Scarecrow

The water jar tipped because the wheel found a hole.

Not a deep hole. Not the sort of thing anyone would have put on a danger map. A shallow place beside the cooking shelter where the last rain had taken the fine material out from between two stones.

Bram caught the cart.

He didn’t catch the jar.

It struck the edge of the path, broke, and put half a morning’s carrying into the mud.

For a moment, nobody said anything.

Then Nessa, waiting with her cup, looked at me.

“Are you going to fix that one now?”

I looked at the hole.

“That one?”

She pointed with her crutch.

There were four more between us and the water shelf.

It was Day 490.

Sera’s treatment was finished. The support below had been checked. Nothing was falling, burning, or asking to be carried out of a ravine.

I’d been on my way to find Toby and talk about my leg.

Instead, I stood beside a broken jar while Bram tried to apologize for a path he hadn’t made.

“Don’t,” I told him.

He stopped.

I took the cart while he collected the larger pieces. Nessa moved back onto dry ground, then pointed out the place where her crutch always slipped after rain.

It wasn’t the same hole.

I had crossed that path hundreds of times.

Mostly looking at wherever I needed to be next.

“Show me the rest,” I said.

Nessa looked toward the medical shelter.

“All of it?”

“All the parts you use.”

She considered that.

“You’ll need paper.”

By the time Luna found us, we had a page full of things we’d been stepping over.

The water shelf was too high for Nessa to fill a cup without balancing. The cooking roof discharged rain beside the entrance instead of away from it. The path to the latrine had a narrow turn where a crutch went first and the person using it followed with hope.

Neri couldn’t get through that turn without someone waiting to help her.

Ellis could reach the washing place but couldn’t sit down there. The only dry bench was on the other side of a step.

None of those things had stopped the camp working.

They had simply made the same people pay for them every day.

Luna read the page.

Then she looked at the jar pieces in Bram’s bucket.

“We’ve been calling this temporary for a long time.”

“Yes.”

“Which part first?”

“The water route.”

Nessa tapped the page.

“And the turn.”

“And the turn,” I agreed.

We didn’t begin by making a bigger plan.

We walked the small one.

Corr brought a straight piece of wood and a cord. Teo joined us where the proposed drain approached the planting ground and moved the line away from a patch of living growth I hadn’t noticed beneath the stones.

“Here,” he said. “Along the ground we’re already using.”

I nodded.

Lena came with Juno and asked whether the edge of the new path would feel different under her stick.

I hadn’t thought of that either.

We marked a low, continuous border, interrupted only where a person needed to cross. No ankle-high surprises in the middle of the walking surface.

Bram pushed the empty cart along the route while we watched its wheels.

Nessa went beside it.

When both could pass without anyone stepping into the runoff, we put the marks down.

The whole inspection took longer than I expected.

It saved us making the wrong path very quickly.

I worked on the stone in short sections.

Ordinary stone. Visible cracks. No reaching under the camp and assuming everything below us was as sound as the top looked.

Corr cleared the loose material first. I joined the exposed edges where I understood them and left a rough surface beneath people’s feet. A smooth path would have been pleasant until it rained.

The cart went over each finished part before we started the next.

At the water shelf, Nessa filled a cup from a temporary low stand and drank it without looking at anyone for help.

Then she handed me the cup.

“That height.”

I marked it.

We had already made a lever tap work at the western shelter. There was no reason the people living here should have something worse because we’d built theirs earlier.

Dov took the measurements for the handle.

Merrin sorted the sound pieces from the broken jar and asked whether I could join them.

“Probably.”

“Then I’ll stop carrying them like rubbish.”

He set them on a cloth.

By midday, the first stretch was finished and the cooking roof no longer emptied onto the place where Priya stood to hand out food.

She came outside and poured a bowl of water into the new gutter.

Watched it go.

“Good,” she said.

It was one of the most satisfying inspections I’d ever passed.

My leg spoiled the walk back.

