The space where we stored food was empty by the time I finished eating.
I went to look anyway.
Thomas had put the smaller tools away from the damp. I'd set aside a corner for the containers. There was room for sacks, baskets, things I still didn't know how to obtain.
I ran my hand along a shelf and returned to the fire.
The two fish were gone.
Only bones remained on the table, along with the dark marks the bottoms of the bowls had left on the wood.
I thought about the six stakes. The time we'd spent choosing the pieces, shaping the points, and carrying everything to the beach. Harl had been left with pieces he could use over and over.
We had eaten dinner.
I didn't know how to say that without sounding ungrateful for the food.
—Tomorrow we need to get something that lasts — I said.
Thomas raised his eyes.
—Yes.
I expected him to add how.
He continued cleaning the pot.
The rain began during the night.
I woke to the sound on the roof and needed a moment to remember that there was a roof.
I reached a hand to the side.
The floor was dry.
I listened until I fell asleep again.
By morning, the drops fell so closely together beyond the window that the path seemed to move. Wind drove water against the wall.
Thomas opened the door, looked outside, and closed it again.
—We can wait a little — he said.
So we waited.
I drank hot water. For a few moments, the warmth in my stomach almost felt like a meal.
Then it passed.
Thomas went to the lumber mill to fetch wood for the fire and returned with his clothes wet across the shoulders. One of the piles near the edge of the roof had been hit by the rain from the side.
We moved what was still dry and brought some of it inside the house.
I caught myself looking at the place where I'd sold the piece of wood.
The absence was still there on the ground.
It wasn't why we were hungry, and its absence wouldn't put out the fire.
Even so, it bothered me to remember that I'd turned it into a number that couldn't be eaten, worn, or burned.
I picked up a few more branches and carried them inside.
The rain eased around midday.
Thomas wanted to check the coast.
I wanted to go with him.
—You can stay with the fire — he said.
—You might need help.
He looked at my foot.
—I might need to come back quickly.
I sat down without answering.
My heel was better.
It wasn't good.
I was angry that such a small wound could decide where I was allowed to go.
Thomas took the container and the axe.
Before leaving, we agreed that he wouldn't go beyond the stretch of coast we already knew.
I used the empty house to count what we had.
It didn't take long.
Water in the bucket. Dry firewood for that part of the day and more beneath the roof. Utensils. Tools. Wood that needed to be worked before it was useful to anyone.
No food.
I took another splinter and made one column for food and another for firewood.
I put nothing in the first.
I opened the System.
Two hundred and twenty-five point zero eight gold.
One hundred and thirty wood.
I kept the numbers in front of me for too long.
One man cost seventy-five.
I could summon someone to go out with Thomas, someone to carry weight, someone to stay at the house while the others worked.
But I was staring at an empty shelf.
I dismissed the image.
When Thomas returned, his clothes were dripping.
He had a few shellfish and no fish.
—The water is hitting the rocks — he said. —I didn't go any farther.
I almost asked whether he'd searched properly.
He set the container down and wiped a hand across his face. Water ran through his beard.
I picked up the cloth.
—Sit here.
We ate what little he'd brought after cooking it.
I could have finished my portion in a single spoonful, but I separated it into small pieces instead.
Thomas noticed.
He said nothing.
That afternoon, he tried working on a piece of wood and had to correct the same cut twice.
On the third attempt, he placed the tool on the bench and stood still.
—Your shoulder? — I asked.
—That too.
I looked at the piece.
We had no order for it.
It was an attempt to prepare material that might eventually work for Harl's handle.
—Let's keep it — I said.
He didn't argue.
We returned to the house before the rain thickened again.
I didn't know what season it was.
I didn't know whether the rain would last an afternoon, several days, or whether the weather could still become much worse.
The word winter came easily, carrying memories that told me nothing about that particular week.
On the splinter where I'd written the names, I added a short question.
How long without a boat?
I didn't need to know the whole future.
I needed to start with that.
The next morning, the wind had weakened.
