Page 21 of Twins for the Barbarians

“It is what it is,” I say. “We were too young to have a say in any of it. Some of us weren’t even born when the elders decided to go to war over territories, resources, ideologies, and foolish convictions. But we’re old enough now to know better and to avoid making the same mistakes.”

“I’m trying to imagine what life must’ve been like in this town. It looks quaint,” Alicia says.

Helios stops beside a fountain in the middle of the square. It was sculpted in the shape of a massive fire buffalo, with its front legs kicking at the air. Below it, the fountain opens up to a source of fresh water. There’s even a bucket on a chain hooked to the edge for passersby who are thirsty. I glance down and spot my reflection in the water. It’s crystal clear and clean. I can almost taste its sweetness on my tongue.

“This used to be a town of woodcutters and manufacturers,” Helios says. The blackwood of Red Rock Volcano was considered especially precious because of the rich volcanic soil in which it grows. It’s sturdier and longer-lasting than the plain and riverside varieties. It used to fetch a pretty penny in the cities.”

“No one dares come up here to harvest it, though,” I add with a bitter smile. “The demand is virtually nonexistent. People are too busy surviving and adjusting to this new world to care about the wood.”

“Manufacturers, you said?” Alicia asks, looking at Helios.

“Wood crafting, mostly. Again, the quality of Red Rock’s wood was famous in its heyday,” he says, “as well as the red rock itself for ceramics. The potters in these parts would take their merchandise to sell across the whole of Sunna during the merchants’ festivals.”

It’s all gone.

The crafts, the passion for building things, and the creativity were replaced by disdain and complacency, despair and hopelessness. We’re trudging through our days, trying hard to look forward to a future that only gets darker with each passing year. Perhaps we’ll find the truth here. Perhaps we’ll find enough leads before we try our luck with Kaos and Opal City. I dread that place the most, to be honest. I cling to the hope that we’ll find everything we need here, that we won’t have to venture farther south. I’ve got a bad feeling about that part of our world. There’s a reason we left it behind and never touched it again.

“I would’ve liked to have seen this town when it was alive,” Alicia mutters as we continue our exploration.

We walk past homes with doors left wide open, skeletons visible in one corner or another. Given the horrendous situation back then, our people simply didn’t have the resources to clear out the corpses. When the evacuation orders were given, our forefathers simply packed up whatever they could and fled before the plague could take another of their daughters, wives, or sisters.

It looks as though time has stood still here.

We catch glimpses of dining tables with plates and glasses; the food is long gone or petrified. Dressers with the drawers pulled out and a robe left hanging out as the previous owners decided they didn’t have room in their luggage. Chairs forgotten on porches. Windowsills where flowers used to grow in pretty red clay pots. Only the pots remain, but the dirt and the grime have turned the red clay to a dull brown.

“Maybe one day it’ll come back to life,” I say.

“That’s a pretty dream,” Helios says, exhaling sharply. “Come on, let’s head back and call it a day. We’ve had enough to deal with. We’ll start fresh in the morning.”

We sleep deeply and only open our eyes again when the suns come back up in the eastern sky, their golden light pouring through the windows and warming our faces. Kingo is up and cooking breakfast in the backyard. He has captured a couple of mountain hens—descendants of the animals left behind during the evacuation, and the eggs they produce are delicious, to say the least. I haven’t had eggs this good in ages.

It’s hard to raise chickens when you’re living by the river and constantly ducking from Sky Tribe air raids. There are entire food groups I haven’t been able to enjoy properly for years, so having this kind of breakfast feels like a gift from the gods. Alicia is just as pleased, licking her fingers when she’s done with her plate and causing new fires to light up in my groan.

By the time we’re heading up to Elian’s research station, it’s almost noon, but the weather is kind enough to allow for an easy climb. To my surprise, the temperature is steady, too. The volcano is quiet, and just a slender, grayish plume of smoke rises from its mouth. It’ll make exploring easier.

We find the research station almost intact underneath a thick layer of ash. We cover our mouths with masks made of a special fabric designed by Kingo. Given the air quality here, they’re much needed.

“I wonder how they managed to stay here for weeks on end,” Alicia says with a muffled voice as we enter the front room of the station.

The entire building holds six chambers, locker rooms, and lavatories constructed on a single level overlooking the northern ridge. Below, all one sees are the burnt crowns of blackwood trees. When the volcano erupts again, they’ll all be turned to ash, silvery beneath the hardened lava.

“It’s insanely hot and dry. And all this ash, holy hell, they must’ve done their share of dusting and wiping on a daily basis.”

Kingo points to a slim wooden frame mounted on one of the windows. I can still see strips of iridescent fabric hanging from the corners. “They used to have filters for this, much like the masks we’re wearing.”

“They must’ve broken down,” Alicia says, moving closer to the window so she can have a better look.

“No, they were cut,” Helios replies. “Look at the cabinets, as well.”

One look around, and it’s enough for us to understand. This place was ravaged long before the volcano spewed lava and ash. Someone cut up the screens. They rummaged through drawers and tossed everything all over the place. There are pieces of broken glass everywhere, crunching under my boots with each step. There are folders left open and papers strewn across the desktops.

“What were they looking for?” I ask.

“Oh, dear,” Alicia mumbles, stopping near the eastern corner of the room. She stares at a skeleton clad in a dark green robe. Male, by the look of it, with long spiraling horns and a knife protruding from his rib cage. “He was stabbed right through the heart.”

“He’s not the only one, either,” Helios concludes, pointing to another body behind one of the desks.

Once we’ve finished surveying the front room, we count four researchers left here to rot. And rot they did, until only their bones and their clothes remain. These will fade into nothingness, too, unless our people return to this land and give these people a proper burial. They deserve that much.

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