The road to Westborren was long and winding. It took us over the plateau and through the last of the Flemdown Peaks, then onto a vast rocky plain. On the sides of the road, tall brown grasses swayed with the wind, and brown and orange crags reached into the sky like the fingers of a giant. The road was cracked where boulders had fallen from above, and at times the going was slow.

The cold abated as the sun rose in the sky. The only sound over the plains was the woosh of the wind and the growl of the bike. My legs and back grew sore, but I held on, content to put distance between us and Karakul. Nico stopped rarely–only to examine part of the bike, to refuel in a small town, and to let us eat and stretch our legs. When at last the sun began to sink in the horizon, I could sense that we’d traveled far, maybe even over two-hundred miles.

“We will make camp here,” Nico said over his shoulder, breaking the long silence. He pulled off the road and drove a couple hundred yards until we were underneath one of the crags. We dismounted, and the long brown grass reached our knees. We laid the bike on its side so that it would be hidden from the road and cleared the space underneath the outcropping. Nico examined the map again as I explored, looking into crevices in the rock and running my hands over its layers.

I hoisted myself over the edge of the outcropping and climbed part-way up the crag. The rock was pitted, with plenty of handholds. My legs began to burn, but I welcomed the exertion after the long day of riding. When I reached a wide ledge, I stopped and looked over the plains. The sunset spilled over the landscape, turning the crags a fiery red and the grass a deep gold. The road wove through the rocks like a black river, disappearing over the horizon. There was nothing in sight: no cars, no towns, no sign of human life except the road.

There was a scraping noise as Nico pulled himself up next to me. He sat against the rock, his boots dangling over the edge, and offered me a slice of bread and a strip of jerky. I folded them together, sighing in contentment as the food touched my taste buds. A gust of cold wind blew over the plains, rustling the grass so that it sounded like a thousand snakes. It was a wild, breathless sight, far from Karakul’s stark skyscrapers.

Nico reached out a hand, placing it over the dying sun so that its rays seemed to filter through his fingers. As he did so, a large raptor descended from the heavens, diving into the field with its claws outstretched. It rose again with a bloodied beak and a small animal locked in its talons.

Nico watched the bird with an odd look on his face. “Not so different,” he murmured. I blinked in surprise; in the couple of days we had been traveling together, it was rare for him to initiate a conversation.

“What do you mean?”

“How much does the hawk know? It knows life and death. It knows predator and prey. How different is it from us? Yet it is free.” I looked at him strangely. His tone of voice was wistful, and I didn’t think he was talking about Keon. Is it possible that part of him resents his duties as a resistance leader?

I ate the sandwich, thinking about the hawk and the little animal whose lifeforce would feed it. Ahead, the light faded as dusk was replaced by night.

***

I groaned as I awoke. My muscles ached, and the hard ground had aggravated my injuries from the bombing. It was still dark, although a slight graying of the inky darkness hinted that dawn was coming soon.

I pushed myself to my feet and looked around. Our packs lay against the outcropping, and the motorcycle was untouched. Eventually, my eyes found Nico–a dark shape, standing in the tall grass. He bent in a lunge and raised his arms, then twisted to the side. I watched, entranced, as his body flowed fluidly from one position to another. He became part of the landscape, one with the swaying grasses and breaking dawn.

“How long are you going to stand there?” Nico asked, his voice carrying over in the wind.

I jumped, startled and embarrassed. After a moment of hesitation, I ducked out from underneath the outcropping and approached Nico’s spot. As I drew closer, I realized that he was shirtless, revealing his lean back muscles. I joined him as he reached his hands to his feet and tucked his head. I attempted the position, eventually succeeding, but with my joints screaming in protest. Suddenly, I was painfully aware of the flexibility I’d lost since I’d left my homeland.

Nico continued the routine, folding one leg up to his knee and then extending it behind him in a feat of balance. I struggled to do the same, and sweat beaded at my forehead. As the dawn rose, Nico contorted himself into increasingly extreme positions, until I couldn’t even come close to matching them.

When he finished, Nico took a few deep breaths and drank from his canteen. A thin sheen of sweat coated his skin, although he hardly seemed winded.

“What was that?” I asked.

He turned his dark eyes my way. “Aikido. It is an ancient martial art.”

“Aikido? That doesn’t sound like it's in the common tongue.”

Nico laughed. “Far from it. It is Japanese, an Asian language.”

I shook my head. I had understood nothing of what he’d said, but I was too embarrassed to admit it. “That didn’t feel like fighting.”

“Not all of martial arts is fighting. In fact, most isn’t. It’s about breath, balance, and energy.”

“Energy?” The concept was utterly foreign. When I’d trained with Owen, we had only learned the striking positions, and our martial arts style had no specific name.

Nico glanced at the sun. “We must leave soon, but I will show you more later, if you would like.” I nodded, feeling excitement bubble up in my stomach. It had been a long time since I’d trained.

With a gesture from Nico, we launched into action, eating wafers on the go as we packed up the camp. When we had erased all traces of our camp, we climbed onto the bike and sped off again.

***

The second day of traveling was longer than the first. The sun climbed higher in the sky as the hours passed, and I leaned into Nico as the cool air rushed past our heads. The temperature began to rise, and patches of green grass and small trees replaced the brown plains. We reached a crossroads and turned left, diverging from the main road. A couple miles later, we passed our first other vehicle, an empty white van broken down against the hillside.

The landscape changed gradually. Where crags had reached into the sky, gentle slopes appeared. Large oaks arched overhead, and we traversed rolling hills of wheat and corn that seemed to sparkle in the sun. The sight took my breath away, and I stretched a hand out as we rode, letting my fingers sift through the stalks. As I did so, Nico trembled with suppressed laughter.

The roadway became wide enough for two trucks to travel abreast. Not long after, we were passed by several large semis, and Nico pulled off as we watched them rumble by. I wonder what they’re carrying, I thought. They remind me of the truck that brought me to Karakul.

We refueled at another station and stopped for water. When we mounted the bike again, the sun was already fading, signaling the end of our second day on the road. “It’s not far now!” Nico yelled over the wind. I shook out my sore legs and tried to be patient.

As we reached the crest of a hill, Nico slowed the motorcycle and pointed ahead. Below us lay a sprawling town, surrounded by a thick wall of stone. The tall and skinny buildings seemed pushed together―each one tilted to one side or built on top of another. Busy streets snaked through the mess of construction.

Nico turned around and swept his hair from his face. “Welcome to Westborren,” he said, “it will be our home for the next few days.”