Trade (Deridia Book 2)

by Catherine Miller

  She took a deep breath, mustering up what she was sure was a poor imitation of a smile and turning to Sue. “Thank you for your concern, Sue. I’m just... doing the best I can. Like we all are.”

  Sue smiled back, more pitying than sweet. “You’ve been through a lot, don’t think we’ve forgotten. But at some point it’s best to move on. We’ve all lost people, every one of us.” Her voice lowered and she leaned closer. “We can’t all turn into a bunch of depressives. You’ve seen where that leads.” She had, more than once. Women who wasted away to almost nothing, men who provoked an Arterian until he put his blade through his belly. The methods might be entirely different, but the results were always the same. “Your parents wouldn’t want that for you, and you know it.”

  The familiar ache in her heart gave another throb, and she turned back to her work. “I will think about it.”

  A hand settled on her back. She expected one of Sue’s sympathetic pats and she turned to offer her begrudging acceptance, only to startle to see Desmond standing there instead. “Ladies,” he acknowledged with a smile and nod to Sue, though his attention swiftly returned to her. “I wondered if I might interrupt your labour so we could have a word.”

  She glanced at Sue, almost hoping the older woman would protest—to remind him that it was unfair to give her the work of two—but she merely nodded, her smile bright. “Of course!”

  There was no of course, not for her. Not with a knot of dread swelling in her belly, when her hands grew clammy and she found it difficult to look at him. She could still feel him eyeing her, and it made her feel even worse. “Are you well? Do you need water?”

  It had been a safe enough assumption in the Wastes, one she was grateful to cling to even if she knew she was properly hydrated. She offered him a thin smile, remembering Sue’s suggestion and deciding perhaps it had a proper place after all. “I’m fine.”

  Desmond eyed her a little dubiously but nodded, gesturing for her to follow him. Her nerves continued to grow as they walked, past other pairings as they worked, either gathering fruits or making assessments of the soil, most doing an admirable job of appearing as if they had any idea what they were looking at.

  Despite having been here for over a week, the amount of trees still amazed her. They had all been told that they could grow so densely, that forests could be made that stretched for miles, the sky completely shielded except for a few stray rays making it through their rich boughs. But to actually see it for herself, to take in the scents of earth and foliage both strange and exhilarating all at once...

  She wished her parents were here with her.

  Desmond led her through such a cropping, and she tugged at her sleeves, wishing she could pull out her blanket and rub the fabric through her fingers. But that would be childish, and there was no place for such things in this life.

  Twice now Desmond had sought her out, and though she was glad of the outcome of the first, his silence did nothing to put her at ease.

  “Can I... can I ask what this is about?” she finally managed to ask, hating how far he was taking her into the forest. Her boots caught in the underbrush, her anxiousness deadening her wonder at the many new colours that stretched out before her. She had never been out this far, venturing only to where foods had been deemed safe to forage, and she was not one to stray far from the others. Not when there were so many unknown dangers, and doing so seemed selfish. People had died in search parties out in the Wastes when one of their own had gotten lost, and she did not want such deaths on her conscience.

  “You may,” Desmond replied, the trees thinning into a clearing. She frowned as she noted they were not alone, two more of the original survivors waiting for them. “It does directly involve you.”

  If possible, she grew even more nervous. She knew each of the people there, Margaret having worked with her many times out in the Wastes, and she nodded to the older woman, hoping to receive some clue as to why she had been summoned. She smiled in return, her eyes guarded.

  “Well?” Simon asked, running a hand through his greying hair. “You ask her yet?” He was always a quiet man, and she knew him by sight if not personally. Even so, it was almost startling to hear him speak now.

  Desmond shook his head. “I thought it best we discuss this all together.”

  She plucked at the cord tied about her wrist. “Discuss what?” She did not mean to sound so harsh, but fear was making her tense, and it did not help when Margaret came and laid a hand on her shoulder—an attempt at soothing her, she was certain, but it only made her more wary.

  “We’ve been offered a treaty,” Margaret explained calmly. “But the Marzon have a specific way of doing things, of solidifying their trade agreements, and we would have to adhere to them.”

  She frowned. “And... you don’t like it?” She glanced at the three elders, wondering at their solemn faces, and growing all the more certain that the Marzon must be asking for something terrible. The knot of dread in her belly tightened even more.

  “Their request is not an unreasonable one,” Desmond answered, his words carefully chosen. “And not dissimilar to pacts utilised on the old-world.”

  She huffed out a breath, counting in her head to keep from snapping at them. She was frightened, their cautious words only making her more so, and she wished they would simply speak plainly. “Please,” she finally managed, her voice more pleading than she had meant it. “Just tell me what it is.”

