"MATISA!" I PUSH THROUGH THE DOORS OF THE ceremonial hall and catch her disappearing around the side of the weapons shack. When I round the corner, I near run straight into her. She's huddled with Isi and Nishwa.
Her dark head snaps toward mine. "We need to go."
"Now?"
"As soon as we can get packed." She looks to her round-faced brother, Nishwa. "Can you ready the horses?"
He nods.
She speaks in her own tongue to Isi, who claps Nishwa on the shoulder. He seems relieved. They head off in opposite directions. I look at Matisa, bewildered.
"Let's get our things," she says, beckoning to me as she sets off for the east quarter.
"All right," I say, feeling like I'm not truly in the conversation and not understanding why. I hurry after her. "But I need to tell Kane."
"I've sent Isi to get him," Matisa says, pulling open the door to our kitchen. She crosses the space and begins sorting through the dry goods we have stacked on the kitchen table.
"Kane said he can be ready in a heartbeat," I say, still feeling at a loss, and shoving down a niggle of unease at the thought of him telling his ma.
"Good." Her hands sort through packets of bulb flour and dried berries. She's rattled, and it's skittering me.
I grab her saddle-pack from the cloak hooks beside the door and bring it to the table. "This is about what that Henderson said," I venture.
She nods, stuffing the dry goods in the pack. Her eyes are elsewhere, like she's thinking hard.
"Matisa," I say, putting my hand on her busy arm. "He was enjoying the telling, but he might not be so sure on the knowing."
"Oh, I know that," she says. "He knows very little." She abandons the dry goods and heads for the sleeping quarters. I follow her into Pa's old bedroom, where she begins pushing clothes into a pack she grabs from under the bed.
"Then what-I mean, why are you…so skittered?"
She doesn't pause. "It is not what he knows; it is what he brings."
"And what is that?"
She stops.
"Matisa?"
She looks up, her eyes shifting to the door, back to me-they're troubled, like the rushing river. "I need to tell you something," she says. "It is about the sickness that took your people when they first arrived."
"All right," I say.
"I tell this to you alone," she cautions.
I frown. She's always spoken plain around us-Tom, Kane, her cousin and brother, me.
"Em?"
"Course," I answer.
She sinks to the edge of my mattress. "I told you that we left this area when the sickness came. I told you that our people dreamt more death was coming and that we knew this meant people. Newcomers."
I nod. Matisa's people moved into the mountains, away from the plains, after these dreams. They made peace with other groups of First Peoples to the south so they might be a unified front against an oncoming threat: settlers. Us.
"What I have not told you is that by the time we left this area, we had long been living with the sickness." She twists her hands together. "For years our people and the animals around us died in ways we could not explain. It was not like the sicknesses in the east we'd heard about. This sickness was not passed from one person to another, and it appeared and disappeared with no obvious cause." She hesitates. "Eventually we realized it was in the little waters."
"The little waters?"
"Creeks, small rivers. Your people survived all those years ago because they moved out of the woods, away from it."
I think about the remnants of those first settlements I found last fall; the crumbled cabins out in the woods, next to dried-up creek beds. Our stories tell us the settlers who survived banded together and built our fortification next to the big river, hiding away from the "evil in the woods" that had taken their kin. My eyes widen in understanding.
"For years, my ancestors studied this sickness. Boiling the water made it safe, but boiling was not something we could do forever, and it was impossible to know where the sickness was before it was too late. Over many years of watching certain animals survive, we discovered a remedy that keeps it away," she says. "It remains our most closely guarded secret."
I frown, trying to figure her words.
"Our protection from the sickness has always been our upper hand." She holds my gaze. "Do you understand?"
The Bleed, they called it, Henderson said. Anyone who tried to settle out here perished from it.
"You mean you could survive when others-people from the east-couldn't."
She nods. "It has long been the reason we have lived in peace."
"But Henderson said it's no longer here."
"He does not know what he thinks he knows," Matisa says. "It is here, but it comes and goes, appearing without warning. The remedy ensures we are protected, regardless."
"And all of your people know it?"
