Finding You

  She’s quiet again, and we walk more slowly, letting the cart drift ahead.

  “My ma said she could always tell us apart because my eyes were sharp, and Ever’s were kind.” Phoebe shrugs. “She said a lot about us, about how different we were. She said that I was the survivor, that I’d been born small and fought to stay alive, and that I’d do whatever I had to as long as I won. I wanted her to be wrong, but it was like a curse, I guess, hearing it all the time. It was true before I even meant it to be. There was nothing about Ever that was selfish. When we all got sick one winter, she gave everything she had to the little ones and ate nothing herself. I tried to make her take some of my food, but she wouldn’t and I…” Phoebe pauses, squinting upward and around, swallowing hard. “I knew it was wrong, but I was so glad when she wouldn’t. I was so hungry and we were all pretty bad off, and I was horrible for being glad, I know. It was the first time I’d forgotten to love her. Anyway, she grew weaker and weaker, and I was fine.”

  She still won’t look at me. “She’s gone. She wouldn’t even fight for herself. It only took a couple of weeks. Only Ma and Peter and I survived; the baby died before we’d even named her. Anyway, we lost four in all. Ma said it was a mercy; she didn’t even cry. Probably welcomed the space in the flat.” Phoebe scoffs, but it sounds more like she’s choking.

  When she finally looks at me, her eyes are red-rimmed but dry. “Valentina is good like Ever was, always taking care of other people. I wondered if you were the same, at first. I knew if I didn’t let myself get involved, I wouldn’t be responsible for anyone’s fate but my own. It hurts to care about people, especially if they aren’t going to help themselves.”

  We walk in silence for a while. I remember days spent at the library, sitting at long tables made of knotted wood, enjoying the unspoken company of other readers. I’ve missed the kind of silence that came with the right people. Tam always said that silence was awkward, but there were times when we’d lie side by side on my roof and watch the sky and say nothing, and he seemed happy then, with our hands next to each other’s, just barely touching.

  “There’s a village just up ahead,” Marion calls back to us. “We can buy food there.”

  Phoebe and I jog to catch up to the cart, which leaves me winded. We ride a little ways longer, until we see a shed through the trees and then, shortly after, a house. Slowly, a few more houses appear—farmsteads, mostly—peeking between the tall trees. People, I think. People who might be suspicious of us. People who might somehow know we are running. People who might be as evil as so much of the world has proved itself to be.

  The X on my hand is mostly soft and pale now, the skin tight. It might not be the first thing someone will notice about me, but I don’t know how I would explain it away if they do.

  “We can’t walk in like this,” I say, gesturing at our clothes. “Someone will ask questions, or at the very least remember us later if anyone comes looking.”

  Marion nods, furrowing her brow. “Your clothes won’t draw attention, Isla. You should buy something to eat and we’ll meet you on the other side.”

  “Of course,” I say, but my heart is racing. I grab the money purse I took from Curram’s study and jump to the ground as Marion pulls the cart away from the road. Just walk, I tell myself.

  House by house, a town takes shape around me. A street of hard-packed dirt, lined on both sides with mismatching houses, some of which have been transformed into quaint shops. What might be hundreds of people wander here and there between carts and stalls, calling greetings to each other and bargaining for better prices on the wares they’re seeking. It should be charming, but I can’t shake the memories of the last time I found myself in a crowd. I jump at every sudden sound, draw back every time someone jostles me. I turn around and around, half expecting to see hands reaching for me out of the corner of my eye.

  Nothing has changed, I tell myself, not since the last time Tam and I went to the market, not since I last walked to the library alone. But everything feels unreliable. The world is no longer trustworthy.

  “New to town?” asks someone, startling me. A man just at the edge of the road, standing in front of what must be his stall, where baskets and finespun fabrics are on display for market.

  “Uh,” I say, staring at him in confusion. He looks expectant and I manage, “Just passing through,” easing my way past him and his wares. He doesn’t mean any harm, I tell myself, but my heart’s racing. There are too many people.

