Fire Country (15 page)

“I know who he is. Playing with him as a Totter and Midder was fine,” he says. What’s he playing at?

“But now?” I say.

He strides forward, breathing so heavy I can feel it waft off my face. His breath smells like spicy tug jerky. My stomach rumbles.
Shut up!
I tell it.
This is not the time.

“Listen to me carefully because I’ll only say this once more. I will not have my Pre-Bearer daughter running around with some Youngling boy like a little shilt.”

My blood’s boiling, all bubbly and hot, not too different’n my mother’s stew. I’m sweating all over and I know my face is glistening with moisture and heat. No hiding my anger this time. “It’s not like that!” I scream, turning to run back outside, away from this place, from this man, from the creature who refuses to call me by the name he gave me when I was born.

He grabs my arm, h
ard enough to bruise, whips me ’round. My eyes are glued to his white-knuckled grip, seeing as much as feeling the strength in him. He might be older’n durt, but he ain’t caught the Fire yet, ain’t weak in the least. I can’t fight him with my runty body.

My only chance is to use my mind.

M
y father’s message was as dark and mottled as the purple-black-blue five-fingered bruise he left in the flesh of my arm: I see Circ again and it’s another trip to Confinement for me.

My plan is on track.

I lie in bed thinking. If I can get back to Confinement I’ll be able to find out what the scorch is going on. Then maybe me and Circ can come up with a way to stop it. Whatever it is, my father’s got his fist clamped on things tighter’n a butcher about to castrate a dead tug. Circ may not approve of my plan, but he’ll have no choice but to go along with it once it’s in motion.

When my father’s breathing from behind his curtain grows heavy and deep, I throw back my tugskin covering and tiptoe for the door, sparing only a second or two to slip on my moccasins.
I ease the door open a crack, praying for silence, and then slide through.
Escape!
I think. There’s something satisfying and exciting about sneaking out at night. Maybe it’s ’cause no one’s telling me what to do, or where to go, or what my duty is. Or maybe it’s just ’cause I like being a bit rebellious every now and again.

Everything’s blacker’n
the inside of a tug’s stomach, ’cept for the sky, which is aglow with hovering fireflies—the stars. To scare me when I was a Totter, Skye used to tell me that night came when a gigantic monster stood in front of the sun, blocking its light and casting a mammoth shadow over everything. She made me scared of the dark for years, until I was a Midder. Now I’m glad for the big ol’ monster’s shadow. It hides my movements.

I sneak my way thro
ugh the Greynote huts, peeking ’round corners and stopping to listen for footsteps or voices every coupla steps. The village is silent. A ghost town. Everyone sleeping, or at least pretending to. When I get to the last row of huts I cut to the right, purposefully avoiding the village center and the fire pit. There’re almost always insomniacs there, drinking the night away, stirring the fire up and telling war stories. Hunts gone bad, Hunts gone good, and everything in between.

I’m nearly out of the Greynote block when the last hut’s door swings open right in front of my face. I’m behind it, hidden, but whoever opened it is gonna close it any second and they’ll surely see me.
There’s no time to think, to run, to do much of anything, so I drop. Flat on my stomach. Like a worm, ’cept without the wriggling. Just stay still, quiet, not even breathing.

The door shut
s and whoever’s there makes a sorta groaning noise, but not like he’s in pain. Come to think of it, it’s more like a sigh, like of relief. I risk a breath and a peek up. Too dark to see anything ’cept the outline of a man, which means he probably won’t see me either, unless he happens to look directly down, or trips on me.

There’s the scrape of a
flint and then a flash of red as he lights a pipe. For that moment I’m completely illuminated, can see my own hands, feet, and everything else, even the tip of my nose. And I can see him too. My breath catches when I recognize the Greynote:

Luger.

But then the light goes out, replaced by just a finger’s tip of light at the end of his pipe. A bitter, somewhat fruity aroma settles on the tip of my tongue. It leaves a sour taste in my mouth, like I been drinking stale prickler juice. Luger’s not just smoking the pipeweed that so many men around the village like to puff on. It’s fireweed. Like I smelled out behind the Learning hut when Youngling Granger got his hands on a whole pouch of it. Half the Younglings were giggling all through class that afternoon. Luger’s guilty pleasure, so guilty he can only smoke it in the dead of night.

