CHAPTER 19 #2
“Evergreen Mahogany trees are fickle things,” she elaborated.
“They don’t always allow for their sap to be collected.
Work peaks shift from month to month, or even from week to week, so there are pools of workers willing to work in the reservoir, and experienced in doing so, that are called and sent home based on those needs.
We got word saying that the sap extracted is currently lower than anticipated, so there’s been a surplus of workers that will be sent home. ”
That all but confirmed my suspicions of Kobra facing the same problem Widesight had. Sap was drying out.
She fed another branch into the fire, the flames licking it up quickly. “We’re the closest podport in a radius of over a hundred miles, and the only one that makes sense for anyone travelling to the center or south of the continent, where most workers are from.”
Armand shifted beside me, leaning his forearms on the tops of his thighs. His attention was obviously as peaked as mine. “Why?”
“Just because of needs,” she said again.
“The Spine, up north, is brimming with resources. Most of the growing industry is based at the foot of the mountains where the raw material is easily accessible. That’s not the case with the rest of Kobra, and while the role of an extractor is not an easy one, it is well paid, which is always a good way to gain volunteers. ”
“How is it not an easy job?”
I was grateful for Armand’s curiosity, wanting to know myself. I sneaked another sip of my drink.
“Well, like I said, the Evergreen Mahoganies are . . . temperamental. Some say they’re almost sentient.” Her expression turned wistful as she prodded the flames with a long cane. “On top of that, abilities cannot be used in their vicinity. The wood in their trunks mutes the effect of inked sap.”
Right.
That is, in fact, precisely why our dear doctor—may he rest in peace—was able to discover the wood’s muting properties in the first place.
“So,” I murmured. “Only standard human strength and skill.”
Malena nodded. “Exactly.”
How had I never stopped to think about it?
I was born into a world where most—if not all—the physically demanding tasks of before were carried out with sap-imbued abilities that made them so much simpler.
Yet it had never occurred to me that the most vital job might be one of the few left to raw human effort and strength.
“And it does take a lot of skill. The faucets used to extract the sap need to go in deep and are quite heavy. It usually takes two people to hold it steady while a third hammers it in. Problem is, they all need to be in absolute perfect sync for the spine to enter right and for the sap to flow.” She shook her head, dark curls bouncing in turn. “Sometimes it takes hours.”
My eyes widened. “I . . . wow.”
I had no idea.
“The rotating positions usually have a month duration, unless demand shifts, as is the case now.”
She pushed her hair behind her ear, glancing down at her lap.
I froze.
Because . . . those were white swirls inked on the skin behind her ear, their shimmer almost hidden by the numerous earrings, but not fully.
Memory manipulation.
I forced my breath into slow, even draws. It took every ounce of restraint I possessed not to tense.
Malena has an illegal skill.
One of the most pursued ones, if only because it was discovered quite early. Memory manipulation was only topped in terms of danger by mind control, reality warping, and pain inducement.
If Rolla had a memory manipulator in the camp, we were in much deeper shit than I’d initially suspected. Were Zephyr and Kwabena aware?
Almighty sap. If they were . . .
They could learn everything we knew. And what was worse, they could actually let us find whatever it is that was to be learnt here, then wipe it from our minds.
Don’t react. Don’t let her notice—
Malena shifted and my body locked up, hand shooting instinctively for the gun under my armpit that once again wasn’t there.
Damn it.
Every muscle in my body tightened, readying for a fight. There was no way we could take the whole camp, but maybe enough to escape . . .
A quiet clack snapped my attention to the wrist Malena was shaking in the air between us. It was lined with bracelets, most plain, golden rings and . . . and a slightly thicker, wooden one.
When my eyes lifted again, a sad smile tilted her lips. “I’m muted.”
The words took a second to sink in, but I still didn’t let my guard down. There was no point now that she knew I knew.
“What?” Armand asked, oblivious to the exchange.
She moved once again, slower this time, bringing her hands to her forehead in the universal gesture of surrender. “I mean no harm, Centurion Lachlan.”
Armand stiffened further. “What’s going on?”
Malena sighed. She used the pinky finger of one hand to move her hair away, showing her ear to Armand. It took him a couple seconds to see beyond all that gold. Then he sucked in a breath, the bench beneath us creaking.
“I have the mark of a memory manipulator, yes.” Malena’s gaze had fallen to her lap, a long, delicate finger grazing the smooth surface of that thin, wooden bracelet hidden amidst the countless golden ones.
“It was inked on me when I was too young to understand the consequences. When I realized . . . I got out and handed myself over to the Army. Instead of prison, they offered an exile of sorts, and the permanent muting of my ability.” She raised her hand in the air, the one with that wooden bracelet . . .
Cuff, I understood then.
It was a cuff carved from the wood of the Evergreen Mahogany adorning her wrist, like the ones we’d used to train at The Paragon. It was very well done, I had to admit. Smooth and thin enough that it could be mistaken for another bracelet.
Malena shifted her hand, placing it around the other. “That’s how I ended up here in Kamea, and how I met Rolla.”
I took her in again, under the new light gained from the revelation.
Faint lines creased the corners of her mouth and eyes.
The line of her shoulders was relaxed, and she had that carefree vibe going around her with the flowing skirt and freckled skin.
All signs of a relatively easy, comfortable life.
A life she’s chosen.
The rest of the evening was uneventful, and I found myself getting lost inside my head on various occasions, thinking about Malena’s story.
She’d been beyond brave to turn herself in upon realizing what the ink on her skin meant.
It could have ended horribly for her, but .
. . here she was. Merrily married, accomplished, happy.
Will I ever know such a feeling?