“Dredge-dwellers deserve more than the life the empire thrusts upon them.” She murmured the words to herself, spitting them out in anger.
But at what cost?
The wind began to lift the debris from the ruins in the Dredge—a precursor to the tidewind. Sylah quickened her pace.
The Ruta River below the Tongue swirled and bubbled with the same feeling of angst that ran through Sylah’s veins. She watched the quicksand churn, the joba seed slowly making its way to her mouth, the packet clutched in her other hand.
Alone you are a grain of sand, together you are the desert.Her own words came back to haunt her.
She couldn’t go back to the person she was before Jond reappeared. Slowly, she tipped the joba seeds into the river below. She watched the river consume the seeds one by one. She balled up the packet into a fist and felt the bulge of a seed in hiding. She withdrew it and pocketed it. Just because she could.
“Get out of the way,” a Duster screamed at her from behind.
The trotro was three or four handspans behind her. She hadn’t heard it. Hadn’t seen it.
Suddenly she was pushed to the ground out of the way of the tracks.
“Maiden’s tits.” She looked up into the face of a very bemused Hassa.
Death wish?
“Something like that.”
Thought you’d stopped the seeds?
“What were you doing? Following me?”
Yes.
“Oh. Why?”
We need to talk.
“Hassa, the tidewind’s about to break, and to be honest, I’ve had a really rough day.”
Hassa squeezed her brows as if she had a headache. You have to meet me here tomorrow. Seventh strike.
“Why?”
Just promise me you’ll be here.Hassa touched her limb to Sylah’s arm. It was as close to pleading as she was going to get.
“Okay.”
Hassa looked relieved. You won’t make it back to the Keep before the tidewind breaks. Go to Jond’s.
“How do you know where Jond lives?” Sylah rounded on her, but the Ghosting had disappeared into the darkness. Sylah didn’t hear her go.
—
Anoor fled to the library.
Bisma sensed she was in no mood to talk. He handed over the latest zines solemnly, his eyes lingering on her puffy cheeks.
Anoor’s fingers trailed the stacks of books as she made her way to the sitting area. The zines felt heavy in her hands. Once she had idolized Inquisitor Abena, wanted to be her. But every day Sylah made her see more and more of the world she lived in. From the rippings to the wealth imbalance, and the system of oppression against Nowerks—no, Dusters and Ghostings. It shook Anoor to the core. It was hard to see the Inquisitor in the same light she once had.
A book’s spine piqued her interest: The Evolution of the Judiciary System. Old Anoor would have just walked by. But now she wanted to learn, now she wanted to do better.
Strikes went by, and Anoor’s pile of reading grew, as did her horror. It was like a film of ignorance had covered her view of the empire like latex, so tight that she didn’t even know it was there.