new fissures in the mortar around the windows, I pray the building will withstand another season of sandstorms. At least until she’s gone. While the thought feels macabre in some way, it’s the reality June and I have been dancing around for seven years and counting.

June’s house generally smells of mint from her evening tea, and wax and candle smoke from her nightly reading, but there’s a musty staleness to the air that spikes panic. The floorboards’ protests are muffled beneath tattered rugs as I step toward the curtain separating her sleeping quarters. Even with the wind howling through the alleyway, I can hear June’s laborious breathing as I draw closer, and I peek inside.

Her bed is cast in shadows, but her face is lit by the moonlight filtering through the window, illuminating her wrinkled features, soft and peaceful with sleep. As much as I don’t want to leave her alone, I can’t get away fast enough either. I don’t want to watch her waste away, and I can’t bear to see her suffer.

“Well,” she rasps, her eyes still closed. “Are you going to watch me while I pretend to sleep, or are you going to get on with it and say goodbye again?”

A concoction of unease and relief fills me. “You’re supposed to be asleep,” I tell her, and lower myself to the edge of her bed. Like everything else in this house, it creaks and moans beneath me.

Her eyelids flit open and those burning blue irises of hers focus in on me. “Wouldn’t that be lucky for you,” she grouses. I know I’m a horrible son to her after she’s been the closest thing I’ve known to a mother since mine died during childbirth when I was four. “I’ll have to fix that door when I get back,” I say, changing the subject.

She shrugs. “You never were a quiet boy. Not when you were fourteen, sneaking in drunk after hanging around those ingrate deputies, or when you were sixteen, sneaking out to visit a girl. Nothing’s changed.” Her chest wheezes as she draws in a breath.

I smile. “No, I guess it hasn’t.”

The angles of June’s face harden. “So, where are you off to now?” Her breath hitches as she coughs to clear her throat. “Another patrol?”

Reluctantly, I shake my head, uncertain what to tell her. “Not this time.”

The crease in her brow deepens. “Well, do I have to ask you again?” she chides.

I smirk but it’s with a sad sort of resolution. “No, June. I’m headed to the mountains.”

Her eyes widen as she searches my face, though she says nothing. I’m not sure if it’s because June’s too scared to hear the answer, or if it even matters much anymore. Patrol, the mountains—all of it has always been about justice, revenge, and duty. Something she’s never agreed with and likely doesn’t want to waste any more labored breaths talking about.

“We’re going to find water,” I tell her, but it isn’t to put her mind at ease as much as it is to soothe mine. “We’re going to try to talk to them—the savages.” I want to tell her that by some miracle, I might find her a remedy to help her lungs so she can breathe again without struggle, but I can’t bring myself to utter the words, knowing nothing could come of it.

“You’re going to talk to them?” she repeats, and I don’t blame her for being confused. Hell, I’m beyond baffled as to how I got brought into all of this myself. But June doesn’t say anything else as sadness fills her eyes, and all gruff pretenses fall away. “You be safe out there, Luke,” she breathes, and every word she utters is controlled and clipped. “You come back to me, safe and sound.” This is the woman I know and love, who grumbles and groans but doesn’t try to sway me.

I take June’s hand in mine, frail and calloused, and I squeeze it tightly. “You can’t get rid of me so easily.”

“I know,” she snorts, and immediately breaks into a coughing fit. I try to hand her the glass of water on her bedside table, but she pushes it away, ignoring anything’s wrong at all. And finally, she catches her breath. “I’ve tried to get rid of you all these years,” she teases, “but you keep coming back.” This time, she forces a smile that fills her face, making her appear younger again, like the June who took me in all those years ago.

“Yeah, well, someone has to watch out for you,” I say, arching an eyebrow. “All the trouble you’re always getting yourself into and all.”

She chuckles as much as she can stand before her breath hitches. “I’m not the one with a dinged-up face from too many fights, since you can’t keep that temper of yours in check when you should. It’s you I’m worried about.”

“You don’t have to be worried, June,” I tell her. She has worried about me enough in her life, and look where it’s gotten her—alone with the likes of me in her final months, and I can’t even bring myself to stick around.

“For all your bluster,” she rasps, “you’re a good man, Luke. I don’t know why you’re going on this mission—” She takes a shallow, phlegmy breath. “But perhaps it will bring you the closure you need.” The frailness of her voice. The brittleness of her bones. The heaviness of each inhale. Each second grinds away at me, making me want to flee faster.

June’s hand squeezes mine. “Put the past where it belongs, Luke.” She holds my eyes with hers, pleading with me and willing me to listen. “Allow yourself to live a real life before it’s too late.” I nod, and she squeezes my hand harder. “I mean it,” she bites out. “Promise me. If you’re going to risk your life to go to the mountains, have it be for a reason other than the vengeance and hatred your friends have been filling your head with all these years.”

Again, I refrain from telling June I’m going for her, I don’t dare it. She’d have my head and I don’t want her to feel any sort of responsibility or guilt in my going. “I promise, Junie.”

She sighs, coughing as she struggles to sit up. And with shaking arms, she reaches for her water glass on the side table.

“Here—” I grab the glass for her and bring it to her lips.

“I have hands,” she gripes, glaring at me with razor-sharp warning, but I ignore her and tip the glass closer. After a couple of slow sips, she lowers herself down again.

“Miss Mason will be by to visit while I’m gone,” I tell her. “Try to be nice, June. Okay? Promise me. Because someone’s gotta keep you straight, since I can’t.”

Her glare hardens on me. “I would never be rude to that girl. I don’t care about all the hoo-ha and praise Clayton Cunningham is getting—it’s that farm girl who shed light on everything and got us all more water. She’s the one who saved us.” June sighs again, exhausted already, and I tuck her quilt around her shoulders.

“You should go back to sleep. You need rest.”

“I’ll sleep when I’m dead, thank you very much.”

It’s a fate that will come for her all too soon. “That’s not funny, June.”

“Hey,” she gripes. “You handle this your way, and I’ll handle it mine. That’s always been our understanding. Don’t puss out on me now.” Suddenly softening, June strokes my hand with her boney thumb. “I’ll be fine,” she whispers, but it’s not reassuring. With a quick pat, she takes a deep, wheezing breath and settles deeper into her mattress. “Now, go on. I’m sure you’ve got plenty to do before you leave.”

“June—”

“I’ll see you when you get back.”

For all my instincts to flee from these gut-wrenching moments, now I can’t look away. All I can do is stare at June and imagine how alone she will feel if her final moments come to pass while I’m away. In that instant, I decide I have to stay. It’s what’s right, and I’ll hate myself later if I don’t. The others don’t need me, not really. They can figure it out—I’m no one in the scheme of all of this.

“June—”

“I said get!” she barks, and I drop her hand and jolt to my feet.

And like a coward, I head for the door. “I’ll see you soon, Junie,” I whisper.

“Yeah, yeah. Just be safe out there, would you?”

6

Kaia

Lena bounces her baby nephew on her knee. It’s the first I’ve seen him since his release from birth ceremony confinement.

“Your sister is very lucky to have such a healthy boy,” I tell her, taking in his round, full cheeks.

“Perhaps, but she’s so exhausted, I doubt she cares much about that at the moment.”

Leaning forward, I smooth down a piece of silky soft hair. There’s a brightness in his eyes, a glimmer that makes me feel something a lot like hope for the future generation, but then I think of how quickly quality of life has declined in my lifetime, and the hope dims. I clear my throat. “Which name did she choose?”

With a snort, Lena nods toward her family’s adobe, where her mother, sister, younger brother Nico, her brother-in-law, and father settle in for the night. “You mean which name did my mother choose for him?” Lena coos at the baby in her arms again, making a funny face. “Paco.”

“Soaring eagle . . .” I tap my chin with my finger as I contemplate its meaning. “It’s not as mischievous as I’m certain he’ll be—well, if he’s anything like you were—but it’s a strong name. A good name.”

“A warrior’s name,” Lena murmurs, and glances from little Paco’s chubby face to me. “Perhaps one day he will be one of your warriors.” Her gaze shifts to the markings inching beyond my furs and up my neck. After two days, the skin is only faintly pink and sore. “Did it hurt?” she asks hesitantly.

I snag a Saguaro root from the basket beside me to chew on. “A little. The scribe wasn’t gentle about it, that’s for sure.” I shrug, uncertain how to talk about the changing tides, even with my friend. “It was more uncomfortable than anything.”

“It makes you look different.” Lena’s eyes shift over me once more before she seems to accept my markings, and refocuses on her nephew cooing in her arms. “You actually look important now,” Lena adds, and her words are playful this time, but I recognize the strain in her voice too. I feel it in my heart each time I see her. “It all feels so much more real, you know?”

Feigned amusement bubbles out of me. “Yes, I do know.” Everything feels different, it has for a while, and I don’t like how ungrounded and uncertain it makes me in my own skin.

Lena kisses Paco’s cheek and makes a funny face at him. “I should probably get him inside,” she says. “It’s getting late.”

I peer around the plaza. The bustle of the day dies down as the villagers head into their homes for the evening. The faint call of the wind reaches my ears in the growing silence. “I suppose it is. Perhaps I’ll make the rounds one last time,” I think aloud, knowing we’re shorthanded with the hunters still gone.

“Elan is out there,” Lena reminds me. “He would let you know if there’s any trouble.” She watches me closely, her golden-brown eyes curious. “You wouldn’t be avoiding Oona, would you?” she asks with a half-smile. “You know you have to go home at some point.”

With a sigh, I pick up Paco’s fox skin blanket and drape it over Lena’s shoulder. “I know, but she’s already had me meet with the council for half the day to discuss the food shortage and plans for this next harvest. When I go home, she’ll want to discuss my ceremony and I’m not ready for that yet.”

All amusement vanishes and Lena holds Paco close to her. “What will you do for the next harvest?” she asks, her voice a whisper. “I overheard Muna speaking to a few of the elders yesterday about running low on meat. And with the hunters disappearing—”

“Don’t listen to Muna,” I snap, and Lena’s brow furrows. Standing, I rub my temple. “Apologies.” I shake my head, realizing the dull ache in the base of my skull has made me wearier than I thought.

Lena steps closer and rests her hand on my shoulder. “What is it, Kaia?” she asks, not as a concerned villager, but as my friend. “Are you still so resistant to the Claiming?”

I bark out a laugh. “Of course I am,” I say easily. “Who would want such a burden?”

“Or honor,” she corrects.

I meet her gaze. “Muna acts as if she wants it—she has a lot of opinions, but no solutions. Suddenly, they want me to give them answers and lead them, but they haven’t allowed me to learn and be a part of anything—not until now.” With an exhale, I wonder why, after all the time that’s passed, my people are so set on a tradition that no longer makes sense. “Everyone is so afraid of change.” I shake my head. “You know my being etsi changes nothing, right? Having an etsi doesn’t make everything better. I can’t make the clouds disperse or the sun shine; I can’t dry the earth and make the crops grow. And I can’t protect us if we abandon the mountain either. The soshos will see to that, just as they always have.” I drop my arms at my sides. “If Muna insists on being the etsi with Ahkima by her side, that’s fine with me. I trust he will be logical, if a bit stubborn.”

Lena snorts.

“But until Muna or anyone else has the nerve to do something about us being holed up in this mountain, I wish she would just shut her mouth and stay out of my way. I might not want to be etsi, but all she does is spread fear with her questions and complaining, and that’s the last thing we need right now.”

I hate that Lena’s eyes fill with sympathy, and I turn away from her with a groan. “Sorry.” I run my fingers through my loose hair, tugging at the ends. “I just wish Ahkima would take it. Then Muna and I would both be happy.”

“You’ve asked him?” Lena sounds shocked, though I’m not sure why. She knows me well enough to guess I wouldn’t be opposed to breaking tradition.

“Many times,” I breathe. “He claims it’s impossible, that the honor is mine, and he would never take that away from me, even if I want him to. It’s probably why Muna hates me most—her own son won’t give her what she wants because he cares too much about me and my future.”

Lena rests her hand on my shoulder again, and she leans in once more, conspiratorial this time. “Ahkima does seem to care a great deal about your status and wellbeing,” she says with waggling eyebrows.

I push her away with a half-smile. “Stop it.”

“It’s true,” she whisper-sings. “I think he loooves you . . .”

“You are the worst,” I say, and turn to leave. Especially because I know Lena has been in love with Ahkima since we were children, though she’s never admitted it to me or herself. “I’m leaving now.”

With a throaty laugh, she lifts Paco’s stubby hand and waves at me. “We’ll see you tomorrow then? If you can squeeze us into your busy day, of course.”

I glower at her. “I’ll see what I can manage—”

“Kaia!” My name echoes through the plaza.

When I turn toward the entrance tunnel, Elan and Ahkima lumber inside, Tate, one of the missing hunters braced between them.

My heart soars to see Tate, only to plummet the instant I register the expression on Ahkima’s face, the blood smearing Tate’s clothes . . . and the realization that he’s alone and unconscious.

There’s a discord of voices as the lingering villagers watch the men haul Tate toward us. The cold air clings to them as they lean him against Lena’s doorstep, and I shout for her mother to come outside. “Kimi! We need you!”

Lena holds Paco closer, her eyes wide with horror as she stares at Tate. His clothes are torn, his body emaciated—he barely looks alive.

There’s a commotion inside the adobe, and Lena’s family files out of the house. Without a second thought, Kimi shouts off orders to her husband and Lena shoos Nico and the others back inside to ready a cot for Tate.

“It’s a bullet wound,” Elan explains, and I crouch down to Tate, lifting his chin to find chapped lips, dark circles around his eyes, and dried blood on his hollow cheeks. Even I can tell he’s lost too much blood, and I’m not sure Kimi can save him. More than that, he is sick and I know immediately his wound must be infected. My eyes blur as I imagine the horrors he’s been through in the month he’s been down there.

I peer up at Ahkima. “Where did you find him? What has he said, anything?”

“We were only on the valley floor moments before Tarak found him, collapsed in the shade of a rabbitbrush near the path.”

I stare at Tarak, waiting in the shadows. One of our greatest trackers, always laughing and smiling, has an expression so dire I barely recognize him as he peers down at his friend.

“Tate muttered off and on at first,” Ahkima continues. “Something about the valley—about the soshos.” Ahkima’s jaw clenches and his eyes narrow on something unseen.

My heart sinks with the dread that’s been hovering over me for days. “The others?” I glance between him and Elan.

Ahkima focuses on me once more, his eyes swimming with sympathy. “I don’t know,” he grits out.

While Nico helps his father carry Tate into the house, Lena lights sage leaves. “Kimi will heal you,” I whisper in Tate’s ear, following them inside. “You’re safe now.” I hope he can hear me—I can barely hear myself over Kimi’s chanting. While the bitter scent of pine and sage fills my nose, so does the stench of rotting flesh from his festering wounds.

I turn to leave, my feet moving so quickly I don’t realize I’m outside until Ahkima grips my shoulder. “Kaia.” He turns me around to face him. I register how windblown and exhausted he is from the past two days of rushing up and down the mountain. But the anger in his eyes tells me he cares nothing of that. His gaze settles on my new markings first, then finally, it shifts to meet mine and he swallows. “There was no sign of Cole or Tiva,” he says with reluctance, knowing my cousin Cole is the only family Oona and I have left.

A part of me already knew that, but my chest heaves all the same, and my mind swirls. Red-hot anger whirrs through every vein in my body.

Ahkima clears his throat. “You have to accept that—”

“I accept nothing,” I bite out. “Tate is alive—the rest might be alive out there too. Hiding or injured and in need of our help.”

“You cannot go down there—”

“Cole is my cousin!” I shout. “I should’ve been with him in the first place—I should have been there,” I repeat.

“And you could’ve stopped the soshos? You could have saved all of them?” he growls back. “You know better than that, Kaia. I know you hate them as much as the rest of us, but you would be dead if you had gone.”

“So what? Now I am here, alone, and I want to be out there even more than before. I want to kill them, the way they kill us so easily. I want them to pay.”

“You are the etsi,” he bites back, pointing to my markings.

“No,” I say, shaking my head, more decided than ever. “I am not the etsi. I will never be the etsi. I am Kaia, daughter of a great warrior and huntress of the bow. I will not spend the rest of my life hiding up here in a hole while the rest of our people die.”

Jaw clenched, Ahkima exhales a deep, steadying breath and squeezes his eyes shut. He’s as resolved as me. I know him well enough to sense that. “So what are you going to do?”

Lena, Elan, and Tarak watch me from the doorway of the adobe. “I am going to find my cousin. And dead or alive, I’m bringing those I find home.” Ahkima is exhausted and obstinate, so I look at Elan who watches us intently. “Ready the horses,” I tell him in a tone that is not to be questioned. “We’re riding down in the cover of darkness.” I turn for home. “Pack enough food for a week.”

“Oona will not let you,” Elan says behind me, but I barely hear him over my angry footsteps. And Oona has no say in the matter.

My hurried walk up to the cliffs is a blur. I don’t remember entering the adobe or what Oona is doing when I get there. I’m not even certain what I say to her because my heart aches with as much hurt as it swells with fury.

“You will not leave this mountain!” she shouts, and I hear wood clanking against wood in the room below as she cleans up the dinner we didn’t eat.

“I will, and I am,” I call down to her as I quickly braid my hair back from my face. I pull too tightly, securing it messily, but it will have to do.

“Kaia, this is not a hunting party in the snowy mountains, or a gathering party for you to protect against a possible danger on the valley floor,” she calls up from the ladder.

“I know it’s not.” I grab the new bow Elan gifted me, my father’s katsina to hang around my neck, and gather the stone tipped arrows I’ve been working on, shoving them in my leather backstrap.

“If you ride into that valley, you will not likely come back to me—these people need you. You are their hope. What will happen if you do not return—you are their leader now.”

“Not quite,” I grumble as I climb down the ladder. I look at my grandmother, willing her to understand. “What sort of leader am I, if I do nothing? My cousin, all that’s left of our family—of your family—could be alive and suffering down there, and you expect me to stay here? What example am I setting—that we are weak? What about the hunters and gatherers that go down there next? Or will they simply stay here and remain safe, so that we have no food? We cannot continue to hide.”

“And we don’t have to,” she says.

“No, just me, right?” I glare at my grandmother, disappointed in her for the first time in my life. “I’m tired of us living in fear and being hungry and allowing this to happen. You should be tired of it too. How many of your friends have left this mountain over the years, never to return? How many have empty graves because the soshos have taken them from us?”

The hard lines of her face soften. “You cannot change what is, Kaia, no matter how badly you want to. You going down there alters nothing, it only endangers you and the rest of us. The katsina—”

“I know,” I say, squeezing my eyes shut, “they have our future planned out—they’re testing us, punishing us for ruining the world before.” I lean closer to her, desperate for her to see the world as I do for once. “But we are not responsible for what happened two hundred years ago. We are not the ones who deserve this, yet we are still suffering. And the soshos will not decide how we live. Not any longer.” I reach for my water bag. “Besides, I don’t go alone. Elan will not let me act rashly.”

Eyes filled with tears and worry, Oona shakes her head. “Please, stay. Your mother would roll over in her grave . . .”

Though her sadness gives me pause, it’s not enough to sway me. “My father would understand,” I remind her.

“And your father is dead for it, Kaia.” She bites the words out like venom and reaches for my arm. “I understand you are angry. I know you are worried about Cole, but riding to your death is not the answer.”

“And allowing everyone else to ride to theirs is?” I swallow thickly, refusing to put other lives before mine any longer. “Whatever happens, we will keep the element of surprise,” I promise her.

My warmest furs hang from the hooks by the door and I shrug into them, then inventory my weapons, ensuring I have my water, and first aid for my saddlebags.

When I turn around, Oona is standing there with damp cheeks, but her face is stoic. She reaches out her finger, covered in black paint. “Sit,” she whispers in defeat. Though I hate the deepened lines that etch her face in worry, leaving is something I must do. “At least look like a proper warrior so the katsinas can protect you.”

7

Kaia

The way down the mountain is frigid and steep, and the granite and sandstone are slick against leather bottomed boots from the dewy clouds above. We walk our horses one by one, along the narrow paths, stopping only twice throughout the night and into the day for respite from the wind. Though I want to push on, uncertain what fate awaits my cousin, I also know that we must maintain our strength if we are to keep going, and that to be strong, we must be smart.

By midday, we reach the foothills where the sun is no longer hidden by the clouds and the air is dry. Down here, dust is thick in the air, a reprieve from the damp scent of earth above, though nearly suffocating in the heat.

I peer up at the rough edges of the mountains that disappear into the thick gray. It is truly two different worlds, life up there . . . and this. With an exhale, I squint into the red-hued, expansive horizon that meets the blue sky. It’s desolate and unnerving as the memories of the last time I was down here come to life all over again.

“The outpost is this way,” Ahkima says as he removes a layer of his furs and tucks them under a leather strap behind his saddle. Tarak and Elan do the same, and they mount their horses.

I look at Elan atop his silver-painted horse. “Prepare yourself,” is all he says, and he follows behind the others. Leaving my furs on, welcoming the heat in my permanently chilled bones, I mount Shade, my father’s black stallion, and follow after them. My instincts tell me Elan’s worried about what we’ll find at the outpost, more than he’s worried about any danger that might be lurking nearby. And he’s right to be. But another whisper resurfaces too; his warning not to bring Shade down the mountain. He is your father’s horse. Strong and a warrior, but he is old. It is not safe for you. I reach forward and pat Shade’s neck, feeling closer to my father by having him with me.

As the sun descends behind the sandstone, casting the wind-smoothed hillsides in an orange haze, we find Tate’s raided outpost tucked within a pine thicket in a canyon. Ahkima says nothing as he dismounts alongside Tarak. For being the lighthearted one of the group, even Tarak is quiet. Somber. His apprehension matching Ahkima’s.

Elan throws his long leg over Wakka, hitting the ground with a thud. In my stunned silence, I don’t realize he’s beside me until Elan reaches out, offering to help me down.

I shake my head. Nudging Shade deeper into the trees, I peer around, finally stopping in the center of camp, horrified, even if I cannot allow myself to show it.

Four naked and bloodied bodies, half covered by sand, surround me, and my vision blurs with angry, regretful tears. They’ve been dead a couple of weeks, at least. Their hair is matted, the life of their bodies withered and gone, and the stench of death hangs thick in the hot air.

Slowly, I dismount and let the reins fall to the dirt. Bullet casings litter the ground, glinting in the setting sunlight. What was once random acts of violence and bloodshed have become a game of predator and prey, and my stomach churns.

Do not stand by my grave and weep . . . As always, the prayers that should comfort me feel useless.

To the white murderers who raid the valley floor, these four hunters were a means to an end. A toy to amuse the soshos, perhaps. To me, they are my friends, my people. They fed our village, brought home deer meat and vegetation to sustain us, herbs to heal us, and stories of their adventures that united the fraying factions of our community. Now, they are dead . . . Part of the earth . . . Souls in unrest, discarded like empty husks instead of human beings that breathed and loved, and felt fear and pain.

Silent tears fall from my lashes, down my cheeks, and drip onto my hand, but I don’t wipe them away. Each tear is shed for the sacrifice of their lives given and lost for our people. “We must bury them properly,” I say. My voice is flat, but beneath it is pain and anguish. And that my people can no longer burn our dead, for fear the soshos will see the smoke and find us, only enrages me more.

The men are quiet, taking in the scene around them in their own ways. Taut shoulders. Sullen faces. Anger reddening their cheeks.

“We must use this anger to help our people,” I tell them. Even if I know nothing of my future or how to lead, I know that much is true. “This must stop.”

“Should we come back to bury them?” Tarak asks, reluctant.

Without hesitation, I shake my head. “They’ve been disgraced and abandoned out here long enough. They deserve a proper burial.”

No one argues because I know they feel the same way as I do. Heartbroken. Torn. But it’s the right thing to do—it’s the only thing to do. I peer around the settlement, at the trees they thought protected their brush shelters and store houses, all of them toppled over and burned. The pelts are gone; the clothes that were on their backs are gone. And any food they’d collected is pillaged as well.

I rise to my feet. “I’ll find bristle brush or jojoba for paint.” Yellow death paint. A hero’s mask for the afterlife.

Elan steps up beside me. “Where do you want us to bury them?”

The wind whips violently through my hair and sends warm chills over my body. “There.” I point beneath a ledge in the sandstone. “We’ll carve their katsinas into the stone.”

Elan nods, but before he walks away, he says, “A storm is coming.”

I peer up at the changing sky.

“Do you want to wait?”

“No,” I say, adamant. “We do it now, and we do it fast.”

8

Luke

We’d meant to head out by morning, after the second day of planning, but like most best-laid plans, we got off to a rough start and had to stay behind because of a storm. So, Jacob, Ashford, Andy, and I are behind schedule. Like the savages, the weather is our constant enemy.

After six years of patrolling, you discover the good hiding places and establish a routine. You scan the skies as often as you scan the lands surrounding you, searching for movement. Unlike some of the other men, I don’t go out looking for trouble—I’m not a complete idiot—but it’s hard not to wonder if that’s exactly what we’re doing now.

No matter who started the rivalry between the savages and Sagebrush, it’s a feud that’s gone on for centuries, even before the Shift. While we’ve killed them, they’ve also taken brothers and sons, uncles and fathers—my father. So who is to say that, even if they do agree to terms of peace, we can trust them. Their years of hatred toward us will not be wiped away by an impossible request to forgive and forget. Mine never will, and even if I’ve had to come to terms with the fact that I might not be a natural born killer after what happened last month, I would pull the trigger again to keep June safe, and I’m not sure I’d hesitate this time. I doubt they would either.

I peer out at the sagebrush and mesquite trees. The arid landscape has protected us as much as it’s trapped us away from the rest of the world, the sandstorms making it impossible to ever truly leave.

“What if we get ambushed out here,” Jacob asks from his horse behind me. We weave through the brush, our horses trotting languorously in the heat. “We’re like sitting ducks.”

I’m not sure if his voice is reedy with fear or carried away by the increasing wind, but I wipe my brow and pull my sand scarf over my face. “Then we show them our guns,” I say more loudly.

“And what if we’re going toward the wrong mountain?”

I look beyond us at the foothills of the tallest peak in the terrain, where we used to find old outpost remnants. “We’re headed in the right direction, trust me.”

“I’ve never been in a fight before, Luke,” Jacob admits, almost too quiet to hear, and I wonder if he’s ashamed or is only now realizing what he signed up for.

“I know,” I tell him. I’m not sure Jacob could hurt a fly if he wanted to.

He urges his horse to catch up, and I can feel his eyes on me. “Luke, were you very close with Doyle? You’ve never mentioned you were, and I know the men who were loyal to him were part of the shootout, but I can’t help but wonder what the rest of you think about, well, about all that’s happened.”

I know Jacob is loyal to Clayton and Miss Mason, so I consider my answer before speaking. “I was always loyal to the marshal, he was the boss and took me in when June and I had no one else.” In fact, sometimes I feel guilty I hadn’t spoken to him or Ashford about what Doyle alluded to that last day on patrol together. But another part of me is certain Ashford and the marshal already knew Doyle was trouble and distrusted him. It’s why they gave him busy work with me. “I worked well beside Doyle when I had to,” I explain. “I learned a few things from him, and he watched my back, the way us deputies do . . .”

“But?” Jacob hedges.

“But I saw the way Doyle whispered in the men’s ears sometimes. I wouldn’t go so far as to say I trusted him.”

“You are loyal though,” Jacob says a bit defensively, and I look at him over my shoulder. His mare is a few steps behind Tuck, less familiar with the terrain. “I know you only came with us because of June,” he continues. “You don’t care about peace, like we do.”

“Then why did you volunteer me?”

Jacob stares at me for a few hoof plods, then he glances away. “Because I knew they’d want me to come—”

“You volunteered yourself,” I remind him.

“No,” Jacob says, shaking his head. “I just beat them to it. They would be stupid to come without a doctor, and they’d never ask my father, he’s too old, and he’s not a patient man. Besides, he’s needed in Sagebrush, especially if any of us come back injured. But me . . . I am my father’s son, trained beside him all my life. And Clayton knows the research I’ve done to help his father find a remedy for his sister.” Jacob sighs. “I was the obvious choice, and I knew you would protect me if you came along.”

I frown at him though there’s no heat behind it. Jacob has struggled to find a place in Sagebrush all his life. He’s nothing like his father—he’s too soft and kind, with a creative mind his father has never appreciated—but he’s expected to be his father one day, to take his place when Doctor Henderson is too old to practice anymore.

“You’ve always protected me, Luke,” Jacob adds.

I chuckle. “The schoolyard doesn’t count,” I tell him as another gust of wind whips by us.

“O’Brien!” Ashford calls from up ahead. He slows his horse and turns around to face us. “You and Jacob keep heading to the foothills. Andy found tracks headed east. We’re going to check them out.”

“There’s a storm coming,” I point out. “We should all go to the foothills.”

Ashford nods. “We’ll take shelter in that train car graveyard you told us about.” He says it as if he’s already made up his mind. “We’ll meet up with you at the cave after the storm passes. Get Jacob to safety.”

“I think we should stay together, but you’re the boss.”

“Ashford!” Andy calls against the wind. “We doin’ this or what? The storm is going to muddle the tracks!”

Another gust of wind catches my hat from my head and it tumbles away, like brush in the breeze. Great. More sun.

“Get to the foothills,” Ashford orders us. “Stay there until I find you.” Then he rides east, the two of them splitting away from our trail.

“Come on, Jake!” I shout, and nudge Tuck into a gallop. Jacob and his bay mare follow, but my heart pounds as I stare at the rocky base of the mountains ahead. We have a ways to go before we reach the cave and the wind is picking up more quickly than expected. Within the swirling red and orange sandstones are outcroppings and hiding places—tunnels and caves aplenty—we just have to get to them in time.

I pull my goggles down as Tuck gallops toward the mountain, pure instinct spurring him faster. The wind pushes against us, but Tuck plows forward. He and I have battled the storms plenty of times before, so he’s no stranger to his heavy, protective sand gear. When I feel him find his stride beneath me, I know we’re going to make it. Just like I know there’s a shift in the air right before the sand kicks up, and we still have a few minutes before it’s too late.

When I peer back at Jacob to ensure he’s still behind me, his brown sand scarf is flapping in the wind, but his horse is barely keeping up with Tuck under the weight of leather that hangs from the mare’s body. It’s only then I realize we should’ve brought a horse used to life out here for him, but there’s nothing to do about it now, and as the trail to the cave comes into view, I silently plead that his horse’s sheer fear and will to live will keep them close behind.

But it’s then I feel the shift in the wind; it catches the sand in the air and begins to sting my exposed skin.

“Hurry, Jake!” I shout, praying he’s not too far behind me. Pushing Tuck faster, I lean forward, giving him the reins. I hope Jacob was listening when I told him what to do if this happened, and that he’s doing the same. The storms closer to the mountain have more wind and less sand, though the mountain tunnels themselves create currents so strong, we’ve lost men who thought they were safe, only to be swept away.

Tuck’s hooves clack against the granite that peeks from beneath the dirt as we hurry into the foothills. Fissures fracture the rock formations, veins etched by centuries of violent gusts. The rocks are slick under Tuck’s hooves, but he needs no encouragement from me to move faster and find his footing.

“Up there!” I shout when I spot the cave opening. I wave Jacob in my direction. The wind is unrelenting against my muscles as I strain to hold on, but Tuck doesn’t slow. We turn into the narrow mouth of a long canyon where the storm howls so loud it pierces my ears, making it difficult to focus. Tuck struggles against each gust pushing against him on the ridge, and while I know we’ll make it to safety, it’s going to be close.

Finally, the cave opens, and I cut inside to safety. Jacob, though, doesn’t follow. My stomach sinks. “Jacob!” I turn Tuck around, wondering what the hell happened and contemplating whether or not to go out again after him. It would likely be suicide, but I’m not sure I have a choice. The stone is uneven beneath Tuck’s feet, clacking as he turns frantically in circles, fighting against me as I inch him closer to the entrance. “Jacob!”

A gust whips through the tunnel and Tuck backs up, rearing against me, wanting to be as far away from the opening as possible. I’m about to jump off when Jacob and his horse come barreling inside, running right into Tuck and me.

“Jesus Christ,” I hiss, catching my breath. The horses whinny and chomp anxiously at their bits as I sigh with relief. “I thought you were a goner.”

“Me . . . too,” Jacob rasps as we jump off our horses and retreat further into the dark cave, away from the howling wind that still tears at our clothes and burns against our faces. “My horse slipped on the ridge, and I think my life might’ve flashed before my eyes.”

The shadows are safe and comforting, and I almost laugh as my adrenaline subsides, until there’s a crunch of rocks behind us and my heart stops instead.

I spin around, but it’s too late. I see a person’s outline, then something blunt clubs the side of my face. Everything goes black.

The crackling of a fire and the distant howl of the wind wakes me. Or, at least I think it does. Then I hear a monotone conversation I can’t understand, spoken in a language I’ve only heard syllables of before. My heart thuds against my chest as the memories fall back into place.

The storm.

Jacob.

The figure standing behind us, and the thud to my skull.

No wonder the side of my head aches. They’ve left me where I’d fallen, and I likely received another scratch or two on my way down. Though my instinct is to lift myself up and rub the soreness on my temple, I don’t dare move for fear they’ll know I’m awake. All I can do is pray Jacob is smart enough to do the same, if he’s still beside me. If he’s even still alive.

When I realize he might not be, I reluctantly crack one of my eyes open. Three forms draped in furs flicker in the firelight as they sit around burgeoning flames. One of them warms their hands while another blows on the tinder. All of their faces are painted black and white, something I’ve never seen before, which worries me even more.

Their exchange is hushed, but I assume it’s not so much for my sake as it is for theirs; even their whispers resound through the cave.

I register a deep, menacing throb in my shoulder, crushed between my body and the unyielding stone floor, and I know that can’t be good. With the pain increasing, I can’t resist the lure of motion. Despite knowing better, I try to move my arm, only to realize my wrists are bound.

I hear a breathy grunt, or maybe it’s a laugh above, and automatically, I look up.

A person leans against the rock wall behind me, peering down as if waiting for me to wake. With long, dark twisted braids that fall down around their shoulders, and a more slender frame, I can guess it’s a woman, though her face is painted like the rest of them. Her expression is blank and menacing, and her eyes—her eyes are hard and narrowed on me, black as pits in the dim shadows. She’s frightening as she runs her thumb over the tip of the arrow she holds in her hand.

I peer around for Jacob, relieved to find him unconscious a few feet away from me. He’s tied up and his back is to me, but I see his side rise and fall with his breath. We’re alive. I tell myself that’s a good thing, but it depends how long we’ll stay that way. Though the plan collapsed sooner than I’d expected, it feels strangely on point.

“Where are my people?” the woman demands quietly, and my eyes widen. Her English is stilted but clear.

I blink at her.

“Where are my people?” she slowly repeats. There’s an edge to her voice, so sharp it takes me by surprise, though I’m not sure why.

“I don’t—” I clear my throat, gravelly from disuse. “I don’t know where your people are,” I grit out.

“Lies.” She nudges me with her foot. “You should have stayed in your village, sosho.”

“Tell me about it,” I mutter. The group that was at the fire is suddenly quiet and when I look at them, they’re standing—no, looming—over me. I can only see two of them, but I know they surround me. Their faces are cast in shadow, but I imagine hatred burns in their eyes, just as it burns in mine. I glare back at them, too overwhelmed with frustration and anger, being so close and yet at their mercy, to be afraid.

The woman steps closer to Jacob, still unconscious on the ground, and she crouches beside him, shifting my attention. My heartbeat stumbles as she wraps her hands around the arrow and holds it over him, the tip at his neck, poised and ready to puncture. “I will only ask once more—where are my people?”

“Which people?” I bite out. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The words pour from my mouth with a tinge of panic.

She nods to the largest of the men, and he lifts the savages’ furs that we brought with us, shaking them.

“Those belong to a man and woman. Where are they?” she practically snarls. “You killed the rest. We found the bodies. Tell me where the others are.” The woman spits out each word, though fear quivers an octave below her fury.

The length of Jacob’s and my life depends on whether or not they get the answer they want, and as the severity of the situation begins to set in, I realize I’ll likely be dead by the time the storm has died out, if not the moment I open my mouth, because I know exactly what happened to the man and the woman; I was there.

One of the men, strong jawed with hair past his shoulders, kicks me in the back. He shouts something I don’t understand, then looks at the woman. Though their words are foreign, their feelings are clear enough. His tone is angry. Hers is sharp and calculated. And after another quick exchange, his scowl deepens and his glare returns to me.

The older, taller man with cropped, graying hair holding the pelts presses the barrel of a shotgun against my temple, one of our guns.

“You won’t like the answer,” I bite out, realizing I’ve never felt the cold barrel of a gun against my skin like this before. It sends a thwarted sense of ironic fear through me and I clench my teeth together.

The woman’s eyes narrow. “Answer,” she bites out. “Tell me where.”

The angry one practically lunges for me. “They’re dead, all right?” I bark out, cringing, knowing I’ve likely sealed our fates. And I hate them for it. “Is that what you wanted to hear? Just like all of our men you’ve killed.”

One of the men roars in anger and the woman’s nostrils flare, her jaw clenched, though her expression is unchanged. She says a few clipped words I don’t understand before, once again, there’s a shooting pain in the back of my head and everything goes black.

9

Kaia

I run my hand down the mustang’s face, stopping at the soft silk of his nose, and he exhales heavily. Closing my eyes, I press my forehead to his and inhale, letting the whiskers of his lip tickle the back of my hand.

“Rain,” I breathe. He was our horse once, his patchy, burnt-orange face and black mane are unmistakable. “And with the wind, his soul soars,” I whisper, remembering my father’s protection prayer.

Nine years ago, when he and four of his men left for the ravine to hunt, I was finally allowed to go with him, but we never made it that far. My father and his men were killed, and only Shade, Elan, and I returned.

Opening my eyes, I watch Elan—a warrior and our strongest hunter reduced to my constant protector and companion ever since that day—search the soshos’ belongings. Out of duty and honor, Elan has been like an uncle to me, but I wonder if he longs to be free to live the life he was meant for—to be the man he was born to be instead of a guardian to a child that was never his. So much has changed since our return all those years ago, and I wonder how people cannot yet see how different life has become, how much harsher. Why so much must change.

I gaze into Rain’s eyes, wondering what life he has led since being taken from us. One of barbaric cruelty, no doubt, even if he looks well fed. “I will take you home,” I promise.

The mustang’s head pops up at a clatter that echoes in from outside. His ears flick between the howling wind that consumes the foothills, and Elan as he shakes a metal canteen, what little contents remain sloshing around inside.

Rain snorts. Like our horses, he is uneasy in the storm, no matter how many he’s weathered in his lifetime. He snorts out another breath and paws in place. “Shh.” I run my hand down his face again. “Shh.” I lower my voice and recite him a Hopi hymn. “Be brave and all will be well.”

“He has few weapons,” Elan says, and unties the shotgun strapped to one of the saddles. I leave the mustang with the other horses and stop beside Elan, peering down at the piles he’s created. “Only this and what he carries.” He shakes his head. “Only enough for protection.”

“He has little water,” I say, checking the metal container hanging from the leather horn. “But look . . .” Opening a pull-string bag, my nose is greeted with the spicy scent of meat.

Elan nods, having already inspected it. I sniff the contents, my eyes meeting his, then I pull a piece out and hesitantly take a bite. It’s tough but savory, and I’m not sure what to think. I hand a bit to Elan to try. “It’s strange . . . but good.” Licking my lips, I toss the bag to the men. “Have one, but save the rest.” I’m careful not to speak in English, in case the sosho only pretends to be asleep again.

I glance over at him, crumpled on the ground. His dark hair is disheveled, his broad shoulders pulled awkwardly behind him as his chest lifts slowly with sleep.

A part of me, dark and deep down, wanted to kill him the moment he said Cole and Tiva were dead so I could feel some relief, but despite the men wanting to do it, I couldn’t. Not that I care if he lives or dies after all that he and his people have done, but he’s barely older than me. He doesn’t look like the monsters I remember from my childhood as I was hiding in the brush with Elan, watching my father’s body be dragged away. This sosho is more human than that, even if I saw the same hatred that I feel in his eyes.

“There’s enough food between the two saddles to feed us for a few days,” I say aloud. “I want to know what meat this is,” I tell them, working my jaws against the thick, smoky texture. “We stalk the snowy mountains for meat because there is so little here. So where did they get it?” My eyes meet Elan’s. “We’ll keep him alive that long, at least. And I want to know everything we can about him before he wakes again.”

“Here.” He hands me another pull-string bag. It’s filled with little breads. I take a sample of one. It’s soft and sweet, quite flavorful and delicious, and I hand it back to Elan.

“Kaia,” Tarak says, and when I glance over, he nods to the soshos. The smaller one still sleeps, but the larger angry one begins to stir again.

I nod to Elan, a silent request to gather all of their things together to take back with us, and walk over to Ahkima and Tarak. “Why have you come?” I ask the sosho as Tarak reaches behind him to grab hold of his bound wrists. I push the sosho against the rock wall with my foot, enjoying his pain.

“Are you going to knock me out again if you don’t like my answer?” He spits dried blood from his mouth. His eyes, light in color and flickering in the firelight, never leave mine. It’s unnerving, but I refuse to show it.

“Speak the truth,” I demand.

He winces and leans his head back against the wall. “We came to find you,” he seethes, and spits again, trying to wipe his mouth on his shoulder.

“Why?”

He laughs, but it isn’t with humor. “To make peace.”

“Lies,” I growl. “Murderers do not make peace.”

“I’m not lying,” he growls back.

This time, I’m the one laughing, bitter and unamused. He must know how alluring the possibility of peace between us would be. His words anger me in a way I don’t expect, and I take a step closer and press the tip of an arrow under his jaw. I can feel the column of his neck tense against the pressure, and the arrow nearly breaks the skin, but the sosho doesn’t flinch.

Fleetingly, I wonder what it would feel like to press the arrowhead deeper and watch the sosho cry in pain, but then his glassy blue eyes meet mine, and I swallow away the thought of killing a man. His nostrils flare, and the scar crossing his eyebrow reminds me how distrusting I should be. He is strong, stubborn. But I’m more stubborn than him.

When the sosho says nothing, I press the arrow in harder until he’s forced to cringe. “You rape our women and kill innocent people—murder children. Now you come for peace? I am no fool.”

“It’s the truth. Why would I lie?”

“Because you are a monster.” My words surprise us both. Something flashes in the sosho’s eyes, and I regret that I’ve shown so much emotion.

“That may be, but we still want peace between our people. Whether you believe it or not.”

“He’s lying!” Ahkima snarls and shoves the gun into the sosho’s chest again. “He doesn’t want peace. It’s all poison. His words mean nothing!” He shoves the gun harder at him and the word “liar” rips out of him in English.

“I’m not lying,” the sosho growls back. “But if you think I am, you might as well kill me, because my story isn’t going to change.”

Ahkima barely parts his lips to speak. “I will kill you—”

“Ahkima, put the gun down,” I demand. It’s easy to slip into our language, comforting among all the uncertainty. “We need more information. You will not kill him yet.”

“His words are poison, Kaia. Don’t listen to what he says.”

I straighten, staring into Ahkima’s dark brown eyes, and lower my voice. “I know he is poison, but we’re not finished with him yet.” I look back at the sosho, my patience thinning. “Why?” I ask him. My chest heaves, and I want to hit the sosho again, for Tiva and Cole, and for myself because I hate everything he stands for. “Why do you want peace?”

The sosho’s eyes search mine for a moment, his expression unchanged. “Look, I know you hate us. I don’t like you either. But I was sent here to find you and try to make peace because things have changed.” His gaze follows the length of the arrow once again pressed into his neck. “We have new leaders, and they don’t want war with you. They don’t want any more killing.”

This surprises me, and I don’t want to believe this man, but the annoyance in his voice is convincing. “But you do?”

His silence is all the answer I need.

I shake my head, almost amused by his nonsense. “You come here to make peace you do not want.” My gaze narrows. “You are a bad liar, sosho.”

A smug smile parts his busted lips, though he seems more disgusted than diverted. “I told them this mission of theirs wouldn’t work—that you’d never go for it. Now look at me. It was a fool’s errand. You are savages, no matter what Clayton thinks.”

Savages. I know this word. He thinks us barbaric and wild, just as I know them to be.

“What do they call you, sosho?” I ask, suddenly curious. He is maddening but fierce, and if he is coming to the mountain for any reason, he is someone of importance. But whether it’s strength or some well-honed skill, I’ve not decided.

“You first,” he counters. I glare at him, and he rolls his eyes. “Luke,” he grinds out. It’s a stark, ugly sounding word. “But you can call me O’Brien.”

I won’t call him either of those things, so I ignore the smile in his voice. “Your leader sends only two riders . . .” I shake my head, knowing better. It doesn’t make sense.

“We’re not alone, at least, we weren’t.” He glances at Elan, who’s come to join us with the man’s strange clothes in his hands, then the sosho glares at Ahkima and Tarak, as if he’s imagining his group’s numbers against mine.

“How many?” I ask him, finally removing the arrow from beneath his chin.

He swallows and his eyes quickly blink shut, perhaps with relief. “Two others, but I don’t know what happened to them. We were separated when the sandstorm hit.” There’s a lie in his eyes, something distrusting even if I’m not sure what it is. If there are more men somewhere, we must leave as soon as possible.

I look to Tarak. “Watch the entrance. The storm is dying down. There are more soshos out there somewhere.”

Tarak doesn’t miss a beat. He turns without hesitation and heads for the mouth of the cave.

When I glance back at the sosho, his pale blue eyes dart between us, trying to guess what we’re saying. He has a thoughtful face, one etched with years of harsh weather and perhaps a harsher life. “Why you,” I ask, glancing at the other sleeping man, “and him?” I want to know who the men are to their people—warriors, trackers? They have few weapons, but I know he is no peacekeeper.

“He is a doctor—”

“A healer?” I ask, curiosity piqued.

He nods. “I am a lowly rider.”

I don’t understand and shake my head.

“I’m a deputy—a rider. I keep the borders safe.”

He kills our people. It’s as if he sees the realization in my eyes and averts his gaze.

Steeling the anger bubbling up in me again, I grit my teeth. “Why do your new leaders want peace now?” I ask, reminding myself it’s all lies, but I want to learn everything I can, even if I have to sift through his words for crumbs of truth.

“It’s . . . complicated.”

I don’t know the word he speaks, but I don’t like the way he brushes my request aside. I lift an eyebrow and sit on a rock beside him, waiting for a real answer.

Elan widens his stance and crosses his arms, settling in to wait as well, the shotgun still gripped tightly in his hand. Ahkima simply glares, trying to restrain himself.

Finally, the sosho begins. “You think we are all so horrible where I come from, but there are innocent people there too. We are trying to save them.”

“So now you no longer hate us?” I say, bemused.

He stares at me, contemplating his next words. He must decide saying nothing is the better course because his lips form a thin line instead of answering.

The healer begins to stir awake behind me, and the stubborn sosho’s eyes widen as he notices, as if he’d forgotten his friend was there at all. Just as quickly, the sosho remembers he hates me and settles his glare on me again. It’s clear he fears for the healer, which I can use to my advantage.

“Luke,” the other one croaks, scooting around to face us. His eyes are round and panicked as he takes all of us in.

“Stay calm, Jacob,” the sosho replies, and I watch the silent exchange between them. The healer glances around nervously. He’s not as tall or as brawny, and I realize that as a healer, he’s not likely a murderer, at least not a trained one like his friend.

“The wind has died down,” Tarak says from the entrance, his voice echoing through the cavern.

I meet Ahkima’s gaze. “Cover their heads and ready the horses. It’s time to leave.”

Ahkima’s brow pinches with incredulity and his mouth gapes. “Kaia,” he says, hesitant. “You’re not etsi, you cannot make that call.”

Ahkima’s pushback surprises me. “What?”

Though his eyes are pained, he clenches his jaw and lifts his chin.

“Then who does?” I ask him, forcing myself to remain in control of my tone. “Will you make the call?” I glower at the men impatiently, waiting for one of them to say something. When they remain silent, I continue. “There is much we need to know, and we’re running out of time. The other men he is with will come. Do you want to risk their numbers?” I wait for a headshake or a questioning look, but the three of them simply stare back at me, and Ahkima’s twitching jaw is all that gives him away. “We will take the soshos back with us,” I repeat, and Elan and Tarak begin to ready the horses.

Ahkima stands as he is, uncertain, and I step closer. “I know they are dangerous,” I say more softly. “But think of our people.”

“I am thinking of our people.”

“So am I. What if he speaks the truth about peace?”

He gestures to the soshos. “They lie. There is no peace, Kaia. They are dangerous.”

I swallow thickly, second-guessing my instincts, before I finally manage to say, “That’s why we have you and Elan.” I let that sink in for only a moment. “Now get them ready, we’re taking them with us.”

10

Luke

It’s been hours and we’ve stopped enough times for the horses to rest, I wonder if it hasn’t been at least a day. The heat of the sun is unyielding against my neck and covered face as we continue our journey to wherever the savages are taking us—a dank hole in the mountainside most likely, where they plot and scheme; the woman more so than the men, it would seem, which is surprising. She’s shrewd, I could see it in her eyes, and she’s not as reactive as they are. As angry as she is, she’s the only one who doesn’t want to kill us before getting answers, even if I saw the revulsion, conviction, and uncertainty warring in her eyes as she prodded me for answers.

Despite my will to resist everything and act against them, any exertion will have to wait. My muscles are sore, my head is aching, and my stomach is hollow with hunger. My eyes are covered and my wrists are bound. Even in my saddle, bobbing up and down and left to right, staying upright feels like a chore.

The moment we left the cave, the savages stopped speaking English, except to tell Jacob and me to drink water, and I have no way of knowing what the hell they have planned for us once we get to wherever they are taking us. Regardless of their plans, the men listen to the woman warrior, if that’s in fact what she is, which means I need to use her wavering desire to kill me and her status to my advantage moving forward. We aren’t dead yet, and I intend to keep it that way.

Even with the bite of the cold wind whipping against me the higher we go up the mountain, I fall in and out of sleep for what feels like hours until the sound of hooves clacking on rocks echoes amidst the howl of the wind. Tuck labors against the rough terrain in a seemingly endless climb; my legs burn and shake with exhaustion as they tighten around his middle, bracing me against the push and pull of each furious gust. Somehow I manage, holding on as best I can to the saddle horn.

I shiver, not only because I’ve never felt the air so heavy and cold in my life—it’s damp and clings to my clothes, chilling me to the bone—but because of the fear of what I cannot see. Rocks crumble and slide somewhere around me, and Jacob groans every now and again, which I appreciate. At least I know he’s still there and still alive. We’re no longer in the canyon, that much is clear, and I can only imagine how steep the cliff runs along the left of me.

Murmuring from the front of the caravan reaches my ears, but it’s nothing I can understand. The savages have gone to great lengths to keep me in the dark, which gives me hope. If they don’t want me to see where we’re going, then perhaps they plan on keeping us alive longer than I thought. It’s the first thought that’s comforted me in hours.

I shiver again, my ears gone completely numb in the cold, so raw, I begin to think this trek is their idea of torture.

As more time passes, the temperature drops lower. It’s impossible to feel my toes through my boots, and my tongue instinctively licks at my cracked lips as the crisp air burns the inside of my nose.

When someone drapes a pelt over my shoulders, the weight of it instantly staving off the arctic cold, I sigh with relief. “Th—thank you,” I say without thought, and only then do I realize my teeth are chattering. I want to take the words back, not wanting to acknowledge their kindness, but I’m too relieved and grateful to be so stubborn. And fleetingly, guilt fills me, knowing a week ago, before Clayton and Miss Mason took over Sagebrush, these people would not have received the same kindness from us.

After what feels like another day on horseback, the incline flattens, and the sound of hooves against rock loudens in the absence of crumbling rubble. Though the wind is still present, it’s not as strong—shielded by something, perhaps. I’m pulled off of my horse by large, strong hands, and nearly fall on my face before I’m righted on my feet. I can barely move my legs, stiff like new leather and sore, but solid ground never felt so welcoming.

Words are exchanged and nearly lost in the wind. The woman commands something, then I’m jostled around again. When I hear retreating horse hooves, I comprehend the savages are taking Tuck and I panic, realizing I might never see him again.

“Careful with my horse!” I shout, though my voice is rough from disuse, and I’m shoved inside, out of the cold.

The grip on my arm is strong, but I don’t struggle against it as I take in what I can of my surroundings. Multiple footsteps echo around me, and a draft wafts past us, bringing with it a musty mixture. The dampness of the air is almost suffocating and smells unlike anything I can recall, and still, I see nothing but darkness. I hear a few sets of footsteps, then Jacob whispers my name.

“I’m here,” I tell him as a deep voice grumbles beside my ear. “Quiet.” It’s the older one, the quiet mountain of a man I wouldn’t dare fight against, not without my pistol.

Suddenly, the air changes again. It’s warmer and smells of rich spices and bitter herbs. The men exchange hushed words, and I hear the crackling of a fire. I can almost feel the heat of it as we pass.

“Up,” my keeper says, but I process his meaning too late and stumble. He rights me on my feet and we continue forward. “Up,” he repeats. This time, I step up. Again and again, until I start to wonder if he’s taking me up to a cliff to throw me off.

Finally, we stop, something creaks, and an older woman speaks. There’s uncertainty in her voice, bitterness too, and then I’m being manhandled inside, someplace even warmer, and I realize I’ve never been so grateful and unsettled at the same time. A shiver wracks through me in the heat, and I feel the exhaustion in my bones tenfold.

There’s a rustle of footsteps, and the woman must start a fire or burn a candle because light filters in through my blindfold, almost blinding me after so much darkness. I’m shoved and I fall to my knees, wincing as my bound hands hit the ground, sending a sharp sting through me.

“Stay,” the man says.

“Like I have a choice,” I mutter. The ropes are wound so tightly around my wrists, burning after hours of jostling, straining movement, I couldn’t wiggle my hands loose if I tried. Not to mention, with the blindfold on, I have no idea where I am.

I hear descending footsteps, and then I hear . . . nothing. I strain to listen, and when the silence stretches on, I let out a breath that makes even my muscles tremble with fatigue. Or, if I allow myself to think too much, perhaps it’s fear.

“Luke!” Jacob’s voice echoes from somewhere else and I sit up on my knees.

“I’m in here, Jake. Just . . . sit tight.”

“Quiet.” The older man’s voice rumbles from outside the room.

Then I hear her again, the raspy words of the old woman, clipped with anger. She sighs. “What will I do with her?” I’m not sure why it’s surprising that the old woman speaks English, but it is, and that too is strangely comforting.

I stretch my fingers, which feel permanently curled from gripping the saddle horn so tightly for far too long. It’s all I have left in me to care what might happen to Jake and me next.

More interrogation, for sure.

Pain, most definitely.

Probably long, sleepless days that will feel unending. Until they don’t need us anymore.

Reaching up, I cringe at the sting in my wrists as I tug the blindfold down. I blink a few times, allowing my eyes to adjust, grateful for the inky darkness. It’s not a rope at all binding my wrists together, but a strip of leather that rubs against the raw flesh.

Trying not to jostle my wrists more than I have to, I stay as I am and peer around at my surroundings. The room is small and cast in shadow, with only a faint orange light filtering in from the weaving that covers the window. There is nothing inside my quarters, save for a wicker sort of cot in the corner. I struggle to move my legs and stand on my feet again, but the possibility of sleeping on something other than the cold, hard ground encourages my legs to work despite themselves.

I wonder if the cot will hold my weight as I plop down, too sore and stiff to move very gracefully. The wicker creaks and groans, but doesn’t break, and the heaviness of the past two days fades away as exhaustion overwhelms the uncertainties of whatever comes next. If I can sleep until then, I’ll be able to think straight and buy myself more time.

Without trying at all, my eyelids fall shut.

11

Kaia

After arriving at the village, I help Tarak attend to the horses and our belongings. By the time I step into my adobe, beyond exhausted, I find Oona sitting by the fire with a small, clay mug of tea in her hand. I expected she would be awake, especially with dangerous men being held captive in our empty rooms. But she’s not glaring at me, like I anticipate. Instead, she’s staring into the fire, ignoring me completely. She’s definitely . . . something, but I’m not sure if it’s suppressed anger that has her sitting so rigid, or fear.

“I didn’t know where else to put them,” I explain, before she can lecture me. “I didn’t want the villagers—”

“They are dangerous men, Kaia—in our home—”

“I know. Elan and Ahkima will watch them.” I take a step closer and drop my arms to my side. The question of what to do with them has plagued me since leaving the cover of the caves. We don’t have a place for dangerous people in my village, we don’t have dangerous people to worry about at all. “They came into our shelter during a storm. I had to bring them back—we need to know more about them. And I couldn’t leave them in our weapons or food storage . . . There’s the kiva, but—”

“No,” she bites out, and her head whips around. “It is sacred.” Her eyes narrow on me and I nod in agreement. Her long gray hair hangs loose over her shoulders, unkempt from being woken from sleep, and she still wears her nightclothes.

Time goes by painfully slow before she finally sighs. I know that sound, it’s resignation. And frustration. And disappointment.

“Tell me, Oona, what would you have me do with them?” For a moment, I worry the soshos can hear me in the adjacent rooms, but I realize I don’t care, and they don’t know what we’re saying anyway.

“In all my years,” my grandmother starts, “of all the horrors I’ve seen, a sosho has never known where we live, and one has definitely never been in my home. Now there are two.”

Fearing I’ve made a grave error bringing them up the mountain, I take a deep breath. “Apologies,” I whisper. The last thing I want to do is bring more worry to my people, especially to my grandmother who frets more than any person I know. “It felt like the right thing to do,” I add quietly.

Slowly, Oona rises to her feet, her body stiff with age, and she straightens. I see it in her eyes as she shuffles over—relief and love and acceptance of my decision.

My heart becomes a weight, leaden in my chest, and every corrosive thought I’ve had since Tate returned, half dead and alone, melts away in the warmth of home.

“I’m glad you’re back safe, mana.” Her chestnut eyes shimmer and she rests her hand on my shoulder, smiling softly. “I’ve been worried sick.”

I lean forward and kiss the skin of her cheek. It’s soft and comforting. “I’m glad to be home,” I admit. The unrelenting hours of the journey back settle over me. If the sosho is to be believed, not only are Cole and Tiva dead, but I met soshos face-to-face and brought them home with me, and it suddenly feels like too much to hold onto. “How is Tate—”

“Drink this.” Oona shoves her mug at me, and a dried knot of herbs swishes inside. “It will warm you.”

I inhale the familiar floral scent of greenthread, and blow on it before bringing it to my lips. Now that I’m home, the exhaustion slithers its way in, the tension in my neck and shoulders throbbing. Despite my impulsive decision-making, and how sound it seemed at the time, I realize my actions could be the undoing of everything we’ve tried so desperately to hold onto, and I take an unsteady breath.

“Stop stewing,” Oona tells me, and she bends down to her broth pot over the low coals of the fire. She ladles another clay mug. “Here, take these to Elan and Ahkima. It’s been silent in there. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’ve fallen asleep. They need their strength.”

I don’t argue with her. I gulp down my tea and then remove my furs, dropping them on an old ironwood stool against the wall until I have the wherewithal to deal with them later.

As I return her empty mug and take two others of broth in its place, I brace myself as best I can, uncertain what the night’s questioning will bring, or what I will have to do to get answers. Should I make the soshos stew in wait, or bombard them now with questions? I turn toward the corridor leading to my parents’ old rooms.

“I’ll take broth to the soshos,” Oona says behind me.

I stop, mid-step. “What? Why—”

“They will be no good to you if they fall ill or starve, Kaia. We must feed them.”

I eye her carefully, wondering if this is a dispute I would win—or if I’m too tired to care. Without argument, I continue into the corridor. Elan stands outside one of the rooms, while Ahkima stands outside the other, peering in through a crack in the wicker door at the prisoner. Their exhaustion must match mine, but one would never know by looking at them—hard-faced and patient. Distrusting. Determined.

Both of them straighten when they notice me, and Elan’s grip on the shotgun loosens as he lets his hand fall to his side.

“This is for you,” I say quietly, and hand him a cup of broth. Although his expression doesn’t change, he licks his lips and takes it willingly.

I hand Ahkima the other one. He nods in gratitude and takes a sip, his eyes closing in reprieve, and I feel a pang of regret; I’ve put both men in one of the toughest situations of their lives, and I know neither of them agree with my decision.

“Have they been any trouble?” I ask, pushing my guilt away; it’s too late to dwell on it now. Leaning forward, I stare through an imperfection in the wicker door, into the shadowed room Elan guards. The sosho lays on the cot on his back, unmoving.

Elan shakes his head. “There has been no sound. I think he sleeps.”

Them resting for a couple of hours might do me a disservice, and I nod to the mouthy one’s room. “I will speak to this one again,” I say. He’s the alpha of the two, that much is obvious.

“What does talking do?” Ahkima asks, his voice brusque. “He’s a snake—poison. We should not have brought him here. We should have killed them both.” Ahkima stares at me pleadingly, not as a warrior, but as my friend. He is worried about me—about our people—and I don’t blame him.

“They are already here, so we will learn what we can. And if he won’t speak, we’ll use the weak one to make him.”

“But you—”

I square my shoulders and turn from him, eyeing Elan carefully. “Step aside, please.”

Elan does as I ask, opening the rickety door to let me pass; it was built for privacy, not to keep a dangerous sosho inside.

I finger the handle of my elk bone knife as I step into my parents’ old room for the first time in seven years. It feels like a desecration, having the soshos in here, but I force myself to ignore the woven wedding blanket still hanging on the wall, and I peer down at the captive laying on the cot in the corner, snoring softly.

He’s more ominous than I want him to be in the darkness, so I walk over to the window and remove the thatched covering, to allow in the glow of torchlight as the village comes to life below.

When the prisoner doesn’t budge, I move to prod him awake with my knife, but I hesitate. He is so different than any man I’ve ever seen before, and for a moment, all I can do is stare. In the shadows of the cave, he seemed more menacing than he does as he sleeps. His lips open slightly, no longer pulled apart in a sneer; the lines on his face are softened, the scar on his brow barely noticeable when he’s not grimacing in pain.

His hair is much shorter than most of the men in the village, only curling around his ears, a deep, reddish-brown unlike any color I’ve ever seen. I’m not sure if I like the scruff that darkens his chin, jaw, and around his mouth. But then I tell myself it doesn’t matter if I like it or not. He’s a prisoner, here for a single purpose.

I wonder how many of the men in the sosho’s village look like him. He is formidable and well honed for a life in the heat and sand, but do they all have skin that’s golden brown, like morning sun on sandstone? Even the other man, the frightened one, wasn’t quite so tanned.

Elan clears his throat behind me, and I hear his grip tighten around his shotgun.

Blinking, I ignore the way my cheeks burn and I straighten. “Sosho,” I bite out, holding out my knife should I need it. When he doesn’t move, I say it again, louder. “White devil!” I lift my leg and nudge him with my shoe. Once. Twice.

Finally, he stirs.

His eyes are dark in the shadowed room, and he blinks up at the flat adobe roof before his gaze slowly shifts to me. I take a step back.

The angles of his face harden and his jaw clenches, no doubt the memories of the past couple of days coming back to him. Using balled up fists, he sits up, wincing with each breath until he’s fully awake and remembers to mask the pain. A proud warrior, I think. I’ve seen many of them in my eighteen years.

“You sleep loudly,” I tell him, which isn’t actually true. Oona breathes more noisily than he does when she dreams; I can hear her through the walls, even as thick as they are with mud and clay.

“It’s called exhaustion,” he mutters.

Oona shuffles in then, a cup of broth in each of her hands. Ahkima shakes his head in the corridor as he throws his arms up.

I take one of the mugs from her, watching the way she eyes the sosho, curious yet distrusting. He eyes her back, just as inquisitive, and she shuffles back out of the room. I nod for Ahkima to accompany her to the other room. While the other sosho is leaner and shakes like a leaf in the winter wind with fear, he’s still a sosho, and we know nothing about him.

Ahkima follows Oona, leaving Elan and me to deal with the stubborn one.

“Drink,” I tell the sosho, turning my attention back to the serpent I’ve let into my home. I set the mug down on the floor beside the cot. Even with Elan’s shotgun aimed at the prisoner, I don’t linger close for long.

I take a couple of steps back and watch the sosho as he slurps down the broth, so loudly I can barely hear the muttering of conversation in the adjacent room. When the sosho is finished, he lets out a breath and wipes his mouth with the back of his arm.

I’m relieved he’s so hungry. “More?” I ask.

Surprise widens his eyes. “Yes.” He licks his lips.

I nod. “When you answer my questions.” While I may not entirely know what I’m doing, interrogating a man barely older than me who has killed my people and lives with as much hate in his heart as I do, my eagerness to know more about his people molds my questions and drives my determination easily enough. “You have not told me the truth yet. Why do you want peace?”

The prisoner leans his head back against the wall and groans. It’s a petulant gesture, not one of fear or respect, and it angers me.

When he doesn’t answer, Elan steps closer, lifting his shotgun into his arms, though he doesn’t quite aim it.

