The Boys of Fire and Ash

“Damn it, Cubby! I said go back!” My voice cut right through the rumbling thunder of the Ikkuma Fire Mountains.

The brat just stared at me, his blond scraggly hair covered with ash, his cheeks streaked black from the sweat mixed with soot. His little face was wearing that annoying scowl he saved just for me.

He'd been following us since the A-Frame, all the way to the Hotpots. I looked back towards our triangular dwelling, now just a brown-colored dot in the distance against the charred black earth.

The Ikkuma Pit, our home, is just a giant hole filled with black rock. Black rock and the discarded junk of people living on the outside: metal scraps, soiled clothes, and us, the Ikkuma Brothers. Normally, the blanket of ash that covers the place cushions your foot, but as I stomped away from Cubby, shards of black crystal and stone hiding beneath the soft, squishy layer stabbed at my bare feet.

I knew my job, knew I was supposed to love my Little Brother no matter what, but right then I wanted to punch his stupid scowling face.

“I want to go hunting!” Cubby screeched for the eightieth time that day.

The mountains groaned, just as sick of hearing his incessant whining as I was. Hunting for Slag Cavies with Av was supposed to be my time, my break, a chance to get away from him and just practice. And Cubby knew it.

“Forget it, Urgle. Just let him come,” said Av. Av was my best friend, a great hunter, and the best shot in the whole Ikkuma Pit. He'd never had much patience for arguing, though I guess he never had to worry about it—
his
Little Brother was a breeze.

“Av, no way!” I said. “He can't navigate the Hotpots!”

“I can so!” screeched Cubby.

“You can't!”

“Relax!” Av yelled, gripping fistfuls of his dark, matted hair. “I'll help him across, all right? Everyone stop the yelling.”

Furious, I wiped away the sweat dripping down my cheeks and took in a deep breath through my nose, the hot, dry air singeing my nose hairs and rushing a warm calm into my lungs—for the moment, anyway.

Cubby's scowl disappeared, replaced by a big fat grin.
Thanks, Av, big help
.

Cubby always got his way. Not because he should, but because he wouldn't stop pushing. Ever. Not until he'd made me as mad as he could.

I glared at the field of Hotpots stretched out before us, pools of molten lava glowing an ember red. I fought the urge to toss the kid in and be done with him.

From somewhere, a voice sniggered, “Goin' to hunt them big bad Slag Cavies, Urgs?”

Two grubby Brothers were squatted over a small Hotpot not far off—Fiver and Wasted. Fiver was sneering, pleased
with what he considered a good joke, his thin lips spread across his fat face, while his Little Brother, Wasted, stifled his laughter while heating up some pebbles for a game of Whip It. My cheeks burned. It
had
to be Fiver who watched me lose an argument to my Little Brother. All my life, I've got on OK with everyone. I'm certainly nobody's favorite person, not like Av—everybody loves Av—I'm just sort of there. But for Fiver, I was
too
there…and it bothered him.

“Those junk rodents aren't bad practice,” he went on. “You just keep at it. Maybe this'll be the year you finally make the Hunting Party.”

At that, Wasted could contain himself no longer, and he exploded with wheezy laughter.

“Yeah, keep it up, you two,” warned Av. “Urgs has come a long way with a spear. You'll see.”

I hadn't. I had terrible aim, bad eyesight, and poor hearing, and I was slow. The exact opposite of the Brothers in the Hunting Party. No matter how much Av practiced with me in the Landfill, I never got any better at hunting.

“Oh, I bet,” laughed Fiver. “From what I've seen, Urgs, you're gonna need a lot more help than even Av can give you.”

I clenched my jaw and spat. Fiver was right. At the rate I was going, I'd never make the Hunting Party before my Leaving Day.

“Remember,” said Fiver, “you keep the sharp part of the spear pointed
away
from you.”

Wasted's laughter turned into a fit of hysterics, and I couldn't tell if the rumble vibrating my chest was the rumble of the Fire Mountains or my own wild fury bubbling up inside.

Cubby stepped out in front of me and Av, his filthy face wearing a new scowl, this one for Fiver. “He knows how to hunt!”

Just what I needed. My Little Brother fighting my battle for me. I swallowed the groan rising in my throat.

Fiver's beady, dark eyes narrowed on little Cubby, his mouth oozing into a fatter grin. “Never even had a chance. Poor little scroungee.”

“Hey!” barked Av.

I watched Cubby. His voice had caught in his throat; his mouth hung open, trembling.

One word, and it was like Fiver had punched us both in the face. Scroungees were Brothers who could only scavenge the junk piles in the Landfill for food, Brothers who couldn't hunt because their Big Brother was a useless lump who couldn't teach them how.

I grabbed Cubby's boney shoulder and pulled him in behind me. “What did you just call him?”

“I know a scroungee when I see one. That one's a scroungee.”

“What's your problem, Fiver?” said Av.

Cubby was close to tears, but Fiver had meant the insult for me more than him, and he'd got the rise he wanted.

“That's it!” I growled, throwing my pack to the ground and advancing on Fiver.

Av leaped out in front of me, trying to calm me down, but Fiver was on his feet, waiting for the brawl, his amused sneer begging me to let him have it.