The Unkindness of Fire

Chapter 2

"Diladia, like all of the countries across the northern continent, has a rich tapestry of people. Royal families and other immigrants from the eastern continent made up a large percentage of the population, with Tribal or 'First People', as they call themselves, holding on to small swaths of land across the country. Over the years, it was not uncommon for immigrants and Tribal people to intermarry. Royal bloodlines, for the most part, remained pure." - From The Diladian People: Royal, Tribal, and Mixed; Page 247

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Life in the safe camp was not easy. I refused to let my mind drift to a dark place as to what I might eventually do for an extra piece of bread should we continue to exist here. There were many women my age who offered favors to soldiers to keep themselves or their families alive. It made me sick to think about, but every time I looked at Vencia, the responsibility of keeping her alive weighed heavy on me.

Thievery was rampant, but so were punishments from the soldiers. I was shocked the first time I saw a soldier delivering a beating to a starving man, anger raging through my veins, but keeping John's words of warning in mind, I kept my head down. It made a part of me wither inside.

Keeping my head down meant becoming a keen listener. When we stood in line for rations, when the tent would go quiet, when people thought they had found some privacy in the small, decrepit building that housed the bathrooms and showers that only worked some of the time. I listened, becoming the most silent I had been my entire life, if only to try and garner what I could about the world of this camp, and the world that somehow still existed outside of it.

News came in small doses, whenever someone could get their hands on a discarded newspaper, or listen in at the tents of soldiers as they gave their reports. Rumors had spread of Iburnian soldiers occupying border towns, and my heart ached for whoever might have remained in Uweya. The only ray of hope was that their forces didn't appear to be trying to move further inward, and hadn't been able to overtake the military base near Uweya.

We had been here five days. The tail end of summer was allowing heat to persist, but only just. I somehow felt cold, weary, and increasingly heavy with worry. Vencia and I had, at least, been able to shower finally and change our clothes to the ones provided to us upon our arrival. They were a bit baggy, but comfortable. The durability of fabric felt foreboding, like a warning of how long they expected us to stay here.

I look at Vencia, asleep, or at least pretending to be, her wet hair laying around her like a halo.

Neither of us had the energy to grieve. Any energy I had was spent worrying about how or when we could get out of this place. The crumbling ruins of people that walked this camp, with hollow cheeks and dark circles under their eyes haunted me; a warning of what our future could be.

After a while, I look up, glancing about the tent. A middle-aged woman a few rows over, two sleeping children in her lap, smiles at me. I smile back, and she motions me over with a wave of her hand. There wasn't a lot of getting to know one another in this place, and I was often suspicious of anyone who looked at me for too long.

But even from this far away, I can feel the motherly warmth radiating from the woman and the longing to be comforted overwhelms my longing to keep my head down.

Cautiously, I stand, backpack slung over shoulder, and approach the woman, careful not to wake the children.

"You're new here girl?" She asks, barely above a whisper.

"Yes," I nod, sitting down as quietly as I can on the cot next to hers. "Arrived a few days ago."

"Ah," she clicks her tongue. "We've been here six months. The wildfires overtook a few of our villages, and we had no place else to go."