The sosho lifts a dark eyebrow and his eyes veer from the marks on my chest and neck to my face. “I’ll tell your leader, but I’m done wasting time and words talking to you. That’s why you brought me here anyway, isn’t it? To talk to your leader—to decide if you’re going to kill me or if you’ll torture me first?”

“Our leader?” I repeat, enjoying his irritation. “I bring you food and let you sleep, yet you will not speak to me?”

“No. You’re wasting my time. I want to talk to someone who will actually listen and save his people.”

I nod, uncertain if I’m angered by his condescension, or if I’m amused. Then I realize how easily he speaks, like he’s certain I won’t kill him, and my blood begins to boil. Perhaps I’ve been teetering on what to do with him, but I am not a fool, and even if I cannot bring myself to kill him when it’s time, Ahkima and Elan surely will.

In the meantime, there is only one way to make him speak to me. Letting my hatred for his people fuel my resolve, I turn for the door. “Wait here,” I tell Elan, a wicked smile in my voice. Marching from the room, I wonder what the sosho’s face will look like when he finally understands.

Passing Oona as she sets to making more broth, I reach for my bow and arrow propped by the door and notice Cole’s white and gray furs discarded beside mine. The furs the sosho had on his saddle. The furs of our dead.

My jaw clenches. The sosho doesn’t get to demand anything here. If it weren’t for me, he would no longer even breathe. I turn back for the corridor. When I walk inside, the anticipation on the sosho’s face turns to a glower, and he has little time to react before I pull an arrow taut in my bow and aim it directly at his throat. While I might not want to be etsi, this is my house and these are my people. I will make my enemy fear me if I cannot have his respect. I have to, Ahkima taught me that.

I step so close, the sosho leans back, his head hitting the wall as my arrow is once again pressed against his skin. I can hear the tethers securing his wrists twisting as he braces himself, and he swallows thickly. His face pales, even if his eyes remain narrowed and fixed on me. My arms strain, waiting. Stubborn devil.

I press the arrow deep enough to draw blood, but he doesn’t wince this time. “You are my prisoner,” I remind him. “If you are not useful, you will not live.”

I don’t know what darkness passes behind his eyes or what thoughts swirl in his mind, but I fear the unknown that stares back at me.

Refusing to let my insecurity show, I lean closer. “Tell me everything,” I demand. “I will know if you lie.” Pulling my bowstring back as taut as I can, ready to release, I lift my chin. “You had our people’s furs . . . Why? So you could wear them like trophies?”

“No,” he growls. “We want a truce.”

“Truce?” I shake my head, uncertain of this term.

“Yes, a peace—we brought the furs as a peace offering.”

I laugh bitterly. “Peace? You keep speaking of peace, but I see your hate, it is in your eyes.” I shake my head and adjust the bowstring between my fingers as my body hums with fury. “You are not here for peace,” I grind out. “Returning furs will not bring back the sons, brothers, and fathers you have taken from us.”

“Your fathers and brothers?” he seethes. He inches forward, the arrow cutting into him more deeply, but in his anger he doesn’t seem to care. “What about ours?” I have to steady myself, determined not to move. “You’re right. I don’t like you,” he practically spits. “I didn’t think this peace mission would work, either, but Miss Mason did, and she insisted we bring you the furs out of respect for your dead, to show our remorse.”

His remorse is nonexistent, but I brush the obvious away. “She?” I take a step back.

“Yes, she is one of our leaders—a new leader. That’s why they want peace between our people.”

I find it strange he so easily assumes I am not the leader of my people when a woman leads his as well. “Why peace?” I ask. “Why now?”

His nostrils flare, and after an indecisive moment, the sosho heaves out a breath, rubbing his bound hands over his face. “Our situation has changed. Our people don’t want to live in fear, and we need water. Here you have cold winds and rain. Where I come from, we have dust and sandstorms that are eroding our town to nothing. If we want to survive, we need to find more water—we need to be able to rebuild and not have to look over our shoulders, wondering if you’re going to attack us.”

“We are a peaceful people,” I growl. “You say you live in fear, but we hide in this mountain from you.”

“You are not blameless,” he says so flatly and so quietly I barely hear him. The sosho leans forward, and Elan lifts the shotgun in warning, but the sosho doesn’t care. “You are not a warrior, like I thought. You would have killed me by now, like they want you to.” He nods to Elan behind me. “You say you hide in this mountain, then what do you know about life outside of your protective walls—what men like them do?” Once again, fury pours from his every word, but my own fury turns to rage as our injured and dead fill my thoughts. The blood, the sadness—the empty holes in my heart that were once my parents.

Completely consumed, I can barely speak. “You are a murderer—you know violence and killing. You steal and you desecrate the bodies of our dead, leaving them to wander eternity, lost and alone. You have no honor. You know nothing.”

“And where did he get that gun?” the sosho fumes. “How many of us have they killed? How many sons and fathers have you taken from us?”

Through the red haze and the blood raging throughout my veins, I remember watching my father fall—imagine Cole falling to his death to never get up again. I imagine him being dragged behind horses, paraded around for all to see. I want to run my arrow through the sosho more than I’ve ever wanted anything—my hands tremble with the need to. But my mother’s voice is like a cool breeze against my skin. You must watch the fire that burns in your heart. Your passion and quick tongue must not make you reckless, and you must never forget that all of this is for the people and our survival.

If what the sosho says is true, that somehow a peace could save more of my people from the same fate, I know I must listen to him, even if looking at his face makes me sick to my stomach.

I squeeze my bow so hard, a pain shoots through my wrist. “Yes, your people have fallen,” I say, my chest heaving as I force myself to calm down. I stare at the tip of my arrow, gripped between my white-knuckled fingers. When I glare at the sosho again, the column of his throat moves as he swallows. “Yet, you came here to offer peace, even when your eyes betray a hate so strong, peace is impossible.”

“You told me not to lie.” His words are clipped and quiet, but he’s right. At least there is that much he cannot hide from me.

We stare at each other for a few rapid breaths.

“Look,” he says with a sigh. “What I’ve told you so far is true. If you don’t believe me, then just kill me now and get it over with.”

As he speaks the words, I wonder if it is really so easy for him to accept his possible death—if he’s so callous and seen so much death it no longer affects him. Or, perhaps he is simply too proud and angry to show his fear.

“Or,” he continues. “You can let me go and I can bring back my leaders to speak with you themselves. They’re better at this than I am.”

“Free you?” I laugh at his proposal. I would never let him leave here, only so he can return with hordes of men, ready to kill us for all we have left.

“Fine then, I will take you to my people. You can meet my leaders and discuss terms with them. You will know where we are, even though I still don’t know exactly where I am, and you will have the higher ground to stand on. You can see for yourself the way we live, and you will learn that I am telling you the truth.”

“Lies,” Ahkima seethes from behind me. “They would kill you, Kaia.”

“No, I’m speaking the truth,” the sosho counters. “And, I think she will go with me.” He looks at me again, and I hate that he’s right. I hate it so much I want to scream. Yes, I would consider his offer to go back down the mountain if it meant a possible peace.

“You are so smug and certain,” I say in disgust.

“No, I’m right.” He lifts his chin, staring at me. “You cared about your people enough to leave this mountain in search of them. You brought me back here because you know you can learn something about me and mine—things that will help you. It’s exactly what I would’ve done.”

I take an angry step forward. “You know nothing about me and my people. Ahkima is right, everything you say is poison. I am done listening to it.” I turn on my heel to leave.

“I get that you don’t want to trust me, Kaia.” My footsteps nearly falter when he says my name. I hate the way it sounds on his tongue, like he’s mocking me with it. “But maybe you don’t have a choice.”

I storm out of the room and meet Ahkima’s gaze. “Cover his mouth. I don’t want to hear him speak again.” The truth in his words and the certainty in his voice are unnerving. I don’t wait for Ahkima’s response. I know he is more than happy to silence the sosho.

I walk past Oona, who’s standing outside the room listening, and into the other man’s room next door, knowing he’s much more malleable than the other. I pull my bowstring, aiming my arrow, and let one sail through the air, hitting the wall beside his face. His mouth drops open, his eyes widen, and he shakes his head in fear. “Please—”

“Where is your village?” I ask without pretense.

“Ah—about thirty miles south of the foothills.”

“Heavily guarded?”

He nods.

“Why have you come to the mountain?” I step closer, ensuring he understands the significance of the question.

“To make peace,” he says in a rush. “We need water. Please—I’m a doctor, I’m not a killer. I save people. I haven’t done anything.”

“You are of importance to your people, yet you come here to die?” He’s either foolish or lying, but I wait for him to continue before I decide.

The sosho shakes his head. “I’ve been studying the history of this land and your tribes. I’ve been trying to find a cure.”

“For what?” I try not to sound surprised. “Your people are sick?”

He nods. “The sand ruins the lungs.” He pats his palm on his chest. “It’s hard to breathe.”

I lower my weapon, feeling the air in the room shift as either Elan or Ahkima fills the doorway behind me. “Why do you study our people?” I ask.

He stares at the man behind me, and swallows again. “We’ve adopted a number of your healing techniques. I was ordered to find one for the Choke—uh, the sickness. I know more about your people than anyone else, that’s why they brought me. In case they needed me.”

“Against your will?” I ask, wondering if he’s merely a pawn in their game.

He shakes his head again, a predictable response. “I wanted to know—to see . . .”

I look back at Ahkima, thinking. I doubt this was the welcome the healer expected to find when he offered to go on such a journey. I turn to him again. “How many of your people have you saved from your sickness?”

His eyes shift from Ahkima to me. “I—don’t—” He lifts a shoulder, exhaling a breath. “None,” he says as if it saddens him. “I was hoping you could help—that we could learn from you.” His words are defeated and almost desperate, and for the first time I see hope in the mess I’ve gotten myself in. Thirst. Sickness. The healer’s words feel honest, and the soshos’ sudden desire for peace makes sense.

“Your leaders—what are they like?”

“Miss Mason and Clayton?” He seems surprised by my question. “They are good people. Josephine is a farmer’s daughter, and Clayton—”

“A farmer?” I think about the biscuits and the meat strips, and imagine what other food their village might have.

He nods. “Her family’s farm feeds the entire town.”

I curb my intrigue as best I can. “Feeds them what?”

He shrugs. “Vegetables—corn, wheat, potatoes . . . We have meat too.”

“And why do you give this information to me so freely?” I don’t know why but I feel like I can trust this sosho more than the other one.

He blinks, his gaze shooting to Ahkima, then back at me. “I don’t want to die,” he says simply.

“Good.” They came for peace because they need water, which we have, and remedies, which we might be able to give them.

The darkness in his room makes me feel uncomfortable, and I look to Oona standing against the wall, watching the two of us. “Give him a candle,” I tell her. “So he can see.” Frantically, he glances between us, uncertain what we’re saying.

I notice his empty mug on the ground beside him. “Do you want more?”

He peers behind me again, at Ahkima and then Oona, afraid.

“They will not hurt you,” I confide. “On my honor.”

His shoulders seem to ease a bit and he nods slightly. “Yes. Please—I’m starving.”

There is much to think about, so I turn to leave, meeting Oona’s sympathetic gaze and puckered brow. “See that he’s fed as much as he likes,” I say softly.

She nods. “What about the other one?”

Still bristling from his arrogance, I continue to the door. “He can starve, for all I care.”

12

Luke

I can hear Kaia interrogating Jacob in the adjacent room, but all I can decipher is my own rage in my ears—my blood still boiling and my heart still racing from my scuffle with the angry one as he shoved me against the wall, tightened my bindings, and gagged me.

Kaia’s incensed, self-righteous air only fuels my resentment toward all of them. She thinks her people can do no wrong, but I know better, and she would rather bind and gag me than hear the truth.

A spark of satisfaction puts me at ease as I recall the way her body tensed when I called her by her name. It was just a guess, of course—a word among many others I haven’t understood—but it’s been one of the constants in her conversations with the men. Whatever her status is, it’s obviously important, and while the angry savage argues with her, full of vehemence, the older one listens to her without hesitation.

The markings on her skin flash to my mind unbidden. Not the black paint smudges on her cheeks and around her eyes, but the tattoos on her flesh. The old woman has some on her arms and forehead, different sized shapes and symbols in earthy colors, faded with time. But Kaia’s are designed in a way that looks like armor, splayed protectively over her chest and up her neck. A cave princess of some sort, I think caustically.

“ . . . leaving the dead to wander eternity, lost and alone.” Her words are haunting, but only because they resonate more than I want them to. Death is supposed to be the end, that’s what makes it easier than living. Less lonely. In this moment, her dead people—my dead people—don’t matter. Peace is for the living, and I don’t need a princess who lives in her cave-tower telling me how horrible the feud has been, how innocent her people are in all of this, and how much my kin have taken from hers. June is all I have left, thanks to Kaia’s people, and it’s a reminder I must repeat when I begin to forget how we got here and why the contempt runs so damn deep.

I try to exhale what pent up, angry energy I can. I should’ve kept my mouth shut. As good as it felt to remind her she is not blameless, I’ve given them more reason to despise us. No matter Kaia’s threats, she is not a killer—she’s vicious and fiery, I’ll give her that, but I doubt she could bring herself to watch me die. Impel and torture me and watch me squirm, but not kill me, or anyone else, for that matter. Her stone-faced sentinels, on the other hand, wouldn’t hesitate to gut me alive. That they haven’t means they still need me, for now.

Straining, I try to hear what’s being said in the other room, but it’s too muffled, their voices too low. Then, there’s movement outside my door and I hear Kaia muttering something as she marches past. The old woman’s lighter steps shuffle behind her. No doubt the brutes reclaim their positions outside my door as everything falls silent again.

Still, my body hums and adrenaline pulses through me. Resentment sizzles beneath the surface of my skin, and hunger coils in my stomach. My mouth salivates as I remember the broth the old woman brought me, and my insides turn, wanting more. I want to lick my cracked lips, but the gag is too tight, forcing me to breathe through my nose, and I groan inwardly. Despite my discomfort, I know it could be worse. She could’ve cut into me already, like I know she wanted to.

I glance around the room, taking it in for the first time and wondering what, if anything, I can use to my advantage. A three-legged stool is overturned in one corner, and a heap of dusty, dull-colored material scraps is discarded on the floor. Overall, this place looks forgotten, save for the only true remnant of life—the tapestry on the wall with deformed shapes that resemble a snake and butterflies. Kaia had stared at it in her rage, her distrust morphing into hatred before my eyes. Same as the furs, I realize.

I eye the tapestry again, more carefully this time and curious who made it for her. But then, why is it in here, disregarded and musty like everything else. Suddenly, it feels more like I’m being held in a crypt, housing memories and items from the past. The furs and the image on the wall . . . they’re triggers for her. But as soon as I find myself empathizing with her, I shake the thoughts away.

Desperate to avoid idleness, I brace myself and force my body to work against aching muscles as I stand. I will my stiff legs to move, worried more than anything I’ll lose my nerve and sanity while I’m holed up in here.

I shuffle back over, toward the cot by the small, square window where soft light filters through. I’m not sure what I expect to see beyond, but I’m surprised nonetheless. I look down on a city carved in clay and stone.

Terraces of square-shaped villas line the walls of the cave, the largest cavern I’ve ever seen, and everything is swallowed by darkness beyond the light of the fires and torches that are lit throughout the village.

There’s a marketplace bustling in the center, like we have in Sagebrush, only it’s concentrated, unlike the veins of merchants spread throughout our city. There are dark-skinned villagers, and some with skin so fair I’ve never seen anything even close in Sagebrush. Some of them wear furs, others wear hides and woven clothing with bright beadwork. Fowl peck around people’s heels, and a donkey brays from somewhere off in the distance.

Older men and women carry woven baskets on their heads, some on their backs, and I watch as one person scoops the manure from a goat pen into an empty cart. They aren’t the type of goats we have, small and wily, but stalkier with horns, as if they were made to live on the mountain.

All of them speak in low tones that make the inside of the cave hum, except for the lively children who laugh and scurry through the plaza. Pelts and furs hang from wooden racks, but they are so far away I can’t tell if they’re from foxes or rabbits or something else entirely. Smoke clouds hover above some of the camps, and I hear distant chanting from one of the huts furthest out.

I notice a narrow cave opening on the opposite side, and two men of different sizes walk out of the tunnel, their clothes less colorful and decorated than those the villagers wear. The men’s hair is cut around their shoulders like the younger, more angry warrior that likes to shove his rifle in my face—no, our rifle. They are warriors too, I realize.

I try to reconcile the savages I’ve seen in the Dead Lands and heard stories about with the people that mill around inside this mountain. Drifters no longer feels suitable after watching them exist in a place like this. Dwellers would be more like it. Cave people, even. The men that fight for them, though, they are warriors and savages, just as the stories that predate the Shift have always warned about—eager to kill, dangerous, and beyond capable.

What would Clayton think of this place? Or Ashford? I don’t reckon they’ve ever seen something quite like this. If Ashford were here, I have a feeling everything would be different. I wouldn’t be bound and shut away. Jacob wouldn’t be bullied in the next room. I try and fail to ignore the ping of regret I feel in getting him into this situation. Then again, he knew the danger in coming on this trip, even if we all prayed it would never come to this.

Knowing Ashford, he would’ve brokered a peace with them already. He’s too good and honorable for it to have gone otherwise. Somehow, he would’ve turned everything around instead of making it all worse. Then, I realize the likelihood of what comes next.

Jacob and I are here, disappeared from the valley floor. Ashford might wonder if we were lost in the storm. Or would Andy be able to track us here or figure out that they’d taken us, at least? While Sagebrush may not have warriors that can scalp a “sosho” like me in the blink of an eye, from what I can tell, we have more riders, and more guns. I wonder what Kaia would say to that.

As a strategy begins to form, I catch a glimpse of movement below my window. I’m surprised to see it’s her, Kaia—the cave princess. Or whatever she is.

She brushes her braids back over her shoulders as she makes her way down a steeply carved path. Instead of continuing toward the villagers, though, she veers to the right, snatches a torch from its holder, and walks toward a crevasse in the rocks. Though her shoulders hang, perhaps in exhaustion, she walks with purpose. Curiosity piqued, I watch her until she disappears through the fissure, the rest of the village none the wiser. Only briefly do I wonder if she’s going to meet someone before a dam of questions breaks. How many tunnels can I not see, and where do they lead? Where are the goods and the weapons stored? Where are the horses, and how many more settlements are tucked away in the mountain?

There’s shuffling behind me again, and when I turn around, the old woman and the angry warrior stand there. She has a tray in her hands, though the warrior’s eyes are pinned on me and his scowl is more severe. I try not to let him see how uneasy he makes me as he comes closer.

“Turn,” he growls. With the possibility of food and conversation in sight, I face the wall willingly. “Do not move.”

Roughly, the warrior tears at the knot behind my head and the gag falls from my mouth. I know his gun is loaded and he’d be more than happy to use it on me, so I wait for his retreating footsteps before I slowly turn around again.

When I do, the petite old woman, at least ten years older than June and a little more hunched over, shuffles over. Her gray hair hangs in long braids over each of her shoulders. The feathers tied to the ends have spotted markings on them, unlike from any bird I’ve seen, and the way they are arranged by size and shape makes them seem significant. None of the villagers had them.

She glances at me as she sets a tray with a bowl, bread, and a cup of something on the wicker cot. As my stomach growls, I pray they aren’t empty and this isn’t a cruel joke.

“Eat,” she quietly demands. Her eyes narrow on me, and chills rake over my skin, like she might be peering into my soul, seeing everything. Judging me. Learning too much.

“I need to talk to the girl,” I tell her, and take a step forward. The warrior aims his rifle at me.

I hold my hands up defensively. “Look—it’s important. My people will come searching for Jacob and me. They will see our capture as an act of war.”

The old woman turns around to leave, as if she didn’t hear me, and maybe she can’t understand. “Kaia,” I say. “I need to talk to Kaia . . .”

“Do not say her name.” The warrior grunts, and steps closer in warning.

“Eat,” the old woman repeats without looking back, and disappears out the doorway. The angry warrior follows behind her, pulling the flimsy door shut behind him.

I walk over to the tray she brought and stare into a bowl of soup. The spicy scent wafts around me, filling my nose and making my stomach churn with anticipation. I know Kaia is gone; I saw her leave. Determination dwindled, I sit on the cot. For now, food will have to do.

13

Kaia

“Do not stand at my grave and cry.

I am not there.

I did not die.

My Spirit is still alive . . .”

Torchlight flickers over my mother’s body, wrapped in her etsi ceremony dress and covered in furs. My eyes burn as I hold back tears, and the elder’s prayer only makes it hurt more—she is not here. Not with me.

The drums beat softly, a dull echo reverberating through the mountain, and I bite my lip to keep from weeping when I know I must be strong. Cole and I are the last of our family, the final hope for our people, but it’s sadness that swallows me whole.

As the last stone is placed on her grave and the slow whistle of the flute plays its haunting goodbye, tears break from between my lashes and roll down my chin.

A cry bubbles in my throat, my shoulders lurch, and Elan takes my hand in his. He squeezes. I squeeze his back and don’t let go, knowing I will break if I do.

“It is the will of the katsinas . . .” Oona’s words grate like sandy remnants of an all-consuming storm, and I want to hate the katsinas. My father was murdered, and they did nothing. The village suffers, and the katsinas do nothing. Now they take my mother in her sleep. The katsinas have left me bitter and alone, and whatever path Oona believes they’ve laid out for me, I do not want it.

I stir from sleep, feeling the silky furs against my skin. I’d climbed to my room to change out of my travel clothes and must’ve fallen asleep. Even though my body aches and my bones are still tired from the journey, I revel in the feel of the soft and familiar around me. Until I remember the soshos in the rooms below me.

I force my eyes open, knowing I have already wasted too much time. It’s already midday—I can smell the scent of chili powder wafting up from the room below, the spices stewing for this evening’s yucca soup.

I rise and slide into my pants and vest, the fox hides soft but confining against my skin. I don my father’s katsina, slipping the totem over my head for strength, and straighten my shoulders as I clip my mother’s prayer beads around my neck. Even if I do not want to be etsi, I must look the part of a leader around the soshos, and around my people, if I am going to sway them. Through their fear, I must make them see, because whatever happens next changes everything.

After running my fingers through my hair, I pull it back and begin to weave it into new thick braids, tight against my scalp. As it always does, my mind wanders, and I wonder how I can make the elders see what I do, for all of us have lost someone. As always, I think about my father.

I’m all too familiar with life below the mountain. It is treacherous and cursed, and yet we cannot live without its sustenance. And if the years have taught us nothing else, it’s to keep the soshos away, and we have succeeded, until now. Today, the elders will want answers, and I must provide them. And somehow, we must see beyond it all and into the future, for Nico and Paco and the other children.

“Kaia?” Oona’s voice is soft in the room below.

“I’m awake,” I tell her, taking a deep breath as I bind the ends of my hair. She appears at the base of the ladder, her amber eyes wide and bright. It’s a look I have not seen in so long, I hadn’t realized she’d lost the gleam in her gaze that I used to find comfort in.

I climb down to her. “I know the council is—”

“The sosho has been asking for you,” she says.

My brow furrows. “Which one?” I follow Oona to the hearth.

There’s a flash of amusement in her eyes this time, and she glances toward the hallway. “The restless one,” she whispers.

“That’s . . . surprising,” I grumble, and pour myself a cup of tea. I bring it to my nose and inhale. The bittersweet aroma promises to wake my senses.

Oona hands me a strip of fruit leather. “For your energy.” She eyes me up and down. “I can hear your stomach complaining.”

I tear a piece of dried cactus fruit into my mouth and stare into the fire, unconcerned with hunger pains. “They claim they want peace,” I explain.

Oona tosses a fire log on the flames, then stirs her simmering soup. “I know.”

My gaze shifts to her, wondering if she’s been communicating with her katsinas again. “Do you believe the soshos?” I realize I could use her council, if only to bolster the decision I believe I’m about to make.

“Yes,” she says. “I do. There is something in the healer’s eyes, an innocence and hope that speaks to me.”

“And the other one?” I ask tentatively.

Oona sighs. “His soul is dark. But then . . .”

I lift an eyebrow. “But then, what?”

The corner of her wrinkled mouth lifts a little in contemplation. “He thinks of himself first and his people second. He is angry. He is lost.” She pauses. “He reminds me of you.”

My fingers tighten around my mug. “I only think of my people,” I rebuke. “They are why I am doing all of this.”

Oona nods half-heartedly.

“Please,” I say, exhaling to practice patience. “Say it—whatever it is. It is not like you to hold back.”

Oona eyes me carefully, then steps closer. As her shoulders square and she lifts her head, I know I’m in for a rude awakening. Then, gently, her warm hands clasp mine around my mug. “You do this for your people, perhaps,” she says, glancing down the hall into the adjacent rooms. “You say you fight for them, that you want a future for them, but you have only ever pushed against and questioned their beliefs and traditions, creating strife and division when what we need is unity.”

I think of Muna and Ahkima, and how even their relationship is strained when it comes to me, and my neck and cheeks warm with shame.

“Your strong will and disrespect of our ways—of what your mother and father stood for—has made some people question everything about our lives here, replacing any sense of peace with fear and uncertainty. You speak against the old ways thoughtlessly because it makes you feel better, and there is no leadership in that.”

Her words sting. They weigh on my heart and bite the backs of my eyes. “I’m sorry if I don’t believe in all the old traditions. I know I’m not the etsi they wish to have, and I would change it if I could—if they would let me. I only want what’s best . . . for everyone.”

“Yet to the people, you are the only etsi there is, and in denying them that, you make them question everything they know, and distress them because they will be leaderless.”

My chest aches as I stare down at Oona’s hands over mine, studying the lines and scars she’s been collecting for over eighty years of grinding, weaving, kneading, and churning. Never complaining or questioning, and always so content and certain, neither of which I’ve ever felt.

“I don’t want to be their only hope,” I whisper. “I can’t be—I will fail them.” It is my worst fear, spoken aloud for the first time, and I swallow. “What if I’ve already made the worst mistake in bringing the soshos here?” I meet her gaze, almost sympathetic as she tilts her head. “What if I’ve already doomed us all.”

Oona lifts her hand, cupping my cheek, and I squeeze my eyes shut. I wish my parents were here to guide me. My mother would know what to do. I miss them so badly my heart burns like a raw, gaping wound I fear will never heal.

“These men were put in your path, Kaia.” Oona’s voice is soft and reassuring. “And whatever happens is what the katsinas wish to happen—not an end or a beginning, simply what comes next, and you will take us there, etsi or not. It is your place, your destiny, something you cannot change, no matter how hard you try.”

I shake my head, my heart suddenly racing. Oona makes everything seem so simple and planned, but our lives and safety rest in the balance. I can’t rely on katsinas and ancient gods, not after all they’ve allowed us to go through. But, I would never tell Oona that I fear her spirits have abandoned us.

Her mouth quirks knowingly, and I lift Oona’s hands to kiss them. “Oh—” Discarding my mug on the hearth, I hurry up the ladder, having forgotten to show her what we found.

She’s still standing by the fire, looking quizzically at me when I return. “They had these with them,” I say, handing her one of the drawstring bags I kept from the soshos’ saddles.

Oona opens the bag and pulls out a meat stick. She stares at it with awe, and I can see that she’s beginning to understand my bringing them here. “Meat,” she says, a little breathless, and I don’t blame her. While we have hare, fox, and quail on occasion, larger game is more and more rare, as are our treks off the mountain and what food we find in the snow lands.

She sniffs the jerky and then takes a bite, chewing very slowly. “It is . . . good, and unlike anything I have tasted.”

I’m the one with a knowing glint in my eye this time, and I grin. “I know it is. That is why I saved one for you. Tarak put the rest of their things in the storage room.”

“The rest of their things?”

“Biscuits, like yours only bigger with more flavor, and . . . they are not quite as hard.” That earns me an arched eyebrow, but I ignore it. “They have farms, Oona, or so they say.” I nod to the meat strip. “I bet they would be willing to trade meat for water, if water truly is so scarce in their village.”

She nods, a satisfied twinkle in her eye. “I told you the katsinas have brought them to us for a reason.”

I hand her the drawstring bag to keep. “I will speak with the alpha again.” I hesitate to grab my bow and an arrow from my quiver, wondering if I shouldn’t leave them behind to demonstrate more civility this time, if I can manage it.

My nerves are addled again. I’m going in to face the fierceness in his eyes. The curl of his lip. I hate that being around him makes me feel less in control.

Leaving my bow and arrow behind, I turn for their rooms, deciding one of the guards on duty will be enough protection. And the knife in my boot, if I need it.

But I pause again. Fleetingly, I wonder if I should take the sosho food since he’s had nothing since last night, at my request. “He’s probably hungry.”

Oona’s eyes dart to mine.

“You’ve already fed him,” I realize. Tilting my head, I give her an eye scolding.

Oona waves me away and turns around to stir her stew again.

Bracing myself for whatever’s to come, I step into the corridor.

Ahkima eyes me as if he’s been waiting for me. Though Todi, the younger hunter beside him who I’ve watched Ahkima teach to properly hold a spear, straightens. Todi nods in a respectful greeting.

“You are rested?” Ahkima asks. When I look at him, his expression is one of relief as he assesses me up and down. The earth rumbles slightly then, and we brace ourselves against the wall. It’s the way of the mountain sometimes, though the roar is distant, and the ground barely shakes beneath our feet.

“Yes. I am rested.” I right myself and step closer. “Have you not left your post?” The pallor of his face gives him away.

His eyes harden as he glances at the sosho’s door. “I am fine.”

A sigh escapes me and I tilt my head. “Ahkima,” I say gently, and reach for his arm. The man before me, my best friend, who is patient and embraced me and taught me so many things when the other children kept their distance, is someone I don’t quite recognize with so much hostility radiating from him. “You need rest—please.”

His eyes are like shadows in the dimly lit hallway, but whatever he hears in my voice makes the crease in his brow lessen a little and he concedes. “When you’ve finished.”

“Good.” I offer him a small smile and open the wicker door to find the sosho awake and staring out the window. Silently, I chide myself for leaving it open and allowing him to study the village, calculating whatever plans might be bubbling behind that hard-set gaze of his.

The sosho looks at me, his scowl in place as usual as he eyes me up and down.

I wonder if he’s testing my reaction to his scrutiny, so I say nothing as I stand and wait.

“Does your mountain always quake like that?”

I don’t bother answering. Instead, I wait for him to address his reason for requesting my presence, and eventually he continues.

“Your village—they are all families. Old people and women . . . children.”

His words don’t sound so much like an observation, but a threat. “Do you not have families, old people, and children in your village?” I ask harshly.

His head tilts slightly as his cold eyes meet mine. “Of course we do, but you should know that the longer you keep us here, the more danger you put them in.”

The scowl on my face furrows deeper. “You asked to speak with me so that you can threaten me?”

The sosho shakes his head and sighs, as if he’s exhausted. “No,” he says. “Can I not say something without you finding offense in it? I’m warning you, is all.” He turns to face me fully, his hair mussed and dirty, his clothes discolored. Has he looked that way from the beginning and I’ve been too overwhelmed to notice?

“Four of us left, now two of us are missing. My people have been waiting for you to retaliate, and will take our disappearance as an act of war.”

My eyes narrow on him. An act of war? Do they think our numbers are so big and that we are so foolish as to wage a battle between us? “Explain,” I tell him.

“A retaliation—to get us back for what we’ve done to you. My leaders have been worried you would make your move, and now that we are gone, they will assume you have.”

This surprises me. He could be lying to scare me, but there’s a vulnerability in what he says too, and it’s gratifying to know that they would sit in their village, worrying about what we might do to them. It’s laughable, so much so that I chuckle to myself and shake my head. “You think we are scheming?”

“I think angry people do violent, dangerous things,” he replies, and stares back out the window.

“You said they want peace, why would they start a war?”

“Do you not understand?” His brow puckers and he shakes his head. His irritation makes me feel foolish, and my skin prickles with heat. “They will assume you care nothing of peace, and they will come to find us. They want your water, whether you want to help them get it or not. You need to get Jacob and me home, or they will bring all our men, and they will come for you—to your families and your elderly who sit with their crafts below, defenseless—to find us.”

That no one knows exactly where we are in the mountain is all that keeps my fear from the surface. “Perhaps they will come,” I say, nearly convincing myself that I’m not terrified of the possibility. “Perhaps they will not. But a peace is far too important to our people to risk it.”

That pulls his attention from the window once more, affixing it solely on me. “You will let us go, then?”

I hold his gaze. It’s more hopeful than he realizes, and it gives him away. “We will take you back and speak to your leaders ourselves.”

The sosho crosses his arms over his chest. “What’s the catch?”

“Your healer stays here,” I tell him.

“Jacob? He’s innocent in this—”

“He stays here, in case you lie. If he is important like he says, they will keep their word, and he will live.”

I don’t know where the sosho’s mind goes, but his face is paler than before. Turning away from him, I head for the door.

“Wait a second,” he barks. “What happens now?”

I don’t bother answering. My stomach knots with uncertainty and dread as Ahkima’s hard gaze meets mine, but I ignore his silent probing for now. I have a council meeting to prepare for. The sosho wants to know what happens next, and it’s time to find out.

14

Kaia

The fire crackles in the pit, contending with the echoed murmurs of the four elders sitting in a circle inside the kiva.

“Going to their village puts all of us at risk,” Muna says blatantly, against my proposal to leave the mountain. Though I’ve never appreciated her input, I’ve come to expect it.

Most of the council mumbles their agreement, except for Sakima, the Mojave’s leader and eldest of the village, and Oona, who is too busy worrying something will happen to me to truly listen. She knows I’ve already made up my mind, with or without their blessing, and that this is only a courtesy, though I didn’t come without a plan to try to win them over. We have no other choice now that the soshos are here, but having the elders behind me means the people will be less divided and more likely to stand behind my decision.

“You would take those who can fight with you for protection, and leave us vulnerable,” Muna continues, ever the bitter, resentful woman she’s always been. I could be offering her peace on a platter, adorned with corn and grain unlike anything we’ve ever seen, and she would still spit on it because it comes from me. “You are foolish to think this will work.” Each word spears like an arrow I want to hurtle right back at her. “I will not allow you to put our people—”

“It is not up to you,” I say over her, unable to hold my tongue any longer. But her hatred of me does her a disservice when I offer our elders a possible peace, only for her to disregard the notion completely. “It is up to the council. And you will not be left unprotected,” I tell them all. “Ahkima and most of his men will stay here with the village.” I peer around at uncertain faces. The council has seen much in their lives, though their vision remains narrowed. “The soshos knew we were on the mountain long before I brought their men back with us,” I continue. “It’s why we found them at all—they were coming to find us. Only now we’re prepared. We know what they want, and,” I say, glancing around the circle, “we know what we will require in return. We have the upper hand and must act on it, before it’s too late.” I stare directly at Muna. “Yes, I brought the soshos here, and yes, they are dangerous, but two men here is nothing compared to the hordes who are going to find us eventually. That has not changed.”

“And if they find us?” she counters. “With only ten men, what would we do? We’d be forced to retreat deeper into the mountain.”

“At least you would be safe there,” I counter back. “The soshos know nothing of this mountain. And you would see them coming long before they arrived. If they come, and if we don’t meet them on the way to their village first,” I remind them all.

Muna shakes her head, climbing hastily to her feet. “You shouldn’t have brought them here to begin with. You are rash—”

“And foolish,” I finish for her, bored and weary of her stubbornness.

Her surprise sharpens to a glare. “You know nothing about these people, Kaia. You should have let us lead—”

“But you weren’t there to lead,” I say loudly, and glower back at her. “It was Tarak, Elan, Ahkima, and me in that cave. Not you. You stay here and hide. We were out there to prevent them from finding our exact location.” Feeling the council’s astonished stares at my informality and growing frustration, I sigh. “We did what we thought was best.”

Muna tightens her hands into fists at her sides, the sleeves of her robe almost too long to tell. The four types of feathers woven into her collar are meant to stand for the unification of our four nations generations ago, and to inspire hope and community, but the harsh angles of her face are far from inspirational. “You mean you did what you thought was best, Kaia.”

I grit my teeth, glancing around at their inquiring gazes. “Perhaps,” I admit. “But none of them stopped me.” My eyes cut to Muna. “Not even your son.”

There’s a shift in the hard-set of Muna’s eyes, a glistening I’ve never seen before, and I dare to hope, a temporary submission.

It’s a cut deeper than anything else I could deliver; Ahkima could do no wrong in his mother’s eyes, and that he didn’t stop me meant he was either weak or I was right, and Muna would never admit to either. I decide to withhold the entire truth, that he’d questioned my decision to bring the soshos back the moment I gave it voice, but he couldn’t bring himself to stop me.

“They stood with me then,” I continue, refusing to lose focus, “just like you will stand with me now.” I look at the line-etched faces of the elders and tremble inside, uncertain where my authoritative tone comes from and my gall to speak to them the way I do, but I cannot help it. The symbols and stories that decorate their skin are limited only to what they’ve seen in this mountain. They have not left the village since before I was born and know nothing of the world outside this stone.

My mouth begins moving again before I stop it. “I don’t want to go,” I admit. “But the katsinas willed it so. They put two soshos in my path, and I saw it as an opportunity to learn and, if fortune is on our side, find a semblance of peace.” Even Muna watches me closely and listens, no doubt wondering how she could speak against me without angering the katsinas. My skin crawls as I realize I’m using their ancient beliefs in order to sway them, but I’m determined.

I lean in, my gaze sweeping over their anxious faces. “The soshos need water, which we have, and every small thing we learn about them will only help us to unmask the monsters who have haunted us all our lives. They are men as we are. They fear as we fear. We can learn where they live, how they live, and we can use all of that to help our people.” I let that sink in a moment as they glance among themselves.

“There is more,” Sakima says, his voice brittle and somehow soft at the same time. “Yes . . .” He watches me closely. “There is more.” His expression is the same as when I was a child. Like Oona, Sakima has always had an old soul that sees more than the others, and in turn, seems to understand me better than the rest of them, too. He dips his chin, encouraging me to continue.

“They are farmers,” I explain. “They have food unlike ours, and I mean to trade with them for the water they seek.” Reaching behind me, I pull out two pouches and pass them to the elders, so they know what our people might gain. None of us realize how hungry we’ve become because it’s always been so, our bellies never completely satisfied. But this will remind them.

Muna opens the pouch with the bread cakes and pulls one out. She hesitates as if it’s a trick. “This looks like one of ours,” she says, unimpressed.

“It is good,” Oona says, taking it from her. She breaks a small piece off for Sakima, who lost his last tooth soon after I was born. He and everyone else eyes the bread cake hesitantly, but when Oona offers him a piece with an encouraging nod, Sakima plops it in his mouth. He gums the bread, the loose skin of his jowls jostling, and he stares at a spot in space, deciding.

A heartbeat passes and I forget about the other elders as I wait for his reaction. Finally, Sakima’s gaze refocuses on me, then shifts over the others. He smiles a wide, toothless smile, and I can’t help a relieved grin.

Muna passes around another bread cake for the others to share.

“I am leaving their healer here to ensure our safe return,” I tell them, though I am not certain I have their attention anymore. “Their village is sick and people are dying. They need the healer and will not get him back if anything happens to our men.”

Muna tries not to act as if she’s impressed by the cakes, but she licks her lips one too many times to indicate otherwise.

“You are young,” Sakima says, and I prepare myself for a lecture about competence and knowing my place. I thought if anyone would understand, it would be him, and that the bread alone would sway him. “Very young and very brave,” he continues. “Your mother and father would be proud of you.”

My heartbeat stumbles. Whether it’s because he’s caught me by surprise, or pure sadness that my parents are no longer here, my eyes blur, though I accept his praise with a nod of gratitude. “Do I have your blessings, then?” I ask, peering around at four sets of eyes.

“I bless your journey and know that Earth Mother and Masaw are with you,” Sakima says. “May you find peace for our people, Kaia, and the answers you seek.” His gray gaze lingers on mine, and a silent message passes between us, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand straight as a strange sense of calm washes over me.

I clear my throat. I don’t know which answers Sakima refers to, but I thank him, and the others weigh in as they bless my journey—some with fear lacing each word, but there is hopefulness in their voices too.

Finally, it’s Muna’s turn to speak, and her eyes flick from the others to me. “I bless your journey,” she says reluctantly, then she peers back into the fire.

“Gratitude,” I say, and peer around the circle. “We leave tonight in the cover of darkness. If we don’t return after twelve torch cycles, Ahkima and his men will do whatever the council decides with the healer.” I look at Oona one last time, worried what will happen to her if I don’t come home, but she doesn’t meet my gaze. Instead, she shuts her eyes and begins to chant, blessing our people and my journey to the desert floor.

After the kiva, I go to speak with Tarak and Elan. I inform them of our plans and answer whatever questions I can, but Elan is the one I rely on to ready us all for the long, uncertain journey, and I leave him to plan and prepare. I’m more concerned about what Ahkima will do, so I hurry home to speak to him.

I tell myself this is how it must be, even if my stomach is in knots. I tell myself it won’t be the last time I see him or Oona, though in reality, I am not certain that is true. The more I realize I know nothing about my fate, the more my stomach rolls and lurches, and I double over at the V in the path at the bottom of the cliff. I heave though nothing comes out, and my body shakes as I fall to my knees.

Suddenly, hope seems a foolish errand and impossible. What am I doing? Taking my friends and some of our most skilled fighters to our possible deaths? I should have asked the men to volunteer, instead of telling them they would go. I should’ve consulted Elan first, so he could tell me I’ve lost my mind and am going to get us all killed. It dawns on me that stewing in hatred for the rest of my life is far safer than what we are about to do, and I exhale a shaky breath and wait for the nausea and dread to pass.

“You can give your people hope,” my mother’s voice whispers. And I realize it is not safer here at all, only easier and more familiar, but death will come for us either way. Grasping the wooden wolf hanging around my neck, I rise to my feet and wipe the moisture from my eyes. I want my parents to be proud of me, a truth that hurts more than anything I’ve felt in a long time. I want to do this for them, because if we don’t risk something, soon we’ll have nothing.

Lifting my head, I exhale another deep breath to steady my nerves, preparing myself for Ahkima’s anger, but when I look up, I see the sosho’s white face in the window above. Flames lick up my neck and cheeks, but I don’t miss a step as I focus straight ahead, refusing to let him see my shame.

When I open the door, Ahkima stands at the hearth of the fire across from Oona, both of them startling as I step inside. Slowly, Oona lifts herself from her stool, claims a jug of water, and heads into the corridor.

Once she is out of sight, Ahkima steps over to me, his ebony eyes wild. “You cannot do this, Kaia,” he says. He’s angry and scared. I can see it in his wild gaze and clenched jaw.

“I have to—”

“No.” He shakes his head. “You don’t—”

“Yes, I do,” I tell him softly.

“At least—at least let me come with you. I don’t trust these soshos, Kaia, and I—”

“I don’t trust them either, but what choice do we have?” I say, too tired to argue with him. More than anything, I worry he might succeed in swaying me off my path.

“Send me—me and my men. You can stay here and be with our people.”

I admire his earnestness, always so protective of me. He’s the strongest man I know, and yet sometimes all I can see is the little boy who cried in my arms when his father died, so broken and lost. Perhaps that’s what brought us together at first, yet through the years it’s been our anger and sadness that’s bound us. And for that reason, I do not trust him with this.

“These men have taken enough from us,” he seethes. “I don’t want them to take you, too.” His words are pleading in a way I’ve never heard before.

I reach for Ahkima’s face and brush my thumb over his smooth jaw. When, exactly, did we grow up? When did he become the most noble of us, the strongest and most skilled, and me the stubborn woman who is set on a lost path with a dark end? When did everything change and life become more complicated than English lessons with crazy old Gerta and clay sculpting with Sakima?

“I will come back,” I tell him, but I sound more certain than I am. “I will have Elan and Tarak, and—”

He shakes his head.

“Ahkima, we have no choice. It must be this way. Just as I will not take the soshos’ words as truth, the white men won’t take yours if you go.” I take the sight of him in, appraising his body and the angry man he’s become. “You are dangerous to them—you are death. It trembles in your every move, and I see its fire in your eyes. I am the one who must go.”

He turns away from me and runs his fingers through his long, black hair.

“Please . . .” I step up behind him, the familiar scent of him filling my nostrils—fire smoke and boiled pine, like his grandmother’s renowned tea. “Watch after Oona for me,” I whisper. “I worry what this will do to her if—”

Ahkima turns around. His expression pained beyond belief as his eyes search my face. Even though he’s never said anything to me, I know our friendship is different for him now. Instead of looking at me like little Kaia, he studies me as if I am a riddle. I think he might lean in and do something shocking, but Ahkima takes a step back instead. “Because you are my etsi, I will do as you ask, but I don’t like this.”

I smile a little, which makes his frown deepen. “I’ll miss you too,” I tease him.

“Do not laugh, Kaia,” he pleads.

And I don’t mean to, not really. “Who will keep me in check during my journey?” I ponder aloud. “And who will I be able to tease? I won’t know what to do with myself—”

Ahkima leans in and presses his lips to mine. His warm palm cups the side of my neck, hesitant. I’m not sure if it’s a goodbye, in case he never sees me again, or something much more than that. A promise? A wish?

I exhale against him, and just as quickly, he pulls away and walks past me, back into the corridor, leaving me to stand in the center of the room to catch my breath.

“I was wondering when that was going to happen,” Oona says quietly as she steps from the shadows.

“But, why . . .” I don’t even know what to think.

“Don’t be coy,” she snips. “It doesn’t suit you.”

I frown.

“Ahkima has been at your side since you were small. And now look at you.” She gestures to me as if I’m some thing. “You are a woman.”

“But to just kiss me like that . . .” I press my fingers to my lips. I’ve never been kissed before. It was something I’d always wondered about—who and when, but I’ve always been off-limits and different than everyone else. Different to everyone but Ahkima.

“Your mother and father spoke of your future with him when you were born,” Oona admits with a smile in her voice, and I can’t help my gaping mouth.

“They wouldn’t have—”

“No?” she counters. “The future etsi and no plans for the family line?” She gives me a bored, sidelong look.

“But—” I shake my head. It makes sense in many ways, but that no one has ever said anything when so much of my life has been openly planned seems unlikely. “Really?”

Oona nods as she crushes her dried sumac for paint at the table.

“Why have you never told me this?”

She chuckles to herself. “So that you would never speak to him again just to spite me?”

My cheeks redden as I realize she’s probably right, and I feel a pang of disappointment in myself as I realize how obstinate I’ve been over the years. It’s no wonder Muna and some of the villagers are as reluctant for my Claiming as I am.

“Don’t stew,” Oona says. “We weren’t sure Muna wouldn’t poison him against you first,” she mumbles.

“She’s always been so horrible then?” I say, quiet enough I pray he cannot hear me.

Forgetting her diplomatic self, Oona rolls her eyes. “Always, unfortunately. If she would have agreed to it, Ahkima would be the man you would marry, and I think he knows that,” Oona says. “He is the obvious choice. Muna’s family line has always represented the elders of the Apache nation. His father was a distinguished warrior, which means he is strong and capable and a notable fit.”

“Can Muna do that? Not agree to the wishes of the elders?” I stop myself a moment, realizing I sound almost regretful. “I mean, I’m glad but . . . Can she?”

Oona nods. “She is the matriarch. It is her bloodline, she can do as she wishes. It was one of our sacred vows when we all came together generations ago. She and your mother never got along, so she wouldn’t give your mother the satisfaction or the coupling her blessing. All of this was known but went unsaid, of course.”

“I knew Muna hated my mother, but I don’t understand why.”

“In part,” Oona whispers, muddling her sumac into the finest powder, “because Muna always loved your father.”

“What?” I glance toward the corridor to ensure Ahkima isn’t suddenly standing there. “Oona—” I chide, and hit her arm playfully. “How come you’ve never told me any of this?” I say in a quiet rush, and lower myself into an old wicker chair.

“A woman always has her secrets. Besides, you never asked.” She looks at me askance. “Muna and your father were never together, despite her wishes. He was betrothed to your mother since birth. Your parents didn’t even like each other in the beginning, but all that changes when you have to rule a village together. They each had their own strengths. Your mother was always the strong, stubborn one and made the tough decisions. Your father was the provider and peacekeeper, and the people loved him. And when they had you, our village foresaw a brighter future with a family that had always exuded strength, power, and hope.” Oona loses herself in thoughtful silence for a moment. “Your parents were taken away from us too soon, mana. The elders didn’t expect you to lead so soon or so young. So, you can understand their trepidation, despite their refusal to deter from tradition.”

I stare into the flames of the hearth, awash in the anxieties alive inside me. “I am afraid too,” I admit. I watch Oona heat the crushed sumac over the fire, adding water and turning it into paint. “I don’t want to fail them—or you.” The idea of coming back empty-handed twists my insides until my stomach aches all over again. “I fear it more than dying,” I realize. I don’t want to prove the naysayers right.

“You have not even taken your official place among our people, and you have already shown them your strength,” Oona says with more authority. “And though I do not like change myself, we all know it is time, whether we want to accept this truth or not.” She steps closer, dipping her thumb in the red paint. “You are the change, Kaia.” She presses it against my temple. “You are their bright light, and I could not be prouder of you.” Tears shimmer against the marigold flecks in Oona’s eyes as she draws a red line across my forehead.

Her visage blurs as tears breach the brims of my lashes.

“Come back to me, mana. I will be waiting.”

15

Luke

I study the jagged ledges of the cavern and the homes built along them as I wait for Kaia to reappear from one of the tunnels. Thatched roofs and walls of mud and clay—these dwellings here wouldn’t last a day in Sagebrush, then again, they don’t have to worry about the sand and the wind like we do. While a part of me envies them for that, I’m not sure how they can live without the sun and the moon, with only the sound of wind howling through the mountain and the trickle of water.

I glance around, fixating on the sound. Water. It’s so incessant that I hadn’t noticed it before now. But darkness swallows everything beyond the village, like an endless night.

I try to imagine the water dripping from somewhere, or is it flowing? Is that why the drafty cavern smells damp? A draft means cracks and holes. It means there are other ways in and out of this place.

There’s movement on the path, and I see Kaia returning. Her shoulders are straight, her head is held high, and her steps are purposeful, until she stops and doubles over to retch where the paths meet.

For the first time since seeing her in the valley cave, she doesn’t look like a savage with a black painted face, wild eyes, and perfect lips, but a young woman with the burden of her people’s fate resting on her shoulders. And I find myself more curious about her than I’m comfortable with.

Kaia must sense my prying eyes because she peers up at me and wipes her face. Her expression is indifferent, not vulnerable or surprised to find me watching her, as I expect. Then she strides closer and disappears inside.

Minutes pass, and I wonder where she’s been and what she will require of me next. Will she really take me back to Sagebrush?

There’s a murmur in the hallway, and I notice a faint light flickering through the wicker door. Light has been flickering there all day, and each time the old woman brings in food and water, I see it emanating from Jacob’s room. Kaia has rewarded him for answers, that much is obvious, even if I’ve been just as honest with her as he has. Regardless, had our plights been reversed and we’d taken Kaia and her men to Sagebrush, I can’t say the deputies would’ve provided any such luxuries.

When more time passes, I begin to worry I’ve pushed her too far and she’s changed her mind. Whatever progress we seemed to be making when she left, small and maddening as it was, has come to nothing.

A shuffle in the hallway makes my heart still in my chest. I expect the old woman to come in to check on me, but it’s Kaia who enters instead, carrying another bowl of steaming soup. Her eyes meet mine, and I think I see a shadow of uncertainty before she speaks. “We leave for your village tonight. You should eat something.”

I stare at her, hoping it’s true more than believing it. I’ve never missed the warmth of the sun so much in my life.

Kaia sets the bowl on the stone floor by the cot. “The healer stays,” she reminds me.

My knee-jerk reaction is to protest, but I would keep a hostage too. It is strategic, and while a part of me fears what might happen with Jacob being held here, I know he’s being treated better than I am, so my apprehension lessens, if only slightly.

“If you try anything,” Kaia begins, her voice hard and her eyes assessing. “Just . . . do not. You have seen Ahkima’s temper.”

Ah, yes. The hair-trigger, temperamental one stays to execute as needed. I nod. “I want to see him—Jacob, I mean. I want to see that he’s okay.” While Kaia can easily say no to my request, I hope she realizes how difficult I can make her journey to Sagebrush as well, should I choose to.

She only hesitates a moment, then nods. “Eat,” she repeats, and turns to leave. She stops in the doorway, exchanging words with the warrior—Ahkima—outside my door. He peers in at me, eyes as hard as ever, then he looks at her and nods in agreement. She leaves the door open and Ahkima’s eyes fix on me.

Cupping the clay bowl in my bound hands, I take a gulp of the soup. The warriors are tough now, but once we’re off the mountain, I’ll have the upper hand. I know the desert, and we’ll be going to my people. I just hope that when I waltz into town with a bunch of savages, Holyworth and the others won’t shoot us on sight.

In a few more gulps the soup is gone, leaving a spicy yet bitter taste in my mouth. How these people live off of broth and stews, I have no idea, but as pungent as it is, it’s satisfying and my stomach grumbles for more.

I’ve barely set the empty bowl down on the cot beside me when Ahkima tugs me to my feet. The cot jerks and the bowl shatters on the stone floor, though the warrior doesn’t seem to care.

He tugs me out of the room, my wrists raw and screaming in pain from who knows exactly how many days of rubbing and tugging and pulling. He mutters something to the other man outside Jacob’s room. He has braided black hair that barely passes his ears, and he smiles at me. It’s not a villainous smile, like I imagine Ahkima’s would look if he knew how to smile at all, but more of an entertained one. “You have a visitor,” he tells Jacob in well-spoken English, and the man watches as the beast behind me shoves me inside.

“A what?” Jacob peers up from one of his journals. “Luke!” A smile crosses his face when he sees me, and he stands up. He has a candle as I suspected, as well as some of his things. I wonder if they even bag his head when they take him out to go to the bathroom, like they do with me. And if it wasn’t for his bound wrists, I’d assume he’s even gotten a tour of the place.

“Living in squalor, I see.” Though my tone is flat, I can’t refrain from smiling, more relieved to see him in one piece than I expected. Jacob eyes me up and down, and seeing a flash of worry in his eyes, I realize I look like shit. I nod to his journals, waiting for him to explain.

“They are interested in what I know, ” he says, studying my wrists with a frown. “Have they hurt you?”

I shake my head. “I’m fine.”

“Really, Luke, you should ask Kaia to take those off . . . It’s getting infected. You need to clean the wounds.”

Ahkima’s grip on my arms tightens, a reminder that I don’t have much time. “They’re taking me to Sagebrush,” I tell him.

Jacob’s gaze shifts from my wounds to my face, his eyes wide with surprise. “They are—we’re going home?”

It takes me a moment to answer, uncertain how to tell him his life hangs in the balance of everything out of his control. “You’re staying here,” I say grimly.

The excitement on his face falls, and he swallows. “As a guarantee,” he realizes.

“You know Clayton will do anything for this peace, Jake. You don’t have to worry. We’ll get you home, eventually. It might take some time, but we will.” Even as I tell myself the odds are in our favor, I know that a number of things could go terribly wrong, even from here to the bottom of the mountain. Seeing the fear in Jacob’s eyes, hearing it in his voice, only makes me more determined to do my part to get him back in one piece.

“Come,” the warrior says, and before I can say goodbye, I see Jacob’s eyes widen as a black hood goes over my head.

“See you soon, Jake!” I call as I’m manhandled out of the room.

“Tell my dad I’m okay, Luke! I’ll see you soon!”

My chest tightens and my breath catches in my throat so that I can’t respond. I will tell his father he is okay, and I will make sure that Jacob, the best of all of us, gets home to see him again.

16

Luke

I ride for hours with a sack over my head, gripping onto Tuck’s mane. While the furs draped around me are warm and stave off some of the chill, my hands are still bound in front of me and exposed to the biting cold. Once again, I am frozen to the bone, and I wonder how these people can live like this, because there is no way our people ever could.

The horse veers, the wind lessens, and the sound of hooves echo around us. My heart nearly soars as I realize we’re stopping for a break.

One of the men pulls me off my horse and removes the sack from my head. The quiet, older warrior stares at me as I blink in the pale orange glow of the sandstone cave. We’re closer to the bottom than I realized.

The third warrior, the one with mirth in his eyes, tends to the horses with a few others I haven’t seen before, and my keeper moves me to where Kaia leans over a spark turning to flame.

Though I’d rather stand and stretch my legs, the warrior nudges me toward it. “Sit.” He eyes me in a threatening way that warns me to behave, almost more menacing than Ahkima’s hatred. It’s authoritative, the way June’s is before an impending thwack for disobedience, and it makes my skin itch.

He forces me to the cold stone, and when my palms hit the ground, I wince.

“That is Elan,” Kaia tells me, her focus on the burgeoning flames. “That,” she says, pointing to the smiley one that chuckles with the other men by the saddles, “is Tarak and Yancey. Alo and Pele.”

“I’m sorry to see the one who hates me most couldn’t join us,” I mutter. I imagine that was a fun argument to watch unfold, knowing how much he distrusts me and would’ve preferred to accompany me down the mountain, hoping I would give him an excuse to kill me.

“Ahkima and his men protect the people . . . and watch over your friend,” she reminds me, though it’s unnecessary.

“I won’t try to run,” I tell her, and lift up my bound hands. “You’re taking me home. Why would I?”

“Eat,” Elan says, and hands me a strip of dried fruit. It’s red with black seeds.

“Cactus fruit,” I mutter, staring at it.

“You eat this in your village?” Kaia asks, taking a sip from her waterskin. The furs draped around her and framing her face seem so fitting, especially in this cold, uninviting place. Meanwhile, we’ve been collecting them all these years as frivolous decoration in a place that never gets cold.

I turn my gaze to the fire. “I’ve seen it, plenty of times, but I’ve never eaten it.”

She looks at me quizzically.

“We ferment it—make alcohol with it.” None of that seems to register. “It’s a drink . . . Never mind. There isn’t much of it left anyway.”

“I know,” she says bitterly. “I have heard you cut them all down.” I don’t argue with her because it’s true.

Kaia stares back into the flames, and a couple of the others trickle over to join us around the fire. She bites down and tears a piece of fruit from her strip.

I do the same. It’s a little bit sweet, a little bit bitter, and I can almost pretend it’s Devil’s Juice. Longingly, I wish for a drink—or three. “It’s no jerky, but it’s all right,” I muse, and tear off a larger chunk. “Where is the food we had with us?” I wonder for the first time.

Her eyes fix on my wrists. “With my people,” she says, distracted. She scoots closer, and takes them in her hands. I grimace but bite back the pain easily enough.

Her hands are cold and a little calloused as she analyzes the raw skin. She’s so close her dark braids that hang between us tickles my arms. Her eyes are green and flicker in the firelight, burning bright against the red paint stripe across her forehead. “It is sour,” she grumbles. The moment her eyes meet mine, her frown deepens and she drops my hands. “Tarak.”

He pauses from feeding biscuits to the horses.

She nods to me, but his name and sosho is all I can understand.

“Wait—” I sit straighter. “Sour?” I glance between them, realizing how horrible that sounds.

Tarak riffles through a large leather bag discarded behind him, then brings her a leather pouch.

“Askwali,” she says absently, and I think it’s a thank you.

“What’s sour mean?” I ask again, hoping something was lost in translation, and it’s not what I think it means. Jacob’s concern in seeing my wrists flares back to life.

Kaia crouches beside me again, her eyes shifting from my face to my wrists as she unsheathes a bone-handled knife from her belt. “Apologies,” she says offhandedly, then tugs my knotted leather binding and slices through it in one jerky movement.

It’s a sharp, furious burn I hadn’t expected, and I bite back a groan as the bindings fall to the ground. I glare at her. “I’m sure that could’ve been handled differently,” I muse, and let out a steadying breath.

Kaia shrugs, though there’s an irrefutable smirk that brightens her eyes.

The cool air of the cave stings the raw flesh, and my wrists thrum with pain. Only then do I realize how bad the rub marks are, and I cringe.

Tarak hands her a waterskin and folded cloth.

“The red,” she says, pointing to the angry rawness of my skin, “is bad.”

“Fantastic.” I glare at her. “I have you to thank for that.”

Kaia ignores me and reaches for my forearm, pulling my wrists closer to her with one hand and pouring water over them with the other. It’s so cold it stings, and I grit my teeth to keep from complaining. I don’t bother looking at Tarak, I know he’s smiling as he watches me suffer.

Kaia dabs the cloth around the wound, ensuring it’s clean and dry, then pulls a smaller pouch from the one Tarak handed her. Dried golden petals and a gray powder fall into her hand and she trickles water on them, then deftly molds it into a cool, wet poultice against the rawest parts of my skin. Her touch is gentle as she concentrates, and hesitantly, I think she’s being almost kind.

When Kaia’s finished, she rips the cloth into two long pieces before wrapping them around each of my wrists, holding her concoction in place, then she clasps my flattened palms together. Covering mine with hers, she leans her forehead to our hands, closes her eyes, and begins to whisper, and it’s all I can do to listen. Each word is soft and rhythmic. I don’t know what she says but it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard, sending chills over my skin, and I find I can’t stop staring at the way her thumbs brush over the back of my hands as she prays.

When she’s finished, she rises to her feet and puts their supplies away. In her absence, the temporary warmth I felt fades, and the peace that settled over me jumbles, and I stare down at my wrists again.

“What is it?” Kaia asks, her frown deepening as she comes back to the fire.

I feel my scowl etch its way back into place, and I peer into the flames. “What did you say, just now?”

“I asked Mother Earth to heal you, and to continue to bless our journey.”

I eye her skeptically. “Why would you waste such words on me?”

“Because.” Her eyes meet mine. “It is what is done when we heal the injured, or pray for our people to come home from a hunt. And when they do not, we pray for their souls,” she bites out. “And no matter how much I detest your kind, I need you to be healthy for our journey.” Kaia puts more tinder on the fire, and I can feel the men’s eyes on us. “We pray for all things,” she adds more quietly. “It is our way.” There’s a caginess and pain in her voice that makes me glad she isn’t looking at me because I don’t know what I might see in her expression.

I stare down at my hands. “What did you put on my wrists? An herb?”

“No,” she says, balling up a shirt from her pack and shoving it under her head as she lays down beside the fire. “A flower. And if you run, Tarak will find you,” she warns, her eyes already closed. “Get rest, sosho.”

I glance at the men around the fire, all of them focused on the fruit leather in their hands or the flames of the fire, except for Elan. He sits a few feet behind me, waiting for me to make a move.

I don’t waste another breath to explain I’m not going anywhere. They won’t believe me anyway. Instead, I wonder how much longer I have left to formulate a plan that will prevent the seven of us from getting killed once we step foot in Sagebrush’s borderlands. The deputies will see seven figures draped in furs on horseback and won’t hesitate to shoot.

And I consider a bath; I desperately need a bath and clean clothes, because sour doesn’t begin to cover it.

By late morning we’re trotting through the sagebrush and around the dying ironwood trees that scatter the valley floor. There is no water, barely any shade, and the sun already burns against my skin. Without my hat to shield the sun from my eyes, there’s no escaping it. It’s hot. It’s bright. And there is no breeze to speak of. I almost wish for the blindfold and the wind against my skin again, but not quite.

Luckily, they’ve returned Tuck to me, and he knows the way home better than I do, so I let him guide our procession through the desert. Elan and Kaia canter on each side of me. They shed their furs hours ago and their tanned skin glistens in the harsh sun, though they ride with ease, as if it doesn’t affect them. For a second, I wonder if their ancestors’ blood still runs deep and, if given the choice, they would cultivate the earth in the stale heat again, instead of mine the mountain. But I tell myself it doesn’t matter, that I don’t care, and push the curiosity away.

Every so often, Kaia glances over at me, but I don’t know what she’s thinking. I would be stupid to try to outrun them, if that’s what she’s worried about, especially since the men are armed with guns and throwing weapons.

Elan shouts something and grabs Tuck’s reins, pulling my horse to a stop in the middle of nowhere. At first I don’t understand, but Kaia, Tarak, and the others do the same.

“The horses need water,” Elan says, nodding at Tuck. He dismounts and pulls a large sack from his leather and fur-draped saddle. Kaia and the others dismount and do the same. Noticing the waterskin they’ve tied to the back of my saddle, I follow suit.

“He worries about my horse,” Kaia explains, eyeing Elan with amusement. She shakes her head, patting her black’s neck affectionately. The mustang slurps down the water in the sack, and Tuck does the same.

“What’s wrong with your horse?” I ask, looking him over.

“Nothing,” she says. “Elan worries too much.”

“Wait,” I say, eyes darting to Elan. “You spoke English.” He doesn’t reply. “I was beginning to think you only knew sit and eat.”

“We all know English,” Tarak pipes up, amused by my ignorance. “We do not always hate soshos.”

“No?” I huff. “You could’ve fooled me.”

Tarak chuckles, and when I look at him, his smile broadens. Though I am still their enemy, there’s a sense of easiness in the air between us all that wasn’t there before we left the mountain. Perhaps it’s their relief to have me far away from their people, or that they are as hopeful about the truce as Clayton and Miss Mason. Maybe it’s a farce so I will let my guard down. But either way, even though I am still wary of them, and the distrust between us lingers, I feel the tension in my shoulders ease ever so slightly each time Tarak smiles. While Elan is the strong, stoic one, and Ahkima the angry warrior, I can almost see myself sharing a drink with Tarak at the Brass Rail in another life.