  And then I see a man moving through the crowd, striding with determination from one stall to the next. He’s wearing a green jacket I’ve seen before, on Curram’s guards. I hold perfectly still, but everything around me moves twice as fast as before.

  There’s another man, behind him. Across the little market square, I see a third. A fourth emerges from between two stalls, where he had been hidden from view.

  “He’ll hunt you down,” Phoebe had said.

  I keep my head down and back slowly toward the edge of the marketplace as more guards appear. When I reach the first opening between buildings, I bolt into the trees and run until I catch up to the cart.

  “What’s wrong?” Caddy gasps when I reach them, my breathing ragged.

  “Curram’s men, in the village. Half a dozen of them, maybe more. They must be looking for us.” Phoebe nods; the others are wide-eyed. “He’s looking for us. I was foolish to think we were safe.”

  “Get in, Isla, quick,” says Marion, snapping the reins on the horse’s back as I clamber into the cart. She steers us farther into the trees until we’re a safe distance from the road. “They can spot us by the brands; I’ll bet they’re asking anyone they don’t know. Curram must suspect we’d take this road out of the city. We’ll have to get food at the next village.” On cue, my stomach growls at the thought of another day of driving before we eat. But risking the marketplace is out of the question.

  “He’ll have men there, too,” says Phoebe, rolling her eyes. “Curram doesn’t know where we’d go, he probably just sent them in every direction, and if they passed us while we slept, they’ll beat us to the next place as well.”

  Valentina crosses her arms. “Then what do you suggest we do? We need water, at least, and not only for drinking: Des’s back is only going to get worse if I can’t clean it properly.”

  Jewel raises her hand. “Let us get the food.” She gestures to Caddy, who sits up straighter, her eyes twinkling.

  “They’ll see your hands or ask you who—”

  “Not if they never see us at all,” she argues.

  “We shouldn’t steal,” pleads Valentina, looking alarmed.

  “Bring the money,” I say, “and, wherever you get the food from, leave a coin where it’ll look like it fell out of a purse.” Jewel’s expression turns sour, as if we’ve taken all the fun out of her task. But Caddy grabs a couple of coins out of the purse and follows her friend through the trees.

  It seems a long time that they’re gone. Every few seconds I’m certain they’ve been caught. When they do finally appear, with grins on their faces, I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. They empty their bunched-up skirts into the wagon bed, revealing late-summer fruit, fresh bread, dried venison strips, and onions; it’s a feast. Caddy is particularly proud of the melon she snatched, which Phoebe cuts with Robbie’s knife, while Jewel takes on the task of rationing.

  The melon’s soft orange flesh is the most marvelous thing I’ve ever tasted; I try to savor it, but in seconds only the sticky rind is left. Even though I know it’ll make me sick, I eat as much as Jewel will give me, until my tongue is heavy.

  Valentina wakes Des and makes him drink out of the waterskin the girls took, before forcing him to turn over so she can see to his back. The coat has protected his back from too much dirt, but when she takes it off, I cover my mouth at the sight of the gashes in his skin. All the food I just ate threatens to come up again, but I force myself to breathe and help Valentina cut the bottom of the coat into strips th
at we can wash and then use as bandages.

  For the rest of the day we drive on, parallel to the road in case we’re overtaken. While she drives, Marion tells us more about Eisendrath, and how they gave it a foreign name so no one would suspect it was nearby if they heard rumors. She says that the people there come from so many places and backgrounds that it’s impossible to feel like an outsider.

  “And you won’t be nervous, going back to your family?” Valentina asks quietly, her knees tucked up to her chest.

  Marion turns to look at her. “Nervous?”

  “After what happened. What if they look at you differently?”

  “Why would they—I mean, nothing happened.” Marion frowns at the path ahead of us. “We got out, didn’t we?” I’d hardly say “nothing happened,” but I don’t argue; next to Eugenia’s fate, it’s hard to complain about my own.

