Текст книги "Fire Country"

Автор книги: David Estes

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Текущая страница: 11 (всего у книги 22 страниц)

Chapter Eighteen

C RASH!

The tree falls to the ground like thunder, sending tremors through the soles of my moccasins. They killed it. They killed the tree.

CRASH! CRASH! CRASH!

The pure, cool night air is filled with a cacophony of more trees falling, brought low by the axes of the prisoners. Each tree falls perfectly into the desert, as if they prefer to die out in the open, under the gaze of the moon goddess than in the company of their brothers and sisters.

“Good work, tugs!” Keep yells. “One more round and we’re done fer ternight.”

I see Raja standing over a fallen tree, his elbows on his knees, his face aimed at the ground. He’s exhausted. Panting. Chopping down trees is hard work. The others are in similar positions. These’re the lifers. Most of them woulda been in Confinement for quite a while, so they’re skinny, underfed, in no condition for heavy labor. But they got no choice—the Keep’s waving ’round his bow and pointer again.

“Back ter work!” he roars. I really don’t like him anymore, want nothing more’n to take his bow and shove it up his—

One of the prisoner’s falls. Not Raja, but a guy near him. Just keels right on over, like he ain’t capable of staying on his feet for one second longer.

“Sear it all to scorch!” Keep growls. “We got another diver. Put ’im with ter others.”

Raja lifts his head, looks at Keep. “I really think we should—”

“Yer not ’ere to think,” Keep says. “Put ’im with ter others, or I put a pointer through yer skull.”

Raja just stares at Keep, as if he’s considering the offer, but then stumbles over to the guy on the ground. I see him whisper something to him, and the guy’s eyes flash open for a moment, but then close again. There’s defeat on his face, which is ghostly white under the moonglow. Too tired to fight on. Too tired to chop trees. Too tired to live.

Another prisoner comes over and helps Raja carry him out into the desert. I shrink back, keeping the tree between me and them, unable to tear my gaze away from the prisoner’s body. They carry him to an area littered with broken white-painted branches and round sun-bleached rocks. I hadn’t noticed them ’fore, but now that I see the strange white objects, they look so familiar, as if I’ve seen something like them ’fore. “Drop ’im!” Keep orders.

Facing away from Keep, Raja makes a face, ignores the order, lowers the body gently to the earth amongst the sticks and stones, as if it’s some sort of altar. Touches the man’s face gently. Leaves him there.