The instant the thought crosses my mind, I sober. Perhaps these people aren’t all bad, but spending too many days with them has blurred the lines between friends, enemies, and my current reality.

Tuck nudges me, shaking my thoughts, and I scratch beneath his forelock. “Shucks, did you miss me, bud?” He nips playfully at me and I grin. I feel Kaia’s eyes on me as I climb onto his back again, careful not to loosen my wrist wrappings that are dry now and close to falling off.

When I look at her, she’s studying Tuck and me, but before I can ask her what she’s staring at, she nudges her horse into a trot. The rest of the men follow without hesitation.

Dust kicks up behind them, and I can hardly believe I’ll be riding into town with savages at my side. As grateful as I am to return home, I’m also fearful for the first time too. “Come on, Tuck,” I say with a sigh. “It’s time for another adventure.”

17

Kaia

Shade’s pounding footsteps against the earth fill my ears, and the breeze pulls through my hair like a raven’s claw. At first, the sunshine is a temporary gift, warm and comforting, but the closer we draw to the sosho’s village, the more damning the sun becomes. If the sickening view surrounding me is anything to go by, my discomfort serves as a warning. An unnerving premonition of what is to come, for all that’s around me is a desecrated wasteland.

As I’ve been told before, the Saguaro no longer grow tall and strong out here, offering red blooms to the life that once thrived in the desert lands. Instead, they are cut to their bases, dried up and shrunken to nothing. Trees that took centuries to grow have been chopped to the ground, now only gnarled black spots on the desert floor. All that’s left of the once fertile landscape are rustling sagebrush and a few ironwood and mesquite trees, twisted, discolored, and sick; it’s all that has saved them from the soshos’ axe.

I swallow my chest-tightening emotions, letting the land so far from the mountains serve as a much-needed reminder. This is the way of the soshos. It always has been. It’s a fact I must never forget. Yet, even ravaged and neglected, the earth is still pliable and life-nurturing, unlike the granite we’ve carved our lives into, and I yearn for it.

My mind swirls away from me, and I remember the stories of our ancestors’ before the Unification and their retreat into the mountains. As the wind picks up and the heat on my back lessens, it’s easier and easier to imagine. What might our people accomplish, and how would they live down here where the sky is blue, the earth crumbles between fingers, and the possibilities stretch beyond the granite and sandstone mountains that have become our refuge?

We must leave the mountain for any such future to be possible, and in order to do that, we need peace with the soshos. The unknown is thick and coiling in my stomach. A whole village of soshos . . .

With a fervent gust of wind, Shade whinnies and spooks at a passing tumbleweed, nearly throwing me from his back as it catches his leg before tumbling off again. He tugs against me and sidesteps the brush in frantic movements, but my legs grip tighter around him, and I lace my fingers in his mane.

“Easy,” I whisper, my heart beating as wildly as his. I lean down to rub his neck. “Easy.” But Shade doesn’t calm down, he fidgets and chuffs as he peers around, looking for danger in this unfamiliar place. “Shh.” I rest my head against his mane and hum reassurances as I stroke his neck, wet with sweat.

He and I are much the same. For years, Shade has lived within the cave walls, only leaving on occasion, and whatever anxieties he has so far from home, I feel as well. “We have been cooped up for far too long, you and I.”

After a moment, he finally stops pacing and tugging against me, and I glance at the others, waiting. Elan sits on his gray-and-white paint and gives me a knowing look, one I try to ignore. I don’t want Elan to be right about Shade. I don’t want to think of my horse getting old and unsteady, not when he’s the only horse I’ve ever had and is all that I have left of my father. I clasp his wolf totem hanging around my neck. Perhaps not the only thing, but I never want to part with Shade all the same. “Just one last time,” I whisper, encouraging him onward.

Shade cranes his slick, black neck that glistens in the sunlight, his ears and eyes focused on me.

“One last time, I promise.” Combing my fingers through his hair, I peer into his wide, brown eyes. He blinks and then turns to face the front again, and I nudge him to walk.

It takes us a couple of minutes to catch up to the group, but out of respect, Tarak and the others pay no attention to Shade and me as we pass, knowing their sympathetic and worried looks are unwanted. Only the sosho stares at me as we continue onward. “Well?” I say brusquely, and gesture toward the sandstone spires in the distance.

He and Rain take the lead once more. “It’s just between there,” he calls over his shoulder. “Keep a slow pace. We don’t want to give anyone who might see us the wrong idea.”

I urge Shade faster to keep pace with the sosho. “You take us to your leaders,” I say, watching his expression closely. “Yes?”

The sosho runs his fingers through his slick hair, a burnt umber like the hematite that glitters in the mountainside. “I—I haven’t decided yet,” he admits.

Already dreading what I’ve gotten myself into, I wonder if he’s going back on his word. “Explain,” I tell him.

“Well,” he clips out in irritation, “if I take you directly into town, bad things might happen, and this will all have been for nothing. There are a lot of men and a lot of guns in town,” he adds. “But, if I take you around the outskirts of town to the Cunningham estate, it would be another few hours, and our horses need water and rest. Not to mention, it’d be my luck there’s a damn sandstorm—” He shakes his head as if he’s decided. “No, it’s better not to go that route.”

“So what will we do?” I stop my horse and stare at him, my uncertainty surmounting. “The life of your friend depends on it.”

“Yeah, I get it,” he snaps. The sosho meets my gaze, assessing me, or maybe internalizing his decision before he speaks again. “I’ll take you to the farm.”

“Your leader’s farm?”

“Something like that. It’s closest, secluded, and we can water the horses while I figure out what to do.” He rests his hand on his hip, staring in the direction of his village as he thinks. After a few gusts of wind, and curious looks between the others and me, the sosho looks at Elan and Tarak, then at the rest of the men fanned out behind us. “Just—keep your guns down, all right? The last thing we need is a shootout at the damn farm.” He grumbles the last part, and runs his fingers through his hair again. It’s so dirty, it sticks in place.

The sosho glowers at me. “Make sure they understand, Kaia. There will be at least a dozen deputies working in the field. They’re going to get trigger-happy if they get too nervous.” He levels a warning stare on Elan. “Don’t hold up any weapons. You hear me?”

I repeat the sosho’s words to make him feel better, but I don’t need to because the men understand. “Keep your weapons close though,” I say in English so the sosho also understands we’ll be ready for the worst.

The sosho sighs and leads us between the stone spires, as if we are truly walking into a whole new world. I grip my rope reins tighter, comforted by the weight of my bow and quiver strapped to my back.

The horses’ heads bounce with renewed excitement as we continue, as if they know a break in our journey is near. Part of me wishes they would slow down to put off the cold sweat of the inevitable, but it isn’t long before I see a glimmer in the distance, just beyond the sandstone, and my heart stills and skips a beat.

As we draw closer, awe washes over me like the unveiling of a newborn baby, quickly followed by the prickles of uncertainty and fear. Shelters unlike anything I’ve ever seen come into view, lining the horizon. They sparkle in the afternoon sunlight, nearly blinding me, and there are more than I can count on my fingers.

“This is where you live?” I breathe. It reminds me of the way the crystalline pools in the cave glint in the torchlight . . . almost hypnotic.

“Those?” the sosho asks, pointing to the town. “No, those are greenhouses.”

Lifting a shoulder, I stare at the shelters. Confused. Transfixed. When he says nothing else, I pull my gaze away from the greenery filling them.

The sosho’s mouth lifts in the corner, stealing my attention. He’s watching me, his pale blue eyes smiling. “It’s where we grow food,” he explains. “They shelter the crops from the wind and sand.” He smiles fully, enjoying my ignorance. “We don’t live in them.”

I’m too intrigued to care if he laughs at me. “This is your food,” I think aloud. Stalks of vegetation rustle as they catch in the breeze that tunnels through the structures.

“The doors slide closed when there is a sandstorm,” he explains. “The glass roof allows the sunlight in.”

In that moment, all my fear and second thoughts vanish. There’s wheat growing in some of the greenhouses, browns and golds just as Oona described it. And off in the distance, I hear what sounds like the bleating of goats or sheep. I imagine the awe on my people’s faces when I return with fresh grain. Nothing we can grow on the wet, granite mountain.

I’m not sure how far we walk and for how long Shade follows the others as I take in the flourishing world around me. That it could be so beautiful when the soshos destroy so much, baffles me.

“See, it’s not such a horrible place.” The sosho’s voice is close, soft and amused, but I don’t give him the gratification of looking at him. I turn to see Elan instead, whose eyes sweep the enclosed fields surrounding us. His brow is furrowed as if he doesn’t believe what stretches before him.

A shadow looms over me as I register a whoosh. I peer at a towering structure with spinning, knife-like blades on a small hill.

“A windmill,” the sosho explains. “It helps dredge the water up from the ground for the crops.”

It’s a monstrous thing, squeaking and loud. “You said you have no water.”

“I said we have little water, and we’re running out.”

I spot another structure in the distance, but it’s different from the others. It’s taller and made of wood. This I recognize. A house. Sakima would draw them in ash during his lessons of the Third Earth. Our people fought in wars against one another as well as the soshos when there was too much greed, and all peoples lost their way.

“Where is everyone?” the sosho mutters. “There should be men out here working the fields and—”

When the sosho stops his horse, I follow his gaze past the greenhouses and the home on the hill, to a group of men sitting on horseback beside it. They don’t see us at first, but I know it’s only a matter of time.

My heart batters against my chest. The men rustle with movement behind me, preparing themselves for what is likely to come, but the sosho puts his hand out. “No—don’t move.” He looks at me. “Stay here—”

“No,” I say, reaching for his horse’s reins. “You will not go alone and leave us here.”

“I have to explain to them,” he says forcefully. “Don’t you get it? If they think you’re a threat, you will die.”

My instinct is to listen to him, to accept the urgency in his eyes for truth, and without thought, I agree.

“Kaia,” Elan growls, but I ignore him. The other men ask what’s going on and why he is leaving us, but I can only stare at the men up on the hill and grip the bow draped around my neck more tightly.

“Don’t forget about your healer,” I remind the sosho again as he kicks his horse into a trot.

Elan nudges his horse closer to mine. His body is tense, his jaw flexing, and I know he is coiled, ready to make a move. I peer back at Tarak and the others. “Stay as you are, unless I say,” I order, locking eyes with them. They are reticent but do as I ask. My gaze flicks back to the hill. I don’t dare take my eyes off the soshos for too long.

“He won’t risk the healer,” I reassure the men. “Too many of their people are ill.” Although I say it with certainty, in that moment, I realize every single word out of the healer’s and the sosho’s mouths could all have been a trick, which I was foolish enough to have believed.

The men on the hill turn their heads one by one as Rain and the sosho ride closer. And as the men are distracted with the sosho’s sudden appearance, a billowing cloud of uncertainty forms over me again. Fear and hatred weave together like one of Oona’s baskets, and I can’t tell where one stops and the other begins. I think of my father falling to his knees and being dragged away. I think of Tate covered in blood, and Cole, who I will never see laughing again, and a cold sweat washes over me.

Have I sealed our fate?

A breeze picks up, cooling my heated skin. Trust your instincts, a voice whispers in my ear. It sends a wave of chills over me as it calms a raw spot in my heart, like a soothing salve on an open wound, and I let out a deep breath.

“Be prepared to take cover there,” Elan tells us. He doesn’t have to move his gaze from the soshos to the greenhouse, it’s so close I can almost reach out and touch it.

The sosho is greeted by some of the men as they dismount their horses. One of them wraps his arms around the sosho’s shoulders and pulls him close. I can’t make out what they’re saying, but at once, all of the men turn and look over at us.

I hold my breath.

Some of them reach for their guns, but they don’t aim them at us.

“Don’t move,” Elan demands, his voice the most commanding I’ve ever heard. The men listen, even I listen. Our bodies are like statues, only our hair blows in the wind, and our hawklike gazes are transfixed, patient and waiting.

Whatever the sosho is saying, it seems to be working. The other white devils glance from us back to him as he gestures, though I still have no idea what he says. There’s movement by the house, and the sosho and two of the other men mount their horses again and make their way down the hill, leaving the others where they stand.

I take my first real breath. “They are listening to him.”

The sosho waves us over, but I shake my head. “No.” I put my hand up for the men to hold. “I am not walking into a trap without reassurance or protection,” I tell them. “We stay here until they come to speak with us.”

The sosho and the two men following him quicken their pace and ride through the fields and around the greenhouses to meet us.

The two men accompanying the sosho are indiscernible from a distance, with large hats that shield their eyes and beards. Their clothes are like the sosho’s, leather pants and vests, and their horses’ metal headgear clinks with each step.

“This is Jonathan Ashford,” the sosho calls as he draws closer. They bring their horses to a stop a ways in front of us, and the older sosho with a hat assesses Elan.

“That is Kaia,” the sosho explains, and points to me. “She is the one who wishes to speak about a truce.”

My hackles rise. “It is strange you call a peace between us a truce when we do not hunt you the way you hunt us.”

Jonathan Ashford tears his gaze from Elan and looks at me, though if he is shocked to see us or perhaps to see me, a woman, he doesn’t show it.

“He is your leader?” I ask the sosho.

“Uh—no, ma’am.” Jonathan Ashford glances from me to the sosho. “Close to it though. I work for the marshal of Sagebrush. I was on the mission with Luke before we were separated.”

Luke. I forgot the sosho has a name. “Jonathan Ashford,” I repeat, committing it to memory.

“Just Ashford, please,” he says, tilting his hat at me, and I decide that I might actually like something about this white devil, even if it’s too soon to tell what, exactly. His voice is pleasing, but then, so is the sosho’s when he’s in earnest.

Luke, I correct myself. Though his name feels foreign even in my thoughts.

I watch the man behind Ashford. He seems curious but mostly uncertain as his eyes scan us skeptically.

“I beg your pardon,” Ashford continues, and he points to the man. “This here is Andy. He was on the trip with Luke and me as well.”

“Andy,” I repeat with a nod.

“And this place”—Ashford gestures around the homestead—“is the Mason farm.” His gaze shifts over our group again before flicking toward the mountains, a world away. “You have young Jacob then?”

Shade pulls the reins from my hands and scratches a fly on his leg. “We have your healer,” I confirm.

Ashford looks at Elan and me a moment longer, contemplative and strategic. Then his eyes narrow against the sun. “I understand,” he concedes, and he dips his chin. “Well then, we better get your horses watered, and get you to see Clayton.” Ashford waves for us to follow him. “Don’t worry, the men won’t shoot.” While his voice sounds true, Andy eyes us warily, his apprehension matching my own. After a silent stare down, the skeptical sosho falls into step behind Ashford and Luke.

“Water’s this way,” Andy tells us, none too happily. He nods toward the livestock shelter, near the home. The men and I follow, our senses alert and assessing with each step.

Ashford chuckles in front of us and shakes his head. “I hadn’t expected to see you ride up.” He pushes at the sosho’s shoulder playfully. “I thought you were dead, Luke.”

Luke smiles at him, a dimple creasing his cheek. I frown. I hadn’t expected a dimple.

“We were on our way to search for you. Another hour and you would’ve missed us.” Ashford waves to the men sitting atop their horses on the hill.

As he and Luke continue speaking, we follow them up a straight path that separates two rows of greenhouses. A few men step out of the shelters, mouths open as they squint at us while we pass. They wear clothes like the others, stained and wet with sweat. They till the earth, as we used to, making them look like farmers instead of soshos. Their hands are stained, their faces smudged with dirt. They aren’t nearly as imposing as I imagined. At least, not without their guns and horses. While their features are hard and narrowed, I see curiosity and fear in most of them, nothing quite as monstrous as my mind had conjured.

“Where is your water?” I ask loudly, uncertain how the windmill works.

“There’s a small river that runs through here,” Ashford explains, “just on the other side of the canyon. It’s fed the Mason farm since before the Shift, and is the only way we’ve been able to live here—to grow food and keep livestock.”

“It’s drying up,” Luke adds over his shoulder. “Fast. It doesn’t make any sense.”

I glance at Tarak and the others behind me, still taking in this foreign place. Elan focuses straight ahead, though, a distrusting scowl predictably in place.

“Is it what you expected?” I ask him, so that the soshos cannot understand.

Elan seems uncertain. “It is . . . different.”

“Do you think they will agree to trade for their peace?” I ask him, and count the greenhouses behind us. “They have a village to feed, much larger than ours by the looks of it.”

“With more water, they will grow more food,” he counters, but at what cost to our people goes unsaid. Showing the soshos the water is trusting them in a way that goes against every self-preserving instinct vibrating through me, and for the hundredth time, I wonder if it’s truly worth it.

“We must be strategic in what we show them,” I think aloud, and when I glance forward at Luke, he’s staring at me, weighing each word he can’t comprehend. His body sways with the motion of his horse, and I can see the distrust that lingers in his eyes; it’s the same distrust I feel being on their land, surrounded by their people. It would be foolish to make him more apprehensive of us, so I offer him a morsel of truth. “We speak of the water,” I explain. “What you would do with it if you had more.”

Luke eyes me a moment longer, but seems satisfied with my answer and refocuses ahead.

“There.” Ashford points to a trough. “For your horses. You can tie them up and let them drink.” He motions to a post just outside another shelter. Other horses are inside, I can see their tails flicking in their stalls.

As we’re dismounting, a woman with hair the color of a blazing fire curled atop her head walks down the hill toward us. Her expression is apprehensive, but she walks with confidence as she wipes her hands on the rich fabric of her dress. There are layers of it. Her eyes are wide and green and sparkling in the sunlight as she gets closer. Even though she is strange, unlike anyone I’ve ever seen, with pale skin and hair unnaturally bright, there is something mesmerizing about her too.

“Well, hello,” she says, and I hear a rattle of nerves in her voice, but she smiles widely all the same. “I heard we had more company.”

Ashford frowns when he looks at her, and I try to understand why. “You should be in the house,” he says, displeased.

“Oh, hush. There’s no sense in being rude.” Her smile returns, and she quickly looks me over, then does the same with the men. “We should show them how hospitable we are.”

“Yes, my dear, but Tobi—”

“I tried to keep her inside, safe from the drifters,” a scrawny boy says as he marches down the hill. His gaze is wary and set on us with every step.

Drifters. I try to recall the meaning of the word.

“Tobias,” Ashford says grimly, and dismounts his horse. “You should be in the house—both of you should.”

The rest of us dismount as well. The red-haired woman wraps her arm around the young man’s shoulders, pulling him close. At first I think it’s to reassure him, but the woman’s faltering smile makes me think she’s holding him closer to keep him safe from us. The thought amuses me, and I want to smile but keep a straight face.

Elan and I lead our horses to one trough, while Tarak, Pele, Alo, and Yancey follow Luke to another one by the livestock.

Shade drops his head beside Wakka and they slurp the water down as I watch the boy. His eyes are narrowed and scrutinizing, his lips pinched in a thin line as if he’s angry we’ve come. But the way he fingers his mother’s skirt gives him away. We are in his home, and he is afraid. He is like a young Ahkima, I realize, with scowling features to hide his apprehension. I’d forgotten for a moment that the soshos live in a village of not only warrior men, but with women and children.

It dawns on me that Luke put his distrust of us aside to come to the mountain to speak of peace, and that he would only do such a thing if he was worried about someone—one of the sick and innocent who would benefit from our remedies and water perhaps.

“I’ve never seen a drifter,” the boy says under his breath, and his eyes lock with mine as he shoves his hands into his pockets. “You’re different than I expected.” His face is dirty, his clothes a bit worn, and his brown hair is short like the other men, and flops over his forehead.

“I am no drifter,” I tell him. “I am Hopi. Member of the unified peoples that live in the mountains.” My eyebrow lifts as I study him as well. “And I have never seen a small sosho before.”

The young sosho’s ocher eyes widen, as if I’m such an oddity, he didn’t expect that I could speak. His gaze shifts over me, scanning the markings on my chest and neck, then lingers on the bow and arrows strapped across me. His attention shifts to the men.

“They have knives and guns,” he says. “Just like Pa’s rifle.” There’s a displeasure in his voice I don’t understand.

His mother nudges him. “There will be no talk of weapons, Tobias.”

“Kaia,” Luke starts, taking a deep breath. “This is Miss Scarlet Mason, and Toby,” he says flatly, as if he’s displeased to see the child out here with us.

“Miss Mason?” I recall the name. Their female leader.

“Her sister,” Luke clarifies.

The red-haired woman glances between us, and I dip my chin, uncertain how else to formally greet them.

Another man hurries down the hill, a harried look on his weathered face. He appraises us with skepticism, like the rest, and I can tell he is not one of the warrior riders. His clothes are different, untucked and crumpled, and I notice his hands are stained with black dye as he pushes the spectacles up onto his nose.

“And this,” Luke continues, “is Mr. Mason. This is his farm.”

“Kaia,” I say, resting my palm on my chest. “Elan,” I add, pointing to him. “Tarak, Pele, Yancey, and Alo.”

A horse clears its nostrils up on the hill, and I glance at the men standing silent and waiting, still braced for the worst, should it come to that.

“When do we see your leaders?” I ask, not wanting to waste any time now that we’ve arrived. Although I know we will not feel comfortable so long as we are here, meeting the leaders who risked their men’s lives for this peace will validate my decision to come.

“I didn’t think it was a good idea to take them through town,” Luke tells Ashford. “Not yet.” His gaze shifts to Mr. Mason. “They’re here to speak of peace, but the townspeople don’t know that. Some may act rashly.”

“Since many of the men are already here,” Ashford says, thoughtful, “we’ll escort them through town tonight, once the sun goes down and people are off the streets.” All the soshos nod in unison. Except for the young one who studies our horses and the supplies strapped to them.

“Your horse is smaller than ours,” he observes, and walks over to Shade. “And fuzzy.”

“For winter,” I explain, wondering if they’ve ever experienced such a thing in this oppressive heat.

Toby’s features soften slightly with intrigue. “If you live in the cold, why do you steal our—”

“Okay, well—” Scarlet claps nervously, taking Toby’s hand in hers. “That’s enough introductions.” She looks from the group of us to Ashford and Luke. She’s about to say something when her gaze latches onto Luke’s wrapped wrists. “Mr. O’Brien.” She hedges toward his hands. “May I?”

His brow crumples, but he nods as she takes his wrists. He winces as she lifts the cloth that holds the muddled poultice in place. It’s dry and flaking, having already served its purpose.

“Jo needs to see this—or Doc Henderson,” she says, peering into his eyes. There’s concern in her voice that almost sounds like affection, which I hadn’t expected. I watch Luke and Scarlet more closely.

“Come inside,” she tells him. “I’ll clean it—”

“Later.” Luke pulls his hands away from her, seemingly oblivious to her attentions. “My wounds can wait. I need to ride to the estate.”

She opens her mouth. “Luke—”

“Kaia’s already put something on it,” he promises, and his eyes meet mine. “Clayton needs to know they’re here, and to expect them after nightfall.” I wonder if Luke is reassuring me he will deliver on his end of the deal.

Eyes on Luke, I nod in agreement. “And,” I say flatly, “Elan will go with you.”

18

Luke

After taking the long route around Sagebrush, Elan and I finally ride up to the Cunningham estate. During our hour-long journey, I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m conflicted, though I can barely understand it. I’m home, back in Sagebrush, and I’m safe. I can see June and soak in her relief when she realizes I’m not dead. And I never have to go back to that mountain. I should be relishing in my hard-earned freedom.

Yet, so much has happened in the past week, and the weight of it all finally settles in. I could’ve been killed. It’s not a new notion, but it was an experience unlike any I’ve ever had—a fear and fate so far out of my control, I was nearly helpless. And while a part of me feels as if I was able to do some good, I’m not naive enough to think there can actually be peace. In Sagebrush, nothing is so easy, and in bringing the savages here, I wonder if I set us on a path of bloodshed, and the strange pang of guilt feels grossly out of place and foreign to me.

But they aren’t savages, not really. Though, I saw the look in some of the deputies’ eyes. They don’t know what to think, and others, like me, have been doing the old marshal’s bidding for far too long to see how a peace might be possible. And worst of all, a strangely protective part of me feels sick to my stomach that I might be the one responsible for bringing about hope to a people who clearly want peace, only for Kaia and the others to never make it home again, should something go awry.

One of the stable hands hurries out from the shade of the barn as he sees us approaching the house, uncertain as he glances between the warrior, dressed in deerskin and feathers, and me.

I dismount Tuck, questioning suddenly that I should even call him that since he was clearly one of their horses before. Staring at his big eyes on me, grateful to have a rest, I run my hand down his face and push the troublesome thoughts away.

“See that my horse gets grain and water,” I tell the stable hand as he takes the reins from me. Hesitantly, he reaches for Elan’s horse, only to pause as the warrior dismounts, gawking at him instead. “Um—sir,” the boy breathes.

I’m about to turn for the house when I realize Elan and the stable boy are staring at one another—Elan completely stalwart, and the boy trembling in his boots.

I take the reins from Elan and hand them to the kid. “Make that both of our horses,” I tell him. “And though he looks like he bites,” I say, glancing at Elan, “he won’t.”

Licking his lips, the boy nods but moves cautiously.

I heave a sigh and glower at Elan. “Try smiling or something, would you?” When he simply stares at me, I wave toward the house. “Come on then. I know Kaia doesn’t want me out of your sight.” I chuckle, wondering if she’ll ever trust me.

I hurry up the stairs, toward the front door of the manor, and Elan follows stoically behind. His stride is wide and purposeful, mine is quick and impatient. “I know you pretend not to understand me,” I start, aware Elan isn’t likely to engage in conversation. “But if you want peace, Clayton is the one to make it happen.”

I can feel Elan’s stare boring into the back of my head, but he follows me all the same, stopping behind me as I reach for the door.

It swings open, and Ainsley is standing there. “Ah, Deputy—”

“I need to speak with Clayton,” I tell him, too impatient to wait for him to notice Elan and stand tongue-tied and dumb. Now that I’m so far away from the farm, what we’re doing feels much more urgent. “Is he in his study?”

“Ah, yes, sir . . .” If the way Ainsley and the stable boy stare at Elan—mouths open and stupefied—is any indication of what the townspeople will do, we’re in for an interesting negotiation. Luck will be on our side if that’s all the townspeople do.

The study door is cracked open, so I enter without knocking. Maps and plans are spread out on Clayton’s desk, just as when I left, and others are rolled up on the floor. He and Miss Mason are poring over another one in the sitting area.

“What is it, Ainsley?” Clayton asks absently. His attention remains on the scroll in front of him. “I’ve just sent our best men out to a possible war. Tell my mother that Jo and I don’t have the luxury of picking out wedding fabrics at the moment.”

“Here,” she says, and points to an area on a map. Ink stains her hands. “Perhaps we could—”

“The men haven’t left for war,” I reassure him.

Miss Mason’s attention shifts to the doorway as Clayton’s head snaps up. His eyes grow wide as he smiles in relief. “You’ve returned!” he says, standing. I step inside, Elan lingering behind me in the doorway, and Clayton freezes. His enthusiasm wanes. He clears his throat, trying to gauge the danger of the situation as his eyes shift frantically to Miss Mason. “You’ve brought a guest,” he says carefully.

I nod. “Something like that. They brought me back, interested in your peace treaty,” I explain.

“And Mr. Henderson?” Miss Mason inquires, her voice tentative and barely containing hope. I notice the ink smudging her cheek.

“He’s fine, miss.” I step closer to Clayton. “He’s still on the mountain, waiting for their return.”

They stare at Elan and seem to understand my meaning.

I step out of the way so I can introduce my constant, unnecessary companion. “This is Elan. He’s the Ashford to their marshal,” I say for lack of a better explanation. I’m not sure how their hierarchy works exactly, so I just go with it.

“I see . . .” Clayton stares at the warrior’s broad shoulders, cropped gray and black hair, and the knife and tomahawk shoved in his leather belt. Although he discarded his fur robe when the sun grew too warm, his hide vest and pants, fur adornments, and beads leave plenty to take in.

Clayton clears his throat. “Forgive me.” He offers Elan his hand. “I’m Clayton Cunningham. Welcome.”

Elan stares at Clayton’s outstretched hand.

With an awkward swallow, Clayton looks from Elan to me, then drops his hand. “Right. So, you’ve come to talk about a truce then? What are your terms? What must we—”

“Clayton,” Miss Mason says, walking closer. She lifts a pitcher and pours one glass of water and hands it to me, then pours another and offers it to Elan. He stares at it, his expression a hard mask, as usual.

“It’s not poison,” I tell him. “It’s water.” He glances at me, watching as I take a few gulps, then he accepts it with a gracious nod toward Miss Mason.

She pours Clayton something a bit stronger that he downs in two audible gulps, then he licks his lips. “Perhaps we should take a moment to let this all settle in a bit,” he says, more for himself, I think.

“Elan understands some English,” I explain. “I’m not entirely sure how much.” I arch an eyebrow at him. “But it’s not him you need to speak with anyway. He’s only here as reassurance.”

Miss Mason’s brow furrows. “Reassurance?”

I almost smile with amusement. What has taken me days to come to terms with is being thrust upon them in mere seconds. “There are five more at the farm.” Miss Mason’s cheeks flush and her eyes round with shimmering concern. “Ashford and the rest of the men are there,” I tell her, reassuring her as best I can. “And Kaia will not hurt them.”

Her head tilts. “Kaia?”

“She is their matriarch—their leader. I don’t know what they call her.” I look to Elan. “What is Kaia to you? Your queen? Princess, maybe?”

His brow furrows. “Etsi,” he says, though I have no idea what it means. “Clan mother.” He adds it as if it’s supposed to clarify his meaning, but it only mystifies me more. Clan mother? She could be his daughter, but I let it go.

“I didn’t think it would be wise to parade them through town in broad daylight. Especially not with everyone already worried about an impending war.”

“No, no—of course not. Good thinking, O’Brien.” Clayton braces his hands on his hips, contemplating.

“Ashford will bring Kaia and the others, once the sun goes down.”

“A woman, huh?” Clayton shakes his head, incredulous. “Well, that’s surprising, isn’t it.”

“You have no idea,” I grumble.

Miss Mason glares at us. “Is that a problem,” she says, turning to her fiancé, “my love?”

Clayton’s palms go up and he walks over to the whiskey decanter. “No, of course not, but I didn’t think the man responsible for going to war with our deputies was actually a woman.” He pours himself another glass, then pours one for me.

“Not war,” Elan says, shocking the three of us. I slowly look at him. He’s glaring at me, per usual.

I throw back my whiskey, grateful to feel the burn down my throat before it settles in my stomach, soothing the nerves I’ve been sick with for days. Whiskey has never tasted so damn good. “There’s a lot to explain,” I tell Clayton. “They see things much differently than we do.”

“Then come.” Miss Mason says, gesturing to the sitting area. “There’s plenty of time until sundown. Tell us everything.”

“First,” Clayton says, and he turns over another glass and pours two fingers of whiskey. He offers it to Elan.

Tentatively, Elan accepts it and sniffs the rim. His eyes widen for the first time since I’ve known him before his frown settles back into place, and he looks at Clayton.

“Try it,” Clayton urges. “It seems like you could use it.”

“Josephine?” A voice chirps from the entryway. “I was thinking—” Mrs. Cunningham, Clayton’s mother, strides into the room, bright-colored fabrics in her hands. She stops mid-step and glances between the four of us, her eyes settling on Elan only briefly. It’s when she looks at me that her eyes widen.

“It’s fine, Mother. We’re just discussing—”

She waves his reassurances away. “You’re one of the missing men,” she says, studying my clothes and my bandaged wrists.

“Uh, yes, ma’am.”

“You poor dear . . .” She shakes her head.

“Mother, as you can see, now is not a good time to discuss frivolous wedding plans.”

“No, of course not.” She waves his concern away.

“Our visitors will be here a while, and I’m sure they’re starving. Can you ask Ainsley to bring in a bite to eat?”

“Yes, of course.” And with a stern eye, Mrs. Cunningham waves me toward her. “Come. You might need food and rest, but for all our sakes, you need to bathe first.”

19

Kaia

A tinge of manure lingers in the air, and the murmur of cows in the field becomes a sort of lullaby as we sit, stomachs sated in the shade of the house. We had our supper outside while the soshos ate indoors, though I don’t think Scarlet knew what to do with herself.

“Surely you can’t eat on the porch . . .” But we did. The house was too suffocating—taller than it was wide, with narrow rooms that herded us like sheep in a pasture, almost too small for us to move. Being outside with the breeze and setting sun put us more at ease, even if it was uncomfortably warm.

The food, however, was delicious. Fresh warm bread, even better than the biscuits the sosho had carried with him. Tender meat that fell apart in my mouth, a savory thick sauce poured over the top of it. It was like nothing I’d ever tasted before.

When it was gone and the men were still hungry, Scarlet brought out cold meats and cheese, different than that made from the goats back home, but we ate that happily as well.

“We should take prisoners more often,” Tarak jokes. We share a sidelong look but say nothing else about it. The horde of soshos standing around, openly glaring at us, has been sent down the hill to wait for nightfall, at least.

And now that Scarlet leaves us to ourselves, no longer fussing, we wait in a comfortable silence for the sun to set.

I glance at a few soshos lingering on the side of the house, keeping a watchful eye on us, but we aren’t going anywhere. Exhaustion and full bellies have seen to that. I watch the sky turn pink and wonder if the men live on the farm, or if they only stay here sometimes. They have a shelter of their own I hadn’t noticed at first, a structure behind the barn. I imagine it keeps them safe when the storms come.

“What do you call this?” Tarak asks, amusement filling his voice.

I peer back at him, lifting an eyebrow. He rocks back and forth in a wooden chair. “A chair,” I tell him, though his smile only widens.

“Yes, but . . . why do you think they use it like this—is it a game?” He rocks with more fervor. Though Tarak smiles easily, I know he worries about Tate back home, wondering as much as I am if he’s recovering. I see it in his thoughtful moments when he believes no one is looking.

“Perhaps,” I mutter, watching him a moment. His eyebrows lift under my scrutiny, but I say nothing, knowing he would prefer it that way, and peer out at the scorched, dry earth beyond the farmhouse instead. In the direction Luke and Elan headed.

Having both of them out of my sight unnerves me, but I know there is nothing I can do about it. Even though I feel I can trust some of what the sosho says, I worry that being home will make him forget about his friend back on the mountain. Luke could be plotting some mischief right now, and I would be ignorant of it. My only reassurance is that while Elan might be silent, he is also cunning, strong, and has gotten away from soshos before. He could do it again if he had to.

I feel a pair of eyes on us from one of the windows but pretend not to notice.

“Where do you think the sosho took Elan?” Tarak asks as he relinquishes the rocking chair for a seat on the porch step beside me. He pulls his sharpening stone from his bag and picks up his axe, small but sharp, and molded perfectly to fit his hand and throwing style. He looks at me with exhausted eyes and sweat on his brow that drips down his temple.

“The sosho didn’t take him anywhere. I wanted Elan to go, there’s a difference.” I meet Pele’s gaze, the only other warrior still awake while the others nap in the shade behind us. “They went to speak with the leaders.”

Tarak and Pele look worrisome, and a hundred questions light their eyes.

“All we can do is wait and see. And be prepared, if need be,” I tell them. I don’t remind them that we still have the healer at the village, should something go wrong, because I don’t know if that even matters anymore. “Besides,” I add. “You have full bellies and are better rested . . . It would be foolish to nurture your enemies. If that’s how they see us still.”

“Unless it’s a distraction.”

I meet Pele’s gaze, then look quickly away. I know why Ahkima sent him along with us. He is just as distrusting and severe as Ahkima himself. I don’t tell them that I trust these people, perhaps more than I should. I’ve already put us in danger by coming to the sosho’s village.

“Why do you hide inside?” I say, loud enough for the young sosho to hear from the window.

The door flings open. “I’m not hidin’,” he grumbles. “I’m watching you.” While I expected such animosity from the soshos, I hadn’t expected it from a child.

“And what do you find?” I ask, curious.

Toby doesn’t respond. Instead, he steps closer and nods to the glistening edge of the sandstone blade in Tarak’s hand. “That’s the smallest axe I’ve ever seen. Half the size of my pa’s.”

Tarak glances at the boy and cracks a smile. I know Tarak well enough to comprehend his amusement in the boy’s challenging gaze. “This one is for skinning,” he says slowly, leaving Toby’s mind to wander.

I glare at Tarak, trying not to smile at the mischievous gleam in his eyes.

The boy’s stare hardens and he straightens a little. “Skinnin’ what?”

Having grown up the descendant of a sosho grandmother, two generations back, Tarak’s English is the best of anyone’s. All of his family speaks the language well, and some are teachers and storytellers, making them very important among our people. And the perpetual state of amusement in Tarak’s eyes is predictable, so I’m convinced he’s going to say it’s for skinning curious little boys when they misbehave or some nonsense, when finally, he relents.

“It’s for skinning animals.” His eyebrow raises slightly as Toby looks at him, uncertain. “You thought it was for something else?” Tarak asks, and the corner of his mouth twitches. “And I use it for throwing and cutting when I need to.”

“What do the snakes mean?”

Slowly, Tarak offers the tomahawk to Toby for inspection. The boy is hesitant at first, then touches the carved shoulder of the axe.

“The askook is the symbol of our people.” He lets the boy trace the coiled snake with his fingertip.

“Why, ‘cause they’re dangerous vipers?” Toby says curtly.

Frowning, Tarak shakes his head, and turns to face the boy fully. “No.”

“Here we go,” Pele mutters, and leans his head back against the side of the house to rest with the others.

“You are only a child,” Tarak says. “What do you know of the askook?”

“I know enough,” Toby quips, squaring his shoulders. “And I ain’t a child.”

I smile to myself, and pull one of my arrows from my quiver, running my finger over the sharpened tip to ensure it’s not dull. I move onto the next one and continue to listen.

“A boy was bitten by a rattler underneath one of the water towers and died,” Toby explains hotly. “They are venomous, and there ain’t no cure.”

Tarak looks at me, his face contorted in confusion.

Cure. I remember that word from the healer. “Black snakeroot,” I mutter.

Tarak smiles in understanding, and I know exactly where his mind goes. An unfortunate dare he couldn’t resist as a teenager—to steal one of Oona’s ceremonial askooks. Tarak was bitten, of course, but the pain went away after a day or so, even if the sweet, stinking scent of the snakeroot lingered in our noses for a week.

“We don’t have black snakeroot here,” Toby says snidely, and he walks to the ledge of the porch on the other side of me. His legs are beat up and tanned beneath his short trousers.

“To our people,” I start, “the askook is a great creature of wisdom and life—you fear him because he bites, but he only bites if he fears you. You must respect the askook, not fear him.”

Toby crouches down, ignoring me as he stares at my arrows. I hand one to him. His eyes meet mine, shrewd and hard as stone at first, and I wonder what sort of life this boy has seen away from the safety of this farm. Whatever distrust and curiosity shines in his gaze, there is a lifetime of shadows in it as well.

Toby runs his fingers over the feathers tied to my bow, lying on the porch between us. “I’ve never shot a bow and arrow before,” he seems to realize aloud.

“Do you not hunt?” I ask. Even I learned at a young age, though after what happened to my father, I was forced to keep to the snowy mountains.

Toby shakes his head. “Nah.” He glances around. “There’s nothin’ to hunt.”

“There is always something to hunt,” Tarak tells him.

“Like, people?” Toby says quietly, and peers over at him through long, brown lashes.

Tarak and I both frown. “We do not hunt people,” he snaps. Tarak’s eyes meet mine. “Why does he say these things?” But he knows why, as much as I do.

Taking a deep breath, I shake my head. “They have many stories,” I tell him.

“But you do kill people with it,” Toby continues, lost in his own thoughts as he runs his finger along the bow grip. Despite his apprehension and dislike of us, the boy is honest, and his questions put me more at ease—the more questions he asks, the more he will understand instead of fearing or hating us.

“We must defend ourselves,” I explain. “But I have never killed a human, and . . . I have not killed an animal with this one either,” I realize, and think of Elan.

“Because you’re a girl?”

I tilt my head, confounded, and when I notice Tarak’s half-smile, I realize what the boy means. “No. Because I am not a murderer. And . . . it was a gift. I have not used it for hunting yet.”

The door opens, and the three of us look back to find Ashford putting his hat on top of his head. “You should be inside,” he tells Toby.

“Why?” The boy climbs to his feet. “What’s the difference, being out here or in there? They can kill us either way.”

“Because, I asked you to,” Ashford says with a sigh, and rubs his forehead. “Now get. We’re heading out anyway.”

The boy watches me before reluctantly disappearing back into the house.

I rise to my feet. “We leave then?”

Ashford nods. “It’s time to ready the horses.”

20

Kaia

Only a soft glow shines beyond the horizon by the time we arrive in town. The sky is an inky blue, and cricket songs echo in the dawning night. It would be peaceful if my stomach wasn’t in knots, and the scent of decay didn’t waft through the breeze.

A dozen riders surround us as we make our way through town. Despite my efforts to remind myself that they flank us to protect us, it’s hard not to feel as though we are cattle being herded toward an ominous ending.

One of the deputies eyes us closely, and his expression reads clear: we are savages and he does not trust us, no matter what Ashford says. It’s the same look the sosho had when we first found him, a look that haunts me sometimes, when I close my eyes. Whatever stories they’ve been told about us run deep.

But all of that fades away as shelters come into view, shadowed outlines illuminated by flickering flames that line both sides of the road. Most are tall and cramped together, and some wink in the dying light, like the Mason’s farm, protected in metal, unlike anything we have in our village. Some of the shelters are near crumbling along the pathways, weaving and stretching on both sides as far as I can see.

Light within some of the shelters gleams, and a dog yips somewhere in the distance, but I can barely hear it over our horses’ clacking footsteps. Men and women walk the darkened streets, but there aren’t many. Those already outside stop in their tracks, and one woman with a purple dress gawks at us from a doorway, hands on her hips. She’s a shimmering beacon in the flickering firelight. For her to wear such a sacred color, like a brand of honor, intrigues me. Her dark hair curls down her back, and after her eyes meet mine, she turns and walks inside, where a strange sort of music plays, and men’s laughter reaches my ears.

“I do not like this,” Pele says, eyeing the riders flanking us.

“They did not remove our weapons,” Tarak points out, and I wonder if like me, he trusts the soshos more than he probably should.

Although Pele is not completely satisfied with this—his brow still furrowed, and one hand resting on the grip of the pistol shoved in his waistband—his shoulders seem to ease a little. For the first time, I see us as the soshos must see us. Pele is small, but he is well honed and silent. His blunt features are tattooed with his greatest achievements, including the three circles on each side of his face, in honor of his three children. His father and brother were lost to the soshos over the years, and it is why he will always hate them, even if he is willing to put it aside and seek peace for his people.

Tarak is tall with narrow features, his braided hair and demeanor less menacing, though his easiness is misleading, for Tarak is our best marksman. His tattoos tell the story of his ancestors, and represent his place among our people, as both a hunter, and one day an elder, when his grandfather, Sakima, leaves this realm for the next.

Yancey and Alo are brothers, both thickly built, and bearing battle wounds on their faces and arms that were inflicted by the soshos over the years. They are the fastest of Ahkima’s men, which is why they still live. And that they both have been so well-behaved since our arrival does them credit.

But the soshos don’t see the stories of who these men are, nor will they ever comprehend what it has cost us to come here. And the more I witness about this place, the more out of place I feel—our strange clothes and markings, which the people gawk at with disbelieving expressions. For the first time, I wonder if the stories they tell about us, true or not, might be to our advantage. Fear, I have learned in the past few days, can be a powerful weapon, and one the soshos have used against us for centuries. A weapon we are only now beginning to understand and wield.

Once we’re out of town, the road is much darker. The night is still, unlike the whipping wind up on the mountain, and cricket songs fill the air. The sky is cloudless and filled with winking stars, and my heart aches a little, remembering the last time I saw them.

We walk through iron gates, following a path lit by torchlight, leading toward a large house on the horizon.

“That’s the Cunningham estate,” Ashford explains from the front. He peers back at Tarak, but his eyes linger on Pele and the other men. “You will get all your answers here. But—” He looks at me, then quickly at the others. “Clayton’s family is likely home,” he says, and it’s not a warning so much as a silent request.

“We will not hurt—” Tarak starts, but I grab his arm to stop him, eyeing Ashford with as much indifference and stoicism as I can manage. I have a feeling that the less accommodating we seem, the better off we’ll be.

“We come for peace. It is up to you what happens once we are inside.” But though I say it easily, inside I am relieved. If the family is in the home, they would not likely plan something that would risk getting their loved ones killed.

Finally, we reach the large, looming home. It’s in the middle of nowhere, and save for a few smaller structures and sporadic mesquite trees and shrubs around it, the landscape is much like the valley floor, with little but dried earth that dusts up beneath our horses’ hooves.

The door to the house opens before we can dismount or decide how to proceed. A tall man, younger than Ashford, steps out onto the porch and runs his fingers through his light-colored hair. His stature is similar to Luke’s, though his appearance is a bit more refined. And fleetingly, I wonder if Luke will be here.

I’m not sure if this man is Clayton until I see Elan step out behind him, alongside a woman with dark hair curled on top of her head. She says something to Elan and he nods, but his eyes remain on me. A relief only I can detect fills them. We are kinsman, after all, even if it’s not by blood. Elan is unscathed and straight-faced as ever, and I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding, seeing he is safe.

The woman steps past him and walks down a couple of steps to take the other man’s hand. The leaders. Clayton seems apprehensive but confident, though not as threatening as Luke is at times.

“Welcome,” he says, but he doesn’t seem to notice his riders that surround us, only Tarak and me, and the rest of us from the mountain. “Thank you for coming. I’m Clayton.” His eyes sweep over me, lingering on my tattooed chest, but he refrains from looking overly shocked by the sight of me.

When Luke steps outside, I register him instantly, strangely relieved to see him. His eyes meet mine in the torchlight, and he shoves his hands in his pockets as he lingers by the door. I glance at Clayton in time to see him exchange a look with Ashford that I can’t interpret.

“Please,” the woman says, her eyes shifting over me, “come inside.” Her voice is tentative but poised at the same time, and I appreciate how she breaks the thick silence. Her eyes also linger on my tattoos for a few seconds longer than they should, but I don’t take offense.

Instead, I use the time to study her as well. Her clothes are several shades of green and brown with intricate buttons, and sewing so delicate, it looks as if magic conjured it.

“My men stay outside,” I tell her. “They will keep watch.” It’s not a threat, so much as a warning, and the woman nods.

“Of course. If you wish.” She waves for us to follow her in, and with a glance back at Pele, Yancey, and Alo, Tarak and I follow Ashford up the steps, toward the door.

Luke waits for us to pass him, and I notice his clean shaven jaw and fresh clothes. He starts down the steps, toward the rest of the riders.

I turn. “Where are you going?” I ask without thought.

Luke’s gaze shifts over me as if he’s uncertain what to say, then he nods to Rain, who is being led over to him by a young man.

“I have some things to attend to,” he says, and I realize how different he is when he’s clean, like he’s another person entirely.

Now that Luke has followed through with his end of the bargain, he’s leaving. I want to ask him if he will return, but I tell myself it doesn’t matter, and I turn for the door.

“Kaia,” he says on a breath, the exhaustion thick in his voice.

I stop in the doorway.

“You can trust Miss Mason more than any of them.” It’s a reassurance I hadn’t expected from Luke, and I’m grateful for it.

With a quick nod, I step inside, wondering if I’ll ever see him again.

“This boy will see to your horses,” Luke tells the men. “You will—”

The door shuts with a clatter, startling me, and I glance over my shoulder as a short man with beady eyes smooths his hands over the front of his shirt before he goes about his business, passing Elan who stands there watching me. I don’t know what Elan’s displeased about, but I see it clearly on his face.

It’s the house itself, though, that steals my attention. It’s ten times the size of the one at the farm. It’s not as claustrophobic, but the colors and grandeur of it are still overwhelming. I peer at the wooden stairs that lead to a second level, and up at the high, angled rooftop. There’s an unfamiliar scent in the air that’s bitter and sweet at the same time, but my curiosity is forgotten when my eyes linger on a familiar tapestry hanging on the wall. Kweo and Hon and Mana are woven on it, and the blood in my veins begins to burn.

“In here,” the woman says when she finds Elan and me still standing in the entry. Tearing my gaze from the tapestry, I move to follow her, only to freeze again when my eyes lock on a white and gray fur cape hanging from a pole with other garments. It’s made of fox fur, and I can tell it’s Lena’s father’s handiwork from the way the back end tapers off more like a tail, in honor of the creatures who gave their lives as sustenance to save our own.

I exchange a knowing look with Elan, the rage I’d almost forgotten about bubbling back up to the surface in warning. They might want peace, but they have not earned it. As I follow Elan inside the room, I try not to think about which of our friends they killed in order to claim the furs, and my mood shifts from uneasy to indignant.

“—sent them into town, not to worry,” Clayton says, and I look to where he stands with Ashford. “Luke’s gone to check on them, then to see June.”

“Good,” Ashford says. “June’s gotten a bit worse since he left.”

I want to question what they speak of, but the woman walks across the room and opens two glass doors, allowing in the night air, and I breathe a bit more easily in the confined space.

“A little fresh air,” she explains, her eyes meeting mine. Whether she somehow felt my discomfort or is preventing her own, I’m not sure, but cautiously, she walks over to me. “I’m Jo,” she says.

“You are not Miss Mason?” I ask, confused.

She smiles. “Yes. But I prefer to be called Jo.”

“Jo,” I repeat, committing it to memory with the other names.

“You are Kaia, yes?” She looks at Elan fleetingly. “Your friend has only told us a little about you.”

I nod, too busy taking in the room. It gleams in the flickering candlelight.

Elan stands beside me while Ashford and Clayton pour themselves a clear, amber drink. “And as you probably already know,” Jo continues. “Clayton is the new marshal of Sagebrush. He’s the reason we wanted to find you—to make peace.”

“I don’t know if that’s true,” Clayton mutters, and when he feels all sets of eyes on him, he explains. “Jo’s the one who discovered what was going on under my father’s control. She’s the reason we were trying to find you.” There’s an uncertainty in Clayton’s voice, like he feels inadequate despite his leadership.

“What matters is,” Jo continues, with a confidence about her that commands the room, “You are here, and now we can begin to speak of peace.” Her voice has a slow rhythm I appreciate. It feels strong and genuine. It’s more serious than Clayton’s, but then, she’s the one who is really in charge. The one who meets my gaze with interest and sincerity.

“You need water,” I say, reminding them I know the purpose of their peace. “That is why we are here.” I look between Jo and Clayton, then at Ashford, who has truth in his eyes when he speaks. “You have hunted my people for generations,” I remind them, and I point to the entry. “You boast our furs like they are yours, like you did not steal them from our dead—from our innocent dead. Now you need something, and wish for peace,” I say coolly. I want them all to know that I have not forgotten why we’ve come. Even if their food and green fields are coaxing, their spoils of war drip from the walls of this place. “That is why you seek us.”

Jo straightens and clasps her hands in front of her. “You’re right, we need water. And I don’t know where half of the items filling this house came from, or who they were taken from.” She sighs deeply and fingers the bright red and gold fabric that hangs around the window. “But you know we cannot undo the past. We can only work to change the future. We’re asking if you are willing to help us right the wrongs of the people before us.” She gestures to a chair that is a plush red, and unlike anything I’ve ever seen. “Please, won’t you sit so we can talk? I know you all must be exhausted, and you have come a very long way.”

I take my seat on the fancy chair, appreciating its comfort, but not enough to forget why I’m here. Their luxuries only remind me of all that they have and all that they’ve done to secure it for generations.

Clayton offers Elan a drink, which he refuses, then offers me one. Though I am intrigued by it, I shake my head, refusing another distraction.

Clayton seems to assume as much and he sets it on the table, then sits down in the seat across from me. “As I was telling your man, Elan, here, things are complicated in Sagebrush. You must understand . . .” He searches for the right words to say, then looks at Jo before he finally continues. “We have been raised in fear and taught to hate you. I’m not saying it’s right, but it’s the truth and the reason things have gotten so out of hand.”

I watch Clayton closely. While I understand his words, it seems impossible for things to change so easily. “Yet you believe peace is possible now?” I clarify, and shake my head. “You wish it to change, and everyone will accept this? How so?”

Jo looks at me. “Because it has to be possible for us to survive—and we know the truth now.”

I stare at her and wait for her to continue.

“There is much to explain,” Jo says quickly. “But—where are my manners. You must be starving. What about some food? Shall I—”

I shake my head. “We’ve eaten,” I explain. “At the farm.”

Her eyes widen. “Oh, yes, I guess Scarlet would have fed you.” Jo sighs. “She’s my sister, you know? Always a better hostess than me.” As she rambles, I see the resemblance between her and the scarlet-haired woman. They both have narrowed features, though Jo is tanner, and rougher around the edges than her lithe counterpart. “Do you have any sisters?” she asks. “Any brothers?”

“No,” I answer briskly, running out of patience. “I am the last of my family.”

Jo’s green eyes widen a little, and in the flickering candlelight, I see flecks of brown and gold in them. Her gaze shifts to Clayton. He shakes his head and rubs his hands over his eyes, rimmed with red and shadowed with dark circles.

“I want to understand what has changed,” I tell them again. “The water, yes. But you all say it is complicated, so I have come here to understand.”

“Well, my darling,” Jo says, looking to Clayton. “Perhaps you should be the one to explain.”

Clayton shakes his head, not displeased, but perhaps wearied, and throws a log onto the fire. A fire. It is not cold in here, they need no fires to keep warm. It is only a comfort for them, and yet the desert floor has been chopped to nothing.

Clayton glances at Elan, standing against the wall with arms crossed over his chest as he assesses the room. “Would you finally sit,” Clayton says. “You’re making me uncomfortable.”

I nod for Elan to come join us as Ashford pulls over another chair.

“I’ve never done this before,” Clayton starts once everyone is settled, but I’m not sure if he’s telling me or if he’s simply saying it under his breath. “I’ve only been doing this job since my father died two weeks ago. We’ve only just learned how bad things have gotten for the town. You’ve been ghost stories to us, kept on the fringe of our settlement, while our deputies have been described as knights in shining armor, protecting us from evil we only knew of but never saw for ourselves. Until now, we didn’t even know who you really were.”

I frown. That seems impossible given how many of my people have died at their hands.

“If it weren’t for Jo, we might still not have known,” he continues. “And only since talking to Luke and Elan, do we fully understand how sinister things have truly been.”

I watch Jo, expecting her to explain this sudden understanding they seem to have found.

“I saw a man and woman by the stream one day. It was just before the old marshal died—before everything changed. They were wearing furs. Clothes unlike any I’d ever seen, so naturally I was curious.”

“Tiva and Cole,” I breathe, knowing it was Cole’s furs that Luke had brought to me.

“They’d stopped for water.”

Emotion tightens my chest to think of my cousin, here and alive only weeks ago. “You killed them,” I say as it occurs to me I still don’t know who was responsible.

“No,” she says, her voice forceful. “They weren’t hurting anyone, and I knew they were in danger of being killed on the spot, so I told them to leave and never come back. And that’s what they did.”

My jaw tightens. “And yet, they are dead.”

“Yes,” she says grimly. “I thought they’d gone, and I was shocked to see them . . . after.” The regret is bright on her face, but it does nothing to satisfy the hurt flaring to life inside me.

I stand and walk to the open door leading to a porch outside. I lean against it, partially to steady myself as my heart aches and my mind spins. “They bothered no one. Just like our hunters, our healers, our farmers. Just like my father,” I bite out. “And yet they are all dead.” I can barely hold back the swell of hatred and sorrow.

“Look—” Clayton sighs. “I know we’ve done horrible things. You should hate us—I would. But Luke said you hide up in the mountain—that you would do anything to keep your people safe. Isn’t peace worth the risk?”

I whip around to face him. “Your sosho does not know me,” I tell them. “He has seen what I wanted him to see. Just as I know he has only told me what benefits him.” I clench my jaw. “Once you know where the water is, you could kill my people—”

“And you know where our entire town is,” Clayton grinds out. “You could come for us any time you want. So yes, trusting us is a risk, but you’re here, which means you see the benefit of an alliance.”

He’s right. Of course he is. But I’m not ready to tell him I have already had six days to process, and that I have made my decision, even if it pains me to trust them.

A warm breeze brushes my face, and I inhale a deep breath. “I have seen what you do to our dead,” I tell them. My stomach coils and twists at the image of the naked bodies on the valley floor. “Have you?” I glance back at their contemplative faces, though none of them answer. I picture Tate’s bloodied body, barely whole and on the brink of death in Lena’s home and realize I don’t even know for certain if he is still alive.

I’m not sure how long the sound of a crackling fire and the night songs fill the stretching silence, but I hear Ashford excuse himself from the room as I stare out at blackness. And after another moment, Jo walks up and rests her hands on the porch railing beside me.

“I’m sorry for all that’s happened,” she whispers, which nearly enrages me. “Truly, we didn’t know any of it. I spent my entire life hating the old marshal for my own reasons, so I never saw anything else beyond that. Maybe if I had, I would have put the pieces together sooner. I would have seen how truly terrible things were.”

That I am standing in a sosho’s home, so close our arms are almost touching, makes my hands shake, and I grip the railing tighter. “What were your reasons,” I ask, “for hating the old leader?”

Jo’s eyes round in the shadows, and there is a hesitance in her reply, but I need her to answer. I want to hear her truth, to make her feel as out of place as I do standing in this wretched house with ignorant people who have ruined more lives than I can possibly count.

“There are many reasons I hated the marshal,” she says flatly. “But he killed my mother when I was nine, and I hated him most of all for that.”

Her words surprise me, but it’s what she doesn’t say, the past that furrows her brow and thickens her voice, that I’m most curious about, though I don’t press her.

“It’s late,” she says, clearing her throat. “Why don’t we forget this peace talk for the night, and get some rest? We can talk more tomorrow.” Jo turns to head back inside but stops short, looking at me. “I want to show you something in the morning,” she says. “I think it might help you to understand.”

21

Luke

I pull Tuck to stop in front of June’s new apartment, just outside the Grunge and closer to downtown. Closer to Doc Henderson. When Miss Mason told me she’d personally seen to June’s move, I knew her condition must’ve been bad. At least this place looks better than the last, and it has metal siding to keep out the sandy winds.

Inhaling the brisk late night air, I creak her front door open. I expect to hear the shallow, raspy breaths of June sleeping, but I hear rasping of another sort. She’s awake, and a single candle lights the living room where she sits, reading a book.

“What are you doing up?” I whisper, and step inside. It smells like fennel and I see a tincture vial sitting on the side table beside June. “You should be sleeping.”

June’s eyes narrow slightly. “Why,” she huffs, “were you trying to sneak in and out again without a hello or goodbye?” She stares at me with a lifted eyebrow, so expectant and June-like that the unease I’ve been grappling with since I left her in Sagebrush lifts a little. June and I might not be affectionate the way other families are, but we know each other better than we know ourselves.

Seeing the guilt in my eyes, she lets it go. “Besides,” she starts hoarsely, “that’s all my old bones do is sleep. And I heard a rumor strange people came through town. Drifters, and what a sight they were,” she says glibly, repeating the prittle-prattle of her neighbors. “I figured you’d returned. Hoped as much, anyway.”

“So much for riding under the cloak of darkness,” I mutter, and walk into the kitchen to pour June a glass of water. Even if I’m not sure she wants it, I know it helps ease the wheeze in her throat. Body aching with exhaustion, I walk over to her. “What else are people saying?” I ask.

June takes the proffered glass and holds it in her lap, peering up at me with tired blue eyes. “That they look lethal, like I suppose all savages would, and the people are frightened to have them here. You should’ve heard Mrs. Pelley when she came to see me this evening. In fact—” June nods to the bread basket. “Eat something while you’re here. Would you? You’re skin and bones, Luke.”

I shake my head, knowing I’m far from skin and bones, and as I sit down in the chair across from her, I take in her frail state. As if she’s one to talk. “That basket is for you. And I already ate at the Cunningham estate.”

“And bathed, thankfully,” she gripes, scanning me up and down. “Those are some fancy clothes they’ve got you dressed in.”

“They’re Clayton’s,” I mutter. “His mother insisted.”

But June’s not listening. Instead, her gaze latches onto my gauze-bound wrists. “I see you made some new friends. I can’t say I’m surprised.” She’s harping on me, but I hear the concern lacing her words too. “That temper of yours has a way of getting you in some tight spots.”

I stare down at my hands, remembering the incantation Kaia whispered after she cleaned my wounds, and how beautiful and unexpected it was. “I got them here for peace, didn’t I? Besides, it wasn’t my temper that got me bound up and hauled up the mountain.”

I fill June in about what happened, about the storm, and the cave where Jacob and I were captured. I tell her about the room I stayed in, and how different their food tastes from ours. I spare her the boring details of my stewing with rattled thoughts and wavering conviction; that I thought death would be easy to welcome before I left, but I wasn’t as prepared for it as I’d thought.

When I’m finished recounting my adventures, June’s shallow breaths fill the silence, but it’s uncomfortable, and I can’t tell what she’s thinking. I peer up from picking the dressing around one of my wrists. June’s blue eyes are hooded with worry and relief, more so than I’d expected.

“Did they hurt you worse than that?” she asks, eyes flicking up from my hands.

“No,” I promise. My fists clench in my lap, knowing how easily they could have if they’d wanted to. “No, they didn’t. They didn’t throw me a welcoming party, but they weren’t as depraved as I’d expected.” I shake my head, the words I’m about to say feeling off and misplaced, though they are true. “As much as I want to say they’re filthy savages that should be wiped from this land . . . I can’t.”

June’s brow lifts and, slightly, she tilts her head. “That doesn’t sound like you, Luke.” There’s a lilt of curiosity in her voice.

Laughing, I lean back and rest my head on the wood frame of the divan. “No, it doesn’t. I haven’t been feeling much like myself this past week.”

June finally takes a sip of her water, like she needed to do it on her own terms, not because I wanted her to. “Is that so bad—not feeling like yourself?”

I peel my eyes open, unable to discern what I’m feeling at all, let alone if it’s worrisome. “It’s . . . strange,” I admit. “I feel unsettled.”

“I would imagine. You’ve been angry and single-minded for as long as I’ve known you, and to what end?”

This time I challenge the queen of stubbornness and determination with a knowing expression of my own. “There are worse things than being strong-willed.”

June and I have a staring standoff before she takes another sip of water, only temporarily relieving the wheeze in her chest, and I look away. I don’t want her to be disappointed in me, but I also can’t help who I am.

Her copper cup shakes in her hands, and I wonder how bad June’s flare up was for Miss Mason to move her here.

“How—” I start, and clear my throat. “How are you feeling?” I expect I’ll get the stink eye for it, if not a cursing. Her health is usually a topic we dance around, but I need to see the truth in her eyes.

“Don’t worry about me, now. I’m old and ornery. Same as before. I feel my age, Luke— no more than all the other seventy-somethings still alive in this place.” She stares into her cup, and if I’m not imagining it, she blushes a little. “Miss Mason was very kind to me, obstinate, but kind.” There’s an unexpected reverence in her voice. “She insisted I be moved—saw to everything herself. She even brought me over some of her personal remedies for my coughing fits and sleepless nights.”

I appreciated Miss Mason’s attention to June, but hearing all of this, I respect her even more for it. I owe her, even. “Obstinate? It sounds like maybe you’ve met your match,” I tease.

Shakily, June resituates herself on the divan. “She has a little ways to go, but I’ll get her there before my number’s up.”

I watch as June absently smooths the blanket over her lap. She’s so thin and frail, she practically folds into the arm of the couch. Her skin is etched with long, harsh years, having worked her fingers to the bone in the plucking house to provide for us the barest amount her lot in life could offer. For the first time, the marshal throwing me a few coins here and there as a child, and offering me a place alongside the deputies, isn’t enough to make me grateful. Knowing how he lived, how most of the deputies have lived, he could’ve done more for June—for all of Sagebrush.

June combs a wisp of thin, graying hair back into its knot behind her head, making her cheekbones more prominent. When had she aged so much? June had always been old to me as a child, but it’s only now that I truly see it.

“So tell me,” she says in our uneasy silence. “Since you’ve brought the drifters back, and the whole town is talking, what happens now?”

With an unsteady breath, I clear my throat. “We try to make peace with them in order to find the water source. So we can save Sagebrush.”

June seems skeptical, but waits a beat before she asks, “Do you think it’s possible?”

Running my fingers through my hair, I exhale what feels like a year’s worth of exhaustion needling its way into my bones. “I don’t know,” I admit. “I mean, yes, I do think it’s possible, but a lot could go wrong. Kaia wants what’s best for her people, and I know she wants peace. We just have to figure out how to trust each other, which isn’t going to be easy.”

“If trust were easy, Luke, this world would be a far different place,” June muses. “This Kaia . . . she’s their leader?”

“As far as I can tell. I’m not sure how it works, but somehow an eighteen or nineteen-year-old woman is running things up in that mountain.”

“A matriarchy? I like these people already.”

