As the two men approached the gates of Manolin, Glade noticed the predatory look in Jude’s eyes. The old man did not like what he was hearing.

  “You heard me,” the guard said. “You’re not allowed in here any more.” The guard shifted slightly in his seat. He had been posted at the inspection kiosk several yards from the main gate. He held a bolt-action rifle loosely in his hands. The tip of its bayonet nearly touched the ground.

  Glade looked away from the two men as they launched into an argument. He spent his time ignoring their words and observing his surroundings. Manolin was a riverside village, which, prior to the Cataclysm, had been a marina for the rich. Their yachts and boats had once moored at these harbours, but, since the world fell into chaos, those vessels had long disappeared. Regardless, the stone fence that encircled the marina remained, its stonework reinforced, and its metal posts extended higher in the sky with reclaimed metal. Everything else, however, had been built and rebuilt using fresh wood. Only when Glade noticed the massive amount of wood in the construction did he realize how deforested the outskirts of the village had become. Its citizens had clearly logged everything they could within a short journey from their homes.

  “Go get Isla for me, will you!?” Jude said with mounting ire.

  “I’m not going to disturb the Queen of the Reeds for the likes of you.” The guard responded. At this point, the guard stood from his chair and gripped his rifle tighter.

  Glade watched Jude tense in the anticipation of combat. The old man, despite his age, contained a level of fierce vitality. He had been more than a survivor of the Wastes. He was a man shaped by it. In some ways, he loved the Wastes. It had made him into the man he was.

  Jude rolled his neck in an effort to ease his body. He removed his backpack and unclipped the worn plastic medkit attached to it. “Look. See this? She requested some medical supplies, and I’ve obliged. If you’re going to hold me, you better be ready to explain things to Isla.”

  The guard stood a little straighter, his face contorted in thought. “The tides for the family have shifted.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Jude said with a dismissive hand wave, “It happens all the time. Nearly cyclical, ain’t it?”

  The guard shrugged his shoulders. “I’m simply following orders.”

  “I’m following mine,” Jude said, his voice raising. “Isla wanted me to bring her some medical supplies and I have some medical supplies. Let me conduct my business in peace and I’ll be out of Manolin before you know it.”

  The guard blinked dumbly at the old man and then looked at Glade. Glade could almost see his brain struggling to arrive at an original thought.

  “You know what, I hate to do it, it’s stupid, but so… so is this situation, here.” Jude reached into his bag and pried out his fish-leather pouch. He unbuttoned it and shook out a few bullets. He sorted them carefully and selected two of the more makeshift bullets. “Consider this a gratuity.”

  “A what?”

  “A sign of thanks, for all you’ve done for me.”

  “I-- I ain’t done nothing,” the guard stammered.

  “Not yet,” Jude said, lifting his index finger into the air. He dipped his finger toward the gate.

  “Oh,” the guard said. “Yeah, alright. Three junks and you’re in.”

  Jude picked another makeshift round from his pouch and gave it to the guard. The guard inspected the bullets in his hand before tucking them into the square pocket over his heart.

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  Jude started walking toward the gates without another word. Glade jogged after him.

  On the outskirts of the gates was a small stable where horses and other pack animals waited for their owners. Glade saw a young woman hand the reins of her horse to a worker. She was accompanied by a large figure, a man who seemed like he had the ability to snap anyone in half.

  Jude walked through the riverside-village with determination. When he reached an intersection in the road, he stopped and realized Glade was still with him.

  "I almost forgot about you," he said with a brief sigh. "Okay, here's the deal. I need to get some business done and pay a few calls. Once I'm done, I'll come find you and let you know if I managed to secure you a trip to Dewindalo. Do whatever you want in the meantime. Just don't get into trouble. This village is broken into two or three factions, depending on the day, and if you get on the bad side of one or the other, you're fried."

  "How will you find me?" Glade asked.

  "I'd probably look for a clueless wanderer who doesn't reek of fish. Okay, fine, look -- if you don't see or hear from me after two hours, wait by the Town Hall. I'll fetch you from there."

  "Where's the Town Hall?" Before Glade had finished his question, Jude had already turned his back and left the youth by himself. Glade stared after him as he approached one of the longhouses on the other side of the road. The old man knocked on the door and waited. A woman with dark grey frizzy hair opened the door. She welcomed him with great affection and closed the door.

  Glade was alone.

  Despite spending almost the entirety of the previous day alone walking along the derelict highway, he only felt his solitude in the middle of these bustling streets. Loneliness, Glade realized, came not from being by oneself but when left by others. Glade sighed.

  When he had met Jude and overcome his initial impression, Glade had hoped that the old man would become a mentor, a guide, a companion. Clearly, this would not be the case. Jude only pitied him. He thought of him as a lost and stupid kid. He cared for him in the same way his sister would for hurt birds on their homestead.

  Glade's throat tightened. He told himself that he didn’t care. Besides, he never needed Jude’s help in the first place. He would have been able to find his way to the village, find his way to Dewinadlo. J

  Jude only brought Glade into Manolin because the old man had business and decided that a little company would make the journey more pleasant. He had promised a boat to Dewindalo, not out of the goodness of his heart, but, probably, because it would cost him nothing. He had connections in the village and he would put them to use.

  Glade now know that the moment he reached the shores of Dewindalo, he would be without a guide. He would have to survive the fabled city on his own.

  "Don't think of those things," Glade said to himself out loud. He took a deep breath and started to walk the unfamiliar streets.

  He absorbed the sights and smells and sounds of Manolin. The riverside village sprawled within the confines of the marina. When the villagers needed more room, they either built upon their wooden structures or built outward into the adjacent river and lake. The river poured into the great lake which provided the villagers with their sustenance.

  The villagers had no concerns about building their settlement into the waters. They had sunk large trees into the lake and built over those trees with sturdy planks. Many of the lakeside structures seemed to be on stilts rather than on the extended ground.

  Glade stood at the edge of the settlement. There, where the river joined the lake, he could peer across the great watery expanse. He swore that he could see the towers of the Old World cities on the other side of the lake, but vast amounts of water separated them. It could have been his eyes playing tricks on him. He hoped to see Dewindalo on the other side of this great body of water and his imagination spun those specks in the distance into a mirage.

  Then, the smell of fish filled his nostrils. All at once, Glade felt his poor sense of smell awaken. This settlement, these people, survived off the fruits of this sea-sized lake. The marina hosted a catalogue of boats: canoes, sail boats, catamarans, and sloops. The people lived on the lake as much as they lived on land. Glade turned from the water and wandered back into the depths of the settlement. He followed a train of women as they moved through the tight paths between wooden longhouses and hovels. They poured into to the market place.

  In the middle of the market place stood the Town Hall. The building had survived since the Cataclysm, although its exterior had clearly been altered by its settlers. The building once acted as the central building for the marina, a place for the wealthy to contact workers and have their payments processed and their questions answered. Since those days, it had become the political hub of its citizens. The market sprawled along its edges.

  Glade adjusted the straps on his backpack and touched the binoculars around his chest. He needed to make some money for the survival of his family. He needed to become a merchant of the Wastes.