Fall

Atlas

All of the Southern towns had arrived in Chesa. The city was full with people inside, and surrounded by their stock on the outside. Everything was noisy and smelled both foul and sweet. The sand was losing its hold on the streets as thousands of feet trampled and swept it to the side.

Atlas smiled as a man next to him shouted in surprise. He had been thrown a string of pearls by a vendor, and went to the stall to return them. I’m glad we’re not the only ones here anymore.

It was an exceptionally cool day for the South, and Hudson had braved the heat to join Atlas. Yes. It’s a good thing.

Whispers and stares still followed Hudson as they walked down the market, but it was nothing compared to the first influx of towns. They knew the bear wouldn’t hurt them.

The great meeting is this evening. Shouldn’t we be preparing? Hudson asked.

We are preparing, Atlas assured him. By watching the creation of our test.

As they gravitated closer to the edge of Chesa, Atlas could see the enormous swaths of canvas being pulled taut by teams of men and fera. When the wood poles under the canvas came to their full height, they sunk into the sand with a loud hiss. Atlas wondered what trees had provided the timber for the tent’s skeleton, and where they had been found.

Gradually, like a mountain waking, or a wave building, the tent rose. Fluttering and graceful, it towered over its workers. Its shadow was thick and dark. The holes in the canvas were shown in pinpricks of light. A forest canopy in the desert.

As soon as it was considered stable, workers swarmed like ants under the shade. They had a curious way of moving things that Atlas had not seen on his last visit.

It appeared to be barrels they were moving at first. Wooden, tight panels bound with stiff rope. Hundreds of these barrels were rolled and placed side by side at a remarkable pace. Then the workers proceeded to untie the barrels on the top and bottom. Fera scampered along the tops of the barrels, helping their humans.

The barrels broken apart in the middle, splitting open in a curved way that reminded Atlas of a pair of ribs. These two sides the workers encouraged to their full extension, although they were still slightly curved at the ends. With grunts and hollers, the teams flipped the barrels so the hooked ends dug into the sand. Before Atlas knew it, lines and lines of tables appeared from just a few hundred barrels.

The invention was clever. It saved the set-up team hours of hauling more permanent furniture from the city, and it could be easily stored. The North was not the only territory with bright minds.

One of the rows was clearly reserved for a makeshift kitchen. A woman in a bright apron was the head of her own private anthill, directing the placement of pots, pans, and fire pits with a spoon. Atlas chuckled when he heard her yelling. It reminded him of the Captain of Guard, Poppy, back home.

When it seemed the most exciting preparations were over, Atlas waded through the watchers that had trickled in as they saw the tent rise.

What are you thinking? Hudson said.

I think… that we are going to witness something grand tonight. Atlas walked with a slight spring in his step. Something that may change the world.

Piper

The air was changing. Piper noticed its subtly along with Reine. It was becoming warmer and stickier, filling in with mosquitos as the trees of the East swallowed their sky like a coffin’s cover.

It was darker, and Piper had to take a couple hours for her eyes to adjust. In the plains, she had constantly squinted against the sun. The horses had to be led through the vines and underbrush, so in the case that they lost their footing, Piper and Finch wouldn’t be thrown.

Reine took a wide radius around them, looking for prey. She caught a swamp rabbit far from them, but it was so small Piper let her have it alone.

I’m not used to this territory, Reine admitted. The brush makes different noises, the scents don’t tell me who is edible, and the light is horrible.

Piper tripped over a vine, then sighed. You’re trying your best. None of us know this place.

Above them, monkeys and other animals Piper had not seen before ran across the bridge-like branches. Where Trene’s bridges were manmade, these were thickened and weakened with time.

For lunch—if it could be called lunch without food—they stopped in the roots of a giant tree. Finch guzzled water, and Piper started to worry about their supplies for that, too.

“Why haven’t we seen anyone?” Piper’s voice was low. “I thought the East killed intruders on sight.”

“Sight is the key word.” Finch winked, and opened up the map from his pack. “See here, we entered from an angle that not many patrols are posted.” He looked up. “Patrols are pretty much the only thing we know about the East’s habits.”

“But you think,” Piper spread her hands out, “there would be someone in these woods?”

Her companion squinted at the trees around them. “I would call this a jungle.”

“Finch!”

“I know, I know.” Finch laughed. “It is odd we’ve gone so far without seeing anyone.”

Or anything, Reine chimed in. The prey is extremely thin. Perhaps the trees are carnivorous?

Piper found this idea so funny she shared it with Finch, who only frowned. “There are plants who eat insects, but I don’t know if they’re here.”

She widened her eyes at the jungle floor, half-expecting a vine or flower to latch onto her boot.

“Let’s keep moving.” Finch elbowed her. “If you stay still too long, the flesh-eaters will find you.”

Piper crinkled her eyes in a smile, but wasn’t sure if he was joking.