Dead under the moonglow.

~~~

The men are chopping again, distracted, and I wanna see what’s so familiar ’bout the objects littered around the now-dead prisoner. I got no desire to be near a dead body—nuh uh, no thanks—but something about the white branches and stones draw me to them.

I’m so close to the working men now that each chop, chop, chop goes straight into my head, as if they’re chopping at me and not the trees. My head starts to hurt.

Keeping my eyes on Keep, who’s walking around shouting “encouragement” to the workers—like “Hurry it up or I’s fixing ter beat the livin’ scorch outta yers!” or “Don’t make me put a pointer through yer brain, tugs!”—I reach the body. Fixing one eye on Keep, I aim my other eye at the white objects.

Some of them are strangely curved, while others are stick-straight, with knobs on the ends. The rocks are smooth, almost circular but not quite. Odd. The wind breathes a heavy gust and one of the rocks rolls toward me, clattering slightly on the hard ground. When it turns it’s looking at me. Right at me. With sunken, eaten-away eyes.

Not a stone—a skull. Not branches—bones. This ain’t no altar, no shrine. This is a graveyard.

Suddenly I’m gasping for air, shaking so hard I can’t control it, trying—desperately trying—to turn away from the image of death that stands before me, but I can’t, can’t, like I’m being sucked in by the hollowed out eyes of the skull picked clean by the vultures and Cotees and whatever other animals might live in the no-man’s-land between fire country and ice country.

Grabbing my head with my hand, I force it away from the desert, bury it into the side of a tree, still shaking—might never stop shaking—hot tears springing up and rolling down my cheeks. Silently sobbing. The lifers are sent here to work. And they’re sent here to die.

At my feet the leaves look less like dried tree blossoms’n like curled, skeletonized hands chopped off at the wrists.

I shake, shake, shake some more, my fingers like claws, pulling at my hair, wiping away my tears, rubbing moisture on my dress.

A CRASH! that's startlingly close pulls me out of the shock caused by the skeletons. The next round of trees is falling. With each one, my mind clears a little and wrests a bit of control from my emotions. What’s done is done. These people are dead. I gotta move forward, think of how to help the ones that’re still alive.

I gotta think.

I’s framed. Raja’s words. If he’s telling the truth—which I think he is—then this ain’t just a ’spiracy. This is murder, plain and simple.

And who’s behind it all? Raja says he was framed by a Greynote. And the Head of the Greynotes is…

…my father.

Can’t be him. Father’s mean and nasty and has a temper a mile wide, but a killer? He’s always talking ’bout how it’s my duty to Bear, how we need to obey the Laws to ensure the survival of our people, the Heaters. But how’re we gonna survive if we’re framing and murdering our own? So it’s probably some of t’other Greynotes, going behind his back, usurping his authority. Right?

I hear a new voice, unlike the others, both in tone and language. Wiping away a lingering tear, I ease around the tree to check things out.

There’s a guy, dressed in heavy white skins, all draped over him like he’s wearing blankets. Black, leather boots rise all the way to his knees. He’s got a hat on too, furry with a tail on it. Like no one I’ve ever seen ’fore. His face is shrouded under a beard so thick there could be a whole family of burrow mice living in it. I know right away what he is:

An Icer.

Come from high in the mountains, he’s talking to Keep. “Your workers are too freezin’ slow,” he says, his words clipped and precise. I ain’t never heard anyone talk like that. I scan the workers for something to clue me in as to what freezin’ mean, but don’t see anything, so I got no clue what he’s going on ’bout.

“They’s tired. Hungry,” Keep says. “We need more food fer ’em. Our people are starvin’”

“You’ll get your food. But tell Roan this: if we don’t get more production out of your men, we’ll cut off the supply of wood and meat. Mark my words.”

“I’ll tell ’im,” Keep says. “When’ll we git ter food?”

The Icer folds his arms across his broad chest. “Tomorrow. It’s a sacred day. First day of winter. We’ll not have your men working on our land on a sacred day. But they can come to collect the meat and trees.”

“We’ll be ’ere,” Keep says.

~~~

It feels like my eyes just closed when I see light on t’other side of their lids.

Morning’s come faster’n a wildfire. And with it, a roaring, scattering of thoughts in my overloaded brain, as if the windstorm from last night is inside me. Everything ’bout last night feels like a dream—but I know it ain’t. I saw what I saw. I heard what I heard. And now I want what I want. Which is answers.

I gotta talk to Raja, but he won’t be too happy if I wake him up on so little sleep. So, instead, I wait patiently for him to awake on his own, enjoying the sunrise.

It’s a good one, too, a burst of orange and red over the horizon, casting shimmery beams of light almost through the puffy yellow clouds that dot the sky. And just ’fore the outline of the sun goddess’s eye appears, there’s a burst of color. Not just the usual reds and oranges and yellows, but a flash of blue and green, too, so bright and beautiful that my heart skips a beat as I wonder at the powers that watch over us. The blue in particular reminds me of something Teacher once told us. He said the sky used to be all blue, not red like it is now. The red only came at sunrise and sunset. All us Younglings laughed behind his back after Learning, saying how Teacher’d lost his rocks, gone wooloo. None of us believed him.

But somehow, on this morning and seeing that burst of blue, I can almost picture the sky being all blue. I’d rather the sky be purple with pink polka dots, Perry comments.

“I bet you would,” I mutter, silently reminding myself how silly it is to be talking to a prickler. But, with Raja sleeping like a pre-Totter, Perry’s all I got.

