Текст книги "Fire Country"

Автор книги: David Estes

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Текущая страница: 18 (всего у книги 22 страниц)

I wanted to throw up my prickler salad, herb garnish and all.

Brione grabs our hands, pulls them together, forces us to shake. “The only rule is don’t kill each other,” she says with a gruff laugh, as if she hasn’t been making the same joke for every match so far. I’m the last to fight which means my concern has reached a fever pitch. I laugh nervously. The girl across from me just squeezes my hand until it hurts. When she finally releases it, my fingers are mangled and stiff.

Brione backs away. “Fight!” she growls.

Char moves forward and I move back, my legs tangling ’fore I take more’n two steps. I fall backward, landing butt-first in the durt. Not a good start.

She pounces, throws her weight on me, one hand shoving my face into the ground and the other punching at my hopelessly unpadded ribs. I cry out, try to roll away, but she’s got me pinned and the count is on. “One,” Brione says. “Two!” I squirm and buck and try to roll away, but I’m stuck like a bug trapped under a foot. “Three!”

There are a few claps, a few cheers. Char gets off of me, grinning. She starts to walk away, triumphant, but Brione stops her. “Help her up,” she orders. Char stops, looks back, surprised. “Do it!”

Her smile wiped away by Brione’s harsh tone, Char offers me a hand. “Thanks,” I mumble, taking it. She pulls me up.

“We’re in this t’gether,” Brione says. “There’re no victors, no winners. We’re one person, only as strong as she who’s weakest.” I blush. She’s talking ’bout me. I wanna get away, dig a hole, and stick my head in it. “We support each other, help each other. Understand?”

Char nods. “I’m not just talkin’ to her,” Brione says. “Understand?” she repeats. Murmurs of yeah and yes and sure rumble ’round the edges of the circle. “How ’bout you?” she says to me. I raise my eyebrows. I’m the one who needs the support. Doesn’t she know I’m the weakest link? Her hands move to her hips. “Well?”

“Uh, yeah,” I say. “Sure.”

After it’s over, Skye and Lara flank me with words of encouragement, You’ll get them next time, and Soon you’ll be strong enough to kick the blaze outta burnin’ everythin’ that moves. You can guess who said which.

After the first round of fights, Brione explains that the purpose was to see what level we’re all at. Now the real training begins, and Skye’s not just here to watch me fight and provide obscenity-laden words of encouragement; she’s one of the instructors. Although both my ribs and my pride are sore from the first fight, I find waves of excitement coursing through me. When Skye disappeared, she was no fighter either. Now she’s teaching others how to fight? Maybe I can learn, too.

They start with the basics: how to block, how to throw a punch, where the good pressure points are to make even the biggest man scream out in agony. Although we’re a bunch of girls training, it’s all ’bout how to take down a man twice your size. Then they do a demonstration: Brione versus Skye.

We sit cross-legged ’round the circle, chattering with excitement. Most of the girls are betting on Brione and wondering how anyone could match up with her size and brute strength. I’d like to think Skye has a chance, but deep inside I’m thinking the same thing as t’other girls. This’ll be over quickly.

Like everyone else, I’m wrong.

They start out circling each other, approaching, backing away, in and out and ’round. “Why doesn’t Brione take her out?” I whisper to Lara.

“I don’t know,” she shrugs.

We soon find out why she’s being so cautious. When Brione does make a move closer, Skye’s leg flashes out faster’n lightning and snaps across Brione’s face. Her head rocks back and she looks stunned. That’s my sister! I think, my heart leaping.

Brione ain’t done yet though, and while she takes more hits’n Skye, eventually she gets within striking distance and starts clobbering Skye with fists the size of tug shanks. Skye tries to escape, lashing out with vicious jabs at Brione’s face and head, but it’s too late. Brione picks her up and slams her into the durt. Fight over.

Just as she preached earlier, she extends a hand to help my sister up. They’re both all smiles. “What’s the count?” Brione says.

“Searin’ sun goddess, we’re dead burnin’ even now,” Skye says.

Even? They’ve beat each other the same number of times? My sister has beat the brute who’s twice her size as many times as she’s lost to her. Incredible! I’m practically giddy with excitement and hope.

“That was amazing,” I whisper under my breath when Skye returns to my side.

“I burnin’ lost,” Skye mutters. But her grin gives away the pride she’s feeling. “Anyway, fightin’s in our bones. You’ll catch on soon enough.”

I grin back, hoping she’s right.

Chapter Thirty-One

I don’t catch on that day. By the end of it I’ve lost sixteen times and I think every bone in my body is broken. For the last two fights I was so tired I couldn’t even lift my arms to defend myself.

