28

Neraval’s punishment had a schedule.

At six, the commission would close the wells.

At eight, every family had to report to the square with a blanket, food for two days, and their documents.

At ten, the transfers would begin.

Anyone who stayed home would lose their land, livestock, and right to return.

The order bore Varek’s signature.

Isolde read it from the hill. Below, eight hundred and four people stood in lines among rain-soaked gardens. The soldiers had painted a blue mark on every door. Thirteen wagons waited beside the road to Cendral.

“They’ll need forty trips,” Beren said.

“They have twenty more wagons across the river,” Tavra replied.

She had been born in Neraval. She told them during the journey, after spending an entire night preparing routes without saying why she knew every wall.

Her father tended the channels. Her mother wrote letters for families who had never learned to read.

Both died before the commission founded West-7.

Tavra still had an empty house beside the north garden.

“They’ll take them to C-0 in groups,” Oren said. “Synchronization requires bodies distributed among the shafts.”

Kaoran sat against a tree. The march from Halver had brought back the pain in his chest. He breathed without blood, though each sentence cost him a little more by its end.

“How many ways out of the village?” he asked.

Tavra pointed to the map.

“A stone bridge to the east. A ford to the south in summer. An irrigation tunnel beneath the gardens. The old quarry climbs toward this hill.”

“The ford will still be flooded after this rain,” Beren said.

“And watched,” Isolde added.

“Children and thin people can fit through the tunnel,” Tavra said. “The quarry has been closed for years.”

Kaoran looked at the lines.

“Four routes for eight hundred people. One works.”

“Two,” Isolde replied. “We’ll open the quarry.”

“That takes time.”

“We have until ten.”

“People believe the warrior will come,” Tavra said.

Isolde lowered the map.

Drawings of a figure wrapped in fire covered the walls. Some houses kept a bowl of ash beside the door. Children wore red ribbons around their wrists.

“Who told them I was coming?”

“No one,” Beren replied. “The order mentions collaboration with an anonymous figure. They’ve turned the accusation into a promise.”

“They’ll wait.”

“They’re already waiting.”

Isolde looked at Kaoran.

“I’ll go in with Tavra. Beren and Oren open the quarry. You prepare shelters in three directions.”

“I can organize the exit from inside.”

“Your chest needs stable ground.”

“The hill is stable.”

“Then coordinate from here.”

Kaoran accepted the map.

“What limit are you setting for the village?”

“We leave before the wagons start. No one waits for a battle. No one stays to protect property.”

“And your limit?”

Isolde studied the blue plates beside the bridge.

“I’ll use fire to keep the exits open.”

“That will confirm you’re here.”

“Eight hundred and four people will confirm they got out.”

Tavra adjusted her crossbow.

“My limit is my mother’s house.”

Isolde looked at her.

“What does that mean?”

“I won’t go in. If I see the inside, I’ll lose time gathering things that already belong to another life.”

Isolde was about to offer her time to collect something. Tavra already had her crossbow against her hip and her eyes on the gardens.

“My crossbow came from there,” she said. “The rest can wait.”

Isolde put away the map. She moved beside her for the descent, letting Tavra choose where to look as they passed the house.

Isolde followed her.

They entered Neraval through the irrigation channel. The water reached their waists. The grate at the end was rusty. Tavra knew a stone that hid the key.

They emerged inside a shed.

An older woman waited with six people armed with tools. Her name was Ena Vol, and she chaired the gardens council.

“Tavra Keral,” she said. “Twelve years late.”

“I was learning how to come back.”

Ena looked at Isolde.

“Is she the warrior?”

“She has a plan.”

“I asked something else.”

Isolde pulled back her hood. Gray cloth still covered her face.

“The commission starts the transfers at ten. We have two hours to get the families out.”

Ena kept her eyes on her hands.

“The people expect fire.”

“Fire will open a route if it has to. Getting out depends on the village.”

“The soldiers hold the bridge.”

“We’ll use the quarry and the irrigation tunnel. Each district leaves in groups of twenty.”

One of the men shook his head.

“The quarry collapsed.”

“They’re opening it from outside.”

“Who?”

“People who need you to open it from inside.”

Ena examined the map.

“The southern district has old people who won’t fit through the tunnel.”

“They’ll go to the quarry.”

“It’s a long climb.”

“We’ll prepare handcarts.”

“The soldiers will see the movement.”

Tavra laid a copy of the Halver register on the table.

“These are the destinations. C-0 receives Neraval as synchronization cargo.”

Ena read the codes.

“Can you prove it?”