Luger sighs again and then walks on down the row, skirting behind his own hut.

I move on, first back the way I came to get as far away from Luger as possible, and then up a row of huts to further my distance from him. If he catches me now it might work out okay for my plan, but there’re no guarantees. I need to get further.

I edge my way down the row, and once I’m out of the cover of the Greynote huts, I run like I’m being chased by a bloodthirsty pack of Cotees. Tents fly by on both sides, most of them quiet and closed off, but a few of them with late sleepers sitting around cook fires, tent openings wide and flapping lazily in the night breeze. A few of them cry out, but I keep running. All part of the plan.

I get to Circ’s neighborhood and slow down, quickly locating his tent, which is half falling over from the recent spat of windstorms we’ve had. It doesn’t look ready to survive the first sandstorm of the season. I’ll hafta mention that to him.

Just as I reach the tent opening, a corner of the moon peeks out from the clouds, providing a small measure of much-needed light.
Kneeling down in front of the haggard sleeping quarters, I ease open the tentflap, spilling the soft moonglow inside. I pause, take a moment for my eyes to adjust to the inside gloom, and slide in. There are ten bodies inside. Not a Full Family, as Circ, like me, has lost one of his Call-Mothers and two Call-Siblings, but it’s not far off. The chorus of peaceful rest-making sounds invites me to join them. My eyes are tired, along with my body, but my mind is still sharp. Not a night for sleep. Least not for me. And in a second not for Circ either.

He’s easy to spot amongst the bodies. His bare ches
t rises and falls more’n anyone else’s. He’s always been a deep breather and heavy sleeper. Countless times he’s drifted away next to me on the dunes, always ’fore I can manage to sleep myself. I watch him sometimes.

One of his Call-Sisters has her foot in his face
, and his real brother, Stix, has his head resting on Circ’s stomach, rising and falling along with it. For Circ, sneaking out is somewhat harder’n for me.

Don’t be clumsy, don’t be clumsy, don’t be clumsy
, I think to myself, placing a hand in an open spot between someone’s arm and someone else’s head. My other arm is useless, wrapped up in its sling. This’ll hafta be a three-legged dance. I move my right foot into another gap, follow it with my left foot. I’m dangling awkwardly and unbalanced above the sleeping bodies, but I only need another few moves and I’ll be able to reach him.

Hand, foot, foot. My foot brushes against someone’s skin, one of his Call-Brothers, I think, just a Totter. The boy stirs,
stretches, nearly clobbering me in the face with his little outstretched fist. Yawns. Turns over and goes back to sleep.

I’m sweating now, the heat of the night and the strain of my muscles bringing my body temperature to a fever pitch. I feel droplets of moisture gathering on my forehead, starting to stream. One drips in my eye and I blink it away, feeling the sting. Another runs down my nose, settles on the tip.

Hand—

The bead of sweat wobbles.

Foot—

The sweat quivers.

Foot—

It drops, splashes someone in the face, another sibling I think—maybe Stix. His eyes drift open but they’re still full of sleep. I stare at him as he wipes at his face, feels the moisture there, probably wonders whether a nightmare has made him cry in his sleep. He blinks a few times and I can almost see his vision clea
ring, zeroing in on yours truly hovering above him.

His eyes widen, his mouth opens.

I pucker my lips and whisper, “Shhh,” as soothingly and softly as I can.

He doesn’t call out, recognizes me. Nudges Circ.

Circ groans, loud enough to make me cringe. Opens his eyes. Sees me right away. Gives me an as-usual-you’re-acting-wooloo look. I nod my head toward the tent flap.

He shakes his head. I give him a look of death. Grudgingly, he nods. Stix watches us curiously as I retrace my hand and foot placements, and Circ pries away the arms, legs, and heads of his siblings and Call-Siblings.

Once outside, Circ ducks his mouth to the side of my head. “Are you wooloo?” he hisses, tickling my ear with his breath.

Shrugging, I look up at
the sky, which is clearing faster’n a baby’s bundle gets durtied. “I couldn’t sleep. Wanna go for a walk?”

