Page 50 of Fable for the End of the World

After a few moments, she turns back and says, “We’ll see.”

We don’t talk for another long bout. Inesa dutifully follows the deer tracks, and I dutifully follow her. My tongue is thick and fuzzy in my mouth, and my throat is hollow with horrible, scraping thirst. I’m almost tempted to start licking rainwater off the leaves, but I have a feeling that that, like everything else, is contaminated. It seems perverse and cruel that anyone could die of thirst here in the outlying Counties, in the drowning world.

Inesa pauses, less abruptly this time. She falls silent, her gaze traveling slowly over the nearby trees and rocks. Before I can ask what’s wrong, she puts a finger meaningfully to her lips.

And then, in the silence, I hear it: trickling water. It’s faint, but unmistakable. My knees go weak with relief.

We walk on for a few moments more, and then, mercifully, we reach a small stream. It’s a tiny furrow carved into the earth, and again, I’m not sure I would have noticed it on my own. It burbles softly as it runs over tree roots and its bed of gray stones. I’m surprised by how clear the water looks—but maybe that’s just my own wishful thinking.

Then I make a gutting realization. “I don’t have anything to drink it from.”

As tempting as it is, scooping the water up with my hands is not an option. Itlooksclear, but I don’t trust that the water is potable. It’ll need a few fizzling decon-tabs before we can drink it without worrying about bacteria, or worse.

Inesa frowns. She casts her gaze around the area again. Then she says, “Wait here.”

I do, staring longingly down at the stream at first, and thenletting my eyes creep over toward her. She’s on her knees, rooting around in the fallen leaves. Her dark hair is tumbling over her shoulders in loose, unruly waves. I suddenly become self-conscious about my own hair and take the opportunity to pull it back into its usual sleek ponytail, leaving no strands to flutter around my face. It should make me feel better, more like myself, but instead I just feel stranger. More out of place.

Inesa gets to her feet, holding something up with a pleased expression. It’s just a piece of wood. Part of a fallen tree, by the looks of it, spongy and slightly porous with termite erosion. She doesn’t wait for me to question her; she just removes my knife from the shaft of her boot and starts sawing at the wood.

It bothers me a little bit to see my knife, with its artfully honed black steel blade, used for such ignoble purposes. But I’m not in any position to be sentimental. Carefully, Inesa whittles away at the piece of wood, curly slivers falling to the ground. Her brow is furrowed with concentration, and when she clenches her jaw, a small dimple appears in her left cheek.

I’m annoyed at myself for noticing that.

Finally, she manages to carve a distinct depression in the wood, a smooth indentation deep enough for water to settle. It would be a bit too generous to call it a bowl, but it will get the job done.

I can’t bite back my curiosity. “How did you learn to do that?” If she can handle a knife this well, maybe I have more to fear than I thought.

“Dad again,” she says.

I picture her father’s face on the holoscreen, the defianceburning in his gaze. I shouldn’t say anything, but this time, the words seem to just spill out before I can stop them.

“I heard he was gone,” I say, trying to keep my tone light.

Surprise briefly flickers across Inesa’s face. “I suppose you know everything about me, don’t you.”

“Just what Caerus was able to compile.” Unaccountably, heat begins to creep up my cheeks. “Just what Azrael needed to create a narrative.”

Inesa arches a brow. “So what was his narrative about me?”

Shame forms a knot in my stomach. When I speak, I fumble over my words.

“Well, the audience likes an element of tragedy. So with your missing father, and your sick mother...” I pause. “And then your relationship with your brother; that was a key selling point, too. The audience is also, well... shallow. The fact that you look like—that you’re so pretty...”

My voice drops off. My face is burning.

The corner of Inesa’s mouth twitches. There’s a faint flush painting her cheeks, deepening her freckles. After a moment, she says, “That’s very shrewd of him.”

I just nod, wishing Caerus had taken away my ability to blush entirely.

We fall silent for a few moments. There’s something charged in the air, like the static around a circuit board. Inesa’s fingers tighten around the bowl.

“So you really don’t know where he is, either?” she asks quietly.

It takes me a second to realize she’s talking about her father.I’m not sure why, but the question makes me feel bereft. Like I’ve lost something I’m not sure I even had in the first place.

“No,” I reply. “There’s been no activity on his account. If he were dead, Azrael figured you would have applied for a death certificate. To be eligible for benefits.”

Inesa’s mouth tightens. “You can’t apply for a death certificate without a body. We just woke up one morning and he was gone.”

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