Текст книги "Fire Country"

Автор книги: David Estes

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Текущая страница: 17 (всего у книги 22 страниц)

Chapter Twenty-Nine

She’s too tall to be Lara. And yet she carries herself with the strength and confidence that Lara always had. Also like Lara, her hair is cropped short, like a boy’s, not fully bald like the image of the Marked my mind conjured up from a distance, but nearly so. Her body is toned and sheening with sweat from the run, covered only by a swatch of cloth ’round her chest and a flap on the front and back of her torso, leaving her hips exposed. Images are painted on her skin: a sun, a flame, a tree.

I gasp.

The voice, so familiar, but not Lara’s…

“Siena, burn it all to scorch, you found us!” my sister says.

It’s her, but not her. Skye, but as far from the Skye I remember as possible. I’m frozen to the ground, like a cold breeze has blown in from ice country, cementing my feet. Can it be? Can it really be her?

I’m dreaming, I’m dreaming, I pinch myself, Ow! It hurts. It hurts so good. It’s real—all of it.

I run to her. She throws down her sharp stick and catches me, her arms so strong and firm and protective, and I feel like I’ll never be in danger again as long as I stay near her. Near my sister.

“Sie,” she murmurs. “I can’t searin’ believe it’s really burnin’ you.” It’s my sister’s voice, but rougher, sharper ’round the sides, like each word is cut all along its edges. And filled with obscenities the likes of which I ain’t never heard flying from her mouth.

My tears are swarming but I don’t feel ashamed. It’s all there, in my eyes, the gashes in my soul laid bare in the streams of moisture on my face. Bart. Mother. Feve. Father. Circ: most of all him.

“Dead,” I say, not sure who I’m referring to. Maybe all of them, ’cept Feve. And Father, who I only wish were dead.

“Lara told me,” she says, holding me out to look at my face.

“Lara’s here?” I say, eyes widening.

“Yeah, she made it, too.” Skye looks older’n I remember her, wiser somehow. With her short hair, she should look boyish, but instead it seems to only make her all the more feminine, more beautiful. And yet there’s a wildness ’bout her, a freeness, something I ain’t never seen in her ’fore.

“What’d she tell you?” I say. She wipes away the tears from half of my face. The side for—

“Circ,” she says simply.

I close my eyes.

“I’m so burnin’ sorry,” she says, thinking I’ve closed my eyes for Circ. What she don’t know is that the tears she hasn’t wiped away, the tears on t’other side of my face, are for someone else.

“Mother’s got the Fire,” I say, scared to say the rest of it, that by now she’s dead, that Father has a cure but keeps it for himself, that she saved me from Bart.

