Herein now we dwell

I’m not certain if Van Buren is a city or a fort. Once the city walls rose from the sand, we found more and more rooms. Rooms, which turned out to be buildings. Many are locked. We have no way to open them. Rogger found some explosives and is trying to limit the charges to small blasts. She wants to ensure we don’t harm anything or anyone that might be inside the rooms.

Pem is fretful these days. She wants to run back to the Station and hide and sleep and eat. I worry she will wander off. She spends longer days walking the walls than she used to. And she doesn’t talk to me anymore.

The roilbeasts pound the walls at any time during the day. The sounds are like gongs or harbor ships, like pots clanging in a megaphone. But the walls hold. I think they were made for this.

The Princess also sends dandercrabs, which are trickier. They can scale the walls and are very fast. They aren’t difficult to catch. Rogger and Pem eat them, but I can’t bring myself to. I’m living off coconuts, bananas, cherries, and whatever ration packs I find around Van Buren.

I found a leather jacket in a satin room. It fits me perfectly, as though it were molded to my bones and skin. Its smell is comforting, too, like a family fire or a hug from a parent. I wonder what that all means.

Winds come every few days, bringing birds. When I see a hawk, I feel safe. When I see a raven—which come in twos—I feel mystery. When I see owls, I worry.

There is a chapel near the center of the main excavation. Smaller sites are being unearthed on lower levels—and some even outside the walls—as Van Buren continues to rise. In the chapel, there is a map painted on the back wall. It seems to match Van Buren, though it has not been updated recently. I’ve been sketching it, which is coming along nicely. I’ve been trying to map the current state of things, which is not going well at all. I fear I’m not much of a cartographer.

The dagger I found sings to me. It looks lethal but also gentle. A kindly blade, if there can be such an instrument. I look at it in the sun’s bright light and the stars’ glow, too, my reflection everchanging and warped.

Broken pillars near the northern walls are where Rogger spends most of her time. She braids her beard there and slowly dusts the columns, smokes her pipe, and feels the etchings. I can make no sense of it, nor I suspect can she, but she enjoys it.

I find myself feeling safer and safer here, but also quite lonely. My ring finger no longer points and rarely itches. Pem says that’s a good sign, but I don’t know. It feels empty to me.

I wonder what will happen when the rain comes.

Next time: “From the dunes comes a stranger!” ← click to keep reading

Read the first cycle in installments on the Adventures in Secrecy Website: 1 > 2 > 3 > 4 > 5 > 6 > 7 > 8 > 9 > 10 > 11 > 12 > 13 > 14 > 15 > 16 > 17 > 18 > 19; or, in a continuous scroll on Tablo: https://tablo.com/t-van-santana/gaucho/.

Gaucho #20