The common hall of Alderfast was filled with the warm, fragrant steam of boiling barley porridge and the lively clatter of wooden spoons against clay pot bowls. For the first time in two weeks, the oppressive cloud of rationing that had hung over the basin lifted. The fourteen sacks of hulled barley released by Marshal Krail had been weighed, inventoried, and passed to the Seed Store under Adra Pike’s watchful eyes, restoring the daily grain allowance to its full measure across all one hundred and twenty-six residents.
Kezra Venn stood near the hearth. She watched a young mother feed two small children thick porridge sweetened with parsnip syrup. Beside the doorway, Martha Vail sat on a low wooden stool, her trembling hands cradling the waterproof tin tube that contained the charcoal rubbing of her husband’s headstone.
Kezra had walked to Martha’s cottage the moment they crossed the basin barrier, placing the thick parchment rubbing into the widow’s hands along with the exact earth-measuring map points of the 420-pace fault recess. Martha had touched the black carbon grooves of her husband’s name, cried quietly without hysteria, and thanked Kezra for bringing her the truth. The boots that had sat greased beside Martha’s hearth for fourteen months were finally put away. The dead were named, honored, and at peace.
