Fire Country (20 page)

I
t don’t seem right the way life goes on. Someone that matters to you more’n life itself dies, and yet you go on existing, as if nothing’s changed. You still have duties, responsibilities, routines. Things to do, like getting my arm unwrapped ’cause it’s healed now. All these things that used to seem so searin’ important, that you worried so much about, are meaningless. And yet—yet you go on doing them ’cause you must. Or people’ll talk, people’ll worry. They’ll say, “I’m worried about Siena, I don’t think she’s ever gotten over Circ’s death.” Don’t they understand? Don’t they get it? There’s no getting over the death of someone like that, someone who you lived for, laughed for, cared for. No. The most you can hope to do is carry on, get through a day, a full moon, a year, and eventually a lifetime without them. In your every act you hafta try to make them proud just in case they’re looking down from somewhere, watching you, a new star in the sky, shining brighter’n t’others.

Circ’
s definitely a star. When I look at the night sky now I see him, bright and beautiful. I thought I’d memorized the heavens, but when I look up now I always see at least one new star. Someone else good has died. Either from our village or from somewhere else. But I know the brightest new star is Circ.

I went to his
fire ceremony, watched as his body, covered by a black shroud, was lit atop a pyre and sent back to the land of the gods. I felt like I was being burned too.

Winter is getting on, is almost over, and I still cry some nights when I look at the stars, but with each passing day I’m feeling better, stro
nger, ready to do what I hafta in this life to make Circ proud. There’s a great weight on my shoulders ’cause I live for the both of us now.

When I think about the end of winter and the approach of spring, burr
ow mice squirm in my stomach. ’Cause this year spring means so much more’n the rains, the Growing, the return of the tug hurds to our area. It means I turn sixteen. It means the Call.

Burrow mice squirm.

Vultures peck.

Pricklers prickle.

All in my gut, squirming and pecking and prickling all at once.

So I try not to think ’
bout it. I try to think about other things. I think ’bout how the wind seems to build every day, sometimes raging into horrendous winter windstorms so powerful all we can do is huddle in our huts and tents and wait for it to pass, hoping we don’t get blown away. But the wind, no matter how strong, can’t seem to pick up enough sand to create the first sandstorm of the waning season. Everyone’s talking ’bout it. How we’ve never had a winter without at least a half dozen major sandstorms. How the sun goddess is blessing us, giving us a break this year ’cause we desperately need it. I don’t know if I believe all that. It seems to me the wind is just saving itself for a time when we least expect it.

No one really talks to me anymore. In Learning I’m t
he same ol’ outcast, but it don’t really bother me. I don’t want to talk to them either. Hawk and his goons pretty much leave me alone now, although I do catch them staring and laughing sometimes. Lara talks to me sometimes, but not the way she used to, ’bout doing things differently and thinking ’bout things. Our chats are much more boring, ’bout the weather, ’bout Learning assignments, that kinda thing. I feel like, in time, we might actually be real friends.

At home things are weird. Sari avoids me like the plague, and I think she’s told Rafi and Fauna not to talk to me either, as if she t
hinks all my bad luck’ll rub off on her kids. I’ve never really liked her anyway. My father keeps up his drivel about duty and the Law, but I’ve learned not to get so angry about it. I just ignore him. I try not to look at him either, ’cause when I do, I see the bones of the dead lifers from Confinement. Any notions I had of being able to help them went out the window when Circ died. Sorry, Raja. I failed you ’fore I ever really got started helping.

The nice thing is that Mother and I talk more. We’ve found a common enemy in my father, and it’s brought us so much closer. We go for long walks
, like the one we’re on now, talking about the past, the present, and the future. Mostly it’s talk about the goings on in the village, but every once in a while, I’ll hear something in her voice, a catch, that makes me think she wants to say something else. But she never does.
Maybe I can draw it outta her
, I think as we circle the village for the third time.

“Mother?” I say.

“Siena?” she says, matching my serious tone and making me laugh.

“Why…” I let the word hang, the anticipation of a question. Should I ask it?

It drops to the durt and I hang my head a little. ’Fraidy tug, I think.

