‘Tracker’s Lenses,’ I said. ‘Grandpa Smedry loaned them to me. With these, you can retrace your steps back to the entrance if you get lost – or even find me by following my footprints.’
Australia smiled broadly. ‘I’ve never tried a pair of these before. I can’t believe they work so well!’
I didn’t mention that Grandpa Smedry had said they were among the most simple of Lenses to use. ‘That’s great,’ I said. ‘Maybe you’ve just always tried the wrong types of Lenses. Best to begin with the ones that work. You can borrow those.’
‘Thanks!’ She gave me an unexpected hug, then hopped to her feet to go fetch the other pack. Smiling, I watched her go.
‘You’re good at that,’ a voice said.
I turned to find Bastille standing a short distance away. She’d cut down several long branches and was in the process of dragging them back to her mother.
‘What?’ I asked.
‘You’re good,’ she said. ‘With people, I mean.’
I shrugged. ‘It’s nothing.’
‘No,’ Bastille said. ‘You really made her feel better. Something had been bothering her since you arrived, but now she seems back to her old self. You kind of have a leader’s flair about you, Smedry.’
It makes sense, if you think about it. I had spent my entire childhood learning how to shove people away from me. I’d learned just the right buttons to push, just the right things to break, to make them hate me. Now, those same skills were coming in handy helping people feel good, rather than making them hate me.
I should have realized the trouble I was getting myself into. There’s nothing worse than having people look up to you – because the more they expect, the worse you feel when you fail them. Take my advice. You don’t want to be the one in charge. Becoming a leader is, in a way, like falling off a cliff. It feels like a lot of fun at first.
Then it stops being fun. Really, really fast.
Bastille hauled the branches over to her mother, who was making a lean-to. Then, Bastille sat down beside me and took out one of our water bottles to get a drink. The water level in it didn’t seem to go down at all as she gulped.
Neat, I thought.
‘There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you,’ I said.
She wiped her brow. ‘What?’
‘That jet that was chasing us,’ I said. ‘It fired a Frostbringer’s Lens. I thought only Oculators could activate things like that.’
She shrugged.
‘Bastille,’ I said, eyeing her.
‘You saw my mother,’ she grumbled. ‘I’m not supposed to talk about things like that.’
‘Why?’
‘Because I’m not an Oculator.’
‘I’m not a pigeon either,’ I said. ‘But I can talk about feathers if I want.’
She eyed me. ‘That’s a really bad metaphor, Smedry.’
‘I’m good at those kind.’
Feathers. Much less comfortable than scales. Glad I’m a fish instead of a bird. (You haven’t forgotten about that, have you?)
‘Look,’ I said. ‘What you know could be important. I . . . I think the thing that flew that jet is still alive.’
‘It fell from the sky!’ she said.
‘So did we.’