Hanharans. He was special, and precious. If the Marcellans learned of his existence, they would execute him like every other Pretender they had caught—anyone who claimed an ability to travel the desert was treated the same way—and declare a day of feasting and celebration for the city. Peer closed her eyes, wondering whether any of those past Pretenders had been from the same place as this man.
And, if so, what had happened to those who helped?
“This is so much more than me,” she whispered. The man stirred, turning his head as if looking for whoever had spoken, but his eyes remained closed. His breathing was ragged and dry, his dark skin burned by the sun and raised in countless minute pustules, his white hair clotted with sand. Those few times he had opened his eyes, she had seen how green they were. He was unlike anyone she had ever known.
She suddenly remembered that she was supposed to be eating with Penler that evening. For a moment she considered taking the stranger over there right away, but night in Skulk was dangerous. There were the gangs, and there were rockzards the size of humans living in the ruins, emerging only at night to feed. She could not risk him for anything. And, besides, she had never been the most reliable person. Penler would be annoyed at her absence but not worried.
Tomorrow she would make it up to him.
As the night drew on, and the man seemed to drift into a deeper, calmer sleep, Peer stood by her table, looking down at his shoulder bag. She touched it but did not recognize the material. Not silk, not canvas; it felt brittle but looked so strong. And those things she’d seen, protruding from the bag’s open neck and still there now …
It felt so wrong, but she reached for the bag and loosened its string tie.
The man did not stir.
Guilt already weighing heavy, Peer opened the bag and emptied its contents across her table.
Later, staring at the man’s belongings, terrified and excited in equal measures, she sensed that she was being watched.
She glanced at her bed and he was looking at her, blinking softly. He raised his left hand to his mouth to mimic taking a drink. She handed him a cup and he sipped at the water, then drank more greedily.
“Not too much,” she said.
“More,” he said, and his rough hand closed around hers to tip the cup farther. When he’d finished the water, he lay back onto the pillow, panting slightly and staring at the ceiling.
“You speak Echoian?”
“Echoian?”
“You do.” She stood beside the bed, not quite knowing what to do.
He forms his words strangely. They
sound
different but mean the same
.
“I don’t know,” he said, but he did not elaborate.
“Where are you from?”
“Not here,” he said, shaking his head. Desert dust fell from his hair, and Peer wondered whether she could die from that.
But
he
hadn’t died. What did that mean?
“What’s your name?”
“Name?”
“My name is Peer Nadawa.”
“Peer.” He looked at her, and his mouth lifted in a faint smile. “You’re not her.”
“Not who?” she asked. He turned away. “Your name?”
The man closed his eyes, the frown returning. “No name.”
“Listen …” Peer began, then she sighed and sat on the edge of the bed, relieving the weight from her aching hip. The man’s hand was close to her thigh. She lifted it gently to examine his sunburn and the grit of his incredible journey collected beneath his fingernails.
“You’re not scared,” the man whispered.
“I’m fucking terrified!” She realized that she was crying, surprised at the aching nostalgia she suddenly felt for simpler times. Like yesterday. “I’m terrified because you’re going to change everything. I need to take you to see some people, and they’ll be amazed, and some other people will hate that you’re here. They might even try to …”
“Why?” he asked.
“Why what?”
“Why … all of it?”
Peer shook her head. She’d lit some candles earlier, and
And, if so, what had happened to those who helped?
“This is so much more than me,” she whispered. The man stirred, turning his head as if looking for whoever had spoken, but his eyes remained closed. His breathing was ragged and dry, his dark skin burned by the sun and raised in countless minute pustules, his white hair clotted with sand. Those few times he had opened his eyes, she had seen how green they were. He was unlike anyone she had ever known.
She suddenly remembered that she was supposed to be eating with Penler that evening. For a moment she considered taking the stranger over there right away, but night in Skulk was dangerous. There were the gangs, and there were rockzards the size of humans living in the ruins, emerging only at night to feed. She could not risk him for anything. And, besides, she had never been the most reliable person. Penler would be annoyed at her absence but not worried.
Tomorrow she would make it up to him.
As the night drew on, and the man seemed to drift into a deeper, calmer sleep, Peer stood by her table, looking down at his shoulder bag. She touched it but did not recognize the material. Not silk, not canvas; it felt brittle but looked so strong. And those things she’d seen, protruding from the bag’s open neck and still there now …
It felt so wrong, but she reached for the bag and loosened its string tie.
The man did not stir.
Guilt already weighing heavy, Peer opened the bag and emptied its contents across her table.
Later, staring at the man’s belongings, terrified and excited in equal measures, she sensed that she was being watched.
She glanced at her bed and he was looking at her, blinking softly. He raised his left hand to his mouth to mimic taking a drink. She handed him a cup and he sipped at the water, then drank more greedily.
“Not too much,” she said.
“More,” he said, and his rough hand closed around hers to tip the cup farther. When he’d finished the water, he lay back onto the pillow, panting slightly and staring at the ceiling.
“You speak Echoian?”
“Echoian?”
“You do.” She stood beside the bed, not quite knowing what to do.
He forms his words strangely. They
sound
different but mean the same
.
“I don’t know,” he said, but he did not elaborate.
“Where are you from?”
“Not here,” he said, shaking his head. Desert dust fell from his hair, and Peer wondered whether she could die from that.
But
he
hadn’t died. What did that mean?
“What’s your name?”
“Name?”
“My name is Peer Nadawa.”
“Peer.” He looked at her, and his mouth lifted in a faint smile. “You’re not her.”
“Not who?” she asked. He turned away. “Your name?”
The man closed his eyes, the frown returning. “No name.”
“Listen …” Peer began, then she sighed and sat on the edge of the bed, relieving the weight from her aching hip. The man’s hand was close to her thigh. She lifted it gently to examine his sunburn and the grit of his incredible journey collected beneath his fingernails.
“You’re not scared,” the man whispered.
“I’m fucking terrified!” She realized that she was crying, surprised at the aching nostalgia she suddenly felt for simpler times. Like yesterday. “I’m terrified because you’re going to change everything. I need to take you to see some people, and they’ll be amazed, and some other people will hate that you’re here. They might even try to …”
“Why?” he asked.
“Why what?”
“Why … all of it?”
Peer shook her head. She’d lit some candles earlier, and
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