Fire Country

by David Estes

  ~~~

  Skye’s in our tent when I get back from training. There’s a grim look on her face.

  “What happened?” I say, unable to hide the tension in my voice.

  “There’ll be an announcement at supper,” she says.

  “Skye! Don’t make me beg!”

  “Okay, okay, keep yer burnin’ clothes on!” She repositions herself, curls her legs beneath her, stretches, cracks her neck and knuckles. Her every movement is agonizingly slow.

  “Skye, c’mon!”

  “Anyone ever tell you yer pushy?” she asks.

  “Anyone ever tell you you’re irritating?” I return.

  She laughs. “All the time. Look, the scout that came in today was watchin’ the searin’ Glassies. Checkin’ that they weren’t causin’ more problems’n usual. Watchin’ ’em buildin’ their buildin’s, hidin’ in their Glass City, that sorta thing.”

  “And?” I say impatiently.

  “And she found out they’re fixin’ to go after the Heaters again.”

  My shoulders slump and I sigh. “That’s a good thing, right? It’ll keep them distracted while they hold the Glassies off like last time.”

  Skye just stares at me, her expression blank.

  “Right?” I ask again.

  She chews on her lip.

  Then I realize. Last time they only survived ’cause of a lucky sandstorm. They were losing ’fore it hit, losing badly, regardless of what the Greynotes say. And now, between the Hunters they lost when the Killers attacked and the ones we killed, their numbers are dreadfully low.

  “They won’t survive ’nother attack,” Skye says, as if to close the loop on my thoughts. “Scout says the burnin’ Glassies are bringin’ twice as many as last time.”

  “We hafta warn the Heaters,” I say. “Somehow get a message to them. They hafta abandon the village.” Although I hate my father, I don’t hate the Heaters. Some of them may be like him, but so many ain’t.

  “They already know,” Skye says. “Their scouts found out the same way ours did.”

  “So they’re leaving then.”

  “No.”

  “What? Whaddya mean no? They hafta.”

  “You know, Father. He’s the stubbornest, most arrogant man in fire country. He’s fixin’ to fight.”

  “What’re we gonna do?” I ask.

  “Count our lucky stars,” Skye says.

  I slam a fist in the durt, heat rising in my chest. “We can’t do that! We hafta help!”

  “Decision’s been made.”

  “Then unmake it.”

  “They won’t listen to me,” Skye says. I realize then that’s she’s already tried to convince them to help the Heaters. I shake my head in disbelief.

  “Wilde?” I say.

  “Naw. Brione and Crya. Wilde’s the leader, but she’s no dictator. Majority rules.”

  “But Brione’ll listen,” I argue.

  “Not this time. Crya’s got her on her side.”

  “Sear it all to burnin’ scorch!” I shout. Skye’s head bobs back, surprised to hear an outburst like that from me. I lower my voice. “We can’t just sit here and do nothing.”

  “Then do somethin’!” Skye says, ’fore crawling outta the tent.

  ~~~

  Skye’s right. It’s so easy to fling complaints ’round like rocks, clattering them off the desert floor. But to take action takes guts. After a few full moons in Wildetown, my guts are raring to be used.

  I storm up to the leaders’ tent, knock on one of the poles, say, “Siena here to see Crya and Brione.”

  A few seconds later, Brione pokes her head out. “You shouldn’t be ’ere,” she hisses.

  “This is the one place I should be,” I retort. “Lemme in.” When I arrived in Wildetown, weak and half-starved at the beginning of spring, I never thought I’d talk to someone like Brione like this.

  “The decision’s made.” So she knows why I’m here.

  “Yeah, I’m hearing that a lot lately. But that doesn’t mean it’s true. Lemme in.”

  She sighs, runs a hand over her bald head. Motions for me to enter.

  When I enter I blink away the darkness, letting my eyes adjust gradually. No one’s sitting in their normal positions. Crya’s way off to one side, against the side of the tent as if she’s ’bout to dig her way out. Wilde’s on t’other side, sitting calmly, hands clasped. Brione takes a spot between them, so far from either of them she’s like a lonely rock in a sea of sand.