We left carrying the container, the tools Thomas thought necessary, and the saw wrapped to protect the blade.
If we found work, I didn't want to return empty-handed because we'd left something at the house.
Thomas carried the saw.
I carried the empty container.
The trees dripped even where it wasn't raining. The earth gave way beneath our feet in places that had been firm before.
It took us longer to reach the coast.
The boat was on the beach.
Mara and Harl had pulled it farther up.
There were no fish scattered across the rocks, and the net remained rolled up.
Harl saw us and shook his head before we could ask.
—Not today.
I stopped.
Mara was crouched beside a rope. She raised her eyes to Thomas, then to me.
—You didn't go out? — I asked.
Harl pointed toward the water.
That was answer enough.
The waves were breaking farther out than they had on the previous days, with foam that lingered across the rocks.
—How long can it stay like this?
He shrugged.
—Until it changes.
Mara pulled the rope out of a puddle.
—Sometimes you can go out the next day. Sometimes you can't. Didn't you save anything?
I looked at the container in my hand.
She sighed.
—I don't have fish to pay you today.
Thomas set the wrapped saw on a dry stone.
—There might be other work.
Harl looked at the bundle.
—Where did you get that?
My stomach tightened.
Thomas opened it just enough to show the tool.
—We have tools — I said. —We can work wood. The stakes were good, weren't they?
Harl looked at me.
—They were.
I waited.
His eyes returned to the saw.
—Good tool for someone who arrived without a coin.
I knew.
It was the first time someone from outside had said one part of the problem aloud.
—We don't have food — I answered.
It didn't explain the saw.
But it was the thing I could look at right then.
Mara stood, wiping her hands on her clothes.
—The frame where I dry the fish has sagged on one side. One of the crosspieces is bad. Can you replace it?
Thomas asked her to explain in more detail.
He listened, asked two questions about the wood, and said he'd need to see it.
—It's not here — Mara warned.
She pointed toward a passage between the trees, on the opposite side from the path we used.
—Up there.
Harl made a short movement with his head, looking at her.
Mara stared back.
—When were you going to fix it?
He didn't answer immediately.
She turned back to us.
—I can give you oats. Not much. And only if the work is done properly.
I could already taste something that wasn't shellfish.
Thomas kept his voice calm.
—I need to look at it before I promise anything.
We went with them.
The climb began narrow, along a path I wouldn't have recognized as a path if I'd been alone.
Branches brushed my face.
Then the passage became clearer, with packed earth and old cut marks along the sides.
We found a house among the trees.
It had none of the fresh wood of ours.
Part of the wall was darkened by damp. Objects hung beneath the edge of the roof—containers, a piece of net, things that had been left there long enough to find their place.
Nearby was the structure Mara wanted repaired.
Thomas examined the support, touched the crosspiece, and asked everyone not to lean against it while he checked the joint.
I stood beside him, waiting for him to say yes.
He crouched, looked underneath, then stood again.
—It can be replaced. I need a piece that will fit.
Harl showed him some wood stored beneath a low shelter.
Thomas examined two pieces before choosing one.
—This one. If it's sound inside.
Mara crossed her arms.
—How long?
Thomas glanced toward his shoulder, almost without realizing it.
—I won't do a good job if I rush.
I was close enough to see her expression change.
She wasn't pleased, but she seemed to accept the answer.
We discussed payment.
Mara brought out a small measure and showed us how much oats she'd give for the completed repair.
I couldn't tell how many meals that meant just by looking.
I asked.
—For the two of you? Two modest meals if you make porridge. Not two full pots.
I looked at Thomas.
He nodded, but didn't start working.
I understood before he said anything.
The saw wouldn't move by itself, and we hadn't eaten that morning.
—Could you give us part of it in advance? — I asked.
Harl exhaled.
—Work first.
My first instinct was to say that then we wouldn't do it.
The sentence tasted like a kind of courage I couldn't afford.
I looked at the saw.
—It can stay with you until we're finished — I said. —As a guarantee. Thomas uses it here for the job. We won't take it away before then.
