Chapter Five #2
I expect more of a scolding, but she lets out a laugh that dances on the breeze and leans back to take me in—the basket on my back, my damp dress and cloak, my outstandingly obvious lack of preparation.
“I, um, I didn’t know what to expect. I don’t usually come out here….”
“Clearly! No one’s going to believe me back at camp. When I think I’ve seen everything!”
“Would you…Would you be able to help me get back to the citadel? I think I’ve hurt my ankle and shoulder.”
She pauses.
“What’s your name?” she asks with an extra lilt of kindness.
“Fliss.”
“I’m Pigeon,” she says, and motions to the ankle I’m gripping. “Can I take a look?”
I nod and let her inspect my foot.
“I think it might be sprained, perhaps a tiny fracture,” she says, then glances at the cliff. “You fell from up there?”
“Yes.”
Pigeon chuckles, strands of hair falling from her braid. “Who knew the citadel folk could be so hardy? I thought you were all dull and stuffy.”
What does she mean? Perhaps some aren’t as used to the outdoors as Pigeon, but…Wait, come to think of it, I’ve never met anyone who lives outside the citadel before. (Besides Willoh Vane, who does not count.)
A thrill of excitement runs through me. That means Pigeon doesn’t know I’m cursed. I’m a clean slate.
“Why do you think that?” I ask.
Pigeon roots around in one of her satchels again and brings out a roll of bandages. She peels off my shoe and sock and starts to wrap the fabric around my foot.
“I mean, those tall walls, the big, tough guards at every entrance. You live in a cage.”
“Oh…I’ve never thought about it like that.”
She sighs, her hands working swiftly. “It didn’t use to be so bad, but those musty uptight royals share less and less with us as time goes on, believing we’re a bunch of miscreants who bit the hand that fed them.
Anyway, it means I have to come up here to hunt or head over to the coast to get by.
That’s why I’m here today—lucky for you, I guess! ”
Hesitation grips my throat. She’s from the north. If what the rumors say is true, then shouldn’t Pigeon be corrupted by the tree? Shouldn’t she be threatening and hostile? Isn’t that what they say all the northerners have become?
The discrepancy brings to mind a man in the town square, not long after the incident first happened. I’d been thirteen at the time, coming home from school with Card, when we’d noticed guards detaining a man, perhaps in his forties, with graying hair and dirt-splattered clothing.
“Tell us what happened!” he’d yelled, struggling against the grip on his arms. “Tell us why the land is turning barren! The harvest— We can’t—”
I had grabbed Card’s hand in surprise. The queen herself was in the mix, chin raised in refusal to meet the man’s eyes and flanked by guards. At that point, she’d summoned me to her chambers only a few times, but it was enough to have me petrified of her.
“We sent you aid. Food. Supplies,” she declared, a slight tremor to her tone, and took a step away.
“We can’t rely on handouts forever—we’ve told you this! We need to stop the spread and restore the land. It’s making people sick, it’s— My wife— She—”
The man had lunged at the queen in desperation, and before the guards could subdue him, he ripped a tear in the queen’s sleeve.
Immediately, the guards hoisted him away, probably to the dungeons, and the man’s shouts had turned to sobs.
His pleas had turned to accusations. “Isn’t anyone coming to fix it?
Won’t anyone tell us what happened? You’re murderers! Murderers!”
Around me, whispers were already spreading. What a scene. Did you see him attack the queen? There must be something wrong with him. How violent! Gods, those northerners are ungrateful. After all the help they’ve been given…
It was the last time the queen had been seen outside the castle walls.
And it was the reason behind the citadel changing sympathies toward the north.
Despite witnessing that, and despite all the rumors I’ve heard, Pigeon doesn’t seem dangerous to me.
“Do you live in the mountains, then?” I ask her.
With my ankle snug in her bandages, she puts my shoe back on and smiles.
“We live wherever we want. When the land started to wither, the citadel shared plenty of food with us at first, but they never wanted to investigate further and resolve the root of the problem. Maybe they can’t resolve it.
It’s some pretty dark magic, after all. But either way, more transparency would have been nice, and having to live off limited rations instead of being able to fend for ourselves, well…
hungry people make angry people. Generations of farmers had their entire livelihoods grind to a halt.
It was devastating, and we were told by the royals to be satisfied with the provisions they gave us and not ask questions.
Anyway, after some of the villagers started to get sick too, people abandoned their homes and moved farther south.
A few of us stayed. Mostly we camp in the forest. I don’t mind it actually, but it’d be easier if we had enough to go around. ”
The king and queen had assured the citadel that they would send aid to the affected villages.
I’ve seen carts heading out of the citadel loaded with supplies, albeit less so these days.
So if what Pigeon says is true, why did their help come with limitations?
How could Bash let this slide? Surely Card can’t be barreling into a commitment with someone who would sit back and allow people to be displaced, to go hungry?
“If I’m from the citadel, then why are you helping me?” I ask.
“Fliss, you climbed the Spinal Steppe in a cotton dress. You’re made of strong stuff, but no one should be left to fend for themselves. My help costs nothing.”
She thinks I’m…strong? It sinks in that I haven’t made a new friend in a very long time.
I haven’t been able to. Even when I was young, it was impossible.
Back in school, anytime there was an argument, the teachers would always make me tell them what happened, even if I wasn’t involved.
I had less control over my words as a child, and I discovered quickly that staying silent got me in trouble too.
So I snitched when someone broke a glass window with their ball.
I ratted out who stole all a teacher’s candles.
And when it was time for the summer solstice dance, I accidentally let slip who one of our classmates had a crush on.
Then promptly got slapped. I’m not like Card, who glows with confidence and converses with ease.
People don’t flock to me. I’m a wary acquaintance, someone to be polite to in case I go running to the queen.
Gods, I really want Pigeon to like me.
All I can manage is “Thank you.”
Pigeon stands and dusts snow off her coat. “Come on, let’s get you out of here.”
I hobble up. She hooks my good arm across her shoulders, then holds me around my waist for support. With a squeeze of my hand, she smiles.
“Can you try to walk?”
I attempt a step on my injured ankle and pain shoots up my leg like a punch to the nose. It has me reeling, so I inhale and focus on the pine scent of Pigeon’s coat. Keep a cool head like her and I’ll be home in no time.
“Okay, good job,” she says, unperturbed. “Slow is fine. I have a horse at the bottom of the ridge, and I can take you to a healer who’ll fix you up. Once we’re down the mountain, we’ll head there.”
We shuffle forward in the snow, Pigeon carrying most of my weight.
With her around, I’m confident I’m not going to die anymore.
It takes a while, but we eventually reach her horse, and she rides in front as we make our way down the mountain, until the snow fades to stone, and farther on, until the trees welcome us back to ground level.
The overcast light beyond the canopy casts hazy shadows as she encourages me to keep talking to distract from the pain and cold.
I’m telling her about the white flowers I’ve been researching for my best friend’s wedding (with five weeks to go, it’s a little too soon to cut and bunch them yet) when I notice we’re heading west, and this particular line of trees looks suspiciously familiar. Run, something tells me. Flee.
Wait. Was I wrong to trust her after all?
“Oh, crap, I forgot about this—” Pigeon says.
My vision suddenly spins, and like falling off a mountain precipice, I plummet into darkness.