I smile, thinking about the woman who brought me food while I was in the mountain. “There was an older woman, maybe Kaia’s grandmother. She lived in the place they were keeping us.”

“She lived in a prison?”

“No—” I shake my head. “It was a house—not like what we live in, but a home with empty rooms that they kept Jacob and me in. I think her name was Oona. I’m not sure what it means though.”

“Who says it has to mean something?” June asks. “Maybe that’s just her name, a little strange, I’ll give you that, but then their people have always had strange names. I remember that from stories my parents told me as a little girl. If you would’ve gone to school when you were a boy, like you were supposed to, you’d know more about the natives’ history.”

“Here we go,” I grumble.

“I’m serious,” she chides. “Don’t be disrespectful.”

Leaning my head back, I roll my eyes. “And do they teach us about snake charmers? I think she was a snake charmer or something. I would hear her chanting in the other room sometimes, and she even had a live snake around her neck one time she brought me food.”

“Some sort of magic,” June grumbles.

My mind grows heavy. “I don’t know, but there was something calming about her, and she kept me fed, even when I think Kaia told her not to.” I can practically hear June’s brow arching, but I continue. “The old woman listened when I talked to her too, even though she pretended not to understand me.”

“Sounds like quite an adventure,” June ruminates, and I don’t miss the tinge of amusement in her voice.

“You could say that,” I whisper. “It almost feels like it was a dream.” My eyes flit closed again, and the last thing I see before I fall asleep is June grinning wryly as she picks up her book to read again.

22

Kaia

Horse hooves crunch in the distance, and my eyes flutter open. For a moment, I forget where I am, wondering why a cool breeze kisses my face, and why my nose and lips are cold. The cricket songs are faint in the early morning air, and with the pale blue glow of sunrise, I can barely see the stars anymore.

The men sleep softly around me. The days past have brought a tiredness unlike anything I’ve ever felt before, and it’s taken its toll on all of us. I smile inwardly, realizing even Elan, my confidante and protector, has found some respite.

“You didn’t want to sleep in the house?” a quiet male voice says behind me. I recognize it instantly.

Luke steps up to the embers, faintly glowing from the firepit in front of me. I shake my head and glance toward the large house where the windows are mostly dark, save for the study we were in last night. I’m not entirely surprised they are still awake, even if Jo was the one to tell everyone to rest; I wouldn’t retire with strangers surrounding my home, uncaged and unbound, especially ones as dangerous as they seem to think we are.

“Your people offered us rooms, but . . .”

“It’s too stuffy inside?”

And unnerving, I realize. Too much has happened too fast, and I don’t want to fall into a false sense of ease around them. I nod with a yawn, feeling the paint on my forehead and cheeks crack. I would do anything for a swim in the crystalline pool right now and for the comfort of my cot. The dirt and sweat from the past two days of traveling is caked on my skin, and I fear I’m even more wretched than when Ahkima and I had mud fights as children, not an inch of our skin clean by the time we were finished. In an instant, home feels a lifetime away, and my heart aches a little.

With a sigh, I peer up at the muted colors of dawn. “I wanted to watch the stars,” I tell Luke, who prods at the fire, stirring the embers to flames again.

“Watch them, huh?” He glances over his shoulder at me, his blue eyes glistening in the paleness of morning. Dark stubble shadows his jaw again, and I hate that I notice. “They don’t do much up there, you know?”

His ignorance amuses me—ignorance of all that he and his people have in this place, which they’ve taken for granted. “Unlike you, I have not seen the stars in nine years,” I say bitterly, reminding myself we are not friends. “Not since—” I shake my head. There are far too many reasons I haven’t seen the stars, and his people are the root of them all. “I wanted to be outside, that is all.”

Luke sets his prodding stick down, the sleeve of his shirt snug around the muscle of his arm. “Not since, what?” he whispers, pivoting to face me. His brow lifts with a hint of surprise, and as he reaches toward me, I frown. Luke freezes, thinks better of it, and clears his throat. “You have, uh, ash or something on your chin.”

Eyes fixed on him, I wipe my jaw and cheek until he nods. We hold each other’s gaze for a moment, and though I don’t know what he’s thinking, a part of me wants to tell him exactly why I have not seen the stars, and to share everything with him so that he will understand who and what we are. “The clouds are thick on the mountaintop. And I rarely leave the mountain, so . . . I haven’t seen the stars since my father died.”

Luke’s nearly constant frown twitches and he clears his throat. “Were you there?” For some reason, the disconcerted shadows in his eyes surprises me, but I don’t answer him. I don’t want to talk about my father with him, and I don’t want to think about death—not while I’m trying to focus on peace.

Luke’s gaze burns against my face as he waits for me to continue. “Did you go home last night?” I ask instead, surprising myself. “You left quickly.”

Once again, he peers into the burgeoning fire. “Uh, yeah, I did. I wanted to check on June.”

Biting the inside of my cheek, I watch him. He’s brooding and thoughtful in the quiet truce between us. I don’t like how curious I am about Luke, even if I keep telling myself I need to learn all I can about the soshos. The more I learn, the better informed each decision I make moving forward will be. But a voice inside my head whispers, liar.

“Jo—your leader,” I say, forcing myself out of my own head. “She wants to show me something today. Do you know what it is?”

Luke glances at me and shakes his head. “How did it go after I left last night? You’re all still in one piece, so well enough, I take it?” His voice is playful, so I don’t take offense. “Did you accept the truce?”

I pick at my dirty fingernails. “No. Not yet.” I can feel Luke’s gaze on me again, only this time when I look at him, his brow is crumpled.

“Will you?” There’s a strangeness to his voice, an insecurity I haven’t heard before, devoid of the resentment and arrogance I’ve come to expect. It makes him seem the most human yet, like the possibility of no peace between us worries him.

I blink back at him, a sudden urge to fill our silence forcing the words from my mouth. “I want to have peace,” I admit. “More than anything. Yet it feels like a slight to my people, like all that has passed between us will be accepted and forgotten in a single agreement.” I stare up at the morning sky. “And placing faith in your people, no matter how much I want to, feels wrong, and I worry I will regret it the moment I do.”

Abruptly, Luke rises to his feet and brushes his hands off on his pants. “I should let Clayton know I’ve returned.”

I watch him walk toward the house, my mind pondering what possible path the katsinas have placed before me. “Luke?” Saying his name for the first time aloud sounds broken and strange on my tongue, but he stops, slowly turns, and looks at me. My muscles are sore from riding and sleeping on the ground as I climb to my feet. “You hate us, like many of your people. You say it is ingrained in you to feel this way. So how do I trust that all of your people will accept such an agreement?”

“Because you don’t have a choice,” he says tersely. His words are sharp but true.

“And you?” I saw the flicker of truth in Jo’s eyes last night, bright and clear. Even Clayton and Ashford had an earnestness that held my attention long enough to understand the gravity of their situation. Luke, however, is volatile and resentful, same as all of the men so decidedly against us, and they are the ones I worry will make me live to regret any terms that make my people more vulnerable than they already are. “Why do you work toward peace when you clearly distrust it yourself?”

Luke stares into the pale, misty morning. After a few heartbeats of me wondering whether he’s devising an answer he thinks I want to hear, he finally says, “I want peace because it might save June.”

I was right about his reasons for seeking peace when it seems to go against his nature, and it sobers me. “Who is she?” My tone is sharper than I expect, but I’m beyond curious.

Luke stares at me a moment, as if he’s uncertain what to divulge. “I imagine she’s like your Oona,” he finally says.

Surprisingly, a younger Luke flashes into my mind, and I picture him with a grandmother, wondering what sort of woman she might be. Did she tend to his wounds and make him soup when he was unwell?

“Only,” Luke continues, “June is sick.”

Though his expression doesn’t waver, his tone is grave, and my heart aches for him, imagining Oona in her place. “I did not know,” I whisper.

Luke smiles, his dimple showing again, but it’s forced this time and mirthless. “I think it’s safe to say, there’s a lot we don’t know about each other, Kaia.” Turning abruptly, he continues toward the house.

We ride toward town in the heat of morning, the sun hot against my exposed skin that barely sees the light of day. Unlike last night’s horde of riders that flanked us as we rode through the streets, only our hosts, Andy, Luke, and Ashford ride with us today. All of my men are present, though, well rested after a night of much needed sleep. Even Elan, always on guard to ensure my safety, has a sharper gaze in the dawn of a new day.

“Be prepared,” Luke says, riding Rain up beside me. He pats his horse’s neck affectionately. The more I watch them together, the more grateful I become that Rain found a home with Luke, when it could’ve been one of the other soshos who would not have the connection with him Luke does.

I run my fingers through a tuft of Shade’s mane. “Be prepared?”

With a hat on, his hands unbound, and the freedom to move around as he wishes, Luke seems like an entirely different person than the one I’ve seen over the past week. “There will be a lot of people out today, and they will all be watching you. They’re distrusting.” Although it’s a warning, it feels like something more than that as well. A kindness, perhaps.

Finding myself grateful once again, I nod.

Morning shadows fall over the path as we draw closer to their town. Tall wooden dwellings flank the entrance, but there are other structures as well, made of brick and stone. Mostly, everything glints in the rising sun, some of the structures almost blinding. It’s the metal they told us about. Their protection from the violent winds.

Like last night, it smells sickly, like human waste and decay. And Luke was right; this time, as we walk into town, there are people scattered along the road, like ants in a mass of confusion.

A few horses clomp down the streets with their riders, and dogs bark at nothing in particular, but most people are on foot. Children play in the streets as if the surmounting heat is nothing to them.

People stop and stare as we draw closer. Some of them with their mouths agape, others with wide, worried eyes. Some people point while others hurry into their shelters, but no one says anything. No one pulls out weapons, intent on killing us on sight. They glance from us to Jo and Clayton, and I know their presence in our group is what keeps us safe, though we are vigilant, braced and ready to grab a weapon, if needed.

As everyone stares at us, I stare back. Women have their hair up off their necks, but the layers of clothes they wear look suffocating. Some men and women alike wear hats on their heads, shielding their faces, and nearly all of the men are scruffy and unkempt. Many of the townspeople are so skinny and dirty, I can’t tell the true color of their skin, and wrinkles mar their bodies like battle wounds. It’s as if they’ve never seen a day without the sun. Most of their clothes are tattered and soiled, but there are some people who appear crisply dressed and clean, giving them an air of importance; like they are decorated in the way our paint, skin markings, and feathers decorate us.

As we continue down the road, I shield my eyes against the shining metal coverings. “Does it truly help?” I ask Luke.

“The metal? Yes, it does. The sand still gets through, but the brunt of the wind doesn’t. We don’t have a mountain to hide in, like you do. We’re exposed, and this is how we survive.”

“You mean, hide,” I correct wryly.

“What?”

“This is how you hide.”

He glowers at me, and I allow myself a slight smirk.

Luke is right—we aren’t so different. I see fear in his men’s eyes when they look at us; I see the people of his village worn down from a harsh life, like ours. Their desperation for a different life is beaten on their brows and etched in the lines of their faces.

A man on a horse passes by our entourage, he smiles and winks at Jo. “Miss Mason.”

“Mr. Trainer,” she says. He tips his hat and continues onward, giving us a second glance before he trots away.

Clayton narrows his eyes on the man, and Jo swats at his shoulder, a playful moment between them I haven’t witnessed yet. They both say hello and nod at people as we pass in reassurance. Jo’s shoulders are tense, though, and her smile wavers a little.

“There’s a market today,” she says. “Perhaps you’d like to see it later?”

I notice the carts and coverings people are setting up. “You trade?”

Jo shrugs. “Among ourselves. We all have a skill set here, and we use it to barter for what we can.”

“You do not share all things,” I muse, eyeing the unhealthy, dirty people who greatly outnumber those who look as well cared for as Jo and Clayton—and the others I see on horseback.

“No, unfortunately. That hasn’t been our way for quite some time.”

Disgust washes over me to see such carelessness.

“Clayton and I are working to change that, however . . . there is still much work to be done.” Jo blinks from her musing. “The market starts early to beat the midday heat, but we might be able to catch the end of it when we’re finished.”

I nod, but a mass of people near the edge of town catches my eye. They stand in a line, waiting to view something, like elders in our village might view a newborn. Only these people are collecting something and have buckets in their hands.

“They’re in line for their water rations,” Luke explains.

“Water rations?” I frown.

“Because water is limited, there is only so much everyone is allowed to drink.”

I can’t help my horror as my cheeks burn with shock. “Only a bucket full?”

Luke stares at the water line and frowns. “They fill them daily, but try not to drink more than that. They know our supply is low and we could run out at any time. They are being cautious.”

Run out of water? Every time I think of it, it seems impossible. We bathe and cook and drink without thought. “Why can they not go to the river that runs through the farm?”

Jo slows her horse a bit to walk beside us. “The river is too far. The water towers are much more convenient for them. The townspeople can fill their buckets whenever they like . . . I’m not sure why they still line up in the mornings.” Jo watches them for a few moments longer.

“Old habits,” Luke says as we pass them. They all have different sized buckets, and I realize that too is an indication of their status. It’s then I notice there’s no one in line with fancy clothes, only the dirty, wretched people, and I glare at Jo.

“Clayton’s father had many rules when he was marshal,” she explains, and I hear the disapproval in her voice as much as I see it on her face. “He was very strict with rations, even if that’s not how it works anymore. And now that everyone knows the truth about your people and what is beyond Sagebrush—and the fact you’re actually here . . .” She sighs. “With so much change, perhaps sticking to what’s familiar is easier for some of them at the moment.”

I watch the people going about their morning, wary of us, but tending to their tasks, as they must.

“Everyone knows now that we must have peace if we’re going to survive,” Jo adds. “They know that there are consequences for past actions, and many of them want to make it right.”

Seeing Sagebrush for what it truly is has made it more difficult to say no to any sort of peace. Even if I don’t know these people, I know we can help them. The elderly, like June. The dirty children in the streets. We can provide the poor souls whose backbreaking lives have resulted in nothing more than a small pail with access to more water.

I contemplate Jo’s words as we continue through town and back toward the farm. Its distance from Sagebrush seems shorter than it did last night, and I’m awed once again by the animals and the greenhouses that glint over the hillsides as we draw closer.

When we finally arrive, the men climb off their horses, but Jo looks at me before I can do the same. “I’d like to take you somewhere, if you don’t mind?”

Luke and Clayton turn to us, and Elan immediately mounts Wakka again.

Jo holds her hand up to stop him. “We can go alone,” she says, her attention on me. “Unless you feel more comfortable being accompanied. We’re going into the canyon—to the river.” She points toward the sandstone spires in the distance. “There is no danger.”

I look at Elan, his eyes hard and focused on me. “Elan will come,” I tell her. Not because I don’t trust her, or because I am frightened, but because I know Elan prefers it.

He glances at Tarak. “Water the horses,” he tells him, his gaze shifting between the men. “Be careful.”

Pele, Yancey, and Alo nod.

Jo and Clayton exchange a silent goodbye, or warning, perhaps. “We’ll be back in a couple hours,” Jo says, though it sounds more like a reassuring promise.

Clayton dips his chin. “Watch the skies and be safe.”

Jo pats the shotgun tied to her saddle. “Always. Tell Scarlet I’ll be back for some of her honey biscuits.”

Clayton eyes me, then he leads his horse down the hillside.

As Jo, Elan, and I click our horses forward, I hear the door of the farmhouse swing open. “Where they goin’ now?” Toby asks.

“Girl stuff,” I hear Clayton say. “Help our visitors with their horses, would you? I’ll see if Scarlet can feed us all some breakfast.”

I glance back at the boy as he grumbles, but my eyes meet Luke’s instead. He holds my gaze a moment, not so much concerned as thoughtful, before he turns to follow the others down the hill.

“Come,” Jo says, nudging her horse faster. “It’s a ways off still.”

I meet Elan’s gaze and a look passes between us, as if to say this should be interesting. Then, following Jo’s lead, I nudge Shade into a gallop, Elan an ever present shadow a few paces behind me.

23

Kaia

The sun is high in the sky by the time Elan and I trail Jo down into the canyon. The rocks are slippery beneath our horse’s hooves, but Shade and Wakka manage well enough. They’re used to the rocky terrain—all of us are, except for Jo. She doesn’t lean into her horse’s movements, the way we do, and her grip is tight on the reins.

I peer up at the red sandstone towering over us on either side as we weave through the narrow path, finally stopping at a cliff. A gorge carves through the canyon below, and a dark blue stream trickles through it.

“Our cattle were lost one day,” Jo says over her shoulder. “I found them here—it’s how I discovered the water. My father had been keeping it from me because he knew how dangerous having the river on our property was. He didn’t know what the marshal would do if he found out I’d learned their secret.” As we continue on, each uneven step brings us closer to the canyon floor, and I can see the shallow, rocky bottom of the water.

“This leads to your river?” I ask, glancing at Elan as he measures the cliffs surrounding us.

“No,” Jo says softly, and I barely hear her over the breeze and clomping hooves. “It is the river. What’s left of it, anyway.”

I frown. It’s no river at all.

“This courses down the ravine, past my family’s farm for a few miles, then it disappears into a sinkhole. Where it begins,” she says, glancing toward the mountains, “is somewhere that way. There’s a waterfall of sorts not too far north, but it’s become only a trickle. Wherever the water comes from beneath the ground is either drying up or blocked, and with the recent rain, it makes no sense.” Jo stops at the water’s edge and dismounts. Elan and I look at one another, and I wonder if he has any idea why the water stops flowing from the tunnels in the mountains. There are many rivers and falls, though I’ve never seen most of them.

Elan and Wakka explore the snaking river downstream, giving Jo and I time alone. She allows her buckskin horse to drink, and I do the same.

“We have water, for now,” Jo continues. “But for how long, we’re uncertain. It’s why we’re desperate to find the source of the problem, or to find a more stable supply.” She looks at me, the brim of her hat shading her face. “Or I fear our people will not make it.” I follow her gaze, focused beyond me. Our mountains are a mirage in the distance. Their edges are smooth, their height nowhere near as imposing as reality, and the tops are shrouded in a gloomy cold I can feel in my bones all too well.

“I wanted you to see it,” Jo adds, her eyes meeting mine. “So you can understand, but that isn’t the only reason I’ve brought you here.” Her tone is grim. “I want to show you something else.” She tips her head. “Follow me.”

I glance downstream for Elan, crouching beside the water as if he’s studying it.

“This is where I saw your people,” Jo starts. “It was nearly a month ago, now.

Even if I already knew she’d seen them, the mention of it makes my stomach drop. “Cole and Tiva,” I tell her.

She peers back at me, the loose wisps of her hair more red in the sunlight than I’ve noticed before now. “They were over there.” She points to a shady area underneath a pair of scraggly ironwood trees. “They were playing in the water when I found them.”

I stop short, imagining Cole’s laughter and Tiva’s impish smile, both of them content in a moment of reprieve.

“As curious as I was,” Jo continues, “they were frightening to me, as well. They were drifters, and I didn’t know any better. They were hot and weary, and when I stumbled upon their reverie here, they told me they’d been on a hunting trip, only to return to their outpost to find everyone dead . . . I believe they were searching for more of your people.”

“They were looking for Tate,” I tell her, knowing they would’ve noticed his body was not with the others at the desecrated shelter where we buried the others only days ago. I eye Jo carefully.

“As I mentioned yesterday,” she says. “When I spoke with them, I told them to leave, that they would be in danger if they stayed, and they understood well enough.”

I cross through the stream, to where Jo saw them, searching for anything they left behind.

“I’m only sorry I asked them so many questions and kept them here as long as I did.” Jo’s regret carries over the sound of trickling water. “They might have lived, had they left sooner.”

My gut churns, my teeth set, and I have to steady the words as they fall from my lips. “Who killed them?” Cole was only twenty-two, and Tiva barely eighteen. My throat constricts as I imagine them at the river’s edge, alone but together, with the false sense of safety and hope that they might find Tate and return to us. “Which of your men did it?” I bite out more coolly.

“I don’t know,” Jo says. “I’m sorry. Though I assume Doyle was among them—he was a plague to our town, and to your people. He took many liberties and inflicted horrible crimes. He and his followers are dead now.”

I swallow thickly. “Cole was the last of my family,” I confess. And a flood of sorrow fills my eyes and chest. “He and Elan were the ones to help me learn my bow and arrow.” When we were young, I used to tell him that it would be him that would one day lead our people, no matter what tradition says—that it would be him who kept our people safe from the soshos. He stopped arguing with me after a while, even if it was just to prevent another quarrel. “He was the strong one.” Wiping the dampness from my eyes, I look at Jo. “If he were still alive, you would likely be speaking with him about your peace.”

Jo’s face is soft and her eyes are clouded with regret, though it changes nothing. “I’m sorry,” she breathes.

I shake the what-ifs from my mind, my determination hardening once more. “You and Clayton lead these people, but you barely acknowledged them today in the streets.”

Jo laughs, but there is little amusement in it. “I’ve resented this town since I lost my mother, blaming everyone in a way I don’t think I realized, until the marshal was gone and so many secrets came to light . . . I’ve never felt as if I was one of them. I don’t think Clayton has either.”

“And now? You say you want to save them.”

Jo stares through me, as if she’s forgotten I’m standing across from her. “The truth tends to change things, doesn’t it? It starts with one discovery, one question, and then everything unravels. In the past month, I’ve realized the stories in my head were only glimpses of a truth that’s so much more complicated than I ever could have imagined.” She strokes her horse’s mane as I walk back across the water. It seeps through the seams of my leather soles, but I know my feet will dry quickly in the hot sun.

“We’ve all lost our way over the years,” Jo continues. “I learned my lesson, not to judge what I know nothing about. That’s one thing the marshal taught me—life is never as it seems. Not even he was completely horrible.” She peers down at her rippled reflection. “I might be at Clayton’s side because of my passion for truth and ingenuity, but I am no leader, and I take no comfort in people’s gazes, I never have.”

As Jo removes her hat to hang over her saddle, her auburn hair catches the sunlight, shimmering. I notice the marred flesh at the base of her neck.

“I know what it is to live in fear,” she says, and I wonder if she can feel my gaze on her as I imagine what the flesh looks like beneath her clothes. She crouches by the water. “I know what it’s like to feel as if you’re constantly holding your breath, waiting for the next horrific deed. For years, I waited for the day the marshal would take my father away from me, like he took my mother, and worried that maybe he wouldn’t take my father at all, but Scarlet instead. Maybe both.” Jo shrugs and splashes water on her face. “He liked to teach lessons,” she mutters. Wiping her face with her sleeve, she rises and turns to me.

“I don’t want anyone living in fear any longer. Not of each other. It is the elements we must face—our survival that we must work together to protect, otherwise we won’t last out here.” Jo licks a water droplet from her lip and shakes her head, her eyes hardening in earnest. “You hide up in the mountains from us, while we slowly cook to death down here, with little water, and sandstorms to worry about. Nothing is easy, Kaia,” she says fervently. “It never was, but we’re only making it worse by working against each other. I can’t speak for what the marshals have done in the years past, but I can promise you that Clayton and I will do everything in our power to give your people peace. For your sake and for ours.”

Rocks clank together as Elan and Wakka meander back to us, but Jo doesn’t seem to notice, or perhaps she doesn’t care.

“I don’t expect you to forgive my people, or forget what’s happened to yours, but I hope that you being here means that you are willing to work with us to figure out another way.” She steps closer. “We can help each other, Kaia. I know we can.”

I inhale deeply, letting her words wash over me with the breeze, and look to Elan. He’s leaning against his horse, staring at me, awaiting my response. “It is not as easy as a yes or no,” I explain. “I must talk with my people. They have not seen what I have seen here. They will not understand. If I want them to accept this, I must make them see.”

“We can go with you, we can speak to them. We will give them our word—”

“Your word means nothing to us,” I tell her plainly. “I understand what you say, but I cannot bring the men who have killed so many of us home to my people—making them vulnerable and afraid. There must be another way.”

“Then, tell me what you want to do.”

I meet Elan’s eyes again, always so steady and clear. He has seen so many die, and he stands there without hatred in his eyes or shadows of doubt. I know Elan sees what I do, tired people who are afraid, just as we are.

“We show them,” he says, as if our minds are one.

When I look at Jo, she’s glancing between us. Hope creases her brow, and desperation widens her eyes. “What did he say?”

Water. Remedies. Ways of living off the land without depleting it completely. “I will bring back food for them. Show them you can trade your food for our knowledge.”

Jo’s hands tighten on the brim of her hat. “Of course. We can trade if you think—”

“And you must come with us.”

Her eyes round even more. “Me?”

“It must be you,” I tell her. “If you want the elders to agree, you must come. They must see.”

“But Clayton is—”

“A white man,” I bite out. “They will not believe a word that comes out of his mouth, just as I did not trust the sosho at first.”

“Sosho?”

“Luke,” I clarify. “It has to be you. Women are our leaders, it is the way of our people, and the elders hold them in the highest regard.”

This time, Jo swallows thickly. She stares at the mountains, so far off in the distance they are the size of my thumb, and the silence grows between us. Elan and I exchange a look, and I lean against Shade as I wait for her to speak again.

Jo bites the side of her cheek thoughtfully, her hair catching in the breeze. “Agreed,” she finally says. “I’ll go back with you. I will help you make them see.”

24

Luke

It takes Clayton nearly an hour to convince Ashford to leave business behind for a while and take his family to the Tuesday market. Toby insists he needs an axe, like Tarak’s, and Miss Scarlet’s cabinets are bare after so much unexpected company.

While Pele, Alo, and Yancey explore the farm in their absence, Clayton and I sit on the porch with Tarak, all of us anxiously waiting for Kaia, Elan, and Miss Mason to return.

“Where did they go anyway?” I ask, and take a swig of my tea. If you’d asked me a week ago if I could picture myself sitting on the Mason farm drinking tea with Clayton Cunningham, I would’ve snorted a laugh and headed to the saloon for a whiskey.

Clayton picks at a splinter of wood on the arm of the rocking chair. “To the river.”

“Why?” I huff a laugh. “To prove to Kaia how truly pathetic we are?”

He stares out beyond the fields, toward the mountains that have claimed his gaze since they left. “To show her where it all started.”

My stomach drops. “Where what started?” Although it’s a knee-jerk question, the churning of my gut tells me I already know.

“Where her people were last seen.”

“Cole?” Tarak sits up from where he lounges in the shade with Kip, Mr. Mason’s shepherd.

Two drifters draped in furs.

Horses racing from the canyon with bows and arrows on their backs.

The memory of that day knocks into me, and suddenly I can’t take my eyes off the mountains in the distance either. “What exactly is Miss Mason telling her?”

“That she met them, that she warned them to leave, and that they got on their horses and rode away. They were alive and safe, last she saw them.”

Lines appear around Tarak’s eyes as they sharpen like daggers, locked on an invisible moment, and his jaw clenches. “They were part of a hunting and gathering party,” he says. His voice is low and heavy with sorrow, unlike I’ve heard it before. “We needed them to return with food for our people, but when none of them came back . . . we knew.”

The hair rises on the back of my neck.

Clayton stirs from his thoughts and slowly turns in his chair, meeting Tarak’s injured gaze. “I know it repairs nothing, but I am sorry,” he says gravely. “It was before . . . all the changes.”

Tarak and Clayton exchange a measured look before Tarak averts his gaze and nods toward the mountains. “Cole was Kaia’s cousin,” he says, and my heart seems to still. “Now it is only her and Oona left.” My shoulders coil and my stomach rolls with dread. The guilt that had been niggling away at me now feels more like a knife to the gut as the full reality of that day settles in.

“Who is Kaia to your people?” Clayton asks, a state of awe in his voice. “What is the clan mother?”

“Kaia is the she-wolf. Her people started the Unification,” he explains.

Clayton crosses his arms over his chest as if he’s settling in for a bard’s tale. “What’s the Unification?”

Tarak leans forward and draws four circles into a cross-like shape in the dirt with the handle of his axe. “They brought all the clans together during the Great Storm and made peace between warring nations, white devils and tribesmen.” He draws a cross connecting the four tribes and another circle in the center. “She is the last of their bloodline, and more than a leader to our people. She is the bringer of hope and the symbol of peace. Even if she does not want it.”

I sit in silence, stupefied. She risks her life to come here, and yet she does not accept leadership of her people? It makes no sense, but that’s not what my mind fixates on. It’s the guilt in knowing I took nearly all Kaia had left.

“She refuses her destiny then?” Clayton smirks with intrigue. “Sounds like someone I know.” As he sighs, he turns back to stare at the mountain again. “I didn’t want to be the leader of this town either.”

Tarak’s eyebrow lifts.

“Can you blame me?” Clayton chuckles.

Although Tarak cracks a smile, it falters just as quickly, and he holsters his axe at his hip again. “Do you mean to keep your peace?” he asks. Though I assume he is asking Clayton such a question, his attention is on me.

Clayton glances between us, I can feel his impatient curiosity and I settle deeper into my chair. “Why are you asking me?”

“Because you have hate in your heart, sosho. I know this—I have heard it. He”—Tarak points at Clayton—“does not. A leader is only as good as the people who follow him. So, will you support peace between our people?” Tarak doesn’t blink as he stares me down. Studying me. Weighing my reaction as much as my unspoken answer.

“Yes,” I say honestly. “I would support the peace.” I would do it for June.

Coward. A sardonic voice in my head tells me that’s not the only reason, even if it’s the only one I am ready to accept.

Tarak’s eyes narrow, and for a moment, I don’t think he believes me, but in the blink of an eye, his dark features lift with reliable amusement that so often gleams in his brown eyes. “Good,” he says, and lies back down on the porch with Kip. “This is good.”

Clayton watches me closely, and for the first time since I’ve signed on to help him, I feel as if he’s really seeing me. No doubt he wonders what exactly happened during my time in that mountain, but I don’t want to talk about it with him. I don’t want to think of the peace or of Kaia any more right now, either. I stand. “I’m going to check on June,” I tell him.

“I’ll send a rider for you when we get back to the estate,” Clayton offers. “Regardless of what happens at the river today, there will be much to discuss this evening. Decisions will need to be made either way. You should be a part of them.”

Readjusting my hat on my head, I gulp down the rest of my tea and set the empty glass on the railing. Outrunning what is to come might be impossible, but I can put it off, for now at least.

25

Kaia

As we walk past the woodcarver and herbalist in the market, I tell myself I should be happy about my agreement with Jo. The wares, the food—the truce alone would help my people beyond measure. These thoughts turn over and over in my mind as I search the soshos’ faces and study the contraptions they’ve welded from metal and glass.

Although Cole is gone, it soothes my soul a little to know his death was not completely in vain, that it has come to mean something to these people whether they realize it or not; it was his meeting with Jo that has changed everything.

“We can take corn seeds from the farm with us when we go,” Jo says absently as she picks up a red fabric with a gemlike sheen to it. “But . . . do you think it will grow?” She holds the fabric up to the light, and while parts of it are dull and a few areas are worn, it is rich and beautiful. Jo pulls a drawstring purse from her pocket and picks out a few shiny coins before handing them to the woman behind the cart.

The woman nods to Jo, looks skeptically at me, then tears her gaze away, as if she’s worried something ill might befall her if she stares for too long.

“It’s for Scarlet,” Jo explains, lifting the fabric. “My sister makes clothes—she’s making a gown for her wedding. I thought this material might make her a nice cape. It’s her favorite color.” She looks at it again and shrugs. “Then again, maybe not.” Jo sighs. “I’m no good at these things.”

“We wear white during a marriage ceremony,” I tell her.

Jo laughs. “So do we, usually. I guess ruby red wouldn’t be appropriate, would it?” She shrugs and tucks the fabric under her arm, then runs her fingers through a curtain of ribbons hanging at the next cart we pass. “So, the corn . . .” Jo prompts.

“There is little sun on the mountain. Herbs and root plants are what we grow.”

“But Luke mentioned you had mint and spices. They need sunlight—”

“The valley floor,” I tell her. “We make trips two times in a year, when the sun is the closest. Or, we used to.” I give her a sidelong look. “Our hunters and gatherers only went out once this year, but . . .” I don’t need to tell her they didn’t return home. Jo already knows, and no amount of guilt or blame will bring them back.

Jo blinks, steadying herself with a deep breath. “All right, then . . . cured meats and grains, for sure. We’ll take jerky and corn meal—we can even take corn stalks to show them. If you cannot grow them, we must show them what we can provide instead.”

I almost smile, imagining how large Muna’s eyes would be if I dumped a wagon of food in front of her. She would never acknowledge my doing anything right, but she wouldn’t have to say anything. Her expression would be enough. And Ahkima . . . as much as he regretted me leaving, even he would be happy with the outcome.

“Oh! I know,” Jo says. “We’ll take one of the calves too.”

“A what?” I pick up a brown headscarf made of a thick, rough material, like what I’ve seen many of the villagers wearing around their necks.

“A baby cow—live meat for you to raise.” She frowns. “Or do you already have steer—” she shakes her head. “I mean cows—meat?”

“We have birds,” I tell her, and point to a feather pinned in a woman’s hat as she passes. “We use feathers for down. Eggs for eating. And their meat for stew,” I explain.

“Quail? Oh, of course you would. But no other livestock?”

“Mountain goats,” I admit. “For milk. Sometimes for meat, but they are rare. We hunt the snow lands to the north for fox and rabbit—though there are few. The storms are greatest there.”

“I’ve always wondered what was past the mountains,” Jo says. She sounds awed by such a revelation.

“More mountains,” I tell her. “Many more mountains. Some with fire inside, but I know not what lies beyond—” My eyes catch on a necklace adorned in wooden beads, dyed blues and reds, that hangs from the display in front of me. I tear it down, heart pounding vehemently, and turn it over in my hand.

“Hey!” the man chides, but I don’t listen. Jo mutters something to him and doesn’t stop me as I step away. It’s one of our necklaces. Stolen from someone’s cold body, most likely. I clench my hand around it, seeing another and tearing it down as well. I don’t know who they belonged to, but I won’t let the soshos keep them.

As I force myself to inhale a calming breath, I peer around at the other wagons. Elan stares down at a strange contraption in Clayton’s hand, enthralled and perplexed, but for me, exploring what they have suddenly seems like a bad idea.

As I turn to Tarak and Ashford, waiting with the other men at the horses, I notice Rain tied up outside one of the shelters at the end of the market. His head hangs low as his eyes blink lazily, and Luke’s hat hangs from his saddle. I peer up at the rundown shelter, glinting in the afternoon sunlight. Clayton told us Luke was spending time with June. The one he cares so much about . . . The one who is sick.

My feet move, each step taken in absent thought, until I’m standing beside Rain and stroking his burnt orange mane. The door to the shelter is shut, but I stare at it anyway, wondering what Luke’s Oona looks like, and his home.

When I hear commotion inside, I lean toward a partially opened window and peek inside. Most of the windows are draped, so the light in the room is dim, likely to keep out the heat. It is sparsely furnished, not like Jo and Clayton’s home with lush colored carpets, hanging light fixtures, and gleaming woods everywhere.

Coughing startles me. “Oh, I’m fine—” An old woman stops at the arm of a couch, bends over and heaves again. The couch wobbles beneath her grasp as she pants for breath. She’s not dressed like the others in town. Her gown is thin and far too large for her frail body. Her hollow face is lined with many wrinkles, and dark crescents frame her eyes.

“Dammit, June . . .” My heart races as Luke hurries into the room and grabs hold of her arm. “I told you not to get up. I can get your tea and supper. You don’t have to be so damn obstinate all the time.” His broad shoulders and brooding features do nothing to hide the concern in his voice—it’s riddled with it—and a lump forms in my throat. She does look like she’s dying.

“Hush.” June wheezes, and waves his concern away, but before she can say another word, her mouth freezes open and her eyes lock on me through the window. Hastily, I step out of sight.

“Who the—” She begins coughing again.

“What?” Luke asks. “June—what is it?”

Just as I decide to leave before Luke sees me, the door flings open and he’s standing there with a heaving chest and his brow creased with disbelief. “Kaia?”

Placid expression hinged in place, I straighten. “Luke.” I clear my throat. Something about being here feels wrong, like I’ve overstepped, though I tell myself I’ve done nothing to warrant it.

His jaw is hard-set as his eyes dart around the street, taking an uncertain step closer. “What are you doing here?” he asks brusquely.

“I saw Rain—” I point to his horse. But I know that in being at Luke’s home, in seeing his June, I’ve invaded his privacy. “Apologies.” It is not like in the mountain where he was forced to know my Oona. I have not been invited. His displeased expression is unwavering, and I’m about to turn to leave when June wheezes inside.

“You bringin’ her in?” she rasps. “Or are you gonna make me guess?”

Luke rolls his eyes.

“Luke!” she grumbles louder this time, then falls into another coughing fit.

“Come on,” he growls, and takes my hand. It sends a jolt of warmth through me, and I peer down at his hand over mine as he pulls me inside.

“I should not be here,” I whisper.

“No, you shouldn’t,” he grouses, and it makes me bristle.

I pull away from him. “Do not touch me!”

Luke spins around, glaring at me.

June’s eyes are wide, and I think she might be frightened of me momentarily, but then she glances between us. “Glad to see you two getting along so well,” she rasps as she settles into the crook of the couch.

Luke forces his gaze from me. He lifts a blanket draped over the side, laying it gently over June’s lap.

“June, this is Kaia,” he says with pained civility. “Kaia, this is June.” He brushes past me, into a small area where he opens an iron oven and shoves more wood inside. A pot of water sits on it. It’s warm inside the shelter, to say the least, but with the window open, the breeze helps it feel less confining.

I peer around at the stone walls and press my palm to one of them. It’s cool. “Like home,” I think aloud. No wonder I don’t mind being in here as much.

“Well, you’re a pretty thing, aren’t you?” June says. “Luke didn’t tell me that part.”

On cue, he slams something down, making me jump.

“Is there something wrong with you, child?” June snaps at him, and I can see where he gets his piercing glare from.

“Nothing at all,” Luke mutters. He walks back over with a plate of sliced bread and cheese, like the chewy morsels I tried in the market. “Please eat it, June. I know you’re not hungry, but—”

“Only if she sits with me,” June says, and she takes a very small bite of her bread as she gestures for me to sit on the couch beside her. “Come.”

I glance between Luke’s apparent displeasure in my being here, and June’s blue-eyed interest. I decide she unnerves me more than he does, so I do as she says, and I sit down. The couch is not the same as the one at Jo’s, but it’s still more comfortable than anything we have back home.

“How do you find Sagebrush, my dear?”

“How did I find it?”

“How do you like it?” she says, waving my ignorance away with amusement.

“I—it is hot and smells of decay,” I tell her. It’s the first thing that comes to mind.

Her eyes widen, and I think I’ve offended her when she tosses her head back and laughs. Just as I’m about to smile at her delight, my heart stutters as she begins coughing again.

Luke strides over with a steaming mug. It sloshes over the sides a little.

“June,” he says softly, but she shakes her head as she catches her breath. Though her cough is much worse than anything I’ve heard, the deep, loose rumble in her chest is familiar.

“I’m fine. I’m fine.” She points to the table, and he sets the mug down. Both of us stare at her helplessly as we wait for her to catch her breath. When she looks at us, her eyes narrow on Luke. “Sit. You’re making me nervous.”

With a furrowed brow, Luke glances between us, then sits down as she requests on the chair across the room.

“Well, Kaia, you’re right about the stench.” June inhales shallowly. “If I could choose to lose my sense of smell over my ability to breathe, I would do it in a heartbeat. It would make the final days a bit more bearable.”

“June,” Luke groans, but she ignores him with the wave of her hand.

June opens her mouth to speak again, but with an inhale, she sputters, a horrible display of gasping and choking, and I have to look away. That she is so sick—a frail old woman who appears as if she’s had a life far harsher than anyone, and is struggling to simply breathe—seems unfair, even if I know nothing about her.

My gaze shifts to Luke as he helps her settle back into her seat. Though her coughing subsides, she wheezes as she catches her breathe. Lena. I remember her wheezing when we were running and playing as children. “Siiwi,” I whisper, and recall the man with the baskets of greens and produce we passed in the market.

Luke and June look at me as she clears her throat.

I point to her. “You need siiwi,” I repeat.

“Honey,” she rasps, her brow crumpled as she tries to clear the rattle in her chest again. “That’s a pretty word, but I haven’t the foggiest idea what you’re sayin’.”

I shake my head, remembering where I am. “Um—” I search for the word, picturing how it grows wild along the base of the mountain. “Onion,” I tell her. “It will help.”

“Onion?”

She and Luke balk at me, but I ignore them. “Yes. Raw onion—”

“I’m not much for raw anything—”

“You must,” I tell her flatly, and rise to my feet. “Onion, and there are other—I do not know the words, but I will find them.” I don’t know what ingredients they have here in their village, but I know where I can find it near mine.

June opens her mouth to say something, but I hurry out the door. I don’t know where the sudden urgency comes from to help these people, but even if it makes me bristle, I can’t help it.

26

Luke

Ashford, Clayton, and I sit in front of the fire in the study, appreciating a much needed glass of whiskey after such a long day. My thoughts sift between Kaia and June.

“They were at the water longer than I’d expected,” Ashford says, bringing his tumbler to his lips. “Has Miss Mason said anything yet?”

Clayton shakes his head. “No, we haven’t had a moment, but she’ll tell me soon enough. I hope.” He leans his head back against the chair. “It seems promising. They were in the market for a while. Jo was smiling. That’s a good sign.” Clayton’s head tilts and he eyes me. “Though, I can’t say the same for Kaia.” His appraisal is a questioning one as he peers over the rim of his glass, sipping thoughtfully. “What did you say to her at your house?”

“Nothing.” I frown.

“It didn’t look like nothing. She looked disturbed when she left June’s.”

I don’t know exactly what happened with Kaia this afternoon. Suddenly she was there at June’s—in my personal life—and then she was getting onion from a merchant, giving me orders, and then she was gone. I was grateful she’d tried to help, but when her remedy actually did help and she’d already left . . . There were no words.

And I’d been an ass when I’d found her lurking by the door.

I tell myself I’m supposed to be an ass because we’re not friends, and forgetting that is dangerous. But that thought goes against the grain too.

“Kaia will agree to the peace, if she hasn’t already,” I think aloud, mesmerized by the fire’s flames. “Even if it takes some time, she will agree.” I say it more decidedly, because despite Kaia’s distrust, she will do it for her people. Won’t she? And she helped June, so she will want to help everyone else. I’m not sure why I feel so certain of it.

“They might still think we mean to go back on our word, once we gain access to the water supply,” Ashford muses. “They have no reason to trust us.”

“We haven’t double-crossed them yet,” I remind him, albeit a bit defensively. “They’re here, and we could kill them all, and they would no longer have their etsi or some of their warriors. Kaia knows that and she still came, which means she wants this. No matter how much she pretends to be undecided.” And she helped June today, I remind myself again. So, why am I angry with her?

“I’m afraid it’s not as simple as all of that,” Miss Mason says from the doorway.

The three of us rise to our feet, my heart thudding with surprise.

Clayton sets his glass down on the table and walks over to her. “Is that why you’ve been avoiding me all day?”

“Not avoiding you,” she says, pouring herself a drink. “Just planning, and getting to know one another. Kaia and I have a long journey ahead of us.”

Clayton glowers, much like the rest of us. “Excuse me?” he grinds out.

“I’m going back with her.”

“Jo—”

She holds her hand up to shush him. “We leave in two days, and in the meantime, I need you to fortify a wagon to bring, in case there’s a storm, and fill it with food. Here—” she pulls a list from the hidden pocket in her skirt. “These are the things I need.”

Clayton doesn’t take his eyes from her as he reaches for the list. “Jo, you’re not going to that mountain.”

She doesn’t bother looking at him as she walks over and sits in his chair on the other side of his desk. “Jo,” Clayton says, more adamant this time. “You’re not going up the mountain without me.”

She starts to scribble something on a sheet of parchment. “Yes,” she says simply. “I am. Mr. O’Brien can come with me, but that is all. It’s part of our deal.”

“Me?” I balk.

“Yes. Kaia thinks seeing new men—white men—will only make her people uncomfortable, and I agree. So, only Mr. O’Brien goes with me, or I don’t go at all, and we don’t get our peace.”

Clayton glares between Ashford and me. “Surely, there has to be another way.”

Miss Mason stands, the chair legs muffled as they scrape against the rug covering the floor, and she walks over to him. “Kaia won’t hurt me, my love. In fact, I think she likes me, and that’s why she wants me to go. I venture to think she might even trust me. So, I will go and speak on our behalf. I will convince them that we are true to our word, and I might even learn a thing or two that I can bring back to help our people. Like new remedies,” she reminds him, and stares pointedly at me.

I’m not sure if she’s silently reminding me what Kaia did for me this afternoon, or if she’s angry with me about something. My frown deepens, ignoring whatever her look insinuates. “She’ll take us to the source of the water while we’re there?” I clarify.

“Yes.” Miss Mason perches her hands on her hips. “She will take us to the water, once her people agree with her that it’s the right thing to do.”

“What if they don’t agree?” Ashford hedges, his expression brimming with consternation.

“That’s what the food is for,” Clayton muses. “Show them what a peace will bring them, and they won’t be able to disagree. Not if they have families to feed. Not if they have food and peace.”

“And we would get Jacob back,” I remind them, in case he was forgotten in all of this.

Miss Mason nods and then her eyes fix on me. “Well, Mr. O’Brien, are you up for another journey?”

There’s a sudden pressure that twists into a knot in my chest, and I run my fingers through my hair. “You should get someone else, Miss Mason.”

Her brow puckers slightly. “Why is that? Kaia already trusts you—”

I almost laugh. “Because I have June to think about,” I say instead. It’s partially a lie.

“We are thinking about June,” Miss Mason counters. “We’re thinking about June and Isabel and all the ailing people in Sagebrush. You yourself wanted to go on this mission in the beginning because of what we could learn from these people. You saw it today, firsthand.” Her eyes narrow on me. “Why the sudden change of heart, Luke?”

Luke. Shit. I knew Miss Mason was a clever one, and I know better than to protest, but I also know I’m the worst of all of us for the job. “It’s just not a good idea,” I tell them—all of them. They look at me like I’ve grown another head “You have to trust me on this. Kaia and Miss Mason can manage just fine without me. Ashford is better suited for negotiating peace. Kaia and I nearly tore each other to shreds when we were up there last.”

Miss Mason’s nods as her eyes narrow on me again. “Fine then. I’ll go alone.”

“Jo,” Clayton grumbles.

“It will be fine. I’ll have her five formidable men with me, and I trust Kaia. Even if Mr. O’Brien here doesn’t seem to.”

“It’s not that I don’t trust her,” I explain. “It’s just . . .” I drag my hands over my face. “Kaia will not want me there if she knows the truth of what I’ve done.”

I can barely look at Miss Mason as I gauge her response. Instead of hounding me for more information, though, she steps closer, her hazel eyes never leaving me. “The past is nothing we can change,” she says quietly, and somehow, I know that she’s aware of what I’ve done. “It’s what we do next that matters. Speak with her, she will understand that.”

If Ashford and Clayton are confused, they give nothing away. Instead, they stand there, waiting for me to decide.

“So, what will you do?” she asks, giving me little time to even think.

June. Kaia. Cole. It’s too messy and it won’t end well with me in the middle. “This feels like a bad decision,” I breathe. But I nod as I concede despite myself.

“Good then,” Miss Mason says without missing a step. “We can start preparations first thing tomorrow. For now, I must ride to the farm. I have to tell my father and Scarlet.”

Ashford shakes his head. “That will not go over well.”

Miss Mason only shrugs. “I have a feeling they won’t be all that surprised. Now,”—she downs her drink with a hearty swig—“I’ve shown Kaia to the washroom, where she can bathe and change into some different clothes for the night.”

I watch the doorway as if she’ll suddenly appear. “Kaia is in the house?”

“Yes, but the men, all but Elan, wish to remain outside. Oh, and Clayton?” Miss Mason says, glancing at him with a sigh.

He looks at her.

“Your mother returned from Doc Henderson’s with Isabel. Little Izzy was already cornering Kaia in the hallway as I was leaving her to settle into her room.” She gives him a sidelong glance. “You know how curious Isabel is. Send Kitty up to save her in a bit, would you?”

Gulping down the last of my whiskey, I discard the glass on the table and head for the door. “There are some things I need to tend to,” I mutter, though mostly I need to get out of the house.

“Mr. O’Brien,” Miss Mason says, stopping me in the doorway. “Thank you.” Her mouth quirks with understanding. “I know you don’t think your presence is needed, but I will feel better having a familiar face with me on this trip.”

“It’s the peace I’m worried about, Miss Mason. If Kaia finds out that I am the one who shot her cousin, all your efforts for peace could be for nothing.”

The crease in her brow softens. “Then,” Miss Mason starts, “she mustn’t know. Peace is too important.” My mouth parts in shock as she pats my arm, and Clayton and Ashford stare between us.

“Tell June I’m sorry for stealing you away again,” Miss Mason adds, and just like that, she leaves, and I stare at the large front doors as they close behind her.

Purehearted Miss Mason just gave me permission to lie to Kaia. I should be grateful that I don’t have to tell her the truth, and yet, not telling Kaia makes the back of my neck bead with sweat.

“Kaia’s men would’ve done the same thing if they’d seen one of us,” Clayton says, trying to reassure me. Just as they did to my father.

I nod, and feeling grounded again, I put my hat on my head and leave Ashford and Clayton to worry about the logistics as I make my way for the front door. I’m about to reach for the handle when a clatter reaches my ears from somewhere upstairs. My first thought is Isabel is up there and ill. “Clayton,” I call, hurrying up the stairs. I take them two at a time and fleetingly register the richly embellished wallpaper and the family portraits as I hurry down the hall.

There’s another thunk, and a light emanates from a partially opened door.

“Miss Isabel?” I’m about to ask if she’s okay, or if she’s gotten herself into some trouble, but when I creak the door open, it’s Kaia I find inside. She’s on her knees on the tiled floor of the washroom.

“Are you all right?” Without thinking, I step in and reach for her arm to help her up.

Frantically, Kaia shakes her head. I barely register Clayton’s voice coming up the stairs as I take in Kaia’s dark hair hanging around her in a wet veil as she uses the edge of her towel to dab the rug.

“I made a mess—help me.” She peers up at me through long, black lashes. Her green eyes are wild, and for the first time, her face is absent of cracked and faded paint. My eyes rake over her. Droplets of water glisten on her skin in the dying evening light that filters through the window, and her tattooed chest heaves beneath the towel she hugs around her otherwise naked body. Heat fills me and I can’t bring myself to look away.

“Luke,” she pleads, gripping her towel tighter. “Help me.” Her eyes are frantic as they dart from me to the stains in the carpet. I force my gaze from her and refocus. Vials of soaps and oils and shampoos have fallen off a tray beside the tub.

I crouch down as she commands, even though I know I should turn and leave the room immediately, putting as much distance between us as possible.

“I spilled them—they are Jo’s and—” Kaia’s arm brushes mine in her haste, sending a hot tingle through me.

“It’s fine,” I tell her, leaning away, though the fragrant oil I smell isn’t likely to come out of the rug. Kaia tucks her long hair behind her ear as she sits back, staring at the mess she’s made, and of their own accord, my eyes shift to her chest again, covered by the towel but right beside me all the same.

I swallow, my throat suddenly dry, and I jolt to my feet. “Just leave it. You should put clothes on—and you should keep the door shut when you’re half naked,” I grit out, and as abruptly as I entered, I leave the washroom. “The servants will clean it,” I call over my shoulder, pulling the door closed to give her privacy.

Clayton stands by the banister, staring at me in confusion.

Fisting my hands at my sides, I hurry past him and back down the stairs. I know Kaia isn’t familiar with our ways, but no matter what part of the world she’s from, she can’t be ignorant of her effect on men.

“What happened?” Clayton asks from the landing.

With a groan, I hurry out the front door, ignoring Clayton’s curiosity as I slam it shut behind me.

27

Luke

The sky is clear and blue as Tuck and I trot toward the Mason farm to meet up with the rest of them. The harsh sun is present as usual, and by all accounts, it’s as good a morning to travel as any. But blue skies are changeable, and once we’re in the Dead Lands, we’re at the weather’s mercy. I push what is out of my control from my mind, and focus on what comes next: a peace that will provide access to water, even if we’re not sure how yet.

I took my time saying goodbye to June, uncertain how long I will be gone this time. June assumed I lingered to avoid Kaia, even if she didn’t exactly know why; her skeptical gaze and muttered comments were obvious.

The other day, after the washroom incident, I couldn’t think straight, and not just because I’d seen Kaia half naked—she’s beautiful, and it’s not as if it’s escaped my notice all this time—but seeing her dripping wet wasn’t something I could ignore either. We’re barely allies, and yet the wild look in her eyes, and the sensation of her arm brushing mine . . . I can’t get it out of my head.

I pull Tuck to a stop outside the farmhouse, noticing Ashford, the Masons, and Toby at the steel-plated wagon parked by the barn. Focus is what I need, not distraction, especially knowing what I’ve done. No, hiding from her what I’ve done.

I notice Tarak, Alo, and Elan feeding and watering the horses as Tuck heads down the hill. Good, because it’s going to be a long trek back to the mountains. Scarlet and Toby lead a calf out of the barn, though Toby doesn’t seem happy about it, and Kaia’s beside them. Clayton, Pele, Ashford, and Yancey load crates and sacks into the wagon. While I’m apprehensive about the journey back to Kaia’s village, I’m glad that by tomorrow night, I’ll know Jacob is safe, and we’ll be out of the elements.

“But—” Toby complains, “Jo shouldn’t go alone. It’s not safe.” He pets the tawny calf on the nose.

“Jo can take care of herself,” Miss Scarlet assures him. “And Mr. O’Brien will be with her.” Miss Scarlet nods at me as I dismount Tuck. “And don’t you dare get any ideas,” she warns him. “I need you here to protect the farm while your father’s tending to business.”

“We will take care of Jo,” Kaia assures Toby. Her gaze flicks to Miss Scarlet knowingly, and as they tie the calf to the wagon, Kaia notices me.

Uncomfortable under her gaze, I look away.

“Ah,” Miss Mason says as she walks out of the barn with sand scarves and capes in her arms. She drapes them over the wagon wheel. “There he is. We thought maybe you’d changed your mind.” Though Miss Mason is kidding, her voice is flat, and I can tell she’s curious what’s taken me so long. Or perhaps she assumes she already knows.

“I was seeing to June, making sure she has what she needs,” I explain. “Without you here to check on her, she’s likely to get herself into trouble.”

Miss Scarlet approaches, and rests her hand on my arm reassuringly as I pull Tuck’s reins over his head. “I’ll check on her every day,” she promises. “She’ll want for nothing.”

I nod in thanks, and Kaia reaches for Tuck.

“He should eat and drink with the others,” she starts, but I sidestep her.

“I’ll, uh—I’ll tend to him,” I say, and lead Tuck to the trough. That earns me a disconcerted look from Elan and Miss Mason, but I ignore them and drape the reins over the hitching post, giving Tuck slack so he can slurp with the others. With a pat on his neck, I turn around, only to stop short. Kaia stands directly behind me. Our eyes meet.

“Did you leave onion broth and—”

“Yes, I did.”

“And she knows to drink it with—”

“Yes, Kaia. She’ll be fine,” I say, wondering when she became so worried about June.

Kaia frowns, practically glaring at me, and I move to step around her.

She reaches for my arm. “Why are you being strange?” Her glare hardens. “You have been different since I met your June.”

“I’m not being strange,” I tell her. “I’m just anxious to get this trip over with.”

Thwarted, Kaia drops her hand but says nothing else as I walk over to the wagon. While the others head for the mill to gather more provisions, I climb inside to organize the goods into one corner so the calf can have the other.

The scent of corn husks and burlap mingles with that of the metal enclosure, and sand grinds under my boots as I crouch down. I notice rolls of furs and a basket of leather bands and beaded jewelry I’ve seen in the market—some of the items the men have brought back over the years—and I assume it’s another of Miss Mason’s peace offerings.

When I turn around, she’s standing there with a faraway look on her face as she peers inside the metal-sided wagon.

“Jo,” Miss Scarlet says softly as she stops beside her sister. “What is it?” She stares into the wagon at me, confused by what’s captivated Miss Mason’s attention so completely.

Miss Mason blinks. “I was remembering the first time one of these wagons came to the farm,” she says quietly. And after a drawn out breath, her eyes meet her sister’s. “Mama’s body was inside.”

I swallow thickly. According to rumor, that was the day the old marshal took Miss Mason, only a little girl at the time, away too. The day her life changed forever. And not for the first time, I try not to wonder what scars were left on Miss Mason’s body as a result.

“Will there even be room for Belle?” Toby asks, stepping up beside them. As I jump out, he climbs inside to take a peek.

“Yes, plenty for a calf, for a couple days,” I promise him. “And don’t worry, she’ll be protected from any storms while she’s in there.”

Toby studies me thoughtfully, and I wonder if he’s uncertain whether or not he should believe me.

“Come on, Tobias,” Ashford calls. “Help me saddle the rest of the horses so they can get on their way. They have a long journey ahead of them.”

My eyes linger on Kaia as she helps Ashford and Toby with the horses, and I try not to appreciate the way her cheek lifts slightly with amusement as Toby bombards her with questions. But when something warm floods my chest, I force myself to look away again.

It’s going to be a long journey indeed.

28

Kaia

Something doesn’t feel right as we make our way across the valley floor—the Dead Lands, as Jo and Luke call it. There’s an unease I hadn’t expected in leaving Sagebrush, a void, like the spirits have abandoned us. I feel the absence of the katsinas’ presence, akin to leaving the mountain with a bow but no arrows, or finding an empty deerskin when you’re in dire need of water.

Have I made a grievous error in bringing the soshos back to the mountain? Until now, it’s felt right to bring them to my people, though I wonder if the katsinas disagree with my decision, even if it’s too late to turn back now.

I scan our group to see if something is amiss. Tarak sits with Jo in the wagon, both of them quiet and focused on the barren landscape around us. Luke rides with Pele, Yancey, Alo, and Elan on horseback, flanking the wagon with me. We won’t arrive at the village until the fires are lit sometime tomorrow, and perhaps my uneasiness is justified because I have no idea what will happen once we arrive. Even Shade seems out of sorts. His ears shift every which way, and he startles at the slightest skitter of a lizard in the underbrush as we pass.

My gaze drifts to Luke. He and Rain walk at a steady pace on the other side of the wagon. All of us are careful not to tire the horses too soon, or jostle the calf too much in her hideaway home. It eases my mind knowing that, yes, I return with two soshos, which will only fuel my people’s apprehension, but I offer them a cart of food and the promise of more, as well.

After a few moments lost in thought, I realize several strands of my hair continue to come loose from behind my ear, and another strong wind rushes past me. My legs tighten their hold on Shade’s girth to steady myself, and I peer up at the sky that has darkened to the color of wet sand. The rolling clouds ahead are all too familiar.

Jo covers her face with the sand scarf wrapped around her neck, and when I look at Luke, he nudges Rain closer to the wagon to close the only open shutter against the impending storm. The shift in the air. It’s what fills me with unease, I realize, and stare out at the roiling clouds in the distance.

“How long?” I call to Jo. I’ve never been in a sandstorm on the valley floor before. In the foothills, there are places in the canyons and caves to hide. But out here, where it’s flat and desolate, we’re far too exposed.

“Twenty minutes, if that,” Luke says with a tinge of urgency as he trots up to us. “There’s an abandoned barn through those mesquites.” He points toward a cluster of dead trees, practically a speck on the horizon. “I’ve maintained it well.” His eyes sweep the size of our group. “And if we hunker down, we should be okay—the cart will be fine outside.” I think of the glass-and-metal encased crops back at the farm, and the buildings in town lined in heavy, glinting metal. For the first time, I appreciate how necessary such a shelter is out here.

Elan rides up, his attention claimed by the churning clouds coming from the left. “We must hurry,” he says, his voice grave.

“There’s shelter ahead,” I tell him as the wind lashes again, carrying my voice with it. “Follow Luke!”

Elan nods, and without a moment’s hesitation, he shouts the plan to Pele, and Tarak and Jo speed up the wagon as much as they can. We all knew pulling such a heavy, steel-covered load would slow us down, but bringing it was a chance we were willing to take. Now, it feels foolish.

“Pull your goggles down and wrap the scarves around your faces!” Luke orders over his shoulder from the front of the line. I can barely hear him with the wind howling in my ears and the creaking wagon beside me, but I do as he does, and pulling at the scarf, I try to cover my mouth, but the scarlet-colored fabric is torn from my grasp and the wind whips it away, making Shade spook. He rears, nearly flinging me off, then veers away from the group.

As he gains speed, I pull on his reins to stop him or steer us back to the others, but he gallops faster than he’s ever run before. I tug and tug, my heart pounding with fear, but Shade does not slow and he does not turn. The ropes burn my hands as he tears them from my grasp, only running faster and further away from everyone, toward the safe haven of home and the mountains and into the storm.

But the foothills are too far away, there’s nothing I can do to stop him, and terror swallows whatever composure I have left. I consider jumping off, but I’m too frightened. I’d be stranded, perhaps even injured, and then what would I do? Wind burns my eyes as I squint, trying to see the others. The wagon is miniature in the distance, and I watch it continue toward the barn without me.

Blinking against the wind, I see a blurred mass moving toward me. I’m desperate to pull my goggles down over my eyes so I can open them fully, but I’m afraid to let go of Shade’s mane, which is all I have to hold onto.

I recognize Rain’s rust-colored coat as he and Luke ride closer, and I’m pulled between guilt and worry for him, then gratitude.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I clench my legs tighter around Shade, knowing he can’t possibly run any faster than he is, and I loosen my grip on his mane with one hand, determined to pull the goggles over my eyes so I can at least see. Though the goggles are an instant reprieve, my eyes still burn from the sand and wind, and I faintly hear Rain galloping up behind us over the roar of the storm.

The roan stallion is taller and younger than Shade, so he gains on us more quickly than I expect. Our horses’ sweating bodies nearly collide as Luke reaches for Shade’s lead rope, my legs slamming into his as Rain knocks Shade off course, forcing him to slow down.

Luke doesn’t try to take Shade back to the group, but keeps us running, urging the horses onward, tugging at Shade’s rope to follow as Rain runs for his life.

When I realize the dark clouds are nearly on top of us, my momentary flood of relief subsides, and everything happens so quickly.

My heart hammers against my chest. My throat is dry, and my face and nose are raw against the harsh wind. The sand stings every inch of exposed skin and clings to my lips.

Only when I’m jolted forward do I realize we’ve reached the foothills. The horses’ hooves clack against the slick boulders, and I see a familiar tree, bent from years of bolstering the storms.

“That way!” I shout, praying to the katsinas that I’m right about the cave up on a ledge.

This time it’s me who takes the lead. I push my fear aside, and urge Shade as fast as he’ll run toward the old mesquite where I remember picking blossoms and leaves off of as a child. As we ride closer, the ledge comes into view and I heave with relief. I point up to the cave we’d slept in. It’s rough terrain, but it’s our only option.

As the storm settles over us, Luke’s horse climbs without any urging from him, up the ridge on unsteady but determined legs, and Shade follows behind him. The wind howls and knocks us into the mountainside, but we’re so close, I can see the cave opening.

Then, the entire world shifts as Shade loses his footing. He scrambles as his legs give out, and my screams are lost in the wind.

29

Luke

Everything slows as Kaia’s horse loses his footing. “Jump!” I shout, praying she can hear me over the wind. “Kaia—jump!” I pull back on Tuck’s reins to slow him, but he pushes against me, knowing safety is only a few strides away. Shade’s neck whips back as he struggles for purchase. “Kaia—”

But it’s no use. Her stallion loses all footing and begins to slide off the ledge, his legs and neck flailing. I see it in her eyes and etched on her face—fear and understanding. Just when I think she’s not going to let go, that she’ll go down with him, a scream tears from her throat and she lurches for a tree limb, growing out of the cliff. Kaia’s arms and legs wrap around it as her horse falls, and even if she can do nothing, she reaches for him, screaming his name.

Her grip on the tree slips, and she looks as if she’s about to give up when her horse hits the ground, fifteen feet down. She cries, watching in horror as Shade struggles to stand, barely visible through the thickening storm, but I force myself to focus on Tuck and Kaia.

The path is too narrow to turn Tuck around, so I give up struggling against him and let him run to the cave. Once we’re out of the storm, I jump off and rush back into the wind that nearly knocks me to my knees. I can barely see in the loose sand that stings my body despite my clothes and headscarf. When I reach Kaia, she’s clinging to the tree, barely.

“Kaia, take my hand!” I call to her, reaching as far as I can. “Grab on!”

She cranes her neck to see me, finally unfurling herself from the tree, though her eyes shoot back to the ravine, still shouting as her horse struggles at the bottom. Shade’s legs are broken, and there’s no hope for him.

I reach for her hand, pulling her closer until her feet hit the ground. “Hurry!”

Her hair whips against me, and she pulls away to peer down at her horse again.

“Kaia—now!” I tug on her arm as she shouts once more, but I feel the resolve in her fade as her pull against me slackens and she allows me to bring her in.

We’ve barely made it through the mouth of the cave when she falls to her knees. I’m not sure how many ragged breaths I take before I realize she is a heaving, shaking leaf against my chest and I hold her tighter.

