Madlands

38. Not What Comes Next

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The fog was so thick, with low-lying clouds rolling through the early morning valley, that Grey could only see the occasional hint of the Razor Crest's bow across the field as she stared out the window. She could hear Jesa and Herrah, and the other small family that they shared the homestead with, clattering around in the kitchen downstairs. The sounds of a family at breakfast, slowly filling the empty space left by a lost cousin. She wouldn't stay here.

She was just starting a journey to figure out who she could be from now on, as well as who she'd truly been all along—parts of her whole that she'd shed or ignored in favour of a single, narrow, and isolated version of herself. And while this place had done more than just welcome her, it did not feel like the way forward.

Though she would not forget the kindness she'd received.

Grey had woken up to find something that she'd thought forever lost laying across the foot of the bed—the cloak that she'd left behind at the lodge in Naida. She hadn't realized how much it meant to her until that moment. Jesa also had the datapads that she'd left with the cloak, already tucked into the gift of a worn satchel. She'd remembered Jesa mentioning that they knew the owner of the lodge. The only thing missing from the small collection of abandoned items was Mando's comlink. She had resented it deeply when he'd given it to her. She was a fool.

She had eaten and showered and dressed in the clothes that Jesa had left for her, touched by the way she'd pulled together items so similar to the ones that Grey had worn when they'd met. This woman was truly a quiet force. Herrah had insisted on brushing out her tangled hair, while investigating and admiring the luminous pattern across her neck and shoulders. The girl reported proudly that Jesa had hints of the same thing, passed down from Herrah's great-grandmother. Grey had openly received the moment of care and connection, and even that felt like a new piece of her future, more nuanced puzzle.

Her hair was now swept, almost dry, into the loose braid that she favoured most days. When she'd thrown the cloak around her shoulders and slung the satchel across her body, she'd taken a moment of stillness to make sure that she wasn't just wrapping herself in her past. She found that it felt familiar, but still right. There were parts of who she had been that she wanted to keep, and that knowledge was a grounding joy.

There was nothing left to do. She wouldn't stay, and she had to face what it would mean to leave.

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Either through some kind of premonition, or with the help of incredible hearing, Mando must have picked up on her departure from the farmhouse.

She was barely through the old gate when she caught her first sight of him, emerging from the rolling fog as he walked towards her. She couldn't help but think of the first time she'd seen him, through a porthole in the Jawa land-trawler, descending from his ship on Irrova in the cold pre-dawn like a mystery. Now he felt like the centre of the universe's gravity.

Out in the field, the low clouds clung like mist, and when Mando was close enough, she could see the fine droplets of water all across his armour. She had her hood up but her cloak unclasped as they stopped a couple of metres apart.

You're not staying here.

I can't. Well, no, I won't.

You have somewhere to go?

I have a small place on Sidonis, Icaria's most populated world. Not far—one past Lorimar.

They'll be sad to see you go. Sure you don't want to stay a while?

Grey looked back towards the farmhouse, but the fog had largely claimed it.

Yes. It's not what comes next.

What does come next?

She turned back to him with a small smile.

I don't know.

Mando nodded back towards the Crest, and she followed him into the clouds.

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