  Desmond stared down at her for a moment before he sighed. “They’re a culture that relies heavily upon trade with their neighbours. They believe those bonds make them strong, helps their people acquire new knowledge and technologies that otherwise would take them years to develop on their own. It is quite a change from what we have encountered thus far.” For a brief moment his smile was genuine, and she realised he had come to hold some respect for these Marzon. She supposed that should reassure her. But then he blinked and he eyed her steadily, evidently watching her for some sign of understanding or reaction. She had nothing yet to give. He sighed before finally continuing. “Those treaties are solidified through marriage.”

  She took a step backward, Margaret’s hand on her shoulder now less a comfort and more an impediment to her escape. She looked at them all, and her eyes must have seemed somewhat wild for Desmond raised his hands placating. “There is no need for you to look so frightened. We are here to discuss matters, not force you into anything.”

  Simon scoffed a little. “If Prim was still around, we wouldn’t even need you.”

  Desmond gave him a frustrated glance. “If Prim hadn’t made the arrangement she did, we would never have escaped from the Wastes. A little gratitude, Simon, please.”

  The other man frowned, crossing his arms over his chest, a posture she was much more familiar with coming from him.

  She was nothing like Prim. She would never have been so bold as to offer herself to an Arterian, never would have even considered such an arrangement even if it meant getting to leave the Wastes.

  But apparently they were now asking her to do much the same, and dismay was clutching at her throat. She wished she could struggle away from the hand restraining her, and she must have given some indication of her discomfort because Desmond quietly murmured to Margaret. “Let her go.”

  The hand fell away, and she took another three steps backward, some of her panic receding now that there was distance between them, no matter how small. Her eyes flitted over the trees, trying to see if there were any Marzon waiting to haul her away, but Desmond took a step forward, his expression growing firm, his voice more commanding. “Take a breath. Calm yourself. We are here to discuss this away from the others.”

  She found herself obeying, her arms clutched about her middle. “Why are you approaching me?” Her eyes found his, wide and beseeching as she tried to understand. “I’m a terrible choice!” Belatedly she realised what she had said to her leader, to the survivors, and she paled, though she could not quite bring herself to apologise. Not when
it was also so true.

  She was surprised when Simon was the one to answer her. “And who else is there, girl? Girls your age already have children, and they aren’t part of the deal. Even those that don’t already have a companion. Should we break them up? Or there are the very young girls. Would you have us send one of them?”

  The thought sickened her. “No. No, of course not.”

  Desmond held out a hand. “And the Marzon would not have accepted such an offering in any case. They are not a cruel people, and this is not meant to be a punishment to anyone. The brides that come to them through treaty are treated very well. They would have to be, as it is that alliance that protects both people from the chance of war.”

  So they might claim, but they did not know these people. Not truly. A few talks did not mean they were honest or decent, despite what they might say.

  “Do I have a choice in this?” already she heard the defeat in her tone, and she wondered just how far she could make it if she ran. Would they force her? Drag her to the Marzon and leave her there, an unwilling sacrifice for the good of the colony?

  Desmond frowned at her. “Of course you do. Which is why we are here. I did not wish the others to know if you refused. Some like it here, and I will not have them resenting you if this is too much to ask and we are forced to leave and make another attempt elsewhere. The choice is fully yours. We are merely here to give what counsel we can.”

  A firm no was already on her lips, but she made the mistake of looking at the three before her. They were growing older, there was no denying it. There were others among them even older, the heat of the suns having withered their flesh, the colour long since draining from their hair, assuming they had not lost most of it entirely.

  The travel was hard on them all, as was the uncertainty. They had been promised a new colony, a true colony, one that was safe and secure, with peaceful trade allowing them to prosper.

  And she had the power to either fulfil that promise, or to make them leave here entirely, to try again, with little assurance they would ever find a kinder people who would offer them an alliance at all—their previous two attempts had shown her that.

  “I... I don’t...” she swallowed her tears of frustration. For all their assurances, she still felt a tremendous pressure to concede. “Who would...”

  For the first time, Desmond looked rather uncomfortable. “There is still some debate on that, I’m afraid. Sladec is most apologetic but all of his sons have already married, and their closest relation is still deciding on his own willingness.”

  She did not know if that was an encouragement or simply made things more difficult. She was not alone in her doubtful approach to the arrangement, but if they both had such reservations...

  “But... if he did decide... I would have to go live with them?”

  Margaret approached her again, though she made no move to touch her. But her eyes were kind, her compassion plain, and it gave her some comfort to see more of the woman she had always known. “Yes, dear, you would. But would that be so terrible? Any of us can see that you are not happy here. Not after all that has happened. Would it truly be so awful to be with a new people? A fresh start.” She looked at the men briefly before lowering her voice, leaning forward so she could still be heard. “You’d have a chance for a real family again.”

  She flinched at that, not wanting to consider that aspect of things. Margaret had meant it as an encouragement, but to her...

  It meant the prospect of pain, of loss, of creating new loves that would lead to new wounds when inevitably the brutality of this world ripped them away from her yet again.