  When we stop for the night, I can’t sleep. The air is still heavy with heat, even in the darkness. The sounds of owls and crickets fill the air, louder than the noises of the city ever were at night.

  My eyes wander from face to face in the darkness. Asleep, everyone looks so peaceful. Asleep, I can’t see their fears and insecurities. I can’t see their histories, or their broken families. I can’t see the brands on their hands.

  For a second I feel safe, in a way. Even under an open sky, in a world of uncertainty.

  But what must my pa be thinking? What torture has he been through since I’ve been gone? My eyes fill with tears, and what stars I can see swim together overhead.

  “Are you asleep, Isla?” comes Des’s quiet voice.

  “I can’t,” I say, swallowing the knot in my throat. “Too hot. And too much to think about.”

  “Val says we’re headed to Eisendrath.” He doesn’t sound happy.

  I ease my way between the sleeping forms of the other girls, taking a seat on the end of the cart next to him. “Do you know it?”

  “Curram does.”

  “We’re going to tell them what he’s doing,” I say. “That he’s double-crossing them, working for Nicholas and with the rebels. If they know he’s not to be trusted—”

  “Of course they know he’s not to be trusted. Everyone knows he works for Carr, Isla. He’s one of their biggest suppliers, their ears inside the government. They’re not going to pick our side over his. We might as well be walking into a trap when they find out he wants our heads.”

  “If the rebels want to end the corruption in the government, they’ll want to know what kind of a man Curram is—”

  “You mean the stuff with the girls? I hardly think that’ll be their first concern.”

  Des doesn’t know this Alistair Swain, who’s in command at Eisendrath. Marion does. I change the subject before I get angry. “Why is Curram so concerned with the rebellion anyway? Does he think a successful revolution would look to him as its leader later on?”

  “I doubt it. He’s not so involved as all that; the only thing Zachariah Curram cares enough about to entangle himself in a messy rebellion is money. And he’s smart enough to get it from both sides. As long as he supplies weapons and secrets to the rebels and keeps working for Carr, he’s made himself useful to both parties, and no matter the outcome, he’ll have friends in power.” We’re both quiet for a minute. “I wish you’d woken me up when you decided to go to Eisendrath,” Des says quietly. “You know I can’t waste time, that I’ve got to find my sister.”

  “You can hardly walk,” I say, scowling. “You need to heal first, no matter what. We’re kidnapping you until you’re strong enough for your own mission.”

  He’s not amused. “Isla, if Curram is looking for us, do you know who will suffer when he comes up empty-handed?” More guilt. Phoebe was right; if Curram were dead, we wouldn’t have to worry about any of this.

  “As soon as you’re better, then,” I say, but now I don’t know if that will be soon enough. Where could Curram be keeping Des’s sister? “I hoped the papers I took would say something about Lillian, but there was nothing. I’m sorry, Des. I don’t know where to look.”

  “He must have some record,” Des mumbles, and something dawns on me.

  “That’s what got you whipped, isn’t it? You were looking for something about Lillian before we left.” When he doesn’t answer, I know I’ve guessed correctly. “Des, you risked our plan, all of our lives that day! I told you I’d help you find her, but that was reckless!” You’d do the same for Tam, says a voice in my head, but I ignore it.

  “I’m sorry,” he says, in almost a whisper. “I just needed to know.”

  “What will you do after you find her?”

  “I don’t know. I’d like to get as far away from scheming and warmongering as possible.” There’s silence again for a few moments. When he speaks again, his voice sounds weak. “What will you do when you find Tam?”

  Hearing his name makes my heart jump. “I don’t know.” I tip my head back and try to pick out more stars through the trees. Everything looks exactly as the encyclopedias led me to expect: trees everywhere, too wide to wrap my arms around and a hundred feet tall, craggy with knots and chasms in the bark, or pin-straight and sticky with sap. I used to know all of their names, but they don’t matter now.

