Prairie Fire (28 page)

The ride back under the mountains was peaceful and dull. I spent much of it listening to the recordings that Peter's mother had given to me, of her drumming and some of the other Haida songs. I could hear a mandolin in some of them and knew that it was Peter playing. I would always have that much of him, anyway, which was as much as I really needed.

“You're really okay?” Owen said quietly, for about the fourteenth time since we'd left Port Edward.

“I'm really okay,” I told him. Again.

“It's just that Sadie said she thought you might actually like this one.” Owen didn't even look uncomfortable when he said it. It was very annoying.

“No,” I said. “I mean, I like him. And I'll miss him, because I'm not likely to get across the Rockies too many more times in my life, let alone up to Port Edward, but there was nothing beyond music, I promise.”

“Music might have been enough, once,” Owen said. “Do you think?”

I thought about it for a second before answering. Before Sadie, before Owen, I thought I would be “that lovely young woman who plays the piano” forever. I wasn't particularly lonely, though I knew my parents had worried that I never got out. I had crushes on dead composers and pieces of music, and the occasional opera singer, but nothing tangible. Then I'd met Owen—and Sadie, who seemed determined that I was going to be astonishingly popular if it killed her. To my surprise, I found I liked it. That last year of school, no longer under my own pressure to be so dedicated to practice, I had eaten in the cafeteria and found that there was something to be said for the experience. I didn't think about Alex, Heidi, or the others very often, but when I did, it was fondly. For so long, I had sat out—playing solo instead of ensemble. I was good at it, it was true, but when I turned out to be good at ensemble as well, that didn't make my solos any less proficient.

“Yes,” I said finally. I looked straight at him when I said it. “But that was before.”

“Before you were famous on YouTube?” He smiled.

“Well, I'm not sure I'm famous on YouTube,” I said. “But I meant before that. When we started working together.”

“It's the kind of work best done with friends,” Owen said, and I knew from his tone that they were Hannah's words. “You know, I was worried at first that you would just think we were using you because you were talented. But I really do like being your friend.”

“Likewise,” I said, leaning into his shoulder. It was broader than I remembered. “Well, except I was worried you'd think I was working with you because I wanted Lottie to stay and keep dragons from burning my house down.”

“I swear to God,” said Porter from the seat behind us. If I craned my neck and pushed up as tall as I could, I could almost see him. Owen only had to turn his head. “If the pair of you don't shut up, I am going to break the window and throw myself from the train.”

“Apologies, Lieutenant,” I said, doing my best not to giggle. “We thought you were asleep.”

“Not for lack of trying,” he growled.

“We'll keep it down, sir,” Owen said, which I thought was ridiculous because we'd been talking fairly quietly. The fire crew was a few seats ahead of us, crammed in around one of the folding tables that were theoretically for paperwork, and trying to teach the Americans to play Cheat, with middling results.

“Are you going to write a song about the whales?” Owen whispered.

“I only saw them for a minute,” I said. “And I think it will take me some time to get the drumming down.”

Peter's mother had given me a small drum, along with an oversized stick that would be easier for me to grasp, but I figured it would be a while before I tackled learning to play it properly, much less incorporating it into songs.

“I think I'll write instead about the way Port Edward works together,” I said, after a moment's consideration.

“Please tell me it's going to be a sea chantey,” Owen said.

“Probably,” I said. It would be hard to get around it. It was almost impossible to separate my feelings about Port Edward from the sound of the waves crashing on the icy rocks. Between the sea and the dragons, it was no wonder the Haida had such excellent drums. The cold water and warm houses, the family and the sense of home, would be best put to folk music, and not my usual tendencies towards classical.

By the time we got to Hinton, I had the beginnings of it in my head. We had thought that Owen and Porter would be leaving us there and returning to their desolate watch over the forests. Instead, we found new orders for all of us to return to Fort Calgary. There was no elaboration, and I did my best not to be concerned about it. But for some reason, the shadow that the mountains cast upon the prairies was much, much more menacing than it had been when we were on the western side, and the shelter offered by those cold, unadorned totem poles seemed less protective, now that I had seen real ones with my own eyes.

ONE MILLION

Fort Calgary was as we had left it, except there was a hum of activity in the corridors that had been absent since the snow had started to fall. Spring came slow to the prairies, but it could be prepared for, and prepare we did.

We were being deployed—all of us together, including Nick's and Kaori's squads—to the forests north of Grande Prairie. We were not being sent to slay dragons. Each plot of forest, carefully zoned out by the companies who had the logging rights, was carefully bordered by firebreaks, and every spring it was necessary to go north and clear them again. This year, we would also be widening many of them to keep the fires from jumping into populated areas. It would be cold and hard work—I'd finally be able to put to use all that exercise I'd gotten since Basic—but at least we would be together.

Before we left, I was summoned to General Speed's office. The orders came only for me, and I knew as soon as I saw Courtney's face that I was probably in trouble, but there was nothing for it. Annie and Laura helped me get into my dress uniform and made sure everything was perfect. From the way we tucked my short hair under my cap to the laces on my boots, I was the picture of an officer in the Oil Watch, low-ranked as I was. Inside that uniform, it was easy to stand up straight. It was easy to remember that I was good at my job and loyal to my duty, whatever my philosophical differences with the Fort's commander might be.