She pulls me close and we hold each other for a long time.

~~~

“Siena!” Lara yells as I enter the camp beside Skye.

She runs up and gives me a hug. I hug her back even harder. “You were talking to the Wilds the whole time?” I whisper in her ear.

“Course,” she whispers back. “They recruited me long ago. I was never cut out for the Call.”

“Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“We weren’t sure you’d want to come, and your mother—” she says, but then stops, throwing a hand over her mouth.

“My mother what?” I ask, sharper’n I intended.

“You’d better let your sister tell you,” she says. “Look, Siena, this was always what I wanted, to get out of the village, to join the Wild Ones, but you…”

“I wasn’t a sure thing and you didn’t want me to tell anyone,” I finish for her.

She nods. “But that doesn’t matter now. You’re here.”

We’re still whispering and Skye’s watching us suspiciously. I pull away and raise my voice. “I’m here. But where’s here?” I ask, scanning the camp.

Dozens of girls are moving ’bout, many of them with short hair like Skye and Lara, carrying on with their business, glancing at us curiously but not outright staring. They’re all wearing the same two-piece cloths that leave little to imagination. They’re also all lean and muscled and look like they could snap bones with their bare hands.

Skye answers. “We call it Wildtown. It’s hidden from all directions ’cause of the canyons, but we can still easily git out the way you came in, ’neath the lover’s hands.”

Unbelievable. The Wild Ones are real, but they don’t look wild at all. On the contrary, they look civilized, with tents and storage sheds and even cook fires that send wisps of smoke curling over the canyon walls. They don’t eat raw meat after all.

I scan the canyons, which are pocked with caves. Girls are moving in and out of the caves, carrying bundles of prickler skins and scrubgrass and weapons. Spears and daggers, bows and pouches of pointers. Enough weapons to outfit every Hunter back in the village.

“Why do you have so many weapons?” I ask, frowning.

“Fire country’s a burnin’ dang’rous place,” Skye says.

I nod. She don’t hafta tell me.

“Are you ready to meet the others?” Lara says, a smile on her lips.

“Meet them?” They don’t look too friendly. Other’n their furtive glances, everyone’s pretty much ignored me since I arrived. Even the girls who found me with my sister didn’t say a word to me, just strode ahead of us, as if I didn’t exist. I get the feeling that things won’t be any different here’n the village. As usual, I’ll be hated for being Scrawny. Always the outsider.

“Searin’ right,” Skye says, flashing a smile as big as Lara’s. What am I missing?

“Uh, sure,” I say.

“Can I do it?” Lara says to Skye.

“All yers,” Skye replies. I look back and forth between them, trying to figure out why they suddenly seem so cheerful. My eyes settle on Lara, who raises two fingers to her mouth and blows out, letting out a whistle, loud and shrill.

Abruptly, all activity in Wildtown ceases. Prickler skins are discarded, weapons are dropped in the durt, budding cook fires are ignored. Every girl runs toward me, cheering and smiling and whooping and hollering.

Naturally, I shrink back, somewhat afraid, somewhat thrilled by the sudden attention. They close in, the mob surrounding me. Cries of “Welcome, Siena!” and “You did it!” ring out ’round me as they pick me up, clap me on the back, pass me around. Something sparks in me and I can’t hold back the laughter. I feel giddy and excited and tearful and wild. Completely wild, like I’m already one of them, a long-haired, Scrawny version of them. Tears of joy stream down my cheeks as I laugh harder’n I’ve laughed in many full moons, years, maybe ever.

For a moment I’m happy. Without a word of question, they’ve accepted me as one of them.

~~~

After the reception they gave me I’m left breathless. Every girl knows my name ’cause apparently Skye’s been talking ’bout me since the moment she arrived. And, although I was introduced to every last one of them, I can’t remember a single name.

“You wanna git the scorch outta here?” Skye finally says. I don’t want to be rude, but with Skye’s invitation comes a chance to get away. Getting attention is much more tiring’n I expected it to be.

I nod, and as she whisks me away I thank as many of the girls as I can, meaning it with every thud of my heart. Lara tags along like my shadow.

Skye takes me to her tent.

Inside, we sit cross-legged in the middle of a wide space, in which a second bed has been added for me to sleep in. Our legs form a triangle, Skye’s and Lara’s and mine. My head’s still buzzing with excitement.

“How’re you feelin’?” Skye asks, reaching out to squeeze my hand.

I search my body for the strongest feeling but there are so many. “I—I don’t know. Happy and sad and surprised and everything.”

Skye smiles. “I know exactly whatcha mean. I’s the same way when I arrived, more surprised’n a newborn baby tug. Not everyone’s been groomed since birth to be a burnin’ Wild, like Lara ’ere.”

Lara blushes. “I wasn’t groomed from birth, maybe from a Totter…”

“You were made for this,” I say to Lara. Without even trying she fits in with these—these warriors. I’m somewhere between six and sixty miles behind.

“You were too!” Lara protests.

I laugh, hold out my tent-pole arms. “Tell that to my body.”

“It’s not about that!” she says. “Tell her, Skye.”

I look to my sister, once more adjusting to the new her. Everything ’bout her is different. Not just the short hair and her physique, as muscly and lithe as a Killer, but her eyes, too, still brown, but with a steel gray behind her gaze. Also her voice, as cut as her body, as if it’s made from stone. It’s filled with slang and language so colorful it’d make Mother cringe all the way up in the land of the gods. “She’s burnin’ right, Sie. It’s what’s in yer heart that matters. Lara tol’ us all ’bout the Killer attack, how you tried to save Circ.”

