The tension was palpable as the refugees gathered before the general’s tent. Mom and I stayed in the back, where she found a wooden crate so I could have a better view. I expected Mink to emerge and appease the crowd with his beguiling smile, though I hadn’t seen him in well over a month since the rider’s arrival. Instead, a man bearing fine armor and an immaculate white cape flowing down to the deck popped out of the tent. He paced in a manner that met all the parameters of someone who had something better to do, much like his hair, which no longer appreciated the company of his scalp. He stopped and examined the people. His eyes were deep, the color of combat, and his jaw was so sturdy and square that I imagined him crunching nuts, shells and all. Breaths grew still in anticipation.

“I am General Munika Muril,” he began as Mom interpreted for me. There was no chance I could read the General’s lips from afar, and even if I were up close, his overly presumptuous beard would have made it impossible to read them. “The King of Aviz has burdened me with the defense of the northern border,” he continued. “I understand some of our measures may seem harsh to you, but I assure you that all was done with the best intentions in mind. The catastrophe hit not only many of our villages but also others on the other side of the border, including the small town of Goritan. For some absurd reason, the Erosomitan government blames us for the mountain’s collapse. In a show of good faith, we offered our help to our needy neighbors, but I fear that may not be enough to maintain peace. In response, we are reinforcing the border.

“This, however, means we have to sustain our soldiers at the frontline and will inevitably, due to the full disruption of the entire northern farming region, lead to some rationing.”

The people around me shifted uncomfortably.

The general raised his hands as if trying to tame a wild ekkuh and said, “I am here to promise you that King Artumin always puts the needs of his loyal subjects first.” He paused to let that sink in. “The Duke of Alturin has made himself personally responsible for seeing that those needs are met and will ensure a steady supply of food, fresh water, and other essentials.”

Someone else said something, and I saw a glimpse of rage cross the general’s eyes. It was brief, perhaps too brief to notice, but not to me.

“For the last time, it was built to keep you safe,” the general replied as if bored by the conversation.

The crowd waved and wobbled again like a stormy sea.

“What a foolish superstition,” Munika said. “Wood is as good as stone. Better even.” He turned away brusquely and disappeared into his tent. Two guards stepped in front of the entrance like drapes.

“Mom, what does this mean?” I asked her.

She seemed sad, but then again, she seemed sad all the time now. “Nothing new, honey. Why don’t you go play with your friends.”

“Friend,” I mumbled.

“One friend is better than none,” she said, squatting in front of me. “Do not go too far. Always stay close. You hear me?”

I nodded.

“I want to hear you say it.”

“I will stay close.” I stared at her to let her know she had forgotten something and eyed my feet to make it obvious.

“I am sorry, honey. I asked again, but they didn’t have shoes for you. You are going to have to keep using—where are the shoes I made you? You should wear them. They’re better than nothing.”

“They are not. They really are not,” I said rather peevishly. “Nothing is way better. All they do is make sure my feet stay damp and dirty. It is like walking on filthy diapers.”

I expected her to argue further, but she didn’t. She hugged me instead. Then she pushed me gently away and signed, “I am sorry.”

“It’s not your fault, Mom,” I signed back.

I staggered about the deserted camp while everyone remained at the general’s tent as if they had no intentions of going anywhere else that day.

I found Graze playing whilp with other kids. The camp had grown quite large the days after our arrival due to a constant stream of refugees coming from other wrecked villages.

I never liked whilp, nor did I want to risk making more friends. I wasn’t being difficult. It’s just that you have to sift through so many bad ones before you find one that is worth your time. And I had already done that.

Graze focused on spinning the wheel at the end of his spinning stick. Then he pulled off the spinner at a precise angle and direction, and the wheel shot toward three small poles fifty feet away. He knocked one down, gaining a point. A good move. One that I would have had a hard time matching. In whilp you get three rounds. Each knocked pole only earns you one point on its own but if you manage to down all three you triple the points. The only way to knock all three poles is to loosen the wheel at an angle, or have it curve into the line of poles. It’s extremely difficult. And by the looks of it that was precisely what Graze needed to win the match.

Stolen story; please report.

A broad kid, taller than any kid at his age had the right to be, patted Graze on the back. Graze responded with a forced smile and walked away.

I waved at him. “That was a good shot,” I said as he got near.

He plopped down next to me and threw a hand toward the tall kid who now inspected the wheel he’d won from Graze. “I couldn’t get it to bend. Now I lost my wheel. To him, of all people.”

I didn’t know what to say, I didn’t care much for whilp, though I did care about my friend. “We will get you a new one. It is only a stupid game anyway.” I regretted the words as soon as they left my mouth. I had played whilp before, with the Wellers’ son mostly, whose real name now escapes my memory. He would never play again. And, I mean, if anything makes you happy, can it really be stupid?

Graze’s eyes lifted from the dirt and locked on me. “What’s the plan? Infiltrate the kitchen? The armory? The general’s tent?”

“I thought we’d leave camp.”

“Leave camp?” Graze was up in a heartbeat. “We can’t leave camp.”