Skye carries me back to our tent and brings me supper in bed. Lara eats with us, too, chattering on and on about how well I did and how I’ll get better and how soon I’ll be winning fights. Eventually though, she can’t help asking Skye, “So, where do you think I stand in the class?” Lara didn’t lose a fight all day, though a few of the girls gave her a real battle.

Skye looks her up and down. “The searin’ top,” she says. “Tomorrow you’ll be fightin’ with the class that arrived ’fore the last Call.” My heart sinks. Although I know I should be happy for my friend and her rapid advancement, a pit of jealously pops into my stomach, growing and growing until it feels bloated with all the prickler churning ’round in my gut.

Lara’s all smiles. “See you tomorrow,” she says ’fore she leaves.

“Yeah, tomorrow,” I say.

Skye zones in on my mood like a Hunter’s pointer on a bird. “You alright?” she asks.

“How am I gonna do this again tomorrow? I can barely move.”

“Don’t worry. You’ll—”

“Catch on?” I say, cutting her off and stealing her words. “That’s what you keep saying, but I’m not like you. I’m—”

“Weak? Scrawny? Skinny?” This time she’s the word-stealer. “When’ll you get it through yer tug-brained head that you ain’t any of those things. Stop thinkin’ ’em, stop feelin’ ’em, and take it one day at a burnin’ time!”

The passion in her voice humbles me. So do her words. They’re so similar to what Circ told me.

Don’t even think those words about yourself. Don’t even joke about them. Not now. Not ever again.

My vision blurs. “Sear it, Sie. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…” Skye hugs me and although it hurts my broken body so bad I wanna cry out, I grit my teeth and bear it. When she releases me there’re tears in her eyes, too. “Ma would be proud of you, you know. Fer makin’ it this far, fer bein’ stronger’n you ever give yerself credit fer. You take after her a lot, you know.”

“I do?” I say, lifting my chin.

“She’s not as weak as we thought. She was always standin’ up to Father, just not that we could see. She started talkin’ to the Wildes as soon as…well, as soon as Wilde created them. All secret-like, behind Father’s back. She had my name at the top of the recruit list. Yers, too, though they weren’t sure you’d come.”

“I couldn’t believe she killed Bart,” I say. “I think my eyes were bigger’n Granger’s white buttcheeks the day he got his pants pulled down in Learning.”

Skye laughs, which scares the scorch out of me. Death ain’t no laughing matter. Even with Bart. Then I realize she’s laughing about Granger’s buttcheeks. “Mother’s been hidin’ that knife for years,” she says, “practicin’ with it, stabbing at anythin’ she could git her hands on when Father wasn’t ’round. I once saw her hack up a tugskin pillow she was plannin’ on replacin’.”

“But why?” I ask.

“I asked her the same thing when I caught her doin’ it, and you know what she said?” I shake my head. “She said you never know when you need to defend yerself or the ones you love, so you’ve got to be ready. That always stuck with me.”

I look at Skye, thinking on what my mother told her, thinking on Skye’s words from earlier, about how Mother’d be proud of me. “You know, Skye,” I say, “I think Mother’d be proud of you, too.”

“Thanks,” she says.

And I know I’ve gotta tell her.

“Brev’s dead,” I say.

Skye just looks at me, gives a slight nod like she’s not surprised, and as tough as Skye seems to be now, she cries with me until we sleep.

Every tear is for Mother and Brev.

~~~

The next day I’m determined not to get down on myself, and though every part of my body urges me to stay in bed, I don’t.

Lara’s notably absent from the fights, and when some of t’other girls asks where she is, I’m glad to hear pride in my voice when I tell them she advanced a level already.

Again, I don’t win a single fight, but I do better. It even takes Char a long while to pin me. I might not have strength in my arms, but I do have strength. My strength, like Skye, is in my speed. I don’t have all the right moves, the graceful and tenacious kicks and punches that my sister has, but I can still move. Today I use it to evade my opponents’ attacks, to throw them off balance, landing a few blows here’n there. It’s not enough to defeat anyone, but at least I’m not completely pathetic.

Latching on to Brione’s motto to support even the weakest of the Wildes, t’other girls get behind me whenever I fight, cheering and shouting and urging me on. I might not win a fight, but I do win.

And although I’m sore and tired and wanna just curl up in my tent and let Skye pamper me again, I don’t. I set out by the fire with everyone else, eating and listening to everyone’s conversations ’bout the day. To my surprise, a measure of love surges through me; not for Skye and Lara only either, but for every last girl setting here, both the ones whose names I remember and the ones I don’t. They’re family now and I’m glad to have them.