  But there was no denying that her people needed this. Needed a home. Lands. Neighbours who welcomed them, who looked on trade with friendliness.

  “I... I’d like to think about it. Do I have time to do that?”

  Desmond nodded, and she tried to ignore the frustrated look on Simon’s face and the bit of disappointment in Margaret’s. She looked down at the forest floor, at the holes in her boots, the too-thin fabric of her leggings. They needed to settle, and soon. But like this?

  “They are returning tomorrow to hear our response. Take the night and think it over.”

  She was grateful for the reprieve as he led her back toward the camp, her thoughts all awhirl, her limbs moving without conscious effort on her part. He did not take her back to her task, to Sue with her questions and prying as to what Desmond might have wanted from her, and she felt another bit of thanks for his thoughtfulness.

  Even if he was the one who had caused her the upset in the first place.

  “I just want to say it again,” he told her outside her little lean-to. “You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. You’re a part of this community, and what’s best for them must also be all right by you. Understand?”

  “Yes,” she murmured, but she wondered if she really did—if she could choose to put her own needs above those of everyone else.

  Desmond left her there, and she suddenly felt unsure and exposed, standing there by her sleeping area when everyone else was working at their tasks. She found herself wandering, not lingering too long in any one place lest someone think she wished to talk.

  She went toward the river, the water clear and cold as it speedily ran along to... wherever rivers went, so different from the single pond that had served as their lone water source for so long.

  A few women were by the side, scrubbing at piles of laundry and laughing, their clothes sodden and bodies shivering from the unfamiliar temperatures, but their smiles were brighter than any she had seen for the longest time.

  Caitlyn was going to have another baby soon, her belly so swollen it was almost painful to look upon, and the idea of Desmond having to go to her and explain that they were moving on yet again was enough to send a pang of guilt through her.

  She had never been very brave. Her parents had encouraged her to be so, but it seemed to go against every part of her natural disposition to be first to try something, to be bold and inventive simply for the sake of being so. She followed easily, completed her tasks as they were assigned to her, and that was quite enough for her.

  But in this... she did not know which would require more courage—saying no to her people, or leaving them all to accept a man she had never met.

  There were children playing in the shallows, their mothers watching closely lest they stray too far into the current, squealing and splashing each other. She looked away, turning back toward the camp, wondering if she might prefer to work so she could keep her hands busy.

  There were men, builders in another life, scoping about the area, and she overheard talk of a meeting house, homes, perhaps even plumbing if they could get the proper supplies. The soil was good, they said, and from the holes they had periodically dug, the bedrock appeared sound.

  They were merely excited, she knew that. This was the first place where they had stayed for so long, and if Desmond came and told them to pack, they all would. There might be grumbling, there might be protests, but they would obey.

  And she would follow too, even knowing that it was her fault they were still without a home.

  The brides were well treated, or so they claimed. She wished she had paid more attention to them when they passed, had looked to see if they had kindness in their eyes. She liked to think Desmond would not ask her to do anything dangerous, that if he truly thought harm would come to her, he would have given them a resolute no and they would already have moved on.

  The others filtered back to camp as the suns began to set, the fire bright and cheerful as food was handed out, clusters of family keeping close as voices mingled and murmured about their days.

  And even as she looked, she felt a pang of longing. To feel as though she was able to settle next to one of them. To have them smile warmly, for her heart to warm in turn to be so accepted. To feel as if she belonged.

  She might not be close with many of them, but it startled her to realise how much she would miss them. M
iss this.

  Could she truly leave them?

  She had come to no firm decision when she at last settled into bed that night, and what little sleep she managed cluttered with dreams of blood and pain and loss. She was more exhausted by morning than when she had lain down to rest, and when they summoned her to the meeting, tired and worn, she could not even manage to feel nervous.

  So it was with a grim sort of resignation that she was led toward the largest of their tents, knowing well that she would have to face both leaders with an answer she had not even fully prepared.

  And simply pray that it would be the right one, for all their sakes.

  2. Drown

  “Welcome,” Desmond greeted, motioning her forward with a wave of his hand. She hesitated near the door, feeling awkward, her lungs feeling tight with anxiousness.

  He smiled at her in encouragement and she finally forced herself to move, sitting down at his right, Margaret and Simon also seated near. He fiddled with the translator, and she figured by its presence that it worked as well for the Marzon as it had for the Arterians.

  He did not turn it on, not right away, instead turning to her. “Have you reached a decision?

  The Marzon were seated across from them, and she managed a quick peek, noting that even seated they were a far larger species than her own. She swallowed, staring back down at the floor. “We need this, don’t we? You can tell me honestly.”

  Desmond’s eyes were soft and he reached out, patting her hand. “I believe this situation has more potential than I could have hoped for, but I am not ignorant to the sacrifice it would take on your part.”

  She managed to glance once more at the Marzon, her heart pounding wildly now that she was so close to them, now that she was being encouraged to give her answer. “Is... does that mean that he agreed?”