“And about the Glassies,” Lara adds.

“The baggards,” Skye adds.

I shake my head. “Circ ended up having to save me. And the Glassies? You hadta practically drag me into it, Lara,” I say.

“You were already there, remember?” Lara says.

“Tell me everythin’,” Skye says. “I wanna hear this blaze from you.”

“First tell me ’bout your markings,” I say, glancing at her abdomen.

~~~

Her stomach is as flat as the upper parts of the canyon walls, as flat as my stomach even, but like sheetrock, hard and stacked with muscle.

“Hit me,” she says. I stare at her strangely. “Go ahead.”

“I don’t wanna hit you,” I say.

“Burnin’ hit me!” she repeats, louder this time.

“Just do it,” Lara says. “She won’t stop asking until you do it.”

Tightening my hand into a fist, I aim for the tree marking to the left of her belly button. “Ow!” I grimace when my knuckles connect with her stomach, which might actually be harder’n sheetrock. I pull back my hand, massaging my fingers.

“Father wouldn’t recognize me now, eh?” she says proudly.

“I don’t recognize you,” I say. My fingers return to her stomach, graze her skin. A sun. A flame. A tree. No coincidence. “Our charms,” I say.

“Yeah,” she says. “I hadta git rid of the charms, too many bad memories. But I wanted to keep these ones permanently.” She nods at her markings.

“Why?” I say, my hand jerking protectively to cover my own bracelet. Circ’s charm.

“Burnin’ filthy customs and Laws of the Heaters,” she says. “First rule: ferget everythin’ you learned in that place. Right now.”

I frown, think ’bout it, swing the pointer charm back’n forth with the tip of my finger. “If you don’t believe in the customs, then why mark the charm symbols on your skin at all?”

She looks away, at the side of the tent. “I hadta keep the three most important people close by. Lara,” she says, “can I speak with Sie ’lone for a while?”

Without another word, Lara scoots outta the tent.

~~~

“What do you know?” Skye asks when Lara’s gone.

I stare at her, this imposter that’s trying to be my sister. “’Bout what?” I say.

“Ma. How you got here. Any of it.”

I shrug. “I don’t know much. Mother told me next to nothing till the night of my Call, and then she just said she’d sent you here and she was doing the same for me. And she gave me directions.” I shrug again.

Skye pushes out a breath. “Guess she had more time to talk to me,” she says. “She tol’ me most everythin’.”

“She told you about Brev and the Marked?” I say, and as soon as I see Skye’s expression, I know she didn’t. Least not everything.

“She tol’ me ’bout Brev. But what the scorch does he hafta do with the Marked?” Skye asks.

I tell her what little I know, which is next to nothing. How he couldn’t hang ’round the village with Mother not being allowed to see him. How he left. That he started the Marked.

“Ain’t that interestin’,” Skye says, mulling it over for a bit. In my mind is flashing Feve, Feve, Feve, like some kind of bright star that can’t decide if it wants to shine or not. Should I tell her? Should I tell her that I’ve met a Marked? I can’t. ’Cause then she’ll know I was too weak to make it here on my own.

“Have you ever met a Marked?” I probe, snapping her out of her thoughts.

“They come ’round sometimes,” she says. “To trade and such. But only their leaders. And they only speak to our leaders.”

“Was this Brev guy with them?”