I shrugged. “We cannot infiltrate the kitchen either, yet we do it.”

Graze’s hands rubbed his face. Whenever he did that, I expected his freckles would rub away. “I guess it could be fun. We haven’t tried it since they erected the fence.”

I thought about it. I didn’t understand the fence’s purpose, only that, as it was made abundantly clear, it had been built for our protection.

“We shouldn’t,” Graze insisted. “My mom says we can’t leave camp.”

“That is just what moms say. I do not think they would be good moms if they did not say it. And we do not have to go far. Just for a bit.”

Graze pondered for a second. “I don’t know. It could be dangerous.”

***

“They say you can leave camp as long as you are a skilled worker,” Graze informed me as we reached the fence at a spot away from prying eyes.

“What’s a skilled worker?” I asked as I inspected the tall wood planks at least ten feet high. I wondered briefly about where they had found so much wood to build the thing.

“It’s someone who is skilled at something,” Graze said as his fingers followed a gap between two planks. “You know, like a juggler. I think this is a good spot.”

I inspected the gap. It ran all the way to the top. “Let me go first,” I said, and Graze stepped to the side.

“What use can a juggler be?” I asked as I climbed, concentrating half on wondering what it would be like for someone to hear you without having to look directly into your face and the other half on fitting my fingers through the gap, hooking them on the other side, and making sure my feet wouldn’t slip. “Do you think climbing is a skilled job, too?” I added as I reached the top and looked down at Graze.

“It does require skill,” he said and began his climb. He met me at the top, and we both balanced our bums on the edge of the fence. “But I think they mean other things. Like cooking.”

I nodded while inspecting how we would get down the other side. We could use the same technique, but apparently, it was not necessary. Beneath us lay a large beam of wood, one end supporting the fence at an angle and the other buried in the ground. We could easily slide down it. I lowered myself until my feet touched the beam and began making my way down.

“Do you know how to cook?” I asked Graze as he slid after me in a sitting position, looking like he was riding an ekkuh.

“Of course. Well, sort of.” He got to the end and showed me his hand. There was a pale, thin line of skin going from his thumb to his wrist with even-spaced dots on each side. It kind of resembled a leaf. “I tried to make dinner once. I saw Mom around the kitchen all the time and thought, ‘I can do that.’ I grabbed the knife, and the next thing I see is blood all over the place. Do you see these dots? These are stitches.”

“Wow,” I said. “How many?”

He showed me all his fingers. “This many.”

“Think you could be a cook, then?” I asked as we walked away from the fence—the shattered mountains to our left, only the scatter of gray stones and shallow grass ahead.

“It’s not the worst idea. Cooks do have all the food.”

I nodded in agreement. “How far should we go?”

“Oh, I don’t know. Until those rocks over there.” Graze pointed to a collection of six or so stones stacked together, none bigger than a wagon.

As in response, I strode in its direction. “I don’t think I have any skills. My dad was a shoemaker. Do you think that counts?”

“Are you kidding? Of course, it counts. Everyone needs shoes.” He glanced at my naked feet. “You lost him in the Collapse, right?”

“I miss him, you know?” Not wishing to dwell on grief, I asked, “What does your dad do?”

“Pottery,” Graze said, hunching his shoulders and averting his eyes like he was ashamed to say it.

“Is it not skilled work?”

He shrugged. “Maybe.”

We reached the agglomeration of stones in the comfort of the slightly awkward silence that followed. The rocks stacked and leaned against each other as if someone had assembled them and were far enough from the road to conceal us from curious eyes. As we rounded the formation, we found a tiny cave. Gleefully we squeezed into our great find. It was like a tiny house built specifically for two little boys eager for adventure. I wondered how many kids would have such a place to play in. Not many, I’d bet. We giggled more than talked, sharing “wows” and “how-great-is-thises.”

“Think of all the things we can stash here,” Graze said.

“Yes! We’ll have to find some treasure. It is settled then, from now on, this is our headquarters. I name it Fort Intrepid.”

“Intrepid?”

“Yes.”

“What does it mean?”

“It means brave, fearless, and, you know, all of the good stuff.”

“I can support—” Graze popped his head outside. “Quick,” he said, motioning for me to stay low. “The army is moving.”

We crawled out, glued to the ground, and poked our heads above the shallow grass of the flatlands. Alturin rose above the camp where a column of men, waving blue banners, poured through its gate.

“Where do you think they’re going?” Graze asked.

“To the mountain. To find it. To make it pay.” I knew it wasn’t true. General Munika had said it. They were going to protect the border. I’d said it more out of wishful thinking than anything else.

Graze seemed amused by it. “But the mountain collapsed, Lud.”

“That is what they keep saying, yes. But I saw it. It did not collapse. It ran away. It’s like people refuse to believe it because it defies logic. But that is what happened.”

Graze looked at the moving mass of men, ekkuhs, and metal, then back at me. “But ran away from what? What could possibly scare a mountain?”

I didn’t know, and I didn’t care. It shouldn’t have moved at all.