“Copies of the register are already on four routes,” Isolde said. “Compare the names on this page with the order you received.”

The woman raised her head.

“If we leave, they’ll burn the village.”

“They can do that even if you stay.”

Ena looked out the window. Blue marks gleamed on the doors.

“I want every family to choose.”

“They have an hour to receive the information and decide. After that, the routes close.”

“Will you leave with those who go?”

“I’ll stay until the last group.”

Tavra tapped the table with one finger.

“That limit wasn’t in the plan.”

“It is now.”

“Kaoran will be angry.”

“He can write it on the map.”

Ena gathered the representatives of the six districts.

The evacuation began at eight twenty-three.

The representatives knocked on every door.

They explained the order, showed the copy, and offered three options. Families could leave through the quarry, use the irrigation tunnel, or remain in their homes. Those who chose to stay received a signal they could use to change their decision until the last group.

Seven hundred and twelve people prepared to leave.

Ninety-two chose to stay.

Ena recorded every name.

“I won’t force them,” she said.

“Neither will I,” Isolde replied.

Tavra gathered handcarts in the southern district. The elderly carried small children on their blankets. Each group had two guides and someone responsible for counting. If anyone was missing, the group went on and one guide went back.

“The legend will reach one part of the village,” Isolde told the representatives. “Each district keeps its own exit.”

A boy raised his hand.

“When do you appear?”

“I’m already here.”

“I mean the fire.”

“When a route needs opening.”

“And if the soldiers come?”

“The guides keep going. I’ll decide where to hold them back.”

The boy looked at Ena.

“I thought we’d fight.”

“We’re fighting to get out,” she said.

The first group entered the tunnel. Forty-three children moved forward with ropes tied around their waists. Two women led with lamps. The channel would take them beneath the line of gardens and emerge near the forest.

The second group crossed the sheds toward the quarry.

Beren was hammering from the other side of the collapse. Tavra answered with a sledgehammer. Six meters of stone and wood remained between them.

“Thirty minutes,” she estimated.

“We have ninety,” Isolde replied.

The square’s bell rang three times.

The commission’s wagons began moving.

It was eight forty.

A town crier read an amendment to the order. Clandestine activity had brought the transfers forward. Every family had to report immediately.

Cevran entered over the bridge.

A mask covered the burn on his face. Twenty soldiers walked behind him. Four wagons carried blue cores. Leth Arven rode beside him, despite his suspension at Halver.

“Varek has brought his two captains together,” Tavra said.

“One controls the plates. The other knows the village.”

“Leth was born across the river.”

“Does he know the quarry?”

“Yes.”

Isolde looked at the collapse.

“Keep opening it. I’ll delay them.”

Tavra caught her sleeve.

“Your limit was fire for an exit.”

“It still is.”

“Don’t go after Cevran.”

“You either.”

They separated.

Isolde reached the square in a line of families. She carried a basket, her face covered. Soldiers counted people, marked documents, and divided groups by age.

A girl was pulled away from her father.

“Over twelve and fit for work, wagon three,” the scribe said.

The father tried to follow her. A soldier blocked him.

“The order says families,” he protested.

“They’ll be sorted at the destination.”

Isolde set down the basket.

Ena appeared beside the scribe with the village register.

“The girl is eleven.”

“She looks older.”

“Her birth date is here.”

“The local register is suspended.”

Ena placed herself between them.

“Then you have no date to justify moving her.”

The square listened.

Cevran approached.

“Detain the gardens councilor.”

Two soldiers grabbed Ena.

Isolde took a step.

Ena saw her.

She barely shook her head.

Groups were still leaving through the districts. A fight in the square would bring the closure forward.

Isolde returned to the line.

Cevran ordered the empty houses searched. Leth sent six men toward the northern gardens and four to the quarry.

Their time shrank again.

Isolde let two wagons pass. When the third reached the center of the bridge, she released a band of heat beneath its axles. The wheel grease turned liquid. The bolts came out. The wagon tilted and blocked the road.

The horses stopped unharmed.

“Sabotage!” Leth shouted.

The soldiers searched for fire. They found only hot metal and a crowd.

Cevran looked at the lines.

He knew Isolde was among them.

“Close the square,” he ordered. “Check hands and faces.”

People began pressing against the exits.

Isolde found the girl’s father.

“Take her toward the old well when the bell rings,” she murmured.

“She’s in wagon three.”

“The wagon is beside the granary. The back door will open.”

“Who are you?”

Isolde showed the scar on her hand.

The man understood.

“I thought you’d come with a dragon.”

“He chooses his own path.”

“Can you get us out?”