Song of Ashes

12: Unpleasant Qualities

Sarka woke to the sound of a crying baby. Even as her eyes opened, her limbs still felt sleepy and heavy. She began to move, stretching her body to ease the ache that had settled into her bones. Ro had found her a place to sleep on the floor in the cavernous shared sleeping chamber underneath the commune, and the tiles were less comfortable than the ashy ground outside.

She was relieved to find that her pack had not been taken in the night. She opened it to check that none of the contents had been disturbed.

"Musta been a big monster."

Sarka looked up. A girl wearing nothing but a thin petticoat stood a few feet away, staring.

"What?" Sarka asked.

"The monster that tried to eated you." The child pointed at Sarka's scarred face.

"It was a big monster," Sarka said.

The girl's face went slack with trepidation. Sarka had no experience with children. She felt no compulsion to comfort the child, no need to reassure her that the monster was dead and couldn't hurt her.

Gylla was waiting by the door. She gave Sarka a once-over and beckoned, turning to lead the way back upstairs. "Sarka, is it? Gylla is my name. I've a whole pile of mending for you, if you're ready. Breakfast first, then we'll settle in. We aren't in want of willing hands around here. It's just that it's the heavy season for work in the field."

"You're still farming?" Sarka asked. "In Gold Eagle's Roost, nothing will grow."

"Lazy, that's all. It takes work to eat. We've figured it out. There's ways. Irrigation-we've got that. We remember some of it from the old days."

Sarka scowled, but she didn't speak. The things that crossed her mind to say were tart and angry, and she did not want to set herself at odds with anyone. They had food. She needed food, and she preferred to keep her fingers, so she'd have to earn it honestly.

Gylla led her to the gathering hall for breakfast: hunks of bread with vegetables baked inside. Most of the people trickling up from the sleeping quarters took their breakfast and headed for the doors. Gylla bit into hers as she walked, Sarka trailing behind. "It's off to the other end of the complex."

As they went, many folk turned their heads to watch Sarka, but no one spoke to her. Some spoke about her, though, in whispers. Sarka ignored them, devouring her breakfast in large bites.

Gylla took them into a small room where large baskets jockeyed for space in a corner. Each was filled with folded garments or blankets.

"Where do you get all this cloth?" Sarka asked in disbelief.

"Trade. Rationing."

"There are other ash-walkers, then? Coming from the coast?"

"Ro. He's the best there is. Here: needles and thread. And here." Gylla handed Sarka a stack of mending. "Go ahead. I have other things to attend to. I'll check on you soon."

Sarka sat on the floor. The first item was a shirt with a long rent in the sleeve. She threaded her needle and made quick, neat work of the tear. Next was a blanket to be patched, and a lady's shift, and so on. She worked through what she had, then placed the folded stack aside and went to get more; Gylla hadn't returned.

When she started to get cramped from sitting so long, Sarka paused to stretch her neck and roll her head from one side to another, and she saw Ro. He was standing in the doorway in his dust-colored tunic and trousers, his arms folded, watching her. She might have seen him earlier, were her right eye not ruined.

"Care to join me?" Sarka asked.

"Hungry?" Ro stood up straight.

"Gylla isn't back. I don't think I'm done."

"If that's what you've accomplished in the space of a few hours, you're done." Ro gestured with his diminished hand at the stack of completed mending.

"Just a few more stitches, then, and this one'll be done too." Sarka bent her head and continued her work, executing a neat backstitch, then another. After a moment, she came to the end of the tear she was closing, tied the thread, and bit it off.

When she stood up, her spine and knees cracked. She followed Ro out of the sewing room and to the dining hall. Neither of them filled the silence with words.

As they entered the large room, the scent of cooking meat wafted toward her. She wondered if she'd ever be rid of the panicked hunger she felt whenever she smelled food.

"Sit, and I'll get lunch."

Sarka went to the empty end of a long table, ignoring the stares of those around her. She waited for several minutes as Ro negotiated his way through the line of people waiting for their lunch. When he came back, he had a bowl for each of them: potato and meat stew with a hunk of hard bread.

"Now," Ro said as he dropped onto the bench in front of her, "Woo me."

"You are arrogant, expecting that I need or want you," Sarka said. "Arrogance is not a pleasant quality in a man."

"It's even less a pleasant quality in a woman."

"Who says? Do you think me arrogant?" Sarka wiped a drop of broth from her chin.

"You mean to cross a dangerous wasteland alone. That is arrogant. You get angry when you're challenged. That is arrogant. You say you don't need me. That, girl, is arrogant."

"A rather small detriment of character to add to the larger deficiency of ugliness in a woman."

Ro laughed, his eyes skating over Sarka's face, taking in the prominent scars and the hooded, clouded eye that could not see. "Well, then, we can agree on one thing: we're both arrogant, and unpleasant because of it." Ro scraped a chunk of carrot off the side of his bowl with his spoon and pointed it at Sarka. "So: woo me."

"I won't." Sarka picked up her bowl and slurped her broth.

Ro cocked his head, resting an elbow on the table. "You must have a death wish if you refuse to accept my help."

"I didn't say I'd refuse to accept it, Ro. I said I wouldn't woo you. You know I have no money and nothing of value to trade. I could make you a pretty handkerchief embroidered with flowers, but I don't think it would suit you, and it isn't sufficient payment for the services you offer. No; I have nothing to give you in exchange for your help. You knew that the moment you saw me."

She regarded him in silence for a moment, and he looked back at her, his brows lifted as if to say, Yes, well. Can't deny you there.

"You'll accompany across the ashlands because you will. You're an ash-walker; it's what you do. You say you aren't invested in my life and safety, so you could easily let me go on my own, but you raised the suggestion of coming with me. I think you want to. That's why you will."

Ro laughed, pushing his bowl aside. He leaned toward her. "You think I want to trek across the ash desert with you, an ill-mannered girl who hasn't got two wits to rub together? A girl who is not only unpleasant to talk to, but is unpleasant to look at? You think I want that?"

Sarka shrugged. "It doesn't matter what I think. It was your idea."