The professor tapped his pointer, signaling for quiet, and the half-dozen students stopped mid-conversation. Behind him was a blackboard, where four large, hand-drawn diagrams were pinned. “As you all know,” he began, “this is a basics course in agriculture. I’m Mr. Dawson, and today we’ll learn about the functioning of Bellgate’s gardens. Since this class is only an hour, I’ll jump right in, and feel free to take notes or just listen if you’d like.

“There are four main gardens in Bellgate: two inside the canyon, and two outside. They produce most of our food; the rest comes from household gardens, scouting teams, and trades with Chibron. We can grow a variety of plant species through climate modification, but we avoid most tropical plants due to their resource-intensiveness. For example, peas will under-produce when the soil is not thoroughly wet.”

He paused, giving us time to copy the diagrams and jot down notes. Not many of the people taking the class had brought pens and paper, myself included. With the lack of trees and the necessity of using parchment for formal communication, notebooks were a luxury in Bellgate.

“Bellgate’s most efficient garden is on top of Gibnor,” the professor continued. “Although not the largest, it produces the highest yield of staple foods per month. This is because of its configuration.” He pointed at the first diagram. “The soil itself is developed from our compost. If you’ve seen the gardens, you may have noticed that each bed is covered with a canvas tarp. The tarps have holes to allow a suitable amount of light to pass through so that the shade tempers the desert heat during the day and traps the heat at night. This prevents freeze and maintains some moisture inside, raising the humidity. Moreover, they are painted brown to blend in with the rockface, so that the gardens are less visible from the air. During the winter months, the gardeners convert the canvas into full-sized tents that protect the plants from frost.”

A couple of students whistled with appreciation. One man, the oldest person I’d seen in Gibnor, raised his hand. “Why build the garden on top of the rock? It must be difficult to transport the supplies to the summit.”

Mr. Dawson nodded. “Indeed, transporting water is one of our most difficult tasks. Can anyone guess why we built the garden there anyway?”

I considered how Bellgate was arranged. Everything was compact, with almost all of the dwellings contained in rock formations. “It’s in case of siege,” I ventured, “so that we wouldn’t have to leave to get food.”

“That’s right. Bellgate’s structure is ideal for defense, but leaving the safety of the formations would make us vulnerable to attack. More simply, it also allows us to transport food via pulleys during sandstorms or when it is too cold.” He gestured at the second diagram, which detailed two storage containers and a layer of soil. “Still, to maintain this design, it’s necessary to conserve as much water, and energy, as possible. Rainwater is captured in two basins atop the summit, and the soil is padded with clay so that it drains slowly.”

A middle-aged woman raised her hand. “Surely, the rainwater isn’t enough.”

“True. The Lunimis River is our only other water source. We transport the extra water upwards via the pulley system, but this is difficult work.”

He took a few more questions before moving on to the topic of soil composition and acidity. For the next hour, I listened with rapt attention. Bellgate’s agricultural system was even more intricate than I had anticipated, relying on thousands of interconnected pieces that were in constant danger of falling out of equilibrium. If one of the furnaces went out of commission, for example, many of the plants would freeze or drop fruit within the first twenty-four hours.

By the end of the class, my decision to work in the gardens was solidified. I returned to the cave just as Sarah was packing for work. “How was class?” she asked.

“Believe it or not, quite interesting. I’ve decided to take a job in the gardens, too.

“Good! It’s hard work, but crucial. We’ll be seeing each other around.”

“Yes,” I smiled, pleased that she approved of my decision and that we would be spending more time together. Despite sharing a living room and kitchen, we rarely crossed paths. Like me, she was reserved by nature, and she was seldom inside our dwelling, preferring to work odd jobs around Bellgate. Even so, I had become fond of her; she had welcomed me without inhibitions and never hesitated to answer my questions about the city.

