Fire Country (8 page)

If my feet are stone, Circ’s are clouds, floating across the desert, graceful and light. But these are winter clou
ds, full of lightning, and right ’fore Circ launches himself at the Killer, his body seems to darken. His slasher-blade—the lightning—flashes against the darkness of his body as he crashes into the beast.

No, no, sun goddess, no!

Take Hawk, take me.

Not Circ.

Not my best friend, not someone so good, so pure, so perfect.

The Killer is on him, shaking and twitching with excitement. I can’t see its face but I know why it’s excited. Tearing and biting. Clawing and ripping. Feasting on the blood of my world.
To me—everything. To the Killer—just a meal.

I’ve got no sense left in me, if I had any to begin with. I
run right at it, determined to kill it ’fore it can take any more of my friend, or more likely die trying. I’m weaponless, but I see the tip of Circ’s slasher-blade peeking out from the edge of the Killer’s skin. Circ’s final gift to me.

I hold my breath, reach for the blade, feel it’s warm steel on my fingertips, try to pull it toward me so I can get to the handle. It won’t budge. It’s trapped under something, Circ’s body, or the Killer, or both. I strain against the weight, desperate to get it out before the Killer notices my presence, but I’m not strong enough. Never strong enough.

The Killer’s no longer moving. It’s frozen. It knows I’m here and is contemplating the best way to turn and rip me to shreds. The blade is my only chance and I’m desperate now. I scrabble at it, try to follow the gleaming metal down to the handle. My fingers only get two inches before brushing against blood-matted fur. The blade almost seems to come from the Killer’s skin, like it’s hiding it within him, well out of my reach.

It’s still not moving.

’Cause it’s dead.

T
his clinches it: I’m destined to be in trouble for the rest of my life.

I tried my best to save my friend’s life—although I think I got more in the way’n anything—
nearly dying in the process, and then watched him escape death by a hairsbreadth—and now I’m in trouble for it.

“This is the last grain of sand, Youngling!” my father says, his face red again. He was one of the forty-nine survivors, including
Circ and Hawk, of the Killer attack. Evidently their group was the only unlucky one. All of the other hunting parties came back with minimal deaths, all from the horns and hoofs of tugs.

“I have a name!” I spout, surprising even myself. I’m ta
lking back to my father more’n more these days, which is probably stupid, but I can’t seem to help myself. He makes me so angry, madder’n a Cotee who watches its dinner get swooped away by a sneaky vulture ’fore it gets even one bite.

“Your name should be Brainless,” Father says.

“Roan, go easy,” my mother says. I look at her, surprised, but she’s expressionless. She’s never stood up for me. I always get the feeling that she wants to, but either she’s too scared or too smart to do anything.

My father whirls on her, momentarily taking the pressure off of me. “How dare you!
I’m trying to save our daughter from herself. She could have been killed today. And you will address me as Greynote, Woman.”

In my head I hear it as my father wanting to be called Greynote Woman, or perhaps Greynote the Woman.
A snigger escapes my lips, bringing his attention mercilessly back to me, his eyes blazing.

“I have a name, too,” my mo
ther says, her voice no more’n a whisper. My initial shock at her interference turns to amazement. What’s going on? It’s like me and my mother’ve both had enough of it—all of it. My father’s punishments and anger and outbursts. And now we’re fighting back as best we can.

My father’s head bounces back toward my mother. He takes two strides until he looms over her, at least a head taller and twice as big. For a moment he reminds me of the Killer and I have the urge to rush him from behind.

“Enough!” he snaps. “From both of you. Woman, you will leave this instant or I will make you leave.” I admire my mother’s nerve as she stares at him, holding it for two moments longer’n I woulda had the guts to do. When she breaks her gaze, her eyes meet mine, flash
I’m sorry
, and then she walks out the hut door.

I’
m determined to plead my case ’fore my father turns on me again. “I was only trying to—”

“I said enough, Siena,” my father says, surprising me
by using my name for the second time in as many days. Averting his eyes, he stalks around the edge of the hut, drawing flaps of tugskin over each of the three windows. Next he’ll go for his snapper, I know it.

“Father, I—”

“Stop. You not only put yourself in danger, but the entire village too. We simply cannot have pre-Bearers running around trying to be heroes. If you die, you cannot be in the Call, can you? Siena, you will Bear a child when you turn sixteen, nineteen, and twenty-two, just like all the other girls. You understand?” His voice is lower, less angry, almost petulant.

