Текст книги "Ice Country"

Автор книги: David Estes

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Текущая страница: 13 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

Chapter Twenny-Seven

But neither Skye nor I was right. We never were. Nothing is okay. Nothing will ever be okay.

Wes died that night from an axe wound to the stomach. They worked on him for three, four hours, dabbing away the blood and stitching him up, both stuff on the inside and the skin on the outside. By the end of it my legs were shaking and I could barely feel Skye’s hand on my back, her other hand gripping mine.

The blood was gone. He was whole again. And then he took his last breath.

I collapsed, fighting all the way to the floor even with Skye trying to hold me up. She lay down with me, curled up, her arm around me, holding me, as I sobbed and shook.

Sobbed and shook.

Now I’m all cried out, torn and broken on the bed that Buff and Feve carried me to. Skye’s never left my side, not once, but even her caring can’t bring my brother back. I didn’t even get to say goodbye.

And it was my plan—my stupid freezin’ dimwitted plan that caused it.

So my head’s down, my face pressed flat against the bed, as tight and low as I can make it. I tried to get lower twice, attempting to throw myself off the bed and onto the floor, but Skye wouldn’t let me. She held me up, her strength like a rock, bearing all the weight of my body and my grief in her arms. Then she rolled me back on, where I am now.

A few of the others, those able to walk—Buff, Siena, Circ with Siena’s help, Wilde—have come over to offer me words of sorrow, how they wish it hadn’t happened, how they’re sorry. But none of that’ll make things right, or bring Wes back.

I wish for more tears, a whole lake of them, enough to make the sum of my sorrow worthy of my brother, of the man that he was. But try as I might, I can’t squeeze one more out, my eyes burning with salt and fatigue and despair.

When Skye pushes onto the bed and right up next to me, I finally sleep.

Chapter Twenny-Eight

I need to take a break from my brain, but every time I try to push my thoughts away, they come roaring back all the harder, pushing against my skull like they’re trying to burst out, flying away on wings of sadness and winds of ache.

I’ve been awake for at least an hour, but I haven’t moved, haven’t opened my eyes. I don’t want anyone to know I’m awake, because I can’t take their sorrys and regrets any more than I can take the awful memories that my brain is spinning around.

Jolie needs you.

Wes is dead.

Jolie’s not.

Wes is.

Jolie.

Oh Jolie, Jolie—are you there? Are you really in the palace or did I dream up Goff holding you high on the wall?

With questions lingering still in my mind, I open my eyes to the sound of voices. Abe’s, harsh and definitive, rises above the others.

“You can do what you want, but I fer one ain’t goin’ back to that place,” he says. “Hightower neither. King Goff’ll roast us alive.”

Skye, Siena, Circ, Wilde, and Feve stand in a semicircle, watching the argument.

“They’ve got Dazz’s sister,” Buff says. “He’s just lost his brother, if we can…if we can only get her…”

“Good luck with that,” Abe says.

“I’ll go on my own if I have to,” Buff says and I see him cross his arms across his chest. “Is anyone else with me?”

Silence. There are quick glances between the people of the Tri-Tribes.

Wilde says, “We’ve talked it over…”

Skye scrapes a foot on the floor, looking down the whole time. I notice she’s shaking her head slightly, as if she doesn’t necessarily agree with the decision that’s been made.

“…and we think it best to return to fire country, to gather as many able-bodied men and women as we can, and to come back in force.”

“Nay,” I croak. I intend it as a shout, a cry of defiance, but it comes out all garbled and raspy. When everyone turns to look at me, I say it again, even softer. “Nay.”

Buff strides over. “I’m going with you,” he says. “We’re going to get Jolie. We’ll break down the gates and kill every one of Goff’s men, and then the king himself.”

I smile, my lips dry and chapped. “Yah. We will,” I say, clasping his outstretched palm. “Raising chill and kicking arse. Like always.”

“Like always,” he says.

