CEDAR SECURES THE CANOE to the dock. She is distracted, but her fingers work the ropes, no longer needing a mind to guide the ingrained habit. She keeps the satchel, and the stone within, tight against her body. She has to tell Grandma.
She takes the more direct paths home through the village, which is made up of random clusters of makeshift homes, most constructed recently. It is a marvel that these shelters keep anyone warm in the winter.
Grandma insists that the refugees have more freedom in this winter-ravaged wilderness than they do in the warm southern cities.
While Danbarrah may exist in a time and world ruled by technology and modern conveniences, this little country keeps one foot firmly planted in what the world looked like before the invention of the steam engine. Northerners are especially cut off from modern conveniences and are even permitted to self-management and governance, making the north feel more like the wild west than the twenty-first century.
Most southerners accept the ordinances as guarantees of safety from war. These refugees see their enforcement as the ultimate betrayal and a sign of worse things to come. Overall, the acquiescence of King Orion to King Marcus’ demands has increased the flood of refugees to the north, and done nothing to improve their lives. Well, except that King Marcus’ mercenaries have at last left the country.
Alongside the refugee’s new homes, is the camp. It is littered with hastily set up tents of tourists – mostly treasure hunters, but a few photographers and sportsmen among them. Cedar grew up listening to the treasure hunter’s stories of what they would ask for when they found the Governor’s long-lost treasure and returned it to him. Cedar walks among these orange and green fabric shelters, painfully aware that she holds the treasure they seek.
It is a short walk to the marketplace. The villagers set up a market to sell their wares and services to tourists nearly every day of spring and summer. For many, a worn blanket laid out on the ground is the only indication of their store. The voices of people bartering is nearly deafening. Grandma complains that the village is beginning to look more and more like the southern towns, albeit, the most derelict ones.
Cedar strides pasts the activity, not once looking up. She has avoided the village most of the winter. Oak, who now goes by Samuel, lives here. He oversees the management of the village, settling common disputes. She has not seen him since Grandma slammed the door in his face before winter had come, the day after she had learned of the new job he accepted. King Orion had long overlooked the north when he had begun to implement King Marcus’ demands in Danbarrah. Samuel’s responsibilities now include ensuring the ordinances are followed even here.
Rumors had reached them over the winter that Samuel was confiscating the slimmest volumes of poetry, stopping even a whispered retelling of old tales, and bringing an end to the most secluded midnight gatherers of singers. He does all this without inflicting the full punishments laid out in the ordinances, insisting on gratitude from the people. He has little fear of resistance or retaliation. This northern home is made up of people who have fled the rules, not fought them. They have little fight in them.
She absently reaches into the satchel and turns the stone over in her hand. It could provide her with the means to go wherever she wishes. She need only think of what it is she most desires. All the dreams she has heard the treasure hunters speak of feel hollow, but she cannot put words to her own most secret dream. Could the stone provide the answer to the restlessness that consumes her?
“I wondered when I might see you again, Cedar.”
Cedar stiffens at Samuel’s voice, abruptly removing her hand from her satchel. She turns to face the towering man while taking a step back. His arms bulge more than they had in the fall. His chest is larger and his shoulders are more broad. He keeps his long hair pulled back and a cap on his head.
Samuel chuckles, his hand coming up to cup her cheek as Cedar fights to keep from flinching. His touch has always unnerved her.
“You always were such a shy one. I’ve missed you, Cedar.”
He avoided Grandma’s cabin all winter. Yet in this moment, Cedar sees her false sense of safety. His eyes still hold a hungry look. Worse, she catches a harder glint in them than she had ever seen in the fall. He lowers his hand and she forces a polite smile. She gestures towards the tourists walking about the village market square. “Some of those backpacks probably cost more than what one family makes in a year.”
Samuel laughs, a condescending laugh that retains the charm he has used to secure himself power and safety in a village where his job is despised.
“I can show you more wealth than these silly tourists who spend all their money on camping gear, hiking boots, and tents.”
Grandma speaks scathingly of southerners who grow wealthy by taking bribes from King Marcus. Is this how Samuel has come into his supposed wealth?
“It’s strange, isn’t it? Their tents are worth more than one of these houses,” Cedar continues, unwilling to contemplate the meaning of his words.
“Do you despise them, little Cedar?”
She inwardly bristles at his insistence to treat her as a child, even though it is what Grandma does, and Cedar has never contested it.
She shakes her head. “We’ve never gone hungry. Grandma is used to life here and is well-prepared. There are many others worse off.”
Samuel joins her in her perusal of the tourists. There are some, especially treasure hunters, who dress as shabbily as she does, and make do with makeshift tents from readily available materials.
“There are more treasure hunters than usual. The Governor still insists his family stone was lost in the north,” Samuel says.
This is no longer news to Cedar, and she is thankful her face is already flushed as she shifts her hold on her satchel.
“Soon, little Cedar, your grandma will not be able to stand between us.” Samuel moves his hand back to her cheek. She cannot turn away or look down, but she avoids meeting his gaze. She wants to slap him, but would not dare.
“I am building a cabin, on the north side of Lake Quarry. You will like it. It’s quiet there,” he says.
Cedar is not so naïve as to believe he is building it for her out of the goodness of his heart. He intends to benefit from the isolation. Their nearest neighbour will be miles away.
Her body is aware of his threat. Her pulse races and her legs feel weak. Cedar is not a fighter, but the weight of the stone in her satchel reminds her that she may not have to be.
“Samuel!” One of the villagers waves from her blanket where she stands with a tourist. Neither look happy. Samuel, on his self-proclaimed mission to make himself indispensable, will not pass up this opportunity to further his power. Neither will he answer every beck and call without a moment’s hesitation. He is good at this game. He ignores the summons, bringing his face close, hovering his lips above hers. He breathes out on them.
Cedar shudders. Trembling as she is, she brings her eyes to his in time to see that hard glint. It looks clearly of hate, albeit mixed with desire, before he masters his expression. He knows she has seen it, but smiles in triumph. He does not doubt that he will have her. He turns and strolls casually away.
Cedar turns for home, the adrenaline coursing through her makes it difficult to not move into an all-out run. She breathes deeply, trying to regain control.
Grandma has changed her opinion of Samuel, and has made that perfectly clear, but it will not deter him. He still looks at Cedar much as he always has, but now as though he is thirsty for both her body and her blood.
She thinks of the power he exerts over the villagers.
They are a group of individuals who have less and less in common to unite them, thanks to the ordinances and Samuel’s recent enforcement of them. He plays a convincing act of trying to keep them safe, but how many would have fled the south if they knew it is only a matter of time before the north becomes as affected?
Cedar does not see how Grandma’s influence can hold.
She is even more certain of what she should do next. The stone will buy her the freedom she has long desired, and now desperately needs.
Cedar regains the bounce in her step, continuing on twisting paths. She walks this labyrinth with ease until she emerges in the clearing where Grandma’s cabin sits, puffing smoke from its chimney like a worn-out man rocking in a decrepit chair, at arrogant ease in its mediocrity.
Suddenly Cedar feels a hint of it – the shame of dreaming that she might dare to leave.