The pull began behind my left knee and ran up into the old injury. I shortened my stride, which made my hip ache, which made me lean harder on the stick.

Toby saw me from the shelter.

He waited until I reached him.

“You were coming to see me this morning.”

“Yes.”

“About that?”

“Yes.”

He moved a chair into the shade.

I sat down with more relief than I wanted him to notice.

He noticed anyway.

“Tomorrow?” he asked.

I looked at him.

“Is that what you were about to say?”

It was.

Behind us, the cart crossed the new section without a jar rattling against its neighbour.

I watched it go.

Then I put the stick down.

“No. Today.”

I’d repaired the vessel to keep myself alive.

That had been the whole task in the forge. Close the torn wall before the blood ran out. Survive the thing standing over me. Keep enough of myself together to get off the floor.

Later had become a very large place to leave everything else.

I told Toby that while he found the early notes.

Dot brought the record of the wrapping and the checks she’d made while I was unconscious.

I remembered her in the doorway, too large for it, with the fine arm resting beside my bed.

She had made the doorway bigger.

I touched the edge of the page.

“The operator’s leg was not output,” she said.

I looked up.

“You remember.”

“Yes.”

There wasn’t anything else I needed to ask her about that.

We examined it without changing it.

Toby moved the lamp. Dot held the mirror where I could actually see the back of the thigh through it, then adjusted the angle when the first position pulled at my hip.

A picture from one of her hands wouldn’t do. I needed the real path of light and the real tissue at the other end of it.

The old vessel repair was holding.

I followed it carefully, remembering the cold weight of the leg after I’d made the seam. I didn’t like looking at it.

I did it anyway.

Around the injury, the muscle hadn’t recovered into the shape it had before. Some of it was thinner. Bands of scar crossed places that should have moved past one another.

When Toby asked me to bend the knee a little, one of those bands drew tight and pulled the neighbouring tissue with it.

There.

Something I could see happening instead of something I had to endure and call the leg.

I let it relax.

Toby wrote down the position.

Then we checked it again.

“I can’t make it all right at once,” I said.

“I didn’t ask you to.”

“The muscle’s weaker. Even if I free the pull, that won’t make it strong.”

“No.”

“And some of the feeling still isn’t right.”

He nodded.

I looked at the drawing we’d made.

A small part of a large injury. Not the vessel. Not a guess at rebuilding nerves because I wanted the numb patch gone.

One place where two ordinary layers had healed together and were dragging on each other.

“I think I can improve this part.”

Toby leaned over the page.

“How much work afterward?”

“Rest first. Then moving it without forcing it.”

“And can you actually do that?”

I began to answer.

Stopped.

Outside, someone called for Corr.

Toby waited.

“I’ll need to arrange it,” I said.

“That sounds more useful than promising.”

Luna had a search map spread beside the signal records when I found her.

Wren stood at the other end of the table. Ilse had a finger on the northern saddle.

There had been a light.

Not a message. Not even enough flashes to call a name.

Three irregular bright marks beyond the western shoulder of the saddle, caught during the morning watch. Wren had checked the angle against the sun. The light wasn’t where the wet rock usually answered.

“It could still be reflection,” she said.

“Or someone with a poor mirror,” Ilse said.

I leaned on the table.

“How far?”

“We don’t know. The bearing runs behind this rise.”

I looked at the map and started assembling the hull in my head.

Luna looked at my face.

Then at the medical page in my hand.

“What did Toby say?”

I told them.

Not just that he wanted me to rest. I told them what I’d found, what I thought I could change, and why the part afterward mattered.

Wren pulled out a clean page.

“Then we need two plans.”

Ilse nodded toward the saddle.

“Corr and I can reach the lookout on foot. Ade can come. We take water and the light stretcher. If there’s a path, we follow it. If there isn’t, we signal.”

“I could get you there faster.”

“Yes,” Luna said. “And if every search starts with you carrying everyone, none of us learn how to keep doing it when you’re hurt.”

