They’ve been marching south for some time now and the argument between Clarke and Jaha has made everyone return to their previous uneasy silence. The Sky People are shocked and uncertain. The Azgeda aren’t sure what to make of a leadership contest which has not ended in a challenge, and consider the shamed Jaha weak for giving in. On the other side, the Trikru are used to considering Clarke the leader of her people, and are confused as to why she did not kill Jaha for his insolent words.
Wells looks especially uncomfortable, and Lexa feels for him, caught between people he cares for. She has no sympathy to spare for Jaha, who is wan under his dark skin, and who throws venomous glares at Clarke as they walk.
It takes Jaha a long time to work his way to the front of the train of people – her guards have been doing their best to subtly keep him back, blocking his way without hurting him. She wonders idly if she should give them some kind of honours for their efforts, which she greatly appreciates. Eventually he still manages to get there, of course, and Lexa knows what his aim is.
“Commander,” Jaha says to Lexa, face contorted with anger. “I need to speak to you.”
She looks at him, sighs as if she is doing him a massive favour, and holds her hand up for everyone to halt. Then walks to the side, far away enough that they won’t be heard. She gestures to Clarke to follow.
“I am the Chancellor,” Jaha growls to Lexa. She meets his eyes steadily, uncaring.
“And I’m in charge,” Clarke says, spelling it out for him. Lexa can barely suppress a smile, so proud of her strong, clever niron that she can barely contain it. Clarke is a far better leader than the Skaikru deserve. “This is my deal with the alliance. The land they’re letting us have? It’s for my people. Any goodwill from the twelve clans is towards me and the rest of the 100.”
“People will not accept you as the leader, not in the long-term,” Jaha says. “You’re too young, you don’t -“
“Then it’s good that it’s just for the moment. Later, when things have settled down, I’ll consider who should be put in charge of our new home.” Clarke says.
“You’ll consider -” Jaha gapes at her, beyond fury now.
“She will,” Lexa says coolly, “I have offered her this land in our deal, after all – it is her deal, the one she came up with and negotiated. Clarke kom Skaikru is the only one who may decide who she trusts to run her land.”
It warms Lexa’s heart that Clarke thought so thoroughly about how the deal could benefit all their peoples, instead of just Skaikru. How she thought carefully about how to prevent leaders who would restart old conflicts and risk the Trikru.
They will probably have to allow the Skaikru to go back to their strange voting system at some point. But perhaps not for some time. If Clarke is going to live in Polis and help run the alliance, they need to trust whoever leads the Skaikru. Lexa thinks that at some point, Clarke realised that she cannot trust her people to choose well anymore, not after Pike.
So they will choose. Clarke and her have not settled on the exact system yet, but are considering having it so that Heda and the ambassador both must approve all potential leaders before any vote, and Clarke is also fond of perhaps having some kind of overseer who has the power to remove Chancellors, just in case one goes off the rails.
They will not risk another Pike.
“And you think our people will follow you in this?” Jaha hisses, starting to completely lose his composure.
“They don’t have to,” Clarke says with another shrug. “If they don’t want to live on the land the Trikru have agreed to give our people, they can walk to a new area. There’s the Dead Zone to the west, which is pretty much exactly like it sounds. South you could walk for six months and not find a new place, and east there’s the ocean, but there’s always north. If you walk north for a month or so you’ll get out of Azgeda territory, they don’t go that far north because it’s too cold.”
“Of course, the second you decide you’re not one of Clarke kom Skaikru’s people, none of the deals she has made apply,” Lexa adds idly, continuing to back up Clarke. “None of the clans will have any reason not to kill you.”
The Sky People don’t have many guns, yet. They haven’t stopped by the storage place that Clarke says they got guns from last time. Maybe a dozen or so small guns and shock sticks, instead of the hundreds of fast large guns they had in the other world. The Azgeda will easily kill anyone who leaves the group now.
“This conversation is over,” Lexa says indifferently after watching Jaha struggle to come up with something to say. “Do not attempt to speak with me again on what is already decided.” She rejoins the group and signals for the walk to begin again. Jaha is pushed back by the guards once more. Clarke watches this, some undefinable emotion on her face, then looks forward again and dismisses it.
“So what do you think we should do about Diana Sydney?” Clarke says in an undertone. They have not discussed this yet, probably because they both wanted time to consider the options.
Lexa look sideways at Clarke. “I can tell Nia to order her people to either avoid them or attack them, that is up to you, Clarke. If you wish to hold off, we can return when we are able and deal with them then.”
