Water & Storm Country

by David Estes

  “Good, that’s a start,” Wilde says. “Now you, Skye.”

  Skye flashes an annoyed look in Wilde’s direction, but lowers her blade to the same level as mine. Despite her more relaxed stance, the tension remains in her body, her muscles taut, her knuckles splotched with white as they grip the hilt of her weapon.

  “And you, Siena,” Wilde says. Siena. The sister. Wilde, Skye and Siena. Earth dwellers.

  Siena continues to peer at me down the length of her arrow and I can’t help but hold my breath. All she has to do is release it and I’m dead. Whose stupid idea was it to come to the earth’s surface anyway? Oh right, it was mine.

  “Siena!” Wilde says sharply, and the skinny girl lowers her aim, releasing the arrow with a dull thwock, embedding it into the dry earth.

  “We don’t want to fight,” Tristan says, lowering his own weapon. Speak for yourself, I think. The way Skye continues to glare at me makes me want to crack a forearm shiver across her jaw. Why does she hate us so much? She doesn’t even know us.

  Skye shifts her death stare to Tristan. “You shoulda thought of that ’fore you murdered our people, ’fore you declared war on the Tri-Tribes.”

  Murder? War? The Glassies. “The Glassies murdered your people,” I say.

  “Don’t play wooloo,” Skye says. “You were probably there with the rest of ’em.”

  “We don’t even know who the Glassies are,” Tristan says. “I swear it.”

  “Swear on the sun goddess,” Siena says. She pulls another arrow out of the pouch strapped to her back. Doesn’t nock it, just holds it. Like a warning. Lie and die.

  “I don’t know who the sun goddess is,” I say, “but I’ll swear on her and my life and the life of my mother and sister, too, if that’s what it takes for you people to listen.”

  Skye suddenly stabs her sword into the ground. Chews on her lip. Sighs, as if exhausted. “If yer not Glassies, who the scorch are you? Yer as white as the snow-capped mountains of ice country, but yer not Icers—not dressed like that. And yer not Soakers, ’cause yer not freckly and don’t smell like the big waters. With yer pale skin, you can only be Glassies. And what in the big-balled Tug are you wearin’ over yer eyes and on yer heads? Looks like somethin’ them Glassies would wear, ain’t no mistaking.”

  “Dammit!” I say, shoving my own sword into the ground. I’m angry and the sun isn’t helping—it’s hotter than I ever could’ve imagined, drawing sweat out of my skin like I’ve been running laps around the girls in front of us, rather than just standing here across from them. “We’re not freaking Glassies!” I rip my sunglasses off, but the light is so bright I have to shut my eyes, so I put them right back on. The brim of my hat casts a shadow down to my chin. Amidst the confrontation, I’d forgotten we were wearing them until Skye pointed it out.

  “Adele, stay cool,” Tristan says, sliding his sword into his belt. Turning to our adversaries, he says, “Forgive us, we’re not used to the heat, the sun. We just came up here to have a look around. We don’t know who the Glassies ar—” He stops suddenly, like he’s been slapped. “The Glassies…” he murmurs, almost under his breath, trailing off.

  “Tristan,” I say. “What is it?”

  “Adele and Tristan,” Skye mutters, “what kinds of names are those?”

  I ignore her, my attention fixed on Tristan, whose eyebrow is raised to the red sky. “Oh no,” he breathes.

  “What?” I ask again.

  “I think the Glassies are the earth dwellers,” he says.

  Chapter Two

  Siena

  I don’t know what it is, but I like something about this girl, Adele. She doesn’t look like us, certainly doesn’t talk like us, but the way she didn’t back down from Skye, never so much as looked away, reminds me so much of my older sister I can’t help but like her. If there’s one thing I learned from all my ’xperiences, it’s that you can’t judge people until you get to know them. The Icers, who I thought were the baggards of the earth, turned out to be mostly okay, ’cept for mad King Goff who was leading them. And the Stormers, who at first I had hated hated hated, were really the ones trying to do the right thing. Even the Soakers—despite their roughness and somewhat creepy lust for war ’n blood—weren’t so bad once the devil-reincarnate Admiral Jones was dead. Scorch, my sister, Jade, even has a thing for one of them, and she was a slave for six years, so she would know the good from the bad.

  Now Adele is staring at the guy, Tristan she called him, with such intensity I almost wanna laugh. But I also wanna know what they’re talking ’bout. “What’s an earth dweller?” I say, thinking of Perry right away. My prickly friend is most definitely stuck in the earth, so I suppose you could call him an earth dweller.

  But Tristan doesn’t seem to hear me, or if he does he ignores me, ’cause he and Adele are staring at each other. Adele says, “President Lecter is slaughtering their people?” like it’s a question, but the look on her face tells me she’s not looking for an answer. She’s gone even paler, her cheeks a white sheen even under the shadow of the ridiculous piece of stiff cloth on her head.

  “Who the scorch is President Lecter?” Skye asks.