I looked down at the marks.

She wasn’t sending them into the green without knowing where they’d be. The western shelter and northern saddle already gave them food, water, somewhere to stop, and a way to call back in clear weather.

The work we’d done was supposed to be useful for exactly this.

I let my shoulders lower.

“Take an extra water container.”

Ilse smiled slightly.

“We had reached that part.”

They left after the meal.

Three people, carrying enough to stay at the northern shelter if they couldn’t finish before dark. Wren checked the signals with them before they went. Dot sent a wing as far as the local link would carry, then brought it back when the ridge began to interfere.

No pretending she could see through hills.

No promise that everyone would be home at supper.

I watched them take the broad western path.

It held beneath their feet.

Then I went back to the water shelf and helped Dov fit the handle while sitting down.

That last part caused more comment than the handle.

Holt arrived to inspect us.

“Finally learned what chairs are for?”

“I’m trying a theory.”

“Don’t overdo it.”

He set a bundle of old pages on the dry end of the bench.

The weather records he’d promised.

His hand stayed on them for a moment after he’d put them down.

I looked at him more carefully.

“You all right?”

“Didn’t sleep well.”

“Sit down.”

He looked at my chair.

“I see the theory’s spreading.”

But he sat.

By evening, Holt was hot enough that even he stopped blaming the weather.

Toby checked him in the medical shelter. I was there when Holt tried to stand and had to wait for the room to settle.

We helped him back onto the bed.

“I can walk,” he said.

“You can do that later,” Toby answered.

There was no wound that explained it. No obvious trouble in his chest. No single thing I could look at and say there, that is all of it.

His altered tissue looked wrong in a way that made me fetch the older notes.

Not the same as Sera.

Not enough like Pella to put her name over his page and pretend we’d learned something.

The ordinary tissue around the silver was struggling, and the silver itself remained a thing I could not properly read.

Holt watched my face.

“Don’t start taking me apart because you dislike the look of me.”

“I’ve disliked the look of you for months.”

He gave a tired snort.

Then closed his eyes.

I sat beside the bed until Toby returned with water.

We moved the next day’s leg work off the table.

I did it without being asked.

Then Sera found me outside the shelter and asked what that meant.

“For tomorrow,” I said.

“Only tomorrow?”

I looked through the doorway.

Holt was drinking, with Toby beside him. Wren had taken the pages from the bed so they wouldn’t get wet.

“I don’t know yet.”

Sera nodded.

“All right. Then we ask again tomorrow.”

She didn’t tell me to go and fix myself while I was frightened for him.

She also didn’t let the idea disappear.

Risa brought food. Luna came with the last signal from the northern shelter.

Our search party had arrived safely.

They had seen the light again.

This time it had stopped when they answered, then begun again after a pause.

Not proof of who was there.

Enough to keep looking in the morning.

Day 491 began beside Holt’s bed.

He’d slept in pieces. The fever had risen and fallen. Toby had kept a record instead of trusting the relief of finding him cooler once.

I did Sera’s treatment, ate what Risa put in front of me, then opened Halloway’s notes with the older observations beside them.

Wren helped find the dates.

We weren’t searching for the name of Holt’s illness. We were searching for what had been done to him.

That turned out to be a different sort of work.

There were changes in the records between groups. Not neat explanations. Altered quantities. Different intervals. Things crossed out and carried forward with another number beside them.

I’d read some of those marks before without having Holt’s fever in front of me.

Now I read them again.

“Earlier,” I said.

Wren leaned closer.

“What?”

“His modification. This part wasn’t the same in every group.”

She put her finger beside a later date.

“And this?”

“Different. Not enough information here to call it safe.”

She nodded.

We kept reading.

The frightening part wasn’t that Holt was older than the others.

It was that the people who had changed him had apparently changed their method afterward.

He’d been living with an earlier attempt.

I took that thought to Toby rather than turning it into a conclusion by myself.

