The Stone Sky (The Broken Earth, #3) - N. K. Jemisin Page 0,98

life. Still, you see her take the little pot of milk when it’s given to her, and drink it down even though she grimaces at the taste. Her jaw is set and hard. There’s a chance. That’s what matters.

Ykka also sets up monitors at the node station’s shower room. They’re not guards, exactly, but they’re necessary, because a lot of people in Castrima are from rough little Midlatter comms and they don’t know how indoor plumbing works. Also, some people have been just standing under the hot spray for an hour or more, weeping as the ash and leftover desert sand comes off their acid-dried skins. Now, after ten minutes, the monitors gently nudge people out and over to benches along the sides of the room, where they can keep crying while others get their turn.

You take a shower and feel nothing, except clean. When you claim a corner of the station’s mess hall—which has been emptied of furnishings so that several hundred people can sleep ash-free for the night—you sit there atop your bedroll, leaning against the scoria wall, letting your thoughts drift. It’s impossible not to notice the mountain lurking within the stone just behind you. You don’t call him out because the other people of Castrima are leery of Hoa. He’s the only stone eater still around, and they remember that stone eaters are not neutral, harmless parties. You do reach back and pat the wall with your one hand, however. The mountain stirs a little, and you feel something—a hard nudge—against the small of your back. Message received and returned. It’s surprising how good this private moment of contact makes you feel.

You need to feel again, you think, as you watch a dozen small tableaus play out before you. Two women argue over which of them gets to eat the last piece of dried fruit in their comm share. Two men, just beyond them, furtively exchange whispers while one passes over a small soft sponge—the kind Equatorials like to use for wiping after defecation. Everyone likes their little luxuries, when fortune provides. Temell, the man who now teaches the comm’s orogene children, lies buried in them as he snores on his bedroll. One boy is nestled in a curl at his belly; meanwhile, Penty’s sock-clad foot rests on the back of his neck. Across the room, Tonkee stands with Hjarka—or rather, Hjarka’s holding her hands and trying to coax her into some kind of slow dance, while Tonkee stands still and tries to just roll her eyes and not smile.

You’re not sure where Ykka is. Probably spending the night in one of the sheds or tents outside, knowing her, but you hope she lets one of her lovers stay with her this time. She’s got a rotating stable of young women and men, some of them time-sharing with other partners and some singles who don’t seem to mind Ykka using them for occasional stress relief. Ykka needs that now. Castrima needs to take care of its headwoman.

Castrima needs, and you need, and just as you think this, Lerna comes out of nowhere and settles beside you.

“Had to end Chetha,” he says quietly. Chetha, you know, is one of the three Strongbacks shot by the Rennies—ironically, a former Rennie herself, conscripted into the army along with Danel. “The other two will make it, probably, but the bolt perforated Chetha’s bowel. It would’ve been slow and awful. Plenty of painkillers here, though.” He sighs and rubs his eyes. “You’ve seen that … thing … in the wire chair.”

You nod, hesitate, then reach for his hand. He’s not particularly affectionate, you’ve been relieved to discover, but he does need little gestures sometimes. A reminder that he is not alone, and that all is not hopeless. To this end you say, “If I succeed in shutting down the Rifting, you may not need to keep the node maintainers.” You’re not sure that’s true, but you hope it is.

He clasps your hand lightly. It’s been fascinating to realize that he never initiates contact between you. He waits for you to offer, and then he meets your gestures with as much or as little intensity as you’ve brought to the effort. Respecting your boundaries, which are sharp-edged and hair-triggered. You never knew he was so observant, all these years—but then, you should’ve guessed. He figured out you were an orogene just by watching you, years ago. Innon would’ve liked him, you decide.

As if he has heard your thoughts, Lerna then looks over