Thomas turned his head toward me.
I should have spoken to him first.
Harl looked at the tool as well.
Mara took a little longer before answering.
—If you don't finish, it stays.
I swallowed.
This wasn't an exchange of empty words.
That saw had cost me one hundred and twenty gold, which I'd already spent.
Thomas had used it to produce the first things someone had agreed to buy from us.
I looked at him.
—Do you think we can do it?
Thomas looked back at the chosen piece of wood, then at the support.
—I think so. But I'll need you to help me hold it.
—I will.
Mara divided the oats.
She gave us half in advance; the other half would come after the repair.
She lent us a container and water so we could prepare our portion there.
She didn't sit with us or ask where I'd come from.
She continued tending to her own things while we waited for the porridge to thicken.
I ate slowly because it was too hot.
It didn't taste the way I'd imagined on the beach.
It was simple, with nothing to hide the taste of the grain.
I scraped the bottom of the bowl when I finished.
Thomas did the same.
Then we worked.
I held the wood, brought pieces when asked, and cleared away anything that got in the way of our feet.
Thomas made me change positions more than once.
Harl stayed nearby at first, watching the cuts, then went to take care of something else.
When the damaged section came away, I saw that the wood was darker inside than it had been outside.
Thomas examined the remaining support.
—This one will need attention too — he told Mara. —Not today, but don't forget about it.
She crouched to look.
I waited for him to promise to fix everything.
Thomas didn't promise.
We worked until his arm began to tremble during a longer movement.
I told him to stop.
He tried to finish the pass of the saw before answering.
The blade caught.
I froze, still holding the piece.
Thomas released the tool, breathed, and changed his grip.
He removed the blade carefully.
There was no accident.
I was afraid anyway.
The work took most of the day.
When we finished, Mara tested the support before bringing the rest of the oats.
Harl checked the new crosspiece and pushed the structure sideways.
I followed the movement while holding my breath.
The wood stayed in place.
Harl took the saw and handed it back to Thomas.
Only when I saw it in his hands again did I realize how long I'd been staring at the tool as though it no longer belonged to us.
Mara placed the remaining oats into the container we'd brought from the house.
—Keep them dry.
I nodded.
—Is there anyone else who needs this kind of work? — I asked.
She tied the small bundle containing the grain.
—Maybe. I can ask around. Don't make anything for me without agreeing on it first.
—All right.
We thanked her for the food and water.
We returned the borrowed container.
Before leaving, I looked once more at their house.
It wasn't a village.
It wasn't a place I could have found without remembering every turn in the climb.
But now there was a door we could reach even when the boat couldn't go out.
On the way back, Thomas walked more slowly.
—I should have asked first — I said.
It took him a moment to understand.
—About the saw.
I nodded.
Thomas adjusted the bundle beneath the arm that hurt less.
—You should have.
I waited for a reprimand.
He looked at the container I was carrying.
—We needed to eat. But we can't risk losing our tools every time we run short of a meal.
—We didn't lose it.
I said it too quickly.
Thomas didn't answer.
I looked at the ground, choosing where to step.
—We could have.
—We could have.
We kept walking.
When we arrived, I put the oats on the driest shelf in the room where we kept the containers.
It was the remaining half of the payment, enough for one more modest meal for the two of us.
I wanted to eat it then.
I also wanted to wake up and find something that was still ours.
We agreed to save it for morning.
I didn't turn it into a victory.
Hunger stayed with me as we carried water and tended the fire.
Then I took the inventory splinter.
In the food column, I wrote:
Oats.
Beneath it, I added:
One meal for two.
Thomas leaned the saw where it belonged and went to sit beside the fire.
Before joining him, I crossed out two tasks for the morning:
Eat.
Look for agreed-upon work.
I didn't draw a blacksmith.
I didn't add another man to the list of people I still needed to feed.
I went to the shelf and checked that the bundle was away from the damp wall.
There was a lot of empty space around it.
This time, I knew exactly how much remained.