I look at Red. Even though he couldn’t understand everything that just happened, he isn’t a fool—his eyes linger on the back of Jeran’s father, dark and hostile, before jumping to Jeran in concern. My resentment of this prisoner gives way to something resembling approval.
As Adena walks over to Jeran and touches his shoulder, I’m hit with the realization that, if Jeran were ever to die, it would not be a monster that killed him, but his father.
8
I hate the procession we always make when we head out to the warfront.
It’s no different this morning as we wind out of Newage’s gates and through the Outer City, our path pointed to the horizon. Teams of cooks, servants, and metalworkers walk behind the supply wagons. Then come battalions of common Maran soldiers, their armor scuffed and worn, their faces gaunt. Strikers ride in pairs both at the front and back of the procession.
Red rides beside me this morning. His presence is an unfamiliar weight at my side, and I keep casting him sidelong glances.
He’s still shackled, and chains still run across his chest, more for show than any practical purpose. Though he hasn’t been given a Striker uniform, at least he has been allowed to change out of his prisoner suit. No need for the Federation to hear about an obvious prisoner of war staying in our defense compound.
Red’s face is a cold mask of indifference this morning. He doesn’t look my way.
As usual, crowds have gathered to see us off. Most in the Inner City are solemn, waving their respect to us as we pass. But I can feel their expressions shift as they turn to me. The farewells dim, and in their place is a din of mutters, hostile glares, snorts of disgust. I try to ignore their glances. As we make our way through the Outer City, I crane my neck in the hopes of glimpsing my mother in the throngs that have assembled along the muddy paths to watch us go. Maybe she’s here, but I don’t see her. The only ones clustered on either side of our procession are stall owners and their hollow-eyed children.
Finally, we leave behind the city and enter the open plains that dot our land. Towering ruins stand like silent sentinels as we pass. My gaze lingers on one of them, a fragment of steel three times taller than me, jutting out of a stream glowing with blue minnows. The sapphire light reflects off the metal in wavy patterns.
“Mara.”
I turn around, still surprised to hear Red’s gritty voice next to me, and see him looking up at the steel beam. He stares at it, then back at me.
“Different.”
He’s picked up a couple more Maran words since yesterday, but I still shake my head, unsure what he’s trying to say.
He gives me a frustrated look and turns away again.
“I’ll ask him.” Jeran rides up beside me, then calls out at Red in Karenese.
I watch him as he goes. Gone is the strange, terrified version of Jeran I’d seen yesterday in the Grid, head bowed before his father and brother. Today he’s the boy I know again, attentive and thoughtful, if a bit quieter than usual. A mottle of blue-and-purple bruising peeks out from the collar of his jacket.
He’d headed home immediately after practice yesterday, so eager was he to still help his father chop down their dead oak. He’d slept at home, not in his Striker apartment he shares with Adena.
Sometimes I wonder whether Jeran feels relieved after his father’s punishments, as if it resets the clock on when his father will lash out again. I remind myself to ask my mother to make a poultice for his bruises when we return.
Red responds, and after a moment, Jeran nods at me and points up at the structure. “Back in the Federation’s capital, there are ruins of old ships, with walls made of some kind of mystery metal. It’s where they used to find artifacts of the Early Ones’ books.”
I lean forward instinctively in my saddle. Is he finally trying to tell us something useful? “A library?” I ask, nodding at Jeran to translate.
Jeran shrugs as Red answers. “No idea,” he says. “Maybe. All the steel towers here around Newage make me think this was once a city.”
“It was,” I tell him. I look back at the remnants of their civilization and try to imagine what it was like. “I heard the Federation used those books