  Adele and Tristan both turn sharply toward us, like they’re only just remembering we’re here. Tristan’s hands are tightened into fists, which are turning slightly pink under the hot sun, like he wants to punch someone. If he tries anything, I’ll feather him with arrows quicker’n he can say sunburn.

  “He’s a person, like us,” Tristan starts, but then stops suddenly, shaking his head. “Not like us, not really. I mean…” He’s having trouble explaining, which isn’t helping the tension in the air. I see Skye pull her sword outta the ground slowly. Just in case.

  “Let me,” Adele says gently, placing a hand on Tristan’s arm, which is now trembling slightly. A simple touch, but it speaks so much to me. It’s the way I would touch Circ—the way he would touch me. More’n a touch—a feeling. These two mean a great deal to each other, that much is as clear as the cloudless sky above us.

  Fingers brushing Tristan’s skin, Adele says, “Do you know of the people living underground?”

  Wilde looks at Skye. Skye looks at me. I shake my head, say, “All we know is that one day the Glassies popped from the ground. Only they weren’t the Glassies, not yet. They were just white-skinned people, like you, trying to build shelters. It was a long time ago. They didn’t last very long. They weren’t used to the air. It’s…not good air.”

  The guy, Tristan, takes a step back out of the sun, removes his eye coverings. Adele mimics his movements. Her eyes are huge, as big as a full moon, but his are even bigger. “What happened next?” he asks.

  I shrug. They came back. Not the same ones, of course, they were dead, but others. More prepared. Wearing funny suits. Protected somehow. I wasn’t even born, but we all know the history. Over many years they built huge structures, constructed a glass dome over everything. Only once the dome was finished did they stop wearing their funny suits. We don’t know for sure, but we think the dome protects them from the bad air. They live longer’n we do.”

  “Why did they attack you?” Adele bursts out, like the question’s been pushing against her lips for a while now.

  Wilde responds ’fore I can even begin to think of what to say. “They’re scared of us. Because we’re different than them.”

  “They searin’ killed a bunch of us,” Skye adds, “but not all. They underestimated us. Now we’re gonna kill ’em. Startin’ with you.”

  I watch as Adele’s fingers tighten ’round her sword handle. Her face hardens. It’s like watching Skye look at her reflection in the watering hole.

  “Skye,” Wilde says, “we should listen to what they have to say.”

  Skye doesn’t look convinced, but she relaxes her body a little, as if she’s not looking for a fight. But I know better. She’s still standing on the balls of her feet, still strung as tight as a bowstring, ready to spring into action if she doesn’t like what she hears. My
fingers dance along the shaft of the pointer I’m holding, too, just in case I need to use it.

  Turning back to our visitors, Wilde says, “Tell us again who you are, how you fit in with the Glassies. You said you’re sun dwellers?”

  “Yes.” Tristan nods vehemently. Says “Yes,” one more time. “Well, I’m a sun dweller. We live underground. There are three layers, Sun, Moon, and Star. Adele is a moon dweller, from the middle layer. The deepest are the star dwellers. There’s been a massive rebellion; our people have been fighting, because my father was…not a good man…a tyrant.” Don’t I know the feeling. Our father was a bad man, too, selling my younger sister, Jade, to the Soakers in exchange for what he thought was a Cure for the airborne disease killing my people. Only he didn’t want it for my people. Just for himself and a select group of leaders. Not a good man. I don’t cry when I remember his death. Killing him is ’bout the only good thing the Glassies have done.

  “And the Glassies?” Wilde asks.

  Tristan shifts from one foot to t’other. Is he nervous? “They used to be sun dwellers—at least, most of them. Some of them were moon and star dwellers too.”

  “I told you!” Skye says. “They’re the same. They’re the enemy.” The tension is back in her arms. She lifts her sword.

  “No!” Adele says, practically shouting, speaking quickly. “None of us knew they’d gone aboveground. None of us even knew it was possible. They—the earth dwellers, er, the Glassies—have cut themselves off from us. We had no idea what they were doing to your people. If you don’t believe us you can try to kill us, but by God you might die trying.”

  Things are escalating too fast and I know that look in my sister’s eyes and ’fore I even know what I’m doing, I throw down my bow and jump in front of her, grab her muscly arms, so much stronger’n my own, but she doesn’t fight me, doesn’t try to break through, almost like she knew I’d stop her and was only moving forward ’cause she felt like Adele’s words required an answer of force.

  Behind me, Tristan says something I never coulda predicted. “We killed my father because he was evil. If President Lecter is as evil as you say he is, we’ll help you kill him too.”

  Chapter Three

  Dazz

  I don’t mind the deepening cold as we trek up the mountain. It’s familiar, like an old friend, crisp and alive, even as it creeps through my boots to my toes and reddens my nose.

  “Do you think much has happened since we left?” Buff asks.

  It hasn’t been that long, maybe two weeks. Despite the short length of our excursion away from ice country, there’s only one answer to my friend’s question. “Yes,” I say. The only question we asked Wilde before we parted ways was whether our families were safe. Knowing that was enough. Now I wish I’d asked more. Like “How is the new government coping?” and “Has King Goff received his sentence yet?”

