Bannerless (The Bannerless Saga 1)

Enid tried not to stare after him—was chagrined that part of her recoiled from him. She quashed that feeling. But she stared all the same.

“It’s a genetic anomaly,” Fisher said, after he’d left to put his rocks away. “After he was born, the midwife brought a book about it from Haven for me. They called it ‘Down’s’ before the Fall.”

“I’ve heard of it,” Enid said. She might have read the book Fisher spoke of or one like it in the Haven archives. She’d never met anyone like Stev before.

“We think the banner is everything,” Fisher said. “Once you’ve got that cloth to hang on your wall, you’ve done it, observed the quotas, earned a kid. But it’s just the start. There’s so much can go wrong.” She smiled broadly at the door her son had left through. “Not really what you expect when the committee hands you a banner. But you know what? He’s part of our house. He earns his keep.” She bustled for a moment, pulling bowls out of a cupboard, handing them to Enid, who took them to the table. Found a pitcher and filled it from the pump at the sink, then looked around, distracted, for something else to do. “Thank goodness for the household, so he’ll always have someone to look after him.”

Stev couldn’t look after himself. Like Auntie Kath couldn’t, at the end. Enid had a moment of panic, a heartbeat where the bottom dropped out of her gut thinking of what would happen if she got hurt out here on the road, camping in the middle of nowhere with Dak, and she fell and broke her leg or hit her head. What would happen? Who would take care of her? Would someone find a car or wagon to carry her back home? Would anyone be so kind? She’d been so blithe. How easy to set off with a satchel, a canteen, and a couple of packs of dried fruit, when you’d never had to worry about who would take care of you. She had just done it.

“Are you mad for a baby, Enid?” Fisher asked, winking. Still thinking about banners. “Some girls are at your age. Vinya’s trying now—it’s her turn.”

“I hadn’t really thought about it,” she answered. “Not now, I mean. I’d never earn a banner wandering around the Coast Road with Dak, would I?”

“Hmm,” she said, noncommittally.

This was the moment Dak came in, blinking between the two of them with a look of panic. Enid rolled her eyes.

“He emerges,” Fisher said.

“Didn’t miss anything, did I?”

“Just tea,” Enid said, pouring a fresh mug from the pot Fisher had brewed and pushing it over to him. “You should have some.”

His look of panic vanished, and he seemed happy enough to slide into the seat next to her and kiss her cheek. Just like that, and she thought, Really? She wanted to yell at him. No, talk. She wanted to talk to him, like an adult. He should have warned her. She could handle anything with a little warning. She refused, utterly, to ask where Xander was and what they’d been up to all morning, and all last night. But she couldn’t think of anything apart from that to say, and the kitchen became unbearably silent. Even the sound of Fisher washing dishes at the basin seemed muted. As if she was trying to be quiet, to overhear what they might say.

Dak finally broke the quiet with, “You seem to be getting along well then, yeah?”

Fisher pressed her lips in a pitying look that Enid glanced away from before she’d have to respond. Brightly, she said, “Enid, I have a couple of errands I need doing this afternoon, if you don’t mind getting out in the rain. We trade eggs for bread with a couple of households down the way.”

“I’d love to help,” Enid said.

“You can also spread word that I’m playing at the community house this evening,” Dak said. “Folk might like getting out for some music, after being cooped up with the weather like this.”

Or he could offer to go with her, tell folk himself. Or she could tell him she wanted to talk to him. Right now, she decided, she just wanted to get away.

“All right,” she said, with forced cheer.

//////////////////////////////////////////////////

She and Dak finally talked at dinner. Sort of. They took their bowls of stew to a bench outside, sitting under the eaves to watch the rain, a gentle but persistent drizzle that beat on the world.

“You’ve been quiet,” he said, after a long moment.

She looked at him, and then away.

“I’ve never seen you angry,” he said. “It looks strange on you. I’m not sure what to do about it.”

“I’m not angry. I’m insanely jealous,” she said, deadpan, studying the carrots and potatoes in her bowl.

He laughed, and she blushed. Embarrassment, this time. She wasn’t a child, but she felt like one at the moment, and it hurt.

“Xander’s an old friend,” he said. “What did you want me to do, ignore him?”

“Tell me?”

“Ah.” Then, after they’d eaten a couple more bites, “I suppose you’ll want to leave, move on to the next place, then?”

“You