  “What do you want?” Crya demands.

  “To talk,” I say firmly, not letting myself be intimidated like usual.

  “Then talk,” Crya says.

  “You can’t abandon the Heaters,” I say. I speak to Brione, ’cause I know Wilde’s on our side and Crya won’t change her mind, ’specially not if it’s me that’s asking her to change it.

  “They abandoned us when they decided to treat women like slaves, baby machines, Breeders,” Crya says.

  “I ain’t no Breeder,” Brione says, her fists knotted at her sides. “I ain’t ready for kids yet. Might never be.”

  “I’m not saying you hafta be a Bearer,” I plead. “Just that we help them.”

  “No,” Brione says with a humph. “I won’t do it.” I’m starting to get a feel for what Skye hadta deal with.

  “Look, even if we hate what the Heaters are doing, it don’t make this right. Their Laws may be all wrong, twisted up, but if we don’t help, we’ll be just as guilty.”

  Brione looks uncertain, like I’ve hit a soft spot, maybe one Skye or Wilde already hit. Another witness to the wrongness of this decision. She squirms, flexes one leg, then t’other.

  “Brione!” Crya says, snapping Brione’s gaze back to her. “Don’t let this Runt tell you what to do!”

  I wheel on her, my hands clenched at my side, my jaw set high and tight. The words I’ve worked so hard to cast out of my life tumble through my mind in a vicious spiral.

  Runt, Scrawny, Weakling, Tent-Pole, Scrubgrass.

  I am none of those things.

  Never was.

  Circ saw what I couldn’t all along. He knew my heart was stronger’n my body. He saw my potential. “I’ve made mistakes, but I’m not weak,” I say. “And I won’t sit back and make more mistakes, even worse ones. Whether you all come with me or not, I’m going back to the village to fight.”

  “Good riddance,” Crya mumbles. “Now get out of my face.”

  “Brione,” Wilde says. “Listen to reason.”

  Brione’s staring at me, just staring, like I’ve grown a new head that looks like a prickler, green and spiky. “All right,” she says, “but I’s only helping them this one time. Next time they’s on their own.”

  “This is madness,” Crya says. She scrambles to her feet and pushes past me, gone.

  Wilde looks at me with interest. “Thank you,” she says.

  ~~~

  Skye’s waiting for me outside the tent when I return. “You didn’t,” she says.

  “I did,” I say.

  “I saw Crya storm past and she looked all grizzed off. What the scorch did they say?”

  “We’re going.”

  “What?”

  “We’re going,” I repeat. “We’re going to fight the Glassies.”

  “You know what? Yer incredible sometimes,” she says. Coming from her, it means everything.

  “Can you do something for me, Skye?” I ask, biting my lip as I say it.

  “Sure. Anythin’.”

  “Cut my hair,” I say.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  We leave immediately. Well, nearly. Just as soon as we pack up, grab a few weapons, and pause for a moment so Skye can hack off the majority of my long, dark locks. At first I’m horrified, on the verge of tears as I hold the thick hair in my hands. But then I run my fingers over my scalp and I feel…really searin’ good. Lighter and more in control. Like a Wilde One. If I see my father, at least he’ll know exactly where I stand.

  We
hold a council ’fore we leave. No one’s beng forced to go. Wilde simply states the facts, asks for each and every Wilde’s help, and then gives everyone the option to stay or go. “There’s no shame in staying behind,” she says.

  Everyone wants to fight, Crya included, for which I’m glad. We might not get along, but she’s one scorch of a fighter and we’ll need her. We’ll need everyone.

  We take enough food and water for two days, ’cause we need to travel light, and ’cause if we don’t make it there in that amount of time, there won’t be anything left of the village and we’ll be able to scavenge all the food and water we want. And if we do make it and manage to help the Hunters defend the village, we’ll surely be welcome to partake of whatever meager stores they’ve got. And if my father don’t like it, he’ll have my fists and feet to answer to.

  We run during the first night, while the air is warm, rather’n hot. Our bows and sheathed blades click and clatter as we trot along, a hundred girls strong, with the Dead Snake River on our left. Surprised ’zards scurry out of our path, diving for their holes. A pack of Cotees prowls nearby, but a well-loosed pointer in their general direction scatters them away. The trip is so different this time.

  When the sun comes up we continue on, but slow our pace to that of long walking strides, so as to lessen the effect of the harsh summer sun on our energy levels. We drink and eat without stopping.

  The moment the sun reaches its apex in the red, cloudless sky, we stop. No one talks. We simply drop on command, find the softest ground we can, and fall into a restless sleep.

