Winterkill (9 page)

“That's not true.” His hand stays extended. “I saw you just moments ago.”

Bleed it! Why did I have to dance with Tom? And why does he want to dance with me? The other day at the river flashes through my head.

He's waiting. I can't do much else but curtsy and let him lead me into the circle of dancers.

When we turn to face one another to begin the Choosing Dance steps, my stomach knots. I step hard on my foot, let the pain swamp my fear. We reach forward to clasp hands, and Brother Stockham holds my gaze and brings my hand to his lips. It's part of the dance, just one of the steps, but the way he is looking on me . . .

On the contrary, I find it . . . appealing.

His hair falls forward and brushes my knuckles. I scramble for a distraction. I pretend to catch someone's eye in the crowd and smile. Then I remember what Sister Ann said about my mouth and I drop the smile. My mind spins.

Brother Stockham pulls me toward him and we are whirling around the circle with the other couples. His left hand holds the small of my back tight and he guides me sure, unafraid of a misstep.

My heart is beating double time, all out of rhythm with the willow flutes and drum, but my steps follow along sure enough. My foot is hot, a pain that spreads up my leg and meets his fiery hand. He is dancing without pause, but he's not watching for other couples at all; I can feel his eyes on my face.

My room watching is getting impolite, has gone far beyond being modest. I glance up. “I didn't know you danced, Brother Stockham.”

“On occasion.”

“You dance real well.”

The hand on my back tightens as he turns me around the outer edge of the circle. Halfway through the turn he presses me close and leans in, his mouth close to my jaw. “As do you.” I expect us to break apart as the turn ends, but he keeps me close. “And now I suspect you do many things well.”

I flush and miss a step, causing him to lose his grip. As I reclaim my distance, the corner of his full mouth pulls up.

“I enjoyed our talk the other day, Sister Emmeline,” he says.

I swallow hard. “At the river?”

He nods. “It was refreshing. I . . . appreciated your point of view.”

I don't remember having one. But the image of him out in the trees swims before my eyes.
Our salvation lies in Discovery
. Should I ask him? If I'm wrong . . .

“Brother Stockham, what you said that day . . . about Discovery.”

His hand tightens on my back.

“What did you mean about it being our salvation?”

He takes a moment to answer. “Our virtues will always be the path to the settlement's prosperity.”

“But you said the most important of the virtues was Discovery. The other day, you said that.”

He pulls me closer. “Might we discuss this later?”

But the words are coming and I can't stop them. “You
always say our virtues ensure our survival. Council always says that. But how far should we go to prove our Discovery virtue? I mean, our borders, the woods”—I'm near babbling now—“you said the world around us is large. But how do we know just how large it is? And if our salvation lies in Discovery, shouldn't we want to find out?”

He looks at me sharp. “What are you asking?”

I picture him out in those woods. Take a breath. “Do you think exploring the woods could help prove your Discovery virtue?”

For the first time since we started the dance he breaks my gaze, casting a look about the room, smiling. Then he draws me close. “I don't go to the woods.” His words are moth wings whispering in my ear.

I pull back and it's out of my mouth before I think: “Never said you did.”

The smile vanishes.

Before I can think of anything to say, the song ends and couples break apart to clap and regroup. Brother Stockham takes me by the forearms and steps back but doesn't let go.

“Thank you.” My voice is too high. Everyone watching the dance is looking at us, I can feel it.

He holds my gaze longer than he ought and I am frozen in his sharp eyes. Then he bows his head and the spell breaks. His hand brands my back once more as he takes me off the dance floor.

My pa is standing there looking pleased. The women beside him pretend to look on without interest, but their eyes are shiny.

Brother Stockham's gaze sweeps the group. “Good Harvest,”
he says. There is a murmur of polite response from the women, and a few raised cups.

“Brother Samuel.” He offers my pa the Peace, and Pa does the same. “I hope it's all right to dance with your daughter? I should have asked beforehand, but you were nowhere to be found.”

“Course, Brother Stockham,” Pa says. His face is flushed.

No. I can't dance with him again. Can't have him looking at me that way—

“I thought you and I might dance, Pa,” I say. “I would love a dance with you.”

A shadow flicks across his eyes. “Em, you know I don't dance anymore.”

“Well, then, Sister Emmeline”—Brother Stockham extends his hand once more—“it looks as though you are all mine.”

The women titter again and I look at the outstretched fingers, my thoughts going every which way.

Brother Jameson appears from the crowd. He sweeps over to us in a large dark cloak and takes Brother Stockham's arm, pulling him out of earshot.

The music continues gaily, the dancers wash past, but it feels garish, all muddled. My ears ring with a silent bell as I watch the hazy scene.

Brother Jameson departs and Brother Stockham takes a step forward. “Apologies, Sisters”—he smiles—“there is a matter to which I must attend.” He nods to me. “Emmeline.”

It's all I can do to nod back.
Emmeline
. Not Sister Emmeline. Just Emmeline.

As soon as he is gone I want to disappear. I can't take everyone's eyes on me. I can take them for my Stain, but
not for this. I pretend my foot hurts too much. “From the dancing,” I explain to my pa. I ignore the disappointment in his eyes and scramble toward the doors, pushing through the crowd.

Kane stands near the dance floor with his arms folded across his chest. As I pass by I think, for one foolish heartbeat, that he's going to stop me, but then the blond girl appears at his elbow. I turn and brush through the bodies, clawing for the chill air outside.

It's dusk; the courtyard is washed with gray light. I think about the sunset the other night and I'm tempted to climb up and watch for it again, lose myself in its colors. I shouldn't do anything that could draw Brother Stockham's eyes, though, so I just head back to our quarters.

