Page 43 of The Flame and the Forsaken

“It’s irreparable,” Mariel said, wrapped in the other blanket as she pulled up beside him. Her hair was plastered to one side of her head, a mess of briny tangles. “Though I ken that’s stating the obvious.”

Erran nodded, too tired for the laugh building in his tender belly. “Aye, I ken it is.”

“Are you all right?” She sounded like she couldn’t land on whether she was concerned for him or ready to let the sea finish its job.

“My head.” He winced when his hand touched the knot forming along the back of his skull. “I’ll live.”

“Despite all my efforts to kill you,” she whispered.

Erran was too bone-tired to laugh. He assessed the needs ahead of them. Shelter was secured. Water was next and then fire, but it wouldn’t be long before they ran out of food. They couldn’t waste a minute. “I want... Ineedto say thank you, Mariel. You could have solved what to me feels like a big problem in your life by letting me die. Not only did you not, but you cared for me, and I know it couldn’t have been easy for you.”

She sighed deeply. “Erran?—”

“Nay,” he said, turning toward her. “Let me finish. I owe you a debt I’ll never be able to repay, but I intend to try, by keeping us alive until someone comes along and finds us. I’ve been trained for this, though I never thought I’d need the lesson.” He breathed deep. “But one thing that has naught to do with this debt is the explanation you owe me. We’ll get our water, fire, and hopefully find some food to last us, but after that, you’re going to tell meexactlywhat you were doing at Banner’s. And then you’re going to explain to me why you told those guards you were the Flame, and why they believed you.”

Chapter8

Feck-All Island

On their first full day on Feck-All Island—as Erran had grumpily named it, after stepping into a nest of spiders and nearly breaking his ankle trying to dance away—they found the river and the well.

Mariel noted the sun’s position, in the center of the sky, which meant they’d been hiking for close to an hour through dense brush and a scarcely marked path. Erran had had the forethought to mark their route by carving small arrows into trees every few meters. The arrows pointed in the direction of their return, so they wouldn’t get lost.

They might have reached the river faster, but Erran was quick with the reminders that longevity and sustainability were their goals, not speed. Until they had their food and water sources, they had to assume their resources were finite, as was their stamina.

The river was at least thirty feet wide, and from the surface, it appeared to be about half as deep. Upriver was a series of waterfalls, carved through the rocky cliffs.

“A longer walk than I’d like for filling our skins, but at least we have water.” Erran stood on the banks, hands on his hips as he surveyed the river. He knelt and scooped a handful, giving it a tentative slurp. “No heavy taste of minerals. We have no pot to boil with, but I ken it’s safe enough.”

But Mariel was more curious about the well. “Wells don’t build themselves.”

He turned, one brow slanted. “Aye? They don’t?”

“Shut it,” she hissed, shaking her head. “This is now the second piece of considerable evidence we’ve seen that men come here, often enough to build a curing shed and a well.”

Erran turned back toward the river. “Not that often, judging from the condition of our shed. Those carcasses are a year old. More. The dust hasn’t been disturbed in at least that long.”

“Aye, but it’s no minor effort to build a well. You have to excavate, dam?—”

“I know how to build a well, Mariel.”

She scoffed. “Have you built many wells, Erran?”

He said nothing, which was all the answer she needed.

“Well, I have. It’s nay a wee amount of labor. And I wouldn’t waste the time building one if I wasn’t going to use it.”

“When?”

“Excuse me?”

“When did you build wells?”

Mariel took great offense from the skepticism she heard in his mocking tone. “Every time I built a well, it was for a family in need. That’s what community really is, Erran. Jumping in to help others, putting them above yourself.”

Her words punched a small crack in his peevish demeanor. “What’s your point then?”

She approached, lingering a few feet behind him. “The curing shed might be neglected, but this well tells me there could be other discoveries ahead. Better ones.”

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