“Probably a good idea,” Clarke says. “We need to know whether we’re trying to kill or capture, for starters. And Raven and the other mechanics and engineers will have time to come up with more things if we wait.”
“I can have an EMP in a few days,” Raven says eagerly. She’s walking reasonably closely behind them, and has avoided commenting on the argument with Jaha. “I kept the pieces of the one I found in Polis with me just in case.”
“They don’t have enough technology for that to be useful,” Clarke points out.
Raven sighs. “I just really want to make an EMP,” she says mournfully. “Do you know how interesting that would be?”
“I’m sure it will come in use eventually,” Finn says to her coaxingly, but doesn’t get anything more than a sigh.
“Then that is more than I can say for most of your kind, Finn kom Skaikru,” Anya says sharply. Raven throws her a look that is half annoyance and half amusement.
Lexa blinks in surprise, glancing at her former Fos. Anya has always been able to cut people with her words, but the strong distaste in her voice seems unlike her. She has not seemed to care enough about any of the Skaikru to dislike them. She wonders if Finn has offended the other woman somehow. “Perhaps there are other strategies we can try,” Lexa says to Clarke, focusing again. “A virus, perhaps.”
“Won’t that kill them?” Raven says doubtfully.
“Some,” Lexa admits. “Only a few, though. The virus is designed only to weaken. Goufas are less likely to die, as well – many of our people are exposed to the virus when young on purpose, so that later they need not fear it.”
“It’s not a bad idea,” Clarke says, considering it. “And there are more guns we can get, if we need. I think the Maunon have to be our first priority, though. Diana Sydney’s group have chosen to leave and it’s unlikely they’ll attack us in the near future. We can’t say that about the Mountain. Plus, if we take down the Mountain, we might be able to get some of their gas grenades and sleep darts. That should help us deal with any innocents along for the ride as well as Diana and her people.”
Lexa nods. “There is the possibility they will be able to use the time to strengthen their defences,” she says thoughtfully. “But also the possibility the cold and animals will weaken them in the meantime. We should see if we can discover exactly what supplies they have with them, and try and work out what they will do. But you are correct – for the moment, let’s focus on the Mountain.”
Clarke is doing a very good job not worrying about the last station, Lexa thinks. She knows how much Clarke loves Abby, how much Abby loves Clarke. Whatever her disagreements with the older woman, she has never doubted those two facts.
As if summoned by her, there is one of the Azgeda scouts she sent ahead – not the one she sent days ago, but the one she sent just this morning. “I found you, Heda,” she says breathlessly, sinking to one knee through either reverence or exhaustion.
“Speak,” Lexa commands.
“The station is that way, less than an hour,” she says, gesturing south-west and pronouncing the word station uncertainly. “But none survive.”
Clarke pales immediately, then nearly as quickly gains control over herself. “Did it split up?” she says, voice also carefully controlled. “Crash? Catch fire? What?”
The scout hesitates. “I am… not certain,” she says reluctantly. “Moba, Heda. It is hard to describe.”
“Try,” Lexa suggests pleasantly.
She bows her head quickly. “They seem to have bled to death, Heda, or died of head wounds, as far as I can tell. But many are too charred to tell. Several fires have burnt themselves out but – they seem strange fires compared to those in the first place we saw. There is ash in them, and trees nearby dragged in. Not all of the trees burned.”
“You think the fires were deliberately set?” Lexa frowns. “Is there anything further?”
“No, Heda.”
Lexa nods and quickens her pace. Her red sash billows behind her and she can’t help that her hand goes to her weapon. Even knowing she will find nothing living, it is unnerving that someone has already attempted to mourn these bodies. She wonders if it is the Sydney woman’s people – but they went east, entirely the wrong direction. Perhaps they lost their way? It seems unlikely.
Clarke walks quickly beside her and Lexa aches for her. She continues to try and distract herself with questions, possibilities, motives, but nothing is enough distraction from the too-pale, too-quiet girl who walks beside her. Only hours ago Clarke’s eyes shone fiercely as she forced Jaha to obey her – now they are dull and shocked.
After a while, Lexa can take it no more. She throws her sash over her shoulder so it hangs over her arm, hiding it from view, and she uses this invisible hand to clasp Clarke’s tightly. Clarke grips her in return, so tightly it is almost painful as her fingers dig in, but it allows Lexa to feel like she is at least doing something for Clarke. She wishes she could throw off all constraints and be public about how she feels for Clarke, but her more sensible side tells her that will make everyone question her motives. Once things are more settled, once the Skaikru have proved themselves by taking down the Mountain and Clarke has agreed to be Lexa’s chief advisor and second-in-command, then they can choose to be open about how they feel. For now this quiet comfort is all she can offer.