He shakes his head, but it’s not a no. It’s a shake that’s part
Why am I your friend again?
and part resignation. He’s coming.

~~~

“Where are we going?” Circ says after a few moments. We’re approaching the edge of the village, a point that’s the exact middle distance from each of the night watchmen towers. He’s only asking to humor me, so I don’t answer.

“You were just in Confinement,
if your father catches you, he’ll…” He stops, understanding dawning in his eyes. “You want to get caught,” he says. “Don’t you?”

I sigh. “Look, Circ. I hafta
know what’s going on up at Confinement, with the prisoners. Innocent people are being sent there. It’s not fair.”

“Since when has life been fair?” Circ says.

“Don’t you even care?” I say.

Circ looks at the ground, then at the sky. “You know I do.”

“Then help me,” I say.

He lets out a sorta
growl that’s meant to be angry but is kinda cute. “Okay, but we can get caught inside the village. If we try to sneak beyond the borders they’ll shoot us deader’n a vulture’s breakfast.”

“We’ve done it ’
fore,” I say.

“Yeah, but not when the guards
are on high-alert. What with the Glassies threatening and all the Killer stuff, nothing will be able to get in or out of the village without raising a bunch of alarms.”

He’s right, although I don’t want hi
m to be. I want nothing more’n to escape the bounds of the village tonight, stare up at the moon and the stars like we always used to, away from everything and everyone. “Okay. But can we go somewhere away from things?”

Circ nods. “I know just the place.”

~~~

He leads now, along the edge of the village, ducking behind tents whenever we pass a guard tower. Cutting across the village it
doesn’t seem so big, but going ’round the outer curve, it feels unending. Hundreds of tents stand in rows, like a silent army. And with first sun tomorrow morning, each tent’ll open up like a pod, giving birth to six, or eight, or ten people.

We reach the biggest structure in the village and I understand where he’s taking me. The Hunter’s Lodge.

Standing square and tall like a fortress, the Lodge contains more wood’n anything else we’ve ever built. I’ve only ever seen it from the outside, but tonight I’m in for a treat. Circ’s taking me inside.

There’s a guard at the door, but he’s not really paying attention, just sitting there, puffing on pipeweed. Circ motions for me to stay back, behind the corner of the Lodge. He walks up to the guard casually, and I stifle a laugh when the Hunter leaps to his feet, grabbing at his belt for a weapon.

“Whoa, Kiroff, it’s just me, Circ,” Circ says.

“Jumping
’zards, you gave me a fright,” Kiroff says, taking his hand off his belt. “I thought you mighta been one of them Glassies, snuck inside.” I remember Kiroff. He was a year ahead of us in Learning. He didn’t make Hunter until after finishing Learning, when he turned sixteen, four years behind Circ. Still fresh on the job.

Circ laughs. “Come on, do you really believe all that nonsense?”

Kiroff scratches his head. “The Greynotes seemed pretty searin’ serious about it in the briefing. They said all guards had to be extra watchful.”

“So you’re sitting here smoking pipeweed and letting me sneak up on you?” There’s amusement in Circ’s tone.

Kiroff kicks at the durt sheepishly. “It was all I could do to stay awake. You won’t tell anyone, will you?”

Circ chuckles. “Nah. That’s why I’m here. They decided to switch it up, change guards more regularly so everyone stays fresh.”

“They didn’t tell me that,” Kiroff says, eyes narrowing.

“Strange,” Circ says. “They must’ve forgotten. Anyway, I’m here to relieve you of your post. I’m on duty till morning. Get some sleep.”

Kiroff seems uncertain at first, his mouth opening and closing, his feet shifting back and forth, but then he shrugs. “Thanks,” he says gratefully. Apparently the thought of some extra sleep won out over any sense of duty.

Kiroff trudges off, in the opposite direction, and Circ waves me over. “We’re in,” he says. Excitement builds in my stomach. Tonight
is turning out to be better’n just carrying out my plan.

~~~

I’m not sure how it is during the day, but being inside the Lodge at night is eerie. It’s dark and hollow and feels like we’re inside the belly of a sleeping beast, wind rushing through the endless passageways.

“Around the edge are the weapons rooms, strategy rooms, commanders’ quarters, supply holds and a whole lot of other boring stuff,” Circ explains as we walk down a hallway. It’s weird, unlike anything I’ve ever seen. It’s almost lik
e all the huts in the village’ve been joined together, the walls knocked down so that it’s one, long hut. We reach a corner and turn right. The next side of the square.

“And all the sides are like this?” I ask.