~~~

Although I love it in Wildetown, I been thinking a lot ’bout Circ. What if he was still alive? Would I still’ve come? Or would he have saved me from Bart, taken me far, far away from the Heaters and the Call and the Law? Or if I had still come to Wildetown, could he have come with me? Even Wilde admits the tribe can’t survive on its own forever. Would she ever consider adding guys to the mix? Not Calls, but guys that we actually care ’bout, wanna Bear children with. I mean, I’m not in a hurry or anything, but I know if Circ was alive I’d want him to be with me no matter where I was.

I’m just saying.

~~~

After a quarter full moon I’ve won twice. After a full moon I’m winning half my fights, not by brute strength but by speed and skill. Skye gives me tips every night ’fore we sleep. And I have muscles! Not big, and kinda hard to see unless you cram your eye right up against my skin, but they’re there. My skin feels tight against them.

Some of the girls in my class have cut their hair short, opting to cast away the final reminder of their old life. Others of them have been marked with swirls or artistic designs or images of their own choosing. Lara’s got a dozen markings already, and, of course, her hair was already short. She’s moved up two more levels, fighting against girls who’ve been with the Wilde Ones for nearly two years. I’m happy for her. Like me, she belongs here.

My hair is long and my skin unmarked. It’s enough for me just to be here. Following Skye’s lead, I removed all the charms from my bracelet ’cept for the ones for her, my mother, and Circ. Unlike her, I couldn’t bare to part with the bracelet itself. Every night I kiss each charm ’fore I sleep, wishing more of them were alive. Skye’s seen me do it a few times but she don’t say nothing.

A quarter full moon ago we started learning to use weapons, shooting pointers, throwing spears, fighting with blades. I’m the worst with the spear, improving with the blade, and best with the bow. Even once learning is over, I find myself staying behind, shooting pointer after pointer at the target, until I don’t miss.

I’ve got a long way to go ’fore I can fight like Skye, but at least I’m heading in the right direction. And those awful words that used to occupy every second thought? It’s as if they don’t exist anymore. I hope Circ, wherever he is, is proud of me.

I hafta blink an awful lot whenever I think ’bout Circ.

As I have been every morning for a while, when I crawl out of my tent I’m excited for another day. However, as soon as I stand I know today’ll be different. Wilde’s headed in my direction, her face a nest of worry and concern. I’ve never seen her look scared ’fore, which scares me. “What happened?” I ask, my body tensing up.

“We need to talk,” she says. No good morning…how are you?...did you sleep well? Not a good sign. “Get your sister,” she adds.

I rouse Skye and we follow Wilde to the leader tent, where Brione and Crya are already waiting. Brione’s thick lips are pursed and Crya looks like she wants to hit me, her eyes throwing perfectly aimed spears in my direction. There’s another girl there, too, small, but with dark, serious eyes that show she’s a lot tougher’n she looks. The funny thing about her though, it looks as if she might keel over at any moment, like she’s exhausted. Huge, dark bags underline her bloodshot eyes. Her face is red and sweaty, as if she’s just run across the entire desert—maybe she has. In my head I’m thinking she should probably sit down.

No one sits.

“Tell them what you told us,” Wilde urges the girl.

“I’m Lye,” she starts. “I’m the eyes of the Wildes. Every full moon I make a trip to the Heater village, make sure they’re not onto us, scope out which Pre-Bearers might make good additions to our group.”

I’m surprised but I don’t act it, nodding like this is all very expected information. Was it Lye who chose me to join? Or did Skye and my mother have a say in it? But more importantly, why are they telling me this? I’m nobody.

Lye continues. “Just before the last call, I made my trip to the village to make sure all the escapes went off without any problems. I saw you leave the night of the Call.” I raise my eyebrows. She actually watched me run off into the desert. “You got away okay. A few Hunters went after you, tracking your footprints, but then the rains made it impossible to stay on your trail.” Everything makes sense so far.

“Yeah…” I say, urging her to get to the point.

Wilde says, “Siena, did you see anyone before you got to Wildetown? Did anything happen?”

I stop breathing and my heart skips a beat. The Cotees. Feve. I never told them ’cause I didn’t want them to think I was so weak I couldn’t even make the trip without help. But what does that hafta do with anything? I let out a slow breath. “Why?” I ask.

Crya charges at me, fists knotted, but Skye bars her path. “You don’t get to ask questions!” she screams. “You put us all in mortal danger!”

I shrink back, my face awash with horror. What? Danger? But how?

“Back off,” Skye growls. “We’re all on the same burnin’ side ’ere.”

“Are we?” Crya says, looking over Skye’s shoulder at me. “Because she’s keeping something from us. That’s what enemies do.”

“Crya,” Wilde says, her voice as controlled as ever. “This isn’t helping.”

Crya shoots me one last glare and then casts her eyes downward, backing off. She almost looks embarrassed at her outburst. Skye turns back to me, her eyes almost as sharp as Crya’s. “Are you hidin’ somethin’?”

I nod. “I didn’t think it was important,” I plead. “I was embarrassed.”

“It’s okay, Siena,” Wilde says. “Just tell us what happened.”

Keeping my eyes fixed on a splotch on the ground, I spill my guts. Tell them ’bout the Cotees, getting caught in the trap, thinking I was dead. Waking up to Feve, the Marked One, his bandages, his herbs, his rapid disappearance. Everything.

“He tricked you,” Crya says when I finish.

I glance up, shudder when I see the scowl on Skye’s face, and settle on Wilde’s gaze, the only one soft enough to bear. “He followed you,” Wilde explains.

“What? No! He saved my life!” I protest. There was no lie in his warmth, in his gentle care. I’d be dead if not for him.

“Maybe so,” Wilde says, “but he was only there because he was following you. Tell them the rest, Lye.”

’Fore I have a chance to consider what Wilde just said, Lye says, “I hung around the village for a few days more, being thorough, making sure your father and the other Greys weren’t going to take any further action to track down the runaways. That’s when he showed up.”

“Who?” I ask.

“The Marked One.”

“Feve?” I ask.

“I didn’t take the time to ask him his name,” she says sarcastically, her eyes narrowing, “but it must’ve been him.” I close my eyes, knowing exactly where this is going. “I knew it was serious though,” she continues, “because the Grey’s were in one of the hut’s all day with the Marked One, with Feve. Under the sunlight I couldn’t hope to sneak into the village, but when night fell, I crept in. I arrived just as Feve left the hut—I was searin’ lucky he didn’t see me when I ducked into the shadows. And then he was gone, like he’d never been there at all.”

I feel ill and hungry and angry. How could the man whose very presence was filled with so much warmth betray me like that? Easy—’cause my father probably paid him well, with skins and meat and wood. The baggards!

“The hut walls were thin enough to hear everything if I put my ear up to it,” Lye says. “They knew everything. The location of Wildetown, the approximate number of Wildes, the most direct route to get there. It didn’t take them long to decide what to do.”

“Yeah, hunt us down and kill or capture every last one of us,” Crya says, her words clipped and laced with anger.”

Lye nods. “They were going to organize the Hunters the next day, take as many men as they could spare.”

I count backwards in my head. “But then…shouldn’t they already be here?”

Lye sits down, as if her legs won’t be able to keep her up as she tells the next part of her story. “I was about to leave the village, to turn a five-day trek across the desert into two days to hopefully warn everyone before it was too late.”

“What the scorch happened?” Skye asks.

“The Killers attacked.”