She shakes her head. "Very few. Only an inner circle of healers. The remedy is prepared as a mix of many secret herbs and plants, but only one of these is any use against the sickness. The knowledge of which plant protects against the sickness remains within the circle alone. I"-again she hesitates-"I am a part of that circle."
I stare at her. "You keep it from your people?"
"Please try to understand, it is valuable. If the knowledge were placed in the wrong hands…"
"Settlers' hands," I state.
"It would be a disaster for us," she continues. "Not everyone would understand that keeping this secret prevents what happened in the east from happening here."
The east. I know the stories from Soeur Manon. When the Old World kingdoms arrived in the new land, the First Peoples-those already here-taught them how to survive. Then they were imprisoned, enslaved, and killed for their kindness. Matisa's people are right to worry.
"For years we have sent scouts, in secret, to bring us information from the east. We have learned the languages of the Dominion; we have studied their war weapons. We have done everything we can to know what we are up against. But the remedy is our true advantage." She searches my face.
What she says makes good sense, but unease flickers in my belly. This secret-keeping the truth from people for their own good-feels familiar. Honesty is one of our virtues, but lies kept our settlement in fear for so long. Brother Stockham's pa lied to secure his position as leader, and Stockham kept his secret because he didn't trust people to make good decisions for themselves. Just like I didn't trust my pa with what I'd found in the woods: the journal explaining the truth. If I had, maybe he wouldn't be-
I shove the thought down deep.
"When the Dominion comes, we can offer protection from the sickness-we can treat them with the remedy-in exchange for peace and freedom. This has always been our plan."
"But they are arriving already," I say.
She nods, her face anxious. "This Henderson is the first of many newcomers. I believe he signals the beginning of…"
She trails off, but I know what she doesn't say: war. She believes he brings the war she's been dreaming on.
I look at my hands, try to think. I know that finding a way to deal with the newcomers on her people's terms is their best chance. And the more people who must keep a secret, the greater the chance it won't be kept. This is different from the secrets Stockham was hiding, I decide. This is necessary.
"The strongest and fastest of my people will be leaving my home soon to hunt the great herds. This leaves us vulnerable. I want to bring this news so they will stay to defend us."
"When will they go?" I ask.
"When the season of rain has passed, they will set out."
I think about how much time this leaves us. The balsamroot I've been collecting is only small shoots yet; it flowers once the rains have passed. And other summer plants I collect have not yet begun to grow. The Thaw, the rains, will be over in a couple of weeks, perhaps a bit longer.
"You say it will take us a week to reach your home?"
She nods. "I believe so."
This makes me feel better. Still, I wonder. "When you found our settlement, you had been looking for us all summer."
"We did not know where to look," she says. "Our path was…circular. The journey home will be much more direct."
Direct. Those settlements to the west and south Henderson talked about.
"Henderson said those newcomers are doing fine. How can that be?"
She spreads her hands. "I do not know. I suspect they have not encountered the sickness yet. Perhaps luck is on their side."
"Like it was for us," I murmur, but my thoughts race on ahead. If Matisa's people can't be sure which waters harbor this sickness-the Bleed-can they be sure it still exists? Or, worse, suppose our luck runs out. Suppose the sickness finally does come to this river? Kane's family. Tom's. I can't leave, knowing they don't have the remedy. Knowing how close they might be to disaster.
Matisa notices my alarm. She puts a hand on my arm. "It was more than luck that your people survived," she says.
I frown in confusion.
She hesitates. "If I tell you how I know this, you must never forget how valuable this information is. It is not for everyone to know: I tell you this. Only you."
"But what about Kane?"
"It is better not to know. Not knowing means you cannot tell."
"But Kane would never-"
"Whether or not he would, you have to believe me when I say that it is safer this way." Her face is pained. It's costing her something to share this with me.
What would her people do if they knew? Is it fair to ask her to break her oath twice over? I take a deep breath. "If it will keep him safe, I can keep it to myself." But unbidden, an image of Brother Stockham swims before my eyes. You have lifted the burden, he said, before he put that shotgun in his mouth…
"This settlement has always had the remedy," she says.