“I dunno. I don’t even know their names,” she says.

~~~

After getting settled in Skye’s tent, we go to meet the Wild leaders. Well, technically I’ve already met them, but I wouldn’t know them from anyone else in the throng.

They set in a large tent, almost as big as our hut back home—well, not home, not anymore, and not our hut—it was always my father’s hut—all in a line. Three girls, three leaders, none older’n twenty. Dim light flickers from torches sticking from the ground, casting an eerie glow over everything. They take turns saying their names.

“Crya,” says the one on the left with silky black hair that falls like rain to her waist. Although she hasn’t cut her hair like so many of the other girls, her skin is wound with markings, as many as Feve had.

Next, on the right, is, “Brione,” with a voice like a hammer, firm and strong. She’s built like a tug, with arms the size of my legs and shoulders that could plow through a hut wall. She’s gone even further’n the other girls, shaving her hair to the scalp.

The girl in the center, average-looking with brown eyes and standard-length short hair, finishes, her voice as pleasing as tinkling glass. “Wilde,” she says. “Welcome to Wildetown.”

And with that single introduction, everything clicks into place. Not the Wild Ones, but the Wilde Ones. Although there is a wildness ’bout all the girls in this place, it’s not what gives them their name. This girl, as plain and unspectacular as an old moccasin, started it all when she escaped the Call. I never knew her name but everyone told stories ’bout the first girl who went missing—the first girl who was kidnapped by the Wilde Ones. Really, she left to start the Wilde Ones.

Too engaged in my thoughts, I don’t reply. “And we already know your name,” she says. “Your sister has told us so much about you.”

~~~

I tell them everything. Or at least everything important. I don’t tell them ’bout kissing Circ, or ’bout what happened to him, or ’bout my “talks” with Perry. I also thought the bit ’bout almost getting myself killed and being rescued by one of the Marked’ll make me look like a Weakling—like they need any more proof of that!—so I skip it, too. I stick to the facts ’bout my father, what he’s doing with the prisoners in Confinement, ’bout his agreement with the Icers, ’bout the cure for the Fire. I wanna ask ’bout the Marked leaders, ’bout Brev, but I keep it inside, sealed up tighter’n one of my father’s skins of aging fire juice.

When I finish, Crya leans back casually, disinterested; Brione leans forward, plants her elbows firmly on the table in front of her; and Wilde doesn’t move at all. None of it seems to surprise her.

“Thank you,” Wilde says. “We already knew much of what you told us, but this…cure…that is interesting news indeed.”

My mouth gapes open. “You already knew most of it?” I say in disbelief. “Then why haven’t you done anything about it?” I feel a surge of heat rise up in my chest as I remember Raja and t’other lifers, innocent prisoners.

“Do something?” Crya says, standing, her tone as sharp as a Hunter’s blade. “What the scorch is that supposed to mean? You think we give two blazes about the Heaters? Think again.”

I shrink back against her stare, sensing a history of violence behind Crya’s fierce eyes. She’s not one to be trifled with. “Sorry—I—I just—it’s all so fresh,” I finish lamely.

“It’s alright,” Wilde says. “Down, Crya.”

Gritting her teeth, Crya sits. Brione looks amused by the exchange. “Crya’s our Killer,” Brione says, and I’m not sure whether she means someone who kills or a real Killer, transformed into a human girl. Perhaps it’s both.

Wilde turns back to me. “Unfortunately we can’t do much to help the Heaters. The Greynotes have the village by the prickler, so to speak. We’re just doing our best to survive. We only monitor what’s happening in the village to ensure they don’t find us. I’m sorry, Siena, there’s not much we can do for those in Confinemement—at least not yet, not until our numbers are greater.” Her voice is so steady, so calm, so truthful. I believe every word she says.

“I understand,” I say. “How many, uh, Wilde’s are there?”

“One hundred and sixty two, including you,” Wilde answers.

I raise my eyebrows. “So many,” I say. Although there’ve been plenty of rumors ’bout the number of “kidnapped” girls being on the rise, no one knew the extent. Probably part of the cover up by the Greynotes.

“Seventeen more arrived from yer Call group,” Skye adds helpfully.

I scuff the ground with my shoe. There are so many questions I wanna ask, but I’d prefer to talk to Skye ’bout them, so I stay silent.

Chapter Thirty

That night there’s a welcome party. Apparently they’ve been delaying it till my arrival—the last from my Call group. All t’others snuck out of the village the day ’fore the Call, but my mother’s illness prevented her from helping me to do the same.

When night falls, torches are lit in a circle ’round a massive fire pit, as big as the one in the center of the village. The afternoon was rainy, but tonight the sky is clear; the edge of the moon goddess peeks over the top of the canyon, surrounded by her servants. At first everyone just sits ’round the fire, eating fried prickler and scrubgrass soup, and drinking collected rainwater and prickler juice.