  ~~~

  The moment the sun’s heat falters, we run. Although all the conditioning work we’ve been doing was miserable and painful at the time, I’m thankful for it now. No one lags, no one crumbles from exhaustion. We’re like separate parts of the same creature, moving as one across the desert.

  ’Fore the sun comes up again we’ve left the dried up river far behind. Today we run beyond the sun’s apex, sacrificing some energy and sleep to gain ground. For all we know, the Glassies are already upon the Heaters.

  But eventually we hafta stop, to rest, to sleep.

  I’m sweaty and stiff and achy, but as determined as ever. I might be dead tomorrow, but today I’m alive.

  ~~~

  When I awake it’s already dark. T’other Wildes are gathering up their things, preparing to leave. I start doing the same.

  “Wildes!” Wilde says. Everyone stops what they’re doing, cranes their necks in her direction, where she stands on a large flat rock. Crya and Brione are at her sides, loyal now, regardless of previous arguments. I gain a bit of respect for Crya seeing her like that.

  “Today we fight for a people who would hunt us down and make us their slaves. A people who we left because we didn’t fit in, didn’t agree with their customs and Laws. But today isn’t about any of that, because they’re threatened by others who would destroy them from the face of the earth for reasons we may never know. Just because they can perhaps. We don’t do it out of the goodness of our hearts, or because we still have friends and family in the village, but because it’s the right thing to do. Today we show them who the Wildes really are!”

  A cheer goes up and I find myself joining in, yelling my tired lungs out, relishing the burn in my parched throat. I throw back my head and scream till I can’t scream no more, spotting Circ’s starry gaze smiling down on me, my silent protector.

  For the final night, we run. My legs feel as fresh and light and full of energy as that first night. The miles fall away like the leaves from the trees in ice country.

  When day breaks, we see the village.

  ~~~

  The village reminds me of my mother, of growing up, of Circ. It also reminds me of Bart’s hot, foul breath, his weight on me, feeling weak, helpless. I cast away the memories like shards of useless stone. None of that matters now.

  We made it in time. From a safe distance away behind the dunes, the village almost looks peaceful. Beyond the guard towers, people emerge from their tents, rubbing their eyes and yawning, starting cook fires and bringing in hanging laundry, like it’s just any other day. But one look at the guard towers and we know it’s a mirage. At the top they’re stuffed with Hunters, looking in every direction, ensuring they spot the Glassies at the earliest moment possible. And below, dozens of Hunters milling about, sharpening blades, testing the tension on their bowstrings, securing leather armor to their bodies. Not a normal day. A day of war.

  The rest of the Wildes are hidden away behind the biggest dune in the near vicinity, and I was only allowed to tag along ’cause of Skye. The three leaders are beside us, speaking in whispers. Me, I’m afraid to even breathe, for fear that the village lookouts’ll spot me and I’ll ruin everything. I’m determined not to do anything stupid today. A couple of pricklers laugh at me. Perry says hi, they say. After this is all over I think I might have MedMa take a look at my brain. (Although I’m not sure how he’d do that—through my ear maybe?)

  The sun’s rising fast and already it’s sweltering; the hottest day yet. With a shock I notice the plentiful amount of scrubgrass growing ’round the village. The stuff is everywhere, practically right up to the border tents. Dangerous. By now, the Heaters would normally have pulled it all out and burned it. Perhaps amongst all their other problems it seemed like a small one. Very dangerous.

