12

The first wagon carried a door.

They had lashed it on top of the furniture, above a mattress and two chicken cages. It still had its frame, its handle, and a blue stain around the lock. Whenever the left wheel hit a rut, the door knocked against a chest of drawers.

Thirteen more wagons followed.

Isolde and Kaoran found them on the Ember Plains, beside a dry well.

Teren had caught up with them that morning.

He carried a statement for Soren, signed before two buyers, and several copies that needed to continue south.

Mella would see that the statement was delivered.

The charcoal burner had chosen to accompany the papers to the next relay.

The families had hung blankets between the wagons to shelter from the wind.

The animals searched for grass in the red earth.

A child held a bowl beneath the well rope, waiting for a drop that would never come.

“The next spring is six leagues away,” Kaoran said.

“They won’t make it with those oxen.”

Isolde counted people, wheels, and containers.

There were forty-nine adults outside the military levy, twenty-three children, and eleven young people the Guard could claim for service: eighty-three people.

Four of the older ones traveled lying down.

One woman was pregnant. Two wagons had axles reinforced with rope.

Someone in the group had counted them already. The numbers were written in chalk on the side of the first wagon.

The woman keeping count was named Neris Vael. She looked about forty. She used a measuring rod as a walking stick and kept three pencils behind her ear.

“The well is on the maps,” she said when Isolde asked about water.

“They diverted it to a Guard post,” Kaoran replied. “There’s a sluice gate beneath the hill.”

Neris looked at her cloak, her left glove, and Kaoran’s short sword.

“Do you charge to open it?”

“We charge for sharpening,” Isolde said. “The water belongs in its course.”

“I expect the post will say the same while they weigh our wagons.”

They came from Ordel, a village east of Caleryon. The collectors had demanded a grain quota after a poor harvest. When the families delivered less, the office marked their homes as property under debt. Three weeks later, a company arrived with new deeds in the name of House Rhyne.

“They allowed us one bed per family, tools, and four days’ food,” Neris said. “We left six days ago.”

“Where are you going?”

“Meral. A cousin knows some unworked land near the river.”

Kaoran unfolded a map.

“The bridge at Meral is closed.”

“Since when?”

“Last week. The flood broke a support.”

The news passed among the wagons. Several people began speaking at once. An old woman suggested going back. A man pointed out that the Guard occupied Ordel. Two young men wanted to swim across the river. The oxen kept looking for grass.

Neris struck the ground with her rod.

“Water first,” she said.

The words restored order to the group.

Isolde smiled.

“I know a way to the sluice gate.”

“What’s the risk?”

The question showed that Neris had learned to distrust quick solutions.

“The post watches the road. The pipe runs through a ditch to the north. Two people can open it without passing the barrier. If the Guard discovers the diversion, they’ll come to investigate.”

“How long before the water reaches us?”

“An hour, if the channel is clear.”

Neris chose a carpenter named Bel and his seventeen-year-old son, Aren. Isolde agreed to take Bel and asked the boy to stay.

“Why?” Aren asked.

“If the post sees us, someone has to move the wagons.”

“I can fight.”

“And you know how to drive your father’s wagon. If the post sees us before we get the water flowing, Neris will need you to get your family off the road.”

Aren looked at Neris. She nodded.

Isolde, Kaoran, and Bel went around the hill. The sluice gate was closed with a new chain. An iron pipe ran down toward the post, where a reservoir stored water for the horses and patrols.

“That diversion fed three wells,” Bel said. “When did they change it?”

“When the regency began,” Kaoran replied.

The chain bore a seal from the roads office. Cutting it would mean destroying public property. Isolde examined the mechanism. The sluice gate had two outlets. One was blocked by a plate bolted in place.

“We can open the plate and leave the chain,” she said.

Bel took out his tools. The bolts were rusted. Isolde heated each head for a pulse, then let Kaoran pour water over it. The metal gave. They removed the plate without breaking the seal.

Water flowed into the old ditch.

“The drop in the reservoir level will give it away at the post,” Kaoran said.

“After they fill the troughs. We’ll have an hour.”

They cleared branches from the channel on their way back. The first flow reached the well as a brown trickle. The children shouted. Neris kept them from drinking until the mud had washed through.

She measured out the water. The sick and the children came first. Then the draft animals. Everyone else received a cup and waited for the well’s level to rise again.