Earlier that afternoon Skye told me how the Wildes don’t eat meat. Though they can Hunt, they choose not to. Instead they plant and harvest pricklers, scrubgrass, fireweed, and other roots and plants. Most of the year they grow them in the big prickler field I ran into earlier, but during the hot summer days, they dig them up and maintain them within the canyon, so they don’t get burnt up by the unforgiving sun. So not only are the Wildes not feral, they don’t eat meat. It sickens me how my father and the Greynotes use rumors and lies to spread fear in the hearts of the Heaters.

I’m not sure how I’ll feel after a few full moons of eating only plants, but tonight the prickler, which is garnished with some aromatic herb, is delicious. I eat everything on my plate and go back for seconds, which is allowed as part of the celebration. “No burnin’ rationin’ tonight!” Skye says. “Tonight we dance!”

I laugh, thinking she’s had a bit too much of the fireweed she’s been puffing on ever since we sat down, but then the music starts. It’s just a coupla drums at first, slow and thumping, but soon escalates into a cacophony of entangled sounds including a dozen sand shakers and at least that many reed flutes.

Skye is the first one up, and tries to pull me with her, but I wrench my arm away, embarrassed. She shrugs and starts dancing, moving her hips provocatively, raising her arms above her head and wriggling them like snakes. For a brief moment she’s the only one dancing; but soon dozens of other girls clamber to their feet, shrieking and laughing and dancing. Soon Lara, me, and t’other new Wildes are in the minority of non-dancers. Captivated, I watch as the beautifully toned bodies writhe and twist under the firelight. As the music’s tempo gains momentum, the girls dance faster’n faster, until their movements are wild and animal, some of them carrying sticks tipped with fire, waving them ’round, painting beautiful fire art in the air. Their shadows wash the canyon walls with gray and black, coursing left and right, pulsing, pulsing.

Although I’m still sitting, there’s energy in my veins and my heart’s beating wildly. I wanna jump up, join them, be free, but old habits die hard and my father’s voice echoes through my head: Bearers are solemn, controlled, living and dying for their Calls and their children.

Suddenly, the music stops.

We stare, wide-eyed, as every face turns toward us. Wilde steps out from the crowd to face the new arrivals. “Why do you not dance?” she demands, her voice echoing in the canyon.

None of us answers.

“Tonight you become Wildes,” she says. “Tonight you dance and be free!”

As the music starts up again, the Wildes rush forward, pull us to our feet, start moving ’round us. At first I just stand there, awkward and stiff, as Skye shakes and bobs ’round me. But then I spot Lara, the first of the new Wildes to start dancing. She’s smiling and laughing and moving. She’s got no rhythm, looks completely out of step with the music, but no one seems to care. Skye grabs her hand and twirls her ’round. Excited bubbles churn through my stomach and chest, and my feet lighten.

I start dancing. Just a shake and a shimmy at first, but then more. Lara, me and Skye dance together at first, spinning and twisting and churning, but soon we lose each other in the melee. And then I’m just part of the bodies, sliding and slipping amongst them, feeling more alive’n I’ve ever felt in my life.

The night is warm and everyone’s sweating ’cause of the fire, but no one gives one lick about it. The bodies are so close and so foreign and yet so familiar, somehow. A cry goes up and I watch as Lara’s britches are torn above the knee, leaving her muscly legs bare like all t’other Wilde’s. Next they shred her shirt, uncovering her stomach, so she only has a strip of cloth ’round her flat chest. Instead of looking shocked and ashamed, she gives me the biggest grin and dances even harder. T‘other new Wildes are succumbing to the clothing adjustment, too, allowing the others to rip them to pieces.

My heart stutters and I sneak toward the edge of the dancers, planning to slip away when no one’s watching. I’m ’bout to make a break for it, when a voice says, “Not so fast.”

