Bannerless (The Bannerless Saga 1)

us households clustered on a hill above a curving harbor. A couple of wooden docks were built out on the water, and a dozen boats moored there, most with shining white hulls and tall masts, sails on them wrapped up and bundled out of sight. Some of the boats had apparently survived from before the Fall. Their hulls were fiberglass, carefully cleaned and patched and maintained over the decades. They seemed like pale birds bobbing up and down on the rippling water.

Fintown was one of the welcoming places. The main road led down the hill, right through the middle of the town, and around the curve of the harbor. People were out on the docks coiling rope or mopping the decks of the boats. On a patio outside a long work building, a group of people cleaned a mound of silvery fish. The air reeked of fish. They knew Dak here—one of them looked up, saw the musician, and called out. Then everyone was smiling, greeting him by name. Enid had to smile, too. She felt like a hero in a story, walking in to this kind of welcome. This was likely part of why Dak traveled like he did.

“Dak!” a particularly enthusiastic voice shouted from the dock.

He looked for a moment and laughed when a tall man with frizzy dark hair ran up from the docks. “Xander!”

The musician rushed forward, and the two came together in a big thumping hug, in the way of good friends who’d been too long separated. Then Dak took the other man’s face in his hands and kissed him, long and lingering, on the mouth. The other man—Xander, apparently—clutched Dak’s sides and pulled him in.

Enid lagged behind, her smile frozen. She knew those gestures. Muscle memory in her own body could feel them, or the echo of them. Dak kissed her just like that. She had to remind herself to keep breathing.

She had expected this. She knew, abstractly, to expect this. Tomas had been right from the start, that Dak would have lovers up and down the Coast Road. She had known that he would be right. But maybe, deep down, she hadn’t actually believed it.

She hadn’t expected to feel so . . . angry. Her heart scrunching up into a tiny crooked ball. She had thought herself better than jealousy. But she’d had Dak all to herself for weeks now. She’d gotten used to it.

Suddenly, she wanted to leave. She didn’t know if she’d ever be able to eat fish again.

“Been over a year, yeah?” Xander said. The man had a lopsided grin and bright dark eyes. He spotted her over Dak’s shoulder when she made her feet stroll forward to insert herself in the reunion.

Dak then seemed to remember her and gestured. “Xander. This is Enid of Haven.”

“Hola,” she said, smiling by remembering the sea glass in her bag and reminding herself that it really was beautiful here. Xander offered his hand, and she shook it as if she were glad to meet him.

“Dak finally talked someone into taking to the road with him, did he?” Xander said, a laugh under his voice.

And just what was that supposed to mean? She lifted an eyebrow at Dak.

“I wasn’t doing anything else, much,” she said, before Dak could say anything that she wouldn’t be able to argue against.

“It’s good he has someone looking after him, then,” Xander said, playfully cuffing Dak’s shoulder. “Keep him out of trouble.”

“There’s no trouble,” Dak said. “None at all. Hey, think it’d be okay if we stuck around for a few days? Keep out of the next rain?”

“Of course,” Xander said. “Always. Come on, let’s get you in to rest.”

He led them up the road to the fourth enclave back from the shore, a household made up of a couple of cottages and a parcel of land with the usual complement of cisterns and chickens. Xander gave them an enthusiastic tour of the household, called Petula Dock. The back cottage was sleeping quarters; the front was a kitchen and workroom, clean and lit from above by a skylight in the roof. In addition to the cottages and land, the household’s folk maintained two boats, a larger fishing boat and a smaller sailboat. They fished some, but mostly worked to maintain the dock area and harbor. Xander promised to show them the docks later and take them sailing.

The next couple of hours were a busy blur. Late in the afternoon, Petula Dock’s members drifted in from work and chores, looking for food, interested to meet the visitors. Xander told Enid their names, and she forgot them instantly—she was tired, fuzzy, and maybe hungry. The household had two kids under eighteen and a brand-new banner, but no baby for it yet and no one obviously carrying. Enid didn’t pry, but she did wonder. Most of them already knew Dak, and they all asked when he would play them something. They were polite to Enid, and she tried to stay unobtrusive, not to disturb what felt like a family reunion. Xander and Dak stayed side by side. Enid felt off balance, caught between the familiarity of the close-knit domestic scene and also not knowing anyone. Even Dak seemed like a stranger to her here.

Fisher—Enid did remember her name, it seemed so obvious—was the head of the household, a middle-aged woman with luxurious black hair braided down her back and a billowing tunic tied in place with a multicolored woven sash. She ducked into a cupboard and emerged with a dark, enticing-looking bottle. “Guests call for brandy!” she announced, holding it high, and everyone cheered.

“Pear brandy,” Xander leaned in to explain to Enid. She must have looked blank or confused—she’d heard of brandy but had never had any. “Sunshine household up the way’s got a still, a good one from before the Fall.”

“Ah,” she answered politely, starting to understand. The still was a little bit of old technology that managed to survive, and the whole village was proud of it. This was special; this was important.

And this was why everyone liked Dak. He spontaneously triggered parties wherever he went.

Fisher poured little fingers of the brandy into cups and passed them around. Enid tried it—it burned going down and left a light, summery aftertaste of fruit and flowers that she imagined would taste best in the middle of winter, next to a hearth fire. She took seconds and started to relax. Food seemed to magically appear—a fish-based stew that had been simmering all day. The household’s youngest kid, eight years old, had to show Enid the socks she was knitting; she was just learning to knit and very proud of herself. Enid was attentive and felt like she earned her dinner just for that.

The rain Dak had predicted started up after dark, sounding as a light pattering on the skylight overhead. They all looked up.

“Raul, is the coop closed up?” Fisher said.

“Yeah,” the stocky, good-natured man answered. “Did it when I came in.”

The rattling grew heavier, and Fisher sighed. “This one’s going to last all night by the sound of it.”

The rain’s patter was comforting, lulling. But it also made Enid feel trapped—they’d likely be here at Petula Dock until the weather broke, and who knew how long that would be.