Already I’m tired of waiting for Raja. I was up every bit as late as him, maybe later. I heard him come in, lie down, his breathing get heavy. He was bone-weary and slept right away. Me, I was exhausted, but took ages to doze off, what with all my rambling thoughts and ideas spinning and dancing through my mind.

Bones and skulls. I shiver, although, back in fire country I’m nothing but warm.

Enough. It’s time to talk.

“Raja!” I hiss at the sleeping lifer in the cage next to me. “Get your shanky butt up or I’ll start throwing rocks!”

“Uhhhh,” Raja groans, rolling over. He’s looking and acting like Veeva’s guy, Grunt, on the morning after one of his fire juice nights.

I don’t wanna get a reputation for making empty threats, so I pick up a small stone, find a clear bit of air where our cage bars line up, almost like the sights on a slingshot, and chuck it through.

The rock hits him in the head.

“Ahhh! What the scorch?” he cries, covering his face with his arms.

“Shhh! Keep your voice down or Keep’ll hear you.”

He mumbles into his arms. “Good. I wanna report a crime. Throwin’ rocks at a defenseless, sleep-deprived man.”

“Sorry, it’s not like I was aiming for your head. I’ve never been very good at aiming things.” I shrug, but Raja can’t see it ’cause he’s still tucked in his arm-cocoon.

He lifts an arm slowly, peering suspiciously through the bars at me, as if he thinks I’ll chuck another rock at him. “You shouldn’t be throwin’ rocks if you can’t aim,” he says. Least he’s keeping his voice down now.

“I hadta get your attention. I gotta talk to you.”

He crawls over, still eyeing me strangely. “About what?”

“Where you and all the lifers went last night,” I say firmly.

He rolls his eyes, starts to crawl away. “You must be wooloo. I already told you it’s too dangerous to talk about that stuff.”

“Wait! I was there.”

He stops. Looks back over his shoulder. “Tugblaze,” he says.

“I was. I followed you.”

“Prove it.”

My mind cycles through the memories of last night, as vivid as if I’m reliving them now. Them killing the trees, the dead lifer in the lifer boneyard, the Icer and his thick clothes and strange voice. I shiver again, as if the cold from the edge of ice country followed me all the way back to Confinement.

“We’re done here,” Raja says, taking my silence for lack of proof.

I keep my voice low, even. “You were chopping down trees, killing them. One of you died. You and another guy hadta carry him and dump him amongst the bones. There was a man. An Icer.”

Raja just stares. I swear it’s like a whole day passes, him staring, all silent and shocked. Twice I check to see if I’ve grown a second head, but it’s still just the one. “I wanna help you,” I finally say when it’s clear he ain’t gonna speak.

He shakes his head, snapping out of his stupor. “You can’t help. No one can.”

“You don’t know that. I ain’t a lifer. I’ll be heading back to the village soon enough. I can talk to my father, tell him what’s happening here.”

“Your father?” Raja scoffs. “This is all his idea in the first place.”

Now it’s my turn to stare. There’s no lie in Raja’s thin, sun-leathered face. “Explain,” I say.

“There’s a lot you don’t know, Siena.”

“Then tell me.” My voice is urgent, pleading, but I feel like I’m so close to the truth that I’ll do anything to find it.

I’m about to squirm onto my knees and start begging, when Raja says, “Fine. But you didn’t hear this from me, none of it. And don’t blame me when you start pokin’ around and get caught. They’ll kill you.”

I’m good at poking, Perry says.

Not now, I tell him.

The dead lifer pops into my head. Will that be my fate? Left for dead in a shallow grave? I blink away the thought and manage a nod.

“It’s your death ceremony,” Raja says, lowering his voice to start his story. “I been ’ere over a year, so I been able to put most of the pieces t’gether. When Shiva was struck with the Fire, your father started makin’ his plans. Shiva was still Head Greynote, mind you, but he weren’t callin’ the shots no more. It was Roan. You with me so far?”

Nothing’s surprising about any of this. “Yeah,” I say.

