Song of Ashes

15: Mercy and Kindness

They stopped that night halfway through the geyser fields in a place where the craters were widely separated, leaving some safe ground. Grass did not seem to grow here, so they fed Donkey-Meat from the supply of oats Ro had packed. There was no conversation.

Because it was warmer where they were-even the ground beneath them was warm-Sarka didn't sleep in the tent. She took her bedroll and her knife some distance away, where she lay for a long while staring up at the sky. There were no stars except for Kogoren's Eye.

Late in the night, she awoke to a rustling sound nearby. She opened her eyes to see a dark shape lit by the uncertain light of the moon. It was moving around Donkey-Meat, who stood hobbled at the edge of their clearing.

Sarka slowly reached for her knife. She sat up as quietly as she could, then pulled her legs out of the bedroll and stood. With the knife held out in front of her with both hands, she took a few steps toward the figure and called, "Stop! That's our beast-leave it alone!"

The bedraggled shape turned. It was a hunched man, but his outline was broken and overlarge; he was dressed in layers and carried a huge pack on his back. In the darkness, Sarka could not see his eyes, but she saw he held a stout staff. For walking, perhaps, or for bashing in heads. "You will give it to me," he said.

"I won't." Sarka pushed aside a dark tickle of fear and renewed her grip on the knife. "Go away. Leave us alone."

"Dak." Ro's voice came from just over Sarka's shoulder. "We don't want trouble."

"Ro." The thing straightened and lifted its head. A little light fell on a weathered face, pale with dust. "I did not know you traveled with her."

"I do, and that is our donkey. You won't be taking him. I'll give you your due. Step back."

The hunched man-Dak-stepped a few paces back from the donkey. Ro moved past Sarka, his spear held in one hand, and went to Donkey-Meat. He rummaged in a saddlebag and produced a short loaf of bread and some of their carrots.

"Ro!" Sarka cried. "Don't give him food-he's a thief!"

Sarka could not see Ro's face when he glanced her way in the gloom. Without speaking, Ro extended the offerings in his good hand to Dak, who snatched them, turned, and shuffled off into the night. Ro stood watching him for a moment, then turned back to Sarka.

"Why did you do that?" she demanded.

"Why not? He has little. Less than you."

"You said you'd cut off my hand if I stole from you, yet you freely give food to a thief!"

"Dak and I have an arrangement," Ro said. The humor that usually ran as an undercurrent in his voice was gone. "You and I didn't. And he didn't steal anything, I gave him some of our food-my food, to be specific, because none of this was yours. Each time I come through here, I give him a little." Ro closed the saddlebag and headed back to his tent.

"Oh? And what does he give you in exchange for your generosity?"

"Generosity implies that nothing in exchange is expected," Ro said. "But if you must know, he agrees not to bring his brothers and kill me in my sleep to take what he wants instead. A bit of bread to share among the three of them is a small price for my safety. What, would you have preferred me to let him bash you dead with that stick of his?"

"I would have killed him," Sarka snapped. She walked back to her bedroll, clutching her knife.

"Not before he did a number on the other side of your face. You know, girl, some people put themselves in dire circumstances by choice. Stupid people. Like you. Others can't help the lot they've been given. You'd do well to show them a little mercy and kindness, as you've been shown." Ro went into the tent. The flap fell back in place, ending their quarrel.

Sarka wriggled back into her bedroll and lay looking up at the sky. She felt violated, unsafe, and sick. With the knife close at hand, she turned over Ro's words-a damning indictment of her lack of charity, especially because he had shown her plenty of it.

But Sarka could afford guilt even less than she could afford kindness. She pushed the thoughts away.

...

The next day, they started their walk early; Ro hoped to get through Lady's Wrath by afternoon.

He led Sarka on a winding path, skirting around the largest of the geysers. In this part of the plains, the earth had cracked open in places, and steam snaked up from somewhere deep underground.

Snatching Sarka's arm, Ro pulled her back from one of these crevices. "Step on that and you won't lose your foot, but you'll wish you had," he said.

Sarka watched as another burst of superheated steam gasped out of the earth, feeling the heat of it. "I never knew there were boiling lakes beneath the ground."

"I'm not sure there were before. I think she put them here to spite us. If you tread too closely to some of these geysers, the ground can crumble and give way. You'll be soup."

"Such a cheerful fellow you are."

"It's easy when you haven't any cares." Ro smiled at her, but the smile was short-lived. "I shouldn't have called you stupid last night, Sarka."

"You're probably right." Sarka led Donkey-Meat carefully around a branch of the fissure in the earth. "I'm not really sure what I'm doing. I just know I can't stay here. There's nothing for me."

"There's nothing for any of us, and yet we stay. We haven't any choice."

"There's always a choice," Sarka said. She was about to say something else when an orange glow on the horizon caught her eye. "What's that?"

"That, dear girl, is another of the many reasons I urged you not to come on this fool's errand alone. Hold onto your ass."

As Ro went on ahead of her, Sarka stood still, too stunned to follow his lead. Then, she scowled in realization-and tugged on Donkey-Meat's rein.