In my room I fumble under my bed for my favorite left-behind: a little clay four-legged animal that fits in my palm. I run my fingers over its surface, so perfect despite being buried in the shale for who knows how long. I try to lose myself in its mystery, but my thoughts won't stop going back to the hall.

Why was Brother Stockham lying about the woods? Why does he look at me like that—like he knows something about me I don't? Some secret part of me feels stripped bare, like a birch with the bark torn free.

I thought it was Kane's hand on my shoulder. I was hoping it was. Why would I want him to ask me to dance? I think about that smile he gave his brother as I passed by the other day. Think about him standing there, all easy with his age-mates.

I close my eyes and grip the figure tight. I stay like that
a long while. I'm about to bank the fire and change into my nightdress when I hear a low pealing sound.

It's gaining in strength, ringing out across the courtyard, through the rawhide windows of our quarters.

It's the alarm bell.

We're under attack.

OUTSIDE IS A MASS OF PANIC. EVERYONE MUST'VE
been headed back to their quarters after the dance, because the courtyard is full of people grabbing up any valuables still lying about—buckets, shovels, children. The sheep in the barns are bleating wild and there are shouts all around us.

“Le malmaci!”

“Hurry!”

“À
la salle sacrée!”

I join the crowd scrambling back toward the ceremonial hall. It's the stronghold, the place we are meant to gather if the fortification is breached by the
malmaci
.

But it's never happened before.

I crane my neck, searching for my pa, but it's impossible to make out faces in the shadows. Only two burn baskets glow in the courtyard; the Watchers were obviously interrupted on their way to the walls. I pull my leg along. Bodies press against me on all sides, push ahead.

I'm one of the last to reach the hall. Andre stands at the doors, beckoning us in.
“Vite!”

We press forward into the warmth and light. The gatekeepers call a loud warning once the last of us has siphoned through and begin to slide the massive wooden doors closed. The crowd murmurs in hushed tones, exclamations of fearful wonderment. I search the crowd again for my pa. But then, above the din, I hear a small voice crying out.

“Emmy!” It's far away, scared. And it's coming from beyond the hall doors.

I push to the front. A tiny form is cowering out beside the weapons shack. I am shot through with fear. Edith. Why is she alone? Where's Sister Ann?

I brush past Andre, putting a hand against one of the heavy doors. I have to go to her.

“Non!”
Andre cries.
“Laissez-la!”

I whirl back toward him. He shakes his head—a warning. But then he's distracted by a clamoring in the crowd. A bunch of people are in the center of the hall—Jameson's followers, no doubt—hollering about the Almighty's vengeance. Everyone turns toward the ruckus as Andre wades into the fray.

I look back to Edith's little form, half-lit by a nearby burn basket. I can't leave her, even though it's against settlement rules. If we come under attack, stragglers are meant to be left behind so as not to risk the entire settlement. I don't think another thought. I duck under the man beside me, slip through and break into a full limping run, feeling the doors close behind me, knowing I just left the last safe place in the fortification.

Edith and I won't stand a chance.

The doors bang shut. Bolts scream into place. My throat tightens at the sound, but I keep running.

When I reach the weapons shack, someone catches up to me. I glance back and see him pull up, casting a frantic look around the courtyard. My fear stalls a moment in confusion.

Kane. Where did he come from?

I grab Edith to me, feeling a wash of relief when her wet face presses into my shirt. I look back at the hall. The doors are bolted shut, our safety trapped inside.

“Over here!” Kane's just a form in the dark, beckoning toward the well.

I push Edith ahead of me as we scramble across the yard.

“In,” he orders, pulling aside the wooden trap. “Climb as far as you can and hang on to the ladder.”

“Edith can't climb.”

“I know.” He scoops her up and swings her around so that she clings to his back. He looks at me. I go. Down into the pitch-black space. The well is half empty, so I climb about fifteen feet down, until my feet get wet. Can the
malmaci
climb ladders? I want to be as far from the opening as I can, but going into the water is dangerous in this cold.

Kane climbs after me, sliding the trap back into place as best he can. I swing to the side to let him onto my ladder rung. Edith is clamped onto his back, shaking.

I'm not sure how long he can stay on the ladder, balanced that way. I'm also not sure if Edith could handle the slippery rungs, so I do the only thing I can: wrap one arm around both of them, and grasp the ladder on the other side. I press in, trying to give Edith my warmth.

We wait.

My heart thuds in my ears. Our breathing is ragged. The earth above us is quiet. No footfall, no noise.

We wait like that, locked together, trying to quiet our breath.

Why is Kane here? Did he see me running after Edith and come for us? I try to recall when he appeared at my side. He must've been outside the hall already.

But if that's true, he probably saw me leave. He knows what I did.

I close my eyes, try to calm my whirling thoughts. Need to keep my head. All that matters is that we survive this.

I count fifty of my rapid heartbeats. Do it again. And again. By the fourth time, it's slowing.

I feel Kane shift. My foot is on fire and the pain is spreading into my hip. I release my pins-and-needles arm and let him swing Edith to his hip between us. He switches hands on the ladder rung, steadies Edith with his elbow, unfolds his right arm, and pulls me close.

I suck into him like a moth to a candle flame. Never been this close to a boy before. Any other time I might feel nervous, but right now, with his arm so strong and sure around me, I'm so glad, so very glad, for him. Doubt I'd have thought of the well. And even if I had, there's no way I could hold Edith down here for this long. We huddle in silence.