Текст книги "Fire Country"

Автор книги: David Estes

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Текущая страница: 9 (всего у книги 22 страниц)

Chapter Fifteen

Three days can be a long time. Longer’n a year if you’re missing someone. Longer’n a lifetime if that person is Circ.

First day, I go to Learning, try to ignore the empty spot next to me, daydream the class away without getting caught. I’m lucky. Coulda been shoveling blaze all alone. When I get home I mope around the hut, pretending like I’m helping my mother, but not really doing anything. She lets me.

Neither of us says anything about her visit to Confinement. With my father always lurking, we can’t talk openly, even in our own hut. Perhaps that’s why she came to see me when I was locked up.

When I go to bed that night, I pray to the sun goddess for Circ. I’m hoping to get a warm feeling in my gut, something to tell me he’s okay, but all I get’s a big knot. I fall asleep grabbing at that knot with my hands, trying to squeeze it out.

The second day the knot’s bigger. Learning again. I try to listen, but my mind refuses to be forced. It dredges up memory after memory of Circ. How every year when the spring rains came we’d sneak out and run, run, run through the wastelands, getting soaked beyond belief. We’re made of water, we’d say. And then we’d laugh and run some more. It never went over very well with our parents, but we took whatever punishment they’d hand out like champs. It was worth it. There are other memories, too, painful ones, like when Skye was taken on the day of her Call, how I cried. It was the first time Circ’d held me. Really held me. Like I was the only one in the world and we could go on like that forever.

But after all those memories, we’re still just friends.

’Cause I’m Scrawny and he…well, he’s Circ. Always Circ.

After Learning I don’t bother to pretend to help my mother and she don’t try to make me. Without saying a word I know she understands. She lets me mope. She lets me shank the day away.

Today’s the third day and Circ’s s’posed to come home, although he couldn’t say whether it’d be morning, afternoon, or night. I hope it’s morning so I’m up early even though there’s no Learning today. Everyone else’s already out and about, doing who-knows-what.

I’m determined to pass the time as quickly as possible, for every second that ticks away is a second closer to Circ returning, safe and where he belongs. I go for a walk, nowhere in particular, just through the village, walking amongst the Greynote huts in my part of the village. The wind is swirling and swirling, working itself up to what’ll probably be yet another winter windstorm. A pair of britches whips past—someone didn’t tie them tight enough to the line. I’m wearing a white dress, the same one I plan to wear for my Call, a symbol of purity. Its skirts are snapping in the gale, making a cracking noise louder’n when Father punishes me. Seems awful silly women and girls still hafta wear long dresses in weather like this. But it’s the Law.

Most folks have no reason to wander this area of the village, unless you live here or have business with one of the Greynotes, so the pathways are empty. A brambleweed buzzes past, overhead. It’s a heavy one, too, with thick roots. It takes a heavy wind to uproot a weed like that—and keep it in the air for that long. I sniff the air, trying to pick up any trace of a sandstorm. Nothing. Just wind as far as I can tell. But surely the first sandstorm of the season ain’t far off. Tomorrow or the day after, perhaps.

As I ponder the weather, a familiar voice carries through the thin walls of the Greynote hut I’m passing. “We won’t be able to survive another attack by the newcomers,” the voice says. It’s Luger, his whiny voice unmistakable, even through a wooden wall. Who are they talking about? The Killers? They’re hardly new.

“We need to find out what our Glassy friends to the south are trying to achieve,” a voice replies, sharp and commanding, like both a crack of thunder and a streak of lightning. My father. By newcomers Luger meant the Glassies.

Luger responds. “The first team of investigators was certain an attack was imminent, but gave no indication as to the motives.” Another attack by the Glassies? I need to go tell—

My heart sinks when I remember Circ’s not back yet. When he talked about his mission, he never mentioned there was another team of investigators. Maybe he didn’t know. If they’re back already, surely he’ll be back soon.

