The Stone Sky (The Broken Earth, #3) - N. K. Jemisin Page 0,22
to keep warm. Her reaction is a welcome reminder that not everybody in Castrima is angry with you. Esni is alive because the worst part of the attack—Rennanis soldiers trying to carve a bloody path through the Strongbacks holding Scenic Overlook—ended when you locked the enemy stone eaters into crystals.
Ykka, though, doesn’t turn, although she should easily be able to sess your presence. She says, you think to Esni, though it works for you as well, “I really don’t want to hear any more arguments right now.”
“That’s good,” you say. “Because I understand exactly why you’ve stopped here, and I think it’s a good idea.” It’s a bit louder than it needs to be. You eyeball Esni so she’ll know you mean to have it out with Ykka right now, and maybe Esni doesn’t want to be here for that. But a woman who leads the comm’s defenders isn’t going to scare easily, so you’re not entirely surprised when Esni looks amused and folds her arms, ready to enjoy the show.
Ykka turns to you, slowly, a look of mingled annoyance and incredulity on her face. She says, “Nice to know you approve,” in a tone that sounds anything but pleased. “Not that I actually care if you do.”
You set your jaw. “You sess it, right? I’d call it the work of a four-or five-ringer, except I know now that ferals can have unusual skill.” You mean her. It’s an olive branch. Or maybe just flattery.
She doesn’t fall for it. “We’re going as far as we can before nightfall, and setting up camp in there.” She nods toward the forest. “It’s too big to get through in a day. Maybe we could go around, but there’s something …” Her eyes unfocus, and then she frowns and turns away, grimacing at having revealed a weakness to you. She’s sensitive enough to sess the something, but not to know exactly what she’s sessing.
You’re the one who spent years learning to read underground rocks with orogeny, so you fill in the detail. “There’s a leaf-covered spike trap in that direction,” you say, nodding toward the long-dead grass edging the stone forest on one side. “Beyond it is an area of snares; I can’t tell how many, but I can sess a lot of kinetic tension from wire or rope. If we go around the other way, though, there are partially sheared-off stone columns and boulders positioned at points along the edge of the stone forest. Easy to start a rockslide. And I can sess holes positioned at strategic points along the outer columns. A crossbow, or even an ordinary bow and arrow, could do a lot of damage from there.”
Ykka sighs. “Yeah. So through really is the best way.” She eyes Esni, who must have been arguing for around. Esni sighs, too, and then shrugs, conceding the argument.
You face Ykka. “Whoever made this forest, if they’re still alive, has the skill to precision-ice half the comm in seconds, with little warning. If you’re determined to go through, we’re going to have to set up a watch/chore rotation—the orogenes with better control, I mean, when I say ‘we.’ You need to keep us all awake tonight.”
She narrows her eyes. “Why?”
“Because if any of us are asleep when the attack comes”—you’re pretty sure there’ll be an attack—“we’ll react instinctively.”
Ykka grimaces. She’s not the average feral, but she’s feral enough to know what will likely happen if something causes her to react orogenically in her sleep. Whoever the attacker doesn’t kill, she very well might, completely by accident. “Shit.” She looks away for a moment, and you wonder if she doesn’t believe you, but apparently she’s just thinking. “Fine. We’ll split watches, then. Put the roggas not on watch to work, oh, shelling those wild peas we found a few days back. Or repairing the harnesses the Strongbacks use for hauling. Since we’ll have to be carried on the wagons tomorrow, when we’re too sleepy and useless to walk on our own.”
“Right. And—” You hesitate. Not yet. You can’t admit your weakness to these women, not yet. But. “Not me.”
Ykka’s eyes narrow immediately. Esni throws you a skeptical look, as if to say, And you were doing so well. Quickly you add, “I don’t know what I’m capable of now. After what I did back in Castrima-under … I’m different.”
It’s not even a lie. Without really thinking about it, you reach for your missing arm, your hand fumbling against the sleeve of your jacket. No one can