Burgeoning flames crackle in the small pit that, by the looks of it, has burned many fires before. It’s cold in the cave, but safe, and with the wind howling eerily outside, it’s too loud to hear Shade’s squeals and whinnies any longer.

Kaia stares at the fire, unblinking and distant as she has been for the past hour, but I’ve said nothing. What is there to say? I thought you were going to die. I’m sorry about your horse? I’ve seen her with Tuck and Shade, and I’ve heard her whispered chants and prayers. Shade is more than an animal to her, I’ve been around her people long enough to understand that.

She’s bloodied and bruised, cut from the sandstone cliff, or maybe the mesquite branch she clung to, but she doesn’t notice the blood dripping down her arms, reddening her hands. Or, maybe she just doesn’t care.

“He was my father’s horse,” Kaia finally says. Her voice is barely a whisper, and with eyes fixed on the flames, she wraps her arms around her folded knees. “Elan warned me not to bring him . . . I did not listen.”

There’s a vacancy in her green, unfocused eyes that worries me. “At least you’re okay.” I feel unexpected relief telling her that, and clear my throat. “Your people would much rather lose a horse than you. You’re taking them food and the promise of peace. If one horse’s life is the price, then I’m sure your people would gladly pay it.”

But the moment her eyes shift to mine, empty of everything but fire shadows, I wish I’d kept my mouth shut. There’s a sadness in her that goes beyond the loss of a horse—a sadness that floods her eyes, making them shimmer, and her nostrils flare.

She doesn’t say anything else. She stares through me before, slowly, she nods, and curls herself into a ball beside the fire, her back to me. Her furs were tied to her horse. Her weapons are gone. Any totems or keepsakes she brought back with her are lying in the ravine with her dead or suffering horse. Kaia has nothing but the flames to keep her warm.

Though I’ve heard of patrols losing men and horses to the storms, I’ve never experienced it myself, and it’s the most horrific thing I’ve ever witnessed. The helplessness. The unbridled horror.

I glance over at Tuck, head drooped, and finally calmed and settled in the safety of the cave. To me, Tuck is just a horse—my partner, but still a horse. He’s not a creature in a world ruled by spirits and healing chants, where every little thing has a greater purpose. And yet, imagining him outside in the thrash of the wind tears me apart inside.

While Kaia and I have both lost our friends and fathers in this war between peoples, she’s lost her cousin because of me, and now her beloved horse, all in a matter of days. I want to comfort her, only, I’m not sure how, or if it would even be welcome. So, I let Kaia grieve in silence, even if it leaves me with a pit in my stomach so hollow, I feel sick.

After a moment, she begins to shiver, though I’m not sure if it’s from the cold or because of her heartbreak.

Rising to my feet, I untie my sand cape and step around the flames to drape it over her. When her eyes pop open and meet mine they are filled with tears, though still, she doesn’t cry. “Thank you,” she whispers, and with a nod, I reclaim my place by the fire, grateful we have that, at least.

30

Kaia

I wake to a distant sound I can’t quite make out in my muddled state. Sunlight pours through the cave opening, washing over the small firepit that’s only crumbled embers now. I’m not sure how long I’ve slept, though darkness seems to have come and gone as fleetingly as a raven’s shadow from above.

My arms scream at me as I push myself up, and the weighted heat enveloping me slides from my shoulders. My furs. I eye them a moment. They’re silky soft between my fingers, and my roll of clothes, my quiver, and my bow and arrows are in a pile next to me. Sand sticks in the downy feathers, and some of the arrows are snapped in half, but none of this was here before I fell asleep.

I’m torn between gratitude and sadness as thoughts of Shade creep back into my mind, though I try to push them away. My body aches as I straighten, and I glance around the cave. Luke is gone. Remnants of sand still float in the air from the storm, and a noise—a thud—is coming from outside.

Climbing to my feet, I spot the blood staining my vest, my arms, and the edges of my fingernails. I press the tender flesh of my upper arm and wince. It was almost much worse than this, I remind myself, and an echo of my terror as I clung to the tree rattles through me. Exhaling a shaking breath, I leave my wounds to worry about later.

My muscles are stiff from sleeping on the ground as I make my way toward the mouth of the cave, and blinking, I step out into the sunlight, uncertain I’m prepared to see what lies at the bottom of the ravine. The sun is warm against my face, and holding my breath, I force myself closer to the edge.

Luke is below, hacking away at the brittle branches of the mesquite tree. I’m confused at first, thinking that maybe he’s cutting more firewood to keep us warm. Then, I notice a heap of brush, and one of Shade’s dark legs sticking out beneath it.

My chest tightens, a lump forms in my throat, and I glance back at Luke. His sleeves are bunched up around his elbows, his shirt drenched and his muscles straining. Sweat glistens on his neck and brow, and his dark hair clings to his temples as he heaves one breath and then another, chopping the sturdy branch as best he can with a small hatchet.

Straightening, Luke rolls his shoulders and stretches his neck. I can almost hear him taking a steadying breath as he runs the back of his arm over his forehead. When he notices me on the ledge, his eyes linger for half a breath before he goes back to chopping the splintered branches from the tree.

It isn’t Shade and sadness that fills my heart, so full it’s brimming, but Luke and an indescribable sense of gratitude. Gratitude for coming after me, and for this.

Gratitude . . . an emotion I never thought I would feel because of him.

Licking my dry lips, I start down the narrow, winding path to the valley floor. I ignore the tightness of my windburned skin and the pounding of my head as I make my way to Luke, still waling on the tree. He doesn’t falter or slow, and I don’t bother him, because in truth, I’m not sure I can find the words.

Without exchange, I gather a pile of brush, discarded at his feet, and carry it over to the mound covering most of Shade.

“I didn’t know if you—” Luke says behind me as he catches his breath. “If you wanted to bury or burn him.” He steps up beside me and drops another pile of brush on the ground. “I figured covering him was best, for now.”

His voice is kind and strangely comforting, and my gaze meets his. For the first time, I don’t see a sosho in front of me. I see Luke the man, with gray-blue eyes the color of a misty morning, hooded with a sadness of his own. I see the scar on his brow and the slight wrinkles at the corners of his eyes for what they are—a hard life I know nothing about, and I realize how unfairly I’ve judged him.

“Thank you.” The words are only a breath that escapes past the lump in my throat. “This is a kindness I did not expect—”

“Yeah, well,” he starts, and glances away. “I don’t want to rush you, but we need to decide soon. Your men are searching for you. I’m sure they’re scouring everywhere.”

I nod slowly. “Looking for you too,” I remind him.

With a quick bob of his head, Luke walks back over to what’s left of the brush and brings it over to the pile. “Do you want me to finish covering him?” He looks from the brush in his hand to Shade’s body.

“I’ll do it,” I say quietly, and take the prickly mesquite clippings from his arms. I begin to scatter them over the only parts of Shade that remain. “They’ll see the smoke if we build a fire,” I say, knowing what must be done.

As I lay the last sticks on Shade’s lifeless body, I think of my father sitting tall on his back when he returned from hunting, both of them painted in white shades of victory. “Do not stand at my grave and weep,” I whisper. “I am not there, I do not sleep.”

I remember the day my mother taught me how to tie my hair back with a strand from Shade’s tail.

When you awake in the morning hush, I am the swift uplifting rush of quiet birds in circled flight.

I remember sneaking into the stable with the horses and falling asleep in Shade’s stall, dreaming of the adventures we’d have together when I was old enough. My eyes blur with unshed tears, and I swallow my self-pity away.

Do not stand at my grave and cry. I am not there. I did not die . . . My spirit is still alive.

I lick my lips as a single tear falls from the brim of my lashes. “Farewell, old friend.”

Luke pulls striking stones from his back pocket and hands them to me.

Kneeling down, I pull some dry grass from between two rocks, and tuck it under the branches. It takes a few tries before they light, but soon the tinder smokes and catches fire, and eventually, the branches catch with flames.

The smell is horrible and impossible to ignore, but serves as a cutting reminder of my mistake.

Wordlessly, Luke and I walk back up to the ledge, both of us knowing what unpleasantness is to come. But while Luke goes back into the cave, I peer down at the crackling flames and the smoke as it begins to billow. As the flames grow, my thoughts drift and my mind fogs over. I welcome the warm breeze against my skin, and feel relief and gratitude that Shade was able to bring me to safety, even if he never made it himself.

I watch the smoke rise and twist and swirl as it catches in the breeze above, and after a while, I hear a familiar birdcall.

“Luke,” I call over my shoulder, though my eyes don’t leave the valley floor beyond the break in the rocks. I don’t hear his footsteps over the crackling branches and flames below, but I feel Luke’s presence behind me and nod toward the mouth of the canyon.

Elan and Wakka trot into view, and then I hear the rattling of the wagon and the rising chatter of Pele and the others. What I don’t expect to find is Tarak on horseback, and Jo in the wagon with a smaller form sitting beside her.

“Toby?” Luke rasps as my eyes widen.

Toby stares at us, shamefaced, and Luke and I glance at one another, confused. We hurry down to the bottom as the others pause to appraise the mound of flames before dismounting their horses.

Elan’s expression crumples with confusion and concern as he walks toward me, barely able to tear his eyes from the blaze. I’m scarcely able to keep my emotions in check as I stand before him, watching his understanding settle into place as he takes the sight of me in. And in an instant, he pulls me against him. “I am here,” he breathes.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I soak in Elan’s strength and warmth. His relief that I am okay. And his sympathy, for only Elan can truly understand the depths of my regret and misery. His arms tighten around me, and I grip his vest with all the strength I have left.

“What’s with the fire?” Toby asks, and I hear his feet thud to the ground as he jumps out of the wagon. Jo shushes him, and when I open my eyes, I meet her saddened gaze. Tarak, Pele, Alo, and Yancey pass me, bowing their heads in regret as they go to pay their respects closer to the fire.

When I look at Jo again, then at Toby standing beside her, she arches an eyebrow and shrugs. “Apparently, we had a stowaway.”

31

Luke

Hours pass, and the sun-soaked day turns to bone-chilling night as we make our way up the mountain, single file. We don’t stop for the night, though we break every so often to let the horses rest and to check on Toby, nestled in furs and inside with the calf.

Though I’m sure Miss Mason had a thing or two to say about the boy sneaking aboard when she first found him, she doesn’t show her displeasure now. Perhaps because it’s pointless. There is no turning back. Miss Mason doesn’t baby him though, either.

While Toby had undoubtedly been frightened after holing himself away in the wagon with the calf during the sandstorm, he is one of us, for now, which is what he wanted. It’s easy enough to imagine Miss Scarlet’s tears and fretting upon learning he was gone, and Ashford cursing himself for not locking the boy up like I’m sure he’d contemplated, but I can’t say I’m all that surprised to see him.

The ice-cold winds whip around me, burning my eyes, though my face is covered with my sand scarf instead of a sack this time, and the furs shrouding me stave off the worst of the chill. Was it really only days ago that I hated these people and I was their captive? I’d come to ignore the healing flesh on my wrists, but suddenly I feel it acutely.

Now . . . the days between then and this moment are like a lifetime, and I can hardly comprehend what I’m feeling.

The wagon creaks, the horses’ hooves clack in a droning rhythm against the granite path, and I find myself glancing back at Kaia, sitting next to Miss Mason on the wagon, horseless, and her face a mask of indifference. Or maybe it’s exhaustion.

Eventually, the pale gray of daylight brightens the horizon. The pass to the village is steeper than I remember, but I can see the path’s jagged incline, etching up the mountain as far as the misty sky allows. Something shimmers on one of the rocky cliffs ahead, and I squint in the muted sunlight.

Elan, ever the watchman, remains focused with his gaze straight ahead, unblinking. And Tarak, a few paces behind me, dozes as if he’s made this journey a hundred times before.

“Wait,” I say, bringing Tuck to a stop. He heaves out a breath, the fringe of his russet mane catching in the breeze. Elan pulls his paint horse to a stop, and the wagon creaks to a halt as the others murmur.

“Miss Mason,” I say, glancing behind me. Her brow furrows with confusion. Her nose is pink with cold, despite the fox fur framing her face. “Wake Toby,” I tell her as I dismount. I can’t help the smile in my voice, almost giddy with disbelief.

Miss Mason doesn’t argue, and climbs down from the wagon. Kaia does the same and walks over to me, pulling her furs tighter around her. Her lips shimmer in the morning light as she licks them. “What is it?” she asks, her voice hoarse from disuse.

Toby grumbles behind us, climbing out of the wagon, and I grin.

“Look,” I say. “Snow.” I point to the glistening ridges of the protective stone peaks, speckled with white. I can almost smell it—sharp and crisp, unlike anything I’ve ever experienced before. Snow is a thing of legends in Sagebrush—ancient history we’ve only heard stories about or seen in faded pictures.

Removing my glove, I step closer and brush my hand over it. A surprising jolt shoots through my fingertips, so cold it almost hurts, and I grin.

“Touch it,” I urge as Toby and Miss Mason come up beside me. Toby’s eyes are no longer drooping with sleep, but wide with a childlike awe I’ve never seen in them before.

“This is snow?” he asks with a grin, and he grabs a handful of it, immediately dropping it and shaking his hand as if it burned him.

“Who would’ve thought?” Miss Mason murmurs. She reaches out to touch the rock covered with it, and the snow molds to the shape of her finger.

I hear the splat before Toby stumbles into Miss Mason, and snow falls from his back onto the ground. The three of us turn on our heels, greeted by six amused and watchful faces, but it’s Tarak who has a mischievous gleam in his eyes. He barely cracks a smile before grabbing a handful of snow, and throws it at Toby’s chest with a laugh.

“You swine!” Toby calls, laughter bubbling out of him. He grabs a handful of his own, throwing it at Tarak and missing as the warrior weaves his way around the wagon, out of reach. Whatever fear or distrust Toby has around them vanishes as he plays.

“Careful!” Miss Mason tells them as they spook the horses, but she and I can’t help but laugh. Yancey and Alo join in the fun, while Kaia, Elan and Pele watch from the sidelines, their expressions unchanged.

“I guess it’s a good time for a break,” Miss Mason muses, and heads back to the cart. Elan and Pele go to tend the horses, muttering among themselves as Toby and Tarak’s laughter ricochets off the cliffs.

I reach out and touch the snow again. Surprise and awe makes my chest lighter than it’s felt in as long as I can remember, and I can’t help my smile as I peer up at the snow-covered mountainside.

Kaia steps up beside me, her arms hidden inside her furs. There’s been a strangeness between us since the cave, something unspoken and uncharted, and it makes me more uneasy than ever.

I scan the snowcaps. “No wonder it’s so damn cold up here.”

Kaia is thoughtful for a moment, watching me as I draw a circle in the snow. My fingers are numb, but I don’t care in the slightest. “There is snow most of the year,” she says. “Only nearer the top, where the rocks are flatter and the sun shines a little, will it melt.”

I glance at her, imagining how different her childhood must’ve been from all of us who grew up on the desert floor. We had tumbleweeds and gopher holes to play with; Kaia had snow. An image of her, younger and smaller, flashes to mind, playing with a little Tarak as Toby does.

Kaia’s eyes shift over me thoughtfully as well. I’m not sure what she’s thinking, but her expression is soft and silent. She seems different than before, though I know she is the same person she’s always been. Her eyes are more emotive and her features more . . . striking.

I peer up at the snow again, feeling lost in this place with these people. “I wish June could see this.” Snow, beautiful and tangible right in front of me—something she never would’ve believed in a million years.

The further up the mountain our horses climb, the more at ease Elan becomes. He cracks a smile at something Tarak and the other men joke about, the first smile I’ve ever seen on his austere face. Their horses seem to move faster too, knowing they draw closer to home. But Kaia doesn’t look anywhere but straight ahead, her expression unreadable. Perhaps it’s the heaviness in her heart, or the weight of what’s to come, but she doesn’t say a word as the mouths of the tunnels leading into the mountain come into view.

I see Ahkima first, wrapped in furs as he peers down at us from one of the ledges in the near darkness. His black hair catches in the wind, and his narrowed features are an unmistakable sign of his displeasure in seeing me again. A few other men step into view and call a welcoming cry, their relief obvious. Even some of the unfamiliar faces smile, but not Ahkima.

Tarak and Pele call back to them, no longer in English, which I’d grown used to; it serves as a necessary reminder that we’re no longer in familiar or welcome territory. Not entirely, at least.

When I look over my shoulder at Miss Mason, she’s already staring at me. Her expression is apprehensive, but I nod in reassurance, though I have a feeling that, while she may be nervous, Miss Mason will be far more welcome here than me.

When the horses finally reach the plateau where the men wait, Elan, Tarak, and the others are off their horses before they come to a full stop, and Kaia is jumping off the wagon, eyes locked on Ahkima.

I have to wonder what their relationship is, seeing how protective he is of her, but I leave them to their reunion as I help Miss Mason out of the wagon. She struggles a little, draped in furs so heavy they seem to weigh her down a bit. I can see her nervousness now—the purse of her lips, and the furtiveness of her gaze, shifting around this unfamiliar place with so many new and distrusting faces.

“You’ll be fine, Miss Mason,” I tell her. I don’t know what the plan is from here, but I know Kaia will treat us well, Miss Mason and Toby most certainly.

“Please, Luke, call me Jo,” she says, squeezing my hand as she rights herself on the uneven ground. “We know each other well enough by now, I think. And we are friends, are we not?”

I meet her gaze, which is almost pleading, and realize if this trip didn’t warrant a friendship between us, nothing ever would. I nod.

“Good,” she breathes, and tightens her furs around her.

Kaia says something to her men, sharp syllables that open the men’s expressions with intrigue, save for Ahkima, who’s still frowning. He mutters a reply, eyes lingering on me before they shift to Toby and Jo, and Kaia glares at him before waving us toward the mouth of a tunnel.

“Bring your things. The men will tend to your horses, and I will take you in.” She glances from Jo to me, pulls her furs tighter around her, and heads into the mountain. While some of the men move to gather our horses, Ahkima and the two warriors beside him stay as they are, staring at Toby as he jumps out of the wagon. They are confused by his presence more than anything.

When Toby spots Ahkima’s callous expression focused on them, he steps closer to Jo, as if to protect her.

“Keep quiet and all will be well,” I promise him, my voice low but reassuring, and Jo reaches for Toby’s hand with a smile.

“Come,” Kaia calls again, a bit more impatient this time, and I hand Jo her roll of clothes from the wagon, then grab my own.

I feel Ahkima’s eyes on me as we fall into step behind Kaia and Elan, but I don’t look at him. The last thing I want to do is give him a reason to shove me against the rock wall or make our short stay harder than it needs to be. We’ve had enough of a tumultuous start to last us the rest of this trip.

Jo and Toby walk hand in hand through the tunnel, not so narrow that my arms brush against the enclosure, but closed in enough that I can hear every step, and every breath each of us takes. Tarak walks behind me, and the moment the tunnel opens to the marketplace, lit by flickering torchlight, he and Elan fan out to walk at our flanks.

The air in the cave is cool, but the fires stave off most of the chill. The familiar scent of unknown herbs fills my nostrils, and my stomach rumbles. As different as the lives of these people are, their savory broths and spicy incense are calming in a way I don’t expect; after our trek across the Dead Lands and up the frigid, rocky path, we’re finally in the safety of the mountain, and I feel a slight relief in that.

“They have birds smaller than chickens? And—a hawk?” Toby muses, tugging on Jo’s arm. His voice is hushed but filled with amazement. “And goats . . . huge ones.” The mountain goats in a small pen chew lazily as they watch us pass.

There are few people in the plaza at this hour, and those who are stop what they’re doing. Some whisper to Tarak and Elan as they pass. Their gazes shift between Kaia and the three of us.

Kaia is no longer the wounded warrior from yesterday. She walks through this place with her shoulders squared and her head held high as she points to a row of stone huts. “These are where the craftsmen dwell—the woodworkers, clay sculptors, weavers, and bead makers,” she explains, meeting Jo’s gaze. Toby peers around, taking in the vast cavern we walk through like ants beneath a stone.

Like Toby, Jo’s expression is open with awe, and to my surprise, she’s not apprehensive, but smiling. “It’s magnificent,” she breathes.

If I’m not mistaken, Kaia’s profile twitches with a hint of a smile. “It is quiet for the night,” she says, “but tomorrow, I will introduce you to Tiva’s family.”

At the mention of her name, my heart double thumps and skitters to a stop as a wash of dread floods through me. And what of Cole’s family? Knowing he was the last of Oona and Kaia’s family, I wonder if he had anyone else.

Jo bows her head as if she was expecting such an introduction. “I would be honored to meet them,” she says graciously, then her gaze shifts quickly to mine.

A young boy, much younger than Toby, runs out to Kaia, clasping her hand with a goofy grin on his face. He says something I don’t understand, but his eyes are bright and tell me all I need to know—he’s happy to see her.

Kaia rumples his raven black hair, smiling at him. They exchange a few words, and both look at us. Before she can say anything, a pretty girl with tired eyes, who is Kaia’s age, comes out of the adobe home and clutches the boy’s hand. She can’t take her eyes off us, and the fear that illuminates them makes me want to keep moving.

Kaia says something soft and reassuring as the young woman collects the boy. She offers us a small, waning smile before hurrying back into her hut with the child, squirming as he follows behind her.

“This way.” Kaia nods up the path, toward the dwellings that line the cliff above.

I lean into Jo. “I think she’s taking us to Jacob.”

“She takes us to the dungeon then?” Jo asks, her voice is a high pitched whisper.

“No. I think it’s her home.”

Jo’s brow furrows with confusion, and I shrug, knowing only what I was able to glimpse during my captivity. We continue to follow Kaia up a steep incline in silence. Even Toby is too busy peering around in astonishment to utter a peep as we draw closer to a hut where flickering light illuminates the uncovered windows.

When we reach the dwelling, Kaia pauses in the doorway and turns to face us. “This is my home,” she explains. It’s a silent request that we respect this place, and her. Knowing Oona is inside, I nod, as does Jo.

When Kaia opens the door, I’m pleasantly accosted by the savory scent that fills my nose, and I expect to see the old woman standing in the stone walled room, but she’s not there. It’s strange to think I’ve passed through this very doorway multiple times and never once knew exactly where I was.

As we step inside, I peer around. The sitting room is filled with wood furniture, furs, and decorative handmade totems and objects that I can only guess have significant meaning. There are symbols painted on the walls—some of them matching the tattoos I’ve seen on Kaia’s chest—and artwork made of paints and beads and feathers, vibrant and detailed unlike anything I’ve ever seen. There’s a small table and a couple of stools, even a cot in the corner, perhaps more like a couch and probably where Oona sleeps. But the ladder going up to a darkened space above captures my attention most, and I wonder what’s up there.

There’s a shuffle and the old woman walks out of the hallway. The moment she sees the six of us, her hand flies to her mouth, dropping a wooden bowl. Whatever words she speaks are unintelligible as she raises to tiptoes and wraps her arms around Kaia.

Kaia’s face reddens, like Toby’s does when Miss Scarlet fusses over him, then she answers Oona with a petulant tone before she remembers herself and straightens.

Toby leans into Jo. “She reminds me of Dotty,” he whispers, and I recall the older woman who did her best to care for him when he roamed the streets like an orphan, before Ashford and Scarlet took him in. Dotty was another victim left in Doyle’s wake—killed at his hands simply because he wanted to hurt people. I see the pain on both Jo’s and Toby’s faces. Jo kisses the side of Toby’s head, and when he realizes he’s let his guard down, Toby clears his throat. “She has more wrinkles than Dotty though,” he mutters.

My face feels as red as Jo’s becomes as she tugs on Toby’s arm to silence him. “They speak English,” Jo reminds him, and Toby averts his gaze as his cheeks turn crimson.

Oona says something, but Kaia shakes her head and answers in English. “Much has happened,” she explains as she removes her furs. “We have brought food for the people . . . and I have brought Jo.” She nods in our direction.

Oona’s brow crumples as she eyes me. “Sosho?”

“No.” Kaia waves to Jo. “She is their leader. And we have much to discuss.”

Oona barely registers Jo at all as she studies the twelve-year-old boy with us and frowns. I sigh and throw my palms up as I realize the old woman thinks us even more heathenish for bringing a child on our journey.

“He is called Toby,” Kaia tells Oona. “And you already know Luke.”

Though Oona looks at me, it’s Kaia I watch. It’s still strange to hear her speak my name, but I like the way it sounds, much better than sosho, which she spat out more vehemently than something rancid.

Oona and Kaia speak back and forth until Kaia answers with a shake of her head and glances at us. Oona seems to understand what I don’t, and the old woman swallows, her gaze measuring us a moment before she speaks. “Welcome,” she says, her voice raspy. Her attention settles on Toby. “Wrinkles mean wisdom,” she tells him. Her voice is flat, but her eyebrow twitches with amusement. I watch as red blooms across Toby’s cheeks all over again, and Tarak grunts behind me.

“Thank you for hosting us,” Jo says. “Though I’m not sure you quite expected it.” She offers a fleeting, awkward smile. “But I wonder, may we see Mr. Henderson?”

Oona and Kaia stare blankly at her.

“Our healer,” I clarify, and nod toward the hallway where I assume he still resides.

“Ah!” Oona crooks her finger and motions for Jo to follow her to the holding rooms. Elan and Tarak mutter something and turn for the fire, while Kaia and I follow the others into the hallway, her shoulder brushing against mine.

It’s as if this area is a separate home entirely—two rooms attached to the hallway, both unused and separated from the main living space. Knowing how important Kaia’s parents were, I wonder if they had special quarters. Rooms that they no longer use because they’re dead. Because of us. At least her father is, and it feels apt then, that Kaia would hold us captive in them, though I wonder if she realizes it.

I rub my wrists, realizing how strange it feels, no longer tied up like a prisoner. I peek into the first dark room and notice the cot beneath the open window. My room, though there are no guards in the hallway, like before.

“Mr. Henderson?” Jo hedges as she steps into the furthest doorway that glows with light.

“Miss Mason!” Jacob chirps.

I brush past Kaia and Oona and step inside. When Jacob sees me, his eyes widen. “Luke!” He flings his arms around my shoulders, and I drop my belongings at my feet. “I knew you’d come back for me.”

Warmth fills my chest, and I clap him on the back. “Of course we did.” I take a step back. “It’s good to see you, Jake.”

“What’s all this?” Toby asks, already snooping through Jacob’s belongings. His books and papers are spread out on his fur-draped cot, and there’s a platter with crumbs of food on it placed on a wicker table.

“Hard life, eh, Jake?” I say, shaking my head with disbelief as I realize he hasn’t been a prisoner here at all, more like a guest. I’m relieved more than surprised.

As if he’s only just remembered his manners, Jacob bows his head to Jo. “I—uh—wasn’t expecting to see you, Miss Mason.” His brow furrows when he looks at Toby. “Or you, young Ashford.”

“It’s Toby,” he says, distracted as he studies the drawings on the walls. Finally, Toby straightens, glancing around sheepishly as the pinch in his features crinkles with discomfort. He sidles up to Jo and leans in to whisper something.

Jo straightens. “Oh. Yes. I—” Jo glances at Kaia and Oona, standing in the doorway. “Do you have—facilities?” she asks. “We’ve been traveling a while.”

While Oona stares at Toby in confusion, Kaia seems to realize Jo’s meaning after a pondering moment and whispers something to Oona. A tiny smile tugs at Oona’s mouth. She clasps her hands in front of her and nods for Toby to follow.

Toby leans closer to Jo, apprehensive to leave.

“She will not bite,” Kaia promises. “Very hard.”

I try not to laugh at Kaia’s stone mask as she says the words. She and Oona exchange a few more words, then Oona disappears down the corridor, her hand outstretched to Toby as he hesitantly follows. Jo nudges him encouragingly.

“I will ready a room for you and Toby,” Kaia tells her. I already know what Kaia will say when she looks at me. “You will stay here, with your friend.”

I nod, and Kaia leaves as well. I can’t tell if this is etsi Kaia, or an exhausted Kaia after a very long week, but she seems as detached as she was in Sagebrush, perhaps even more so; I detect no relief in her being home, as I’d expected.

“So,” Jo says, pulling my lingering gaze from the empty doorway. She eyes Jacob with a smirk. “You have suffered greatly in Luke’s absence, I see.”

Jacob shrugs, then remembers something, and his eyes alight again. “The grandmother has been teaching me about her herbs,” he says, his voice brimming with excitement.

Hope swells inside me, though I try to curb it a little, knowing he hasn’t likely learned how to save June already.

“There is so much to tell you—so much we didn’t know about the land—and not all of it good,” he adds glumly. He glances between us warily. “The good news is there is likely a suppressant for the Choke,” he starts, and I hold my breath. “But it is becoming harder and harder to find the ingredients she thinks we’ll need. Everything they need to sustain them has been.” He gestures to the charcoal drawings on the wall, pointing to the sketch of the mountain. “The trek from Sagebrush to here is what, about two days, give or take?”

I look at him askance, uncertain if I should hold my breath. “Something like that.”

“We already knew the Saguaro takes years to reproduce, and we’ve overharvested. From what the grandmother tells me, with no water, many of the cacti have gone dormant—the ironwoods and mesquites where they get most of their remedies, food, and wood for building are stunted or no longer growing at all. There are no shade trees to shelter other seedlings or for birds to nest in. The grandmother,”—Jacob runs his hands through his dark hair and begins to pace—“she has so much knowledge, stuff I’ve never considered before. If one ecosystem dies out then they all do. The animals stop coming, other vegetation stops growing, and then what happens?”

“Everyone starves or has to go further out to find food,” I guess aloud.

“Yes, and the snowy mountains to the north are barely livable. Like the sandstorms and drought worsen below, the blizzards intensify there. And what happens when they leave the mountain to go below?” He asks the question almost angrily.

“We kill them.” Jo’s voice is barely a breath.

“These people could help us in so many ways . . . but by making them the enemy, we’ve damned ourselves as much as we’ve damned them.”

“But we can change all of that now,” Jo says, hopeful. “Everything can be different. We’ve already accomplished so much in only a matter of days—”

“Excuse me, Miss Mason,” Jacob says, his voice severe but not unkind. “I know you’ve gone through a lot to get us where we are now, and I do have hope that our people can help each other, but it isn’t just peace we need. Nature—this place and everything surrounding it—is dying. The constant wind and sand has seen to that, and no amount of peace talk will fix it. We have to figure something else out, and we need to do it soon because it’s not only them it will affect.”

No remedies without new growth. No new growth without cultivation. No cultivation without protection from the elements. Every word out of Jacob’s mouth yields an unexpected, unwanted problem we don’t need or have time for, in addition to everything else we’re in the midst of. June. The Choke. The water. The lies.

“Well . . .” Jo sighs. “We could build more greenhouses, and cultivate what specimens we do have left.”

“Greenhouses with what, metal?” I ask. “We have very little, and what we have is for our homes that are crumbling. And we would need shelters to hunker down in during the storms—it would take teams of people, and months, just to make a little progress.” I shake my head and glance at Jacob’s and Oona’s sketches. “And we can’t get to the cities. No matter what condition they are in now—even if the toxic fogs are gone and they’re safe—they’re too far and the weather is too unpredictable. We know how burnt the land to the west and the south is from the lightning storms—hell, there might not even be any cities left to speak of. Or, there could be the Garden of Eden on the other side, and we’d never make it through in one piece to find it.”

I heave out a breath and shake my head as a heavy silence settles between the three of us. All I can think is that even if we have a remedy for the Choke, we still have no water. And even if we get access to the water, we have a decaying world surrounded by a wasteland of sand and no way to save it.

“So, now what?” I ask, eyeing Jacob. Of all of us, he’s had days to think this through, and though there is worry in his eyes, there’s a glimmer of something else too. And as his gaze shifts to the wall again, it hits me. “Stone,” I whisper, imagining the endless supply on which we stand.

Jacob lifts his chin. “They know everything about this mountain, and with their knowledge and able bodies . . .” Jake hesitates because he knows just as I do that this is getting messy. “We would be relying on them even more than we already are,” he admits. “And they would obviously have to agree to it.”

“And if they don’t?” I think aloud, because all I can wonder is how much is too much to ask of them before it seems we’re taking more than we’re giving back.

“Well, I—” Jo pauses as someone chuckles in the hallway, then Tarak and Elan come into the room, carrying an additional cot for me, oblivious to piles of bad news and difficult conversations ahead.

They set the cot against the wall, covered in Jacob’s charcoal drawings, then Tarak claps his hand on my shoulder and peers down at my healing wrists. “No ropes this time,” he says with a wink. “Be careful.” Tarak chuckles, and he and Elan disappear into the hallway, leaving the three of us to stand in uneasy silence once more.

Suddenly, our quarters feel too small to fit the three of us and a world of problems. Heaving out a breath, I turn to leave. “I need some air—” I nearly run into Kaia. Her eyes meet mine, contemplative as her gaze shifts over my face, lingering a moment too long on my mouth.

Swallowing thickly, I step past her. Air. I definitely need air.

32

Kaia

Once Jo’s room is prepared with a cot, feather blankets, and a candle, I beckon her in. Exhaustion is dark under her eyes, much like Luke’s, and likely mine, though I don’t have fancy oils or a large tub for her to soak in, like she’s used to. “It is sparse,” I tell her. For the first time, I question what luxuries Oona and I have always had, knowing they are nothing compared to what people have in Sagebrush. “But you will be warm and safe. Oona sleeps in the front, and I in the room above. Luke and your healer will be just there.” I motion down the hall.

I don’t tell Jo that these rooms are special, despite their appearance. That these were my mother’s and father’s rooms before their deaths. They’ve been vacant for years, as we were uncertain what to do with them. And while it felt wrong using them as cages for Luke and the healer, now the rooms are being used for a promise of peace and prosperity for our people. Something my parents would be proud of.

“Thank you,” Jo says, and she picks up her belongings, discarded at the door.

“Oona will bring food and drink. And when you wake, I will show you where you may wash.”

Jo nods with a tired smile, her lips chapped from the wind. With a sigh, she shrugs out of the furs she wore up the mountain, draping them on the end of her cot. Furs that once belonged to us, that her people stole and have had all this time.

I clear my throat, trying not to think about it since it will do no good. “Do you need anything?”

With a pensive, uneasy expression, Jo peers around at the mostly vacant space, then walks to the open window overlooking the village. After a moment, she shakes her head. “No, thank you, Kaia. Nothing tonight.” There’s a sadness in her voice, or perhaps it’s just exhaustion, but I could tell the conversation I walked in on was not a happy one.

“What is it?” I ask. Even if I don’t know Jo well, I can assume, being so close to peace, she would be happier. The fact that she is not can only mean something weighs heavy on her.

Leaning against the wall, Jo stares out the window as I’ve caught Luke doing before, and I step up beside her, wondering what it is she looks at. I try to see what she sees with curious, assessing eyes. A sleeping village, completely still with the exception of flickering torchlight in the whistle of the winter wind that storms outside our cave. Or perhaps she sees what Luke sees: a hiding place and retreat for my people, who are running out of warriors to protect themselves.

“Does it ever feel like nothing you do makes a difference?” she says, her voice quiet. “That no matter how hard you try, there is always one more thing you must do before you can breathe a sigh of relief?”

Protecting my people. Becoming the etsi, not becoming the etsi. Food. Peace . . . “Yes,” I admit. “I know this feeling.”

Jo crosses her arms over her chest and rests her head against the wall. “It feels as if I’ve been sleeping for eleven years, and now that I’ve opened my eyes, I will never be able to close them again.”

“Is that what you wish to do?” I ask, wondering what sort of life Jo hopes for beyond peace between our people. “Close your eyes?”

She looks at me, her expression unreadable. Even with her oils, and farm lush with sustenance, I know Jo has not had an easy life. I see it in her green eyes haloed with brown, in the way she holds her breath when she forces herself to stop and think, weighing what was, what is, and what could be, as she does now. “No,” she finally says. “I don’t wish to close my eyes, not forever at least. But a reprieve would be nice.” She says the words almost whimsically.

I peer down the length of her, from her white shirt, stained with sweat and dirt, to her dusty trousers. I think of the storm, of Shade, and all of our talk about peace, and it all feels like a distant haze. It should feel good to be home, though it feels strange this time. Expectant, and foreign in a way.

“You should rest,” I tell her. “I will make sure Oona brings you something warm to help put your mind at ease. And I will find Toby.”

Jo’s eyes meet mine, and the corner of her mouth lifts slightly. “Thank you, Kaia,” she says again. I don’t know why she smiles. Perhaps it’s a gesture made in relief, but either way, I leave her to her thoughts.

There is still much to do, so I try not to think about the beckoning darkness of my loft, or of nestling into bed, as I walk over to the fireplace and steal a piece of ashcake from the plate.

“Mana,” Oona murmurs from the doorway. Her eyes study me as I wipe the crumbs from my mouth. Toby is by her side, though she points at the rooms down the hall, which he retreats toward, hungrily sniffing the spicy broth lingering in the air. My stomach grumbles at the scent of it, just as I imagine his does.

“Here,” I say, tossing him a torn-off chunk of the cake until we bring them food. Toby takes it greedily, muttering a thanks as he shoves it into his mouth, and quickly, he hurries to Jo.

Oona walks over with bright eyes and a basket of tallow candles, I’m assuming for our guests. She glances down the hall, at the rustling in the other rooms, and seems rejuvenated in a way I’ve never seen before—Toby’s doing, no doubt. She’s always loved children, especially the grumbly ones, like Toby . . . and me.

Setting the basket on the floor by the oven, Oona walks over to me. “I’m glad you’ve come home,” she says, and clasps my cheeks in her hands. She pulls my face down to kiss my forehead. It’s as if I can hear every breath she’s held in the past week release in a single exhale.

“As am I,” I reply, and close my eyes. I inhale the familiar scent of her. Until now, I didn’t realize how true that really was. The events of the days past are acute and unrelenting, even as I push them away to think about later. Dwelling on them now, knowing they will come when I close my eyes, seems grueling.

“Since they’ve returned with you,” she says, taking a step backward. “Does this mean you’ve accepted the peace?” While I have in many ways, I shake my head. The Kaia who left here the first time, angry and determined, might have accepted or denied whatever I wished, but if visiting Sagebrush taught me anything, it’s that a civilization run at the mercy of a single person is cause for disaster, and my people have been through enough. “I will bring my decision to the kiva tomorrow. I will let the elders speak their piece after they listen to what Jo has to say.”

“You cannot bring an outsider into the kiva, mana.”

“She is the heart of their people. It is her words that will move them, not mine. They don’t even fully trust me.”

“Only some,” Oona corrects. She runs her hands down my arms and entwines her fingers with mine. “But, I agree. If you want this peace to work, you must make the elders a part of the decision. Even if they only think they are.” She winks at me, and though I smile, appreciating how well she understands me, there is much Oona doesn’t know yet either.

“What is it,” she says softly, her eyes scouring every nuance of unease on my face. “What’s happened that you have not told me?” She takes my chin, tilting it as she brushes it with her thumb and studies the rest of my features. “Something weighs heavy on you . . . and you have scratches on your face and neck . . .”

I’m not sure I’m ready to tell her about Shade, but her eyebrows lift, and her eyes soften as she registers my hesitation. “Mana, tell me what troubles you.”

I step past her to tear off another piece of ashcake, this time grabbing some cheese. “There was a storm.” I force out the words. “I lost Shade.”

She gasps, and I can feel it suck the air from the room. I hate to meet her gaze, but I can’t help it. I need to see the disappointment in her eyes. It was selfish to take him, stupid even, and it’s my fault he is gone. But when I summon the courage to look at Oona again, her amber eyes are only cast in sad shadows. I shove the cake into my mouth to tear off another piece—desperate not to speak of it—only she steps forward and steadies my hand. “Are you all right?”

I stare at the half torn cake in my hand. “I survived with only a few scratches, he didn’t.”

“That’s not my meaning.” I hate the weight of her stare against my face. The burn of it. I hate how she can conjure the parts of me I don’t want her to see, parts I don’t want to share. The broken, crumbling parts of me I want to ignore.

“I’m fine,” I tell her, pulling my hand from hers as I straighten. “Luke helped me say goodbye—”

“Luke?” For some reason that surprises her, then I realize she likely assumes I would have been with the men.

“We were all separated when it happened. Luke was there. He helped me.”

“The sosho?” Strangely, her calling him a white devil makes me stiffen, though I know she doesn’t mean it the way I always have. “He has become your friend.” I’m not sure if it’s a question or an observation.

“No,” I say quickly. My brow furrows as I open my mouth, uncertain what exactly he is now. “I mean, he was there. He helped me.”

Her eyebrows lift, as if she’s realizing something I haven’t, but then her wrinkly frown shifts back into place. “I know how much Shade meant to you. I am sorry.”

“I was a fool to take him. Elan warned me, but I didn’t listen. It’s my fault—”

“No,” she says, tugging on my arm adamantly. “Whatever has happened, is meant to be. There is a plan for everything—”

“I ignored the signs,” I tell her, and feeling as if I’m ten years old all over again, tears fill my eyes. Losing what remained of my father, and a friend that has been with me for as long as I can remember, burns like a hot blade searing against my skin.

“Kaia,” Oona grinds out. “You cannot control the will of the katsinas. You cannot control Fate. What has happened was meant to be, just as you were meant to go down the mountain and find the soshos. All of this is your path, you cannot question it, even if it hurts.”

It doesn’t feel like it’s my path, more like a punishment. A lesson I could have easily avoided if I hadn’t been so stubborn. When my shoulders begin to shake, Oona pulls me into her warmth and wraps her arms around me.

“Shh,” she soothes. Her grip tightens, and she hums in my ear, something my mother often did for me as a child when I had frightening dreams. But my mother is gone. My father is gone. Cole and Shade are gone. And I’m so exhausted, I’m not sure I can even muster up the tears to cry anymore.

“You need sleep,” Oona finally says, and brushes my hair away from my face. “And a bath.” Her eyes shimmer with emotion, and I’m tempted to stay and let her dote on me like a grandmother does her granddaughter, but there is still much to do before I can even think of such things. I have no time for comforts right now.

Wiping the tears from my eyes, I straighten. “Later. I must check on the food and Ahkima. He expects me to come to him.”

She glares at me. “The food and Ahkima can wait. You need your rest. Besides, you are etsi now, you do not have to do anything.”

“No, I’m not,” I remind her. It still looms on the horizon—a ceremony before my Claiming can be binding. Becoming the figurehead of my people means I will have to leave the Kaia I am now down in the valley, and embrace the etsi that will remain here, protected within the mountain, for the rest of my days. “But I will remember that next time you tell me no,” I say wryly. This time, I kiss Oona’s forehead. “Please take our guests food and drink,” I whisper. Then I grab my ashcake, quickly backing away from her before she can stop me. “I’ll be back.”

“Difficult child,” she mutters.

I arch an eyebrow at her. “Is that any way to speak to your etsi?” I flash her a cocky grin, and Oona chuckles.

“Etsi or not, Kaia, you will always be my mana. Remember that child. And you will never be too old for a tongue lashing.”

Double standards, as expected. Amused, I shake my head. “I’ll be back,” I repeat, and head out the door.

33

Kaia

The more my mind and body settle back to life in the mountain, the more quickly exhaustion seems to settle in as well. Sleep lures the parts of my mind I’ve been ignoring, and visiting Ahkima and the men tending to the horses and food we brought back with us seems less important as I get farther down the steps.

I tear a piece of ashcake with my teeth to keep myself busy, and notice an outline where a ledge flattens to the left of the stone steps. It’s Luke, I can tell by the broad set of his shoulders. His back is to me as he peers out at the darkened plaza, lit only by sporadic torchlight.

Luke has found my favorite spot as a child, which bothers me, but I don’t blame him for choosing it. It sits high enough to see the whole village and is cast in shadows, preventing him from being noticed. It was where I played with my katsina dolls and practiced mixing paints for father and his men before they left for hunting trips.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

Luke startles and glances over his shoulder.

My voice is more disapproving than I expect. But something about the way I swallow thickly makes me wonder if it is Luke that I feel cross with, or myself. “I thought you would want to sleep,” I say, knowing how exhausted he must be, especially after his efforts to cover Shade’s body before I woke.

“It’s hard to sleep when the world is falling apart around you,” he mutters. Luke sounds different. Not angry or guarded, but defeated in a way that unsettles me.

“Is it the words you had with Jo?” I ask. They’d looked fraught with indecision, and their eyes held a foreboding I hadn’t seen before.

He grunts, noncommittal.

As always, my curiosity gets the better of me, and I tell myself Ahkima can wait a little while longer. Sitting down beside Luke, I allow my legs to hang over the ledge, like his, and set my quarter of ashcake between us. “What were you talking about, Luke?”

He stares into the void. “Sagebrush problems,” he says, but there’s an edge to his voice I don’t like. As if I am incapable of understanding.

“Are Sagebrush problems not our problems?”

His eyes are dark in the shadows when he looks at me, but I see the way they move over my face and down to my lips before focusing on the marks covering my chest. My skin heats under his gaze. It’s not curious like it has been in the past. It’s dissecting me. Only now, I have no furs to wrap around me and hide behind.

“You already know it, Kaia,” he says with resolve. “Our people have ruined everything, something you’ve mentioned countless times.” He huffs a humorless laugh. “But don’t worry, you’ll still get food for your people. You’ll still get your peace.”

“And you will have water and remedies,” I counter caustically. It sounds as if he’s blaming me for something out of my control.

“Perhaps,” he breathes, and brings a metal flask to his mouth, taking a sip. His glassy eyes meet mine. “But unlike your people, we don’t get to hide up here, safe in the mountain. We still have bigger problems to face down there.”

I glare at him. “You say that as if hiding was a choice,” I bite out, unable to resist the warm fury suddenly simmering in my veins. “Why are you angry?”

“Because I didn’t come here for peace,” he says, and though I feel like I should be shocked, I can’t bring myself to be. It was clear the moment I met Luke that he was only a messenger. “The only reason I did any of this was to help June, and if you can’t even find what you need to make the remedies, what good does any of this do me?”

I don’t bother reminding him it’s about more than remedies. It’s about water and his entire village—water June needs. But he already knows that, despite how blind he seems in his frustration.

“And I’m pissed because nothing is ever easy, and life isn’t fair.” The moment he says these words, he chuckles to himself, as if he’s amused, and takes another drink. He licks his lips and rests his hands in his lap. “And I’m acting like a child because I’m tired of being tired,” he utters quietly.

“So am I,” I tell him, and peer out at the sleeping village. Smoke drifts from the chimneys of some of the adobes, but they are all dark inside. Other than a baby crying in the distance, all I can hear is the faraway sound of wind and dripping water near the tunnels. “You don’t even know if Oona’s remedies will help your June,” I remind him, and Luke’s eyes veer to mine. While the words are harsh, they are also true.

“Yours did,” he says, his gaze shifting to my mouth. “Temporarily, at least.”

“Perhaps,” I whisper, and tear off two chunks of cake, offering him one.

He’s about to dismiss it, but his eyes round slightly.

“It is ashcake,” I explain. “Or”—I shrug—“bread.”

His eyebrow arches and he sighs. “I assumed it was bread,” he grumbles, and takes the proffered piece.

Glaring, I debate whether I should leave him alone with his foul mood. “You are welcome,” I say curtly, and plop my piece into my mouth. It’s a bit dry, but it’s comforting all the same, and fills the burning hole in my hungry belly. “It is not as good as yours. We do not have honey and corn, like you do.”

“You know what honey is?” His brow furrows deeply as he tears his bread into smaller chunks.

“Yes,” I scoff. “I know what honey is.”

Luke peers around at our stone walls, gesturing as he sighs with exasperation. “Forgive me. I wasn’t certain, since you live in a snow-topped mountain. I didn’t figure you get many bees up here.”

I laugh at his ignorance, innocent as he seems to be about the truth. “I know all about your foods, Luke—your tobacco, your corn and honey. Where do you think it all came from?”

He snorts and leans back, staring at me as if I can’t possibly be serious. “What are you saying, that your people gave us all of that—that you taught us to grow it?” He huffs a laugh, and as much as I dislike that it’s aimed at me, I do enjoy the sound despite myself.

“Gave you, or you stole it.” I shrug almost playfully, enjoying his deepening frown. Suddenly, goading him is the most fun I’ve had in as long as I can remember. “Or perhaps we taught it to you too, but yes,” I continue. “I’ve heard the stories all my life, grown up with the legends of life before the Fourth World ended—it’s why I’ve always wished we could live on the valley floor and have a life easier than it is now. Not so removed and cold and difficult.”

I don’t think Luke believes me at first, but his amusement fades and he eyes me carefully. “And your English. That you took from us, no?” he quips, and takes another sip from his flask, his eyes glistening with a new sheen.

I smile wryly. “Not took,” I tell him. “But Oona says we did learn it out of necessity in some cases.”

“Because we’re all evil,” he mutters.

I stare at the mountain goats in their pen by the cheese maker’s home, one of them scratching his back on the rocky cave wall. “Yes, well, some of your kind,” I say quietly. “But there are some who came to the mountain with us during the Unification, peaceful white faces who simply wanted to survive. Others, men like you on horseback, found us in the beginning, when we were settled in the foothills, before we retreated so high into the mountain. Soshos have been the monsters in our nightmares for generations since, but you know this.”

“Well,” he says coldly. “We’ve learned a bit of history too, about the heathens we fought wars against, who battled to keep us from settling, who killed and scalped our families—innocent women and children who did nothing but search for a better life out here. The people who would take from us all that we had because they thought the land belonged to them or because they feared us. And that was why we needed to do everything we could to keep our people safe.”

“We are the heathens—the drifters,” I clarify. It’s not really a question, but a reminder how precarious this alliance is.

I study Luke in his silence. His eyes are dark shadows, flickering in the torchlight that illuminates the path. Am I a heathen to him? Or simply someone he must befriend because it is his duty to his people.

Luke takes another sip of his drink and licks his lips. “How is it your English is so good, compared to most of your men, and even your grandmother?” he asks.

“My parents saw to it,” I say, licking my lips. “The etsi must be well versed in all things since she is the unity that brings us all together, despite our difference.” I blink at him. “Why? Do I speak well?”

He gives me a sidelong look, his dark eyebrows drawing up a little. “You know you do, Kaia,” he finally says, as if the question is an exhausting one.

This time, I roll my eyes at him, and snatch the flask from between his thighs.

He reaches for it, but I smack his hand away. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Kaia.”

I lift an eyebrow, emboldened by what sounds like a dare. “No? You enjoy it well enough.”

“Yeah, but you’ll likely regret it, because I promise you’ve never tasted something so foul in your life.”

I watch him as I bring the cool metal to my lips, taking a small sip. Whatever it is, it’s like fire on my tongue, and the fumes burn the inside of my nose. Luke is right; it’s foul as it goes down, searing my throat and stomach.

“Well?” he says. There’s a twinkle in his eyes and he’s barely containing a grin, I can tell by the twitch of his lips and the flash of his dimple on his cheek.

“It is awful,” I admit, staring down at the flask. “But I like how warm I feel inside.” I take another drink, and Luke’s eyes widen.

“Careful.” He chuckles. “That’s strong stuff.”

It is strong, I can feel it in my blood, warming me from the inside out, and I welcome the light feeling in my head. Handing his drink back to him, I lean against the rocks, my eyes drawn to his face. “Now,” I start. “Will you tell me what you were so angry about?” Licking my burning lips, I wait for him to answer.

“Everything,” he says. His eyes shift around the cavern. “The past. The lies. The Shift—”

“The what?”

“The Shift—the turn of the weather.” He waves around the cave. “The reason you’re in here and we’re out there, all of us barely surviving.”

“The Great Storm,” I realize. “The end of the Fourth World.”

“Yeah, sure.” With a sigh, he leans his elbows on his thighs and peers at the flask he turns over in his hand. “The more I’m learning about everything, the harder it is to imagine fixing it.” He rubs his forehead. “It’s overwhelming. And I’m tired.”

“As am I,” I whisper.

We sit in amicable silence as we finish the bread, and strangely, I find that both my stomach and my mind feel a bit better.

“So,” Luke says, after a few moments. “What do they mean?” When I look at him, he’s studying the exposed markings on my chest and neck. The air changes and a warmth I haven’t felt before prickles over my skin and in my stomach. Luke must feel the shift in the air too because his eyes dart away from mine.

“They mean many things,” I tell him. “This figure is Maasaw, the spirit guardian of the world, and my guide in this life. Kweo,” I say, pointing to the wolf, “is my father’s clan. Though we honor the lineage of the mother, my father’s clan was part of the Unification, and is very important to our history—to my place here.” Luke assesses the markings on my body once more, his eyes focused and glistening as he listens. “The hoonaw”—I point to the bear—“is the totem of my mother’s clan.”

“I noticed the hand drawn on the wall inside one of the rooms, and carvings of the wolf, hanging from the woven pieces you have in the doorways. And the bear is on your bow.”

I nod. “The bear is also my totem. My father was not here to present a carving to me on my eighteenth birth day . . . Elan had the bow made for me in its place.” I clear the swelling immensity of that from my throat. “The spider is Oona, her place as an elder in our village.”

“And the hand?” Luke asks, his brow furrowing as he nods to my markings again.

I place my palm on the center of my chest where all markings outstretch from the dark blue ink of the Healing Hand. “Protection and healing,” I say softly. “I am my people’s hope—the future. I am protected above all others.” The words feel forced leaving my lips, but it is the true meaning, even if it feels foolish.

I clear my throat, and cover my shoulders and markings with my hair. I can still feel Luke’s eyes on me, but I ignore it. I’m not sure why, but telling him about our beliefs, even if I don’t fully embrace them as Oona and the others do, makes me feel vulnerable, like Luke can see too much—that he can judge me and our ways since we’re so different from him. And again, I wonder what he sees when he looks at me.

“I must tend to some things,” I say, and rise to my feet. The air feels cooler the further away I walk without his presence beside me, and I’m a few steps away when Luke calls my name. I peer back at him.

“You say my people are the stuff of nightmares,” he says, his voice thoughtful. “Yours always have been too. I know you think we’re horrible soshos, but we’ve always been told your people would kill us in our sleep if given a chance. It’s all we’ve known our whole lives.” Luke’s shoulders slump, and there’s an ache in his words I don’t quite understand.

I nod because I understand what he says, even if the past makes my heart hurt, and my longing to see my family again aches anew. Yet you are the nightmare . . . and I can’t get you out of my head.

34

Kaia

By the time I’d gotten to the stables last night, only Tarak and Yancey were there, which was probably for the best. All of us were exhausted, and I wasn’t sure I had it in me to argue with Ahkima about my bringing the soshos back with us, though I knew the conversation was inevitable.

So, as I make my way back into the storage tunnel to gather an ear of corn, a jar of honey, and tobacco from our haul to show the elders, I’m not entirely surprised to find Ahkima standing by the crates, staring at the baskets of unloaded provisions. This moment was going to happen, and that it’s this morning, before I sit with the elders who will also judge and question me, seems apt.

Standing quietly in the entrance, I watch him brood, and my cheeks heat remembering the kiss we shared before I left. Ahkima is my best friend. And though the kiss between us was unexpected, it wasn’t unwanted in the moment. But that seems like a lifetime ago already. I don’t know what to think anymore, or how to greet him. So I’m hesitant and linger in the doorway a bit longer.

A draft whips through the tunnel, and the brown and gray fur of his cloak catches in the breeze, though he doesn’t stir. His shoulders are squared, his arms are crossed over his chest, and with his dark hair pulled back and braided, I notice his jaw flexing in the flickering light from the torch shoved into the carved stone.

“You shouldn’t have brought them back,” he says. He doesn’t spare me a glance, but his words are clipped, and aside from his disapproval, concern laces his voice as well.

I knew some of the villagers wouldn’t understand my reasons for bringing the soshos, but as Ahkima appraises the sacks of corn and loaves of bread, I allow myself to revel in what I’ve accomplished. The smell of the food is a sweet, vivid promise of the hope my mother always spoke of, and the reason my father always searched to find peace. To me, the new calf, the provisions, the discussions already had with the soshos—they embody my parents’ legacies and all they ever wanted for our people. What we want and so desperately need is so close; it’s just beyond the horizon. And each time I remind myself of that, it becomes easier to forget the dangerous line I’m walking.

Finally, Ahkima turns to me. “How could you do that? Is it not bad enough you let the first soshos live—that you brought them here? Now, they are back? You brought more, and they know exactly where we are.” His disbelief and anger flares off him like the heat of a roaring fire, but I know in my heart I’ve done the right thing. I only have to find the right words.

“It was a risk, yes,” I tell him. “But the men didn’t fight me on it—they know these people as much as I do. They agreed—”

“You are their etsi,” he practically seethes. “They would never argue with you.”

I scoff. “Tarak? Elan? Please. You know them better than that.”

But Ahkima is not amused, and I step closer. Our gazes lock and I will him to see what I see. “I also brought us food and the promise of peace. Food for your mother and grandmother, for the elderly and the children—”

“But not for my father,” he replies. “And not for yours or for Cole. They’re all dead. Because of them.”

His words are like acid burning against my skin, eroding through my heart as if I could forget each death that has beaten and broken us over the years.

“Not because of them,” I correct. “Luke and Jo have not killed our men—the healer frightens at his own shadow.” Shaking my head, I let my shoulders fall, uncertain how to make him see. “I don’t claim their innocence, Ahkima, but they are not bad people. Like us, they have lived in fear.”

He throws his arm up as if he’s not even hearing me. “You act as if everything can change. No one here will ever trust them.”

“I didn’t come back without a plan,” I grind out. “You haven’t been with me the past few days. You know nothing about what I’ve seen, about what I know now. Do not pretend you—”

“What do you know, Kaia? That they are sick and need us? That they are thirsty and need our help in order to survive much longer?” A feverish glint fills his eyes that makes my skin prickle. “Tarak told me all about what they want. They need us. We do not need them.”

“You say such things out of fear,” I tell him, trying to hold my tongue from lashing. “You know as well as I do that we can’t afford to continue without peace, otherwise there will be none of us left—we will no longer be able to leave the mountain, and then where will we be?” I let my words sink in, but Ahkima’s eyes only narrow. “You can be blinded by your hatred of them, but we need their ability to grow crops when we cannot—”

“We do not need their food, we’ve been fine on our own.”

“Then you’re more of a fool and coward than I thought you were,” I snap.

Ahkima’s eyes bulge, and he straightens.

“I only mean that—”

“You would call me a coward when all I’ve ever done is try to protect our people . . . To protect you?” He shakes his head and rests his palms on the stone wall as if he’s trying to calm himself. Or perhaps I’m such a disappointment to him he can barely hold himself upright.

Though it hurts my heart to anger him, I know I am right in this, and I hold my ground. “Ahkima, Jo made me a promise, and I trust her.”

“Because she is a woman?” he rasps in frustration.

“No,” I growl, and take a step closer to him. “You have not heard her story. You have not seen the fear in her eyes when she speaks of the men who are responsible for this animosity between us. I am no fool, Ahkima. I see the uncertainty in Luke’s eyes—” I ignore the narrowing of Ahkima’s gaze and continue. “He still distrusts us, the way I struggle to trust them. We are all afraid, but we are trying, and if we don’t learn more about one another, fear is all there will ever be.”

Slowly, Ahkima shakes his head, a menacing and incredulous smile parting his lips. “You think me a coward, but you are the fool who keeps listening to him—to all of them.”

Resentment hardens in me like frost over water pools in winter. “A fool?” His scorn and lack of trust—lack of respect—makes a fire burn somewhere inside me I’ve never felt churning before now. “You may not agree with my decision,” I say so flat and so clear, I barely recognize my own voice, “but I will be your etsi, and you will respect it.”

Ahkima recoils as if I’ve struck him. I’ve never sounded more like my mother, or regretted such words so instantly. I’ve been fighting my place as etsi, and now I’ve used it against him. Because he offended me?

Ahkima’s nostrils flare and his jaw sets, and I wonder if I’ve just crossed a line I might never come back from.

Without a word, my dearest friend bows stiffly, his glare unwavering, and Ahkima turns and leaves me in the storage tunnel, taking the air out of it with him.

35

Luke

We approach an adobe with the same hand symbol from Kaia’s chest on the doorway, and I can already smell incense wafting through the undraped windows, covering up the hint of manure from the goat pens.

A young man gives us a large girth as he passes us.

“Be kind and patient. And remember, Luke, you’ve been their enemy until now. So maybe smile a little . . . or something.” Jo’s parting words this morning linger as I take in the savages’ apprehensive expressions. I’m not sure I can even call them that anymore; they aren’t savage any more than we are. They’re just stuck in this horrible loop, like the rest of us.

Savages or not, I am not going to smile. Maybe it’s the dull ache in the base of my skull from too much whiskey last night, but part of me is resentful that the deaths of our people are so easily forgotten. But as I follow Jacob through the plaza to speak with the herbalist, I try and fail to feel any real vehemence.

It isn’t only frustration and a headache that makes me bristle today, though. It’s the need to feel the familiar flame of resentment—to rekindle the anger that makes everything we’re doing here, and everything I’m feeling in this place, more manageable. But the more I learn about these people, the more difficult it is to hold onto the fear and distrust that’s kept me and dozens of other men glued to our saddles, weathering the Dead Lands throughout the years. It’s why I should have no shame in what I’ve done, and why anyone would understand.

Not everyone, that maddeningly incessant voice reminds me. Because no matter how many times I tell myself I only did what any man in my position would have, especially as a deputy of Sagebrush, I still feel a sickness deep in my gut. It’s a guilt I’ve tried to reconcile and ignore since joining Jo on the return journey. And as these villagers go about their weaving and cooking, and they mumble their prayers of gratitude, and mill about the mountain with weary glances and swift, scattering steps, the harder it is to chalk any of it up to duty.

A hawk flaps its wings from the stand near a skinning shack, its beady eyes blinking at me as I walk past. Curious or scrutinizing? It seems silly to assume a bird cares much about my presence here, and once more, I bristle. It feels as if I’m a traitor to my own people by second-guessing my actions in their name, and yet, while June is wasting away back home, and we talk of peace, I know how careful I must be to ensure the tides don’t turn against us, on top of everything else.

A tiny giggle meets my ears before a small girl runs into my leg, stopping me amidst the bustle. Her dark hair hangs in her brown eyes, her cheeks rosy as they lift into a smile, but it falls as she registers who she’s run into. A white man—a scary sosho that she’s likely been warned to stay away from. Monsters in our nightmares. Kaia’s words fill my head once more.

A young, lithe woman hurries over, scolding the child as she tugs her away from me. The woman’s eyes lock on me until the child is out of arm’s reach, as if I might grab hold of her and steal her soul.

“Scaring the locals already, Luke?” Jacob teases. “You’ve only been let loose for a day.”

I lift an eyebrow, tearing my gaze from the woman and the little girl retreating to a table covered with spools of wool. “Apparently,” I mutter.

“Well, behave,” Jacob chides. “I’m almost finished.” He steps into the hut billowing with incense, leaving me outside to be an oddity for everyone to watch and wonder about.

I lean against the side of the adobe, noticing the village has grown more crowded than when we first made our way down after a corn soup and biscuit breakfast. That I’m a part of the midday flurry is surreal when I consider the last time I peered down at these people it was from a caged window in the cliffs above.

Children run around with their colorful clay spirit dolls with black-eyed faces, painted limbs, and feathers and woolen bits for hair. An elderly man, sitting with a group of children around a low burning flame, gestures wildly with his hands, and takes a break to gripe at the ones who stare at me too long. A woman nearly runs into the line of basket bearers and brick haulers as they pass because she’s too busy watching me instead. It would be amusing if I didn’t worry what repercussions Kaia bringing us back might have from the people whose hate makes them blind toward peace. Like Ahkima . . . Like me, had I not spent so much time with Kaia and her men.

Taking my knife from my pocket, I scrape the dirt from beneath my fingernails, restless under their attention. But the longer I stand there, the more I watch and realize this village isn’t much different than home. The scents and colors are brighter and fuller, but everyday life goes on, so does the chatter and activity, as if the world isn’t fighting against us outside the safety of these walls.

A group of women work at food-prepping stations across the plaza. One boils red berries in a clay cauldron, the bitter scent catching in the draft that whips through the cavern. Some of them bind herbs together and drop them into baskets, while others fold dried husks to stack beside them.

Unlike Sagebrush, where food is more bountiful than here, these people cook for one another. They share. The realization stings a little, grinding in the fact that Sagebrush’s poverty is because the powerful wanted to maintain their lifestyles, leaving the rest in a constant state of necessity.

I sheath my knife, craving movement, when my gaze drifts to an old woman plucking bird feathers at the adobe next door. She’s already staring at me, her expression unreadable, and the lines on her face deep.

Automatically, I nod in greeting, uncertain what else to do, and instead of looking away or scowling, she nods in return. I don’t see fear in the old woman’s eyes. I don’t see confusion. Instead, she bites her lip as if she’s trying to figure me out.

We stare at one another for a few heartbeats, and then her cheek tugs slightly and she smiles, gap-toothed and kind. I huff an amused breath, tilting my head, and for the first time, I feel something I haven’t allowed myself to consider much since hearing Jo and Clayton’s talk of peace . . . I feel a true glimmering of hope.