“In the absence of information, we have to assume they have only one goal: to wipe us out and steal our land.” My father’s words hang over my head like a dark cloud, pregnant with rain, unmoving despite the buffeting it’s taking at the hands of the wind. Circ, where are you?

~~~

The first Glassy attack was the scariest day of my life, although I didn’t really see anything. The women, the children, including all Youngling, and those afflicted with the Fire, were told to stay inside the Greynote huts. I remember how angry my father was with Head Greynote Shiva for making the decision to keep male Younglings away from the fighting. He thought all males aged twelve and older should be out there, defending our village. Shiva wanted them behind, as a last line of defense in case it came to that. Circ got to stay behind.

We huddled together, tighter’n a thousand ants in an anthill. The pre-Totters were crying and carrying on while their mothers shushed and sang to them. Some of the Younglings were bragging about how many Glassies their fathers would kill, like it was a competition or something. I stayed by Circ, always close enough that one part of us or another was touching. Comforting.

The sounds of battle got really close at one point. Men were yelling and metal was shrieking. The crackle and roar and bitter odor of heavy flames and smoke filled the air. I thought they were burning down our village, that they’d broken through, would soon set fire to our hut.

They didn’t, although when one of the Hunters came to tell us it was safe to come out, we emerged to find a quarter of the tents burned to no more’n ash and kindling. Evidently the Glassies never set foot in the village, but did shoot a whole heap of fireballs past the Hunters, lighting quite a few tents on fire.

But the Hunters held them off.

And the Glassies haven’t come back since.

Until now, if Luger is right.

~~~

I’m the first one to know that the Hunters are back from their investigation. Unable to thwart my anticipation any longer, I take to sitting on the outskirts of the village, watching the desert. Just sitting, waiting, hunger growing in my stomach, thirst growing in my throat, ignoring it all. Sitting and waiting.

They start as dots on the horizon. Could be anything. Killers. Glassies. But I know they’re not. They’re Hunters. There’s a bubble in my gut telling me so. Circ’s back.

When he gets close enough where I know without a doubt it’s him, I want nothing more’n to rush to him, to throw my arms ’round him, to hold on tight and never let go, but I hold it back, ’cause he looks awful serious with his Hunter friends. Like they’ve got a story to tell and someone they gotta go tell it to. So I just sit there, watching them march past, thinking how strange it is that everyone always hasta act a certain way, for appearances’ sake. Why can’t we just be ourselves?

But then, at the last second, Circ glances in my direction and winks, flashes a two-dimpled smile that raises my lips and expands in my chest. He’s back, really back.

I follow them through the village, keeping my distance so as to not make it too obvious. When they get to the same hut I heard my father talking to Luger in earlier, they knock and go in. I’m too scared and nervous and excited to eavesdrop, so I just sit a ways off, picking at the sand and waiting for him to come out. He’ll tell me everything anyway.

