The name we don't give

Orl could walk again, but still leaned on Rhylor as soon as the ground became irregular. He had torn the torn badge from his coat; only the pale tattoo of an old House remained on his wrist, scratched to the point of blood. He always refused to say who he had worked for.

"Do you want us to take you to Veyr without knowing who is looking for you? Nym asked.

"I want to be taken to the place where I promised to bring the message."

"Your message has been taken," says Zaelyra.

"A part."

"I can no longer give them the list. I can still tell them that she was intercepted."

They were walking along an underground lake. Luminescent algae drew curves on the water. Below the surface, blind fish gathered near the rocks.

Orl ends up telling that he had worked as a copyist for a merchant branch. He had been instructed to deliver to Veyr a list of families seeking to leave the city. According to the instructions received, the fold was to help offer them a safe passage. Orl did not know who had made this commitment, and if it would be held. Strangers had intercepted him.

"Do you know who paid for this list?" asked Rhylor.

"No."

"Do you know why Kethra was appointed?"

"She sold a road to the highest bidder. The list said that. She didn't say who paid."

Nym shook his head. "A written accusation is not proof."

"That's what my sister said," Zaelyra replied.

"So your sister and I agree on something. It's worrying."

The remark pulled an amused breath from Pell. Even Sszindi smiled, then grimaced when his wound shot.

They stopped to redo his bandage. The old drow asked Zaelyra if Veyr Waystation was really a refuge.

"It's an old station," she replied. "I don't know who lives there now."

"So you can't promise that we will be welcomed there."

"No."

"But you lead us there anyway."

"This is the road we have."

Sszindi nodded. "It's better than a promise."

Further on, the shore narrowed and forced them to walk on a cornice. A small boat was moored under a ledge. On board, a svirfneblin woman was lifting a net. She saw Nym, then looked at the group.

"You come back with trouble," she says.

"I'm coming back with people," he replied.

"It's often the same thing."

The woman was called Rilla. She had known Nym for years, but she didn't give him a hug. Instead, she checked her hands and bag, then made sure that no guard had followed them.

"I didn't ask you to bring them."

"I'm not asking you to keep them. Just to show us the north shore of the lake."

"What if the House follows?"

Nym didn't answer right away. "I'll take my way, not yours."

Rilla ends up entrusting them with his flat boat and his two oars to run along the north shore to Veyr. They tied it to the ring of the relay; a conveyor would bring it back to the lake on occasion. She also gave them a bag of food, but refused to board. Before they left, she held Nym by the wrist.

"The bag comes from our reserve," she says. "This is not a donation. You will pay it back when you can."

"I know."

"Not mine. To the next group that will run out of food."

Nym nodded. He knew the rule: help had to go to the community, not to the person who had granted it.

Rilla turned to Zaelyra. "If you stay north of the lake, you will reach Veyr without going through the weighing station. But the bank collapses near the luminous algae. Do not put your foot on the blue stones."

"Why don't you come with us? Zaelyra asked.

"Because I keep the nets."

"There are other fishermen."

"There were some. They left six months ago."

Rilla let go of Nym's wrist. His decision was nothing like a refusal to help them. She simply kept the only place where her presence still mattered.

Before letting them go, Rilla asked Nym to accompany her to the end of the pontoon. She waited for the others to be out of reach.

"You always bring someone back when you come back," she says.

"Not always."

"Last time, you had a man with a burnt hand. Before him, two children. Now you have a whole family who doesn't know if they can believe you."

"They don't have to believe me. They have to check the road."

Rilla looked at him with the patience of a person who had already heard him defend himself. "You want the world to work like a map: everyone checks their passage, then no one owes anyone anything."

"I want us to be able to refuse."

"So learn to ask before bringing people to my door."

Nym looked down. "I should have sent you a signal."

"Yes."

"I didn't know if you were still here."

"You didn't need to know. You needed to let me choose."

He did not find an answer. Rilla handed him the shortest oar, whose handle had been repaired by a strip of red leather.

"This one shoots to the left. Correct before the elbow."

"You could have replaced her."

"It works. And I kept the broken piece. If I forget, I will do the same repair again."

Nym took the row. Rilla did not kiss him and did not wish him to come back. She remained on the pontoon until the boat passed under the vault.

Zaelyra offered him a ration of dried mushrooms taken from their provisions. Rilla pushed her away.

"Keep it. Your injured will need it more."

"Then take at least half of our provisions."

"I don't take half a debt."

Nym put the bag lent by Rilla intact, then opened one of theirs. He made two piles, one for the group, the other for Rilla.

"This comes from our provisions," he said. "The bag of the community remains due to the next travelers."

Rilla sighed, but she took her part.

"You're learning."

"Slowly."

"You can't save all those who get lost."

"I know."

"No. You know the words. It's not the same."

Nym looked down. He promised nothing.

On the boat, Zaelyra asked him if Rilla was his family.

"It's someone who has the right to say no to me."

"Is that an answer?"

"It's the only one that matters."

The lake carried them under a pale stone vault. Above, a chalk mark signaled the passage of a patrol. She was fresh.

Someone knew their route.