by Gin Hollan
This side of the mountain was a country called Vensay, if she remembered her map right. Were they reared to prefer war, or peace? What of the people behind the small, fake-army contingent that had sent the automaton into her city? She’d hoped they were an anomaly. She hoped that Tanner Stein was a megalomaniac and that his plot had died with him. There was no pity for his kind, and she was not in a forgiving frame of mind. Rationalizing violence against others was a sign of a weak will, a weak mind.
"Ready Marble?" Arabeth held her hands clasped, palm up in front of her. With a leap, Marble jumped up into them, then onto her shoulder. Marble felt leaner these days, but she hadn’t gotten thinner.
The short time she’d had to explore last night had proved there was no going back through the mountain. She had to go forward. She pet Marble as she started walking, grateful for her little companion.
Enemy territory or not, she would rather face other people than dodge bears and wolves and other creatures of the wild. She was a city girl. Trapping or tracking for food and sleeping out of doors were unfamiliar to her. She’d be more likely to become dinner. The stories about life on this side told of a vast, roaring wild.
Her legs threatened to go weak as the thought of a person, ten feet tall and luminous, who stomped around laying waste to towns and villages without cause or explanation. It was only a story, right? There were no giants here.
Home felt continents away suddenly. What if her family thought she were dead? Even Maralise, as dispassionate as she was toward her only sister... she shouldn't wish her dead, right? Then again, Maralise had the singular view that her opinions were the only correct ones, and hated Arabeth being older, and thus pointing out truths Maralise found inconvenient. She'd probably feel nothing short of relief.
Thinking about Maralise jarred Arabeth. Her anger flared as she recalled Betsy’s murder. The others who had needlessly died at the hands of friends, the implant in Melanie’s head, and the chaos and distrust that had become part of their world for the first time since Blastborn was founded fueled that anger.
And this was the perfect opportunity to find out who was really behind the attack on Blastborn. She hated to pass it up. Delayed justice meant they had time to regroup and rethink... and that meant they might try again. She couldn't let that happen. Hefting her satchel strap up, over her head then down to fall across her torso, she shifted into a traveling state of mind.
It wasn’t long before a sound deeper down the road drew her out of her thoughts and she ducked back into the tree line and inched forward toward them. Distant voices, arguing. The cadence of their speech seemed familiar, but she couldn’t pick out any one voice.
Marble wasn't concerned, so she continued forward. When her trio of friends came into sight, she rubbed her eyes, wondering if her senses were permanently addled by the cavern gases.