They’re not in there long enough for the sun goddess to move an inch in the sky, but it’s searin’ close to that. I’ve built two big ol’ piles of sand and I’m about to connect the two with a bridge of sorts, when they emerge from the hut. Circ’s out first, and he marches right on over to me and grabs my hand, pulls me up, and starts tugging me away. I look back and see my father standing in the doorway, his arms crossed, just watching. I’ll most certainly catch it from him later, but my Circ’s back, and nothing can stop me from spending some time with him, so I swivel around like I never even saw him giving us the evil eye.

~~~

We both have stories to tell but I let him go first, ’cause he’s practically itching to tell it. He still hasn’t let go of my hand after walking all the way to the Mouth holding it. I don’t mind at all.

“Sie, we went into Killer territory,” he says, squeezing my hand outta excitement.

I frown. “I thought you were just going to the border,” I say. My wooloo mind starts conjuring up all sorts of visions of Circ and the Hunters, surrounded by Killers, fighting them off barehanded, bleeding and missing arms and legs. Stop! I shout to myself. You saw as well as I did that none of them looked hurt. Sorry, my mind says. Sometimes I can’t help myself.

“Me, too,” Circ says. “And that’s what we did at first. Surveyed the border, looked for tracks and evidence that anyone might’ve crossed over from our land to the Killers’.”

“Did you find anything?” I ask, prying his fingers offa mine. I don’t want to, but his grip is so tight my brittler’n-scrubgrass fingers are starting to ache.

“Sort of,” he says. “There were human footprints all right, coming right in from Killer territory to Heater land, as if one of our people had gone over there to cause trouble and then come back. But the strange thing was that there were no prints going in the other direction.”

A dull throb starts in my slinged arm. “It’s been windy. The tracks mighta just been smoothed over,” I say.

“Maybe,” he says. “And we thought that too, but some of the tracks coming in were deep. They were made with someone wearing something on their feet that none of us had ever seen before. Not moccasins, that’s for sure.”

“Not Heaters,” I murmur, holding my bad arm gingerly.

He shakes his head. “Someone else. We didn’t want to waste the mission, come back empty handed, so we went over the border, not to cause trouble with the Killers, but to see if we could find anything to point us to the cause of their invasion. There were all kinds of tracks over there made by someone else, not Heaters. We found a whole pile of tug bones, too, nice and neat and organized. Someone was hunting.”

“Circ, I gotta tell you something too.” I tell him what I overheard my father and Luger talking about.

“It makes sense,” he says. “If it was the Glassies riling the Killers up, tricking them into thinking we’d come onto their land, then they’d follow it up with an attack of their own. You know, now that we’re weakened.”

“What about the Icers?” I ask.

“I don’t know anything about any of that. We’ll probably never know.” That might be good enough for Circ, but it’s not for me. Call it curiosity or just plain silliness, but if we’re ’bout to be invaded by foreigners, I wanna know the whole picture.

“I’m going back to Confinement,” I say.

“What? Why would you do that?” Circ turns to face me.

“I gotta know what’s going on,” I say.

“If you sneak up there and try to follow the prisoners to wherever they’re working every night, your father will notice you’re gone. There’s no way you’ll get away with it.” Circ’s right. I can sneak away for one thumb of sun movement, maybe two, but to carry out a plan like this it’ll take more’n five. The snapper’ll be waiting when I come back. If I’m lucky that’s all that’ll be waiting.

“I’m not sneaking there,” I say, a plan coming together in my mind. “I’m going back in my cage.”

~~~

Circ tries to talk me outta it, but I can be as stubborn as a Totter who won’t eat his evening stew. For some reason I get my head set on doing this thing, and I can’t think about anything else until I do it.

Before we part ways, he tells me not to do anything stupid until we talk again. I tell him I’ll think about it.

When I burst through the door I know I’m in for it. I ain’t late for dinner, or shy of my chores, or late on my Learning projects, but something’s astir. My mother won’t look at me, just stares at the pot of stew she’s stirring like it might hold the meaning of life on its bubbling surface.

My Call-Mother and Call-Siblings turn away from me, huddle together and take turns tying knots in a ball of string.

Father glares. “Where’ve you been?” he demands, ’fore I have a chance to gather my thoughts or figure out what’s going on.

“Out,” I say. It’s not a lie, but it’s not what he’s looking for either.

“Don’t toy with me, Youngling!” he snarls. “I saw you go off with that boy.”

“His name’s Circ,” I say. “You’ve known him since we was kids.” I’m being bolder and feeling bolder’n ever before. Between me and my mother, we’re probably really getting on his nerves.

“I know who he is. Playing with him as a Totter and Midder was fine,” he says. What’s he playing at?

“But now?” I say.

He strides forward, breathing so heavy I can feel it waft off my face. His breath smells like spicy tug jerky. My stomach rumbles. Shut up! I tell it. This is not the time.

