“Mistress Óraithe.” Each of them said it, poorly timed.
She did not know their faces but did her bow just the same. Her eyes moved to Callaire, hoping an explanation was forthcoming. Scaa could not be bothered to wait.
“What is it? Who are these people?”
Scaa did not know them either. Óraithe could not decide if that was reassuring or a cause for concern. Callaire spoke to answer.
“You were at the middle of the train, so you must not have seen. There were families here. Dozens, maybe near a hundred.”
One of the women stepped forward. She was thin and pale. A river elf, if Óraithe were forced to guess. She had not seen so many of the other elves to be sure of the subtle differences among them.
“We came to pay our respects to you, Mistress Óraithe. And to tell you what we can.”
Óraithe was still unsure. There was danger about this, or at least uncertainty. “You know of me?”
The woman nodded. “We do. And that you returned. The whole of the Low District knows.”
Óraithe looked to Scaa who offered nothing.
“How?” She had asked the girl but Callaire offered an explanation. “We sent a rider ahead to see that the camp was clear. The rest I cannot be certain.”
“Letters,” the other girl stepped forward. She was round-faced and weighed more than her height agreed with. “There have been letters. As recent as a week.”
“We allowed people to go freely if they felt the need,” Callaire said. “Scaa decided there was little risk in an attack. They took many things when they went, letters surely were among them. Some returned with others.”
The explanations were enough. There was little meaning in strong suspicion. Soon she would be surrounded by strange faces, all looking at her.
“I am sorry,” Óraithe bowed to them again and they bowed quickly in return. It was near comical. “Things are… new. You had things you wished to tell us?”
The pale one spoke. “We were the last to leave the city. We took note of the patrols as best we could. We…” The girl hesitated and the man stepped forward.
“We cannot be sure they still hold true. It has been nearly three weeks.”
Óraithe nodded. “I will hear what you know, nonetheless.”
The pale girl continued. “There is nearly no presence from the city guard among the Low District. A few, at times. Traffic to the brothels and some alehouses. But not many. They have been pulled beyond the Palisade and guard it viciously, even against looking through.”
It made no sense. “Why?” She said the words out loud, though she had not meant to.
“We… do not know. The Low District became violent and strange when you were still a nameless tale whispered over strong drink. At first, punishment was severe and immediate. Hangings, daily. Dozens, sometimes. The people fought against it. The truth and your name came to the city from this camp.”
Óraithe did not know what she was meant to do with such knowledge. She chose to leave it for the time and ask what was known. “The wall? Is it guarded still? The gates? There must still be a watch.”
The three looked amongst themselves, frowning.
“It was… dark.” The man spoke. “We could not see and did not wait to be called out for fear we’d be hanged as treasoners.”
Thanks were given for what information they had, and the family took their leave. Callaire did the same, worrying over the work to be done. They stood alone in the far sun of the afternoon and Óraithe looked off toward the city, wishing she could see it but glad she could not.
“We must go.”
“We?”
“Us,” Óraithe put a hand on Scaa’s arm. “Tonight. We must go and see what we can. Learn what we can.”
“You are not—”
“Do not make me such a pitiful thing. Please.”
Scaa looked away, biting her lip and knitting her brow. “At sundown? It will take the best part of two hours.”
“Is there no time for a meal?” Óraithe said the words as playfully as she could manage, hoping to end the serious atmosphere that hung heavy in the air.
Scaa smiled, perhaps thinking the same. “Then we will eat and, after, make mischief for our homecoming.”
The meal was pickled fish and some boiled vegetables. As good as they had had since leaving. Still, anything that touched her tongue was more welcome than a kiss from the Sisters. Scaa told Borr and Callaire of their plans and they set off into the night. Óraithe wondered at how they had been so willing to let them go unattended. It seemed a curious thing, but Scaa offered nothing except that they rarely questioned her on much of anything, saying it may be for the best. Óraithe agreed.
The dirt beneath their feet was hard and cold. A stark change from the Wastes, Óraithe thought. She wore thin flats of leather on her feet as she had when she left the prison. Covering her feet in anything more had begun to set her ill at ease. The ground felt too far away with a proper covering. Scaa could not contain her concern and asked again and again about her feet and her constitution. In truth, Óraithe might have stopped the questions on some other night, but the quiet beneath an open sky bothered her more than she wished to say.
Small flames dotted the edge of Óraithe’s sight. The walls of the Bastion City. The circles became clearer as they moved and showed the red stone more clearly. A fire lit at once at the base of Óraithe’s skull and she gritted her teeth. There was hate in her, hate she did not wish to control or quell. Scaa had gone quiet at the sight as well. There was no need for words and the strange upset of the night sky was buried now. Óraithe’s eyes darted sharply as they closed on the tunnel that would be their