I nod
, even while thinking,
It really is just about breeding, ain’t it?

“I’ve tried the snapper, I’ve tried threatening, I’ve tried everything I can think of. There’s only one option left. You’ll spend a day in Confinement.”

~~~

’C
ause my day in Confinement won’t begin until tomorrow, I go to find Circ, a final rebellion ’fore Father punishes me. I don’t even try to hide where I’m going, but Father doesn’t try to stop me either, because there’s some big important Greynote meeting he hasta prepare for and I’m suddenly the least of his worries.

Circ
’s sitting on a pile of sand outside his family’s tent, staring into the fire pit, which ain’t lit. A gust of wind is sweeping the gray ash in circles, almost hypnotically.

“Some day,” I say as I plop down next to him.

Circ keeps staring into the pit. Maybe he’s in a trance. “Did steam come out of your father’s ears this time?” he asks.

“More like out of his butt,” I say, snorting.

Circ laughs, his eyes alight as he finally looks up at me. “What’d you get? More blaze shoveling?”

“Not exactly. Confinement.”
I don’t mention being forbidden to hang out with him.

“What? He can’t do that! You’re only fifteen.” His smile is gone but the h
oles in his cheeks are deeper’n ever.

“He can do whatever he wants,” I say, picking up a stone and chucking it into the fire pit.

“He’s not Head Greynote yet,” Circ says, throwing his own stone.

“Well, he might as well be. Shiva’s in no position to stop him from making all the decisions. It’s only a day anyway. He thinks it’ll teach me a lesson.”

“Will it?” Circ asks, his eyebrows raised.

I look at him and we both laugh. Sun goddess, what would I do without Circ?

“Really, it’s nothing I can’t handle,” I say.

“That’s what you always say. But I say he’s gone too far. The way he manhandles you and your mother, it just ain’t right.”

“He’s just another Heater man trying to keep control of his Calls,” I say.

“Most of the men ain’t like him,” Circ says. “My father, for one.”

“Are your ribs okay?” I ask, changing the subject and motioning to Circ’s stomach.

Scowling, he lifts his shirt. Heavy, thick bandages are wrapped tightly around his torso.

“Are those to keep your guts from falling out?” I ask.

“Not just my guts. My organs, bones, the food I eat, everything,” Circ says, keeping a straight face, but not frowning anymore.

“Smoky,” I say. “You better not take them off then.”

Circ’s expression suddenly turns serious. “How about you? Are you okay?”

“Nothing a day in Confinement can’t cure,” I say wryly. When Circ smirks, I say, “Oh, you mean my injuries? I thought you meant my mental problems, tendency toward delinquency, and aversi
on to being sixteen and big with child.”

“You’re admitting you have mental problems?” Circ says, raising one side of his lip, which deepens one dimple but not the other.

I punch him lightly on the shoulder. “I’m not admitting anything. MedMa said I didn’t do any further damage to my wrist, so I’m still looking at a full moon and a half of healing. He bandaged the four claw marks on my back. Apparently they’re deep enough that I’ll get some wicked scars, but not deep enough to cause any permanent damage.”

“Sounds like the perfect result,” Circ says.

We’re both silent for a moment, lost in our own thoughts. Me, I’m remembering the day’s events in my head, cycling through them as if they’re a dream sequence, something that happened while I was sleeping, or perhaps to someone else entirely. I don’t know what Circ is thinking, not until he speaks anyway.

“Why’d you run down on that field, Sie?” I look up at him, hoping for a clue as to the motivation behind his question, but all I get are curious eyes and flat lips.

I want to tell him everything. How much he means to me, how I’d want to die if he ever got killed, how the thought of losing him is like someone stabbing me repeatedly in the heart. I don’t know anything about love, not really, but I know the way I feel when I’m with Circ is the best feeling ever, like the calm after a violent windstorm, like seeing the first prickler buds appear so miraculously after the harshness of winter, like running full-gallop across the plains, wind on my face and skin.

But all I say is, “I didn’t have anything better to do and you looked like you could use some help.”

He cocks his head to the side, looks at me sideways for a couple of seconds, and then says, “Thanks.”

I sense he wants to say more, and might even say whatever it is, but I’m
really not in the mood for a serious conversation, so I say, “Did you talk to Hawk?”

Circ laughs, but it’s more of a cough-laugh. “Yeah. I talked to him alright. He said, ‘Just because you saved my life doesn’t mean we’re friends.’”

