Page 14 (1/2)

"Oh no," I say

"We are so tired," the woreen tablets, aswith a red stone in it How and where did she find it? I’m not supposed to ask But if it’s authentic, it will be worth so "He’s afraid We don’t knohat else to do"

I take the ring We’ve seentook away the tablets and containers the Society gave us Though I’one, I know there are people who need the green and who are having a hard ti without Evenover h me and reminds me of how she used to lull me to sleep with the descriptions of flowers "Queen Anne’s lace," she’d say, in a slow, soft voice "Wild carrot You can eat the root when it’s young enough The flower is white and lacy Lovely Like stars"

Once, the Society sent her out to see flowers in other Provinces They wanted her to look at rogue crops that they thought peoplefor food, as part of a rebellion My mother told me how in Grandia Province there was an entire field of Queen Anne’s lace, and how, in another Province, she saw a field of a different white flower, even roho’d cultivated the fields She saw the fear of discovery in their eyes, but she did her job and reported them to the Society because she wanted to keep my family safe The Society let her remember what she’d done They didn’t take that s Could the red garden dayto do with her?

The spring breeze cuts aroundthe last of the old leaves from the branches of the bushes It pulls on ine that if it took them from me, the last of my papers would soar out into the world, and I know it is tis so close

The wo stretch of water glinting in the sun

Water, river, stone, sun

Perhaps that is what Ky’sto him as she painted on the rocks in the Outer Provinces

I press the ring back into the woive hi to hi atto hiht work"

And then her eyes open a little wider "I could," she says "I have music in me I always have" Her voice sounds al?"

What would Hunter, back in the far to his child, Sarah, who died? She believed in things that he did not So ould he have said that could bridge the gap between belief and unbelief?

What would Ky sing? I think of all the places we’ve been together, all the things we’ve seen:

Wind over hill, and under tree

Past the border no one can see

I wonder, standing there with thethat I have wondered before--when Sisyphus reached the top of the hill, was there someone for hiain at the bottom of the hill with the stone to push? Did he s it?

I’ve never written a song, but I have started a poean:

I cli in the stars for me?

"Here," I say, and I pull a charred stick from my sleeve and a paper from my wrist

I write carefully No words have ever co theo back to the Archivists for ht now, so I write quickly for fear that I ht ht This poem is between the two of us, but also for others It is about all the places you find someone you love

Newrose, oldrose, Queen Anne’s lace

Water, river, stone, and sun

Wind over hill, under tree

Past the border none can see

Cli into dark for you

Will you wait in stars for s I wrote for Ky into an ending I have written soh After a moment of hesitation, I write e as the author

"Here," I say "You can put music behind it, and it will be your own" And it strikesis, really A collaboration between you who give the words and they who take the in them, or put music behind them, or turn them aside because they were not as needed

She doesn’t take it at first She thinks she has to offerin return

At thatart was all wrong

"I a it to you for your son," I say "From me Not from the Archivists And not as a trader"

"Thank you," the woratified, and she slides the paper up into her sleeve, iins

"Then coreen tablets for you"