“No,” says a voice from behind him. Buff moves aside to reveal Skye, who’s moved within a few steps of my bed. In my mind flashes memories: we strain through the bars, touching each other’s arms, desperately trying to lock lips; she brushes past me in the dungeons, so close I could touch her, if I’d only reached out; her warmth against me, her arm around me, providing an alternative to my grief. “You need to come with us,” she says, and the memories come crashing down like a fallen star.

“We’re going after my sister,” I say, my voice strengthening. I sit up, swing my feet over the side, plant them firmly on the floor. “With or without you.”

Our eyes lock and we’re both fighting it. The need we felt in the dungeon. Amidst everything—all the turmoil, the strife, the death—still there, pulling, pulling, banging, crashing through everything we say, everything we do, everything we want, like an avalanche, an unstoppable force of nature. But I fight it and I can see in her fathomless brown eyes, she’s doing the same. Me with thoughts of saving my sister and avenging my brother’s death, and her with doing right by her people, both of her sisters, one who’s alive and one who might be.

“Don’t,” she says.

I want to give her the option to come with us, but I can’t. I can’t ask that of her when it’s suicide, when it’s crazy. When it’s what I have to do.

“I can’t,” I say.

She turns and walks back to her people.

~~~

Buff and I know as well as anyone that we need to let things cool down a little before we go back to the palace.

So that leaves us to escort the others to the border, where we’ll bid them farewell. Each of them—save for Feve—has already promised me multiple times that they’ll return with many warriors. Wilde even offered her own promise, and I almost believe it coming from her. I thank them and smile, when in my heart I know that by then it’ll probably be too late.

Abe and Hightower have the worst injuries and will stay at Maddy’s for a while longer. Before we leave, I stand between their beds. “Thank you,” I say to both of them, my head bouncing back and forth. “For doing what you did.”

Abe sighs, opens his mouth, says something I’d never expect him to say in a million years. “I hate that bastard, King Goff.”

“But you’re his—”

“Slave?” Not what I was going to say. “Look, kid,” Abe says, “I know you think we’re the king’s evil little helpers and all that, but that’s not really us. We do what we’re told because the king’s had leverage over us from the start. He had my wife, Dazz.”

I can’t help raising my eyebrows, both because Abe called me by my real name and because he’s not who I thought he was. Not even close. Then I realize: He had my wife.

“What happened to her?” I ask, dread creeping into my cracking voice.

He just shakes his head. “Kid, you must think I’m a monster. Taking all those kids, giving them to the king.” I did think him monster-like, but not anymore. “Was my wife’s life more important than theirs? I could only hope the king wasn’t hurting them, was treating them okay, was using them as servants. He said he’d kill my wife if I didn’t help him.” There’s sadness in his voice, laced with shreds of remorse. But he still didn’t answer my question. I don’t ask again.

Abe continues anyway. “I always said I’d make up for the many wrongs I’d caused, but I never really believed I would. It’s just what I told myself so I could sleep at night. But then…” His eyes cloud and his voice turns whisper soft. “Then, last night, when I showed up for my weekly visitation, part of my agreement with the king, she was gone, my Liza, her chains left in a pile in her cell, which was in one of the towers. The guard passed along the king’s regrets, how they’d tried to save her, but that her self-inflicted wounds were too serious to reverse. I grabbed Tower and Brock and marched straight to the dungeons.”

I tilt my head to the side, bite my lip. Abe could’ve fallen into a dark pit of sorrow, left us to rot in the dungeons. But he didn’t. He didn’t. He came for us.

I grasp his hand. “I’m so sorry,” I say. “You have more than made up for the sins of your past.”

He squeezes back. “Kill that bastard king,” he says. “If it’s the last thing you do.”

“I will,” I say. “I’ll do it for Liza, for Wes, for the kids. For my sister.”

He nods and lets go.

Hightower grunts and holds out a big hand, which I take, squeezing it firmly.

“To Brock,” I say, raising a fist. They each raise a fist of their own and I knock mine against them, each in turn.

“To Brock,” Abe mumbles, “the no-good scoundrel.”

