Eliasson takes one group and is gone. Chenowyn chooses to stay with Simralin. She is not a leader and has no desire to start learning to be one now. With another three in tow, they head directly east into the badlands of the high desert, working their way quickly across a long stretch of flats to where fissures and upheavals have changed the terrain into a jumble of ridges and ravines. They travel through midday, and then Simralin takes them several miles down a dry wash strewn with small rocks. Before the wash ends, they climb out again and turn down a slide that leads to a carapace; here they find an overhang and take shelter.
They stay all night, peering into the darkness, listening to the silence. At one point, they hear screams, but the screams come from a long way off and it is impossible to determine their direction. They take turns standing watch. They wait to be discovered.
When morning dawns, though, they are still safe. Simralin goes out for a quick look and comes back right away. Smoke rises from several places west, closer to the mountains. The smell is of burning flesh. The winged creatures patrol the skies in ones and twos, visible in all directions, even east. They must stay where they are until it is dark again.
They pass the day in misery. The sun beats down on the empty terrain and turns it into a furnace. The air is so stiflingly hot and dust-filled that they choke on it when they breathe. They have almost nothing to eat or drink, but they share what they have. Simralin knows where to find water farther north, but it is a long journey. She knows, as well, where they can find another of the hot-air balloons the Trackers have stashed across the Cintra and north. But the balloon is slow and cumbersome, and it is no match for the winged creatures if they spy it.
She tells the others she has made a decision. When night comes, they must leave their hiding place. If they stay, they risk discovery. Hiding is no longer an option. The once-men are actively hunting them, using the flying creatures to ferret them out. Worse, they have almost no food or water left, and the circle of predators is tightening. They cannot risk staying where they are. Their choice is simple: they can try to reach water, or they can try to reach the hot-air balloon.
Her companions choose the balloon. Anything that will get them away from the Cintra quickly.
When it grows dark, she leads the others out from their hiding place and onto the flats. The sky is clear and filled with stars, but the moon hangs low and distant against the horizon, reduced to a tiny sliver. The balloon is perhaps three days off, if they travel steadily. She chooses a route that takes them east through the high desert and away from the larger body of their hunters. The flying creatures, if they sight them, will not be able to bring the once-men right away. But she knows, as well, that any sighting is probably the end of them. Once seen, they can be tracked from the air until help arrives, no matter how long it takes.
They travel single-file through the night. She stops them frequently to check for the flying creatures, but sees no sign of them. In the darkened sky, nothing moves. On the landscape about them, nothing moves. They are alone with their thoughts and one another.
Still, she is not comfortable that they are safely clear.
And she wonders about their companions, the ones from whom they separated, gone other ways, to other places.
THEY FIND NEW SHELTER as the dawn nears and go to ground for another day. They have nothing to eat or drink. The heat is unbearable, and their thirst acute. They sit waiting for the day to pass, miserable and despairing. The journey to reach the balloon will take another two days, and they are already weak and exhausted. It is questionable if they will be able to finish the trek.
At midday, Simralin goes out to look around. The sky is clear, the land empty of life. There is no sign of the winged hunters. She settles on a fresh course of action. This is country she knows. She decides to leave the others long enough to hunt for water. If she is lucky, she will come upon food, as well. The greatest danger lies in not being able to find her way back. But she is a skilled Tracker, and she is certain she will be able to do so.
“Stay hidden through the day,” she tells them. “I will be back before dark with whatever I can find.”
She sets out determined not to return without at least finding water for them to drink. She slogs through the heat alone, a solitary figure in an unchanging landscape. She scans land and sky frequently for signs of pursuit, but sees nothing. She has a compass to chart her passage, and she measures the distances between changes of course. It is an endless, tiresome process, but she is careful to keep track of everything, knowing that if she gets lost, she will never find her way back to them.