“Why what, Siena?” she nudges.

“I, uh, just been thinking...”

“Dangerous, that,” she says with a wink.

“How come we never really stand up to Father?” I blurt out, right away wishing I’d held it back, never thought to say it.

She stops suddenly, her face going whiter than my Call dress,
grabs my arm. I think she’s mad until she says, “We do, Siena. In our own way. Never think he owns you, you hear me?”

Shaken, I nod slowly. “But when he’s hurting me, when he’s snapping me, you always walk away.”

Mother closes her eyes and she looks sad, so sad, sadder’n she looked when Skye disappeared, sadder’n when Jade died so young. Too sad for what I just said.

“I—I can’t stop him,” she says. “Not now. I’m so sorry, Siena. I want to—all I want to do is protect you—but we have to wait. We just have to wait for the right time.”

The right time? But when is that? And what do we do when we get there? I wanna ask—so burnin’ badly, a million and one questions poking all through my mind like prickler stems—but I can’t ’cause she pulls me forward hard, as a bunch of Greynotes pass us by.

~~~

No matter how many problems I got, there’s always Veeva. Her crazy life keeps me entertained and busy. That’s where I am now—in her tent. The winds have been particularly unkind to their tent—which is sagging in the middle, bent and broken, ready to collapse at any second—probably ’cause Grunt did such a poor job constructing it in the first place. Veeva always tells me he’s good with his hands, but I don’t think she’s talking about tent-building.

“Take him
, Woman,” Grunt grunts, handing a squirming nine-full-moon-old Polk to Veeva.

“Oh no, hot stuff, you ain’t gettin’ out of bundlin’
’im. Not this time. And if you call me Woman again, I won’t lie with you fer a quarter full moon.” Veeva’s got one arm holding the baby, t’other on her hip, and a third hand figuratively clutching Grunt’s manparts.

I’m trying not to crack up.

“Okay, okay,” Grunt says, throwing up his tug-sausage fingers. “No need to make them threats of yers, Vee. I’m doin’ the best I can. I gotta fix this burnin’ tent before it kills us all!”

“I can bundle him,” I suggest, trying to be helpful.

Veeva warns me off with a shake of her head. She’s got something else up her sleeve. “Mmm, well if you can bundle this beautiful baby of yers
and
fix this here dyin’ tent, I got a special surprise fer you.” In an act that I find somewhat disgusting, and a whole lot intriguing, she sticks out her chest and shakes her enormous bosoms, which, I might add, are practically falling out of her loose top. Grunt’s eyes get bigger’n the moon and Polk grabs at her bouncing breasts like they might be a fun toy to play with. I’m relatively inexperienced in such things—other’n what Veeva’s told me—but perhaps to Grunt, Veeva’s overly ample chest
is
a fun toy to play with. The way his eyes’re bugging out of his head certainly seems to indicate it.

“I’ll do it, Woman!” he shouts, his big ol’ belly flopping as he raises his fist above his head. He catches himself. “Sorry, I mean, Veeva.”

“Mmm, mmm, mmm, I know you will, my stallion,” she says licking her lips and holding out the stinky Polk.

Yeah, these are the type of interactions I witness on a daily basis at Veeva’s place. Things that would never—EVER—happen in our hut, which I’m somewhat thankful for.

While Grunt gets to putting a fresh bundle on the baby, Veeva fans herself with a hand. “Useless, bugger,” she whispers to me. “I gotta threaten ’im like this to get ’im to do any burnin’ thing around ’ere. If he wasn’t so good in bed, I’d throw ’im out on his arse. The baggard.”

I laugh
, both at Veeva’s insults and ’cause Grunt’s got Polk upside down by the foot and is trying to wipe his little butt with an old blanket. Veeva shakes her head. “He’s hopeless,” she says. Then, her eyes lighting up, she turns to me. You got your Call comin’ up soon, don’t you?”

I shrug. “Yeah. S’pose so.”

She claps. “Who do you got yer eye on?”

“My eye?” I haven’t re
ally thought ’bout it, mostly ’cause I’m trying to avoid thinking ’bout the Call at all. “No one,” I say lamely.

She puts an arm ’
round me. “Still hung up on Circ?”

She says his name so casually, as if he was just an old boyfriend, that it doesn’t even sting as much as usual. “I do
n’t know,” I lie.

“You know, he couldn’ta been ye
r Call anyway,” she says.

“I know,” I say. “But a girl can dream, can’t she?”

“Of course!” she says, excited now, her eyes lighting up. “Ooh, before my Call I dreamed of Bearing a million babies with Zerg. You know who I mean?”

I laugh. “Didn’t e
very Bearer in your Call wanna get Zerg?”

She nods. “Yeah, but none so bad as me. That searin’ shilt Mariday got
’im. Lucky bugger. And I got stuck with ’im,” she says, motioning to Grunt, who’s managed to get the bundle wrapped half ’round Polk’s leg and half ’round his arm. Grunt’s just staring at the baby, all confused-like, as if bundling a baby is the most confusing puzzle in all of fire country.

“Fix it!” Veeva orders, startling Grunt out of hi
s daze. “Or you’ll sleep on t’other side of the tent ternight.”

At that threat, Grunt pulls at the bundle, desperately trying to untangle it from Polk’s wriggling limbs
. I’m laughing so hard I hafta hold my stomach. Veeva gives an exasperated sigh and goes to him, puts her arms ’round his shoulders, massaging them slightly. Grunt is sweating like he’s been working in the blaze pits. “It’s okay, my gorgeous hunk of muscle,” she coos. “I’ll take care of it. Fix the tent and I won’t punish you.”