“Listen to me carefully because I’ll only say this once more. I will not have my Pre-Bearer daughter running around with some Youngling boy like a little shilt.”

My blood’s boiling, all bubbly and hot, not too different’n my mother’s stew. I’m sweating all over and I know my face is glistening with moisture and heat. No hiding my anger this time. “It’s not like that!” I scream, turning to run back outside, away from this place, from this man, from the creature who refuses to call me by the name he gave me when I was born.

He grabs my arm, hard enough to bruise, whips me ’round. My eyes are glued to his white-knuckled grip, seeing as much as feeling the strength in him. He might be older’n durt, but he ain’t caught the Fire yet, ain’t weak in the least. I can’t fight him with my runty body.

My only chance is to use my mind.

Chapter Sixteen

My father’s message was as dark and mottled as the purple-black-blue five-fingered bruise he left in the flesh of my arm: I see Circ again and it’s another trip to Confinement for me.

My plan is on track.

I lie in bed thinking. If I can get back to Confinement I’ll be able to find out what the scorch is going on. Then maybe me and Circ can come up with a way to stop it. Whatever it is, my father’s got his fist clamped on things tighter’n a butcher about to castrate a dead tug. Circ may not approve of my plan, but he’ll have no choice but to go along with it once it’s in motion.

When my father’s breathing from behind his curtain grows heavy and deep, I throw back my tugskin covering and tiptoe for the door, sparing only a second or two to slip on my moccasins. I ease the door open a crack, praying for silence, and then slide through. Escape! I think. There’s something satisfying and exciting about sneaking out at night. Maybe it’s ’cause no one’s telling me what to do, or where to go, or what my duty is. Or maybe it’s just ’cause I like being a bit rebellious every now and again.

Everything’s blacker’n the inside of a tug’s stomach, ’cept for the sky, which is aglow with hovering fireflies—the stars. To scare me when I was a Totter, Skye used to tell me that night came when a gigantic monster stood in front of the sun, blocking its light and casting a mammoth shadow over everything. She made me scared of the dark for years, until I was a Midder. Now I’m glad for the big ol’ monster’s shadow. It hides my movements.

I sneak my way through the Greynote huts, peeking ’round corners and stopping to listen for footsteps or voices every coupla steps. The village is silent. A ghost town. Everyone sleeping, or at least pretending to. When I get to the last row of huts I cut to the right, purposefully avoiding the village center and the fire pit. There’re almost always insomniacs there, drinking the night away, stirring the fire up and telling war stories. Hunts gone bad, Hunts gone good, and everything in between.

I’m nearly out of the Greynote block when the last hut’s door swings open right in front of my face. I’m behind it, hidden, but whoever opened it is gonna close it any second and they’ll surely see me. There’s no time to think, to run, to do much of anything, so I drop. Flat on my stomach. Like a worm, ’cept without the wriggling. Just stay still, quiet, not even breathing.

The door shuts and whoever’s there makes a sorta groaning noise, but not like he’s in pain. Come to think of it, it’s more like a sigh, like of relief. I risk a breath and a peek up. Too dark to see anything ’cept the outline of a man, which means he probably won’t see me either, unless he happens to look directly down, or trips on me.

There’s the scrape of a flint and then a flash of red as he lights a pipe. For that moment I’m completely illuminated, can see my own hands, feet, and everything else, even the tip of my nose. And I can see him too. My breath catches when I recognize the Greynote:

Luger.

But then the light goes out, replaced by just a finger’s tip of light at the end of his pipe. A bitter, somewhat fruity aroma settles on the tip of my tongue. It leaves a sour taste in my mouth, like I been drinking stale prickler juice. Luger’s not just smoking the pipeweed that so many men around the village like to puff on. It’s fireweed. Like I smelled out behind the Learning hut when Youngling Granger got his hands on a whole pouch of it. Half the Younglings were giggling all through class that afternoon. Luger’s guilty pleasure, so guilty he can only smoke it in the dead of night.