He compared the pages with what we’d recorded from Pella, then with Holt’s own earlier observations near the green.

“We still have to watch for an ordinary infection,” he said.

“Yes.”

“And we don’t give him Sera’s treatment because it helped Sera.”

“No.”

Holt opened his eyes.

“Good. I’d be a poor substitute at the forge.”

I hadn’t realized he was listening.

He looked at the books.

“You found something?”

“A difference. We’re working out what it means.”

“Tell me when you have more than a difference.”

“I will.”

He studied me for a moment.

Then nodded and asked for water.

It was the first thing he’d asked for without being prompted that morning.

I wrote that down too.

The camp kept working while we read.

Luna brought that news at midday, along with a message from the search party.

The light was a mirror.

There were two people beyond the rise.

Alive.

One could walk slowly. The other was helping. They had been staying in a shallow rock shelter above a gully, with a broken reflector that caught the sun only when someone held it at an awkward angle.

Ilse had reached speaking distance.

Edda Saye.

Jonas Pell.

Names first. Then two marks on the map where there had only been a bearing.

“Both second wave,” Luna said. “Adults. They’ve agreed to come back with them.”

I stood too quickly.

My leg pulled and I caught the edge of the table.

“Do they need the hull?”

“Ilse says they can reach the northern shelter today with rests. They’ve got water and food. Jonas has a swollen foot. No fall, no trapped limb. She’ll signal if that changes.”

I looked at the message.

Read it twice.

Then I sat down.

It wasn’t easy to remain there.

I could imagine every place where a path might have broken since the last person crossed it. I could imagine the light stretcher failing, the sky closing, the foot swelling worse.

Risa sat opposite me and let me finish imagining.

Then she asked, “What would you tell Corr if you were there and he was here?”

“That we’d call if we needed him.”

“And would you mean it?”

“Yes.”

She pushed the water cup toward me.

I drank.

Outside, Bram and Merrin were testing the repaired jar on the cart. Dov had finished the low tap handle. Priya had moved the clean water vessels away from the splash beneath the washing bowls.

None of them had stopped because I was sitting beside a medical table.

I began to see how much of a base we could have if we let other people finish things.

The washing place became the next thing.

Not a grand bathhouse. We didn’t have the water or the spare labour for that.

A roofed platform on the used ground near the existing route. A seat that stayed dry. Screens high enough for privacy, with a wide entrance and space to turn without balancing on one foot.

Clean water came in by one side. Used water left by another, carried to the existing disposal place instead of emptied onto the path.

I drew the supports from the chair outside Holt’s shelter.

Bram and Aven measured the frame, with Aven doing the marking and the lighter work so his shoulder didn’t have to prove anything.

Lena checked the entrance with her stick.

Neri asked where she was meant to put her clothes.

We added a dry shelf before building the first wall.

Ellis asked whether the seat could have a back.

We added that too.

By evening, there were posts and a roof frame where there had been a muddy patch nobody wanted to stand in.

Sera looked at the drawing and smiled.

“Not our house.”

“No.”

“Still a good use for a pencil.”

Holt’s fever was lower that night.

It wasn’t gone, and we didn’t call him recovered.

But he kept down food. He complained about the blanket. He asked whether anyone had ruined his weather pages.

Wren put them where he could see them.

“Sorted by date,” she said.

“That’ll make a change.”

He slept for a longer stretch afterward.

I stayed until Toby told me there was nothing another tired person could add to the room.

He wasn’t sending himself away. His next check was already arranged with Juno, and the notes were open where she could find them.

I looked at him.

He looked back.

“Go on.”

So I did.

At our room, Luna had left the lamp low. Sera moved a pillow to make room for my leg. Risa took the notebook out of my hand before I could set it on the bed.

“Tomorrow,” she said.

I let her.

The search party came home on Day 492.

We saw them from the upper bend, five figures instead of three.

Jonas was using the spare support Corr had taken. Edda carried a small wrapped bundle and refused to hand it over when Ade offered at the last slope.

