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rolling across the ocean. She missed her family, her children, her hearthtree, and she worried for them all.
    “I suppose that would indeed be a tall order,” replied Gerard.
    “I fear all the island towns are already cut off from the main continent,” she said after a long pause. “Boats for short travel were always for the common folk, who were unable to afford a trip by baccillum. Now, whether one is poor or rich, common or storied, our tools of travel are the same.”
    “Mine could use a hot soak,” said Gerard, his normally pale skin red and cracking from the merciless wind and lack of shade. He grimaced as he looked down at his travel-weary clothes, dirt caking the fine garments. “It appears my feet aren’t the only thing that could use a soak,” he added.
    Melia smiled at her companion, her white teeth flashing against the brown skin of her face. She didn’t burn like Gerard, but her skin wasn’t windproof and chapped just the same. She would be glad to get out from the open pass and back to the shade of the trees.
    “Perhaps islands like Senegast are better off isolated from the mainland,” she said, frowning at a jagged tear in her sleeve, courtesy of a band of distraught citizens. She’d been obliged to hide her status as a former delegate after that incident. “At least for now,” she added, deepening her frown.
    Gerard nodded as he looked off to the mountain toward their right. If his mother’s letter was accurate, they were headed for its base.
    “I understand why Mother did what she did,” he said finally, “but why not prepare people first? Give them time to develop larger boats and alternate means of land travel.” His words were fractured. The fatigue was getting to them both.
    Melia shook her head. She pressed her arm against her side, feeling the reassuring warmth of the book against her ribs. “I don’t think it would have mattered. We—myself included—were all too attached to our comforts and conveniences. Perhaps Aris understood that a swift wrenching of the bandage was in order.”
    “I just hope Willowslip is better off than the Northlands,” Gerard said, and then his left knee buckled under him.
    Melia stepped quickly to his side and supported his elbow as he struggled back to his feet. She shivered against the wind and thought of the Northlands. Somehow she doubted Willowslip would be any better.
     
    Melia and Gerard finally wound their way down the road into town toward nightfall a few days later. The entry gate was a shambles, but at least it was open. No one paid the two newcomers any mind as they moved along the mossy roads. Melia wasn’t surprised. She and Gerard looked wretched; the long journey south hadn’t been kind. Gerard favored his left knee with every step, and Melia worried for his health. They needed quarters for the night. It had been weeks, maybe months, since she’d last slept on a mattress. She prayed at least one of the local hospitality hearths was housing folk. They moved through the disordered streets, passing fighters, beggars, vendors, shifty-eyed grifters leaning against the ruins of shops, and everything in between.
    “Network connection!” yelled a man with a pushcart as they passed. “Get yer adapter conduit here. Guaranteed to restore yer connection.” That trick apparently had worn thin, as the man had no takers.
    Some of the shops were boarded up and abandoned. Melia saw signs of rioting come and gone. The early chaos had subsided into hopelessness. Busted shades and bent and torn branches decorated the buildings. Some of the trees were even scorched on the outside. Nothing without a direct hearthroot had power, so all the plank structures had been abandoned and gutted for any useful materials.
    Melia and Gerard stayed silent as they traversed the clamor of people and small animals before turning west at a large intersection. The road they had turned from kept north, eventually leading to the Lord’s Keep. “Keep” was an