“First thing Roan—your father—does is goes and talks to the Icers. Up till then the agreements with ’em were nothin’ more than basic trade agreements. You know, like we give them tugskins and tug meat and they give us some wood for our tents and fires and such. But there was something else the Icy ones wanted. Something Shiva never let ’em have.”

“What?” I say, leaning forward.

“’Ssurrances.”

“What kind of ’Ssurances?”

“See, they’s scared of us. Not of us us, but of our disease. The Fire.”

“What about the Fire?” I ask.

“Somethin’ you gotta understand, Youngling, is that the Icies are tryin’ to survive just like us. They’s doin’ better at it, too. I heard that they live ten, maybe even fifteen years longer’n us. Anythin’ to threat’n their lives scares ’em.”

The pieces just ain’t making sense. I’m getting all this new information—the answers I been asking for—but I don’t feel any better off. Maybe I’m asking the wrong questions. “So…they feel threatened by…the Fire?” I ask slowly.

“’Xactly. A while back a coupla their border guards came down with it. With the Fire. Died miserable deaths like nothin’ the Icies’d ever seen before. The guards had had brief interactions with Heaters, so they blamed it on that.”

I’m starting to see where this is going. “They wanted ’Ssurances we wouldn’t spread the Fire in ice country,” I say.

“Now yer gettin’ it,” Raja says. “Yer father agreed, in exchange fer double the wood, some meat, and help harvestin’ the wood.”

Ahh. It feels as if the sun just started shining down on my head, even though it’s been doing that for our entire conversation. “That’s why you and the other lifers hafta go up and chop wood every night.” I frown. “But hold on. What’s my father really doing for them? How do these ’Ssurances work?”

“Your father—”

Raja clamps up when we hear the scuff of footsteps off yonder. Not just one pair. Several. We give each other a look and Raja points off toward the entrance to Confinement.

Keep’s door opens and he staggers out, looking like he’s been beaten twice over and then run over by a raging tug bull. “More lifers?” he says to someone we can’t see.

A whiny voice answers and I can picture his lips moving like a burrow mouse’s. Luger. “They got caught doing all sorts of awful behavior. They won’t see the other side of the bars for the rest of their miserable lives.”

Luger comes into view, dragging a rope behind him. A guy appears, staggering. He’s got bloodstains on his shirt, a black eye, bare feet. Then there’s another one, in no better condition. And a third. A fourth. Four new lifers all at one time? Seems hard to believe that many serious crimes were committed overnight.

“Take better care of these ones, will you?” Luger says, handing the rope to Keep. “They weren’t as easy to get and we’re running out of men who aren’t crucial to the village.”

“They’re criminals!” Keep bellows in one of the lifer’s face. The poor guy jumps back. “Whatddya want me ter do? Set down with ’em and have a cup of herby tea?”

To my surprise, Luger grabs Keep by the shirt, shoves him up against his own hut, and holds him there. “Quit killing them,” he says. “Head Greynote Roan orders you to feed the lifers three times each and every day. They need to keep their strength up. Are we clear?”

Keep is wide-eyed and blank-faced, but he nods.

Luger releases him, looks at his hand like it’s covered in blaze, and wipes it on his britches. “Handle them yourself,” he spits, heading back in the direction of the village.

“Handle ’em yerself,” Keep grunts when Luger’s out of earshot. He shoves one of the prisoners, who barges into another one. “I’ll handle ’em alright. Handle ’em right to their graves.”

He stalks off, pulling the wobbly-footed prisoners like Totters behind him.

My heart is beating fast and I notice I’m gripping the bar tightly with my good hand, like I might be able to snap it in half. My knuckles are white.

Raja’s staring at my hand. “Don’t git yerself all riled up. Ain’t nothin’ none of us can do to stop ’em.”

“What were you ’bout to say ’bout my father ’fore they showed up?” I ask.

Raja scratches his head, trying to remember. His eyes light up. “Oh, that’s right. The ’Ssurances. Yer father’s set up border patrols all along the ice country border, so’s the Icers don’t have to. No one goes in, no one goes out.”