36

Kaia

I can hear the elders buzzing with discord inside the kiva as I draw closer. Jo waits for me outside with Oona, and I appreciate that she left her colorful, layered dresses in Sagebrush, exchanging them for trousers and loose, long sleeves. She looks more natural, and her presence is disruptive enough without bustles and skirts to make it worse. But when Jo’s eyes meet mine, the calm sincerity I’ve come to rely on is pinched with nervousness, and her hands fidget at her sides as she bites the inside of her cheek.

Oona leaves us, stepping inside the kiva.

“They must not smell our fear,” I whisper ruefully. A small smile tugs at Jo’s lips, and the determination I’ve seen in her time and again sharpens. With her level head and expressive, honest eyes, I know we can make the elders see peace the way we do. We have to.

Smoke wisps through the hole in the top of the kiva, and I wonder how long they’ve been waiting for me. Whether it’s because of my argument with Ahkima this morning, or because I’ve been building up to this moment all my life, I set my jaw in place, square my shoulders, and let out a deep breath as I approach the adobe’s entrance, as prepared as I can be for either division or unity among my people.

Jo’s a stranger to everyone inside that kiva, and if Ahkima’s reaction to having her here is any indication of how this powwow will go, I know having her enter such a sacred space without their invitation would make more waves than we can afford right now.

If you want this peace to work, you must make the elders a part of the decision. Even if they only think they are. “Wait here,” I tell her, changing the plan as Oona’s voice whispers in the back of my mind. I sling the leather satchels filled with food and wools from Sagebrush over my shoulders, and with a final confirming glance at Jo, I push the drape of furs aside and step into the kiva.

Instantly, my senses are accosted by the scent of sage and woodsmoke, but the room is warm from the heat of the fire, flickering in the center. I drop the satchels to the ground, and the moment I turn around, the deeply lined faces of my elders are staring back at me.

I take a seat around the circle, cross my legs, and meet Oona’s gaze so that she can bless the space before we start.

“Mother of the earth and sky . . .” She raises her face upward and draws circles in the air with burning sage leaves. “Gratitude to you for bringing our warriors home. We humbly ask for guidance, and we praise your beauty and greatness.” She hums a few more words, the melodic sound of her voice and the intimacy of the room wrapping me in a warm blanket. The instant Oona is finished, I feel the heaviness of the elders’ gazes on me, burrowing like a rock nestles in the sand.

Before I can question myself or my place in this circle, I begin. “There is much to tell,” I say, finding my voice as I pull the satchels closer. I open them so the elders can see the assorted rainbow of hope stuffed inside. “The soshos did not lie. They have corn and crops in their village that grow in glass shelters, dotting fields as far as the eye can see.”

There are murmurs and sharp remarks; Muna’s voice more grating than the rest of them.

“Why did you bring them back with you?” Awan asks, his voice soft and calming, like water rolling over stone.

“You have risked much,” Sakima says.

Then I hear Muna huff. “How could you put us all in danger, again?” she grinds out.

My eyes narrow on her of their own accord. “If I returned without them, you would not understand why we must accept the peace they offer us.”

“Child,” Sakima says, “your heart is pure and your intentions well-meaning, but do you not see the dangerous game you are playing?”

I look into his cloudy gray eyes. “I am well aware of the danger in bringing them here, but I would not have done so if I didn’t think it was necessary. You know how much I have hated the soshos all my life. I have sworn to avenge my family, and I still mourn for them—for everyone we have lost—but you have not seen what I have seen.”

I peer around at all of them, taking in their distrusting, perplexed faces. “We see the soshos and fight against them, praying we shoot them down first. But is that not true for all? Don’t they do the same? There is fear in their hearts, it is what feeds their hate for us. If we can put our fear aside and learn more about one another, is it not possible that there is good in them too? Like us, they are not all warriors. They have young, and old, and innocent.”

“What are you saying, child?” Sakima asks.

“When circumstances change, so do our actions. And one person does not always represent a whole. The world away from here is vast and dangerous in ways I never truly understood, not until I was out there and experienced life the way they do. Just as they know nothing about the way we truly live here in the mountain.”

“They have always taken from us,” Muna says, feeling the need to remind me. “They have no honor.”

“And yet, they have taken nothing from us this time, they have only given us food.” I pick up a husk of corn as a reminder.

“They would say anything they think we wish to hear if they are desperate enough,” Muna grumbles.

Though I hate to admit my weakness, I know I have to tell them. “Luke saved me while we were out there.” My gaze shifts around at the four expressive faces. “He helped keep our warriors safe when we were in a foreign place, surrounded by men and women who not only feared us, but were bred to hate and hurt us. No harm came to us in Sagebrush. There are a dozen possible horrors we might’ve faced, but we experienced none. So far, they have been true to their word.”

The elders sit in silence, their reeling thoughts visible in their pensive faces. “I know I am temperamental, unlike my mother, and I will never be as great a warrior as my father. I know you think me a lost child, and uncertain in my path, but I know in my heart that this is the right thing to do. I brought the soshos back so you can hear what I have heard, so you can see some of what I have seen. We are a peaceful people, and it is in our nature to seek out the good, especially when we have much to gain. We’ve always wanted unification, so why not extend it beyond our tribes and to the soshos?”

“You assume far too much,” Muna scolds. “An agreement centuries ago between like-minded tribesmen means little when we are talking about the fate of our people today—about those who have slaughtered hundreds of us over the years.”

The elders look at her, consternation etched on their features. But it’s Muna’s words that have them scowling, and she realizes her mistake too late.

“You do not respect the unification of our ancestors, Muna?” Oona asks. “Of our people?” I refrain an audible sigh as the elders finally see how her hatred for me, and for the soshos, blinds her loyalties to our village. To them.

“Do not forget,” I tell her. “I was in Sagebrush, you were not. I met with the soshos and know much of their village. I could have promised them peace without consulting you at all, if I’d wished too.” Muna’s glare sharpens, but I look to the rest of the group. “I know I ask much of you, but will you give me permission to bring Jo, their leader, down here so she can explain?”

“Certainly not!” Muna screeches. “She is not of our people, let alone of sacred blood.” But hers is the only opposing voice in the room.

I glance between the other three. “Does Muna speak for all of you then?” I ask. “Do you not wish to hear what the woman has to say?”

Oona nods once and lifts her palm. Sakima and Awan do the same. Everyone but Muna is in agreement, and I nod. “Jo,” I say louder this time, knowing she can likely hear us.

The kiva is silent as Jo brushes the furs hanging over the doorway aside and steps in. I stand and gesture to a spot between Oona and me for her to sit.

Hands clasped in front of her, and eyes shifting around the circle, Jo takes a seat. “Thank you for allowing me to meet with you,” she says, peering around at their scrutinizing faces. “All my life, I have wondered about you. I have heard stories, and yet, none of this is what I ever pictured, or expected.”

They blink at her, all of them understanding, at least pieces of what she says, so I don’t interrupt.

“I know it is difficult to trust why we are here—”

“We know why you are here,” Muna says. The venom in her voice is palpable, and I have to suppress an eye roll.

Jo looks directly at her. “Yes, we need water. For centuries we’ve needed water, that hasn’t changed, only worsened. The men who have led our people since the Shift have been killing and stealing in order to keep our people alive, but it’s more than that. They’ve fought to keep the people ignorant of many truths, and have taken too much for themselves in the process. But those men are gone now. My people now know that you are not the enemy, and that you are perhaps our only means of surviving. That is why we humbly ask for your help.”

“What proof?” Oona asks her. “Proof of peace and change?”

“I am proof,” Jo explains. “I have lived in fear and in shadows all my life because of those men. I have watched them kill innocent people, even our own people, because it suited them. I would still be hidden away, if things weren’t different now. I don’t want you to live in fear any longer, just as I don’t want my people to live in fear. The winds worsen, the lands continue to rot, affecting both of us, and so we must work together if we are all going to survive whatever comes next.”

“Easy words—fear, change, hope.” Sakima says, but not unkindly.

“True words,” Jo replies. “Even your resources dwindle, but we are willing to share our produce and livestock, just like that calf we brought you in good faith, in exchange for knowledge of the water so we can continue to produce—so we can all thrive. We’re asking for your help, for peace, even after all of our wrongs toward your people. And we will trade with you—help fill your bellies and provide what we can for your people.”

“You want us to show you water,” Awan says, his voice thoughtful and his eyes narrowed. “When you know. You will take.”

“No,” Jo says quickly, shaking her head. “That’s not true. Our village is much larger. We could storm this mountain and find it. It would take time and we would lose some of our people—innocent people—but we could, if we wanted to.” Jo says the words so surely, my stomach sours a little, imagining it. But I know she’s right. Her able bodies vastly outweigh our own.

Muna hisses. “You think you are better. Stronger.”

Jo shakes her head once more. “No, you are simply outnumbered by desperate people. Is it not better to work together now, before things worsen and I will no longer be able to control them?”

“See, violence,” Muna seethes. “Silent threats.”

“I abhor violence,” Jo says vehemently, and suddenly, as if she remembers composure, she clears her throat and repositions herself beside me. Her gaze shifts fervently over the elders’ faces before she twists slightly, her back to them. “Kaia, would you please . . .” Jo begins to pull the hem of her shirt from her trousers, and I realize what she’s trying to do. Holding my breath, I help Jo lift her shirt, equally intrigued and reticent at what we will find.

My fingers brush the tight garment beneath, and as she reaches back to untie it, my breath catches in my throat. I gently grab her hand, stilling it.

The kiva is silent, save for Oona’s gasp. Jo does not need to undress more to see what hides underneath. Scars fan up from under her garment, inching up her back and to her neck and shoulders. Marred flesh that is long healed, but as horrifying as it is engrossing to stare at.

I lower Jo’s shirt, refusing to let them gawk at her any longer.

“Thank you,” she whispers, and readjusting her shirt, she turns back to face everyone. Her cheeks are flushed, but her eyes are clear and fixed, the determination I admire, glimmering.

I meet my grandmother’s watery gaze and see sympathy and sadness in her eyes. Then I survey the others. All of them are taken aback, and if I’m not mistaken, Muna looks almost as if she’s ashamed of herself.

“There is much violence in Sagebrush,” Jo says more soberly this time. “And I will see an end to it. You have my word. As long as Clayton and I are at the helm, you will not have to worry about lies and trickery. You will not be in danger from us. We know what it is to live at the hand of the men who came before us, and it will not happen again, not in my lifetime.”

Jo tugs the leather satchels closer. “We have found some ways to thrive over the years, cultivating everything we were left with after the Shift to the best of our ability. Where I come from, what you produce and what skills you have is what makes you powerful and important—it’s what has kept my family and a few others alive for generations.” She passes a loaf of bread around the circle, hope and a bit of excitement, it would seem, lighting her eyes. “There are golden wheat fields where many men spend their days sowing and plucking.”

Oona lifts her brow and takes the loaf as it’s passed to her, lifting it to her nose. Even a few days old, it still smells delicious.

“And there are two farms of cattle and sheep—ours and Mr. Trainer’s. We have plenty of wool and leather. Clayton’s mother has a greenhouse of teas and flowers. Estate gardeners have cultivated them for generations. We have as much glass as you could need, melted down from all the sand—for beads and tools, perhaps.” Jo continues on and on, regaling the elders with their strange ways of living in the desert, and how it could benefit us. If the elders are overwhelmed, they don’t look it. If they are distrusting, I can only see intrigue.

“I followed our cattle once,” Jo tells them. “I found the only stream that passes by Sagebrush. It keeps our farms green and our animals fed, but it is turning to nothing. We don’t know why. Even with our first rainstorm in over a year, the water continues to diminish. Soon, there will not be enough for our fields or our livestock . . . or for us.”

I let her words settle for a few heartbeats only. “What say you all to peace?” I ask.

“To a partnership,” Jo amends, surprising me. “We could trade with one another. Help each other, not just have peace.”

Sakima holds up his palm, his gray eyes resting on me a moment before he speaks in the resounding silence. “What is it they request from us?” His question is directed at me, not bothering with English. “We have water, yes, but it belongs to the mountain.”

“We would help them find the source of their river, hopefully discover why the water rushes here, yet barely makes it to their village. We have constant rainstorms and snow, and yet they have nothing.”

To my surprise, Muna remains quiet as the elders discuss the pros and cons. Her distrust and distaste is clear, but she is outnumbered, so she saves her bitterness and holds her tongue.

Jo watches them with hope gleaming in her green-flecked eyes, the same hope I feel in my heart and hear in the elders’ voices.

Finally, Sakima nods and glances to Jo, then to me. “Peace,” he says, and for the dozenth time, I hold my breath.

“Peace,” Oona seconds. And once we have Awan’s agreement, it’s three out of four majority rules, and there is no reason to continue around the circle.

I withhold my smile, but it’s a huge victory to have what will be the entire village working with us in this. Jo and I exchange a look of relief, and she stays to join us for a closing chant as the powwow comes to an end.

“Many praises, spider in the sky. May the katsinas watch over us and bless this unification.” Oona’s words flow over me, her blessing of this peace making me feel as if I’m suspended in the air like hawk herself, weightless in a way I’ve never felt before, and strong.

When Oona is finished with her prayers, we all stand. Some of the elders speak to Jo, trusting her enough to allow their curiosities to guide their speech. But Oona is watching only me. She smiles as she climbs to her feet, and I see the pride in her lined face and in the marigold color of her eyes, and my heart soars a little higher.

“When all of this turns to ash,” Muna hisses quietly behind me. Her voice is like a cold rain, dousing a comforting flame. “It will be your fault and rest on your shoulders.” That she can see nothing beyond her narrow-minded, unfounded hatred makes me want to prove how wrong she is even more, and an overwhelming sense of indignation fills me.

I turn to Muna. “You’re right. It will all be on my shoulders, just as your lack of solutions over the years has resulted in this.” I gesture to Jo, speaking with the others, and feel a bolstered sense of purpose. “And since I will be your etsi,” I say quietly, “I will continue to bear your burdens, and in return, you will show me respect.”

Muna’s brow twitches. “Etsi? You’ve refused our customs. Or in all of your reckless adventures, have you forgotten that?”

“You’re right,” I admit, and Muna’s mouth curves slightly in satisfaction. I lift my chin. “Let us remedy that, shall we?” Her smirk vanishes, and surprisingly, a sense of ease fills me.

“Then it’s time,” Oona says beside me. Her eyes are shimmering as she looks at me. “We must light the torch.”

37

Luke

“I’ve got what I need,” Jacob says, after his second day of stilted questions and observations with the herbalists. He steps out with a bundle of herbs he wraps in a thin hide of some sort, his notebook tucked under one arm. The bundled leaves are dried, so much so, they’re no longer green or brown, but withered and almost black.

“That one was . . . lively,” I muse, glancing at the middle-aged woman in the doorway, watching us as we turn back for the plaza.

Jacob cracks a grin. “She’s young, compared to the woman from yesterday. I think she was happy someone took her seriously.” The redness of his cheeks makes me wonder if that’s not all she appreciated.

Amused, I fall into step beside him, grateful to be done in the marketplace. Though I no longer bristle at the villagers’ gawks and murmurs, I’m tired of trying to ignore them too. “Where to now?” I ask.

“Back to Kaia’s,” Jacob says, distracted.

I eye his profile, pinched in thought. “I thought you’d be pleased, Jake. Your notebook is nearly filled with information.”

Jacob shakes his head. “I need to replicate the tinctures—make sure I know what I’m doing before I get everyone’s hopes up back home.” There’s a somberness to his tone I haven’t heard before. A reluctance.

“I don’t envy the pressure you’re under,” I tell him, a surge of gratitude for what he might be doing for June—and for me in turn—tightening my chest. “But I do appreciate it—”

We stop short as Jo heads toward us in the crowd. She’s wearing her trousers again today, which I’d heard stories about for years, and she’s also wearing a fur vest like Kaia’s, something Oona likely gave her to stave off the chill. While the villagers are used to the constant cold, and wear basic tunics and deerskin smocks and pants, I am like Jo—too slowly getting used to the temperatures of the mountain.

She waves when she sees us. “I was just heading to check on the horses,” she says, her gaze darting to the tunnel beyond that leads to the stables. Her expectant gaze meets Jacob’s, and curiosity gleams bright in the torchlight reflecting in her hazel eyes. “Have you gotten what you need?”

“Yes,” he says, clutching his notebook to his chest. “I believe so.”

Relief softens Jo’s expression. “That’s wonderful.”

“I’m hoping Oona can supervise while I attempt to recreate the tincture myself,” Jacob continues. “I don’t want to waste precious ingredients, but I do want to ensure I can do this on my own before I leave the mountain.”

Jo smiles with appreciation. “You better get in line then. Toby is gobbling up all of Oona’s attention.” Her open expression wavers slightly. “He misses Dotty. Still blames himself for not being able to protect her. I think that’s why he’s come. He wants to be helpful—to protect me.”

I nod, remembering the news of Toby riding to safety at the Mason farm the night Dotty died; he was covered in her blood.

Not wanting another depressing memory to resurface, I clear my throat. There’s still the pressing question of the water too, and I have yet to see anything other than earthenware pitchers filled with it. “Did Kaia say when we’ll be taken to the water source?” I ask, my eyes shifting to the adobe tucked away from the plaza they’d disappeared into the past couple of days.

“Tomorrow,” Jo says carefully.

I’m not sure what warrants such a look, and my eyebrows raise in question.

“Elan is occupied with ceremony preparations at the moment,” Jo explains, and her gaze fixes on a large torch in the center of the plaza.

“Ceremony preparations?” I glance from the torch back to Jo. I’d noticed Elan put the torch up last night, and though it’s taller than the rest of them, and it’s centrally placed in the plaza, I thought it no different than the other firelit torches scattered throughout the cavern. Only now do I realize the base is etched with symbols, and the villagers do seem more animated than usual.

“In five days,” Jo begins, “once the torch burns down to the totem, Kaia’s Claiming ceremony will begin.”

“Claim—” I clear the high-pitched surprise from my throat. “Claiming ceremony?” It sounds barbaric.

With a throaty laugh, Jo shakes her head. “It’s nothing so horrible as what you’re thinking.”

“It’s to become their etsi,” Jacob says, matter of fact. “Apparently, she’s finally accepted.”

I stare at the central torch, watching the flames dancing high. Tarak said Kaia refused to be their clan mother. Now that she’s accepted, I know what this must mean to her people, even if I feel an inexplicable disappointment. I want to ask what exactly being etsi entails and how things will change now, but I know I shouldn’t care. “I didn’t know she’d changed her mind,” I say instead.

“Well, you might have if you’d stop brooding,” Jacob jibes. “You’ve been in a fouler mood than usual, Luke. Maybe no one’s wanted to talk to you.”

I glower at him. “I haven’t been brooding. I’ve been helping Tarak move the food to the proper storage locations, and following you around, though I’m still uncertain why you asked me to. I’ve been keeping busy so that I don’t go stir-crazy in this place.” But even if all of that is true, I have been keeping my distance from Kaia since the words we exchanged on the ledge our first night back. Mostly because things are unsettling between us—a constant pull between hope and regret. Distance is best if I want to keep things smooth between our people, especially since Jo mentioned the elders accepted our offer of a partnership and peace.

Still, a large part of me wishes Kaia had been the one to tell me about the ceremony, even if she owes me absolutely nothing.

“You know what I think?” Jo says conspiratorially. “I think Kaia’s sudden determination has something to do with that one over there.” Her eyes narrow on a short, older woman walking beside Ahkima. The woman’s gray hair is adorned more ornately than the other villagers, more like Kaia’s, with thick braids over her scalp that fall the length of her back, peppered with feathers.

“She is an elder,” I realize. With each purposeful stride, and a scowl I’m almost certain is permanently etched in place, I see the resemblance plainly. Ahkima’s mother. She looks like she’s dissatisfied with life itself. I thought Ahkima was fearsome, but together, their cool, hard stares make my spine stiffen. “I guess I see where he gets it,” I mutter.

“Oh,” Jo practically chirps. “Rock-hard glowers remind me,” she jokes. “I wanted to meet the stonemason. I have some mining questions for him now that the mill is open again.” She tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Jacob, you’ve been among the people the longest, have you met him? They seem to be adjusted to you well enough, and I’d like an introduction.”

Jacob agrees, but my attention is drawn away from everything when I see Kaia leaving a villa next to hers on the cliff, where the important clan members live, I’ve begun to realize. Though her shoulders are squared and she walks with an air of purpose, she’s dressed no differently than usual. She doesn’t look like etsi, she looks like herself, and I’m not sure why that surprises me.

I’m about to follow Jacob and Jo when Kaia stops and stares down at her people, hands clasped behind her back. Though her stance exudes importance, she seems conflicted. After a few heartbeats, she turns toward the shadows and disappears between two boulders, as if she’s walked right into the stones.

Intrigued, I make my way through the plaza. When I get to the smooth-edged boulders, I find a darkened, narrow path. There are no torches lighting the way, and I have no idea where the passageway leads, but I use the walls to guide me.

A whirring noise echoes in the tunnel, and a dank scent fills my nose. Just when I think the path will never end, I see a pinprick of light ahead. I’m uncertain what I might find on the other side, but my curiosity gets the better of me, and when I step out of the tunnel, I stop in amazement. Overwhelmed. Almost dizzy as I watch blue water cascade from a hole in the stones above, illuminated by faint daylight. It glides down the rocks, pattering into a crystalline pool unlike anything I’ve ever seen. The sound itself is almost deafening, resounding throughout the cavern.

My feet move of their own accord, stopping at the ledge of the pool, and crouching down, I dip my hand in the frigid water. It’s nearly freezing, but so clear I can see the bottom where boulders glow beneath the surface.

“Get in.”

I jolt to my feet, my heart racing as I remember Kaia. She sits at the water’s edge, off to the side, her clothes wet. “I—I didn’t mean to intrude. I saw you disappear into the rocks . . . I was curious.”

She wrings the water out of her long, loose tresses, black as a starless sky at midnight, then flings her hair over her shoulder. My heart skitters and stops. The tunic she wears clings to her body in ways I should never be allowed to see, and heat burns through me—a heat I should never feel looking at my sworn enemy. I clear the surprise from my throat and tear my eyes away from her.

“You act like you have never seen water like this,” she says, oblivious to what stirs inside me. “Because . . . you never have,” she seems to realize aloud. “Get in. It is refreshing.”

I blink at it, uncertain if the water or Kaia’s wet form in my peripheral is more tempting to stare at. “I . . . don’t know if I can swim.”

“Come.” Her tunic lifts to her waist as she motions me over to where she sits. “Stand on the stones.”

“You’re not—” I start, but I’m uncertain how to finish. “You—” I gesture to her body. “I shouldn’t be in here,” I finally manage.

Her brow puckers and she peers down at herself. “I am clothed.”

“Yes, but—” I shake my head. Somehow, wet and fully clothed, Kaia seems less presentable than the ladies at the saloon.

“Have you never seen a woman’s body before?” she asks with a lilt of amusement.

“Of course I have,” I say too quickly, and glance at her. I’ve visited Miss Hannah’s saloon more times than I would ever want June to know about. “But that doesn’t mean—”

“You can leave, if you wish,” Kaia says more brusquely. “But we do not worry about things like that here.”

My eyes shoot to hers, and I want to say I find it hard to believe Oona would want Kaia in here with me, tunic wet and clinging to the curves of her breasts. Then I recall Kaia wrapped in a towel the day she dropped the oils on Mrs. Cunningham’s rug. She didn’t bother to blush then, and she isn’t blushing now. And while it feels inappropriate to be alone with her like this, I can’t bring myself to leave either.

Swallowing thickly, I finally concede, and with my focus on the way the rippling surface of the water kisses the stone walls, I move closer. “Where does the water come from, and where does it go?”

Kaia braces her hands on the ledge and peers up at the falling water. “There are rivers in the mountain, always flowing, though I know not where they lead. Elan knows such things. Here—” she says, sliding into the water. She points to where she was sitting as her black hair and tunic float in the blue water around her. “Step here, on this rock.”

Suddenly too eager to fully immerse myself in the pool, I chuck off my boots. I second-guess removing my trousers, but I’m not sure what other choice I have; I’ll need dry clothes to put on when I’m finished. Decidedly, I remove my pants, thankful for my breeches, then pull my shirt over my head. My chest tightens as the cold assaults every nerve ending on my skin, and I step onto the rock.

“Jesus!” I hiss. I knew it was cold, but my body screams at me to climb back into my warm, dry clothes.

Amusement flashes across Kaia’s face, but I can tell she’s trying not to laugh at me. “Do not think about it. You will grow used to it, as I am.”

“I don’t think you understand,” I tell her. “It’s rarely cold enough to wear a coat in Sagebrush. This is like stepping into the snow, naked with bare feet.”

She simply stares at me, waiting for me to man up. The number of times this woman has made me feel inadequate in the scant time I’ve known her is maddening.

But I’ll regret not trying it. With an exhale, I ball my hands into fists and step onto a smooth stone so the water surpasses my knees. Before I can change my mind, I sink deeper, the pool lapping at my chest. I feel frozen to the bone as my teeth begin to chatter, but I force myself to ignore it as I stare down at my hands. They’re distorted and weightless in the water.

“Move your arms . . . like this,” Kaia says softly, waving hers slowly through the water. It undulates around her. “It will keep you steady.” She lifts her feet up so that she’s floating, her moving arms keeping her in place. With a barely-there smile, she submerges herself, and bubbles follow her as she swims away from the shallow area. She glides away like an arrow, her black hair fanning around her as she pauses for each stroke. I’ve never seen anything so mesmerizing.

Kaia’s under water longer than seems possible, and my heartbeat thumps with unease until, finally, she breaches the surface in front of me. Rivulets catch on her eyelashes and roll down the slope of her nose, rounding over her cheeks as she smiles slightly. Her eyes are the most impossible blue-green in the water’s reflection, her face almost glowing. Kaia’s not only beautiful, she’s the most captivating thing I’ve ever seen, and I hate it.

Gritting my teeth, I pry my gaze from her, disappointed in myself for allowing the lines to become so blurred between us. “Why is the water this color?” I ask, watching the way it flows through my fingers as I move my arms back and forth, like she does.

“From the melting snow. Not all the pools are blue, but here, close to the peak,” she points to a pinprick of light emanating from between two stones, “the water is pure, and there is light in some places.”

“There are other pools like this?”

She nods. “I know of some. This,” she says, “is my favorite. My mother brought me here to bathe as a child.”

“Everyone comes here?”

Kaia shakes her head. “Only my family. Cole and I would sneak down here to hide from our lessons,” she says fondly, though her eyes are unfocused as her thoughts drift.

My jaw clenches, but not from the cold, and a hollowness fills me in Kaia’s thoughtful silence.

“I miss him,” she continues, and though her voice is only a whisper against the falling water, it’s all I hear. Finally, she blinks, stirring the memory-haze shadowing her eyes, and looks at me. “The people in my village stay below. These are sacred caves.”

A lump lodges in my throat as I realize I’m the last person in the world she’d want in here with her if she knew what I’d done.

“There are other pools for them,” Kaia adds. There’s a longing in her voice that makes me think she wishes she used them as well. Knowing her education was different from other children, I can imagine the rest of her childhood differed greatly as well.

“You really don’t like being different from them, do you?” I’ve noticed the way her brow crinkles with surprise and she smiles tightly every time she’s addressed by someone in the village.

“I am not different from them, that is the problem,” she says forcefully.

“Oh, you’re different, Kaia. Trust me.” I say the words, not thinking them through completely, but once they’re out, I know they’re true.

Her eyes narrow, as if she’s taken it as an insult.

“You are strong,” I explain. “The women in my village are either whores or they have backbreaking jobs that pay them little to nothing. Jo and her family—they’re the exception. You’ve seen our people. You, though—you have a warrior’s heart. You’re a leader. You fight for your people instead of following impractical traditions. And,” I hedge, “you’re going to be etsi now too.”

Kaia’s not swayed, though. She shakes her head, her scowl deepening. “I am a fool—what happened in the canyon—I knew better. I endangered myself, and you, and now Shade is gone because of it.” The anger in her voice is brittle, but if the last couple of weeks have taught me anything, it’s that anger is only a mask for something that burns and aches much deeper.

“We’ve all been fools at one point or another,” I promise her, running my wet fingers through my hair. All I can think about is where my own anger has led me. “It doesn’t mean you’re not those other things too.”

Kaia doesn’t argue this time. Instead, her gaze lingers on me, and there’s an extended moment—a new sort of silence between us—and neither of us look away. I realize how closely we’ve drifted together, with only a few inches between us. Our arms undulate in the water, and her hair floats around us like a wave of Miss Scarlet’s finest black velvet, luring me closer, until suddenly, Kaia splashes me.

I blink my eyes open, gaping at her as water drips from my face. “What was that for?”

“You have not gone under water,” she says, her eyebrows lifting in a dare. She splashes me again. “Go on.”

Unable to resist, I splash her back, chuckling as she turns her face away and hits the water back at me. I’ve never heard a laugh like hers before—I’ve never heard her laugh at all. It’s light and feminine and enlivens her face, and in that moment I can see a happiness in her I hadn’t realized was lacking until now.

Kaia swims away in retreat, and I take a few steps toward her, determined not to let her get away from me so easily. I splash at her back, her giddy, panicked laugh only encouraging me closer. “Bigger hands mean bigger splashes, Kaia,” I taunt, splashing her again.

She holds hers up in defeat. “Okay!” Smiling, she faces me and rises partially out of the water. Her chest heaves as she catches her breath, and water trickles down her tattooed neck and chest, disappearing below her shirt.

Blinking the water from her lashes, Kaia’s gaze shifts downward, raking over my torso as if she’s studying it. Slowly, she places her palm on my chest, covering one of my scars and giving rise to more goose bumps over my skin. “An arrow did this?” she asks, breathless.

Guilt sours my stomach. “No,” I admit. “A knife wound from a drunken fight a few years ago.” It was the first time I’d ever been that drunk, and the last. The truth was, I’d never been personally accosted by her people. Every nightmare and violent, hate-filled daydream I’d ever had stemmed from stories and tall tales.

Kaia’s slender fingers press more firmly, her palm searing against my cold skin, and I welcome the heat. I want it—want her to envelop me, even if everything inside me screams I shouldn’t. She has no idea what she does to me, and how utterly undone I’m beginning to feel in her presence.

As if touching a man so intimately is nothing out of the ordinary, she brushes the damp hair from my face, running her thumb over my eyebrow. I clench my jaw and hold my breath.

“And this one?” she whispers.

“Nothing so impressive,” I say roughly and lick my lips. “I tripped the first night I was out on patrol, running from an oncoming sandstorm.”

Kaia’s brow knits together, and her hand falls back into the water. “How old were you?”

“Fourteen.”

Her floating tunic brushes against my arm, but her deepening frown is what holds my attention. “What?” I breathe.

“You have been a warrior since you were fourteen? That is young . . .”

“I’ve done everything I could to help fight against your people since the moment the old marshal would let me.” My words sound harsh but they are true, and remind us both of our complicated situation.

Kaia watches me a moment, her expression contemplative, but she says nothing. And when her silence stretches on and on, I can’t stand it anymore. “What about you?” I feel unsteady under her gaze. I’m not sure what I see in it. Sympathy or uncertainty, perhaps. “How long have you been fighting for your people?” I float away from the intoxication I feel in being so close to her.

“I have never fought for my people,” she admits, and shame colors her cheeks. “Elan has seen to it that I am removed from every possible danger. Though, I have seen what happens.”

Telling the truth will risk all we’ve accomplished between our people, but I can’t help the burning need to tell Kaia everything—to release myself from the sickening guilt that coils in my gut.

Tell her. Do it now, because it will only get harder.

“I am not as strong as you think,” she says quietly, and the regret in her voice sends a protective determination through me.

“Kaia—”

“Sometimes,” she continues, “I want to run away and never be etsi—to live a life without scrutiny, because I will never be as my parents were. I want too much in my life.”

“But another part of you won’t leave your people either.”

Kaia huffs a sigh, lifting her shoulder in defeat. “Where would I go? This is my village, my life, whether I want it or not.”

As if my hand has a will of its own, I reach gently for her chin and force her eyes to meet mine. “You can be afraid and a leader.”

The dark curves of her eyebrows furrow.

“Jo, Jacob—me—we see it in everything you do. You left this mountain for your people, twice, and now you are forging a peace that never would have happened without you. A peace that provides your people with food and safety. So you can be afraid all you want, but you’re already their etsi, Kaia, and you don’t need a ceremony to prove it.”

Her lip quivers with unspoken words or fear or something else entirely. But as her glistening eyes search mine, I know I can’t tell her the truth. There’s already too much uncertainty and too much emotion shadowing her gaze, and my truth will break her.

When I realize my fingers linger on her chin, I drop my hand, averting my gaze. “I should go,” I say, and climb out of the water. The air assaults my skin and chills run down my spine, but I welcome it. Kaia steps out behind me and dresses quietly. The silence between us isn’t buzzing this time, but thick with an awkward tension I want to flee.

Once my pants and long sleeves are on, I tug my boots onto my feet, anxious to get out of here before I can screw things up even more.

Kaia’s wet hair hangs over her fur vest, but once she’s fully clothed, she heads into the passage with little more than a fleeting glance.

I follow behind her, using the sound of her footsteps and the wall to find my way back to the cavern. The bustling village meets my ears as we emerge, and Kaia turns to me suddenly.

“Apologies,” she says in a rush. “For what I said to you the other night.”

My head tilts in confusion.

She tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “You are not a monster—”

“Yes, we are, Kaia—”

“No,” she says, stepping closer. Her eyes are wide and imploring. “I mean, I know that your people have done horrible things, but that is not you. You are not your people. You are not responsible for their acts against us—against my family.”

My palms begin to sweat though my veins fill with the familiar chill of regret.

“Everything,” she continues, “everything is changing, and I struggle to understand it sometimes.”

“Kaia,” I begin, shame chasing away every excuse and reason I’ve had for keeping this from her. “I—” The moment I hear an angry shout and see Ahkima rushing toward us, everything else is forgotten.

38

Kaia

“Kaia!” Ahkima shouts, his expression murderous as he hurries up the hill. “You dishonor yourself for him?” He growls, looking Luke up and down, and it’s only then that my confusion clears and I see Luke through Ahkima’s eyes, his shirt hanging out of his trousers and only half buttoned.

Ahkima shoves Luke, both of them posturing the way the pronghorn does before fighting for a mate, and I loathe Ahkima for assuming anything has happened between us or that he has any right to care.

“Stop it!” I shout as he pushes Luke against the stone. “We were only swimming.”

Ahkima isn’t listening to me, though. He’s lost in a rage I’ve never seen in him before. But it’s when I see the rage in Luke’s eyes matching Ahkima’s that I’m truly afraid. The peace between us is too precarious, and what happens in the next few seconds could decide all of our fates.

“Ahkima!” I shout with more vehemence as I try to step between them, but the instant Ahkima shoves Luke even harder, and Luke takes a swing at him, it’s all I can do not to get hit in the crossfire.

“Both of you—stop it!” I demand, and I don’t know if it’s in English or not, but Luke’s fists are flying and Ahkima takes him to the ground. “Stop!” I reach for Ahkima’s arm to pull him off, but I’m knocked back, nearly losing my breath.

“Enough!” Elan bellows, and his hand clamps down on Ahkima’s shoulder, yanking him off Luke.

Ahkima’s chest thunders and his jaw clenches, and when I look at Luke, his eyes are narrowed and his nostrils flare as he wipes his mouth. The instant he spits out blood, all I can see is red.

Blood like all the years before us.

The precarious truce and peace we’ve finally found.

And Ahkima would risk it all because he is jealous?

I shove him, fury making my hands shake and my voice unrecognizable. “What is wrong with you! We did nothing, and you would risk everything we have been working for?” I shove him again when his wide eyes only blink stupidly at me. “Why? Tell me! You think so little of me?”

Ahkima’s eyes round even more as he stumbles over unintelligible words. His furtive gaze shifts over the villagers circling around us now—at Elan, and Jo and Jacob and Muna as they hurry closer. But everyone’s faces are shapeless in my fury. “Get out of my sight,” I growl at him.

As if I slapped Ahkima across his chiseled face, he straightens, glares at Luke, and when he steps reluctantly by me, I refuse to look at him.

Muna practically snarls at me, her lip pulling up as she turns to hurry after her son.

“You’re pissing everyone off today,” Jacob jokes as he walks up to Luke.

Luke scoffs, wiping at his mouth, and the minute Jo begins to fuss over him, Luke puts up his hand in supplication. “I’m fine—It’s just a busted lip. His shoulder is made of steel,” he mutters.

Jo sighs, mumbling something I can’t hear as my heartbeat continues to fade from my ears.

“Jo, really, I’m fine. I’ve had much worse, don’t worry.” He says it reassuringly enough, but then he heads to the adobe without a single glance in my direction.

“You must speak with him,” Elan says, watching Luke and the others disappear inside.

“I know.” Hands on my hips, I exhale the tension from my body. “I will see if I can salvage the truce—”

“Not the sosho,” Elan says sharply. “Ahkima. You must speak with him.”

I frown. “Ahkima?” I shake my head. “Not now. I am too angry with him.” I press my hand to my forehead as I begin to pace. “Does he not see that this is bigger than his hatred of them? He is putting all of our people at risk by holding onto his hate. Does he not want meat and corn in his belly? Does he not want safety when he leaves the mountain?”

“That was not borne only of hatred for the soshos, Kaia.”

I stop in my fury and study Elan’s expressionless face. I don’t need to ask him about his meaning. “Whatever Ahkima’s reason,” I say, “he is being a child. He is not trying to get to know them, not even Jo. Who does not like Jo?”

Elan dips his chin, appeasing me, though I can see the other unvoiced opinions churning behind his pale blue eyes. “I will speak to him, Elan, I promise. Just—not right now.” I clench my shaking hands at my sides.

Oona calls my name from the house, and Elan and I glance over. She stands at the doorway, impatiently waiting for me.

“I will check on Ahkima for now,” Elan mutters, and steps past me.

My eyes meet Oona’s, and she doesn’t look disapproving, so much as concerned. Whether it’s the anger she reads on my face as I walk closer, or the simple fact that she knows me better than anyone, she reaches for my shoulder. “You cannot fault Ahkima too harshly,” she murmurs, and I vaguely notice Toby and Jo busying themselves by the fire.

“Why not?”

Oona’s wrinkled but strong hand squeezes my shoulder before it falls away. “You have said yourself that much has changed. You must see all of this as Ahkima does. And how many times have you acted with your heart, not with sense?”

I scowl at her. Of course Oona’s right, but it still angers me that Ahkima could be so rash, that he’s not even trying. I nod and head down the hall to find Luke pulling one of my father’s old tunics over his head, one that Oona insisted he borrow when we’d arrived in order for him to fit in more among our people.

Jacob shoves his hands in his pockets when he sees me. “I’m—uh—gonna ask Oona something.” He bows his head respectfully and hurries from the room, leaving Luke and I standing face-to-face alone. The room feels smaller than it usually does, but I step closer.

The flame of a candle is all that lights the crowded room. The two cots are jammed together, clothes and blankets spread around. But even in the flickering shadows, I can see Luke’s lip beginning to swell.

“Are you badly hurt?” I ask carefully.

Luke shakes his head, sitting on the cot with a loud exhale. “I’m fine. Just trying to calm down.”

Lowering myself beside him, I take Luke’s chin in my hand and shift his face to appraise him better. He grumbles something, but I ignore him. There’s a dark spot on his cheek I didn’t notice before. “Apologies,” I whisper.

“It’s fine. Really, I’ve—”

Jo walks in and hands me a damp cloth. Her eyes flick between us before she leaves us again. The cloth is warm, and I squeeze it in my grip as I regard him again. “You were saying?”

“I’ve been in worse fights than that. He caught me by surprise though, I’ll give the bastard that.” Luke touches his jaw. “Another scar for my beautiful face.” He smirks, and it catches me off guard—everything about him feels amplified since the pool.

I don’t know if it’s our proximity or that I haven’t been around him the past couple of days, but his presence unsettles me more than it ever has. As much as it frightens me, it intrigues me too.

“Just when I thought I couldn’t get any uglier,” he mutters.

I think it’s a joke, but I can’t bring myself to smile. Luke says such words as if he’s not the most striking person I’ve ever seen. Every imperfection is a mark of manhood. Every gray fleck in his eyes holds a hundred stories I wish to know, and every emotion I wish to learn. The way his stubbled chin glistens in the candlelight is fascinating, and I want to memorize it all. “You are not ugly,” I tell him instead.

Luke’s eyes widen, and I feel like I should be ashamed or embarrassed saying that to him, but I’m not. “I have never seen Ahkima like that. I cannot believe he would—”

“Oh, I can,” Luke says with maddening amusement. “That guy has hated me from day one.”

“That is no reason to assume I would—” I bite my tongue, remembering Luke in the pool with next to nothing covering the work-honed muscles of his body. “He assumes too much.”

“I know he offends you by assuming we would—that you would—”

I frown, but wait for Luke to continue.

“But I can understand why he would be angry. I might jump to conclusions too, if I were him.”

“But we are only friends,” I remind him.

Luke’s brow twitches and the corner of his mouth lifts in a small smile. “Yeah, I know we are, but Ahkima doesn’t know that—”

“No,” I say quickly. “Ahkima is my friend. We have always been friends, we will always be friends, but only friends.”

Luke’s head tilts slightly, and I bring the damp cloth to his lip and wipe away what little blood is left.

“Are you sure Ahkima knows that?” he asks.

I watch the way Luke’s lip yields beneath the cloth as he speaks, and I want, more than anything, to brush my fingertips over it. “Knows what?”

“That you are only friends?”

“Yes, when he kissed me—” Luke glowers, and I stop myself, shaking my head. “No, maybe not,” I realize aloud. Swallowing, I lick my lips, uncertain I should talk to Luke about this. It feels wrong and I don’t want him or Ahkima having any reason to hate each other more. “It was before you.”

Luke’s eyes hold mine, and I see confusion and something else shining back in them.

“Before I met you,” I clarify. My heart races, but I’m not sure if it’s because of my disobedient tongue, or the hum that consumes my body in Luke’s presence.

“It would make sense if you cared for him like that,” Luke says, and it sounds like a strange sort of permission I don’t want him to give me. “You’ve known each other your whole lives—”

“Yes, we have.” My hand drops to my lap. “That is why his accusations anger me,” I bite out, insult sharpening each word. “I am not like those girls I have seen in Sagebrush, Luke.”

“Oh, I know that,” he drawls.

“If you do, then why not Ahkima, my oldest friend?”

“I don’t know, but . . .” His earnest gaze sends my heart pounding all over again, and when he reaches over to brush a strand of damp hair from my face, a flush of anticipation blooms through me. “But you are unlike anyone I’ve ever met.”

The pull between us is undeniable. No matter how confusing, it’s there—alive and purring like a sated bobcat in the silence that swallows a thousand unspoken words. A lifetime of dark memories fade to nothing, and it feels as if I barely know myself anymore as I realize how badly I want to learn more of Luke. Even if I know it should feel wrong, it doesn’t. And that is far more frightening than any monster that has ever haunted my dreams. Now, all I can seem to do is question everything, when once it was all so painfully clear.

He fingers a loose strand of my hair.

“My Claiming is in five days.” I’m not sure why I say it—maybe because I want to remind myself how impossible more than what we are right now would be. Maybe because I want to make sure he’s at the ceremony. Or, maybe I want him to talk me out of it entirely because it still feels like my impending cage is closing in around me.

Luke’s hand falls back into his lap. “Jo told me,” he says, and leans back against the wall. He pulls one leg up to rest his arm over his knee. “When we were in Sagebrush, Tarak told me you were against it.”

I stare at the cloth balled up in my hands. “I was. Or, perhaps I still am, but who else will help my people if I don’t? Muna?” I practically hiss the word. “She is stuck in the past, and it is time to look to the future.”

There is no definitive answer, so we sit quietly—Luke stares across the room, and I fold and unfold the cloth on my lap, taking in an uneven breath as I imagine myself standing before my people, not just as a princess with a stubborn streak, but as their leader and their hope . . . and my stomach churns with nerves.

“Thank you,” Luke says. His voice is a soft rumble that brings me back to him. “For today,” he explains. “I will never forget that.”

The expression on Luke’s face when he first saw the pool made me not only proud, but feel special in a way I hadn’t expected. That I can show and teach Luke things he’s only dreamed of makes me want to beam with pride. “Tomorrow,” I start, meeting his gaze. “Elan will take you to the river.”

Luke scratches the side of his face, and I watch the way his fingernails rake over his jaw. “You aren’t coming with us?”

I smile at what sounds like disappointment in his voice. “No, the way is narrow, and tomorrow I go with Oona to the pillars.”

“What are the pillars?”

“A monument, I think you call them, near the top of the mountain. It is where we bury our dead.” I force my eyes to his and feel a buzz of guilt wash over me. Not for the first time, I wonder what my mother and father would think of my closeness with a sosho. That I am still young and foolish? Or would they think that this is my path, as strange and unsettling as it is? “Tomorrow you will have your water and your remedies,” I say. I’m uncertain I want to hear the answer to what I’ll ask next, but I must know all the same. “When will you leave?”

“Soon,” he says easily. “My people need water, Kaia.”

His eyes are dark and stormy, and I see his reluctance more than hear it. I nod, knowing it’s absurd to feel sad about something that has yet to come.

“I must speak with Ahkima,” I say, standing. “But tonight . . . there is something I will show you.”

“Oh? And what’s that?”

I don’t look back as I head out the door. “You will see.”

39

Kaia

I change my clothes, braid my hair, and collect my furs before I leave the villa and head for the village. I don’t stop at Ahkima’s home because I know he is not there. I pass the basket weaver with a nod and sidestep the stonemason’s daughter until I finally reach the tunnel. Wrapping my furs tighter around me, bracing myself for both the wind and what is to come, I head for Ahkima’s lookout.

The tunnel is dank and dark, but I need no light to guide me. I’ve paced the passageways of the mountain so many times, I know every bend and every stone. Instead, my mind wanders as I muddle through my thoughts. I’m still fuming with Ahkima. At his childish display. At his utter lack of faith in me. At how close his presumptions were to the feelings that sneak up on me at times. But I know what Luke says is true—Ahkima feels more deeply for me than I feel for him, and the way he sees the soshos is so different than I do now.

What was once a burning rage inside me, turns to smoke and embers the more time I spend with Luke and Jo. I remember the pain and hate, but I yearn more for a relief from it all. The peace of mind. The peace I’m beginning to feel in my soul. I want so badly to make this alliance between us work, and to be the change my people need, because I can see it—almost feel it—just out of reach.

But I can’t do that without Ahkima, and without the trust of his men. Despite his feelings for me or about the soshos, I have to make him understand.

The wind howls through the tunnel, feeling colder and more ominous than usual as I draw toward the dying afternoon. A frigid gust pulls through my hair the instant I step outside. I find Ahkima immediately. He has no furs on to stave off the cold, and stews in his anger at the ledge instead, his back against the stone. He sits as he did as a little boy, his arms draped over his knees and brooding. His gaze is lost to thoughts that deepen his scowl lines and roar so loud, I can almost hear them.

Kaia’s being rash and foolish, like always.

Why does she never listen to me?

Why does she always insist that she is right?

I want to smile at fond memories of our childhood, but I can’t. It’s those memories and how well I know him that makes it impossible for me to see him any differently than I always have.

Ahkima’s gaze cuts to me as if he can hear my thoughts, and his glare hardens before he glances away. I won’t let him ignore me, so I make my way toward him, reminding myself that we’re not children anymore. Things will never be as they were again, and a rush of words fills my mind.

I’m sorry.

How could you?

Never do that again.

You would never react that way with another etsi.

Why can’t you trust me?

“I knew I would find you here,” I say instead.

Ahkima’s chiseled jaw clenches and he blinks against the frigid wind, though he says nothing, making me bristle.

“Not that it is any of your business, but with Luke—it was not what you thought it was.”

“You spend every moment with him,” Ahkima practically hisses. “How should I have known?”

“That’s not true,” I growl, and nudge his thigh with my foot. “I’ve barely seen him. I have been in the kiva with the elders, getting ready for my Claiming. Besides, you know me better than that.” But as I say the words, I’m not sure they are true. I’ve never shown interest in any man, so perhaps like me, Ahkima doesn’t know what to think or how to act.

Resolved to make a peace between us, I sit down beside him, hoping my furs will warm him a little. “Move over,” I grumble.

Ahkima budges, even if it’s only slightly, which gives me hope. “I thought you do not want to be the etsi,” he says coolly, his gaze on the darkening sky. What muted sunlight remains sinks deeper into the clouds.

I lean my head back, my braids a thick padding against the stone. “I don’t, but it seems the katsinas do not care. All of this has happened, and there is nothing I can do about it.” I study the craggy rock face of the mountains. It’s a sprawling range, though our home is carved into the tallest peak. I admire the white coated peaks in a way I never have before, seeing their beauty through Luke’s eyes, remembering his awe to see snow.

“I want peace, Ahkima.” When my gaze lingers on him long enough, his rich brown eyes meet mine. “They want peace. Do you?”

I expect him to look away, but his attention remains on me, his eyes alarmingly thoughtful. His hair whips around his face in the wind. “Does the etsi want peace, or Kaia?” Though his question is veiled and his tone flat, I understand his meaning.

“This has nothing to do with Luke,” I bite out, and it’s the truth. “This has nothing to do with Jo or you or me—this is about security for our people, and about what is happening out there.” I point toward the desert we cannot see through the heavy mist settling over us. “I learned today the soshos aren’t the only reason Oona and the others no longer leave for pilgrimages to collect what they need. The storms, the soshos—whatever the cause, we are running out of everything. If we do nothing, we will die up here, eventually. The soshos will die in their village too. None of us can continue like this.”

“So you will solve everything?” he says with amusement.

“At least I will try to do something,” I counter. And only when I register his lack of surprise does it dawn on me. “You know all of this already—about our resources.” The words escape on a breath. “Oona hasn’t left this mountain in years. She would not know these things if not for you and your men.” A flare of anger surges again and I have to bite my tongue. I knew the wood and food and remedies we relied upon beyond the mountain were depleting, but how could I possibly know how gravely when nothing has been said, and nothing has changed—when everyone goes about their days as they always have. “You of all people have been keeping me in the dark—why?”

Ahkima looks ashamed, but he doesn’t have to say anything, because I already know why. He’s said as much already. “Because you knew I would try to do something—”

“And risk your life in the process.”

I shake my head, feeling betrayed and foolish. “And yet you guilt me for not wanting to be etsi, when you were keeping me in the dark. How could I be etsi if I don’t know what’s happening in my own village? If I hadn’t brought the soshos, would I have ever known these things?” I don’t give him time to answer me. “You only hurt our people by denying how bad things are—by lying to yourself and to me. We are no different than the soshos—”

“We are nothing like the soshos,” he says tersely. “What could we have done before we found them, Kaia?” Exasperation is thick in his voice. “Attack their village? Continue taking more men off the mountain? Remain hidden up here—what could we have done? Go searching further out, leaving you all unprotected for months at a time? What if we never came back at all?”

I bite my lip, uncertain of the answer because all I can see now is my current path ahead.

Ahkima shakes his head, and while he’s always been the strongest of us in so many ways, it’s only now I see the weight of what has been placed on his shoulders over the years. An impossible task to keep everyone safe, a responsibility he has been protecting me from since we were children.

My heart warms and I exhale my frustration. Ahkima, the boy sworn to protect me, whose only focus has ever been me, has never known anyone or anything else. He loves me, yes, but what sort of love is it?

I stare at his profile. Knowing him well enough, I can guess what he’s thinking. He is in unfamiliar territory he cannot control, and so much change terrifies him. My strong and silent Ahkima absently rubs the goose bumps that cover his exposed arms, and I lean into him. Laying my head against his arm like I used to, I open my furs to wrap around us both. The tension in his shoulders lessens under me, and I close my eyes.

“I cannot do this without you.” My voice cracks with truth. “You are my arrow . . . even if sometimes you are too sharp and rigid for your own good.” I relax in the warmth that envelopes us. “But you have your own path to follow too. It cannot only be to protect me. I do not wish that for you.”

Ahkima remains silent and thoughtful, and for the first time in our lives, I’m not sure what he will say. The wind blows, the clouds churn, and eventually, Ahkima rests his head against mine. “You do care for him though,” he says, his voice low.

“I don’t know what I feel,” I admit and watch a hawk disappear into the mist. “But it is . . .”

“Different than what you feel for me,” he finishes.

My hand squeezes apologetically around his bicep. “I’m sorry,” I whisper, my voice cracking again, and I hate how foreign and complicated everything is. “I wish I could explain it.” But I don’t think I have to, because deep down, Ahkima knows this is our path together, just like I know that Luke, somehow, is where they diverge.

Moments pass—dozens of heartbeats. The wind howls some more, and the sky turns the color of soot. Ahkima unfolds himself and wraps his arms around my shoulders, pulling me into him, and his embrace is warm and reassuring. He wraps the furs tighter around us.

“I wish you would fall at my feet like the rest of the girls,” he says, so level and unaffected, I can’t help the laugh that bursts out of me.

“That will never happen.”

“I know,” he counters. “There has always been something wrong with you.”

Smiling, I shut my eyes and exhale the tension I can feel all the way to my toes. “That’s true,” I admit. “I have always felt it.”

Ahkima rests his chin on the top of my head, and I inhale the scent of campfire lingering on him. “I want to keep you safe because I know this is what you were born to do, Kaia,” he says, squeezing me tighter.

Luke’s same sentiment rings true in Ahkima’s words, and for the first time in my life, despite my reluctance and fear, I realize how impossible it is to keep the voice of change quiet, and I know deep down they are right.

40

Luke

I’m sitting at the communal fire with Tarak, doing a piss poor job of everything he’s teaching me, when I see Ahkima and Kaia walking toward us. The men around us stop chatting and laughing, and everyone seems to hold their breath.

Together, Kaia and Ahkima’s presence commands attention, and I’m unable to ignore the two of them. I see what everyone else probably does—they somehow look as if they belong together. But I notice how different she is from him too—how different she is from many of them. Her skin is pale compared to his, and her tattoos adorn her like royalty from times of old. Even her eyes are lighter, setting her appearance apart from everyone even more.

Ahkima’s expression is impassive, but his eyes are hard and focused on me, as always, and I set my clay carving and partially wrapped arrow to the side, bracing myself for whatever he has in store for me. While it appears the two of them called a truce of sorts, I know Ahkima still despises me.

Kaia’s green gaze shifts from my discarded attempts to fit in, to meet mine. “Come,” she says, and she juts her chin toward the kiva. Ahkima ignores me, though, as he takes a seat among his men.

Standing, I hand Tarak my piss-poor attempt at an arrow. “Here. Finish that for me, would you?”

He chokes. “This—this is terrible.”

Laughing, I leave him to it, and spare a fleeting glance in Ahkima’s direction. I expect him to be glaring at me, but he puts his palms to the fire, ignoring me still.

“I want to show you something,” Kaia explains, and she shoves an unlit torch into the fire’s flames. The torch bourgeons to life, and I follow her toward the kiva.

The noise and the lights of the community fade into the background as we walk deeper into the darkness. Instead of going inside, we pass the kiva, and I feel a pang of disappointment. I’ve wondered about it since the moment I learned how sacred it is, but I say nothing.

Kaia leads me up a narrow path carved into the cavern wall, and as we squeeze through a crevasse, I feel the beading sweat of claustrophobia on my neck, but I wordlessly follow.

When we stop where the path opens to another cave, Kaia turns to face me. The torchlight makes her green eyes flash, and the hairs on my arm stand on end. “Well,” she says. Her voice is a soft hum against the rocks.

She’s watching me, expectant, and I blink at her, licking my lips. “Well, what?”

Kaia lifts the torch higher and peers up at the cave wall. Our shadows flicker over images so worn, I almost don’t notice them, and I lean closer. “This,” she says, holding the flame closer. She points toward an etching of a being that seems more alien than human, with a head that’s big, round, and reaching, like the sun. “This is Tawa, our Creator. The Sun God. And that,” she says, pointing with her other hand, “that is Kokyanwhuti. You would call her the Earth goddess or Spider Woman.”

“Spider Woman?”

Kaia’s voice is reverent in a way I’ve never heard before, drawing me in like one of Oona’s woolen threads in her loom.

Kaia points to the other beings painted onto stone, scattered among what look like corn stalks. “She led my people to the valley below, until the end of the Third World.”

“Third World?” I repeat, admiring the ancient drawings.

“Yes. The Shift you speak of is the end of the Fourth World. Damnation of those who were corrupt and selfish, and a new life for others, hoping our people stay on the path of goodness and peace.” With a sideways glance, Kaia sets the flaming torch in a holder carved into the stone and points to what I assume are warriors with spears on horseback.

“Stories say that we were given everything we needed by Tawa and the Earth goddess to live on the land, and when soshos arrived, they wanted it too. Many wars broke out—even among my people—some of them trying to protect their families and their food, but others fought for greed and power. It was the soshos that banded the warring tribes together to fight, and once the soshos were defeated, we went back to fighting ourselves.” She blinks at me. “It was a test we did not pass, Luke.” She bites her bottom lip. “Disappointed, the gods devastated the land, and those who survived retreated to the mountain. We were forced to work and live together, or all of us would die.”

“So you are all from different tribes?” I ask, and it begins to make more sense. The lighter skin and the dark, the wide set eyes and the narrowed ones. The blue eyes and the green, the tall and the short. But it’s the whitest of the skin that stands out still. “And you took in soshos too.” I remember Tarak’s heritage, and how so many of them understand English.

Kaia nods. “My people—the Hopi—are peaceful. It is said we used to be patient and hopeful, though . . . I did not inherit patience,” she says dryly, and I can’t help a smirk. “Not like my mother and father.”

It’s not lost on me that our fathers, our dead, and everything that sets us apart, also makes us the same. “How hard was it to convince the elders to accept the peace?” I ask, unable to resist. I’ve been wondering about it since I’d heard.

“There is still distrust,” Kaia admits, glancing at the cave drawings. “But not only because you are dangerous in their eyes.” She worries her lip as she considers something. “Every living creature must also have a spirit and be respected. We appreciate all things on Earth, not only destroy it. But you . . .” She pauses and leans against the wall.

“We are overharvesting, maddening your spirits, and killing the earth?” I guess, and I know I’m on point as she flashes sympathy my way.

“Some people, like Muna and her family, believe this, yes. And I have seen the valley floor with my own eyes. But others, like Oona, believe it is all part of the path we must walk, that there is no blame. The clouds and the wind and the sand . . . they are only tests we must embrace, or we can ignore them and fail.” Kaia’s eyes are impossibly alluring in the firelight. And I want to ask her why she’s brought me here and is telling me this. But I think I already know.

“Does that mean I’m part of your path”—I shake my head—“or that we are?” My voice is quiet amidst the flickering torch flames.

Kaia’s gaze shifts to my mouth, fixing on my busted lip from earlier, before our eyes meet again. “Oona believes so.”

The way Kaia’s gaze lingers on mine—the way her voice lowers and her eyes glitter—lures me closer until I can feel her furs against my chest. I know I should take a step back. I know this will all end very badly if I don’t. But I can’t. “And what do you think?”

Kaia’s breath brushes against my skin and she lets out a ragged sigh. I can almost feel the beating of her heart like it’s my own. “I think,” she whispers, biting her lip again, “you are my path.”

There’s a howl of wind that whips through the tunnel, making the torch flames flicker, and we both blink ourselves out of whatever trance we’re in. My heartbeat still thuds in my chest, but my mind stirs. Whatever Kaia and I are becoming is problematic, and no matter what every heady, desirous part of me wants to claim, we have to stop this.

“We should return,” she says, as if her thoughts veer in the same direction. She grabs the torch and hurries into the passageway.

I stay where I am a few moments longer, listening to her retreating footsteps, and force my pulse to slow as I take a deep breath. Kaia . . . These torturous feelings . . . This isn’t what was supposed to happen coming here and I’m not sure how much more I can take.

41

Luke

“I don’t like the cold,” Toby states as he, Jo, and I follow Kaia down a winding, rocky path around the mountain. It’s damp and cold in the heavy mist, but not like it is when the winds howl and the snow lingers in the air.

“You do not like Oona’s stew,” Kaia says over her shoulder, her eyes briefly catching mine before she flashes Toby a barely-there smile. “Or your cot—”

“It’s lumpy,” he grumbles, and Jo nudges him with a warning glare.

“And you think our houses are strange—”

“Well, they are—”

“Hush,” Jo chides, her voice a low hiss. “Don’t be rude.”

Toby frowns. “I’m just being honest,” he says. “Pa always tells me to be honest.”

I can practically hear Jo rolling her eyes, exasperated with him after our week here on the mountain. Kaia’s cheek lifts in a smile a few steps ahead of me, though she tries to hide it.

“Honesty is very important,” Kaia concedes, her voice carrying on the morning breeze.

“You’re lucky you have a bed and shelter to sleep in at all, Tobias,” Jo tells him flatly. That she uses his full name doesn’t escape me, and I wonder if that’s how he knows he’s in real trouble. “Stowaways aren’t usually treated so well. If Kaia didn’t like you—especially with all of your complaining—who knows how you might’ve been treated.”

Whether it’s Jo’s words, her tone, or her arched eyebrow, Toby has the sense to seem affected at least. His brown eyes, almost black in the overcast day, flash with shame and regret, but he doesn’t apologize as we continue onward. Instead, Toby is distracted by his curiosity as always. “Why do your houses look like that?” His nose and cheeks are pink from the cold, but his eyes are wide with awe, and that fills my chest with warmth.

Toby, who has been taught to fear and hate these people, is no longer afraid of them or distrustful in this foreign place. And I feel a genuine hope that the rest of our people will feel the same way one day soon. I sober at the thought of such a thing.

“Look like what?” Kaia asks. White puffs of air disperse around her face as she speaks.

“Like they’re made with . . . mud,” he says.

“Because they are,” she says easily. “We must use what the mountain provides, and that is stone and mud and the grasses—” She plucks a wisp of green, sprouting up between two rocks, and hands it to him. “They grow well in the dampness, especially after days without rain, and once we dry them, we can make mud bricks to build shelter, and mix them with animal droppings to make fuel for our fires.” Toby’s face contorts, as Kaia clearly anticipates, and she smiles. “You cannot smell it,” she says.

Toby seems to realize this and quickly moves on. “Is that why you have so much dead grass hanging from the houses?”

Kaia nods. “Yes, and why we have so many fires.”

“They aren’t to stay warm in the cave?”

“They are,” she explains, kneeling down to pluck a yellow flower bud from the side of the path this time. “But the heat from the flames helps dry the moisture from the air so that nothing molds.” She holds her hand out, offering the blossom she’s plucked to him. “Everything has a purpose, and we must make of it what we can.”

Toby takes the flower from her, his fingers nearly the size of Kaia’s, though hers are more slender and missing the chew marks he has around his nails. “What’s this for?” he asks, giving it a twirl.

“It is a dandelion.” Kaia nods to his hands. “Break open the stem, and rub it on your fingers. It is bitter and will keep you from making your fingers bleed.”

Toby frowns as he stares at his fingers, then glances at Jo.

She shrugs and runs her hands through his hair affectionately. “It’s worth a try.”

Kaia watches him with amusement. She says she is not patient, but the way she is with Toby says otherwise. “Come.” She rises to her feet again. “We are almost there.”

Toby plucks apart the dandelion stem, and Jo helps him rub it on his fingers as I walk on with Kaia.

“Where are you taking us anyway?” I ask.

She licks her lips in the cold and nods to the crest of the peak. “You wanted to see how we grow food,” she says, pointing toward a slope of a garden, tended to by a handful of men and women I recognize from inside the mountain. “We must use every break in the rain to tend the crops. The sunlight is muted, but what little we have gives the ground a reprieve. This,” she says, stopping at a base of a tiered garden, surrounded by stone, “is where we grow greens and root plants.”

Kaia smiles at a tall, older woman with a gray streak of hair growing from her temple. Her strong build reminds me of a warrior, and her face, beautiful in its own way, is scarred on her right cheek and chin like one too.

“That is Elan’s sister, Istas,” Kaia says, glancing at Jo as she and Toby come up behind us. “She was once a hunter, like Elan and the others, but she was injured years ago. Now she manages the gardens.”

Guilt, ever present and festering, burns in my chest. I wonder which of the men left their mark on her curious face.

Istas smiles at us, a bit forced, but a welcome sight nonetheless, and her eyes crinkle with warmth.

“Go,” Kaia says, motioning toward her. “The rains are coming, and there may not be another chance to see it before you leave.” Kaia’s eyes meet mine. “Istas will explain about the soil and the harvest—she speaks some English.”

Jo and Toby wander toward her as she beckons them closer. It’s nice to see that someone, other than Kaia and Oona, don’t just tolerate, but seem to welcome and accept our presence. But Kaia’s retreating footsteps are far more interesting to me, and I watch as she continues farther down the path. I tell myself to leave her be, but she’s right, we’re leaving soon and may never come back here. Unable to resist, I follow her.

If Kaia realizes, she doesn’t say anything, and I’m too mystified by the thickening fog to say anything as we walk deeper into it. The moment I notice dozens of headstones lining the rugged mountainside, I stop in my tracks. Graves peek through the mist, some with tether markers of stringed feathers and beads twirling in the breeze. Some with painted yellow-and-brown shapes and symbols.