Luger sighs again and then walks on down the row, skirting behind his own hut.

I move on, first back the way I came to get as far away from Luger as possible, and then up a row of huts to further my distance from him. If he catches me now it might work out okay for my plan, but there’re no guarantees. I need to get further.

I edge my way down the row, and once I’m out of the cover of the Greynote huts, I run like I’m being chased by a bloodthirsty pack of Cotees. Tents fly by on both sides, most of them quiet and closed off, but a few of them with late sleepers sitting around cook fires, tent openings wide and flapping lazily in the night breeze. A few of them cry out, but I keep running. All part of the plan.

I get to Circ’s neighborhood and slow down, quickly locating his tent, which is half falling over from the recent spat of windstorms we’ve had. It doesn’t look ready to survive the first sandstorm of the season. I’ll hafta mention that to him.

Just as I reach the tent opening, a corner of the moon peeks out from the clouds, providing a small measure of much-needed light. Kneeling down in front of the haggard sleeping quarters, I ease open the tentflap, spilling the soft moonglow inside. I pause, take a moment for my eyes to adjust to the inside gloom, and slide in. There are ten bodies inside. Not a Full Family, as Circ, like me, has lost one of his Call-Mothers and two Call-Siblings, but it’s not far off. The chorus of peaceful rest-making sounds invites me to join them. My eyes are tired, along with my body, but my mind is still sharp. Not a night for sleep. Least not for me. And in a second not for Circ either.

He’s easy to spot amongst the bodies. His bare chest rises and falls more’n anyone else’s. He’s always been a deep breather and heavy sleeper. Countless times he’s drifted away next to me on the dunes, always ’fore I can manage to sleep myself. I watch him sometimes.

One of his Call-Sisters has her foot in his face, and his real brother, Stix, has his head resting on Circ’s stomach, rising and falling along with it. For Circ, sneaking out is somewhat harder’n for me.

Don’t be clumsy, don’t be clumsy, don’t be clumsy, I think to myself, placing a hand in an open spot between someone’s arm and someone else’s head. My other arm is useless, wrapped up in its sling. This’ll hafta be a three-legged dance. I move my right foot into another gap, follow it with my left foot. I’m dangling awkwardly and unbalanced above the sleeping bodies, but I only need another few moves and I’ll be able to reach him.

Hand, foot, foot. My foot brushes against someone’s skin, one of his Call-Brothers, I think, just a Totter. The boy stirs, stretches, nearly clobbering me in the face with his little outstretched fist. Yawns. Turns over and goes back to sleep.

I’m sweating now, the heat of the night and the strain of my muscles bringing my body temperature to a fever pitch. I feel droplets of moisture gathering on my forehead, starting to stream. One drips in my eye and I blink it away, feeling the sting. Another runs down my nose, settles on the tip.

Hand—

The bead of sweat wobbles.

Foot—

The sweat quivers.

Foot—

It drops, splashes someone in the face, another sibling I think—maybe Stix. His eyes drift open but they’re still full of sleep. I stare at him as he wipes at his face, feels the moisture there, probably wonders whether a nightmare has made him cry in his sleep. He blinks a few times and I can almost see his vision clearing, zeroing in on yours truly hovering above him.

His eyes widen, his mouth opens.

I pucker my lips and whisper, “Shhh,” as soothingly and softly as I can.

He doesn’t call out, recognizes me. Nudges Circ.

Circ groans, loud enough to make me cringe. Opens his eyes. Sees me right away. Gives me an as-usual-you’re-acting-wooloo look. I nod my head toward the tent flap.

He shakes his head. I give him a look of death. Grudgingly, he nods. Stix watches us curiously as I retrace my hand and foot placements, and Circ pries away the arms, legs, and heads of his siblings and Call-Siblings.

Once outside, Circ ducks his mouth to the side of my head. “Are you wooloo?” he hisses, tickling my ear with his breath.

