I kicked the trap toward him. “I never want to see you here again,” I said firmly.

And I didn’t.

It’s possible that he found himself in a bad place recently and spoke of the lodestone to a raider, but I doubt it. He hadn’t lied about its capabilities, and he hadn’t lied about making sure I wouldn’t see him again. Which meant he probably wasn’t lying about destinies either. Maybe he has his own lodestone by now. Raiders would have slit his throat for it before he even had the chance to mention me or Dead River.

I’ve kept the thing well hidden, just to be safe, but the truth is, they weren’t after the lodestone. No, they came seeking something else. Something that trader somehow knew about too.

My back prickles, the scars itching.

Show it to no one. Unless you trust them with your own life, keep it hidden. Always.

And I have.

Every map-bearer has kept it hidden since the very first one generations ago, when our pack’s ancestors found an Old World rover half buried in sand. The vehicle’s chassis was rusted, the paper remnants inside so parched and brittle that moving them would have sent the map disintegrating. That’s why they coded it onto a pair of youngster’s backs, one brand for each of the pack’s bloodlines. The number of bloodlines grew in the years that followed, but two brands were kept for tradition, and in time, Asher and I were selected to receive it. When the first of our map-bearers died, Silla copied the brand from his back to Asher’s. When the second passed, Ma did the same with me. The dead were burned, and no more than two people ever possessed the map at a time. More copies meant more chances of it falling into the wrong hands, of someone else finding the Verdant before we did and then sealing it off.

Our pack kept only two copies, with the understanding that when we learned how to read it, we’d all travel together. We’d earn entry to paradise together.

And here we are, still unable to read the thing, still forcing our marked children to stay covered, hidden, cautious. And yet, trouble still keeps finding us.

After Asher was killed, along with half the pack, no one bothered copying my brand to ensure that there was a second bearer. It was the first time there was a break in the tradition, and maybe that’s just as well. No one needs this burden, this curse, this map of a place that probably doesn’t exist. The gods aren’t returning, and the Verdant is an empty promise.