Glade stood at the threshold of the village of Manolin. He looked back at the fishing settlement, ashamed and stunned to have been rejected so completely. He had never been so thoroughly embarrassed. The fact that the punk behind the stall had punched him in the ribs did not help matters. Glade rubbed the side of his abdomen as he exited the village.

  Immediately, he felt lost. He had come to this village on Jude’s advice. While walking along the highway, Glade had paid more attention to Jude’s words than to his surroundings. Jude had warned him about surviving the Wastes and about Manolin itself. The village was controlled by two family clans--the Reeds and the Rushes. The minor crime was to align with one family or anger the other. The major crime was to cause trouble in the village itself. Despite the tension between the two clans, they were united in their love for their village and their distrust of outsiders. Glade had burned his standing with one of the families and had definitely made things difficult for himself. He would need to pull off a minor miracle to be allowed back in.

  His mind started spinning through the possibilities.

  He had spent the first half of the day walking to Manolin and the last hour or two within the settlement. Sunset was approaching fast. He needed to decide whether to journey further and find shelter, to stay near the village and make camp on the outskirts, or to try to redeem himself before nightfall.

  As he stood thinking, the young woman and the large man exited the village. They made their way toward the stable, passing him without notice.

  Glade jogged toward them. “Where are you going?” he asked.

  “Why does it matter?” the young woman replied without looking at him. She clearly wanted nothing to do with him.

  “Because you got me kicked out of here! I was promised a boat ride to Dewindalo. Now I’m going to have to walk around the lake--and that’s going to take me days.”

  “Yeah, not really my problem,” the woman said. She stopped and turned to face him, while the large man who accompanied her continued on to the stables. She tucked a lock of brunette hair behind her ear. “You should be lucky I don’t kick your butt myself.”

  “Yeah, right! I’d like to see you try,” Glade said.

  The young woman cocked an eyebrow. “You really want to lose two fights in a single day?”

  “I didn’t lose that fight! It stopped before it could really start,” Glade protested.

  “I saw enough to know that kid--what was his name?--Wade? Yeah, Wade--would’ve beaten you into the ground. I thought he could do it...”

  “In under five minutes. I heard you making the bet with your henchmen.”

  She giggled to herself. The large man approached with a slate-grey horse. The woman stroked the horse’s muzzle. She rummaged in the bag she carried for a small treat and fed it to the animal.

  “That’s a good boy.”

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  “You have a horse?” Glade asked.

  “No,” the woman responded sarcastically. “This is actually my uncle Hengist. We’re on a journey to meet my aunt Horsa for dinner.”

  “You don’t have to be rude to everyone.”

  The woman almost laughed in his face. “Look, kid, you made me lose out on some prime selling. Now I have to take all of these wares to the next trading town over. We hardly had a chance to rest since arriving. You,” she said emphatically, “stole from me a nice bed and a relaxing evening. I didn’t even get a bowl of fish soup!”

  “Is it really that good?” Glade asked, genuinely curious.

  “You’re dense, kid.”

  “I’m not a kid! Why does everyone keep calling me that?” Glade snapped.

  “First, because I don’t know your name.”

  “It’s Glade.”

  “Second, probably because everyone can see you’re soft. Not physically. Physically, you look fine. Farmer, right? Nah, it’s soft here.” She tapped her temples. “You don’t have the mental attitude that makes for survivors. Live long enough in the Wastes and you start to smell determination on people. These Wastes break the weak. Go back to whatever hicktown you crawled out of and drink a lot of milk. You need to grow up before you’ve got a chance out here.”

  Glade felt completely disconnected from this woman. He had never met anyone so insufferable.

  “I’ve heard this before,” Glade said. “No one is going to stop me. I have a mission, and that mission is to reach Dewindalo and make my fortune.”

  “Dewindalo? You think you’ve got a chance at Dewindalo? You could hardly handle Manolin. These fisher people are like saints compared to the scum in Dewindalo. You really need to get your head checked.”

  She handed the final bag to Kyren, who added it to the horse’s burden.

  “What’s wrong with her?” Glade asked the large man. He merely shook his head.

  “He’s mute,” the woman said. “Kyren can’t speak.”

  Glade looked at the man. Despite standing over six feet tall, he seemed secretly kind. A man who would kill someone and then say ‘Sorry’ -- if only he could. He was clean-shaven and completely bald. Glade understood that someone as physically imposing as Kyren had survived not because of charm but because his strength spoke for him.

  “Can you at least tell me your name?” Glade asked the woman.

  The young woman touched the side of her horse. Kyren stood beside her and gave her a small boost into the saddle. She mounted the creature expertly. The gelding responded to her weight as though it were nothing. He understood her to be his master. Her confidence and care made him fiercely loyal.

  “Heather,” she said from atop the horse. “Now, will you go away? There isn’t much time to get to the next outpost.” She looked into the sky and judged the sun’s descent. “We’ve only got a few hours before nightfall. We should be able to reach Station Kay,” she added, speaking to Kyren.

  The man took the reins and started walking along the road that led away from Manolin and toward the highway.

  Glade kept pace beside them without saying anything. He tried to keep his footing on the uneven road and appreciated the air that didn’t reek of fish.

  “Is Station Kay on the way to Dewindalo? Can I follow you? I don’t really have any directions aside from following the highway around the lake.”

  Heather exhaled sharply and slumped forward over her horse’s neck. She stayed like that for a few seconds, then muttered into the horse’s scruff, “Why do these things have to happen to me?” She straightened up. “What do you think, Kyren? Should we let the runt join us until Station Kay?”

  The large man looked over his shoulder and simply shrugged.

  “Ugh!” Heather exclaimed. “Can’t you just say ‘no’ once in a while? You always make things difficult for me.”

  Kyren stopped walking and looked at her.

  “Fine!” Heather said loudly. “I take it back!”

  The silent man resumed his pace. Glade followed beside him.

  “You can join us, Glade, but you have to carry your own stuff. I’m not going to make Soot do more than his fair share. He works harder than most people in the Wasteland.”

  “He looks like a good horse,” Glade said.

  The gelding gave a loud snort.

  “I agree, Soot. Flattery will get him nowhere.”

  Glade had no reason to respond to her quip. He simply tightened the straps of his knapsack and followed the group to the next outpost.