Her hand lowered, and she looked suddenly weary.

“Roakan is so incensed that he does not even realize that the ones he searches for are right behind him, trying to undo the damage he’s done. But that is the way of metal. It adheres more to the laws of anger and vengeance than it does good sense. Always fighting forward and never once stopping to look back.”

Skallagrim chose that moment to say something, his voice cutting.

“Perhaps if Callanna and Shara would stop running and simply stay with Roakan then he would not rage the way he does. I believe that he must hurt more deeply than any other they would deign to heal.”

Jolakaia stared hard at Skallagrim, and I glanced uneasily between them.

“You sound like my brother when you speak so,” she said, and even though I had no idea who her brother was I got the feeling that was not a compliment. Her gaze fell on me, and her expression softened somewhat. “But perhaps there is hope for you yet.”

How do I feel?

Hopeful for the first time in too long to remember.

I blinked away the memory of Skallagrim to focus on the real one before me.

The one who did not look happy but who also didn’t seem to have anything else to say.

Jolakaia turned and led us swiftly onward, as if Skallagrim’s mood wasn’t going to get in the way of the efficiency of her work. She led us past more bursting blooms, giving greetings to a few others who wore green robes and were called the Mother’s Seeds. The Mother’s Seeds appeared to be responsible for taking care of the plants here.

Jolakaia continued naming and explaining the plants, and I committed everything I could to memory, longing for a pen and paper to take notes. As traumatic as it had been to be ripped away from Earth, and then ripped away again from the other humans on the mission with me, this was still the experience of a lifetime. I was getting to study honest-to-goodness otherworldly flowers! What other botanist would get a chance to do something like that?

On the outer edges of the walled temple garden were great glass domes, sparkling like dew drops. Jolakaia explained that these functioned as warm, dry zones during the planet’s rainy season, and that that way they could prolong the growing season of many of the important plants and herbs here. Growing tall near the far walls were plants I recognized – the fluffy-topped stalks I’d seen outside by the river.

“I’ve seen those before!” I said, excited to actually recognize something. “Can you tell me what they are?”

After Skallagrim translated, Jolakaia replied.

“These are Shara plants.”

“Shara...”

“Yes, that Shara.” She plucked one and let me look closer. “Cotton and metal intertwined. Elements from both her parents.”

“So that really is metal growing out of a plant,” I breathed in amazement. What I wouldn’t give to be able to examine that in a lab!

“Yes,” Jolakaia said, seeming a bit confused by my reaction. “Metal grows just as cotton does.”

“Wow. Sorry. Where I come from, metal has to be mined. It’s very limited and precious because of that. It’s incredible you can just... Well, just grow it like this!”

“It is precious here, too,” she said, rather grimly, after Skallagrim translated. “Those who follow the way of metal beyond these walls kill each other for it.”

I frowned, not understanding her.

“But... Why? It obviously flourishes here. I saw tons of it out by the river! Why would people kill each other over it when there’s so much of it and it’s a renewable resource? Can’t people just... grow more?”

Jolakaia breathed out, and it was a sound flinty with exhaustion.

“There is no glory for a Bohnebregg warrior in foraging or agriculture. The metal, and the weapons made from it, are precious to them precisely because they must be won in war from someone else.”

She snorted.

“The look on your face is exactly why I left that life and came here. In Callabarra, we use metal for tools. To create new machines that can heal. And we do it all with what we’ve grown or collected ourselves in peace. That is the way of cotton. We follow those tenets faithfully, and we have grown and flourished. Although, we’ve only been able to grow Callabarra to its current size and state because of Aeshyr’s protection.”

I shivered at the mention of that corpse-like male.

“Do you know what he uses the metal for?” Skallagrim asked.

“I do not,” Jolakaia said. “Perhaps Koltar does. Whatever it is for, he seems to require a great deal of it. He has been coming to this world much longer than I’ve even been alive to collect it. But as he’s always come in peace, wrapped in cotton, we’ve had no reason to fear him. And he keeps us hidden from Bohnebregg warriors who would otherwise tear this city apart merely to lord themselves over the scraps.”

I shivered again, harder this time, at the thought of people coming here and destroying everything just to fight over metal that already existed throughout the natural landscape. I risked a glance at Skallagrim to see what he thought of all this, but his stony face gave nothing away.

“And how about you?” I asked him, unable to hold the question back. “Do you remember enough about before to know where you stood in this sort of thing?”

“I remember little.” He stared at me like nothing else existed. Not Jolakaia, not the gardens, not the burning rage of Roakan in the sky above. “But I know that I did not follow the way of cotton.”

My heart fell, and I hated that it did. That I was disappointed in something I’d already sensed, already could have guessed.

“How did you even know to bring me here?”

“Aeshyr is younger than me. He only started hiding this village with his protective spells after I’d left the planet. But some hidden part of me remembered that there was a small collection of healers here once. Healers who eschewed hoarding metal and lived in peace. I do not believe I ever troubled myself with them before, but at some level I knew that they were here.”

“And here we still are,” Jolakaia said. “In much larger numbers, now. With the protection of Aeshyr’s spell, it is actually safe for us to use, store, and create with metal. We have healed many. And we have invented things – amazing, powerful things, that do not exist outside these walls. The way of metal does not allow for much in the way of invention, unless you’re inventing new forms of weaponry.”

I didn’t have any new questions for the moment, so Jolakaia continued the tour of the gardens, going slower now, bending to show me each plant individually and explaining their benefits and usages and quirks. Skallagrim said nothing else, and if it weren’t for the annoying way my body seemed attuned to the very bulk of his presence, I could have forgotten he was there.

Could have.

Didn’t.

Even with my robe’s hood pulled up against the sun and blocking my peripheral vision, I could feel him.

Eventually, Jolakaia had to return to her temple duties. Her pockets now stuffed with supplies, she went back inside the temple, sending a promise over her shoulder that when she began preparing the plants I could watch and maybe even help. I was already looking forward to it. Something to do besides skittering awkwardly around Skallagrim all day. A job. A purpose here besides waiting for the starburn so I could fulfill some bizarre and unfair role laid out for me by biology and fate.

When Jolakaia disappeared into the temple, another figure came out. A Mother’s Claw robed in black. He hobbled along with a wooden crutch at his side. When he saw Skallagrim and me, he visibly tensed.

“Why’s he glaring at you like that?” I asked. While Jolakaia was the only one who spoke to us in a friendly way, I hadn’t noticed too much outright hostility from anyone else.

Skallagrim glanced over.

“Oh. Him? I broke his leg.”