Song of Ashes

13: Wits and Manners

They left that afternoon.

Ro had fully intended on going with Sarka; that much was clear. Donkey-Meat's saddle bags were already filled with traveling food, fodder, a tent, bedrolls and other necessary tools. There were now four water skins, all of them full. Ro's spear was strapped to one side of the donkey, too. Ro carried a pack on his back.

Sarka wondered why he wanted to go with her. She had nearly decided she did need his help, so she didn't ask him; she had affected unconcern, but she did not want to press her luck. Still, she sized him up with a furtive glance, knowing that nothing in the world came for free. He must have reasons.

"Nothing but ash for a week," Ro said as they set off. There was no one to bid them goodbye.

"A week? How long does it take to get to the coast?"

Ro laughed, looking at her from the other side of the donkey. "A good question, girl, and one you might have asked before embarking on your ill-fated adventure."

"It isn't ill-fated. That's what you're here for. You'll get me there in one piece. If you don't plan to do that, go back and leave me alone."

"No. I'm heading that way anyway; it's time. I was bound for Horn Harbor within the week for trade, Sarka, although I had expected a bit more gratitude from you that I'm allowing you to accompany me."

Sarka snorted.

"Even if you haven't any wits or manners in that thick skull of yours, I figured I might as well let you tag along. If you don't make it, I can have your donkey. So-once you make it off the continent, what's your next step?"

She cast him a guarded glance. "How do-?"

"Why else would you drag this pathetic animal halfway across Kogoren?"

"To see the ocean. I've never seen it. Never been outside Gold Eagle's Roost." Sarka turned to face ahead again. Although her blind side was turned toward him, she could sense him looking at her.

"It's splendid. Nothing like it. It's restless, never still...and it makes music." Ro paused. "Once you get out on it, the sky clears. It's blue."

"Blue?" Sarka knit her brow. The sky...blue? He was having fun with her now. "You've been out there?"

"Once. Before the end."

A silence descended. Thinking of Ro out on the ocean in some kind of boat, Sarka remembered Jakor's story of the man who'd tried to leave the continent. A finger of fear touched her heart with a sharp claw. "I heard a story once. A man tried to leave Kogoren and ghosts chased him down and killed him. Stupid. They really believed it, though."

"Are you scared?" Ro asked.

"No," Sarka said, almost before he finished.

"Nothing to worry about, then, is there?"

Sarka let the subject drop and forced it from her mind. They walked for most of the day, stopping only when they found the scarce grassy patches where Donkey-Meat could graze.

That night, Sarka shook out their bedrolls as Ro set up their tent.

"I hope you don't snore," he said, securing the last pole in place.

Sarka looked over at the small tent. "I'm not sleeping in there with you, so what does it matter?"

"It's warmer. When the sun goes down, the ash deserts are cold as the Lady's womb."

Sarka glanced at Ro. She was not a pious creature, but his words sounded vulgar even to her heathen ear. "I know. I spent a couple of nights alone." She was rooting through the saddle bags, trying not to be greedy as she rationed out their suppers.

"Shivering burns up energy. You don't have enough meat on your bones for that, girl. Don't be stupid." Ro sat down cross-legged on the ground, pulling his scarf away from his mouth. "Afraid I'll be a danger to you?"

Sarka handed him his half of the food. She regarded him silently, tearing off a piece of jerky with bared teeth.

"I won't touch you. If I do, you can use that knife you carry to stab me in the gut. Do try to kill me only if you've got a good reason, though. You won't make it far without me."

Sarka moved her bedroll into the tent that night, and she slept with the knife clutched in one outstretched arm. Ro kept his spear in the tent, too, and Sarka wondered if there were others in that ash desert, people-or creatures-who presented a real danger.

Halfway through the night, she woke from a nightmare of the wildcat, its slavering, snapping jaws so close to her neck she could feel its hot breath. She sat bolt upright in terror, grabbing for the knife she'd dropped in her sleep.

It was only Ro. He had turned his face toward her in his sleep. He'd woken at her movement and was looking up at her through narrowed eyes, alert. "What is it?"

Sarka turned so her head was facing the other direction. She shoved him with her foot. "Stay on your side. Your breath stinks."

Ro turned his back to her with a sigh. "Should have left you to boil alive. Get some sleep, girl."