I get really lucky in Old Fang’s hut, where flames never made it into his cellar. There I find preserved jerky and three empty waterskins. The skins will kill my back at the beginning, but I’ll be draining them during the trek, and I know better than to venture out for any type of extended travel without a fair amount of water on hand.

I plod out into the lake and gather a haul, letting the water boil over the central bonfire while I feed Baby. Again. Because the rusted child does nothing but eat and sleep and cry. The clean water goes into my waterskins. I use the smallest amount to bathe, wiping sweat and dust from my limbs with a rag before loading everything into my pack.

I consider burning Indie’s clothes on the coals from the burial pyre, but they might come in handy if I need to trade with anyone, and I’ll need more wrappings for Baby when the rags from Zuly run out. So I just stand there a moment, looking over Dead River for the final time while Baby hiccups against my chest.

A knot scratches my throat.

I feel like I should say something, but don’t know what. I head north and don’t look back.

Chapter Six

The heat is driving me mad. It’s even making Baby crankier than she typically is, which doesn’t seem possible. Carrying her in the sling is like wearing a hot waterskin, and I’m sweating horribly within a half click of leaving home.

I glance over my shoulder to check on the goat. She’s pulling the dragger, which is loaded with all my gear. If I’m jumped by raiders, my rucksack will be the first thing they snatch, but it seems a better fate than collapsing from exhaustion. To keep my mind off the heat, I think about what Old Fang said.

Raiders . . . the General . . . They were looking for something.

The lodestone weighs heavily on my chest. Anyone in their right mind would want it, but it can’t be what they’re after. I’ve told no one about it, not even Ma or Indie. It stays hidden beneath my shirts, and when I bathe, I make sure to bunch it up in my clothes so no one sees it lying about. The trader who gave it to me is the only person who knows I have it.

I’d been ten, checking for quail beyond the camp perimeter. The man startled me so thoroughly, I tripped on my own trap. He was lean and tall, as silent as a breeze, and when he stepped from behind a crop of boulders with a mare’s rein in his hand, I thought maybe he was a god.