~~~

The Killers bought us some time. According to Lye, they came by night, dark shadows with one thing on their mind: satisfy their namesake; kill. Lye had just slipped out of the northern edge of the village, probably through the same gap I escaped from, when the alarm sounded. She thought it was for her, so she ran hard, dove behind the biggest dune she could find.

She heard blood-curdling screams and hair-raising cries, and when she peeked out, the village was in turmoil. The shadows had broken through and were biting, slashing, clawing at anyone in sight. They killed many Heaters ’fore the Hunters were able to maim enough of the beasts to drive the rest away.

Lye waited until it was over, crept back in. No one noticed her. They were too busy carrying the injured to MedMa, dragging the dead to the center of the village where they’d be burned at dawn. Sixty four were killed, including forty six Hunters. In a village as small as the Heaters’, losses like that are catastrophic.

When Lye finishes her story about the Killer attack, I let out a deep sigh. Profound sadness rests upon me like a dark cloud. So many innocents killed. However, I realize it’s not only a sigh of sadness, it’s a sigh of relief at both having not been there when the Killers attacked and at being bailed out. The Heaters won’t come for us, not after being decimated like that. Will they?

“The Hunters are on their way,” Lye says, and I gasp.

“What? But they’ve just been slaughtered by the Killers. How can they…?” My voice is high and quivery and draws stares from everyone.

“Your father’s hatred for us runs deep,” Wilde says. “The Killers may have killed many of his people once, but we take girls every six full moons. And not just girls, Bearers. Those who have the ability to add to the population. Without Bearers, the Heaters will wither away to nothing, like a carcass picked clean by scavengers. He’s coming to take us back.”

“They left three days ago,” Lye says. “I managed to get around them as they slept and arrive here ahead of them. We might have two days, but it could be less. They were running hard.”

It’s all my fault. I led them right to us. I hid the truth of my stupidity from the very people who coulda done something about it. My heart’s as hard as stone, cracking and crumbling away. “What do we do?” I ask.

Wilde meets each pair of eyes in the tent. “We fight,” she says.