  “Dazz?” Buff says, snapping me away from my muddled thoughts.

  “Yah?”

  His only response is a hard-packed snowball to my gut. We’ve reached the snowfields.

  I respond in turn, pelting him with a slushball that’s filled with gravel and twigs. And then we’re both whooping, relishing the powdery snow beneath our boots, our legs churning, suddenly zinging with energy, carrying us up the slope. We reach a rise, laughing, panting, elbows on knees.

  This is ice country. This is my home. Wilde’s revelation echoes in my ears:

  The Glassies spoke of the risk of the Icers too. How now that King Goff has been overthrown they can’t trust the people of ice country either. They said they want to cleanse the lands from the desert to the mountains to the sea.

  If the Glassies want to kill us, let them try. We’ll fight for our lives the same way I fought for my sister, Jolie.

  They’re forcing us into a war. The Icers too. We’ll have to stand together.

  Wilde’s words grate against my teeth. If it’s a war the Glassies want, we’ll give it to them. We will stand. We will fight. We will win.

  “Hey, relax,” Buff says, slapping my shoulder. “Let’s get there first, then we’ll think about what has to be done.” As usual, my friend is able to read me like a book. Hiding emotions has never been my thing.

  I flash a false smile and continue on up the mountain.

  At some point, the snow starts falling, a handful of lazy flakes meandering on a light breeze, painting everything white. We trudge on, the hours falling under the soles of our thick, bearskin boots. I wonder where Skye is, whether her and Wilde and Siena have met up with their spies yet, whether they’re making their way back toward wherever the Tri-Tribes are camped out.

  The Unity Alliance. The Tri-Tribes—the Heaters, the Wilde Ones, the Marked—and us, the Icers, joined together as one. Stronger together than apart. Fighting together is our only hope against the Glassies. Now all I have to do is convince the new government. Shouldn’t be too hard, especially considering my friend Yo is one of the new leaders, a member of the freshly created consortium. He represents the Brown District. Funny how quickly things change. Just a few weeks ago Yo was just a bartender, a businessman, a tavern owner. Now he’s helping to shape the future of my people.

  Lost in my thoughts, I barely notice when Buff stops me with an arm. “Wha-what?” I say. Then I see it. The edge of the village, the first houses. The Brown District.

  And I can’t stop my feet because they have a mind of their own, and Buff is right behind me, and we’re able to run fast now because the snow is hard-packed and trampled from people’s feet and carts and kids running and playing. Houses blur past on either side, some black and charred, still not repaired from the attack by the Stormer Riders, others being rebuilt by men who are hammering away, clinging to roofs, climbing ladders, bandying together to help one another like people should. A swell of pride fills my chest but I don’t stop—can’t stop—to enjoy it, because I’m so close…so very close.

  A familiar shack of a house appears on the right, and I’m not surprised when Buff manages a burst of speed to pass me, barging through the door like a battering ram, his boulder-like frame thudding solidly against the wood. I follow him through.

  A half a dozen kids are attacking Buff, leaping on his back, hugging his legs, toppling him to the floor. His brothers and sisters, welcoming him home. Only the eldest, his sister Darcy, stands back from the fray, her hands on her hips. “Buff, if you insist on charging into the house like a Yag, please at least remove your snowy boots.”

  But she’s smiling as Buff peels his siblings off him, regaining his feet and kicking off his boots in the process. “Always keeping order in the chaos,” Buff says, embracing her. “What would we do without you?”

  “We’d be forced to eat a lot of raw meat,” a voice says to my left. Buff’s father lifts up off the bed he was sitting on, using a wooden crutch to get his balance. His leg is wrapped tightly with thick cloth. “Your sister is every bit as good a cook as your mother was.”

  He hobbles over, nods in my direction. “Dazz,” he says.

  “Sir,” I say. “Good to see you on your feet.”

  “Good to see you home. Both of you.” His voice cracks and I can see the deep lines of worry on his face. And then Buff’s arms are wrapped around his neck and they’re hugging like only a father and a son can hug.

  A pang of desire hits me in the chest, causing my heart to speed up. I can’t hug my father, not where he is, but my mother, my sister, are waiting. Worrying. I can’t linger here any longer. “Go,” Buff’s father says over his son’s shoulder. “And thank you for bringing Buff home to me,” he adds, as if I was his sole protector.

  As I exit into the snow, I call back, “He brought me home, too,” and then I’m running up the hill to the next row of houses, where through the light snowfall I can just make out a familiar house—and then I freeze because—

  —in front of the house—

  —playing in the snow—

  —like she didn’t spend a week in bed recovering from a kn
ife wound—

  —like I never left her—

  —is Jolie, building a man out of snow.

  And then, as if sensing my presence, she turns, her nose red and her eyes clear and bright. Her face lights up in a smile that’s bigger and wider than all the countries of the earth. Her legs pump as she runs toward me and as I kneel down, and then they wrap around my waist as she slams into me.

  I spin her around and around and around as she peppers my face with kisses and says, “I knew it. I knew you’d come back.”

  The Earth Dwellers by David Estes, coming September 5th, 2013!