Kaia hikes toward the top, slowly and reverently, as if not to disturb those laid to rest.

My feet move before I can stop myself from interrupting her private moment, and I follow a ways behind her. Eventually, Kaia stops at the top, where stone pillars reach high, covered in lichen and etched with carvings.

I hear a whisper on the wind as Kaia crouches between two headstones, and I don’t have to guess who they are. Her parents. The placement of their graves, overlooking the rest of the burial site, is a position of both importance and power. The tall poles adorned with ribbons and totems, ravaged by the weather, whip in the wind above them. I stop below, allowing Kaia a moment of peace.

I watch her so long, the damp air soaks into my long sleeves, and I truly begin to feel the cold in my bones again, regretting my lack of layers as the storm clouds settle over us, their angry winds like shards of glass against my cheeks, but I stand and wait.

The people in our cemetery died of the Choke or drunken brawls, heatstroke or old age. And while some of Kaia’s people likely died of old age or illness, like her mother, I know many in the dozens of graves spanning the mountainside did not. And that they died at the hands of our deputies.

Kaia turns back down the hillside, pausing when she sees me. She waits a beat, then, pulling her furs up closer around her neck, she makes her way back down, as reverent as before.

“Sorry for intruding,” I say, knowing full well I should have left when I realized what she was doing.

Kaia studies me a moment. She appears thoughtful, not angry. “Do you have a place like this in Sagebrush?” she asks. “I did not see one.”

I glance at the lichen-covered stones and nod, though their headstones are too close together for bodies to be buried beneath. “We bury the bodies beneath the ground, and have grave markers a little different than yours.”

“We cremate those who die on the mountain, knowing the soshos cannot see the smoke and find us,” Kaia says, and she peers up at her parents’ site once more. “But for many of these graves, like my father’s, there was no body to burn.” She rubs her hands together. “And Cole’s.” Kaia points to a grave near her family plot, the one without lichen, and adorned in brightly colored tethers not yet tattered by the wind.

The fathomless guilt that eats away at me burns anew, and I can’t take it anymore. “I’m so sorry,” I breathe. The words come out in a rush as I close my eyes, willing her to understand so that I don’t have to say the words I know will change the way she looks at me.

I’m sorry for hating you. For wishing you dead. That my people have killed nearly everyone you’ve ever cared about or loved. The weight of it all presses down on me so relentlessly, I have to grit my teeth to keep the tears from my eyes. “I’m so sorry for everything.”

Kaia’s eyes light with surprise as she bites the inside of her cheek. The mist of the late morning makes the smooth skin of her face glisten. “So am I.”

“I hope you know that, if I could, if Jo and Clayton could—we would take it all back.”

Kaia’s cheek lifts slightly at that. “I know, Luke,” she says. “As would I.” She glances down the path. “We should head back. The rain is close, I can feel it.”

Of all the things I’m feeling, rain is the furthest from my mind, and I want to tell her I don’t care about the storm because there are things to say. Because when it’s just the two of us it doesn’t feel like us and them, or etsi and the rest. It’s just her and me, Kaia and Luke, two people whose entire world has been turned upside down and inside out, and the past is like a ravenous beast, its breath hot on my neck.

But Kaia breaks the momentary bond between us and steps past me, like she can’t get away fast enough. “Come. Elan will want to speak with you.” She studies the darkening sky. “You will not be able to go to the water if it rains.”

42

Kaia

Wolfberry and sage fills my nostrils as I sit beside Tate’s bed, taking the sight of him in—the sheen of sweat on his brow, the dryness of his lips. The birthmark on his left jaw has been there all his life, a blessing from the katsinas. Though I would argue seeing him like this is no blessing.

I feel Kimi’s quiet presence behind me. “Has he woken at all?” I ask her, my voice rough from disuse. The fact that he’s still alive is to her credit.

“Only briefly,” she says, her voice so soft I barely hear it. “His body is healing, he needs much sleep.”

I nod, relieved that even with the cuts and bruises on his arms, neck, and face, he looks better than he did days ago.

“I will wake him soon,” Kimi adds, resting her hand on my shoulder. She squeezes reassuringly. “You have much to do.”

I peer over my shoulder at her.

“Lena is waiting for you,” she explains. “You have preparations to tend to.”

Reluctant, I rise to my feet. My hesitance isn’t because I don’t want to be etsi, not like before. Standing at my parents’ graves today was a necessary reminder of how important my family is to my people, and even if a part of me will smolder and turn to dust as etsi, I know it is my place.

Luke’s eyes flash to mind, the color of nascent storm clouds in the waning morning light.

I’m acutely aware that Kimi watches me closely, and a flare of heat licks through me, making my cheeks burn. Leaving her with a thank you, I go to Lena, sitting with her spools of wool and dyes by the firepit outside. She looks at me as I approach, then does a double take. “What is it?” she asks with a frown. “Are you unwell?” She sets one of her spools aside.

“I’m well.” I take a seat at the fire. “Just tired,” I confess.

With a watchful gaze, much like her mother’s, Lena hands me a bowl and grinding stone. “You are worried about the ceremony?”

“Not worried, just . . . a little overwhelmed.” I set the bowl in my lap. “Much will change.”

“More than has already changed in a matter of days?” She practically scoffs as she hands me a basket of dried violets to crush.

“It is nothing to you,” I start, glancing toward home. “Your life will be as it always has been. You have your loom and your dyes, and your mother’s herbs—but I will be in that stuffy kiva for the rest of my life,” I grumble.

Lena laughs and nudges my shoulder, prompting me to get to work. “You make it sound as if you will be a prisoner.”

I grind violet blossoms to pieces. “It will feel like it,” I admit. “I’ve learned so much about the world . . . I don’t wish to be stuck in this stone cage.”

“You are making peace with the soshos.”

“And Oona—Ahkima and Elan—they protected me from everything before Cole died, what will they do now that I’m the last of my family?”

“That’s why you must have children—”

I groan before she can finish.

“What else would you do?” Lena resumes her weaving. “Be down below, in the wasteland, hunting with Ahkima’s men? No,” she says. “No, you would be in Sagebrush with your new friend, when Ahkima is the one who belongs at your side.”

I glare at her. “That is not—”

“True? Yes, it is. I have never seen you look at Ahkima the way your eyes always find the sosho,” she says almost bitterly.

My hand stills because she’s right. Everything changed between Luke and me in Sagebrush. I don’t know when exactly, but I feel it every time I’m around him. The way the air shifts between us, even when we don’t move. The way I sometimes hold my breath when I don’t mean to. It happens more and more each day.

“See,” Lena says, watching me too closely. “You are easy to read, and predictable.”

“You’re one to talk,” I mutter, and shove her shoulder. “I know you will lecture me before you open your mouth—your lip twitches, just like Oona’s.”

Lena glares at me this time, and I smile victoriously because she knows it’s true.

“Perhaps if you stayed out of trouble, you wouldn’t get lectures.” Also something Oona would say.

“Do you practice your glares with Ahkima too?” I grumble. “Do all of you sit around the fire, plotting ways to goad me?”

“Of course not,” she says with false bravado. Her mouth twitches because I’ve hit a nerve mentioning Ahkima. “But sometimes,” she continues, “you make it too easy.”

I shake my head as we fall into silence, me grinding flower petals and her stirring her dyes over the fire. “I have spoken to him,” I confess. “Ahkima—he knows he and I are only friends.”

Her eyes dart to me, her relief obvious before she can school her features. “How did he take it?”

I can’t help but chuckle. “You say I am predictable, but you, my dear friend, are obvious. You should tell Ahkima how you feel. You are a good match for him—”

“Stop it, Kaia—”

“Why? It’s true. He will see that soon enough. You just have to spend more time with him so that you don’t get so tongue-tied—”

“I don’t get tongue-tied!”

“Yes, Lena, you do.”

She shakes her head, clearly irritated by my meddling, so I let the matter go, for now.

“Where are your new friends anyway?” she asks. “I haven’t seen them around much today.”

“With Oona, I believe. Making tinctures, like your mother taught them. They worry they cannot replicate it when they go back.”

“Which is soon?”

I nod. “Once Luke learns of the water, they will return.”

“And you,” Lena asks, her voice softer this time. “What will you do when they leave?” There’s a hesitance in her voice, because like the others, she worries I will change my path.

“Remain here for the ceremony, of course.” The words taste sour, but I know that I must.

“If you stay, who will ensure they remain true to their word?” I can see the caution in her eyes, as if she’s still not convinced we can trust them completely.

“Elan. He will be fair and he is shrewd. I would ask Ahkima, but . . . I don’t trust him to be rational.”

I can feel Lena’s eyes on me for far too long before she speaks. “Are people very ill in the soshos’ village?” she asks, and the amused lilt in her voice is gone. “Their healer has been here many times to speak with my mother.”

My gaze meets hers, and I dip my chin. “Life has not been kind to them,” I explain. “They look much different than us—some of their skin is so dark and lined, I think it might even be rough to the touch.”

Lena’s brow pinches.

“And they do not share their wealth as we do—they do not treat each other equally.”

“It is why you feel bad for them.” Lena ruminates for a moment. “Something changed in you while you were gone. You returned less . . . angry.”

I imagine that is probably true, and not only because of what I’ve seen in Sagebrush, but because I see the soshos as people like us, not monsters. “Many of them have damaged lungs from the sand,” I explain. “Children, elders—it does not seem to matter much. The sand,” I say with a sigh, imagining it in my moccasins, in my hair, and beneath my fingernails. “It is everywhere. There is no escaping it.”

I lose myself in the memory of June, as weathered and aged and sick as any of them, until the violets are merely a blue powder in my lap. I dump them into a larger clay bowl and begin a new batch.

“There—” Lena and I glance up to find Luke and Jacob heading through the plaza. Jacob’s eyes are wide with what appears to be victory, though Luke’s expression is less readable. Luke is taller and broader than Jacob, his features harder, and his hair not nearly as well kempt as the healer’s, but there’s something about them together that seems almost familial. I have seen how Luke worries about Jacob, and I wonder if they are like brothers in their own way.

Luke says something to Jacob before meeting my gaze, and with a tight-lipped nod, he continues past us, toward the stables. I’m no longer wondering if Luke has been avoiding me since this morning, I know he is.

“We did it,” Jacob says, stirring my thoughts. His hands meet his hips as he peers down at us, sitting cross-legged by the fire.

“How do you know?” I ask.

“Well,” Jacob clarifies, “let’s just say Oona says it smells and tastes right, but I guess only time will tell.”

I peek in Luke’s direction as I continue grinding hapless violets under my stone. “Why does he not seem happy about this?”

“Luke?” Jacob asks, watching him disappear into the tunnel. “He doesn’t want to get his hopes up. We have to give it to our people in order to tell for sure. He doesn’t want to give June false hope.”

“Is that all that’s wrong with him?” I ask, and I hate that I can feel Lena’s knowing gaze on me.

“He’s been in a mood all afternoon,” Jacob mutters with a shrug. “Probably because he’s going stir-crazy, and because of the storm—the currents are too strong for Elan to show him the water.” Jacob crouches down to the fire flames, warming his hands. “What are you two doing?” he asks, eyeing our spread.

Lena glances between Jacob and me before she motions for him to sit beside her. “I dye wool for Kaia’s robe for the ceremony,” she tells him.

“And you?” Jacob asks, nodding to my bushels of dried violets and bowls of red berries. “Are you making paint?”

I nod. “For the elders and me. We must ground the pigments for binding.”

Contemplation crinkles his brow as he notices the boiling pots over the fire. “What do you use for binding?”

“We use many things,” I start. “Urine—”

He practically chokes. “Piss?”

I smile, unable to help myself. “It is an option, and sometimes it is all we have . . . but not today.” My smile turns to a grin, and I nod at one of the pots. “Animal fat,” I explain.

Jacob lets out a breath. “Oh.” His brow crinkles again. “So . . . why is there an etsi, if you have elders?” he says, reaching over to grab the bowl of berries to mash. “I mean, if you’re the leader, what purpose do they serve? A council? And how do you choose who is an elder—and why is etsi a woman?”

When Jacob finally looks at me, I can’t help my amusement.

“No—not that I think etsi shouldn’t be a woman, I just—” He glances toward the adobe where Oona, Toby, and Jo are likely crafting. “I’m okay with that, obviously, because I like Jo and she’s the best of all of us in Sagebrush. I don’t grasp the bigger picture, though, I guess.” Jacob shakes his head. “I have a lot of questions. Sorry.”

“You and Toby,” I mutter, but smile at his sincerity. “Before this world, etsis were in every tribe, and settled disputes and appointed chieftains. Now, etsi is one united voice of peace and reason among our tribes, to speak and act on behalf of everyone in the village. The Unification started with my family, and so I will fill the role next.” As I say the words, a part of me fills with pride, as if somehow speaking the words out loud breathes life back into my family’s memory.

“And the elders are from each tribe? How many are there?”

I nod. “Yes, they are the voice of the Apache, the Hopi, the Mojave, and the Navajo—four elder descendants of their etsis, seven or eight generations before them. They represent our differences, and through them, my family has based its decisions for the people.”

“Like who does what tasks, or when it’s too dangerous to leave the mountain?”

I nod, wondering how many questions turn in his mind. “But mostly,” I explain, “the elders help keep the old ways alive.”

“It’s like a government,” Jacob muses to himself. He dips his finger in the smashed berries, licks the juice, and his face sours. Lena and I stifle a laugh. “That’s what Clayton is trying to do in Sagebrush,” he adds. “He doesn’t want to be the only one in charge, like his father. He wants a council to weigh in on the important decisions. It’s unfair otherwise.”

As Jacob continues smashing berries, I find my thoughts drifting back to Sagebrush, and their struggles and desperation to survive over the years. It’s more obvious than ever we would all benefit if we could co-exist in peace. Perhaps even find a way to live together.

But as fleetingly as the thought strikes me, I push it away, angry with myself. I cannot afford to be blinded by my feelings for the soshos.

Luke’s face flashes to mind again, and I feel the heat of shame because I can no longer push him from my thoughts. His sorrowful eyes and palpable hesitation around me. His smirk I long to see again. The feel of his rough fingers against my face . . . It’s not my feelings for the soshos I must worry about, but for one in particular that has far more power over me than I’ve been willing to admit.

43

Luke

A rainstorm is just a rainstorm for the villagers, who have always lived in the clouds, but to me it’s more like an elusive, magical creation I’ve desperately wished to see more of all my life. And the fact that Sagebrush is so close, and yet an ocean of sand and dust away, makes me wonder if Kaia’s people are right about the katsinas. We’ve done plenty to upset their spirits over the decades, and drought and heatstroke seem like comparable punishment. But as I sit under the cliff’s ledge, I find there’s something about the snarling, wild wind and pouring rain that calms me.

The horses have already been walked and watered, and their stone stalls have been mucked. I showed Jacob the drawings on the cave walls for him to study and sketch—I also offered to make arrows for Tarak, even if he laughed at me in reply. So, while Jo plans peace accords and negotiates our return back to Sagebrush with Kaia and the elders, I sit out here, watching the earth dampen to puddles, listless. Too much time in the mountain has left me stir-crazy and guilt-ridden with little to occupy my thoughts.

Closing my eyes, I lean my back against the stone, craving the distracting, cold ache in my bones. A storm cloud of my own looms over me, ready to burst, and I feel like I’m on the precipice of something I can never turn back from. Kaia needs to know the truth, but I don’t want to see the pain on her face when I tell her I killed her cousin. More than that, I don’t want her to hate me. And every rumble of thunder is an echo of what I already know: I need to find the water source so we can complete what we’ve come here to do, and so we can leave before the blurred lines and my muddled mind gets any worse.

Water trickles down the stones, dripping like miniature waterfalls off the rock face protruding above. Meanwhile, Sagebrush is thirsty. It’s as if the rain gods are mocking me.

“Tarak said you were here.” Kaia’s familiar alto meets my ears, makes my blood warm, and I have to refrain from gritting my teeth. Not because I don’t want to see her, but because I know I shouldn’t care. “I did not believe him.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” I tense as she draws closer. I toss a piece of gravel at a small puddle a few yards away, making the reflected storm cloud ripple.

“Because it is freezing, and you wear so little.” As if it’s the most natural thing in the world, Kaia shrugs off a layer of brown fur, drapes it over my shoulders, then sits beside me. The warmth of her body so close sends chills raking over me.

Shivering, I pull the furs tighter around me. “I haven’t seen you wear these ones before,” I muse.

She glances at them. “They are not mine,” she says after a heartbeat. “They were my father’s.”

My gaze darts to her, and I’m about to take them off because it feels wrong to wear them—when she stops me. “It is better they are used.”

I watch her a second, gauging whether or not she’s certain. The fur is thicker than any I’ve seen yet. “What animal is this?”

Kaia settles back against the stone “Bear. It was his first kill as a boy. I was told it fed our village for days.”

“I’ve never seen a bear,” I think aloud.

“Nor I. If they exist here, they are scarce like the other animals now.”

Instead of feeling guilty about things out of my control, I nod to the pelting rain. “You think our peace has upset someone?” Unlike the sand that whips and whirls to its own design in the valley below, the rain falls in sheets here. It’s fearsome in its own way, and beautiful.

Kaia’s eyebrows lift. “The katsinas?”

I nod.

“It is only rain,” she teases, her lips giving way to an easy smile.

I stare back out at the storm, feeling anything but easy with her beside me.

“What is it, Luke?” I can feel the weight of her gaze on the side of my face. “You are acting strange again.”

Her question is barbed, and she doesn’t even know it. My answer could ruin the peace. She mustn’t know. Peace is too important. While Jo meant the words at the time, I wonder what she would say now. But Jo isn’t the reason I hesitate to tell Kaia the truth, especially not as I force myself to look into her eyes, greener than any eyes I’ve ever seen—like one of Miss Scarlet’s emerald dresses that sparkles in the sunlight. “There are things on my mind,” I say, inching closer to the truth.

“What things?” Kaia’s voice is meeker than I’ve ever heard it and gives me pause. She almost seems afraid. I barely have time to question if she might already know the truth, when she averts her gaze, blushing. “That I am to be etsi,” she says, more of a statement than a question. “You have been distant since you found out—”

“No, Kaia, it’s not that,” I say on a breath. “Not entirely, anyway.”

Her brow furrows. “I do not have a choice.” She sounds sad, and suddenly, her furs seem to swallow her. Her unpainted skin looks so pure and soft, but her eyes are shadowed, instead of sharp with determination—Kaia’s never seemed so young and uncertain before. “It is something I must do.”

“I know,” I say gently, and will her to look at me. I want to see her eyes again, to gauge the emotion shimmering in them, because it can’t possibly be fear.

I wait, impatient but quiet, and when her gaze finally meets mine, she inhales a deep breath and leans her head against the stone. “I have felt like a prisoner in this mountain most of my life, and now, I fear it will be worse. And there is nothing I can do.”

“You will be their etsi, Kaia. You can do whatever you want.”

She laughs, but it’s tremulous. “It is not so easy as that. There are expectations and traditions I cannot break, not in this.”

I stare at her. Imagining Kaia locked away in the mountain doesn’t sit well with me either.

“Etsi is the voice of unity,” she explains. “Our tribes have different beliefs and there is tension that must always be balanced. If I upset that balance too much—if I am not one fair voice—I risk the peace our people have had for centuries.”

The unrest she worries about surprises me, seeing how peaceful everyone seems to be, but then there wouldn’t be a reason for an etsi if it had been easy to coexist throughout the generations.

“My indecision has made the people restless,” Kaia continues, her voice almost a whisper. “And there is tension between the elders because of it.”

When I first saw Kaia, weeks ago, she was a menacing creature with a black painted face and hard eyes lit with anger. I saw a rage I felt in my own heart. Now, every time I see her, she takes my breath away. She is so strong and good, and will risk everything to do what she feels is right, and in doing that, she can never let her people down.

When I realize I’ve been silent too long, I find the only words I can seem to muster. “Everything is frightening at first.” I force myself to look at her again, so she can see what I can’t bring myself to speak. Kaia has no idea what she is to me, and I watch the way she bites the inside of her cheek as she avoids my gaze. “You will figure out a way to make it all work, and you will be everything they need and more.”

Her eyes drift to mine, and I don’t know if she believes me, or if she’s even certain what I’m trying to tell her—I’m not certain I even know—but finally, she blinks. “What about you?” she murmurs. “What will you do once you return to Sagebrush? You will have your tincture, and you will soon have water. You will have everything, and it will be like you were never here at all.”

“No—” I shake my head.

“No, what?”

“I will not forget this place,” I confess. “I can’t ever forget it.” I can’t stop the words as they dance on my tongue. “I could never forget you, Kaia. No matter what happens—”

She leans in and her lips brush mine. Soft. Warm. Sweet like fruit on a summer day. My blood heats through my veins, and I don’t know what I feel more—shock, relief, or desire. And when her hand cups the side of my face, cool against my skin, and her thumb brushes over the stubble on my jaw, another wave of chills consumes me. Her touch is a salve on an angry wound, so soothing I want to melt into her.

Slowly, Kaia breaks our kiss, her lips lingering so close I can feel the air shift between us as she speaks. “Apologies,” she whispers.

“What?” I rasp. Confused, I open my eyes.

Hers are wide, but I see in them what I feel hammering against my chest. Excitement and longing. “I should not have done that . . .”

Ever so slightly, I shift my head. “Probably not.” But I lean in and press my mouth to hers again, unable to resist. My mind and body are not my own, taking control before I can stop them.

Kaia’s lips part in welcome, and her tongue teases mine, not hesitant or shy as a distant part of me expects, but as greedy as my own. Her arms snake around my shoulders as I pull her against me, inhaling her with a hungry kiss; the scent of sage fills my nose and I taste a hint of wolfberries on her tongue.

I’ve never wanted someone so fiercely—wanted to savor them so completely—and been afraid to have it all at once. Kaia bites at my bottom lip, and I groan in wanting.

She pulls away. “Did I hurt you?”

I pry my eyes open again, my chest heaving as I register her round, worried gaze. “What?” I shake the haze from my head. “No.”

Her cheeks burn bright in the gray daylight, and her bottom lip is rosy pink and swollen as she pulls it into her mouth. “You moaned . . .”

“Moaned—” I chuckle, closing the space between us once more, pressing her against the lichen-covered stone. “That was the good kind,” I say through a wolfish smile, silently pleading for more. More of her touch. Of her taste. More of her in any way she’ll give it to me. I know I shouldn’t pressure her. I should walk away before we do something she regrets . . . but I can’t bring myself to move.

Kaia’s gaze shifts over me, like rationality is taking hold again. I can practically hear it, telling her this is wrong. It’s too much. I’m a sosho and she shouldn’t trust me. I’m about to plead with her not to regret our kiss, when I realize she should regret it because she can’t trust me. She doesn’t know the truth. And that thought chases every hopeful, basking thought and feeling I have away, sobering me completely.

“We shouldn’t do this.” I lean away. Wind whips between us, chasing the desirous haze away. “You’re to be etsi.” The knot tightens in the pit of my stomach again as I remember she’d said I was part of her path. Not a good part. The truth stings, but I force a wooden smile. “Oona might decide to remove me from your path if she finds out I’ve even touched you.”

But Kaia sees through me and her curious indecision turns suspicious. “Of course,” she says, and I see hurt in her eyes, and hear the bitterness of rejection in her tone. Kaia rises to her feet, her mask of detached determination in place again. She’s no longer the girl who wants a life and freedom, but the young woman at the helm of her people.

“Kaia, wait. It’s not about you—There’s something you don’t know,” I blurt out, needing her to understand why she’ll regret ever touching me, and it has nothing to do with her being etsi.

That halts her in her haste, and her eyes meet mine again, more guarded this time.

“I’ve done things you will hate me for.”

Her shoulders straighten and she inhales a steady breath, bracing herself.

My hands fist and a cold sweat prickles over my skin. “I shot—” The truth doesn’t die on my lips so much as transform on my tongue. “I killed one of your people.”

Kaia’s expression doesn’t change; her eyes don’t widen with surprise or narrow with anger. She only stares at me.

44

Luke

Unable to stand Kaia’s expression—uncertain if it’s shock, or hatred I see in it—I step past her and walk back into the mountain. I’ve never felt so anxious with nowhere to go. No Hannah’s to drink my frustrations away. No June to worry about and fuss over. There are no deputy duties to keep my mind and hands busy. Here, I can’t even leave the mountain without the fear of a rockslide, or the wind whipping me away.

When I step into the plaza, I pass Ahkima, Tarak, and Elan. I barely meet their gazes, knowing now is not the time to venture in that direction. I’m wound up and itching to get out of my own skin.

My feet take me in the direction of the only place I know to go—my cot at Kaia’s. But I don’t want to. I consider the pool cavern and waterfall, suddenly yearning for the humbling cold water. But instead, I find myself stopping outside the herbalist’s place.

Lena sits by the outdoor fire, still working on her loom and wools from earlier.

She glances up as my shadow descends over the fire, her gaze shrewd, like she knows I have a secret.

Her mother, the healer, appears in the doorway of their home. As if she can read my mind, she nods for me to go inside. As reluctant as I am, I can’t resist, anxious to be away from watchful eyes.

My stomach instantly sours. Tate, the recovering hunter, sleeps on a cot in the corner with a thin hide covering his dark-skinned body. His eyes move beneath his lids, like he’s stuck in a dreamworld, and my fists clench at my sides to think it might be a nightmare full of white-faced monsters.

Whatever he was a month ago, he’s now sinewy muscle, battered and broken with a hollow face. He’s healing, but emaciated after such an ordeal. A bowl of water sits next to a basket with ground herbs and bandages, and it smells strange in here. Whatever they’ve used on him is strong, almost astringent, but I’m grateful it keeps him asleep.

We did this to him. Whatever the men did, they left him to die. But his will, his knowledge of the land, and his warrior spirit saved him. Somehow, he’d survived nearly a month out there in such a state. Standing beside him, I know it’s because of him that everything between our people has changed. It’s why Kaia left the mountain. Why it was her I met in the cave, and not Ahkima who would’ve no doubt killed me on the spot. It’s because of him I hate myself more than I ever knew was possible, and why I question everything in my past and my future. It’s because of him I feel so lost.

I’m not sure how long I stand there, watching Tate’s chest rise and fall, but I hear my own voice before I realize there’s something to say, even if he can’t hear me. “I’m sorry isn’t enough.” And in that moment, I realize I can never go back to being a deputy like before, not after being here, meeting these people, and seeing this. “But I am sorry.” I need to get it out—all of what’s eating away at me. “I’m sorry for what our men did to you and your family. I’m sorry for what I did. If I’d known it was Cole, I . . .” I shake my head. “If I’d known a lot of things, I would never have pulled the trigger.”

Not a single thought soothes me anymore. There is no reassurance or solace in what we’ve done, like I was able to hold onto before. And because the people of Sagebrush and the other deputies haven’t seen what I have, and don’t know these people as I do, I know they can never understand how truly revolting it all is.

Tate’s fingers twitch, and worrying he’ll stir awake, I turn to leave. The last thing he needs to see when he opens his eyes is a sosho at his bedside.

Running my hand through my hair, I hurry away, going wherever my feet will take me. We must find the water soon because whatever grasp I have on the situation is slipping, and I can’t stand to be here any longer.

45

Kaia

“No offense, but that looks more like a butt than mountains,” Toby says, as honest as ever as he appraises Jacob’s renderings of the cave drawings. The notebook he carries everywhere with him is nearly full, and I wonder what Jacob will do when the pages run out.

“Hush,” Oona chides Toby softly, and I think she might be stifling a chuckle. She and the boy have grown close in the days past, and I imagine Oona will be lonelier when it’s just her and me again. Who else will she teach about her herbs and snakes? There will be no one left to hang on her every word.

She pats Jacob on the shoulder to get his attention. When he glances up from his drawings, Oona traces mountainous waves in the air. “The way is yours,” she explains in her best English. This woman who has raised me most of my life—who has always focused on the future—embodies so much of the past. She’s more and more a puzzle to me with each passing day.

“You see it as you will,” she continues. Then, Oona peers down at Toby’s drawings. “And yours look like—” She grimaces, but when she glances at Jo and me, a smile lights her eyes. “They look like breasts,” she tells me with a small chuckle, motioning to her chest. And though none of them know what she’s saying, I think they understand her meaning well enough. Jacob snorts, Jo tries to hide her smile, and Toby scowls.

“Do not!” Toby gripes, re-evaluating his drawing.

“They are not better than Jacob’s,” Oona tells him, and the three of them fall back into their evening lessons while Jo and I indulge in the warmth of the fire.

Since Luke walked away from me on the lookout, I haven’t stopped thinking about what he told me, or the sharp edge of anger mixed with my surprise. The sadness made tears burn the backs of my eyes, even if I’d known there was a chance all along that Luke had pulled the trigger at some point and had been more a part of this than I’d wanted to accept. It has been his job among his people, after all.

Even if the truth aches and burns in my heart, I don’t hate him for it. Before learning the inquisitive nature of Jacob’s mind, Toby’s unabashed opinions and curiosity, or Jo’s hopeful and determined need to make everything right . . . Before understanding the sometimes awed, sometimes regretful look in Luke’s eyes, I might’ve killed one of them too, down on the valley floor. The men surely would have.

“Your thoughts are far away tonight,” Jo says quietly so Oona cannot hear. “And I can’t help but notice Luke hasn’t been around much.” I meet her expectant gaze, recognizing the concern that makes her eyes twinkle in the firelight. “Is everything all right?”

I stare at her a moment, uncertain how to respond. “Luke told me something today,” I explain. “A truth he’s been holding onto, but I don’t wish to discuss it now.” I flash a furtive glance at the others.

Jo dips her chin in understanding, then takes a sip of her tea. “I haven’t known Luke very long,” she admits, her eyes drifting to the fire. “But he has been angry at the world for a very long time, much like I used to be.” She seems to realize this aloud. “So . . . I know what it feels like to be caged in with your anger and fear for so long, only to feel a bit lost without it when everything you’ve ever known is shattered to pieces.”

I search the green-and-gold flecks of her eyes, wondering what, exactly, she’s trying to tell me. Is she talking about Luke, herself, or me?

“I imagine he’s a bit lost right now,” she adds.

“Aren’t we all,” I mutter, and take a sip from my lukewarm tea. I didn’t even want tea, but Oona insisted, much as she always does at the end of the day, to ease the tension that always seems to nestle in my shoulders and neck.

Oona has always told me that the truth can be harder to bear than the lies, and I feel that now, more than ever. “At least now he is free of his cage,” I breathe. “And I . . .” My thoughts trail off when Oona glances over at us. “I am new to mine.” It comes out as a whisper, and I know in this moment that Luke and I are so much the same, it almost hurts. His entire life has been fed by hate, and mine by fear, and now we meet in the middle. He sees the truth as much as I do, and while he can now embrace it, I must take a step back.

Suddenly, and more than anything, I want to see him. I need him to know that I want to hate him for what he’s done, but I can’t because I also understand it. I know what it’s like to feel hatred and rage and fear that’s all-consuming, and the regret that comes with it too.

I think about Shade. I think about my father, the day he died, and if somehow, had I not insisted on going on the hunt with him, he might still be alive. I wonder if Elan might’ve had a fuller life, with a family, instead of being my protector and keeper in my parents’ absence. I regret arguing with my mother when I should’ve been cherishing our time together; that our last words exchanged had been angry, stubborn ones about my refusing to be etsi and in turn refusing everything my mother stood for. Perhaps that is why I have refused to accept my path—because becoming etsi would mean our final words, the bitterness and frustration, was all for nothing. Wasted, hurtful, and far too final.

“Will you stay for the ceremony?” I ask Jo, knowing it’s a few days away, and they are likely to be gone by then. But I’m not ready for them to leave—I’m not ready to settle just yet.

Jo refills her mug with greenthread tea, exhaling thoughtfully. “I would stay,” she says, “if it weren’t for Toby. My sister is undoubtedly sick with worry, and Ashford too. I must get him home as soon as possible. And Clayton—well, I know how he worries about me.” Her eyes are regretful and sympathetic, and I hate that I’m so transparent. I know she misses home, and yet I can no longer ignore what comes next in my future.

I nod in understanding, even though a desperate, finger-curling need to beg her to stay almost consumes me, and I rise to my feet. “I will find Luke,” I say, suddenly desperate.

The tension in Jo’s shoulders seems to ease. And before I know where I’m going, I’m out the door and lighting a torch. I head down the path, toward the pool to check for him. The drawing cave and stable come to mind, and I decide to check them next.

As I walk through the passageway, toward the pale blue light that emanates within, I tell myself that no matter what happens with Luke or when he leaves, all will be well and I will settle into my new life eventually, all I need is time.

But imagining him gone, living a life somewhere else with June and his people, where I will probably never go again, makes my feet move faster.

I pause at the opening of the cave when I spot him sitting on a stone in the water, staring at nothing. Water drips from his dark, wet hair, down his face, and over the curve of his shoulders and biceps. He scrubs his hands over his face. And this time, I realize, he’s naked. His furs and clothes are piled on the ground behind him.

As I tell myself I should turn and leave him, my feet do the opposite, and I step into the chamber, my moccasins scuffing on the stone and the flames of my torch flickering. Luke peers over at me.

Unlike the last time we were here, when this was all new and his face was filled with awe, his expression is inscrutable. His eyes are on me and he doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t move. I think maybe he’s holding his breath, waiting for me to shout at him after his confession, but then I realize I’m the one holding my breath. Waiting. For fear or inexperience to change my mind? For rationality and duty to take hold? I can feel time slipping away from me with every heartbeat, and I want no more regrets.

No more waiting. No more wondering.

I step toward the pool and let my furs drop to puddle on the ground. I’m too determined and desperate to allow my insecurities and apprehensions to sway me. I unwrap the bindings from my legs, remove my vest, and pull my tunic over my head.

Luke’s confusion is quickly chased away by understanding. “Kaia,” he says, his voice a low, incredulous rumble.

I don’t acknowledge him as I continue undressing, not stopping until the cool air accosts my skin and I’m completely naked. With only my braids and my tattoos to cover me, I step into the water. Its briskness sends chills over my body, already taut and humming with anticipation; fear and uncertainty are liberating in ways I’ve never felt before, and it spurs me on.

Luke slides off the rock and fully into the water, meeting me halfway, until the pool sloshes around his abdomen and just above my breasts. “What are you doing?” he rasps, his gaze scouring my face before dropping lower, into the crystalline water.

“Whatever I want,” I tell him. “Before it’s too late.”

His eyes, glinting in the reflecting firelight, frantically search mine. His cheeks burn a bit brighter as he measures my resolve.

“After Elan shows you the water, you will leave,” I explain, but I’m not sure if it’s for his benefit or for mine. “I might never see you again.” I wait for him to tell me that’s not true, but both of us know the future is uncertain. “You have done things you regret—so have I, and I will not have this be one of them.”

There are no blaring insecurities to bury deep down, because this is what I want—to live in this moment—and it feels right. It feels necessary. Without another thought, I rest my palms on Luke’s chest, and rise on my toes to press my lips to his. Soft and warm and far too tempting.

Luke hesitates, but as I run my hand up his chest and neck and into his damp hair, the tension in his body lessens. He drags his hands up my back and pulls me into him, until our chests press against each other, our heartbeats thrum as one, and our lips meet in a breathless flurry. I feel weightless and reckless, and I’ve never wanted anything the way I want Luke.

His strong arms squeeze tighter, and my legs wrap around his middle. Every inch of him is hard and strong and pressed against me, and I lose myself in a frenzy. There’s no shy, inexperienced hesitation, only lips against lips, fingers in hair, and skin against skin.

I don’t know when Luke presses me against the edge of the pool, and I barely register the cool stones behind me as the heat of him envelops me. Every rational thought makes him off-limits and unattainable. But in this moment, he’s mine and I’m his, and I inhale his scent and appreciate his taste. Every nibble, lick, and kiss goes unchecked, and I pull his bottom lip between my teeth.

Groaning, Luke breaks away, squeezes his eyes shut, and rests his forehead against mine.

“Why are you stopping?” I command, my voice so gruff I’m not sure it’s even mine.

“Because,” he breathes. “This doesn’t make any sense—we shouldn’t be doing this.”

I push at his chest, wondering what game he’s playing. “Why not?” I know full well his body wants mine as much as mine wants his.

“Because this isn’t right—”

“Not right?” I grit out. This time I glare at him, backing away. Water sloshes around us and insecurities begin to surface despite my ignoring them.

“Kaia,” he says, almost smiling at me. “You don’t want this—not after what I told you. Not knowing what you’ll be days from now. You say you don’t want regrets, but this—you will regret this.”

My jaw clenches, and I take an angry step toward him, my chest heaving for a dozen different reasons. “You will not tell me what I want, Luke. Enough people get to decide my future. I will not let you or any of them take this from me. Not if you want this too.” My voice breaks on the last word, suddenly uncertain he wants me the same way I want him. Men like him, they lust and desire, and I see that in him easily enough, but that doesn’t mean his feelings are the same as mine.

As Luke’s features soften, he rubs his hand over his head. “Of course I want you.” His voice is rough and restrained. “But you need to be sure you want me. I am nobody. I am a sosho—”

“You are Luke,” I tell him, taking a timid step closer. “Tonight we will leave the past behind us, and you will be Luke and I will be Kaia, before we cannot be that anymore.”

He blinks. His eyes roam over my face as if he’s trying to reconcile everything I’ve been grappling with for the past weeks.

“Soon you will be gone,” I add, “and I will wish I had been brave enough to do this.”

Luke’s shoulders heave with mine, and as his gaze sweeps over my body again, and his jaw tightens, I think I’ve convinced him.

“Please,” I whisper, stepping so close my toes touch his under the water and my breasts brush his chest, sending a lick of heat up my spine. I bite my lip and stare into his eyes, filled with chaotic indecision. “Before it is too late.” I realize I’m begging him, and I’m about to feel embarrassed about it when there’s a flicker of something in Luke’s eyes, and he pulls me against him, heedless this time as his arms lock around me. He starts toward the stone step.

“What—what are you doing?” I gasp, entwining my legs around him once more. The water ripples around us as he moves to the edge. “I thought . . .” Had I read him so wrong? A blush of humiliation creeps up my cheeks.

“Hey—” Luke’s breath caresses the side of my face, drawing my gaze back to him. “Our one time together will not be in the cold water,” he says, his voice low and controlled. There’s an authority to it I haven’t heard before, and it’s comforting in a way I hadn’t expected. “It won’t do us any favors, trust me.” His words are tinged with a wryness that puts me at ease, and his muscles tense as he lifts me out of the water, our bodies no longer buoyant. Instinctively, my arms tighten around his neck.

The air is cool, but not uncomfortable with Luke’s warmth against me, and he walks over to our piles of clothes. I unwind myself from him, dripping wet, and reach for my tunic to dry myself as he spreads my furs on the ground. When he’s finished and standing in front of me, I admire how perfectly level my eyes are with his mouth, and reaching out, I use my tunic to dry the water from his chin and chest.

Luke reaches for my arm, gently stilling my hand. It’s only now, with him towering before me, and the coolness of the water gone, that I feel my body begin to thaw, and being exposed and in the open makes me swallow a sudden bout of nerves.

This is what I want, I know it with every wish and every nerve ending, but the unknown looms like a distant storm, and my body trembles.

Luke takes me by the hand, urging me down onto the fur blanket. He bunches his dry shirt up and places it behind my head, then lays down beside me, pulling his furs over us. The heat is intoxicating, and it feels as if our bodies melt into one as his legs entwine with mine. I relish the weight of him and the feel of his hand on my cheek, savoring his touch for later.

Luke’s gaze settles over me. “I won’t ask you if you’re sure—”

“Good,” I murmur. The way his thumb strokes my skin, as if he’s memorizing me too, makes it impossible not to yearn to feel every single part of him. “I want to remember this moment, with you.”

Luke’s face crumples momentarily before he lowers his lips, brushing them against mine.

“But we have to be careful,” I tell him, considering my future and place here after he leaves. Oona has told me about the discomfort and pleasure in lying with a man, but it is Kimi who told Lena and me how to protect ourselves from becoming with child. I—willful, stubborn Kaia—am a shocking enough etsi. A baby so soon, and with a sosho . . . I almost laugh at the thought.

“I will,” Luke promises, and I realize my ease—everything in this moment—is because of him.

“You have done this before,” I whisper. He is calm and confident, and even if a part of me wishes it was his first time too, I can’t begrudge him for it.

Luke’s brow furrows slightly. “Yes,” he admits. “But not . . . like this.”

“Like what?”

He brushes a loose strand of hair from my face and nuzzles his nose against my cheek. “It’s never been special,” he murmurs, and my heart swells to near bursting.

“Then I can give you something too.” My voice cracks at the words, and even if we only lay together in the warmth of our cocoon, I would be happy. I close my eyes, willing the threat of tears to subside, and my future without him to stay away, so I can live in this moment.

“You smell like the wind,” he whispers, the tip of his nose brushing a slow, featherlight trail up my arm.

“And you smell like a man,” I breathe. “Like Luke.” He smells like life outside of these walls, hard work and the future—like everything I can never have, and I squeeze my eyes shut tighter.

The furs move, and tingles fan over my chest as Luke’s rough fingertips draw lines and circles and swirls over my flesh.

Opening my eyes, I blink him back into focus and realize his gaze roams over the tattooed shapes and colors he traces on my skin. My body stirs, awakening from its subdued trance of warmth and comfort, and my chest heaves as his finger trails lower and circles my breast. “You’re beautiful, Kaia,” he says, and my back arches as he takes it into his mouth.

Fire. Need. Desperation. It rushes through my veins like the rapids through the tunnels, and my body yearns for . . . “More,” I breathe. Lifting my hand, I run my fingers through his damp hair, memorizing the feel before my grip tightens. Luke hisses a breath as my thighs tighten around his, forcing his hips against mine and willing him to fill the ache between my legs.

He shakes his head, lifting his mouth from my skin. My hand falls to the stubble of his cheek, and I stare into his heavy-lidded eyes, then at his lips that have caressed me in places no one ever has before. “You’re not ready yet.”

I stifle a groan, which stirs something inside him, and a wolfish grin engulfs his face. Lust fills his eyes. Not just curiosity and awe, but something wild and filled with a heat that was only simmering before.

Luke kisses my mouth again, smiling against my whimpers as his fingertips journey lower down my stomach, stopping at my pelvic bone. Deftly, and painfully slow, his fingers explore lower, filling me in a way that sends gasps from between my lips that he has to kiss away.

I’m not sure how long the torch flames flicker, his mouth explores my body, and my fingers explore his, but just when I think I can’t stand his teasing any longer, Luke lifts his head and inches up with a hungry but cautious gleam in his eyes. His moist lips glisten. Sweat beads his brow, and his expression is a silent request.

I don’t know where the courage comes from, or what I’m even doing, only that my body knows what it wants, and I want Luke. All of him. I reach for his length between us, making him gasp. “No more waiting,” I tell him.

Nodding against the side of my face, Luke lifts up, and slowly, he eases himself inside me, and the world bursts with blinding pleasure and pain.

My breath catches as he fills me. He stills and whispers reassurances, his muscles straining above me. I grip onto him as the sharpness recedes, having never felt so full and alive.

“Kaia . . .” Luke’s voice is low in my ear, almost fearful, and this time, I want to reassure him.

I smile and bring my lips to his, willing him to feel what I feel. The gratitude. The relief. The power of this moment for me. Wrapping my arms around his neck, pressing my fingers into his skin and needing the protective weight of his body on mine, I whisper, “I do not want to let you go.”

The concern etching his brow softens, his eyes widen, and he swallows thickly. “We can have this moment,” he promises. “We’ll always have this.”

I nod, my eyes filling with tears, and I have to exhale a sob. I feel too much to bear it all.

“Hey . . .” Luke brushes a rogue tear from my temple as it escapes my lashes. The impending loss of him is heavy, and my chin quivers. “Don’t cry,” he pleads, and his mouth brushes against mine. Wistful. Soothing.

When he starts to lift off me, I hug him closer and hold him steady. “No. Stay,” I tell him. “Please.”

Our eyes lock nose to nose and something heart-stopping passes between us. A mutual need? A promise and understanding? A silent goodbye for what is to come?

Whatever it is takes over. I kiss Luke again, more urgently than before, and soon every caress, thrust, and gaze becomes something I can feel in my soul. A mark on the canvas of our story. A converging of our paths. A claiming. And I savor every single moment of it as sweltering intoxication consumes us both.

46

Luke

It’s no wonder so many of the men and women in the mountain are sinewy and strong. Getting everywhere is a hike, one I’m not used to, and despite the ever-present chill in the air, my arms and neck are drenched in sweat as we make our way toward the main river that flows through the caverns.

The paths are narrow and the tunnels long and winding, smelling of dank earth and forgotten crevasses. Four of us walk single file, our footsteps echoing in the tight spaces. Elan leads, too far ahead to see him; Tarak lights the path a few yards in front of me, and Ahkima . . . I can feel his glare slicing through me from behind as he brings up the back. That man’s face is the stuff of Sagebrush’s nightmares—an Apache warrior with daggerlike determination and eyes so sharp and dark they’re menacing—but I try to ignore him.

When we finally step into a spacious corridor, I straighten to my full height, and push my shirtsleeves up to give my skin a reprieve. Sighing, I rest a hand against the mouth of the tunnel, ignoring the way the rough surface cuts into my palm. The image of Kaia, lying against the furs on the cave floor last night, floods my mind as I catch my breath, making my body heat in a different way. I can still smell her and feel the warmth of her skin against my fingertips. The taste of her . . .

Tarak pauses in the middle of the corridor, and glancing over his shoulder, he laughs. “Almost there, sosho,” he teases. “Keep up.”

“Slow sosho,” Ahkima grumbles as he brushes past, coming out of the tunnel behind me. Unlike Tarak’s playful nickname, Ahkima practically spits the word. His joy in watching me struggle during this trek is maddeningly obvious.

I push off the wall and follow, bringing up the end of the line this time and refusing to allow Ahkima the satisfaction of me falling behind.

Even though I understand his anger and distrust of me, I don’t fully understand his relationship with Kaia, and I make a mental note to ask her more about the two of them later. I tell myself I’m more curious than jealous, assuming I have the right to feel either, but it’s a lie, and I’ve been reluctant to ask her who is supposed to stand beside the etsi, because I think I already know.

I eye Ahkima as he strides with purpose in front of me. Friend. Warrior. Hunter. Betrothed. Whatever he is to Kaia, I know he’s unlike the others. It’s in his stare and stance, in the strength he exudes and his protectiveness. He even looks different with his long, dark hair brushing the middle of his back and his tattooed arms marked with bolder, more intricate symbols, similar to Kaia’s. I can’t help but wonder what story they tell, and what he would do to me if he found out I was with her last night.

Pebbles crunch beneath my boots as I follow him and the others into an offshoot of the tunnel that feels more like a crawl space, illuminated by Ahkima’s torchlight.

Knowing Kaia is wary of upsetting the balance among her people, I could never be her choice, even if she wanted it. But it feels wrong to imagine never lying with her again, and even if I don’t know what happens next, our people have a truce now, and there may be other reasons to come back to the mountain. The constant knot in my chest loosens a little as I consider it doesn’t have to be the end of us quite yet.

I imagine stolen moments together by the pool and in the dark corners of the mountain, and I try to focus on that as the tunnel closes in around me, and we crouch down, practically crawling, in order to continue. A cold sweat chills my skin as I register just how tight the space is. Then I hear the water rushing in the distance, and know I’m about to see it with my own eyes. And from what I can hear, a lot of it. I let the foreign, promising sound of it fill my ears.

After a few more awkward steps, we emerge from the tunnel into a ravine carved through the mountain. Tarak, Elan, and Ahkima stop at the cliff’s edge, and slowly, I step up behind them. My eyes widen, my heart skips a beat, and I peer down at a very full, violently rushing subterranean river, cutting its way through the rocks. Veins of water trickle down the surrounding boulders, meeting the river and making it rage fuller and faster, like it’s the mountain’s lifeblood.

To the men standing beside me, this sight is nothing, but unexpectedly, my throat squeezes and my eyes burn. It’s water. More than I’ve ever seen in my lifetime. Our torchlight illuminates the rapids, roaring with the promise to save Sagebrush and everyone who has ever been thirsty and wondered, when opening their eyes to the morning sun, if today is the day they sip their last drink. It’s the most magnificent thing I’ve ever seen.

“Luke!” Elan calls from farther down the ledge. His voice barely booms over the roar of the river. “The problem!” He points to the spears of light splicing through the fallen rocks.

I hike over slick rock to the boulder Elan stands on, listening to Ahkima’s footsteps behind me. It’s the perfect opportunity for him to push me off the ledge, for no one to ever find me. But I forget all that when I follow Elan’s gaze and notice crumbled granite and sandstones blocking the river’s path.

“Your side of the mountain,” Elan explains. And I realize the collapsed tunnel is the cause of the stream’s mere dribble in our direction. I follow its diverting course, wondering where it all rushes to instead.

“The storms,” Tarak says loudly. “It was not like this the last year we came. The mountain is falling from the storms. They worsen every year.”

I knew the water existed and that it wasn’t reaching us for some reason, but seeing what we face now . . . All awe and hope fades. “Where—” I clear my throat. “Where does the water go instead?” I glare at the boulders that stand between life and death in Sagebrush.

Elan nods toward a path and waves me to follow.

“There is a waterfall,” Tarak explains, trekking up the path behind me. “But where the water flows, we do not know.” Having never needed water before, they have never needed to look.

The four of us scale down, climbing precariously over and around slick boulders to get to the fallen rock formations. The closer we get, the more I realize how much debris is piled up, blocking the way. And the closer we draw to the water, the more I begin to fear it. It rushes like an unstoppable force, crashing against the rock barrier before veering left and out of sight. If I fell into the current, it would be a miracle to survive, and as it continues to roar like a wild beast in the cave, I wonder if I’d even want to.

I shake my head. “This can’t only be from the sandstorms, can it? All of the loose rubble . . .” I gasp as my feet slip, and I cling to one of the rocks, the porous surface cutting into my hands.

Tarak reaches for me, but I right myself before he has to worry about it. He grins. “Careful, sosho. I do not want Kaia to think we brought you down here just to kill you.”

I huff a relieved laugh, glad it was only a close call, and glance back at Ahkima as he watches me closely. “It’s almost like the rocks—”

The earth grumbles at first, a growl so loud I think it’s come to life, then it begins to vibrate beneath my feet. The ground shimmies, and I fall back against the side of the cliff, grasping at the stones. The men are shouting. The earth is shaking. Rocks and boulders fall into the river, splashing like angry explosions. I grip the rough stones tighter and lean in, desperate to hold on as the ground tries to jostle me away.

But I don’t register the rocks jabbing into me as I watch Ahkima stumble forward, the torch falling from his grip as the slick rocks beneath his feet give him no purchase. He shouts. Stumbles. And just as the world stops quaking, he falls.

I run to the cliff’s edge, Tarak and Elan shouting behind me, but I can’t hear them over my racing heartbeat. Ahkima grips the ridge, the water coursing furiously a few feet below him as he grimaces in pain, and I see the fear in his eyes.

I vaguely hear Tarak and Elan grappling with rubble behind me as I fall to my knees. I meet Ahkima’s gaze. “Grab on!” I call down, scrambling to find something to latch onto with my other hand. I stretch forward and pray the earth remains still a while longer as I clutch onto his forearm.

Ahkima’s muscles are strained and quivering with fatigue, and our sweat-dampened skin causes my hold on him to slip, so I dig my fingernails into flesh to hold on tighter.

Cursing, I grit my teeth, brace myself, and with all the might I have, I begin to pull him up. Blood stings as it breaks through the skin of my other hand, clutching the jagged rocks, and I grind out a groan as I pull Ahkima up. Every single muscle in my body burns until I think they might snap, and then Elan is beside me. Bearing some of the weight, he helps me pull Ahkima to safety.

I fall back. Elan stumbles. Ahkima gasps and rolls onto his back. It’s only as the blood rushes back to my extremities and my heart rate beats at a semi-normal pace that I sit ramrod straight and glance around. “Tarak?”

“Here—” he says in a garbled voice.

I whip around to find him leaning against the rocks, wincing as he tries to stretch his leg out. “Broken, but here.”

“What the hell was that?” I rasp, glancing between the three of them. I’d felt earthquakes before, but nothing so violent.

“The mountain,” Tarak says. “It rumbles from time to time, but not like that.”

“Not up there,” Ahkima corrects.

The mountain wasn’t only grumbling, though. It felt like it was near collapse. And the quiet that fills the cavern tells me they all know it too.

Tarak nods, wincing again as he unties the cloth from around his head and wraps it around his bleeding leg. “We have never been down here during a quake,” he amends.

I glance from him to Ahkima and Elan, all of us still trying to catch our breath.

“Why the way is blocked,” Elan says over the rushing river. The water is so close I can feel the spray of it splashing up over the ledge. I follow Elan’s gaze to the crumbled mess blocking the water’s path and realize his meaning.

“So, not only the sandstorms, but the earthquakes too,” I breathe, nodding in disbelief. “Great.” I wipe my clammy forehead with the back of my arm and rise to my feet. “That’s not much to contend with at all.” I’m about to mutter that this day cannot get any worse, when Ahkima climbs to his feet, his eyes hard-set on me.

He stares at me a few seconds, then dips his chin. “Gratitude,” he says, his voice pinched. I imagine it is hard for him to thank me, knowing how he feels about me.

“You would’ve done the same,” I counter, because despite his hatred, I think that might be true. If not for me, for Kaia and our peace treaty perhaps. There’s a silent conversation that passes between us, and I think it’s a sort of truce, and in the end, we both nod to one another.

“We must go,” Elan says, his voice booming.

I pry my gaze from Ahkima, and assess Tarak’s leg. “Is it actually broken?”

He tightens the bindings he’s wrapped around it with a ragged breath and shrugs. “But the wounds are deep and need to be cleaned.”

I run my hand over my head and reach for the only torch we have left. Elan goes to help Tarak, and I peer down at the water. It suddenly feels like we’re in the center of a raging storm, and I wonder if the worst is still to come.

47

Kaia

“Do you think they are okay?” I ask Oona, my heart still pounding a little from the rumbling mountain—one of the largest shakes we’ve had, and four of the people I care about most are down in the cave. “They should be back by now.”

Toby snorts from where he carves a snake in a piece of wood, like one of Oona’s he used to be so frightened of, by the fire. “Luke will be okay, I know that much,” he mutters under his breath.

I peer back at him. “Why do you say that?”

“My pa says he’s stubborn as shit, and can weather any storm.”

I bite back a smile and turn to Oona. Her eyebrow lifts and her lips pinch around a cactus needle and woolen thread.

“They are well,” she says, so certain it almost soothes my nerves. “Lift—” She gestures to my arm, and checks the seams of my sleeves to ensure they fit properly.

“It is . . . snug,” I tell her, but though my ceremony dress feels restrictive, I’m uncertain if it’s the fit, or because I know the next time I put it on it will become my new identity.

“It’s fine,” Oona mutters. “Stop being difficult.”

“If it’s fine, then why are we having a fitting?” I grumble.

Oona’s about to answer when I hear my name outside and there’s a hammering fist on the adobe. Fear licks through me, and in two steps, I fling the wicker door open. “Is it Luke—”

“Tate—” Lena says, her eyes wide and hopeful. “He’s awake.”

Abandoning Oona, I hurry down the stone pathway to the village. “How long has he been awake?” I ask Lena, excitement and relief making it difficult to breathe.

“Only a few moments. Though he seems angry.”

“Angry?” I ask, wondering how on earth he could wake up from days of sleep angry.

My moccasins patter against the stone as I make my way through the people beginning to crowd around Lena’s home with a buzzing of energy. I see Jo and Jacob beside the door, their faces stricken with something. Regret? Fear?

“Tate,” I say, and step inside. The hunter is sitting up, his eyes widening when he sees me, and he pulls a cup of water from his chapped lips.

“Kaia,” he says roughly, and there’s a relief in his amber eyes I don’t understand at first.

I hurry over, wrapping my arms around him. His body is warm and he is alive, and I squeeze him tighter. “I knew you’d wake up,” I say with a laugh. “You’re too bull-headed not to.” But when I pull away, Tate’s expression hardens again.

He eyes my half-made ceremony dress and frowns. “You allow them here,” he says, nodding toward the doorway. I peer past Lena and Kimi, and realize he’s referring to Jacob and Jo. “The soshos,” I breathe. When I look at him again, I reach for his shoulder in reassurance. “Much has happened while you’ve been asleep,” I begin to explain. “I will fill you in, once you’ve—”

“So much has changed that you let your enemy in your home,” he growls. “Near your people? They have killed our men—”

“No,” I say. “I mean, yes, some of the soshos have, but these people—they are good. They are here to talk of peace.”

Tate shakes his head, glowering like he doesn’t recognize me. “And Cole? Never mind that I nearly died out there—that I thought I was dead—but you would let the sosho who killed your only brethren left into our village?”

“What? No,” I rasp. His confusion and anger is justified. I hadn’t considered what a shock all of this would be to him. “They are soshos, yes, and belong to that village, but they are not evil, Tate. These soshos are our friends.”

“Not mine,” he practically spits. “Not after what he’s done.”

I frown, confused and surprised by such animosity. “I know it’s difficult to understand—”

“There is nothing to understand.” Tate stares at Jacob. “I saw him in dreams, I hear his voice,” he says in English. “He speaks to me when I sleep.”

“What?”

When I look at Jacob, he looks baffled. Cheeks red, he holds his palms up and takes a step back. “No—I”

“He’s talking about Luke,” Jo says from the doorway.

My gaze snaps to her as my blood runs cold in my veins. “What?”

Jo’s downtrodden expression reddens with regret, and I know in my gut that somehow, what Tate says, is true. “Luke what?” I bite out.

Jo clasps her hands in front of her, swallowing thickly, as if she’s searching for words that will make the searing pain in my heart disappear. “Jo!” I bark.

“We agreed you shouldn’t know in the beginning,” she says so calm and timid, I have to bite my tongue so as not to snap completely. “When we realized who the man was to you, we knew it was essential to keep it quiet, for the sake of our peace. It was wrong—I know that.”

“And now?” I shout, rising to my feet.

At least Jo has tears in her eyes to match mine when she lifts her shoulder, as if it slipped her mind. “I got caught up with everything,” she admits. “I didn’t think—I’m so sorry, I forgot.”

“But Luke has not,” I realize. I am angry with Jo for her dishonesty, but that Luke had come so close to telling me so many times and never did, feels like I’ve been skewed by a poison-tipped arrow and my heart is bleeding. My vision blurs as I imagine his lips against mine. Lips that told lies and held secrets. “He told me he’d killed one of our men,” I say, my chin trembling as I realize the cowardly weight of his unspoken words. “And I’d been foolish enough to forgive him.”

48

Luke

It’s silent as we walk single file up the narrow path, the sound of the rushing water so distant it no longer rings in my ears. Our footsteps echo in the cave instead, and Elan once again holds the torch as Ahkima and I help Tarak through the tunnels.

I’m not sure if everyone’s silence is borne of exhaustion from a long and treacherous day, or maybe it’s because there is little to say. We wanted to figure out where the water was going and how we could tap into it, but now we have to unblock it and keep it from crumbling in again too.

How do you save an eroding mountain? And what does that mean for their people? Every idea I have, every answer I can think of, is another feat that must be solved before water is no longer a burden for Sagebrush.

“If I didn’t know better,” I say as the familiar path to the village comes into view. “I would think your gods are trying to tell all of us we have to move. Or,” I say with a grunt under Tarak’s weight, “they’re trying to get rid of us completely.”

Tarak smirks. “Soshos, yes,” he jokes. “It would be a perfect world.”

I shake my head, chuckling with him, but it’s clear that he worries about his people’s fate as well.

“Home,” Elan says as we step out from one of the tunnels in the east side of the cavern. The edge of the village comes into view. I straighten and stretch my back, grateful to be inside this large, cold cavern again.

Ahkima and I exchange another silent look before he puts his shoulder under Tarak’s arm. They speak back and forth as we make our way closer to the village, and we all hesitate, noticing the group gathered outside the herbalist’s home.

“What is it?” I ask, glancing at Elan. “Something for the ceremony?”

“I do not know,” he mutters as we approach the crowd.

The villagers standing around murmur words I don’t understand, but it’s clear something’s happened. Something bad or good, though I’m not certain which, and I swallow with apprehension.

Elan and Ahkima make their way inside to discover the cause of the commotion, leaving Tarak to lean against me on the outskirts. We glance at each other, Tarak’s dark eyebrows furrowed, and his face smudged with dirt from earlier. “Tate,” he says, as if he’s warning me, and I realize he’s probably right. The people’s murmurs buzz around me, and suddenly, I can feel their eyes on me, heavier than usual. My stomach drops, and though I can tell Tarak wishes to join the others inside, he stays with me, wincing as we wait for them to return with bated breath.

The muffled conversation inside the adobe barely reaches my ears when Kaia steps out.

I feel the air pull from my lungs, and my chest aches unexpectedly as I take the sight of her in. She looks . . . different, draped in clothes unlike any I’ve seen yet. Her hair is no longer braided in rows, but loose and flowing like black waves down her back and over her shoulders. She’s wearing a beaded leather dress, fringed with brown-and-black speckled feathers. The way it’s cut in the front gives me pause, and I realize what the tattoos actually are—a breastplate of powerful images. Her protection. Kaia looks like the etsi, and as I take in her fierce expression, a chill runs through me.

The crowd quiets as she stops a distance from me.

“You killed Cole,” she says, her voice as sharp as the anger lines etching her face. Those three words solidify the guilt that’s been coursing through me for weeks. It is leaden and sinks like a boulder into the pit of my stomach. I feel the shame coloring my face, and the sweat already beading my brow feels suddenly feverish. This is the moment I knew would come, no matter how much I wished it wouldn’t. Only it feels worse than I could’ve expected, because behind her anger is disappointment and regret. Because of me.

“Kaia,” Ahkima says softly, stepping out of the adobe, but she waves him away.

Her eyes spear through me. “You killed him.” Her voice catches, a pitch of disbelief that’s barely perceptible, and it tears at my heart. “And you were a coward not to tell me.”

Everyone’s eyes are on me, their red-hot stares searing through me, leaving me bare, but it’s only Kaia I care about. Her glare burns the most, and it guts me. “I was,” I admit. I want to step closer, to take her hand and explain every reason I had for not telling her, but I know it changes nothing.

She steps closer, her nostrils flaring. Her eyes flood with emotions she tries to keep at bay, though I’m not sure if it’s for her sake or her people’s. “I trusted you,” she breathes. She did, with her heart and soul, and I want to crumple at her feet.

“I didn’t want you to hate me,” I say stupidly.

Kaia’s jaw tightens. Her fists clench at her sides, and she stares directly into my eyes as she lifts her chin. “You leave tomorrow—”

“Kaia—” I take a step forward.

“You have what you came for, sosho,” she seethes, and that single word delivers a blow that hurts more than I ever thought possible. It cuts through me, slices me in half, and flays me for everyone to see how far I’ve fallen in her eyes. In her heart.

Tarak moves beside me, drawing Kaia’s attention away from me, and her eyes widen slightly, as if she’s only just realized he was standing there, injured. She glares at me. “Is this your doing too?” she growls, hurrying over to him.

Tarak whispers something to her I don’t understand, and she raises her voice, silencing him.

“Kimi!” she calls over her shoulder. There’s a bustle to get Tarak into the adobe, and Kaia watches as her friend disappears inside. “Elan will come to you with my terms for water,” she says coldly, not even sparing me a glance.

Drenched in shame, I watch as she walks away from me with squared shoulders and unhurried steps.

Jo stands outside of the adobe, deflated as she meets my gaze. While I understand the sympathy in her eyes and see her own remorse, we both knew this day would come, and now I must pay for it.

49

Luke

Standing outside, at what I’ve come to know as Ahkima’s lookout, I stare at the rugged peaks and crumbling rock faces surrounding me. It’s all glowing in what little moonlight filters through the cloud cover, and I stare at the harsh beauty of this place.

It doesn’t matter that my body aches after a day of climbing and straining and adrenaline pounding dread. I’m too numb to be exhausted and too angry with myself to sit still. I imagine June’s voice in my head, berating me for being such an idiot, and it makes me miss home for the first time since we arrived.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. I’ve thought that a hundred times in the past few days, and now I know why. It hurts. My heart feels too full, and for the first time since my father’s death, I feel like I’m going to burst. With grief. With uncertainty. With longing. I want to plead with Kaia to understand, but I don’t deserve her forgiveness. I knew I was being a selfish coward, no matter how many sound reasons I thought I had for withholding the full truth a little while longer.

“You have to talk to her, Luke.” Jo’s voice startles me, and I glance over my shoulder. She steps out of the tunnel with a torch in her hand. “She will forgive you. She just needs time.”

“No,” I say, closing my eyes as I remember the trust, and dare I say love, that heated the air between us last night by the pool. “She won’t.” Kaia had given everything to me in that moment, and I’d kept the darkest part of me from her.