Shrugging, I look up at the sky, which is clearing faster’n a baby’s bundle gets durtied. “I couldn’t sleep. Wanna go for a walk?”

He shakes his head, but it’s not a no. It’s a shake that’s part Why am I your friend again? and part resignation. He’s coming.

~~~

“Where are we going?” Circ says after a few moments. We’re approaching the edge of the village, a point that’s the exact middle distance from each of the night watchmen towers. He’s only asking to humor me, so I don’t answer.

“You were just in Confinement, if your father catches you, he’ll…” He stops, understanding dawning in his eyes. “You want to get caught,” he says. “Don’t you?”

I sigh. “Look, Circ. I hafta know what’s going on up at Confinement, with the prisoners. Innocent people are being sent there. It’s not fair.”

“Since when has life been fair?” Circ says.

“Don’t you even care?” I say.

Circ looks at the ground, then at the sky. “You know I do.”

“Then help me,” I say.

He lets out a sorta growl that’s meant to be angry but is kinda cute. “Okay, but we can get caught inside the village. If we try to sneak beyond the borders they’ll shoot us deader’n a vulture’s breakfast.”

“We’ve done it ’fore,” I say.

“Yeah, but not when the guards are on high-alert. What with the Glassies threatening and all the Killer stuff, nothing will be able to get in or out of the village without raising a bunch of alarms.”

He’s right, although I don’t want him to be. I want nothing more’n to escape the bounds of the village tonight, stare up at the moon and the stars like we always used to, away from everything and everyone. “Okay. But can we go somewhere away from things?”

Circ nods. “I know just the place.”

~~~

He leads now, along the edge of the village, ducking behind tents whenever we pass a guard tower. Cutting across the village it doesn’t seem so big, but going ’round the outer curve, it feels unending. Hundreds of tents stand in rows, like a silent army. And with first sun tomorrow morning, each tent’ll open up like a pod, giving birth to six, or eight, or ten people.

We reach the biggest structure in the village and I understand where he’s taking me. The Hunter’s Lodge.

Standing square and tall like a fortress, the Lodge contains more wood’n anything else we’ve ever built. I’ve only ever seen it from the outside, but tonight I’m in for a treat. Circ’s taking me inside.

There’s a guard at the door, but he’s not really paying attention, just sitting there, puffing on pipeweed. Circ motions for me to stay back, behind the corner of the Lodge. He walks up to the guard casually, and I stifle a laugh when the Hunter leaps to his feet, grabbing at his belt for a weapon.

“Whoa, Kiroff, it’s just me, Circ,” Circ says.

“Jumping ’zards, you gave me a fright,” Kiroff says, taking his hand off his belt. “I thought you mighta been one of them Glassies, snuck inside.” I remember Kiroff. He was a year ahead of us in Learning. He didn’t make Hunter until after finishing Learning, when he turned sixteen, four years behind Circ. Still fresh on the job.

Circ laughs. “Come on, do you really believe all that nonsense?”

Kiroff scratches his head. “The Greynotes seemed pretty searin’ serious about it in the briefing. They said all guards had to be extra watchful.”

“So you’re sitting here smoking pipeweed and letting me sneak up on you?” There’s amusement in Circ’s tone.

Kiroff kicks at the durt sheepishly. “It was all I could do to stay awake. You won’t tell anyone, will you?”

Circ chuckles. “Nah. That’s why I’m here. They decided to switch it up, change guards more regularly so everyone stays fresh.”

“They didn’t tell me that,” Kiroff says, eyes narrowing.

“Strange,” Circ says. “They must’ve forgotten. Anyway, I’m here to relieve you of your post. I’m on duty till morning. Get some sleep.”

Kiroff seems uncertain at first, his mouth opening and closing, his feet shifting back and forth, but then he shrugs. “Thanks,” he says gratefully. Apparently the thought of some extra sleep won out over any sense of duty.