I knew that grip.

Everything a person had managed to keep, being mistaken for a weight somebody else could remove.

Ade left it alone.

They stopped at the water shelf.

Edda watched Nessa fill a cup one-handed, then looked at the tap as though it was something much more complicated.

“There’s enough?” she asked.

“For a drink,” Priya said. “And then another if you need it.”

She didn’t promise a river we didn’t have.

Edda drank slowly.

Jonas sat on the new dry edge of the path and closed his eyes.

Forty-seven people.

The number changed while I was standing still.

We took them to the shelter before asking for the whole story.

Jonas’s foot had been rubbed raw inside a boot that no longer fitted properly. The swelling made the fit worse. Days of trying to keep moving had made a small injury into the reason they couldn’t leave their gully.

I looked. Toby checked. We cleaned and dressed what needed it, and found something that didn’t press on the same places.

Edda had been carrying most of their water.

That explained the rubbed hands. Not all the tiredness.

They ate. Slept. Woke confused by having people nearby who weren’t asking them to start walking again.

Later, Edda unwrapped her bundle.

Needles. Thread. Pieces of cloth. A little book with the cover coming away.

“I can mend things,” she said.

Priya looked at the blanket she’d put over Edda’s knees.

“You can use that first.”

Edda looked down.

After a moment, she let the bundle rest beside her.

They’d seen other signs of people.

That came after food and sleep, when Edda asked whether we had a map she could look at.

Not people yesterday. Not a camp she could point to and promise was still there.

Old cut branches where a watercourse divided. A strip of cloth tied beneath an overhang. Once, smoke beyond a ridge they hadn’t been able to reach.

We marked each thing with what she remembered of the time.

Jonas corrected one direction. Edda argued, then turned the map and admitted he’d been facing the other way when he’d seen it.

Wren wrote both accounts down before making the correction.

No new names on the living board for people we hadn’t found.

But three places to examine, and one old search line that no longer ended at an empty gully.

Luna asked whether they’d be willing to help describe the ground again after another night’s rest.

They said yes.

Nobody asked them to guide a party back out the next morning.

Holt insisted on seeing the new arrivals.

We compromised on opening the shelter screen so they could speak without him getting up.

He asked Jonas where the water ran after rain.

Jonas answered with his hands, tracing a bend in the air.

Holt pointed toward the bundle of pages.

“There’s a sketch. Green binding. Back third.”

Wren found it.

The bend wasn’t identical, but the ridge above it was close enough that Jonas leaned forward.

“That part. We could see that.”

Holt looked pleased.

Then tired.

Toby ended the conversation before the tiredness became something Holt had to fight to conceal.

I helped put the pages away.

There were more books beneath the weather records than I’d expected.

“Your logs?”

“Some of them.”

“We should make copies.”

“Been telling you that for months.”

“You haven’t.”

“Consider it implied.”

He settled back against the pillow.

I left the books where he could reach them.

There would be time to read them with him.

I meant to make sure of it.

That afternoon, Toby asked about my leg.

I looked toward Holt.

His fever had stayed down through the last two checks. Not a cure. Not an explanation. Enough improvement that he was arguing over portions again.

“We’re still watching him,” Toby said. “That doesn’t mean every other person has to stop being treated.”

I looked at the small drawing we’d made two days earlier.

Then at the work outside.

The washing roof was being covered. Corr was home. The search notes had been copied. Sera had what she needed for the morning.

“What about tomorrow?” I asked.

Toby nodded.

“Tomorrow morning. After breakfast.”

I found Luna and told her.

Then Risa.

Then Sera, who was checking the curtain hems for the washing screens.

She put the cloth down.

“Good.”

That was all she said at first.

Then she kissed me, and I understood how long she’d been waiting to say it.

I was frightened the next morning.

Sera’s treatment was finished. We’d eaten. There wasn’t another necessary job left to put between me and the bed Toby had prepared.

