Page 57 of Bannerless (The Bannerless Saga 1)

“Yeah,” she agreed. The big typhoons would scour out a place like this. These folk must have had a strategy to keep safe. A place to shelter.

“Why don’t ya come and sit by the fire. Rest a bit. Can ya? Maybe do some more of that?” He waved a hand at the guitar.

Enid looked at Dak, leaving the decision to him. But he had a hard time turning down a request for music.

“Sure, bien,” he said, as she expected

.

They followed the pair of hunters farther into the ruins.

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This wasn’t the Coast Road anymore, but trade still worked. Music for space to rest. There was some reassurance in that.

The folk here had a camp of sorts. It wasn’t any more than a camp—lean-tos made of fallen branches, tents made of cowhide, ramshackle bolt holes built into the ruins; and all of it looked like it fell down and had to be rebuilt every time a storm passed through. They had scavenged tools, ax heads that they kept sharp, hammers that were worn almost round. They had plenty of fire, with wood and cow dung for fuel. The wild cattle seemed to be how they made their living—they hunted for meat and leather, foraged for the rest. Bladders and barrels of rainwater sat protected under overhangs. They defended their territory, because apparently several nearby settlements made raids back and forth. Lots of skinny children running around. Lots of children. It shocked Enid, and she looked for where the banners would hang, on a wall or a line or a pole, but there weren’t any banners. No implants.

Star introduced them. The settlement was made up of three family groups, what Enid had to think of as a household. Three mothers and their children, with several other adults who came and went—someone was always out hunting, while some stayed to look after the camp.

All of them were wary as Enid and Dak approached. They didn’t smile, only nodded politely.

Dak found a perch near the main campfire, which had a spit made of scavenged metal over it, empty at the moment. He started playing—seemed the best way to set everyone at ease. Enid kept close to him. Standing watch over him, she thought of it. As if these people would knock Dak over the head and steal him away if she didn’t protect him.

He played, sang softly, counterpoint to the guitar’s chords. The children came out of hiding, gathering close. Seven of them, including the baby one of the women bounced on her hip. A couple of older ones, fifteen maybe, just as lanky as the rest and holding spears and worn knives. Hard to call the older ones kids—they dressed like the adults, looked like the adults. Soon as they could hold a knife, they likely started hunting with the others.

The children quieted and listened, rapt. They crept closer—they might not even have realized they were doing it. One of the mothers brought some seasoned dried beef to share. Enid accepted gratefully, knowing how much it likely cost her.

Dak was such a good sport. He got over some of his discomfort. He smiled at the kids, held the guitar out for them to touch, showed them how to strum the strings, to make the sounds that reverberated. Not so different from every Coast Road market he ever played at. The kids loved it, laughing. They all had to try it. Enid was glad because she had nearly convinced herself that the kids wouldn’t know how to laugh.

They were offered food, wild onions that had been roasted in the coals. They tasted smoky, juicy, and good. Enid offered some of their fish jerky, which was gratefully accepted, though she got the impression that they weren’t used to the idea of drying fish—one of them asked where the fish came from, how they prepared it, and Enid was glad she’d paid enough attention to be able to answer. One of the women broke pieces off the fish, distributing them among the children. The kids grabbed them and clamored for more. She hissed at them to be quiet.

This was what it looked like when folk didn’t have enough to feed all the mouths they had, when they couldn’t keep everybody safe. But they kept on anyway, just like this.

The conversation took a weird turn when one of the mothers, Bel, asked, “Kids yet?”

At first, Enid didn’t know what she was talking about. Only when Bel nodded knowingly at her, then Dak, did she figure it out: Did she and Dak have any kids? Was she expecting? Bel looked at her like she ought to at least be pregnant.

“What? No—” Enid thought better of trying to explain the implant or banners or any of it. Seemed like trying to explain fish to someone in a desert. “Just no,” she said softly.

“When a baby comes, you’ll need to find a place to shelter.”

When, not if. It’s supposed to happen the other way around, Enid thought. Shelter, then baby. She looked to Dak for his reaction, but his head was bent over his instrument, playing with focus.

At dusk, the women banked the fire and sent everyone to sleep. Enid and Dak found shelter in a sunken space where a building had once been. They didn’t make love but clung to each other, anxious and needing comfort.

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The sky grew light. The voices of folk just waking up moved around the camp. Enid shook Dak awake. She wasn’t sure she’d slept at all, but spent the night in a half-waking twilight dream, her muscles bunched up and waiting for thunder.

“What—what is it?” He wasn’t a morning person, and the late nights of music never helped.

“Nothing. Just wanted to let you know I’m taking a walk; I’ll be back in a couple of hours.” She patted his shoulder and went to get her staff.

“Enid. Wait a minute. Just—” He rushed, throwing off the blanket, shoving his feet into boots. Hurriedly putting his things in the concrete cubbyhole they’d claimed as theirs while they stayed here—except for his guitar, which he slung over his shoulder. He’d never leave that behind.

She was already walking but paused when he called, waiting for him to catch up. Likely, he didn’t want to be left alone. She didn’t mind if he followed. But she was on her own trek.

Sheltered campfires were being nursed back to life and kids sent out for fuel to keep them going. Enid passed them by and picked what had been the widest road and followed it, weaving around broken slabs of concrete and fallen metal poles, tangled vines and brambles that had taken root and broken the asphalt to pieces. Even though the buildings had fallen and none of the artificial structures reached up more than twenty feet or so, she had the feeling of being in a forest or a maze. The old shape of the street offered space; she could look up to a gap showing sky.

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