~~~

Tonight I watch the stars. Now that Circ’s gone, my father doesn’t seem to mind if I go out at night. I don’t even hafta sneak out. I just get up, walk out the door. Sometimes I can feel him watching me, other times he doesn’t seem to notice. But either way, he never tries to stop me.

I always go to the same place. The Hunters Lodge. The first time I went the guard was hesitant to let me in, particularly after the way we tricked our way in the last time. But after I explained why I wanted to go in and promised not to break or steal anything, the guard let me. Now I’m a regular.

“Not too many clouds tonight, Sie,” the guard says when I arrive. “Should be a perfect stargazing night.”

“Thanks, Potts,” I say, entering through the door he holds for me. I know all the guards’ names now.

I don’t take the long way anymore, the way Circ took me when he brought me here. I have no desire to walk down the dark, empty Lodge halls. Outside I feel much closer to him. So I go right up the middle, under the wooden struts and girders and pylons that keep the Lodge from getting blasted over by the strong winter winds. Into the open air space in the middle. Here I feel protected, safe, loved. I’m never alone here, not really. It’s my special place. A place I’ll never bring anyone.

I lie directly in the middle, look up at the sparkling sky. I spot Circ immediately, as I
always do, brighter’n t’others. “Hi,” I say.

I know he wants to reply, but can’t. From up there, he has no voice. But something tells me he’s not just a pretty thing to look at. He still has power in him. Power to change things for me, to impact my life. He’ll always impact my life.

My discussion with Veeva pops into my head. The Call. Not that far off. Scary close now. If I could choose any of the eligible guys in the village, who would I choose? I know the answer. None of them. None of them are Circ.

But, for the sake of humoring Veeva, I try
to think ’bout it seriously. ’Cause I’m going to get one of them whether I like it or not. Grunt pops into my head first and I laugh. Being Veeva’s Call-Sister would be incredible, but the thought of lying with Grunt even once makes me wanna throw a handful of rocks in the air and run under them. I’d take thirty rocks to the face over having to touch him any day.

’C
ause I’m so anti-social these days, I don’t really know anyone. I barely even really know the Younglings I go to Learning with, much less anyone eighteen or older. There’re a couple of brothers who seem friendly enough, Graum and Baum. They’re Hunters, too, like Circ is—was. Pretty smoky, too. Not Circ smoky, but nice to look at. Either of them would be okay I guess. But there are many more worse options—options I don’t wanna think ’bout right now. Not ever.