The walk goes too quickly and yet takes too long. If Lexa could prolong it – well, she does not know what she would do. She wants to keep Clarke from this but waiting is worse than almost anything. Lexa closes her eyes for a brief moment and hopes that Clarke’s mother is not burnt, has not died in pain, is the kind of body that looks at peace instead of one that looks tormented.
When they get there the Skaikru wander through the wreckage like they are lost. The station has split into three pieces and there are corpses everywhere, both inside and out.
Lexa stays close to Clarke and mentally notes each cause of death – snapped neck, blood loss, head trauma. She is not a fisa as Clarke is but she has seen many gona die. There is almost nothing Lexa does not know about the ways a person can die – except, of course, for the way to stop it. That is a mystery reserved for Lincoln, Nyko, Clarke, people like them. Those who know how to fix more than they know how to break.
Two fires have been set. Set badly, as well. As the scout reported, parts of the trees used to light it have not burnt. They were lit without enough small branches or leaves to get the fires going properly in the cold, leaving only green wood, scorch marks and a few partially burnt bodies nearby.
Clarke steps forward, letting go of Lexa. She frowns and moves close to one of the burnt bodies. A woman.
“Clarke,” Lexa says softly, heart aching for her. “Clarke, come away. We will bury your mother -” They will stay to bury this one instead of burn, she decides, though it is foolish when they have burnt the others. But Clarke’s nomon deserves – well, Clarke herself deserves whatever comfort Lexa can offer.
“It’s not my mother,” Clarke says flatly. She stares at the charred body and looks even closer. “And whoever she was, she died of a bullet.”
Lexa blinks, wrong-footed. “A bullet?” Perhaps this is the work of Diana Sydney after all. But it is not possible, not really – they would have seen the signs of that many people coming here.
“Shot in the head,” Clarke says, and smiles humourlessly. “I hear that’s going around. I can see that she broke her leg – I’m guessing that was from the crash. Then someone executed her. Then I think they set the fire to cover that up. She’s not the only one, either.”
“Clarke,” Octavia says, turning up beside them. Her face is grim. “You’d better come see the other fire.”
“What is the problem, Octavia?” Lexa asks, keeping an eye on Clarke.
“Come see,” Octavia says.
It takes Lexa several minutes of studying the third part of the wreckage before she looks beyond the scorch marks and the dead bodies. “There are less of them,” she says eventually. “Fewer bodies, for the space.”
“Exactly,” Octavia replies, face hard. “Indra’s had people counting in each area – it’s pretty morbid, but you know how it is. This station split up pretty evenly, and including the people on the ground, we’re missing about eighty. This piece of the station is much less damaged in itself than the other ones, too – the first bit hit a hill and skidded, the second ran into rocks and fell apart. This one seems to have landed much better than the others – I mean, it hit the ground hard, but the people are much less banged up. But everyone here is dead anyway.”
Clarke looks at the bodies around this fire as well. “No bullets on any of these ones,” she says thoughtfully. “The fire here wasn’t to cover that up. They haven’t managed to burn much, there’s a lot of wood completely untouched and the bodies are barely scorched, but I still can’t see anything but wounds from the crash.”
“Maybe they weren’t supposed to shoot anyone,” Octavia suggests, “So they burned those people to cover it up, and burned these ones so we didn’t look closely at just one fire?” She makes a face as if her idea doesn’t even make sense to her.
“Maybe,” Clarke replies absent-mindedly. “Or they hoped that burning this part would disguise that so many people are missing.”
“We do not know that for sure,” Lexa cautions. “We will need to count several times before we can be sure that we are missing bodies -“
Clarke suddenly darts forward. She pulls a pencil out of her pack and crouches. When she rises, a shining metal watch is hooked around the pencil. “Oh, we’re missing people,” she says darkly. “Including my mother.”
“Clarke?”
“This is my father’s watch,” Clarke says, holding it up. “She was going to bring it down for me. None of the bodies in here are completely burned, so I can say with certainty that none of them are hers. But the watch is here.”
“She could have gotten thrown out,” Octavia says doubtfully.
Clarke shrugs. “Then we’ll look. We’ll count everyone again, and we’ll keep an eye out, and we’ll cross everyone off our list until we figure out which people have been taken by the Mountain.” She presses the watch to her cheek and closes her eyes.
It’s then when Lexa realises Clarke is not holding onto an unrealistic hope. That actually, she almost dreads her mother being taken more than she dreads her mother’s death.
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