It wasn’t the mirror that frightened me. Not even the pain, though I wasn’t looking forward to that.

I was frightened of finding that the limp had become permanent while I was busy telling myself I would get to it later.

I told Toby before we started.

He adjusted the support beneath my thigh.

“Today isn’t an answer about the whole leg.”

“I know.”

“We’re improving one part if we can. Then we see what the leg does with that.”

Dot held the mirror.

Risa sat where I could see her without turning. Luna had taken the morning work questions outside. Sera was beside the window, within reach but clear of the lamp.

Nobody told me it would be easy.

I was glad of that.

I looked into the reflection.

Found the vessel first.

Left it alone.

Then found the small tether that tightened when I tried to bend.

The work was slow.

There wasn’t a damaged beam to remove and replace with a better one. This was living tissue, tangled into a repair my body had made with what it had been given.

I followed the fibres until I could distinguish the band from the layers beside it. Checked again when the mirror moved. Stopped when a muscle trembled and spoiled the view.

Toby waited.

Risa kept her hand near mine without touching the arm I was bracing against the bed.

I changed only the short section we’d marked.

Enough to let the neighbouring layers begin to slide separately. Not enough to strip out everything I disliked the look of and hope the leg would forgive me.

It hurt.

I stopped, breathed, and waited until I could see clearly again.

Then I looked for bleeding.

There wasn’t any that needed closing.

The vessel remained as it had been before we started.

I checked the movement once, supported, with Toby watching my face.

The knee bent a little farther before the familiar pull arrived.

Not far.

Farther.

I started laughing, which made holding still difficult.

“That isn’t permission to walk to the northern shelter,” Toby said.

“I know.”

“Or the western one.”

“I know.”

“I’m enjoying this conversation,” Risa said.

Sera took my hand now that I didn’t need it to hold myself still.

I could feel the leg aching. I could feel the places we hadn’t changed.

But the one thing we’d meant to do had happened.

Luna came in after Toby called her.

I told her before she could ask.

“A little.”

She looked at me, then at the way my leg rested on the support.

Her smile arrived slowly.

“A little is good.”

We made a record of the new movement and stopped before testing became showing off.

The stick stayed beside the bed.

I was going to need it.

For the first time in a long while, I didn’t think needing it today told me everything about tomorrow.

They moved my chair outside later, with the leg supported and the work notebook left indoors.

The washing place had a roof.

Not every screen was hung. The shelf still needed an edge so a bar of soap wouldn’t slide off. There were jobs left, ordinary jobs people were already arguing about how to finish.

Ellis sat on the new seat to test it.

Leaned back.

Stayed there.

That seemed a useful result.

Nessa took a cup along the repaired path. Bram brought the cart behind her. Neither had to stop for the other.

Across the way, Edda was awake beneath her borrowed blanket. Jonas sat beside her with his foot up, talking to Ilse about the ridge beyond the gully.

Holt called from the shelter to ask whether anyone intended to feed him again before winter.

Priya shouted back that winter was beginning to sound attractive.

I laughed.

Risa sat on the ground beside my chair. Sera brought a drawing board. Luna opened the search map on her knees.

For a while, nobody asked me to get up.

Day 493. Better ground.

Water route repaired. Low tap fitted. Cooking runoff moved off the entrance. Washing place roofed, screens still being finished. Wide turn to the latrine marked; finish after the ground dries.

Edda Saye and Jonas Pell found alive. Corr, Ilse, Ade brought them home through the northern shelter. Two more names. Forty-seven people.

Three older signs of survivors to check. Dates uncertain. Copy accounts before choosing routes.

Holt’s fever down. Still watching. Earlier modification differs from later notes; no complete explanation yet. He wants copies of his logs. Says he already told me. He didn’t.

Left leg: one small scar tether released. Vessel untouched. Slight improvement in supported bend. Rest now. Strength and the other damage still to work on.

The path works without me standing over it.

The search brought people home without me carrying them.

My leg moved farther today.