  I’m continuing to scan the village when I see him. My father, striding from guard tower to guard tower, rallying the troops. I can almost hear his voice. They’re coming. The Glassies are coming.

  As if to confirm what my father seems to already know, there’s a shout, and the men in the towers scramble down, waving their arms and pointing to the southeast. Our heads move in a collective swing in that direction.

  We see them immediately. A Glassy army. They come tearing over the dunes on their chariots, which growl like animals, spinning dust and durt from the wheels that seem to propel them along. The men are holding glinting fire sticks and waving them in the air like spears. Against the stark whiteness of the desert, their pale skin blends in, making them appear as a strange moving blob, dotted and streaked with black.

  Time to move.

  “It’s burnin’ on,” Skye says, the first to pull back.

  The others follow her, Brione and Crya and Wilde, but I linger, watching the village. The women are screaming and hurding their children toward the huts, while the men—and even the Younglings, some so young-looking they might be Midders—race for the rally point, a guard tower at the southern edge of the border tents, where my father’s already assembled a large group of Hunters. Today they fight for their survival, and we fight with them.

  “Sie! Come on!” Skye shouts, having realized I didn’t follow her.

  We run back to t’others, where Wilde is standing ’fore them, speaking. “…and you are all my sisters,” she says, firmness and emotion in her clear voice. Despite the pounding of my heart and the shortness of my breath, her voice instantly calms me, like it always does, like spring rains on the desert sand.

  “Today we stand for those who can’t defend themselves, against a soulless enemy who destroys because it can. We will not remain idle while the freedom of others is threatened. Not when we have the power to do something about it. And we do have the power. As individuals we are strong, as Wildes we are invincible!”

  A cheer goes up that surely both the Glassies and Heaters’ll hear, but stealth doesn’t matter now.

  The moment of death is upon us.

  ~~~

  With whoops and hollers, we launch ourselves into the desert.

  The battle’s already begun and the work of death waits for nobody. Streams of Hunters pour from the village, as volleys of pointers zip like flocks of birds overhead. A Glassy chariot crashes when its driver is killed by a pointer, straight through his chest. It flips, bounces, bashes into another chariot, which spins wildly ’fore crashing against a prickler, toppling it.

  Thunderous booms sound across the dese
rt but the sky is clear. It ain’t thunder, but the Glassies’ fire sticks, exploding and hurting anyone in their path. Hunters drop in waves, but are quickly replaced by a new line. The two forces move steadily closer. My initial exhilaration turns to fear.

  What’ve I done?

  Another chariot crashes, filled with pointers and blood.

  We’re close now and both the Glassies and Hunters seem to simultaneously realize they’re not alone. Shouts erupt from both sides of the desert.

  The lead archer brings us up short while Skye, Brione, and their warriors—which include Lara—charge ahead. On her signal, we nock our pointers, aim high above the Wilde warriors.

  “Now!” she screams.

  A chorus of twangs hums in my ears as our pointers are loosed. Dozens of Glassies die, but I can’t tell whether my pointer was involved. At least half the Glassy fire sticks turn our way, booming intermittently. Wilde warriors drop like twigs of scrubgrass. I can’t tell if Skye or Lara got hit.

  A strangled groan gurgles from my throat. So much death. So much. I string another pointer on command. Release it, try to watch its flight. Almost miraculously, it embeds itself in the chest of a Glassy on foot, who was aiming his fire stick toward the Wildes. His legs crumble and his fire stick falls harmlessly aside.

  We manage one more deluge of pointers ’fore our warriors get too close to risk hitting them. “Charge!” the lead archer shouts. We take off, carrying our bows in one hand and a pointer in the other.

  I glance toward the village, where the number of Hunters is dwindling already. If we didn’t arrive when we did…

  The thought catches in my throat.

  Just then, however, a second wave of Hunters races from the village, clutching bows, like us. The archers.