“Rania said the south is better—fewer people.”

“Fewer vigilantes, too?” Slopper was obsessed with the idea of roving groups of dreamless militants. I supposed it was a break from the monotony of the one enemy we had grown accustomed to all these years.

“I don’t know.” Nam kicked a rock into the ditch, and the high-pitched screams of bugs paused. “Doesn’t it kind of feel like they won? They chased us out of the country, for god’s sake. And now we’re down here.”

“That isn’t our border.” Miig gestured north. “That’s an imaginary line drawn by politicians and land prospectors. The only thing we have to worry about is who the original people are so we can honor the lands we are on. And if we do that, remember to keep doing that, they don’t win. They never win when we remember.”

We emptied the truck of supplies, then pushed it into a ditch and covered any parts that showed with handfuls of grass and overgrown crops. Eventually they’d blow off, and if anyone cared, they’d find the vehicle. But by then we’d be gone.

We crossed the first field and found a small thatch of trees.

“Here.” Miig indicated a shallow curve in the ground under the boughs where a small pond had once been. Then he pulled out his bundle so we could make offerings and sing our lost ones on their way. We dug as best we could with no tools, enough to bury the hat and the medal. Miig ran his finger over the indentations on the front of the round charm before covering it.

“St. Roch’s medal—patron saint of healing.” He smiled, touching his fingers lightly to the wound on his side. “We are here because of this woman, because of what she did for us. I am alive because she raised her voice for me, even in the worst of times. That’s what matters most. How you use your voice, and sometimes even your whole body, when things are at their worst.”

The hat—the twins—that was done without words. Because there were no words elegant enough, no statements solid enough, to hold the weight of their loss. We concentrated on just breathing, on just standing. We were loud with breath and quiet.

When we were done and we’d watered the holy ground with our small grief—we still had to keep it small—we walked on. Later, we would cry, we would scream, we would laugh and tell stories of the beautiful boys who had been with us for so long, but not nearly long enough. But for now, we walked.

I wanted to talk to Rose, to hold her, to tell her exactly what she meant to me, but I had to talk to Miig first. I couldn’t find words to begin to be with her again until I’d dealt with the burden I was carrying.

“Miig, you know, don’t you? About how I got out of the school?” It was a question even though the answer was obvious.