“He burnin’ tried to kill you!” I say.

“He claims he didn’t see me—that he was just going for the kill.”

“Baggard,” I say. “You should tell the Greynotes what he did.”

“Normally I would, but they’ve got enough to deal with right now.”

“Baggard,” I repeat.

“Some people never change.”

“What are they saying about the Killer attack?” I ask.

“It’s unprecedented,” he says. “Everyone knows the Killers are dangerous, but they’re also not stupid. They’re very clever hunters, attacking only at night when you can barely see them, isolating their prey so they always have the advantage in numbers, going after the weakest link, that sort of thing. But this time was different. They attacked a foe with greater numbers in broad daylight. And they went after the strongest from our village, the Hunters.”

“Yeah, but they were only trying to get to the tugs,” I point out. “The Hunters just happened to be in the way.”

“Maybe,” he says. “But it’s still strange.”

I nod. “Any theories?”

Circ rubs his chin, which has a thin layer of stubble. I guess he didn’t have time to shave. “The Greynote Hunters are being especially quiet about the whole thing. Honestly, I feel like they’re hiding something. Your father didn’t say a word about it after the Hunt, just told us we all did a good job and that we would have to pitch in to bury the dead
and secure the tugs before the Cotees and vultures get to them. I’m exempt because of my injuries.”

Weird. Everything about the way my father’s been acting is weird. “But besides the Greynotes, d
o any of t’other Hunters have any guesses?” I ask. “There hasta be some reason for the attack.”

Circ shrugs. “Some of the guys are saying the Killers must be desperate for food, that they’re having difficulty finding it elsewhere.”

“Makes sense,” I say, closing my eyes.

“Maybe…” Circ says, slowly, drawing out the word like he wants to say more.

“What? What is it?” I ask, opening my eyes to look at him.

“Well, I don’t want to scare you, but—”

“That’s usually what people say ’fore saying something scary,” I interrupt, smirking.

Circ smiles, but it
’s only half of one. Something’s clearly on his mind. “Okay, let me rephrase. I do want to scare you, so I’ll tell you what some of the other guys are saying. A few of them think the Killers were targeting us.”

“The Hunters?”

“Maybe the Hunters, maybe the Heaters in general.”

“But why would they do that?” I ask. “I mean, they killed a bunch of Hunters, but their entire pack died in the process.”

Circ throws up his hands. “I know, I know, it sounds crazy. But what if they were out for revenge? And what if that wasn’t their whole pack and they only sent a small death squad to kill us? And what if they’re not done yet? And what if—”

“Whoa, whoa, hold up,
Circ. You’re sounding all wooloo. Are the guys really saying all that?”

Circ nods. “They’re saying it might be the start of another war with the Killers.”

My breath catches in my chest. Another Killer war? “But the Hunters’ve stayed within the boundaries, right?”

“Of course. We never even get close to the edge of the hunting zone we’ve used for the last hundred years, since the
last Killer war. But what if someone else is?” Another
what if
. Circ’s setting some kinda record.

I th
ink back to everything they taught us in Learning. A little over a hundred years ago the Heaters got greedy, started hunting tug outside of their normal area, where the Killers roamed the desert, started taking more meat’n they needed to survive. As Teacher put it, “The balance of nature kicked in.” In other words, the Killers started doing what they do best: killing. They attacked the village every night for days and days, distracting the guards on one side and sneaking in on t’other to drag away women and children, leaving only smears of blood and claw marks in the durt as evidence they’d ever been there. By the time the war was over and the Hunters realized that all they hadta do was reign in their hunting zone, the Killers had wiped out half the village. To replenish our numbers, the frequency of Bearing was increased to every two years for all eligible Bearers. The Bearer age was dropped to fifteen. That lasted for twenty six years ’fore returning to normal. Lucky for me. If it hadn’t, I’d already be child-big, my first child on the way, compliments of some unknown guy.

But who else’
d be stupid enough to Hunt in Killer territory? The Icers? Not a chance. They never leave the safety of the mountains. The Glassies? It’s possible. After we held them off a few full moons back they might be looking to try again.
The Wild Ones
. The words pop into my head and my eyes widen.