“Is that everything?” I say.

“That’s it. The big ’spiracy. Hope you don’t git yerself killed over it.”

I turn away from him, my back against the bars. I need to think. Luckily, I have another six days to think.

Chapter Nineteen

I been thinking for four days, but ain’t nothing come to me yet. It doesn’t help that Perry’s interrupting me constantly with wooloo questions like What’s it like to have legs? and You’d never eat a friendly prickler like me, would you?

Sure to his word, Keep’s been feeding the lifers three times a day to our one, but Raja showed me how Keep also cut the portions by a third, so they end up getting the same exact amount of food in the end. Yeah, Keep’s a baggard alright, through and through. And every night Raja and t’others get forced to go work the trees. I considered following them again, but it’d be a risk and I already know what they’re doing, so I just wait ’round in my cage for them to get back, thinking about everything I know, and worrying about whether Raja’s getting dumped with the bones. But every night he comes back and we look at each other. I see the weariness in his eyes, the defeat, the broken will. “Never give up,” I tell him, and then we both go to sleep.

Every day the winds swirl faster, along with my thoughts. My father. ’Ssurances. The Fire. Keep us out. More meat. More wood. More lifers. Border patrols. It’s all a mess of information and I don’t know how to organize it all. Nor do I know what in the scorch to do with it. My instinct is to rush straight to my father when I get home, demand that he stop making innocent men lifers, stop killing them, come clean with the village ’bout his agreement with the Icers.

What’ll he do? He’ll get out his snapper, add some scars to my skin, and then probably send me back to Confinement until the Call. I need a more subtle approach.

But first there’s an even bigger question I need to figure out. Why is my father doing this? A few days back I thought the answer was obvious—’cause we need more food and wood to survive—but now I ain’t so sure. Why would he kill off good men who can help hunt and protect the village? Even if we get a little extra food and timber it’s still working backwards.

It’s almost like he just wants to control us, keep us all in check, away from the rest of the world. Circ’s question: Have you ever wondered what else is out there? Maybe that’s exactly what my father doesn’t want us to wonder. If we’re too busy struggling to survive, to grow the tribe, to fulfill our duties as Bearers or Hunters or Greynotes or whatever, we won’t be thinking ’bout whether there’s more to life’n all this. Which means we’ll stay. In his control. Under his protection.

He’s always controlled my life, so why not on a larger scale?

