Up close he smells of clean linen—a smell I have only encountered during the actual act of washing laundry. As soon as our sheets and clothes are thrown onto the line, they begin to gather dust. Dirt is the scent of a person in the wastes. Dirt and sand and sweat. Dirt is in everything, and the fact that the General doesn’t wear it just proves the wrongness about him.
“What do you see?” His falcon jumps from the ledge and spreads her wings, gliding in the open air beyond the window. I look past the creature, down to the land, and nearly lose my breath.
We must be at the very top of the residences I saw built into the mesa. The General’s haven extends far below, a jumbled blanket of green and brown. The green is so startling, so foreign, it takes me a moment to realize that I’m looking at crop fields and not a patchwork quilt. From this height, the laboring workers are no bigger than small beads as they weed and harvest. I search for Ma and my pack, but it’s pointless. Everyone is too tiny.
Bisecting the fields is a dirt path that leads from the General’s towering mesa residence to the dam that corrals his kingdom. Gunners move along the rim, guarding the ramp that provides access to and from Bedrock and pacing between large wooden contraptions that must serve as some type of defense mechanism.
Running beside the dirt path is a puzzling river. It is raised off the ground, water passing through what looks like the crosscut of a wooden straw supported by stilts. Additional half straws branch off the main channel, leading to the fields, but no water flows through them.
“Aqueducts,” the General says when he notices me staring. “There’s a dam above us, controlling the flow of the falls. We use the aqueducts to direct the water to the fields, opening and closing channels as necessary. Any overflow carries on past the lower dam.”
From my vantage point, I can see how the dam wall serves as an aqueduct of sorts itself. Its top is hollowed out and holds water supplied by the rest of the aqueduct system, with metal grates laid over the opening so that guards can patrol there with ease. Barely any water from this strange contained river makes it beyond the General’s stronghold. He’s using it all. If the river flowed freely, would it stretch through the Barrel and past Burning Ground? Did its water once meet up with Dead River and supply our pack’s lake?
“As you can see, I have no need to abduct people. Water. Greens. Shelter. Bedrock is a haven, and people come here freely. Your pack-member Old Fang misspoke.”
“You must need hundreds of hands to maintain these fields.”
“Thousands, actually. Last time we counted, Bedrock was nearly three thousand strong.”
“And you haven’t forced any of them into work?”
“If a traveler told you of this place, would you not willingly relocate? Would you not be happy to tend to crops so that your pack would have plentiful food and water?”
I would. Of course I would. This is the type of place I’ve longed to find for ages. But that’s exactly why it’s so disturbing. Flint has never mentioned Bedrock, and he trades all over the wastes. Not even Clay, who spouts lies and bumbles about cities across the ocean beds, has spoken of it. The only explanation is that if they knew about Bedrock at all, they’ve seen it as a place to avoid. And if workers were here freely, they wouldn’t need to be driven into Bedrock in caged wagons.
“I have sent my Loyalists far and wide into the wastes,” the General goes on. “Each time they find a new settlement, they are instructed to inform the inhabitants about Bedrock and extend an invitation to join us in this paradise. It sounds like your pack eagerly agreed—and that a few of them, including Old Fang, did not. Perhaps they got violent. If my soldiers were attacked, they’d respond with force. It’s never ideal, and I will speak to them about this incident, but it does happen.”
Lie, lie, lie! my brain shouts. But Old Fang was our leader, and a stubborn one at that. For the first time, I consider what might have happened if he opposed something the majority of the pack wanted. If they all pleaded to relocate and he refused, would they have fought him on it? And, out of shame, would he have lied to me about what happened?
“What does it mean to be gods touched?” I ask. “Old Fang said you were searching for people like that.”
“We welcome everyone to Bedrock, but the gods touched are our most valued.” He gives me a thin smile. “There was a time when all our ancestors were marked by the gods.”
My back prickles. “Marked how?”
“Here.” The General taps his temple, and I relax slightly. “Our ancestors were in tune with the earth and the stars, could read the Old World symbols and communicate directly with the gods. I believe that if the gods touched walk among us again in great numbers, our gods are more likely to return.” He strokes the metal pendants on his chain absent-mindedly and smiles down on his workers.
“My pack would have waited for me,” I insist. “If they wanted to come to Bedrock, they would have asked your men for directions and made the trip once I’d returned from . . .”
I pause, and the General’s eyes snap to me. He doesn’t ask for it, but I know he’s waiting for a location. Just as I didn’t know what waited beyond Dead River, he must not know what waits in the desolate stretches of the wastes. I’m not giving up Zuly and her Ark.
Sensing my hesitation, the General’s shoulders deflate. “You can speak to your family tomorrow. Confirm my side of the story with them yourself, see that they are here by choice. I’ll arrange for the visit.”
“So they’re here?” My heart swells. I’m relieved . . . and also uneasy.
“Yes, and quite happy about it.”
I glance at him sideways. He’s watching his falcon ride the wind, face glowing in the setting sun. “Most people would lock down a place like this,” I say, “not seek out others to share it with.”
“Ah . . . that is why the gods abandoned us. Greed. Selfishness. A disrespect for nature. The more people who join us and the more we tend to the land, the more clearly we prove that we are worthy of the gods’ blessings. And when we’ve proved that, when the gods touched walk among us once more, the gods will return from the stars. They will descend on this land and make it green. Water will be so plentiful, I’ll be able to open the dams, let it flow across all the wastes. But until then, we must be loyal to the earth and the stars. And if I must dam the water to do that, the least I can offer those beyond Bedrock is a chance to join our cause.”
The General whistles, and his falcon returns, landing on the ledge and tucking her wings in place. A beady eye stays rooted on me.
“You don’t believe me,” he says as he strokes the bird.
“I was bound, brought here in a caged wagon, and shoved into these meeting chambers with a bag over my head.”
“Yes. I’m sorry about that, but it was a necessity. Reed believes you are quite valuable to our cause, and I happen to agree. We couldn’t risk your refusing to join us.”
The map on my skin prickles. He hasn’t asked to see it yet, but we’re getting there. “Why’s that?”
A small smile. “Reed tells me you have a scar on your back. I’d very much like to see it.”
I step away from the window. “I’d rather not.”