The Wild Dead (The Bannerless Saga 2)

Well.

She’d wanted to talk to them. Now, it seemed, she’d get her chance.

Chapter Sixteen • the WILD

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Darkness

Enid grew exhausted from working at not falling. She stumbled on what she assumed were tree roots, random stones, pre-Fall bits of road. But she would not allow herself to trip and give her captors an excuse to manhandle her back to her feet. From inside the hood she shifted her head, trying to adjust the fabric so she could maybe glimpse something past the bottom edge, to at least see her feet. Didn’t work, and the air only got heavier and stuffier.

They marched for what felt like hours. Endless hours.

Eventually, the rope tugged at Enid’s neck, bringing her to a halt, and a hand on her shoulder steadied her.

“Sit here,” said a voice, a new one, and directed her to a hard perch. Concrete, likely. It felt too smooth and flat for stone. Enid sat still and listened hard, but the troop of wild folk did no more than murmur among themselves. She didn’t pick up any of their plans. Someone started a fire; Enid heard the crackling of wood, caught the orange glow through the hood’s fabric.

They’d been settled for a while when someone yanked off the hood, and Enid blinked, disoriented. Night had fallen, and the light from the fire hurt her eyes.

One of the wild folk—she didn’t get a good look at which one—held a skin of water to Enid’s mouth, and water splashed down the sides of her face as she drank as much as she could. Then they took the skin away and put the hood back over her head.

Enid didn’t say anything. She didn’t complain. She could be patient as stone.

They stayed here for the night. She assumed that some of them slept, while others kept watch. Assumed that someone was guarding her. They left her seated, her stomach growing hollow with hunger—she hadn’t eaten since noon. Her hands tingled, grew numb. She stretched and clenched her fingers as much as she could, trying to avoid cramping up.

Though she listened, she didn’t hear anyone say anything about Ella. Whether by inclination or intent, they were keeping quiet on the subject.

She must have slept a little, propped up against the ruin. Her head would nod, and she’d jerk awake, over and over. In a half-daze, she felt someone tug at her arm, urging her to her feet. Sudden wakefulness jolted her, and she wrenched her arm back, out of her captor’s grip. Noises around her—low voices still scratchy with sleep, quick commands to quench the fire, to gather close—suggested they were about to march on.

“I need to go behind a tree for a minute,” she muttered. “Can I do that?”

A whispered conference ensued. Enid spent it considering if she could just piss where she stood and let them deal with the mess of it, however uncomfortable it would be for her. She’d rather not, and decided she could maintain her dignity in either case. This was on them, not her.

Listening for footsteps, for voices, she heard when they approached and steeled herself not to flinch when one of them took hold of her wrists and pulled at the knots in the rope that bound her. So they were reasonable . . . at least to a point.

As soon as her hands were free, she stepped away and yanked off the hood. Again, they surrounded her. One of them was even holding her staff. Nice, in a way, that they’d think she was so dangerous. She held her palms out and moved slowly.

“It’s all right. I won’t fight, I won’t run. I told you, I want to talk to you. There’s no need for all this mess.” She tossed the hood at Hawk’s feet. “I’m just going to step over here for a moment, yeah?”

They were treating her like some kind of weapon, like she might destroy them with a look. What stories did these people tell each other about the Coast Road, about people like her?

The forest here was much the same as where she had been last evening, when they’d captured her. Not so many signs of ruins. A wide track traveled through where the trees were just saplings, and a strip of sky was clear overhead. A remnant of yet another old road. They were everywhere, if you knew what to look for. The group seemed to be following it.

She didn’t go far to relieve herself, and was aware that the whole troop of them were watching her. The tree she’d chosen wasn’t quite wide enough to hide behind, but it would have to do. When she emerged, the troop’s leader, the burly man, waited with the length of rope in one hand and the hood in the other.

“Really?” Enid said. “Don’t you think we’ve had enough of that?”

“You want to talk or not?” he said.

She nodded at the hood. “You think that’s going to hide where your camp is, or are you just trying to be cruel? I promise, I won’t cause trouble.”

Unless they started it first.

Around her, some of the wild folk—most of them were really just kids, weren’t they?—fidgeted, tightening grips on spears, darting glances at their leader. She was making them nervous. Yet they could kill her easily. They could swarm her and beat her to death with their bare hands if they decided to.

She knew it was dangerous to keep poking at them, but she had to keep on like she knew something they didn’t. Like, even now, she was stronger. She wasn’t afraid; she was curious.

“Let’s go,” the burly man said finally. “But go slow and quiet. No trouble.”