My first three days in Bellgate had been spent in exploration. I had quickly learned that Gibnor, the civilian rock, was the heart of the city. The two smallest rocks, Gracego and the barracks, were completely off-limits to me; Gracego was used for critical manufacturing, and the barracks to house Bellgate’s army. The third rock, Bushnell, held extra dwellings and storage.

It was common for the locals to travel between rocks several times a day on ram-back or on foot. It was quieter during the day, when the desert heat was overwhelming. Around dusk and dawn, when heat gave way to cold or vice versa, groups often gathered on the main ledge to watch the sunset. Unlike the townspeople of Chibron, Bellgate’s population seemed to enjoy their work and free time, and they did not live in fear.

***

My first days of work were long and arduous. Because I was new, I worked in the evening when the heat was still crippling. The professor’s lesson rang true: water was Bellgate’s scarcest resource. Most of my shift was spent hauling buckets via the pulley system, and by the end of the four hours, my triceps felt like jelly. Even so, the work was not unpleasant, and I preferred it over my job as a janitor. During my shifts, I spoke to the other gardeners and learned small details about them: what food they liked, if they kept a pet, and what they thought of the latest war developments. The only thing we never discussed was the details of our journeys to the city.

I soon developed a liking for conversation and started taking extra shifts in the mornings. From the top of Gibnor, I could see the trainees running laps around the compound. Bellgate housed a small army. Each morning at dawn, groups of soldiers could be seen patrolling its borders, and during the day they trained on roped-off grounds on the canyon’s northeastern side. Watching them reminded me of my training in Historical Amberasta’s resistance, which seemed feeble compared to Bellgate’s strict regimen. Exactly what are they training for? I often wondered. They are too small to stop Keon’s massive forces, and an attack on the city would likely come from the air. Well… at least they are doing something.

A month soon passed within Bellgate’s rock walls. As fall deepened, the brutal heat eased into something more pleasant. The gardens began to thrive in the cooler weather, and the rations eased up. I grew closer to Sarah; at nighttime, before her shifts, she showed me how to knit under the light of a lamp. On a free day, I visited the infirmary to have my injuries checked, and a medic wrote me a nutrition plan to help me recover from life in Karakul.

I had feared that news would be scarce inside the city-state, but Bellgate was well connected. There was a steady flow of scouting parties in and out of the canyon, bearing supplies, new recruits, and information. Every morning, news of the war was posted on the walls of the general store. The battle still raged just outside of Solokia’s walls, and, if the papers were to be believed, Solokia seemed to be using any means possible to keep Keon’s army from breaking through. The latest story was of a mysterious disease that had taken hold in the Amberasta’s camp, one that caused short and painful death from dehydration. Supposedly, the disease had decimated Keon’s troops and was keeping the bombardment at bay.

When I walked on Gibnor’s main ledge, I often overheard conversations about the war. Bellgate’s people were openly hostile toward the king and his men, although I had also heard the Solokian president described as “power-hungry.” It had taken all of my self-control not to blurt out the truth about Keon’s plot and clear the president’s name, but I needed to know Nico’s plan before acting.

Sometimes, I watched the trainees from the ledge of our dwelling, hoping to catch a glance of him far below. It was hopeless—even if he was training with the others, his features would be unrecognizable from such a height. I wondered if he’d already met with the elders and relayed my suspicions, or if he had chosen to keep quiet for reasons of his own. The days were too busy to worry, but as the sun’s rays faded each night, I wondered if I would see him again. I missed his presence, and I needed his guidance on how to move forward with Bellgate’s delicate politics. I resigned myself to wait–but not forever–for him to join me again before we let the world know about what had happened the night of the Fortress robbery.

Still, as the days passed, my paranoia eased, and my sleep grew more restful. With the season, my body changed: my stomach filled out, and my muscles swelled from climbing the stairs and working in the garden. As I joined Bellgate’s rhythm of work and recreation, my journey from Karakul and my ambiguous relationship with Nico faded into bittersweet nostalgia.