Kiroff trudges off, in the opposite direction, and Circ waves me over. “We’re in,” he says. Excitement builds in my stomach. Tonight is turning out to be better’n just carrying out my plan.

~~~

I’m not sure how it is during the day, but being inside the Lodge at night is eerie. It’s dark and hollow and feels like we’re inside the belly of a sleeping beast, wind rushing through the endless passageways.

“Around the edge are the weapons rooms, strategy rooms, commanders’ quarters, supply holds and a whole lot of other boring stuff,” Circ explains as we walk down a hallway. It’s weird, unlike anything I’ve ever seen. It’s almost like all the huts in the village’ve been joined together, the walls knocked down so that it’s one, long hut. We reach a corner and turn right. The next side of the square.

“And all the sides are like this?” I ask.

Circ grins, his teeth gleaming in the light from the torch he lit when we entered the main door. “Yeah, but that’s not why I brought you. The real treat is in the middle.”

Instead of taking me all the way to the end of the next passage, Circ stops midway, where another path goes off to the right, further into the belly of the beast. I’d expect it to be darker in there, but it’s not. The air seems to lighten the further in we get, until I see a square of night sky ahead of us.

“Where does this lead?” I ask.

“You’ll see, Circ says, grabbing my hand and pulling me forward, more quickly now.

My heart starts beating faster.

“Close your eyes,” Circ says as we approach the soft light.

I let my eyelids slip shut. I wanna peek, to squint, to cheat, but I resist the urge. Circ’s giving me a treat, after all, he deserves my trust.

I take ten, fifteen, twenty more steps, never stumbling under Circ’s guiding hand. He stops me with a firm touch on my hip. Spring butterflies swirl in my stomach. We’re just friends, just friends, just friends, I think, trying to calm the butterflies. Duty, honor, the Call.

Breeding, Lara says in my head.

“Open your eyes,” he says softly.

I do, gasping at the sight before me.

~~~

When I open my eyes, what I see is beautiful, but scary too, like the skeleton of a long-dead beast, its skin picked clean long ago by carrion-eaters.

We’re in the center of the Hunting Lodge, which is exposed to the night sky. As always, the air is warm, even in the deepest part of the night. The Lodge and its series of rooms and passageways is really just a big, square wall, surrounding the yard we now stand in. Beneath us the durt is hard-packed, trampled by dozens of Hunter feet, their footprints zigzagging this way and that. Wooden beams and walls and crossbeams rise and jut out and connect in an intricate pattern around the perimeter. Under the pale moonlight, that’s what gives the Lodge a skeletal feel, like a mammoth creature has died here, and we’re stuck in the middle of its elongated body. Somewhat scary.

But above us, there’s only beauty. Although I’ve seen the moon and the stars countless times, nothing could compare to now. Something about the quiet protection of the fortress around us seems to magnify the brightness and colors and magnificence of the night sky, framing it all like a picture.

“Lie down,” Circ says softly, pulling me to the durt.

As we have so many times before, Circ and I lie next to each other, hand in hand, staring up, watching the star servants wink and twinkle, flash in, flash out, speak to us.

“Oh,” I murmur. Some of the stars are moving, shooting across the sky, born by wings, or by some extra-world power bestowed upon them by the moon goddess. They arc over us, their brightness leaving dazzling tails behind them, and then disappear beyond the Lodge walls.

“Good timing,” Circ says, sitting up suddenly.

I sit up, too, across from him, still holding his hand, feeling a flutter in my chest.

Everything about Circ is right. The way I feel when I’m ’round him, safe and happy and excited; his easy-on-the-eyes smile that comes quicker’n a pack of Cotees to a fresh kill; his respect for life and all who live in fire country; his loyalty, above all else.

Releasing his hand, I touch my fingertips against the charms dangling from my tug-leather bracelet. The one for Skye. The one for my mother. The one for me, the tree.