“Don't take the bait,” Courtney said, pulling on my collar before I could leave. “Whatever he does or says, don't take it. That's what he wants. You haven't done anything wrong yet, but he'll try to goad you into something. That's how he operates. Don't let him.”

“I won't.” I didn't want to know how Courtney knew these things, though I had some suspicions. “And thank you.”

The general's outer office was occupied by two desks for the general's aides (both absent—probably by design). His door was heavy and, surprisingly, made of wood. Everything else in Fort Calgary was concrete or steel, and seeing something flammable was odd. If dragon fire managed to get this far, a burning door was probably the least of our worries, but it still struck me, and it took me longer than it should have to raise a fist and knock.

“Enter,” said the general, and it was then that I saw the knob on the door was the sort of handle that I found the most difficult to manipulate. I refused to panic and got it open as quickly as I could. I walked to the front of his desk and stood between the two chairs I would certainly not be invited to sit in.

“Reporting as ordered, sir,” I said, saluting crisply.

“Bard McQuaid,” General Speed said. He did not say “at ease” so I remained at attention. “It has come to my attention that you have been chronicling our exploits in the Oil Watch to promote your own fame.”

“Excuse me, sir?” I said, when it became apparent that he was waiting for an answer.

“Your Internet activity. On YouTube,” he elaborated, looking like it caused him physical pain to say the words. “You have written more songs about the support squad and about the Fort than you have about your dragon slayer.”

Apparently General Speed had done his homework and read all of the old regulations pertaining to the role of a bard—as I had done before enlisting.

“Sir,” I said. “My dragon slayer was not here for the bulk of the winter. I chronicled what I could, as outlined in sub-section D.”

“So you did,” the general said. “But at the same time, your followers online seem to think that you are the hero of the tale, not young Thorskard.”

“Sir?” I said, now legitimately confused. That had never been my intention.

“You honestly expect me to believe that you have no idea how many followers you have?” General Speed demanded. “Or what they say about you?”

“No, sir,” I said. “I don't read the comments.”

The general sat back in his chair, steepling his fingers and looking at me like I was something to be considered anew.

“Well, then,” he said, almost to himself. “Perhaps it's not as bad as I thought.”

I didn't say anything. I could hear the snare drum beating out an unflinching rhythm. It would be marched to, and nothing out of step would be tolerated. I remembered what Courtney had told me. I wouldn't take the bait.

“You are prepared for your reassignment?” he asked after a moment.

“Nearly, sir,” I replied. I wasn't sure what he was fishing for. “Our engineers are making lists and we expect to be ready within two hours, provided the materials they've requested can be found.”

He didn't so much as flick an eyelid when I mentioned his daughter. He might as well have not even known who Courtney was.

“Very well,” he said. “You're dismissed.”

“Sir!” I saluted automatically, mostly on instinct. The dismissal had been a little abrupt. I fumbled with the door to get out, but he didn't look up from his paperwork.

I followed the corridors back to the barracks, much more slowly than I had on my approach, and tried to figure out what had just happened. Whatever the general had wanted, he'd clearly gotten from me, and it made me uncomfortable not to know what it was.

Perhaps he had genuinely thought that I was using my time in the Oil Watch to set myself up for some kind of post-service musical fame, and I had been able to convince him otherwise. I snorted, getting a glance from one of the caretakers as he passed me with a mop. He smiled at me and waved like he knew who I was. There weren't that many females on base and only one bard, so it was possible. But I didn't recognize him at all, and I felt a bit bad if I had forgotten meeting him.

In any case, it seemed unlikely that I had made General Speed feel better about my intention for my post–Oil Watch life. If anything, he seemed relieved about something more immediate. Something I had failed to notice.

I froze in my steps, heart hammering like I'd run a mile in full kit. He'd talked about my following, and I had misunderstood. Peter had given me a hint on the beach—that I had more people on my side than I imagined—and I'd been so distracted that I missed it. General Speed hadn't meant my followers. He was worried about something far more significant than clicking a thumbs-up icon on a Web page. He'd meant my
fans
.

It was late, but not so close to lights-out that I couldn't squeeze in an e-mail to Emily if I had to. I was in luck, too, because she was available to chat.

“Hey!” she said when I connected. “This is a surprise.”

“How many followers do I have?” I asked. “The YouTube channel. How many followers does it have?”

“I miss you, too,” she said, confused. “Um, we broke a million subscribers the other day. That was exciting. Do you want me to record a video thanking people? That seems to be trendy.”

One million. One million people. And that wasn't even counting the casual viewers who hadn't subscribed. And they all heard me sing or play. They were all hearing the Story of Owen. But Owen rarely appeared in those videos. They were hearing his story, but they were hearing it from
me
.

“Siobhan?” Emily said.

“I—,” I started. “There's not going to be new music for a while,” I managed finally. “We're being deployed.”

“All of you together?” Emily asked.

“Yes,” I said. “Firebreak season.”

“Sounds like no fun at all,” Emily said cheerily. She was the indoor type.

“I'm sure we'll manage,” I told her. “Look, I'm sorry to just randomly ask you questions for no apparent reason, but I'm kind of on my way somewhere.”

“No problem,” she said. “I should have mentioned your followers earlier. Did you want me to make that video? Thanking them?”

“Yes,” I said, smiling. “I think that would be a good idea.”

“Be safe,” she said. “Take care of Owen.”

“I will,” I said, and signed off.

One million people. It wasn't just Trondheim and Port Edward. It was the world.