It’s how folks speak of the Verdant, too. It’s why they search for it, even if it’s been lost for centuries, just like our gods. The branded map on my back is no different from the one Asher had. Scrambled lines and curves. Impossible to read. Maybe we all knew how to read it once, but when the gods abandoned us, that knowledge vanished, too.

Still, we keep hoping, keep trying to understand it. It’s why those men came for Asher at Alkali Lake, praying his markings would somehow lead them to salvation. It’s why our pack continues to pass down the brand, even now. Because only the most worthy among us can find the Verdant, and once they do, they will have divine power over it. They will be blessed by the gods, granted the ability to control who can enter that green paradise and who should be locked out.

That person will reshape our world.

Supposedly.

I’m not sure what I believe anymore.

My back prickling, I stalk for the lifeboat. The goat stares up at me, perplexed. The baby rests in a sling Zuly has provided, twitching in a light sleep. I step in reluctantly, and two pack-members begin to lower the boat.

“You’ve chosen well, Delta of Dead River,” Zuly calls from above. “Safe travels.”

I ignore her, staring instead at the northern horizon. I’ve chosen this only because I know Ma will skin me if I leave the baby behind. I put on the sling not because I want the baby nestled into my chest, but because Indie would. I do it for her. And for our pack. I do it because I can’t bear what they’ll think of me otherwise.

“Gods damn you,” I whisper to the baby.

It’s only when the boat hits the earth that I realize these are the first words I’ve spoken to the cretin. Well, at least they aren’t lies.

“Life is cruel,” I tell her as I set out across the dry ocean bed. The goat tows the dragger, which is loaded with Indie’s clothes instead of Indie. “It’s cruel, and everything’s dying, and no one wants you, because you’re a drain and a burden.”

She looks up at me, her eyes almost fogged, as if she’s staring through me, not at me. But I see Indie in them. Everything else reminds me of Clay, but those green eyes are my sister’s. The little thing’s lids fall shut, and she turns into me, lulled by the rhythm of my march.

“Go ahead and try, Baby. You’re not winning me over.”

But she’s already asleep.

Chapter Five