But that can’t be it. No matter how lucky he is, the Fire’ll get him in the next coupla years, so what’s the point?

~~~

It’s my last day in Confinement—thank the sun goddess!—and I’ve decided to start by telling Circ everything I’ve learned and then we can decide together what to do ’bout it. I already feel relieved that someone else’ll know—besides Raja and Perry, who ain’t much help.

Circ.

It’s weird how I haven’t seen him since we kissed. I was marched straight home by my bull-headed father and Circ was told to go home, too. That my father would deal with him later. I wonder what punishment he received. I almost laugh at the thought. Probably shoveling blaze. Or hauling water. Something exhausting and mind-numbing. Sort of like Confinement, but in a physical, rather’n mental way.

In any case, surely he wouldn’t be allowed to visit me, so that explains why I been left to my own thoughts with only Perry and Raja to talk to.

It’ll be hard to talk to him back in the village without my father finding out, but we’ll find a way. We’ve always got Learning, too. My father can’t take that away—it’s required for all Younglings.

Yeah, things’ll get better as soon as I see Circ again.

I’m glad it’s not Luger that arrives to take me back. Just some other Greynote, all serious and bored-like. I don’t say a word to him, nor him to me, and we’re both okay with that.

I wave to still-sleeping Raja and still-standing Perry as I leave.

Don’t let the cage hit your arse on the way out, Perry says.

The hike is long and dark, but at least it’s in the right direction. Toward home.

When we crest a dune and the village comes into view, the Greynote extends a hand as if to say, “I’ve done my duty, now get the scorch out of here.” I don’t need a second invitation as I’m already running, feeling the wonderful, delicious burn of my underused muscles as they begin to exert themselves. I’m growing more and more comfortable with only having one good arm to swing while I run. When my wrist is finally healed I wonder if it’ll throw me off balance again now that I’m used to not having it. Knowing my level of clumsy, the answer’s probably yes.

As I pass the tower guards I flash a smile and offer a wave. They just stare at me with heavy eyes, but even they can’t break my mood. Not today. I get to see Circ. Things are bad with the ’spiracy I now know all ’bout, but not so bad that me and Circ won’t be able to come up with something to fix it. Today I have hope. Today I’m free. Maybe not so free that I can run off to ice country and join the Icies, but I’m not behind bars, and that’s good enough for me.

It’s still early, the sun barely spreading its light in soft tones across the desert, but I have the urge to run straight to the west tent sector, where Circ’s family lives. Just the thought of it sends bubbles bouncing around in my stomach, a lightness filling my chest. Can’t. I gotta be strong. Patient. Gotta wait until Learning. I’ll see him there and then everything’ll be fine.

So I head for home, hoping Father’s already left for the day.

He hasn’t. He’s sitting outside, as if he’s waiting for me. Pop. Pop! Popopopopopop! The bubbles of excitement explode in my stomach, leaving me feeling ill. Ill that this is the man who raised me, who’s my father, who’d allow innocent men to die for the sake of making ’Ssurances to the Icies. Heat rises in my belly, washing away the sick feeling.

I take a deep breath as I approach. I can’t let him know that I know. Not yet.

I stand ’fore him, shifting from side to side, all awkward-like. It’s a show. I feel more centered’n I ever have ’fore. More sure of myself. More sure of what’s good and what’s bad in this world.

“Welcome home, Youngling,” he says, standing, towering over me. He’s just trying to intimidate me, I say to myself.

“Thank you, Father,” I say, fighting the sarcasm out of my voice. Steady. Steady.

“I asked you this after your previous stay in Confinement, and I hope this is the last time I have to ask you. Have you learned your lesson?” I feel like his dark eyes are staring into the very pit of my mind, where the truth lies. But I can’t tell him the truth or I’ll end up right back in Confinement.

“Yes.” A lie, but a necessary one.

His eyes narrow. “I don’t believe you. But you are going to learn, one way or another.” He strides off, leaving me surprised and confused.

~~~

I try to act natural as I head to Learning, but I know I’m walking way too fast. Most Younglings dawdle, drag their feet, look for anything to distract them. Me, I’m head forward, taking shortcuts, making record time. I’m hoping Circ’ll be early too.

When I enter the roofless structure, my head swivels ’round expectantly. Empty. I was so fast I even beat Circ. No matter. I’ve waited a a quarter full moon—I can wait a while longer.

I sit cross-legged in the back corner, a highly-coveted spot conducive to mischief and whispered conversations.

I hear footfalls and Lara enters. Her hair is even shorter, cut almost to the scalp. Maybe she did shave it all the way to the skin and I missed it, only seeing it now that it’s grown while I been away. I expect her to sit next to me, to start talking my ear off and asking questions ’bout Confinement, but she silently takes her normal seat near the front of the room.

Odd.

Silence.

Teacher Mas enters carrying a bundle of scrolls, glances at me, moves to the front.

Where’s Circ? It must be getting close to Learning time, but it’s still just me and Lara. Dreadfully silent.

The silence is broken when a chorus of voices and scrapes and laughter carry in from outside. Younglings pour into the open-air hut, talking and bumping and shouting. I scan the crowd, my heart leaping as I expect Circ to head for me at any second. I get some curious stares, but no one approaches me until—

“Mind if I sit?” Hawk says.

I curl my lips in disgust. “Keep moving,” I say.

“I got a message from Circ,” he says, cupping a hand over his mouth, as if someone might be reading his lips.