~~~

I stop in front of Maddy on the way out. She’s pretending to busy herself in the cabinet, rearranging the supplies.

“Thank you,” I say.

She doesn’t turn around. “Abe paid me good silver—”

“Thank you for trying,” I say.

She returns to fiddling with the supplies and I walk on, but when I look back she’s watching me go, her face streaked and glistening with tears.

Outside, I push Wes outta my mind so I don’t breakdown or break someone’s face. I focus on Jolie. I’m coming for you, girl, I think.

We take backstreets—nay, streets that are behind the backstreets, streets that no respecting king or his guardsmen would ever find themselves walking down. Beggars and those in a drug coma rest against the walls, enjoying a bit of summer sun that breaks through the dense cloud cover. There’s still snow on the ground, but it’s not cold snow.

The Red District disappears and we enter the forest. A snowbird speaks to us in whistles and light tones. If it wasn’t for my icin’ memories, I could almost be happy on a day like this.

A forced silence sets in on all of us, as if we believe the songbirds and the trees are the king’s ears, and if we speak they’ll fly or march to the palace to tell him what we said. It gives me plenny of time to watch the people I’m with, the people I wish were coming with us.

Feve’s well ahead of the group, steady and calm. Everything about him seems so self-assured, so confident. I can’t read him though, and every time I look at him I feel like he’s struggling to read me too.

Siena’s walking along next to Circ, who’s limping a little but seems to have recovered well. His leg is heavily wrapped but it must be a flesh wound, not a bone or muscle injury. We all got pretty lucky, considering. All of us except for…

I shake my head around, tell my brain to freezin’ leave me the freeze alone or I’ll freezin’ slam you against the next freezin’ tree I see! That shuts him up for a few minutes and then he says, Wes. I bite my lip, hard enough to draw blood, and go back to watching.

Siena’s shivering pretty badly, although her skins are thick. Funny though, I never really noticed any of them being cold until now. I take off my coat and give it to her. She doesn’t say anything because her teeth are chattering so much, just takes it and wraps it around herself like a blanket.

Buff’s walking next to Wilde, because that’s what he does, and she’s already wearing his bearskins. What are the chances? A guy like him with a woman like her. Zero, I think, and hold in a laugh. I hope he gets the chance to prove me wrong.

Skye’s been avoiding my gaze since we started walking, and frankly I’m glad, because I’m not sure I can bear it right now. I feel so raw, like my skin’s been scraped away, partly by the fighting and the violence, but mostly by losing Wes, seeing Jolie in the king’s grasp, leaving everything underneath poking out, emotions and nerves and blood vessels sticking every which way. It’s like the littlest thing might set one of them off, make me go crazy, crying or laughing or burning hot with rage, or a mixture of all three, laughing and crying while punching King Goff in the face.

Skye strides ahead of us and I watch her go.

She doesn’t look cold at all, as if she’s radiating her own heat from within. Or she just bears it well, like she seems to bear everything so well. I want to chase after her, to talk to her, even if we only look ahead and avoid eye contact while we’re doing it, but I don’t.

She catches up to Feve.

He tried to help save Wes.

I shake away the thought because it shouldn’t matter one way or the other, not when Wes is…

