Ventus by Karl Schroeder

Karl Schroeder / Ventus / Page 467
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The horses had found a road, and Jordan had let them
take it. Now he faced the consequences of that decision.
Spreading out below them lay a shallow valley where
yellow grain stalks still jutted in regular patterns from sand.
The dunes were reclaiming this oasis, and it was just as well,
he thought. No one would want to live here now, not among
the sad wreckage of so many lives.
This must have been one of the experimental towns. He
glanced sidelong at Tamsin, but her face was impassive. Was
this collection of burned, broken walls, filled with the windtumbled
remnants of broken household items, her town?
The scent of charcoal still hung over the place. It didn’t
help that the sky was leaden grey, had been for days now, and
the air cold. Back home, it was probably snowing.
"They didn’t even bury them," said Tamsin. She pointed,
and he could see that what he had thought was a pile of old
clothing, actually had yellowed hands and feet jutting from it.
And those rounded shapes... His stomach lurched, and he
looked away.
"This was Integer," she said. "The scholar’s town. It
was entirely self-sufficient, they didn’t have to burn it."
"I don’t think they did this because they had to," said
Jordan.
"I grew up here," said Tamsin, so quietly that Jordan