“You’re full of it,” I say, refusing to take the bait. I sense there’s a punchline coming.

“I ain’t lyin’!” he protests. “I owe him, all right?”

Everyone’s inside now. Everyone ’cept Circ. Maybe Hawk does know something ’bout where he is. Even though I may be setting myself up for embarrassment, I’m willing to risk it. “Okay. Sit,” I say.

“Look, I ain’t your friend, or Circ’s neither, so don’t get the wrong idea,” Hawk says.

“Just spit it out, Hawk,” I say, refusing to look at him.

“Fine. When you got drug away to Confinement, Circ got sent on another mission.”

My heart sinks into my stomach. “What other mission?” I say.

“Like the last one,” he says. “A small one. Just a few Hunters.”

My eyes narrow and I glance at him. Teacher starts talking so I lean close to his ear, dropping my voice to a whisper. “How do you know ’bout that? It was secret.”

“I’m a Hunter, remember?” Right. He might know more’n I give him credit for. “Anyway, it don’t matter. Circ left, okay?” I nod. Okay.

“How long ago?” Teacher’s attention is on t’other side of the room. Lara’s answering whatever question he asked.

“That’s the thing. He left the same day you did. The mission was only s’posed to be three days. None of ’em have come back yet.”

~~~

My head’s hot, but not ’cause I’m sitting in the sun.

I don’t have a clue what happened in Learning. It was all a blur. Thankfully, Teacher didn’t ask me any questions, ’cause I don’t know if I coulda spoken, or even understood them.

Circ’s been gone seven days on a three-day mission.

Normally, I’d be worried but I wouldn’t jump to conclusions, but this time is different. He’s in Killer country. And it’s my father that sent him there.

Anger curls my toes and boils in my stomach.

“He did this on purpose,” I growl under my breath. A group of Youngling girls who’re chatting a mile a moment outside the Learning Hut look at me strangely and laugh. I wanna go over and punch them. I stand, seething, consider heading in their direction, but think better of it. Not only would I lose a fight against five other girls, but I’d end up in Confinement again. Now that I know what I know, that’s the last place I wanna be.

I’m lost in a sea of nothingness.

Everywhere I look people are going ’bout their business, washing clothes, cooking food, repairing tents. Kids are laughing, playing, running off all the pent up energy from another boring day of Learning. But none of it means anything with Circ missing.

I don’t know where to go or what to do when I get there, what to say or who to say it to. I’m empty.

My father.

I could confront him, give him a piece of my mind, but not only would that not bring Circ back, but that’s exactly what he wants. He wants to get under my skin, to see that he’s not only the controller of my life, but of my mind too. That he can make me angry and sad and upset. I won’t give him that pleasure.

There’s only one other option then. Something I wouldn’t have considered a year ago ’cause I was just a scared little girl. But now I’m desperate, on the verge of becoming a Bearer without my best friend to talk to ’bout it. My best friend who kissed me, who held me, who changed me. If my mother says I hafta go after what I want, then that’s what I’m gonna do.

I’m going after Circ.

Even as I make my mind up, breathless and scared and excited ’bout the decision, a cry goes up from the tower guards. I’m not that close to the edge of town, but they’re yelling pretty loud. I crane my head, waiting to hear it. Waiting, waiting, waiting: for the bells. The guards’ll shout ’bout pretty much anything—a harmless burrow mouse scampering across the desert, an increase in the winds, a sneaky shilt and her guy out for a midnight rendezvous outside the border tents—but they’ll only ring the bells if there’s imminent danger to the village. Like when the Glassies attacked. Or during the Killer War. Sandstorms and wildfires receive a bell-toll too.

Their shouts grow more urgent, but there’s no bell. No danger. Not for the village. But they keep shouting. I scan the towers that poke like fingers into the air, high above the village. They’re all yelling to each other, trying to get information through the chain, from whichever guard spotted something worth yelling ’bout. Every guard is still in his tower—’cept one. My eyes lock on the empty tower, slide down its ladder, focus on the guard frantically climbing down.