I watch as Skye and Feve talk, wishing it was me instead.

~~~

When Siena starts talking to Buff and Wilde, Circ comes over to me. He’s limping and I can see a grimace every couple of steps, which he’s unsuccessfully trying to hide.

“You alright?” I ask.

“I’ll live,” he says with a forced grin. “I’ve had worse during Hunts.”

“For the tug?” I ask, wondering what a tug even looks like. Like a bear maybe? By the time the meat gets to ice country it’s already butchered and wrapped in skins.

He nods and I try to imagine how different their world is to ours. “What’s it like?” I say.

He raises an eyebrow.

“You know, living in fire country,” I say.

He nods, almost to himself. There’s a solidarity in his eyes and expression that makes me feel like he’s someone you can depend on, someone who’ll cover your back no matter what. It reminds me of the way Buff is, only with fewer jokes.

“It’s hot,” he says with a straight face.

I stare at him for a second and then laugh, realizing he’s joking, but not. Maybe he’s even more like Buff than I thought.

“It’s beautiful, in its own way,” he says. “On a warm spring day when the wind is blowing, the prickler are growing, turning green, the burrow mice are scavenging in the sand, and the desert floor is rolling in every direction, it’s home. Especially if you’ve got someone special beside you, leaning into you.”

“Siena,” I say, picturing the two of them so close even when separated by bars and stone, holding hands, playing their thumb game. I try to take that memory and stick it in the desert.

“We go back a ways,” he says, almost wistfully.

“And Skye?” I ask, trying not to look at her ahead of me, whispering to Feve.

“I’ve known her just as long,” he says. “They’ve both changed over the years, but Skye more than Siena.”

“How do you mean?”

He laughs, a hearty chuckle that’s full of fond memories. “Well, Siena’s always been the way she is. You know, the way she has with words, always making me laugh, always wishing every day was full of more hours I could spend with her. She’s got a real unique way of looking at the world. The only thing she’s ever lacked is confidence in herself, which is the biggest change in her. Ever since she joined the Wilde’s, she’s got that spark, like she knows she’s more than just a stream of words, that she’s actions too.”

I take it all in, nodding to myself as I remember how quickly Siena made me laugh, and also how quickly she strung her bow to protect the lot of us against the guards. Yah, I’ve seen firsthand everything that Circ just told me. “And Skye?” I say.

“She’s always had the confidence, always had a lot of friends, was never afraid to speak her mind to anyone and everyone that’d listen.”

“You don’t say,” I reply, laughing.

“So you’ve had a taste? Well, that’s pretty normal. She’ll tell you what she’s thinking in a heartbeat, not caring whether you like it or not. And if you cross her or her family…”

“Watch out,” I say.

She sounds perfect, I think to myself.

“Dazz,” Circ says, and I hear the sadness coming in his words, the compassion.

“Don’t,” I say, unable to hear another I’m sorry from anyone.

~~~

We’re almost to the border.

We stop to rest in a blank spot in the woods. People are finally talking again. Buff to Wilde. Siena to Circ. Skye and Feve. I’m the odd one out for the moment. I stalk off into the woods, find a clearing of my own, big enough to fit me and my temper, which is rising for no reason at all.

I grab a stick off the ground, snap it over my knee. Too thin—too easy. I pick up a thicker branch, do the same with it, relishing the snaaaap! as it shatters into two pieces. I imagine it’s the king’s leg or arm or head.

“Argh!” I yell, and I’m sure the others will hear it, but I don’t give a shiver anymore. I’m done crying, I’m done mourning. My anger will sustain me now.

I hear sticks cracking in the forest and I look away from the sound. It’ll be Buff, my best and most loyal friend in all of ice country, hearing my temper-induced cry, who’ll come running to make sure I’m okay.

I can’t look at him, not by any fault of his. I can’t look at anyone right now.

The twigs stop snapping and feet scrape into the clearing.

“I’m fine,” I say to the forest. “Leave me alone.”

“I tried to git ’em to go back to the palace,” Skye says.

A tremor runs through me. Anger? Excitement? Both? Neither? Something else entirely? My emotions, while surface-deep, are like a labyrinth, a maze of false walls and trapdoors.

I stare deep into the cracks of a tree trunk, not seeing anything.

I don’t say anything.

“That was yer sister on the wall, wasn’t it?” Skye says. “With the king.”

I stare straight ahead, like a statue. She looked back too. Saw what I saw. I didn’t imagine it.

I don’t say anything.

“It’s a seven day journey,” she says. “Across the desert. A day to prepare and gather provisions and warriors.” She pauses and I can’t help but like the way warriors sounds in the rasp of her voice. “Then seven days back. It sounds long but it’s only half a full moon. We’ll come back stronger. We’ll crush that baggard.” I like the way she says crush, too, but I can’t enjoy it, because all I can see in the lines of the tree trunk is Wes dying while I watch helplessly.