Jo sighs and rests her hand on my arm. “Neither of us told her the truth, Luke. Even if she’s not pleased with me, she’ll move past it—”

“That’s different, Jo,” I tell her, hearing the break in my voice.

“Things could change when her anger subsides. She will remember life before she knew us—how she used to be scared and angry, and what she would’ve done had she been in your shoes. She will never like what you did, but she will understand.”

“It’s not just about Cole,” I say, and as if Jo suddenly realizes my meaning, and how much deeper our relationship runs, she drops her hand from my arm and sighs.

“She needs you in the kiva.”

My eyes dart to hers. “What?” I can’t imagine Kaia would want me in such a sacred place.

“She talked to Elan about the river, but you know what we need to do on our end and you must explain it to the elders so we can come to some sort of understanding—so we can make a plan.”

Jo turns back toward the tunnel without another word, and I realize they must be waiting for me. I feel a sudden cold sweat break out over my skin as I follow Jo back into the mountain. I walk wordlessly behind her, toward the kiva, where smoke furls its way out of the top of the adobe, disappearing in the air.

Elan stands at the entrance, his eyes meeting mine before he pulls the heavy furs covering the door aside for Jo and I to go in.

I’m not sure what I expected during all of my imaginings of this place, but the kiva is a plaster room with a few tapestries hanging around, a firepit in the center, lit to crackling, and the elders circle it, their faces lit by flickering flames. It smells like Oona inside, like her incense and sage, and the fire smoke exits the ventilation hole in the top. There are no windows, only the doorway we entered from, and it’s far enough removed from the village, it’s like we’re in a world of our own, absent the hum of voices and cooing birds outside.

Kaia, Oona, and three elders watch us as Jo and I step into the group. Briefly, my eyes flicker to Kaia, no longer in her ceremony attire, but her gaze shifts to the fire. The elders’ faces are impassive as we find our place among them. Oona closes her eyes and begins to hum, slowly waving a smoking bundle of sage.

What did the elders usually discuss in here, before us soshos arrived to stir things up? I bury my curiosities, knowing I can never ask Kaia about such things again.

“Much has changed,” Kaia finally says, her voice quiet as she addresses the group, “since our negotiated peace with the soshos.” She scans the faces around the fire. “We offered knowledge of the pahi in exchange for food. But, as always, it is not so simple.”

I watch the elders’ aloof faces, save for one. Ahkima’s mother seems less than pleased at my being in the kiva, but they all listen, their brows only furrowing when Kaia tells them there is more that her people must do. Though I don’t understand her words, she gestures a waterfall and a diverging course. “The way,” she finally says in English, “is blocked.”

Ahkima’s mother says something with the sting of a wasp, and Jo and I exchange a quick glance.

“We help soshos,” Oona says. “We have food now. In exchange, we must help.” She nods at Kaia, encouraging her to continue.

Kaia forces herself to look at me, and it tears me apart inside to find there is still no softness in her eyes for me. “You have a plan?”

I nod, begrudgingly averting my gaze. “An idea,” I amend. I take a deep breath. “The storms are eroding the mountain,” I say, looking at Kaia to translate so none of my meaning is lost or misinterpreted. Confident words with abrupt sounds fall from her lips as she meets the elders’ gazes.

“We must create a reinforced barrier around the tunnel,” I continue.

Kaia translates, then slowly, when she is finished, her gaze shifts to me again, waiting. I want to see more than darkness in the verdant depths of her eyes, so much so it’s distracting, but as everyone waits for me to continue, I force myself to focus.

“Our access to steel is limited. So we must work with what we have on hand.”

“How?” a toothless man with deep lines in his face asks. His voice is rough and aged. “How you do this?”

“We build with mountain stones and bricks,” I say. “And we have sand, lots of it. We fill holes in the walls with cement to fortify it. We use all the rebar and steel we can spare to reinforce it against the quakes that continue to crumble the way shut . . .” I let Kaia catch up with me before I continue. “And we use horses, carts . . . and a lot of men to do it.”

“Our hunters,” the old man says.

I wait for a nod of reassurance from Kaia, but she simply stares at me. I clear my throat and appraise the unreadable faces staring back at me. “Yes, we will need some of your men.”

“There is more,” Jo adds. She exchanges a knowing look with Kaia before peering around at the circle, as if the elders don’t intimidate her in the slightest. “We cannot safely trade you food without outposts to stop at throughout the Dead Lands.”

Kaia translates, and they glance from her to Jo again.

“Safe houses must be built for storage and shelter against the storms. It is the only way to keep everyone—your people and ours—safe during transport. Less food will be ruined, and there will be less danger.”

“The more help we have,” I add, “the quicker we can make all of this possible. We want you to have your food as much as we need our water. You may need our help to leave this mountain in the future, so it’s a fair trade.”

Kaia’s gaze cuts to mine. “What do you mean?”

“You should speak with Elan, but I doubt you have much longer to live in the mountain, years perhaps, but not forever. Not if the earthquakes continue to worsen.”

A flash of something fills Kaia’s expression before it’s gone and her etsi voice returns as she addresses the elders.

They talk among themselves, Oona and Kaia piping in here and there, but it isn’t until most of them nod at Kaia that she finally looks back at Jo and me. “We can spare a dozen men only,” she says. “While the elders want to trust you, they also worry we’ll be exposed without our strongest men.”

I look at Jo. A dozen men aren’t that many in the grand scheme of building shelters and reinforcing tunnels, but twelve strong and able bodies are better than none.

“We have a couple dozen men we can rely on,” I tell Jo, thinking about the select few I would trust with such a task.

Jo nods. “And I know Mr. Trainer and Clayton—Ashford, Scarlet—we will all want to help in whatever way we can. The same people who came to our aid during the standoff between Doyle and the marshal will come to our aid in this. I’m certain of it.”

Jo and I stare at one another a moment longer, as everything we’ve been through in the past few weeks culminates around us. Her eyes glisten and she dips her chin before regarding the elders with a smile. “Yes, we can make this work.”

“It will be dangerous,” I add, scanning the wrinkled, wary faces studying us. It’s a reminder we all need so that we don’t get lost in the hope and possibility of what could be. “The sandstorms and the quakes,” I say. “Their damage could devastate us if we are not prepared. So, we must be ready for them.”

When Kaia doesn’t translate, I look at her, confused. She blinks, eyes lingering on me for the briefest of moments, before she seems to stir and meet the expectant stares of her kinsmen. “We understand the risk.”

50

Kaia

The breeze is cool as I stare at Cole’s empty grave, but it doesn’t whip and sting like it often does. Instead, the night is quiet and numbs the burn of regret eating away at me. This afternoon lingers on my skin like a sickness, making my chest ache and my stomach hollow. I thought I’d come to terms with whatever Luke’s past might be because things were different now, but I’d been foolish to think that was possible.

I keep wondering what he thought the day he’d stood at the bottom of the hill with me, staring at Cole’s empty grave, knowing why it was empty and how Cole had met his end. It’s one thing to know that soshos killed my cousin, but that he died at Luke’s hand? Imagining Luke pulling the trigger with hate in his eyes, no matter how much I want to forgive him and understand, it’s too big and too real in my mind . . . I can imagine it all too clearly.

Absently, I pick at the moss growing over the stone at my foot. Cole might’ve been proud of me for putting my personal failings and pain aside to do what is right for our people, but he would’ve been disappointed that I’d gotten myself in a situation like this to begin with, that I’d let my guard down.

Heavy, even footsteps slosh in the damp earth behind me. I know who it is. “Have you come to say you told me so?” I ask.

“No,” Ahkima says, and the lack of censure in his voice somehow makes my heart ache even more, and I force out a tight breath.

“Do you remember when I ran away?” I ask.

Ahkima huffs with amusement. “I don’t think sleeping up here is considered running away,” he says, then his voice sobers. “But yes, I remember. It was after your mother died.”

I nod to myself, recalling the utter despondency and loneliness I’d felt, knowing I was alone. Lost. Angry. Sad. Scared. “Cole found me, and I thought he’d come up to force me home, but instead, he stayed with me all night.”

Ahkima crouches beside me, and the scent of campfire wafts off him. “That sounds like something he would do.”

“We talked about my mother. We talked about etsi and how it wouldn’t be scary because he would be with me—we’d figure everything out together. He would help me do right by our people.” I sit down fully, my legs crossed in front of me. I can feel the cold earth through my furs, but I ignore it. “Cole made it all feel smaller and more manageable . . . a little less lonely, too. Now,” I breathe, “he’s gone. I haven’t even grieved for him because I’ve been too distracted.” I hate that my voice breaks, but the shame I feel is all-consuming.

Ahkima looks at me, I can feel his gaze on the side of my face, and I force my eyes to his. They are clear and intent on me in the misty moonlight. “You must think me stupid,” I say.

Ahkima’s eyes linger on me for a brief second, then he nods back to Cole’s empty grave. Again, my stomach turns as I wonder what Luke did with his body once he’d killed him. Did he parade it through the streets of Sagebrush? Did he strip him of everything he had and leave him on the ground to rot?

My eyes blur and my throat thickens as I try and fail not to imagine it all. “He was all I had left, and Luke took him—he knew what Cole meant to me, and he said nothing.” I shake my head, feeling the bitterness of rage all over again.

“Cole was not all you have left,” Ahkima says. His voice is a rumble in the breeze, an anchor in the chaos of my mind. Pivoting, he reaches for my hand and he presses my palm to his chest. “You have me, Kaia. You have Oona and Elan, Tarak and Lena—no matter what happens next, or what you do.”

His words wrap around my heart like a promise, filling my chest until it hurts, and my eyes blur with tears. “I know,” I croak. And I do. They’ve always been there for me, and I wouldn’t have gotten this far without all of them.

“You will always have us,” he says, more thoughtful this time. “Even longer than what might’ve been before . . . because of your peace with the soshos.“

My eyes widen at his sudden acceptance of my decision.

“Whatever path has brought us here was necessary, even if I didn’t see it at first or want to accept it. Even if I hated the sosho.”

At the mention of Luke, what’s left of my resolve breaks like a dam, and the hurt pours out of me. “Why does the path always have to be so hard,” I cry, the tears finally falling from between my lashes. I feel small and pathetic and broken uttering the words of a child, but I don’t care. My heart is too tired, and full of loss and sadness. “I don’t want to lose him too.”

Ahkima’s arms wrap around me, strong and comforting, and I know how hard it must be for him to hold me as I cry over another man, but he does it anyway. My friend. My protector. My Ahkima.

“Then don’t,” he murmurs.

My shuddering shoulders still against him. “What?” I peer up at him. “Why would you say that? You, of all people . . .”

Ahkima stares at Cole’s grave in front of us, his jaw clenching in the moonlight as he loses himself to warring thoughts. “As much as every part of me wanted to hate the sosho, I cannot.” He lets out a heavy breath, and I watch the way this new reality settles over him, as if Ahkima’s finally given in to hope.

“Why the sudden change of heart?” I ask, wondering what happened down in the cave.

He looks at me. “Biscuits.”

A small smile lifts the corner of my mouth. “They won you over too, then?”

His expression is stone-still, but I see the twitch around his eyes and know he’s trying not to smile. “I still see the danger in trusting them,” Ahkima adds. “But the benefits weigh more in the end. Yes?”

I nod. “That’s what I think too. Especially if we have to leave the mountain someday.”

After a moment, he adds, “Even if our pasts are complicated, and none of this will be easy.” His words linger, steeped in meaning.

“Your mother thinks—”

“It is because of my mother I say these things,” Ahkima explains, lifting his eyebrow wryly, as if he can’t believe it himself. “Her silence on the matter speaks volumes, though she would never tell either of us she approves.”

I roll my eyes, wondering how a grown woman with so much knowledge and wisdom could be so childish. “But why? Why does she push against everything so vehemently? It can’t truly be because she holds a grudge against my family or me. She’s too intelligent for that.”

Ahkima’s gaze shifts over me, as if he’s considering what he should divulge to me. “My mother fears you, Kaia.”

I lean back. “What . . . Why?”

“Like Oona and Sakima, she has always had a purpose in this life, and it has never been brought into question, until you. You bring about so much change, my mother worries she will not have a place in the new world you are creating, especially knowing your dislike of her. Even if she knows a peace must happen because it’s best for our people.”

A dozen questions jumble my thoughts, but I realize none of the answers really matter, because it all makes sense now, in a complicated Muna sort of way. “She told you all of this?”

Ahkima smiles, a rare and beautiful sight. “No, of course not.”

“Then how do you know?”

“Because I know my mother,” he says simply. “It has been the two of us most of my life. You strive for change, and she fears all she does not know, cannot see in front of her, or touch.”

I blink at him a few times, letting his words sink in. A lightness eases the pressure around my heart a little. “It is a lot of change, even for me,” I admit. “It feels like a windstorm and I’m barely able to catch my breath.”

Ahkima studies me a moment. “So,” he starts. “What will you do now?”

I know he means about Luke, and there’s a tug at my heart all over again. “I don’t know,” I admit. “I’m so . . . hurt.”

“Would you have told him?” he asks. There’s curiosity in his question, not judgement.

“Yes, I think I would have.” The words come easily enough, but lack conviction. I think about June, wrinkled and sick back in Sagebrush. If she’d died at my hand—if that remedy had hurt her, instead of helped her coughing fit—I would hate to see the sadness in his eyes, and the knowledge that I had something to do with it. “But I can’t be sure.”

We sit in silence for a while. Ahkima doesn’t try to sway me, because I don’t think he cares what I decide, as much as he wants me to be happy, and I love him all the more for it.

I wrap my arms around him. “I am glad you came out here,” I tell him. “I’ve missed you, Ahkima. I don’t like us being at odds.”

He exhales, squeezing me more tightly. “Me neither.”

“And I hope you meant what you said, because I will need you in this. You are the cautious reason to my wistful hope.”

Slowly, Ahkima leans back, his eyes searching mine. “Then you will have me,” he whispers.

I wake to the sun peeking through the clouds, happily blazing against my cheeks despite the brisk breeze. I blink, only vaguely remembering I’d been outside by Cole’s grave, when Ahkima stirs beside me.

He grumbles and pulls a rock out from under his back, glaring at it.

“It’s not as fun as it used to be,” I muse, and sit up with a yawn and stiff neck.

“No,” he mutters. “It’s not.”

Appraising his unkempt appearance and sleep-crinkled face, I pick a fleck of lichen from his hair.

He lifts an eyebrow. “What are you smiling about?” he says, and reaches for something on my furs. He pulls it off and shows it to me, earning a shriek, and flings it behind him.

“A slug?” I say, running my hands over my furs and through my rumpled hair.

“This look,” he says, appraising me in return. “It’s not as cute as when you were little either.”

I punch his shoulder, earning a grunt from him, and rise to my feet. I feel freer today, more hopeful again, like its truly the dawn of a new beginning, and I know that has everything to do with Ahkima. “Want to steal some biscuits from Oona? Jo taught her how to make them with some of the ingredients we brought back.”

“I think you owe me that at least,” he says, cracking his back as he falls into step behind me.

We make our way down the hill and follow the carved path around the mountain until we’re back at the village. The air between Ahkima and me is lighter than it’s been in years, since everything between us started to shift, and we seem to revel in it, ambling back home.

My heartbeat skips a little as we draw closer to Oona’s, and I wonder what I’ll say to Luke. I know I should pull him aside and speak with him. That I should allow him the opportunity to say something at least.

Ahkima inhales deeply as he reaches for the door. “I can smell the biscuits,” he says, and we find Oona bustling around the hearth, alone.

I glance around. “Where is your shadow?” I ask. “Is Toby still sleeping?”

Oona turns around, glancing from Ahkima, who fills the doorway completely, to me. “They’ve left, mana,” Oona says softly.

“Gone?” Her words lance through me.

“It was your wish,” Oona reminds me. “They have much to do, so they left before dawn.”

Ahkima appears almost regretful, and the lightness in my chest deflates a little. I hadn’t expected to feel a sickening sense of loss in their absence. No Toby, chattering and asking ceaseless questions. No Jo, humming beside Oona. No Jacob and Luke, bantering in their room.

Suddenly, the adobe feels cold and empty, and regret blooms anew.

51

Luke

After leaving the wagon at the Masons’ farm, and Jo and Toby to get an earful from a frantic Miss Scarlet, Jacob and I ride to the stable to let our horses rest from our two-day journey home. We leave Tuck and Delilah to fill their bellies after a brush down, and head toward the center of town.

Sagebrush is mostly quiet, and flickering lamplight burns outside the businesses still open. The rest of the road is washed in moonlight. Crickets chirp, a sound I realize I’ve missed in all the howling wind of the mountain, and a part of me revels in the heat of the desert, even with the all too familiar feeling of sweat-dampened clothes stuck to my skin.

“What’s that solemn look for?” Jacob asks, nudging me with his elbow. He switches his leather satchel to the other shoulder. “Aren’t you happy to be home? To see June? She can start the tinctures tonight. With any luck, she might be feeling better by the end of the week.”

I nod, relieved at the thought. “Hopefully.”

“And yet, you’ve been scowling since we left. Look—” he says, turning to walk backward, facing me. “I know things didn’t end the way you wanted them to with Kaia,” he starts, and my jaw clenches to keep my utter disappointment and regret at bay. I’ve been stewing in it since we left. “But you have to admit, for all the shit we’ve been through the past month, it’s been a huge success. Look how close we are to having a steady supply of water again.”

“You’re not supposed to count your chickens before they hatch,” I tell him, channeling my inner June. “We don’t have the water yet. It might be months before we do.”

“There’s the pessimistic Luke I knew before all of this started. I was wondering where he’d gone off to. I didn’t recognize you up on that mountain.”

“Screw off,” I mutter, and readjust the pack on my back. Jacob chuckles, but no matter how animated he tries to be, I see it in his eyes too—the feeling that something is missing. “What about you?” I say. “Until five seconds ago, you haven’t been your chatterbox self.”

With a sigh, Jacob turns back around and falls into step beside me again. “Yeah, it feels strange coming home. Part of me is glad to be here, but I liked being in the village, learning new things and meeting new people. Now that I’m back, and once Clayton has my notes, I’ll likely go back to living in my father’s shadow—until he retires and I have to take over his business.”

Suddenly, I feel like a shit friend. I’ve been so focused on myself, I haven’t thought much about Jacob in all of this. Sure, he was equal parts excited and terrified to go on this trip initially, but in the past weeks, he’s come into his own. Curious. Excited. Giddy even, as he soaked up so much knowledge, like the schoolboy I’d known as a child.

“It doesn’t have to be that way,” I tell him. “You don’t have to practice medicine in your father’s shadow. This peace with the natives is only the beginning. You’re the one who’s established relationships with the villagers, and learned about their customs and ways of living—Clayton will need you more than you know. He’d be dumb not to send you out to the meeting point in a couple weeks. You can help translate if needed—we have three shelters to start building.”

Jacob’s head tilts at that, and I can practically see his mind spinning with possibilities. “You’re right,” he muses.

I grin. “I know.”

With an eye roll, Jacob nudges me again. “What about you? You’re moping like you’ll never see Kaia again. She’s at the helm of this. You’ll be able to make things right. It’s going to take time, is all.”

“Kaia never wants to see me again,” I remind him. “She’s not going to come off that mountain. If anything, she’ll send Elan or Tarak in her place. Besides, she’s too important to come down here and risk her life in these storms. Deep down, she knows that. She’s seen firsthand what they can do.”

“Hey, Luke!” Cora calls, stepping onto the porch of the Brass Rail Saloon. “Howdy, Jacob.” We both wave a quick hello. “Y’all comin’ in for a cool down? We’ve sure missed ya! We want to hear all about your adventures.”

“Another time,” I call back, and lift my pack to show her. “I’m beat.”

The lanterns flicker by the saloon doorway, and Cora’s pouty face doesn’t escape me, but she waves, her pink dress swaying back and forth as she simpers and winks back at us.

Jacob sighs, gaze clinging to her a split second longer before he focuses on the road. “I remember when she was the quiet girl in the schoolroom,” he says longingly, and it gives me pause.

I stop and stare at him. “She still is,” I tell him. “Why don’t you go in and talk to her?”

Jacob blanches. “No. Never. I wouldn’t. I don’t—I can’t.”

I chuckle and shake my head. “Not with an attitude like that you can’t.”

He growls something inaudible, and I allow myself to bask in his sudden, perturbed silence.

“I don’t know how to talk to her,” he finally admits. “It’s been too long, and she’s . . .”

“She’s what?” I hedge. Though I know where his mind is, I want to make him say it.

“You know . . . a lady of the night,” he mutters, sending me into a fit of laughter. “Dammit, Luke. That’s why I didn’t want to say anything,” he grumbles.

“If she had someone to go home to,” I say, catching my breath. “Someone good, I bet she would leave that place in a heartbeat. None of them are ladies of the night because they want to be, Jake. This place doesn’t offer much, you know that. It’s the lot she has . . . until something else comes along.”

That seems to give him plenty to think about because he’s quiet again. I’m almost to June’s place when I hear Holyworth behind me.

“You survived the savages,” he calls. I cringe at the word savage, and Jacob and I regard one another, reluctant to turn around and deal with a loudmouthed deputy at the moment, but we do anyway.

Holyworth staggers over from his evening drinks with the blacksmith, not completely drunk, but close enough. “Wasn’t sure if they gutted you, or—”

“No, it wasn’t like that,” I tell him. “And we’re fine, as you can see.”

“Tell me,” he continues as if he didn’t even hear me. “Did you scope the place out—figure out all their weaknesses?”

“That would be dumb, wouldn’t it,” I drawl. “Seeing as they know that mountain and more about the water than we do.”

His head shifts to the side. “Really? Well, I bet you figured out where they’re hiding it.”

“They aren’t hiding it.” Exhaustion gives way to my impatience. “And Clayton will address everyone tomorrow, once we tell him—”

“Fuck Clayton,” Holyworth hisses. “I’m asking you. What’s the plan, Luke?”

“The plan is to keep peace with them. No more games,” I bite back.

Holyworth finally detects my irritation, and he sneers. “Well, I don’t believe it.” He practically snorts. “You’ve gone soft on us, kid.”

“More like I understand the bigger picture now,” I grind out.

“Are you sure it’s not that pretty little thing I saw riding around with the savages when they were here? Did you dip your—”

“Shut your fucking mouth, Holyworth,” I growl, rounding on him.

His eyes widen, glinting with surprise and sudden understanding. “You hound dog, you did, didn’t you?” He pushes me away from him as I realize I’m gripping his shirt, but I latch on harder, fury heating every inch of my coiled body.

“The water situation is worse than you know,” I bite out. “They are our only hope, so don’t you dare get any ideas,” I warn. “We need them—you hear me? Tell the others too. Otherwise, I have no problem breaking that shooting arm of yours so that you don’t have much of a choice in the matter.” I don’t know where the sudden rage comes from, or why the threats spill from my lips, especially because I know Holyworth is more bark than bite, but I want him to know how serious I am. I want everyone to understand. “I said, do you under—”

“Yes! Christ, O’Brien.” This time, he manages to shove away from me, and stumbles back. “I got it.”

“Good,” I growl.

Holyworth spits, and Jacob and I watch him turn on his heels and head back toward the blacksmith, sparing me a final glance over his shoulder.

“You think he’ll cause trouble?” Jacob whispers.

“No,” I say confidently, and shake my head. “There’s a reason he didn’t join Doyle’s rebellion. He’s a coward, and most of the men left are loyal to Ashford alone.”

“At least they know where you stand now,” he thinks aloud.

I reach down for my pack I’d dropped in the dirt, and sling it over my shoulder again. “I gotta get to June’s,” I say with renewed purpose. “And I need sleep.” The pounding behind my eyes is suddenly incessant.

“All right, then.” Jacob grips my shoulder. “I’ll see you at the Cunningham estate tomorrow.”

With a nod, I veer to June’s apartment on the corner.

“Hey, Luke?” Jacob calls.

I glance back at him.

“I know it doesn’t feel like it now, but Kaia will come around—she’ll see how much you care about her, that you didn’t want to hurt her, and it will all work out. You’ll see.”

“Yeah? And how do you know that?” I call back.

He’s thoughtful a moment, and finally shrugs. “Because I saw the two of you together. And I’ve seen the way Jo looks at Clayton. You and Kaia, you look at each other that way. So it has to be fated, right?”

The certainty in his voice makes my chest cinch with hope, and I swallow thickly. “Maybe you’re right, Jake,” I say, though my heart isn’t in it. “Maybe you’re right.”

I push thoughts of Kaia from my mind as I prepare myself for what I might find at June’s place. It’s past nine and a glow filters through her draped window, so I know she’s awake. But it’s occurred to me more than once that, even if Kimi’s regimen works on others inflicted with the Choke, June might be too far gone already. She’s had it for so long, I don’t know if her body will recover after all these years.

I reach for the door, bracing myself, and slowly push it open. The familiar dusty scent of home hits my nose, and June glances up from her seat on the divan, startled.

“Luke,” she breathes, and her lips curve in a watery smile.

Stepping inside, I push the door closed behind me, and let my bag slide to the floor beside it. “Hey, Junie.”

She moves to stand, but I shake my head and cross the room to her. “Don’t get up—”

“I’ll get up if I want to,” she wheezes, and in spite of her shallow breaths, she still has that staunch determination about her that makes me smile despite myself. “I got myself down here, didn’t I? I can get myself up.”

I resist an eye roll and meet her halfway.

“Oh, look at you,” she rasps, her arms wrapping around my middle. I pull her in for a hug, breathing the familiar scent of the wax from her candles. Her body is warm and boney in my hold, and how unpredictable and uncertain life is suddenly sets in as I realize just how lucky I am that nothing happened to her while I was away.

“How have you been?” I ask, taking a step back. I want to see the truth in her eyes, knowing honesty when it comes to her health, doesn’t come easily.

“Oh,” she says, waving my question away. “Just bored to death. If it weren’t for Mrs. Pelley bringing me some books to borrow, and Miss Scarlet and that beau of hers taking me to church with them last week, I might’ve given up already.” While it’s a joke, I don’t smile. “What about you?” she continues. “You back for good, or is this only another pit stop?”

“I’m back,” I tell her, helping June to sit back on the sofa again. “Sort of.” She’s wheezing a bit, but I try not to let it distract me. Instead, I turn for my bag. “And I’ve brought you something to try.” I remove a small jug, corked with a clay stopper, and wrapped tightly in deerskin to keep it from spilling. “It’s a tincture I want you to try. I think it will help with your breathing.”

“Really? Did the drifters make it?”

“No,” I say. “Jacob did, but Kaia’s healers taught him how. We have to figure out how to grow some of the ingredients here, hopefully in Mrs. Cunningham’s greenhouse.”

June eyes me carefully but says nothing as I unwrap the small jug and hand it to her. Her eyebrows furrow as she brings it to her nose. “What in the—” She glares at me. “You trying to kill me? It smells like bog water.”

“June,” I admonish, “it could help clear the phlegm in your lungs. You have to try it.” My tone leaves no room for argument.

“Fine,” she relents.

“There’s enough in there to last you a couple weeks, until Jacob can make some more. I want you to take a swig in the morning when you wake up, and at night before you go to bed. Those are Jacob’s orders, not mine, so don’t fight me on it.” I nod for her to drink some, and with a scowl she does.

Though her face is braced for the worst, June’s eyes widen as she swallows and licks her lips. “It’s not as bad as it smells,” she admits.

“Good.”

“And what’s this sort of,” she says. “Are ya back, or aren’t ya?”

Letting my pack fall to the ground, I sit down on the sofa beside her. The cushions are the softest thing I’ve felt in days, and my body practically puddles into them. “I have to head back out soon.”

“To see Kaia?” she asks, and my eyes shoot to hers. There’s a glinting curiosity in them that makes me feel sick to my stomach.

“No,” I answer, averting my gaze. “We’re meeting a group of her people in the Dead Lands to start constructing safe houses.”

“Safe houses? You all planning on spending even more time out there?”

I nod reluctantly. “We have little choice. We discovered why the water’s disappearing, and we have a lot of work to do before we can make things right. The safe houses between here and the mountain are only the first step.” I meet June’s eyes again. “We’ll be spending a lot of time out there for the foreseeable future.” I’m not sure if I regret telling her because I know she’ll worry, even if she’d never admit it, or if it’s because the more time I’m away, the less time I’ll see her before . . .

The wheeze in June’s chest punctuates my concern, but she’s thoughtful and quiet for a few heartbeats before she takes my hand in hers. Her wrinkly fingers are soft against my calloused hands and I grip them tighter. “What happened, Luke?” she asks softly. “With the girl,” she clarifies. “I see it in your eyes, a sadness I’ve never seen before.”

I exhale a month’s worth of exhaustion and run my hand over my face. “I screwed up and lied to her.” The admission stings, and I clear my throat. “Either way, it would’ve ended like this, I just wish I’d been man enough to face it earlier, before I . . .”

“Before what?”

“Before it was too hard.” I pinch the bridge of my nose and squeeze my eyes shut.

June pats my hand then clasps my fingers in hers. “You’re a good man, Luke,” she says in earnest. “You have been lost for most of your life, but even then, you have always been good. Whatever’s happened, Kaia will discover that, with time.”

I nod, wishing that were true. “I’ll be fine,” I promise her. “The exhaustion doesn’t help, is all.” I pat her hand reassuringly. “It’s good to be home.”

She lifts a pale gray eyebrow but says nothing.

“There’s a lot to do tomorrow,” I think aloud, knowing I should get up and walk home to the barracks, to an apartment I haven’t been to in weeks. But here with June, in the heat of the night and with the soft cushions around me, I can’t seem to lift my head or open my eyes.

“There’s a lot to do,” I repeat. “I should . . .” But I don’t remember what I was going to say, and the sound of June’s shallow breaths and the scent of wax fade away.

52

Kaia

“Teach her your wisdom, that she may trust her heart, her spirit, and her mind.” Oona’s words lull against the percussions around me, beating in a steady, soothing rhythm. “That she might trust beyond her fear and walk in balance with the sun and moon.”

The scent of sage and woodsmoke fills my nostrils, and I feel the heat of the flames blazing in the center of the circle against my painted skin. Everything Oona says becomes a distant hum as I imagine my mother during her ceremony.

Whatever trepidations she’d felt, she’d conquered, becoming a strong, beloved etsi until her final days. She was fair and wise and beautiful. She commanded respect and acted in compassion and love. She was everything to her people, and it is filling her shoes that cuts at my heart, baring it to be censured and judged.

And loved. Her voice is soft in my ears, and chills tumble over my skin. I feel her in my heart, whispering her praise and giving me strength.

Ahkima’s supportive words from the mountain peak linger, filling me with a confidence I hadn’t felt before, knowing I am not alone. Never alone. And I feel that now with every fiber in me.

“May her ears be sharp to hear your voice, and her eyes wide, welcoming the path that lies ahead.”

Once Oona sings the hymn of our ancestors, everything falls silent. No more humming, no more drums.

“Rise,” she tells me, and I open my eyes, climbing from my knees to my feet. “Look upon the people, and give them promise.” Her voice is soft and proud, and it cracks a little as my eyes meet hers. Oona’s mouth curves slightly, before she dips her chin in respect and gestures to the dozens of people, old and young, and dressed in their best, as they gaze upon me. The new clan mother. The leader of our people. The etsi.

My eyes meet Ahkima’s, and his face is stone-still as usual. Then I see Lena with blurry eyes and a barely-there smile, and Sakima, who dips his head in reverence when our eyes meet. My heart races as I realize all my life these people have known me, but now, for the first time, they will truly see me.

I look at Tarak next, a mischievous glint in his eyes that makes me feel as if not everything will change, and then my gaze rests on Elan. That’s when my eyes blur and my throat constricts.

I’m a little girl in his arms, crying for my father, and he swears he will never let anything happen to me.

He tells me the adventures of his childhood, his memories with my father, as I string my first bow beside him.

We explore the snow lands together, where the wind bites harder and colder than anything on our mountain, and he teaches me to build rabbit traps in rocks, for Oona’s stew.

As Elan stands across from me, his life etched in the lines on his face and painted on the marks covering his arms and chest, I know that so much of who I am is because of him. And for the first moment in my life, I don’t feel sad at the loss of my parents, but proud and grateful to have Elan in their stead. Chin trembling, I dip my head, a great show of respect from the etsi, and he flushes a little. I gaze around the rest of the circle, at the smiling, awed, and curious faces.

“We know the winds of change,” I say above the roar of the fire. “We have felt the sting of loss, the gnaw of hunger, and we have been plagued by the uncertainties in this life so far removed from that of our ancestors. Yet, in the days past, we’ve also felt the promise of hope, and basked in the brightness and possibility of a more prosperous tomorrow.” I’m not sure how my words flow with more certainty, but I let them fall from my lips, using them to bolster me where I stand. “I will need you—all of you—in what follows. For this peace will not happen without hard work and turmoil. But whatever the cost, I know in my heart and soul that this is our path, and I will do all that I can to ensure our children are left with more than struggles and fear. So please,” I say, gesturing to the banquet of food lying out on the blankets stretched out around us. “Eat. Drink. For though we have much work ahead of us, today is a day for celebration.”

Percussions boom to life again. Oona leans in with watery eyes and kisses my temple before she rattles her snake tails and begins to chant her blessings once more.

I’m not sure how long I stand there, watching everyone. Long enough for the tension in my muscles to settle, the adrenaline of the moment to cease, and the fire to die down a little.

Ahkima says something with glittering eyes, making Lena blush with a smile. Oona and Sakima sit with their pipe, a halo of smoke blooming from them as they observe the villagers milling around with their families by the fire. We’re doing all of this for them, I tell myself. And it’s true. I imagine soshos and little Nico playing together one day, as if the history between us is nearly forgotten, and I know it is possible.

But the fire is no longer warm against my skin, and my heart is no longer as full. I turn away from the celebration, uncertain where I am going until I find myself at home, staring at Luke’s empty room for the first time. The two cots are all that’s left of them.

“You left your own celebration,” Elan says behind me, and I offer him a small smile as I peer back at him. I don’t know what to say, so I say nothing as I wrap my arms around his waist in a side hug, staring into the room.

“What ails you?” he asks, his voice a comforting, familiar rumble.

“My heart,” I admit, feeling it skip a beat. “I speak of the hope and future, and I believe the village will find what we need with the soshos, but it doesn’t feel like enough.”

“For you,” he says.

“For me.” I close my eyes, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart. “I don’t like this feeling of loss,” I think aloud. “Not when I know I should look to the promise of what is to come, but . . . I miss him.” I shake my head. “I don’t like the way we left things.”

“Then you must change it,” Elan says easily.

I meet his gaze, seeing the softness I remember as a child. Even amidst so much change, what’s true and real remains the same. Exhaling, I glance around the room, and step inside, as if I’m trying to smell Luke one last time. “I’m not sure I can,” I whisper. I notice a palm-sized ball of hide on the folded furs at the end of Luke’s cot, and taking a curious step closer, I reach for it. Slowly, I unwrap the hides, letting them fall open, and stare at a clay carving. My eyes burn with sudden tears as I trace my fingers over the rough edges. The angles are sharp and crude, showing inexperience, but the detailed fur and eyes must have taken hours.

“This is what he was working on?” My fingers squeeze around the clay bear. My totem. My chest aches with gratitude and love and regret. But also with hope. Luke could’ve taken it. He could’ve shattered it, or given it away . . . but he left it, for me.

Suddenly, Luke’s distance and moodiness the past weeks seem so obvious. The indecision and storm clouds in his eyes. No matter what the lie started out as, I know in my heart of hearts that he didn’t want to hurt me. Not the man who buried my horse so I wouldn’t have to. Not the man who lay with me, so careful and tender my body still tingles at the memory of him. Not the man whose face crumpled when I told him my father couldn’t present me my totem on my eighteenth birth day, so Elan had something made for me in its place.

I clutch Hon in my hand, and a draft whirs through the hallway and licks up my back.

“Teach her your wisdom, that she may trust her heart, her spirit, and her mind.” Oona’s words echo in my ears, and my heart races with a sudden purpose.

“Elan,” I say, turning to him. Recognition lifts his brow. “I will need your help.”

53

Luke

Nearly two weeks after returning to Sagebrush—after planning meetings with Clayton and Ashford, town gatherings with all of Sagebrush, newly assigned duties, and the brickmason and glassblower working tirelessly to prepare what supplies they can for the first build, we finally begin the construction on the first safe house, just ten miles beyond the sandstone spires bordering the Dead Lands.

The day is hot, like all the rest, and it burns the back of my neck, punishing and unrelenting despite my hat, only this time I welcome it. Each heave and strain from the bricks makes my body protest and I welcome that too. Purpose and distraction—I’ll need both if I’m to keep focus in this, and the men are relying on Jacob and me to see this through.

As I lug an armful of fired bricks to the foundation marked in the sand, I glance at Jacob. He’s sweating and straining, just as I am, directing Holyworth toward the trenches that need digging. For the first time, I see pride on my best friend’s face. Whatever happened on that mountain changed him as much as it changed me, and he beams with purpose all over again, and perhaps still glows from Cora’s increasing attentions.

I grin and set a stack of bricks among the others before heading back to the steel-caged wagon. This is our crew now, our path that will bridge the gap between two peoples who, months ago were enemies, and I allow myself the smallest bit of pride along with him. But as always, time is against us out here, so each step is taken in haste.

This place, where nothing grows and the valley is most desolate, offers no hiding if we’re caught in a storm, so we must create shelter and quickly—a facility large enough to house a wagon and horses, or a small herd of livestock during transport to and from the mountain, with a room for sleeping that holds enough food reserves for a dozen men, at least. A month ago, Sagebrush was concerned with keeping two worlds separate, but bridging the sea of sand between us has become a necessity. And the fact we haven’t had a sandstorm since our return keeps our senses on high alert as we break ground.

“O’Brien!” Holyworth shouts, hunched over the trench he digs in the earth. My pulse quickens at the alarm in his voice and I peer up at the sky, only to find it’s clear blue. There’s not a single ominous cloud looming in the distance either. I glance at him, confused until he nods to the north.

Squinting, I notice a caravan in the distance, its visage wavy in the heat of the afternoon as their horses approach.

“Jake!” I call, alerting him of their arrival, though a mixture of relief and regret gives me pause. Kaia kept her word, but I can’t say I’m surprised, no matter what’s passed between us. I try not to dwell on who she’s sent, knowing I’ll find out soon enough, and I pull a pickaxe from the wagon and join Holyworth and Carter.

I heave the pick over my shoulder, again and again, to loosen the earth, so dry and hard each strike reverberates through me.

Heave and thud. Heave and thud.

Eventually, I register the sound of horse hooves and the creak of wagon wheels as the villagers approach, but the more I swing, the lighter I feel, so I leave Jacob to tend to the formalities.

Heave and thud. Heave and thud. I can feel the promise of blisters, but I don’t slow down. Heave and thud. Heave and thud.

“Luke!” Jacob calls.

I heave the pickaxe twice more before straightening. “Yeah?” I exhale, and wipe my sleeve over my brow. “You need me already—” When I turn around, I almost choke. “Kaia,” I rasp, gripping the axe handle tighter. Her eyes are on me as she drapes her furs over the back of Elan’s gray horse.

Kaia says something to Tarak beside her, his eyes skirting to me before he nods and tends to the other men and another woman she’s brought with her. There are two small wagons, narrow enough to trek up and down the mountain road. One is loaded with stones for building, and one with jugs of water to mix the mortar.

My heart races as Kaia meets my gaze again, and as she walks toward me, my palms sweat for an entirely new reason. I don’t know if she’s come for her people or for me, but I don’t dare question it.

Clenching my jaw in preparation for what’s to come, I sidestep Carter and Holyworth to meet her in the middle of the site. “You came,” I say dumbly. Her impossibly green eyes hold mine and I can’t look away.

“I could not send my people down here without seeing this for myself.”

I nod, swallowing thickly, and glance around. Ahkima has come with some of his men, and the other woman Kaia brought is Lena. “Where is Elan?” I ask, shocked he’s not by her side.

“He remained at the village. Someone must ensure everything is okay while I am away.”

“I’m surprised he allowed—”

Her eyebrow arches slightly.

“I just mean, I know how protective he is of you.”

“He is also the person I trust the most with the affairs of the village in my absence,” she says. “And it is my duty to see to things now.” It’s then I realize that however beautiful she is, much the same as I remember, there’s plenty different about Kaia too. Beaded necklaces hang around her neck, and feathers adorn her braids. Even the makeup around her eyes is different, subtle but striking. She’s not simply Kaia anymore.

“The ceremony . . . ” I realize aloud, and suddenly Lena’s presence makes more sense. She’s the daughter of the village’s most knowledgeable healer. And a healer must always be with the etsi, Jacob once told me; she’s too important to leave the mountain unattended, should something happen. And she has her greatest warrior beside her as well.

“I thought—” I start, but my mind is a jumble. “I thought you would stay in the mountain,” I finally manage. “That was what you feared most.”

“It was,” she says, her voice more uncertain than I expect. Always so sure, suddenly Kaia seems as unsteady as me. “My mother was etsi and never left the mountain, and still it could not save her. The spirits took her anyway,” she says. “Nothing is certain, and I cannot leave my people to risk their lives down here alone.”

“You still don’t trust us then?” I ask, and even if I don’t blame her, the truth stings.

Kaia’s watchful gaze is inscrutable, and she tilts her head. “There is much that I do not trust in this world, Luke,” she says. “But you are not one of them.”

“What?” There’s a softness in her eyes I never dreamed I’d see again.

“How are June and Isabel?” she asks, ignoring my surprise. “Are they better?”

“Uh, yes,” I say, my brain struggling to switch gears. “Slowly but surely.” And while I feel gratitude to Kaia’s people each morning June wakes up wheezing less, Kaia is still all I can think of.

“You look at me strangely,” she says, her brow furrowing.

“Am I?” I straighten, shaking some of my sense loose. “I just—I didn’t expect you to come,” I whisper.

“If I make you uncomfortable—” Kaia turns to leave.

“No,” I say. I reach for her hand without thinking. It’s small and soft and warm, and I know I should let go, that I’m pushing my luck after everything, but I stroke the back of her hand with my thumb instead, praying she’ll let me hold onto her a few seconds longer.

Kaia stares down at my hold on her.

“I’m glad you’ve come,” I whisper. “Even if it’s just to tell you how sorry I am.” Though my heart beats like one of Oona’s hand drums, I force myself to continue, knowing I might never get another chance. “I know you have no reason to believe me, but it was the only time, and I hated myself the moment I . . . pulled the trigger. And I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to hurt you. I was scared—a coward. I knew you would hate me, so I held on as long as I could.”

Kaia’s eyes shimmer, but she says nothing as she slips her hand from mine and pulls a long necklace, disappearing into the neck of her tunic, out for me to see. A carved bear rests in her hand. Her totem. “I know,” she breathes, gripping the bear so tightly her knuckles turn white. “I understand why you did not tell me. In truth, I did before I even sent you away. But I was scared and sad and angry.”

“Of course you were. I don’t blame you.”

She squints at a thought I cannot see and shakes her head. “You kill one person and it happens to be my cousin . . . The world is cruel indeed, but we already know our paths were meant to cross, it is the will of the katsinas. It just took me a little space to see that.”

“I will never lie to you again,” I promise, taking a step closer. “No matter what we become—even if it’s nothing—I want you to know how sorry I am—how I feel.” The words gush from my lips, but I don’t care to stop them. “I want to protect you, Kaia, not hurt you. I hate that when June asks about you, my heart aches with regret. I will do everything in my power to make you see how sorry I am.” My voice is earnest and broken, and fleetingly, I feel like that little boy the day he learned his father wasn’t coming home. Like a piece of me is missing, and my heart aches to have that hole filled again. “I miss you.”

“I miss you too,” she whispers, and her lips tug in a small smile as she takes my hand again. Briefly, I consider how many sets of eyes we have on us, but I can’t seem to look away from the hopeful glimmer in her gaze.

As if a gravitational force pulls between us, Kaia and I both lean in, slowly—almost hesitant. “People are watching,” I whisper, and lick my lips, dry from too much sun.

“Let them watch,” she breathes, her gaze shifting over me. And as if the desert breeze lifts Kaia up, she rises on tiptoes and presses a light kiss to my mouth. Her lips linger a few moments before she leans away, and her eyes are smiling back at me.

“You’re really stirring things up as etsi, aren’t you?”

She stifles a small laugh. “Oona says I must follow my path.”

This time I smile through the kiss I press to her lips, more urgent than before, and she wraps her arms around me.

I lose myself to the scent of wind and sage that is perfectly her, to the feel of her in my arms, and then I hear a familiar hoot from Tarak.

Kaia laughs against my mouth, and in this moment, I feel it, like the wind ruffling the hair on my head or the heat of the sun pressing against my skin. Our paths, like two forks in the river, join as one, and with the hawk cry off in the distance, my heart soars.

Epilogue

Kaia

THREE YEARS LATER

In the three years since our peace with the soshos, I’ve come to understand two things are certain—Tawa is far more terrifying than I realized; and without our peace, our villages would not be thriving together, but perishing apart. Perhaps that’s the way it’s always been, barely surviving, because as our mountain continues to groan and crumble, and the sandstorms eat away at Sagebrush, we’ve come to rely on each other more than ever. And looking to the future, joining our villages will come with many benefits, as well as great cost.

While Luke and Jacob continue to reassure me that safety from the elements, even with our combined numbers on the valley floor, is possible, I know finding the burnt forest, if there is such a thing, would provide us with more wood to build with and burn, and more than anything, put curious minds to rest.

Loose rocks clack under our horses’ hooves as we continue toward the great unknown. Out here, the dust and dirt turn to rugged mountains, and scorch marks mar the earth like the veins of water that surge through the mountain. Unlike the blue skies of the desert, here, the dark clouds linger ominously throughout most of the day, and it’s muggy; there’s a charge in the air much different than home, and the wind hums against my skin.

I eye Luke beside me, his attention fixed on the horizon as we ride closer. I’m uncertain if the concern etching his brow is for what we might find, or that we might not find anything at all, and our scouting trip will have been fruitless.

“Do you believe it is true?” I ask him, my voice merely a drone in the discord of creaking wagon wheels and quiet chatter behind us. “That there is a forest beyond those hills, one that we can harvest? Or do you think it will be more of this?”

Other than the sweat-stained sand scarf around his neck, catching in the slight breeze, Luke doesn’t move. His gaze remains vigilant. “We’ll find the forest,” he says with utter certainty, and finally, his eyes meet mine. “It’s what’s left of it that concerns me, and whether the wood will be usable after years of storms, if there’s anything left at all, because I know it will be nothing like the old Cunningham journals claim. It’s been too many years.” There’s a reserve in his voice that surprises me—an uncertainty I haven’t heard in a while. With Clayton overseeing so much change in Sagebrush, Jacob and Luke’s team of men have dedicated the past few years to protecting all of us the best they can, building safe houses and digging reservoirs, and reinforcing people’s homes before they can crumble away completely. And this—whatever we find out here in the unknown—is beyond Luke’s control.

“Regardless of what wood we might find,” I tell him, “we will have answers, at least. We will finally know for certain what is out here, which is equally important. We will know to send more teams, or to put the idea aside for good.”

There’s a softness in Luke’s gaze I’ve come to adore, one that no one gets to see but me. As if he finally concedes it’s true, his cheek twitches, and he dips his chin. “Let’s find out then, shall we?”

We nudge our horses to quicken their pace, and it’s not long before we no longer have to wonder. As our caravan draws closer to the foothills, and the distant black spots blotting the horizon become more distinguishable, a sudden relief and amazement fills me.

The trees of the old forest are taller than any I’ve ever seen or could even comprehend, some growing so high, I cannot see the tops as we draw closer. Others are so bare, they stand like totems to the giants, etched with scars and long forgotten. They are otherworldly, and for the first time in all my life, I believe in the depths of my soul that only the great spirits could create something so incredible.

“It is breathtaking,” I whisper, and I’m uncertain if the enormity of these trees and their looming presence is foreboding or extraordinary. Withered branches larger than any horse are scattered around, as well as fallen trunks, some hollow enough to climb inside. The earth is dry and cracked, and while some shrubs and grasses grow from between the crevices in the ground, it is not the lush green as the journals painted them to be. Like the rest of the world, it feels neglected.

It’s only when I realize we’ve all come to a stop that I glance at Luke. He stares into the burnt lands, his mouth open as he peers around in awe. “Imagine what even one trunk could provide us,” he says, and nudges Rain up the incline, deeper into the leafless forest. With so little canopy to cover us, and no certain destination in mind, it feels as if we’re ants among the hulking trees, dutifully weaving our way around debris in search of water.

“It’s said,” Jacob starts behind us, and I turn on Wakka’s back to look at him. “That an ancient forest covered the mountains and valleys, a greenbelt stretching as far as the eye could see.”

Ashford, Tarak, and his ever-present shadow, Toby, gape up at the towering forest surrounding us.

“How are they so big?” Toby wonders aloud. “And how are they still standing? Many of them have caught fire.”

I pull Wakka to a stop beside one of the charred husks of a tree I cannot see the top of and place my palm on its coarse trunk. I eye the ashen fissures it’s riddled with, imagining the insides glowing with embers.

I hear the jingle of spurs, boots hitting the ground, and clinking bridles as everyone dismounts, save for Luke and me. He continues up the hillside as I peer up at the sky, churning overhead. The sandstorms ceased a few days ago, but I’m not sure what exactly awaits us here, though seeing the state of the trees, Jacob was right to leave the metal-protected wagons that kept us safe during our journey a day’s ride behind us.

“The air smells of fire,” Istas says as she peers around, and only briefly do I wonder if she ever thought it possible she would leave the mountain again and see such a sight. “My brother would never believe this place.”

I think of Elan back in Sagebrush, tending to things in my stead, and knowing Istas is probably right, I smile. “I wonder what Oona would say,” I muse.

“Over here!” Luke calls from the crest on the hill. He turns in his saddle, beckoning me. Without hesitation, Wakka and I trot toward him, both of us equally antsy to keep moving in such a foreign place.

But the moment I reach Luke, I pull the silver paint to a stop beside him and straighten. “Shelters?” I whisper, my heartbeat fluttering. Having seen no other people outside of Sagebrush the entire trip, I’ve completely forgotten the possibility there might be a village here. Or question whether or not the inhabitants might be dangerous.

I glance around, suddenly unnerved, and search for prying eyes or signs of life in this barren place. But there is nowhere to hide in the clearing or the forest. There’s little ground cover and no shadows, only wood stalks and fallen debris.

“They’ve cleared a space here on purpose,” Luke says, his eyes narrow, scrutinizing everything as he continues into the clearing.

I follow beside him, our horses leery as we survey the stumps and logs hewn with crude chop marks and the shelters with flat roofs that are only enclosed on three sides.

“They are not homes.” I realize aloud.

“No, they are for protection.” He dismounts his horse.

I look at him, the implications of a community different from ours settling in again. “Luke, there are other people,” I tell him, and I’m not sure if it’s excitement or fear lilting my voice as my own feet hit the ground.

Amusement lights his face as if he can’t believe it himself. “Yes, there are.”

Tarak strides up behind us, hurrying over to the fallen logs and remnants left behind by the people here before us. It’s as if we’re collectively holding our breath as the rest of our group follows suit, putting all of the pieces together.

“They chose this location to build those shelters for a reason,” Luke muses, his eyes lingering on a scorch mark under his feet.

“The lightning strikes the highest points,” Jacob explains, peering up at the tops of the trees surrounding the clearing. “These shelters are built in the low, open area so the trees will bear the brunt of the storms.” He walks toward a larger structure with old, dried horse droppings inside. “All of these structures are as low as they can be—open on one side so that they are easy to get in and out—”

“In the onslaught of a storm,” Ashford finishes for him.

Tarak rises from examining a carved stump and glances around the charred earth. “They left long ago,” he says. “I do not think they will return while we are here. We should stay. Use their shelters.”

“Agreed,” Ashford echoes. “They built these because they are familiar with the land and the storms. Whoever they are, if they aren’t here now, there is a reason. We should be careful.” He peers up at the purple sky that promises to unleash its wrath. “Toby, tend to the horses while we unpack.” Ashford looks pointedly at Luke. “We should hurry and be prepared for whatever is coming. We can decide what to do once the horses are safe and we’re settled.”

Luke nods, and all of us fall into step, unloading our belongings and unsaddling our horses. I untie Wakka’s blankets, wondering what thoughts stir in Luke’s stormy blue eyes as he unsaddles his horse. I’m not sure if he’s relieved in what we’ve found, or if he wishes it were different here, but with so much going on, I don’t distract him with questions.

The wind picks up a bit, nearly blowing Wakka’s blanket from my grip as I pile my arms with tack to place on a fallen log away from us.

“That’ll teach ya,” Toby mutters to one of the horses he unsaddles, the animals nipping at each other. Toby pushes space between the two horses and shakes his head. “You’re the worst of ‘em, Blue,” he chides. His voice is deeper than when he was a boy, and his height barely exceeds Ashford’s. “Come on.” Toby leads the horse into one of the three animal structures, and I pray that the thunderstorms we’ve heard the closer we’ve drawn to the mountain, and the wind storms they are used to, have prepared the animals enough for whatever might happen while we’re here.

“When you finish,” Istas calls to us as she and Ashford start a fire near the shelters. “Come eat.”

I nod with gratitude and give Wakka’s silver nose a quick pat before I lead him over to the other animals, Luke and Rain close behind me. “How do you think Elan fares in Sagebrush?” he asks, a smirk pulling his lips into a full smile. It’s the first one I’ve seen since we left, and the tension in my shoulders eases a little, knowing he’s relieved to be here.

I can’t help a grin of my own. “He is well, I believe.” But when I look at Luke again, his easy smile isn’t all I appreciate. His eyes are lit with mischief. “What is that look for?” We walk back over to our discarded weapons and secure them in one of the smaller shelters. “Your bedrolls are in here,” Tarak says, pointing to the shelter closest to us. I nod, and as I lean my quiver and arrows inside, I study Luke. “Why are you smiling like that?”

He shrugs, his gaze meeting Tarak, who smiles to himself as he listens. “Elan and Mrs. Cunningham are very close these days, is all. I just wonder if they are—”

“Oh, they are,” Toby drawls as he makes his way to the burgeoning flames of the campfire.

“They are, what?” Ashford, Luke, and I all turn to him, asking at once. We stare at Toby as he takes a seat next to Istas. Whether it’s from a childhood of scampering around with little notice, or that everyone still regards him as young enough to be overlooked, Toby seems to know a little bit about everything that happens in Sagebrush, which is useful when the rest of us don’t.

He stokes the flames as Istas settles a pot over the fire. Even she seems intrigued.

Toby glances up, feeling our attention on him, and his gaze shifts between all of us. “They’re courtin’.” He shrugs. “Obviously—well, as much as Elan ever would court a woman,” he amends.

“Oh?” I say with a sudden flutter of my heartbeat. There’s a prick of hope and tinge of excitement for the man who has given his entire life to protecting me and never spared a thought for himself. “And what does it mean that he is courting her?” My gaze meets Luke’s as we settle in at the fire with the others.

“It means I’ve seen them walking in the market together, every week for a few months now, as far as I can tell. And Mrs. Cunningham is all smiley about it.”

“Mrs. Cunningham smiles often, son,” Ashford says. “I’m not sure that warrants gossip.”

Toby glares at his father. “It ain’t gossip if it’s true,” he counters. “And besides, I’ve never seen Elan smile at anyone, ‘cept for her.”

Istas and I both look at one another as she passes Toby a mug of dinner, her eyes alight, and a smile curling her lips, likely matching my own. We both know what Toby says is true. Elan doesn’t smile often, even when he is happy. He’s a man of few words and even fewer expressions.

“See!” Toby points at me with one hand and grips the mug with his other. “They’re courtin’. You all know it.”

It is difficult to picture Elan with any woman, and yet, Mrs. Cunningham’s fussing over him, trying to make him feel welcome, especially since he’s been standing in for me in my absence so frequently, makes sense.

“I saw him walking the grounds of the estate with Isabel before we left,” Luke adds. “She said he was showing her how to track for night critters. It was quite heartwarming, actually. And very natural to see them together.” Once again, Luke’s expression softens when his eyes meet mine, and a small, knowing smile tilts the corner of his mouth. “I can imagine it’s how he was with you when you were little.”

My heart warms at the memories of Elan holding my hand when I was younger, and at how patient he always was—still is, actually.

Luke ladles us both a mug of dinner and hands one to me. The savory scent of ham and beans fills my nose, making my stomach rumble with hunger.

But as the hair on my arms rise, I don’t get to take a bite. A bright, blinding light fills the sky and the entire earth shakes below my feet with an earsplitting rumble. I expect the ground to open up beneath me, swallowing me whole, and another flash of light fills the sky, forcing me to close my eyes. More rumbling. More shaking beneath my feet, and I hear a cacophony of shouting as Luke takes my hand.

My eyes open, sparks burst to life in my periphery, and Luke pulls me toward our shelter. It’s all a blur as my mind catches up with me, and after a few prolonged seconds, we practically fall inside the shelter, our panting breaths barely audible in the thunderous storm surrounding us.

“Christ,” he rasps. His shoulder brushes mine as we try to catch our breaths.

“Tarak and the others—”

“They’re fine,” Luke promises, peering out into the storm as much as he can. “Everyone is safe.” Lightning flashes again, and the thunder is so loud it rings in my ears, making me cringe.

“Hey,” Luke murmurs beside me. He brushes my hair away from my temple, his eyes skimming over me. “It’s okay.” He cups the side of my face, forcing me to meet his gaze. “You’re safe in here.”

I nod, inhaling a full breath as my adrenaline and fear even out a little. “I am well, just—it came so suddenly.”

“I know,” he whispers, pulling me into his chest. “That was . . . intense.” With a steadying breath, we peer out at the fire, still burning as the world flashes around it. My arms grip tighter around Luke as another flash and rumble wrack the earth, and he leans in, kissing my forehead protectively.

I shake my head against him. “I know thunder. Of course, I do,” I rasp, so I’m uncertain why here and now it frightens me after hearing it on the mountain all of my life, though it was never like this. But as I finger the wolf totem hanging from my neck, my thumb worrying the worn wood, I suddenly realize. “My father.”

Luke’s arms tighten around me, and he presses his cheek to the top of my head. “Your father?”

As the thunder claps above us again, I can hear the echoing gunfire from distant memories too, and that day years ago, when the wolfberry bushes dug into my skin and the deafening crack of rifles filled the air, feels closer than ever. “Just a memory,” I tell us both, realizing how silly I am to think of such things now.

Luke settles against the wall in our tiny shelter, not even tall enough to stand in, and I nestle against him. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asks softly. “We have the time.”

I smile into his chest, feeling his heart beating against my ear, and I close my eyes to listen. “No. Thank you. I . . . I was just remembering something I have not thought about in a very long time.” I peer up at Luke’s concerned expressions, registering how true that is.

“That sounds like a good thing,” Luke muses.

“Because I have been happy.” That, too, hits me anew. Yes, I have been happy with so much progress and change. But Luke has been the center of it all, and for so long, I have grown used to the ease between us and our people. I have not dwelt on the past.

I wince as the storm lashes out overhead again. “We are very lucky to have this place,” I tell him. “We should leave the villagers something to show our gratitude.”

Luke absently brushes a strand of hair from my face. “We will figure something out.”

We settle into a companionable silence as the storm rages around us. And it’s not long before it all fades into the background and I watch the light show with a sense of ease and amazement.

“The world is so different from three years ago, I can hardly understand it sometimes,” I think aloud.

Luke hums in agreement. “It’s something I think of often too. And I wouldn’t change a single thing.”

I grin at that. “Not even Elan knocking you out and my holding an arrow to your throat?”

He chuckles, his dimple making my heart flutter, and shakes his head. “No, Kaia, not even that.”

The wind whips through the shelter, and more lightning scorches the sky. There has been constant cloud cover for days, and I wonder if the burnt lands are always shrouded in darkness, like the mountain back home.

“I miss our starry nights in Sagebrush,” I tell Luke, watching the way the flashing light leaves a momentary impression in the sky. Stargazing is one thing he and I have always shared, quiet nights where we can be Luke and Kaia, not commissioner and etsi, but simply us.

“I do too,” he murmurs. His breath is a quiet caress against my ear.

“What else do you miss?”

Luke huffs a laugh. “Junie grumbling at you for fussing over her too much,” he says with a wink. “It’s nice to know it’s not always me she gets after.” He shrugs. “And little Tarlo, too, surprisingly.”

My smile spreads to a grin. “Yes, he is very sweet,” I agree, and realize how frequently I see Luke with Ahkima and Lena’s little boy when we stay in the village. “You two have become good friends, always getting into trouble.”

Luke chuckles. “Ahkima is going to have a helluva time with that kid.” My chest burns with a feeling I’d forgotten about, a feeling I had the day Tarlo was born. A feeling of longing and pride, watching Luke cradle the boy in his arms. The day I knew what Luke would be like as a father.

A sudden warmth spreads over me. “I love you.”

His arms tighten around me and he peers down at me with a smile. “I should hope so, or it would be quite the scandal. The elders would have heart attacks.”

I laugh, knowing Luke is probably right, but I don’t look away from him. I don’t think about Oona or the village. Instead, I get lost in his eyes and think about every promise Luke has made to my people, and how he has bled and sweat in order to keep each one of them. I think about every clench of his jaw that prevents him from telling me I can’t do something because he will worry too much about me, knowing I will make up my own mind. I think about every night he lays with me in bed, running his fingers through my hair when I can’t sleep. I think about how gentle he is in such a harsh world, and how I’ve loved him from the first moment I saw him in that cave, a mysterious stranger from a different world I’ve never been able to get out of my head.

“This is the first time we have been alone in days,” I tell him.

“True.” His eyes shift over my face as I trail my finger down his arm, feeling his muscles coil and his forearms flex, until I finally reach his hand.

I lace my fingers with his. “Perhaps we can use this time,” I start, admiring the way he licks his lips with anticipation, “to practice.”

His brow twitches. “Practice?”

I dip my chin, staring at his mouth as I imagine it against my skin. “For what comes next.”

“What comes next?” he breathes.

I brush a kiss over his lips, featherlight and beseeching. “The etsi must have an heir one day,” I remind him.

Luke’s breath hitches in his throat, and he leans back a little. “I know the elders are used to us being together now,” he says, swallowing thickly. “But you said you aren’t ready for children. Don’t let them rush you—”

“I said practice,” I remind him. “And it is no pressure to imagine a family with you, Luke.” I peer into his eyes, knowing he’s thought about children many times. I see it in the way he is with Tarlo every chance he gets. He would never pressure me for more, not like the villagers do, and that makes me want him by my side even more.

His eyes narrow ever so slightly, studying the smallest shift of my expression. “You mean that?”

I pull his shirt from the waist of his pants and glide my hand up the hot skin of his abdomen, slowly seeking his chest as I place my palm over his thrumming heart. I allow myself a small smile. “Yes, I do.” The words are effortless, and a familiar calmness and certainty washes over me as I imagine every day for the rest of my life with Luke.

He exhales, and there’s a contentment and surprise in his eyes that makes this all the more satisfying.

“Of course, there must be a ceremony that binds us first,” I tell him offhandedly, as if it is nothing for us to openly declare what we are to both of our peoples.

“Of course,” he says huskily, his eyes wild, hopeful, and yearning as he searches my face. “We wouldn’t want to cause another scandal.” This man, beautiful in more ways than he’ll ever know, steals my breath with a single, heart-stopping smile all over again.

“No, we would not want that.” I press him to the ground, one of our bedrolls behind his head, unable to bear the space between us a second longer.

“Be mine, Luke.” I’m not sure if it’s a question or command.

“You first,” he whispers, and a warm wash of tingles electrifies my skin as he rolls me onto my back, his lips feverish against mine. And as our hearts beat in time with the rumbling storm, we promise each other forever.

THE END

Thank you for reading Luke and Kaia’s story! I hope you enjoyed it and will consider leaving a review at one of these retailers.

The Forgotten Lands adventures continue beyond the scorched forest in Tide and Tempest.

Other Books by Lindsey Pogue

Survival/Post-Apoc Adventure:

FORGOTTEN LANDS

Dust and Shadow

Earth and Ember

Tide and Tempest

Borne of Sand and Scorn - Prequel (Free for newsletter subscribers)

SAVAGE NORTH CHRONICLES

The Darkest Winter

The Longest Night Prequel

Midnight Sun

Fading Shadows

Untamed

Unbroken

Day Zero: Beginnings

THE ENDING SERIES

After The Ending

Into The Fire

Out Of The Ashes

Before The Dawn

The Ending: Beginnings

The Ending Series: World Before

The Ending Legacies: World After

New Adult Love Stories

SARATOGA FALLS LOVE STORIES

Whatever It Takes

Nothing But Trouble

Told You So

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About Lindsey

www.lindseypogue.com

Lindsey Pogue has always been a sucker for a good love story. She completed her first new adult manuscript in high school and has been writing tales of love and friendship, history and adventure ever since. When she’s not chatting with readers, plotting her next storyline, or dreaming up new, brooding characters, Lindsey’s generally wrapped in blankets watching her favorite action flicks with her own leading man. They live in Northern California with their rescue cat, Beast. You can follow Lindsey’s shenanigans and writing adventures just about everywhere.

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