I look back and it’s Wilde, looking anything but ordinary now. Under the firelight her eyes are reddish orange and her hair is streaked with dancing bursts of light. Her skin is warm brown and perfect. She’s perfect, like a god fallen from the sky. How I ever thought she looked average is beyond me.

“I’m just, uh, gotta go to the bathroom,” I lie.

“Drank too much fire juice?” she says.

“Yeah, way too much.”

“You seem fine to me,” she says. A beautiful smile flashes across her face and she grabs me by both hands, pulling me back into the spectacular fray. Three other Wildes surround me, pulling at my britches and shirt, tearing the cloth away. No, no, no, no, no! Stop, no! In my head I’m screaming, but nothing’s coming outta my mouth ’cause I’m on the verge of tears. I know how this’ll go down. The laughter, the names, the pointing. When they see my tent-pole arms and scrubgrass legs the music’ll stop. Everything’ll stop and I’ll be run outta the canyon.

Alone and friendless again.

I feel a rush of air against my legs, my torso, my arms.

I close my eyes. It’s over. The acceptance, the new friends, the freedom.

Someone grabs my hand, spins me ’round, laughing, laughing, laughing…but not at me. At life, at dancing. I open my eyes.

My legs and arms and stomach are, in fact, bare. It feels weird, being so exposed in front of so many people, like a nightmare. But no one’s laughing or staring or shouting names at me. They’re looking at me, yeah, the same way they’re looking at everyone else. Smiles in their eyes and on their cheeks and in their lips.

