“I just took a bath,” you blurt, trying to pull yourself out of a daze. “The water was nice.”
“Of course you thought it was nice. You’ve been living rough for months, bathing in cold streams if you even bothered. A lot of the people in Castrima have never lived without reliable geo and adjustable faucets.” Ykka rubs her eyes. The meeting’s only been an hour or so, but it feels longer. “Everybody copes with a Season in their own way.”
Complaining about nothing doesn’t seem like coping to you, but okay.
“Being low on meat is an actual problem,” Lerna says, frowning. “I noticed the last few comm shares didn’t have any, or eggs.”
Ykka’s expression grows grimmer. “Yes. That’s why.” For your sake, she adds, “We don’t have a greenland in this comm, if you haven’t noticed yet. The soil around here is poor, all right for gardening but not for grass or hay. Then for the last few years before the Season started, everyone was so busy arguing about whether we should rebuild the old pre-Choking wall that nobody thought to contract with an agricultural comm for a few dozen cartloads of good soil.” She sighs, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “Can’t bring most livestock down the mine shafts and stairs, anyway. I don’t know what we were thinking, trying to live down here. This is exactly why I need help.”
Her weariness isn’t a surprise, but her willingness to admit error is. It’s also troubling. You say: “A comm can only have one leader, during a Season.”
“Yeah, and that’s still me. Don’t you forget it.” It could be a warn-off, but it doesn’t sound like one. You suspect it’s just a matter-of-fact acceptance of her place in Castrima: The people chose her, and for the time being they trust her. They don’t know you, Lerna, or Hoa, and apparently they don’t trust Hjarka and Cutter. You need her more than she needs any of you. Abruptly, though, Ykka shakes her head. “I can’t talk about this shit anymore.”
Good, because the looming sense of disjunct—this morning you were thinking of the road, and survival, and Nassun—is beginning to feel overwhelming. “I need to go topside.”
It’s too abrupt a change of subject, apparently out of the blue, and for a moment they all stare at you. “The rust for?” Ykka asks.
“Alabaster.” Ykka looks blank. “The ten-ringer in your infirmary? He asked me to do something.”
Ykka grimaces. “Oh. Him.” You can’t help smiling at this reaction. “Interesting. He hasn’t talked to anyone since he got here. Just sits in there using up our antibiotics and eating our food.”
“I just made a batch of ’cillin, Ykka.” Lerna rolls his eyes.
“It’s the principle of the thing.”
You suspect Alabaster’s been quelling the local microshakes and any aftershakes from the north, which would more than earn his keep. But if Ykka can’t sess that for herself, explaining is pointless—and you’re not sure you can trust her enough to talk about Alabaster yet. “He’s an old friend.” There. That’s a good, if incomplete, summary.
“He didn’t seem the type to have friends. You, either.” She regards you for a long moment. “Are you a ten-ringer, too?”
Your fingers flex involuntarily. “I wore six rings, once.” Lerna’s head snaps around and he stares at you. Well. Cutter’s face twitches in a way you can’t interpret. You add: “Alabaster was my mentor, back when I was still with the Fulcrum.”
“I see. And what does he want you to do, topside?”
You open your mouth, then close it. You can’t help glancing at Hjarka, who snorts and gets to her feet, and Lerna, whose expression tightens as he realizes you don’t want to speak in front of him. He deserves better than that, but still… he’s a still. Finally you say, “Orogene business.”
It’s weak. Lerna’s face goes blank, but his eyes are hard. Hjarka waves and heads for the curtain. “Then I’m out. Come on, Cutter. Since you’re just a Strongback.” She barks out a laugh.
Cutter stiffens, but to your surprise, he rises and follows her out. You eye Lerna for a moment, but he folds his arms. Not going anywhere. All right. In the wake of this, Ykka looks skeptical. “What is this, a final lesson from your old mentor? He’s obviously not going to live much longer.”
Your jaw tightens before you can help it. “That remains to be seen.”
Ykka looks thoughtful for a moment longer, and then she nods decisively, getting to her feet. “All right, then. Just let me get some Strongbacks together and we’ll be on our way.”
“Wait, you’re coming? Why?”
“Curiosity. I want to see what a Fulcrum six-ringer can do.” She grins at you and picks up the long fur vest you first saw her wearing. “Maybe see if I can do it, too.”
You flinch violently at the idea of a self-taught feral attempting to connect to an obelisk. “No.”
Ykka’s expression flattens. Lerna stares at you, incredulous that you would achieve your goal and then scuttle it in the same breath. Quickly you amend yourself. “It’s dangerous even for me, and I’ve done it before.”
“‘It’?”
Well, that does it. It’s safer that she not know, but Lerna’s right; you have to win this woman over if you’re going to be living in her comm. “Promise me you won’t try, if I tell you.”
“I won’t promise a rusting thing. I don’t know you.” Ykka folds her arms. You’re a big woman, but she’s a little bigger, and the hair doesn’t help. Many Sanzeds like to grow their ashblow hair into big, poufy manes like hers. It’s an animal intimidation thing, and it works if they’ve got the confidence to back it up. Ykka’s got that and then some.
But you have knowledge. You push to your feet and meet her eyes. “You can’t do it,” you say, will her to believe. “You don’t have the training.”
“You don’t know what kind of training I have.”
And you blink, remembering that moment topside when the realization that you’d lost Nassun’s trail nearly unhinged you. That strange, sweeping waft of power Ykka sent through you, like a slap but kinder, and somehow orogenic. Then there’s her little trick of drawing orogenes from miles around toward Castrima. Ykka may not wear rings, but orogeny isn’t about rank.
No help for it, then. “An obelisk,” you say, relenting. You glance at Lerna; he blinks and frowns. “Alabaster wants me to call an obelisk. I’m going to see if I can.”
To your surprise, Ykka nods, her eyes alight. “Aha! Always thought there was something about those things. Let’s go, then. I definitely want to see this.”
Oh. Shit.
Ykka shrugs on the vest. “Give me a half hour, then meet me at Scenic Overlook.” That’s the entrance to Castrima, that little platform where newcomers invariably gawk at the strangeness of a comm inside a giant geode. With that she brushes past you and out of the apartment.
Shaking your head, you eye Lerna. He nods tightly; he wants to go, too. Hoa? He simply takes up his usual place behind you, gazing at you placidly as if to say, This was in doubt? So now it’s a party.
Ykka meets you at the overlook in half an hour. With her are four other Castrimans, who are armed and dressed in faded colors and grays for camouflage up on the surface. It’s a harder procession, going up, than it was coming down: lots of uphill walking, many sets of stairs. You’re not as out of breath as a few of Ykka’s crew by the time it’s done, but then you’ve been walking miles every day while they’ve been living safe and comfy in their underground town. (Ykka, you notice, only breathes a little harder. She’s keeping in shape.) Eventually, though, you reach a false basement in one of the decoy houses topside. It’s not the same basement that you entered through, which shouldn’t surprise you; of course their “gate” has multiple entrances and exits. The underground passages are more complicated than you initially thought, though—something important to keep in mind, should you ever need to leave in a hurry.