“Why are you leaving?” I ask.

“I trust Wilde,” she says. “The others do too.”

I can see that, but still…I can’t wait two weeks for them to return. I can’t. “More like you’re scared of Goff,” I say, my words an obvious lie.

She frowns again, takes a step forward. “Yer not thinkin’ straight. What happened to yer brother, it’s—”

“Don’t speak of my brother.” Fire’s burning in my chest, hot and cold and fast.

“—cloudin’ yer judgment,” she continues as if I hadn’t spoken.

“The only thing that’s clouding my judgment is you,” I say, taking my own step forward. Three steps away. I could almost touch her if we both reached out.

“We’re all tryin’ to help you ’ere.” Stop there, I think. Just stop there.

My eyes are burning but I don’t blink either. “Yah, I’ve heard that one before,” I growl. “But people don’t always come through for you, do they?”

“Are you sayin’ I’m lyin’?” Skye says, getting that look in her eyes, the one I saw just before she leapt on Big’s back in the dungeons.

I ignore it, goad it even. “Just confused. Wooloo,” I say in a mocking tone.

She pushes me away with both hands. “Go to scorch,” she says.

I scowl at her, take a step forward.

She charges, grabbing at my arms, trying to get ahold of them, to pin them, but I twist away and grab back, clamping my fingers on her shoulder for a quick second before she slips away. Arms outstretched, she manages a firm grip on my arms, and I grab her back. We grapple, frantic-like, as it turns into a wrestling match, and she’s strong, so strong, stronger than most guys I’ve fought before.

I push and pull and try to get an edge, but she’s pushing and pulling and doing the same and then dropping suddenly, throwing off my center of balance and I’m falling, falling, slamming into the dirt, scrabbling at her as she holds me down, throwing her offa me, rolling, getting on top of her and then I realize I’m not angry, I’m not angry, I’m fighting her but I’m not angry—least not at her. My guard falls away and she takes advantage and throws me to the side, gains the upper hand. But I’m not seeing her, at least not the her that’s here, who’s fighting me, I’m seeing the Skye who’s arms were reaching out through the bars, grabbing mine, want in her eyes and on her lips, and I don’t want to fight anymore, not one second longer, and so—

–I’m holding her and I think she’s holding me back and—

–my hands draw up her slender neck, run along her jawline, cup her chin, and then—

–I’m kissing her and she’s kissing me and the world blinks away as I close my eyes and—

–it’s just Skye, all around me, but she’s brown skin and short, dark hair and not gray and cloud-covered like the other sky and I think she’s the real Sky and—

–it’s like for this moment, for this one moment, Wes isn’t dead anymore and everything’s okay and we might be able to rescue Jolie and I’m happy and—

“Feve has a family, you searin’ Icy fool!” she snaps abruptly, pulling back.

I look at her but her words aren’t angry and she’s almost laughing. “What?” I say, breathing heavy, unable to decipher the meaning of anything but her lips, which I desperately want to kiss again.

“Feve,” she says. “He’s a married man. He wants to help you, but if we go back to the castle like this he’ll die, and his family will be left without him. If it was just us to worry ’bout, we’d be with you in a heartbeat. All we wanna do is get more warriors so we’ll have a chance.”

“Oh,” I say, feeling my face go warm.

“Is everything all right?” Buff’s voice says. I turn my head and he’s pushed aside a leafy branch and is watching us, amusement splashed all over his face.

“Fine,” I say. “Skye was just teaching me a thing or two about fighting.”

Skye rolls her eyes, but I can tell she finds it funny.

“Sure,” Buff says. “If you say so. We’re heading out now, so unless you want to keep…practicing…up here all by yourselves, with no one within miles and miles, you’d better get moving.”

I look at Skye and she looks at me, and then she rolls offa me and we head toward Buff. He turns to fight his way back through the woods and Skye turns to me. “That was one scorch-of-a good first kiss, Icy Dazz,” she whispers through those lips of hers.

Although I’m still catching up on fire country lingo, I’m pretty sure it’s a compliment.