Fire Country

by David Estes

  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.

  The tree. On the night of my Call, I’ll give it to the man I’m Called to be with, to live with, to Bear children with. Not Circ. He’s too young, not eligible yet.

  Breeding. The thought of lying with some stranger just to bring more children into this world seems to get more revolting the closer I get to my Call. And having more’n one woman do it with each man? Is that right? It’s the way it’s always been, I know, but that don’t make it right, now does it?

  I desperately wanna tear off my charm, give it to Circ, his to keep forever and ever, no matter who I end up with, no matter what the consequences. I’ll tell my father I lost it, that it musta fallen off during the Killer attack. They’ll make me a new one. Circ’ll always have a part of me.

  “That’s not the way,” Circ says, touching my finger with his, running it from nail to knuckle to hand, stopping, feeling, exploring. What’s happening? In the name of the sun goddess, how is this possible?

  Circ is strong, graceful, important. And I’m…

  “Perfect,” Circ says.

  “What?” I say, my eyes taking in his.

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

  I search his fathomless brown eyes for a clue as to how h
e’s doing this, how he’s reading my thoughts as quickly as I think them. The answer’s so obvious I’ve barely scratched the surface of the beauty his gaze hasta offer when I realize it: he knows me better’n I know myself.

  I stand up, walk away from him, my mind overworked, practically spinning with Circ’s touch, his eyes, his words. Once when I was a Midder, I overheard Skye ask my mother what a Call should be like. My mother smiled, knelt down, and said, “By the time you die, your Call should know you better than you know yourself.”

  Circ already knows everything about me.

  But it’s impossible—he can’t be my Call. I can’t let myself wish it, hope it, want it, not for even one second. For down that path lies only heartbreak.

  It doesn’t have to be this way.

  Lara’s words crash into me like a heavy wind. What if she’s not crazy? What if there’s some truth to what she says. What if whoever she’s working with really does have something to offer me?

  Think about what you want. And when the time comes, you’ll know what decision to make.

  My mother’s words streak across my consciousness like the shooting stars we saw not a moment ago. What’d she mean? How can I possibly have what I want? I don’t have a decision. I want Circ, but I can’t have him. The Law says I can’t.

  Warm arms wrap ’round me from behind, startling me. Circ laughs.

  “Did I frighten you out of your daydream?” he says.

  I was so caught up in my thoughts, in the puzzles with no answers, that I’d almost forgotten he was there. Almost. “It’s night,” I say, draping my arms over his, pulling them close. How is this happening? He said it himself: We’re just friends. Not his exact words, but close enough. Do friends hold each other like this?

  “What?” he murmurs, nestling his lips into my hair. Warmth spreads down my spine.