I draw back in shock.
"Long ago we observed that animals who consumed a particular plant were not falling sick. We adopted this plant into our diet. It is a plant that grows near your settlement-and as I learned over the winterkill, it is used here nearly every day."
My eyes widen. "Almighty," I murmur. After all of these years living in terror of an imaginary beast, we've been protected from a danger that was actually real. By a plant.
I bow my head and rack my brain for which plant she could mean. One we use continually. Might even be one I collected for Soeur Manon…the smell of the Healing House, always thick with sage smoke.
I look up at her.
Her gaze is serious. "Your people are safe here," she says.
It is better not to know.
"All right." The unease in my belly remains.
"We will take the remedy as we journey," she says. "If"-she hesitates-"if you still wish to come."
"Course I'm coming," I say, and as I do I remember my dream from this morning-her dying on the Watch flats and me burying her-and a chill wraps around my heart. It's the first time I have dreamt of death. The rest of my dreams, the ones that show life, are about Matisa's home.
Mayhap this death dream was urging me to leave this place; mayhap it was showing me what could happen to Matisa if we stay.
Should I tell her about it?
I look at her worried face, her nervous hands pulling the drawstrings on her pack shut.
No. I'll tell her later-no use adding another worry right now-and I'll make sure she gets home safe to her people.
To the place that offers life.
She pulls her pack off the bed and eyes my bad leg. "Make sure you pack your tincture."
A rap at the outside door draws our heads up.
We hurry back to the common area. Kane is at the door. His ma, Sister Violet, stands behind him. Behind her, Frère Andre peers at us with watery eyes.
"What is it?" I ask.
Kane rubs the back of his neck. The words out of his mouth are the last I expect: "They want to come," he says.
I stand outside the gates and wait for him, feeling a dread deep down in my heart. This isn't right, isn't fair.
The rest of the group waits beyond the Watch flats, waiting for me to say goodbye. Giving me space to do it.
His wheat-blond head appears around the wall of the fortification. He looks at me a mite shy as he approaches, worrying something in his hands. A bow? He's been practicing his aim with all manner of things for months-bow and arrow, Andre's rifle-practicing, because he thought he'd be coming with me out into the wilds. He wanted to be able to help hunt and protect us.
An ache starts in my chest.
As he gets close, I see it's a child's bow, made of willow and gut string.
Tom ducks his head. "Give this to Nico," he says, handing it to me. He shrugs. "He seems nervous. Might make him smile."
I stare at it and swallow hard. "Course it will."
He puts his hands on his ceinture fléchée like he's not sure what to do with them and nods at the pack on my back.
"Finally, hey?" he says. "Feel like you've been wanting this all your life. Since we were youngsters, surely."
I force a smile. "Suppose I have." My voice is thick. "Even if I didn't know it."
We look at each other. He's trying to look brave for me, I know, but there's a flash of sorrow in those prairie-sky eyes. Sorrow, and longing.
"This is proving Discovery the real way; the way it should be," he says.
My smile turns real. It's true. Before I found Matisa, Discovery was contained within the walls of this fortification, to things that made our life here a mite easier, without risking the woods beyond. I proved it a new way, bringing her in, showing people there was no malmaci. Tom proved Bravery a new way, too: he defied Council and got Andre to open the gates for Matisa and me, even though he was afraid.
He doesn't look afraid anymore.
And thinking on him sitting by his pa's side, spooning him that tea I made, caged in this bleedin' settlement, when he should be with us…
My stomach clenches tight. "You should come," I say before I can stop myself. "You belong out there. You-"
"Em," he cuts me off. "We'll see each other soon."
The look on his face tells me he's made his decision. I nod quick and then, so he doesn't see the doubt, the sadness, in my eyes, I rush forward and bury my head in his chest.
His arms go around me and I press myself tight to him, trying so hard to keep the tears back. Crying does him no good.
He strokes my head with one gentle, scarred hand. I pray to the Almighty he won't scald them on purpose anymore. Pray that he'll be all right here, without me.
He draws back and this time his eyes are determined. Strong.
"Go," he says.