Isolde watched the chalk figures change. Neris subtracted containers, added time, and marked which ox needed rest.

“You were an administrator,” she said.

“I made barrels. A badly sealed barrel loses wine. A badly counted caravan loses people.”

“Who decided you should travel to Meral?”

“We voted on three destinations. Meral had family, water, and work.”

“The closed bridge leaves two.”

“One means crossing a recruitment post. The other means land without wells.”

Kaoran pointed south.

“We can go with you as far as the spring at Vessa. There’s a shepherds’ trail after that, around the bridge.”

“Why?” Neris asked.

“We’re heading south too,” Isolde replied.

“That explains the direction.”

“The Guard will come when they notice the water. We know how they ask questions.”

Neris looked at the families. Taking in two strangers might protect them or give them another problem.

“You walk in front,” she decided. “If you change the route without explaining, we go on alone.”

“Agreed.”

The caravan broke camp.

The blue door began knocking against the chest of drawers again.

Isolde walked beside the first wagon and learned their names.

Neris traveled with her sister Leya and two nephews.

Bel had lost his workshop in Ordel. Aren wanted to join the Guard because he thought a uniform would help him get their house back.

A young woman named Tila carried seeds hidden inside a pillow.

The pregnant woman, Mava, was two months from her due date and had begun having irregular contractions.

Each wagon held a piece of the village.

Blacksmith’s tools.

Candle molds.

A box of schoolbooks.

Two empty beehives.

A dismantled loom.

The door on the first wagon came from Neris’s house.

“You could have left it,” Isolde said.

“I could have left my legs too. They weighed less.”

“Where will you put it?”

“In the first wall I build.”

Neris ran her fingers over the blue handle and checked the rope.

Isolde remembered the place she had asked Darian for beneath the pomegranate tree: a house where they could come home late for dinner and argue without summoning anyone.

They had barely needed to describe it before she began living there in her thoughts.

“Have you chosen that wall yet?” she asked.

“We’ll choose when there’s ground we’re allowed to stand on.”

Isolde adjusted the lower rope around the door. She had counted wagons and water for the next stretch. Neris was also carrying something she hoped to find at the end.

The road wound between low hills. Red earth clung to the wheels. In midafternoon, one of the reinforced axles broke.

The wagon tipped and threw a box to the ground. Inside were plates wrapped in clothing. The impact broke several.

Aren kicked the wheel.

“You need to stay in one piece,” Bel said.

“So did the plates.”

“The plates have made their choice.”

Isolde helped unload the wagon. Kaoran found an ash branch, and Bel fashioned a temporary axle. The repair would take two hours. The Guard might catch them before then.

“We move the children and the water to the wagons in front,” Isolde said. “Everyone else keeps going. Five people stay for the repair and catch up.”

Neris shook her head.

“That wagon’s family stays with us.”

“Kaoran and I can stay behind.”

“The decision belongs to everyone. If we split up every time something breaks, we’ll reach Meral as scattered people.”

The caravan voted. Forty hands chose to wait. Eight wanted to go on. The others abstained.

Isolde counted the hands that wanted to go on. She would have to remember those eight if the Guard arrived before they finished the axle. She asked Neris who could watch the hill while the others made repairs.

“Then we form a circle,” Isolde said. “The sound wagons block the view from the road. Anyone resting can prepare food. Those who can walk check the hill.”

They finished the repair before sunset.

The water post discovered the sluice gate at nightfall.

The riders appeared on the ridge as the caravan entered a narrow gorge. There were twelve guards and two collectors. They carried short spears, scales, and a register.

“Don’t run,” Isolde said.

Fear made several oxen quicken their pace. The blue door struck hard.

Neris raised her rod. The wagons slowed.

The patrol captain caught up beside a roadside marker. His name was Halev Cors. His face was sunburned, and his white cloak was too clean for the Plains.

“You’ve tampered with a regency waterwork,” he said.

“We opened an existing outlet,” Neris replied.

“That water is reserved for the Guard and registered travelers.”

“We’re travelers.”

“Your permits expired when you left Ordel.”

Halev consulted the register. He had a list of the families. Beside each name was an outstanding amount of grain, tools, or labor.

“Ordel’s property is still encumbered by debt,” he said. “This caravan is carrying property subject to seizure.”

“The order allowed us to take tools and food,” Neris replied.

“Subject to inspection.”