I dance.

~~~

“Uhhhh,” someone groans. My eyes flash open. Skye. She’s sprawled out next to me, clutching at her head.

“Skye, what is it? What’s the matter?” I say. I scramble to my knees and hover over her.

“Too much burnin’ fire juice,” she moans.

The laugh springs out of my throat ’fore I can stop it.

“Not searin’ funny,” she says.

I put a hand over my mouth to stifle another laugh. It kind of is funny. “Why’d you drink so much?” I ask.

“Stupid,” she says, rolling over. “I burnin’ do it every time there’s a welcome party. And every time I say I won’t do it the next time.”

I shake my head. Again I think how she ain’t the sister that disappeared. She’s changed and not all in good ways—but not all in bad either. She’s independent, making her own decisions, paying for the bad ones with fire juice headaches.

“I’m gonna get something to eat,” I say.

“Wake me up in a quarter full moon,” Skye mumbles.

The camp is already bustling when I crawl outta our tent. Any evidence of the party from the night ’fore’s been hauled away, cleaned up. I stand and feel the gentle touch of air on my skin. I gasp, duck back down, hug my knees. I’m practically naked!

It all comes back to me. The ripping of clothes, the shedding of skin, so to speak. In the wildness of the night, of the music and dance, my inhibitions fell away and I almost felt secure in my own Scrawny body. But now, in the stark light of the morning, I feel like a fool for thinking I’ll be anything but a Weakling. ’Specially here. ’Specially among these strong girls.

I start to push back into my tent to find something to cover up with, when someone grabs me from behind. “Not so fast,” the familiar voice says, using the same words as last night.

Grudgingly, I back out, rise unsteadily to my feet, hug myself. Wilde stands ’fore me, smiling. She’s normal again. I mean, she’s still strong and has pretty features, but gone is the night magic that made me think of her as a god.

“You look beautiful like that,” she says. “Like one of us.”

I wait for the punch line. More like half of one of us! Or maybe, As beautiful as a tug leg! Those I’ve heard ’fore.

Instead, she says, “C’mon,” and grabs my hand. Unprepared for the movement, I stumble, but Wilde holds me up, doesn’t laugh, just keeps pulling me along. I don’t know what to say so I keep my mouth shut.

She leads me to the central fire pit and I expect her to stop, to sit me amongst t’other new Wildes, who are in a tight cluster, eating and talking, but she pulls me past them. When I see Lara she waves, and I try to flash a confident smile, but I think it comes across crooked and nervous.

When we exit the camp, Wilde releases my hand and slows to let me catch up. The canyon walls narrow and squeeze us closer together. “Do you know why we don’t eat meat?” she asks.

I stare forward, wracking my brain. I don’t think Skye mentioned why and I didn’t think to ask. “’Cause animals are hard to catch?” I guess, remembering back to my pathetic attempts at the ’zards and burrow mice.

She laughs and it reminds me of rain falling at night when I’m trying to sleep, soft and soothing, like a natural lullaby. “Trust me, the Wildes are more than capable of Hunting if we choose to,” she says.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“It’s okay,” she says. “You apologize too much. There’s no need for that here. We all make mistakes, but we learn from them.” Her words make me relax, my shoulders slumping. For a moment I forget that I’ve hardly got any clothes on.

“Sorry, I won’t apologize anymore,” I say. “Sorry, I just did it again.”

“And again,” she says. Rain falls although the sky is clear. “No, the reason we don’t eat meat is because we don’t want to rely on it. The village is so reliant on the success of the Hunters, on the ebbs and flows of the tug hurds. One day the Hunters won’t find the tug, because they’ll be gone. They’ll vanish, their numbers decimated by the harshness of fire country or the Killers or by the Hunters’ own hands. But we’ll survive because we’re independent. We grow our own food, more than enough to satisfy every hungry mouth. We’re protected from the summer fires in our haven. We build our tents from things that grow, braided plants. Our beds are nests of grass, easily replenished every spring. We’re smart. We’re capable.”

Her words are like a poem that speaks straight to my heart, but right away I see the flaw. “Yeah, but you rely on the village to replenish your numbers. If they die, you die, too.” I’m still talking ’bout them as if I’m not one of the Wildes, but I know I am. I have no place else to go.

“You ask a lot of questions,” she says, stopping. We’re directly below the lovers’ hands, the desert framed by the rock formation. The prickler fields beckon to us, green and full of hope.

I look her in the eyes. “That wasn’t a question,” I say.

She smiles. “We do rely on the Heaters,” she says. “One day the Fire will catch up with us and we’ll start to die. If there’re no Heaters to provide us with runaway girls…” Her voice trails off and her smile vanishes like a snake caught by a vulture out in the open.

“Goodbye Wildes,” I say.

“Yes,” she admits. “But you’ve given us hope.”

It doesn’t take a hut builder to know what she’s talking ’bout. “The Cure.”

“Exactly.”

“My father won’t give it up. Even if we tell people ’bout it, they won’t believe us. We’re outcasts, ferals, freaks.” She seems taken aback by my honesty, but I don’t stop. “At least that’s what the villagers think. And we have no proof ’bout the Cure, ’cept what my mother told me. And she’s dead.” My voice breaks on the word and I hafta take a deep swallow and blink furiously to keep my composure.

“It’s not your father I’m thinking of,” Wilde says. “I’m thinking bigger.”

I angle my head and frown. It clicks. “You mean…”

She nods. She wants to go straight to the Icies.

“Can I ask you something?” I say, taking advantage of the situation.

She nods. “Hit me,” she says, and I almost laugh ’cause I think of Skye saying almost the same thing but in a completely different context.

“You know the Marked leaders, right?”

“Riiight,” she says slowly.

“Ever heard of a guy named Brev?”

Her eyebrows lift. “He started the Marked, a long time ago, seventeen, eighteen years I think,” she says.

“You know him?”

“Only from what others have said about him. He died in a hunt before I started the Wildes. Before I even knew the Marked were real.”

~~~

I’m more nervous’n a new Midder on her first day of Learning. My opponent is another new Wilde named Char, but she’s got me in both height and weight. And not by a little. By miles and miles. After this fight the ol’ nicknames’ll come back for sure.

“You can do it, Sie!” Skye shouts. I wish she wasn’t here to watch me get my butt kicked.

Lara pats me on the back and nods encouragingly. I wish she wasn’t here either. I just watched her pin her opponent in ’bout three seconds flat. She nudges me into the circle drawn in the sand.

Brione stands in the middle, the instructor for the hand-to-hand combat portion of our training. After my heart to heart with Wilde, I ate breakfast with Skye, who managed to drag her throbbing head out of bed. That’s when she sprung it on me. “Training starts immediately,” she said.