  Instead, I think about the future. I’ll get to Eisendrath and tell the leaders about Curram’s treachery. With their resources, we’ll find a way to ruin him, once and for all. Maybe that will mean killing him. And Tam must have joined the rebels; between Nicholas Carr’s corruption and a thrilling revolution, there would be no other choice for him. I know his adventurous heart. If he’s not at Eisendrath already, then he must be on his way, or he has found another base, and I will find him. I’ll find him and make my own happy ending.

  Maybe we could join the rebels together. Maybe I’d like to be a part of something noble and big. They might need scholars, or copiers. I close my eyes and imagine finding Tam, and telling him that I’m ready for an adventure. I can picture his confused smile, the way he’ll ask what’s gotten into me, or who I really am.

  “I hope he’s good enough for you,” Des says.

  I hold back my laugh so I won’t wake anyone. “Maybe you’ll meet him. He’s perfect.”

  “Of course he is.” I can hear the sarcastic smile in Des’s voice. “Good night, Isla.”

  “Good night, Despard.”

  He chuckles. “Don’t,” he says.

  nineteen

  Phoebe and I walk behind the cart on and off all morning, and I can feel the life returning slowly to my legs, even when using them wears me out. Des, too, is getting his strength back little by little. He sits up in the back of the wagon, helped by the ever-faithful Valentina.

  When Marion draws the cart to a halt at the morning’s end, the only change in the scenery is a mossy cairn in the middle of our path. The rocks are piled as high as the wagon and as wide as any of the tree trunks around us, but there’s room to go around.

  “We’re here,” Marion announces proudly, crossing her arms in what’s becoming a familiar stance.

  “Here, as in…?” Valentina looks nervous.

  I walk in a circle around the cairn, then come back to the front of the wagon. “Are you sure?” Besides the structure itself, nothing looks out of place: There’s the usual scattering of trees, spread over a hilly area, and some shrubberies along the ground.

  “Wait a moment,” Marion says, smirking.

  Movement catches my eye, and I turn to see a man standing beside a tree who certainly wasn’t there a moment before. One of his hands rests casually on the hilt of a knife in his belt, and the other holds a pistol. He’s dressed in the colors of the forest and has a kind of relaxed way about him that suggests he’s at home.

  More movement calls my attention to another figure, a woman this time, also dressed to blend in. She leans against a tree, a rifle propped on her shoulder. “Got business here on our property?” she asks, scanning our group. I back up until my shoulder knocks into the side of the cart, and be
fore I know it, half a dozen men and women make a clumsy circle around us. Their faces are weathered and they’re well armed.

  Most of them are watching Marion, who looks like the obvious leader from her perch at the front of the wagon, but a couple of the younger men seem to be staring at the other girls. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Val pull her skirt down across her knees, though it barely reaches.

  “Business with Abraham,” Marion says, still confident.

  One of the women whistles loudly, a short melody that must be a signal. My heart races, fear mingling with excitement. Another man appears from between the trees, tall and thin, with a haggard face and gray stubble on his chin. Where do they come from, rabbit holes in the ground?

  “Marion!” he exclaims, happiness transforming his gruff face. “What are you doing back so soon?” The others lower their weapons slightly but remain on guard.

  “Fell into some trouble that wasn’t my fault for a change.” She smiles good-naturedly. “These are my friends. We barely got out alive and had to leave the city.” The man’s eyes widen.

  “Well, if you can vouch for them, then. Feel free to signal me if they’ve got a gun to your back. This trouble, does it have anything to do with the way you’re dressed?” Marion’s skin is too dark for me to tell if she’s blushing, but I’m grateful again for the dress from Curram’s wife’s things.

  “Disguises,” she says smoothly.

  The man—Abraham, evidently—takes hold of our horse’s bridle and leads the cart past the guards and over the crest of the hill. I climb onto the back, realizing too late that the other rebels have disappeared again, and I didn’t see where they went.