Rebel

by Rachel Manija Brown

  Bad: It was hard to appreciate scenery or anything else after Kerry had told them about the trader from Catalina that she’d run into at Palos Verdes, and how he’d mentioned that Voske was buying ships. Mia hadn’t immediately understood the implications, but Jennie’s eyes had gone as glassy and unseeing as they had right after Sera had been killed. Which was really bad. The battle might not have been the worst thing that had ever happened to Mia, but it sure had been for other people, and everyone said a second attack by Voske would be much worse than the first.

  Good: Kerry and Jennie had agreed to tell Mr. Preston, and that he’d have plenty of time to prepare a defense.

  Bad: That hadn’t cheered up either of them. Or Ross, for that matter. Only Summer had looked excited, and that was because she wanted to fight.

  Good: Nothing came to mind.

  Maybe something personal, not about battles and politics . . .

  Good: No one had interrupted Ross and her when they went to “collect firewood.”

  Bad: Nothing had happened to interrupt, and it was all Mia’s fault. A first time was supposed to be special. Perfect. And once she started thinking about that, her mind filled with a bee-swarm of what-ifs about everything that could possibly go wrong, making her too nervous to even enjoy kissing Ross. And she used to love kissing him. She’d ruined that for herself. What was wrong with her?

  Mia swiped at a fly that kept settling on Tucker’s ears, then stayed bent to hide her face, which she could feel turning fiery red. As it did every time she thought about sex. Anything about sex. Even the absence of sex.

  And who was to blame for that absence? Mia. Jennie and Ross had no trouble finding nice places to be together (Mia refused to think beyond that), judging by how long their firewood expeditions ran. But Mia’s were always wrecked by bugs or sand or the worry that they were too close to camp and someone would pounce and laugh at her. The fact that Ross kept on accompanying her and even still seemed to like being with her made her feel worse.

  Ross took Rusty to a stream tumbling from a palisade; like all burros, he could detect poisoned water. Rusty sniffed, brayed, then bent to drink.

  “What’s that noise?” Summer called from farther up the hill.

  Kerry’s fingers curled around an invisible hilt and Jennie’s around a visible one. Ross snatched a knife from his belt.

  Mia belatedly grabbed for her cloud viper darts. “Is it Voske attacking?”

  Kerry turned, the chiseled lines of her profile cut out against the sky. “He wouldn’t attack this far south. No secure supply line. And he doesn’t have enough soldiers to hold any of these towns against the rest of the Alliance.”

  Mia hoped she was right. But Kerry didn’t let go of her invisible sword.

  “Wait for us, Summer,” Ross shouted, then tried to urge his horse to catch up with her. Buttermilk didn’t cooperate, clopping upward at a leisurely pace no matter how much Ross dug in his heels.

  As they crested the hill, the distant boom, wash, and hiss of the ocean below the towering palisade grew louder. But then came another sound, long, low and sustained, reverberating like the world’s biggest horn. It seemed to come from the sea, which glimmered blue-green in the brilliant light.

  “Look!” Summer stood in the stirrups, pointing at the sparkling water.

  Mia shaded her eyes against the sun on its downward arc, and made out a grayish shape far out to sea. A spray of white shot up from it, then fell in a lacework of glittering water.

  “It’s a whale,” Jennie exclaimed in wonder. “It must be enormous!”

  Green waves, measureless from wing to wing, rippled shoreward until they broke in crystalline whiteness, then spread in sheets of lacy foam to slide back to the water again.

  “There’s at least twenty of them,” Summer exclaimed, her awed voice unrecognizable.

  A brassy note that might have been blown from an immense tuba echoed from cliff to cliff. It was followed by one on a higher scale, as if winded from a trumpet. A smaller shape lifted from the water, arced, and dove, followed by two larger whales.

  “No,” Jennie murmured, shading her eyes. “There’s hundreds.”

  The whales leaped and splashed down, tumbled and rolled and floated, maybe playing, maybe dancing. And all the while, they sang in eerie, melancholy, lovely notes. When many sounded at once, they resonated in chords.

  “We have to stay,” Summer said, turning pleading eyes to Ross, then Jennie. “It’s so beautiful.”

  Mia turned hopefully to Jennie. The higher whale songs reminded her of her meditation flute, magnified a thousand times.

  There was no discussion needed. Everyone quietly set about making camp, pausing frequently to watch the whales leaping and diving in slow majesty, blowing geysers and singing their chorus. At sunset they shared out jerky, fresh persimmons from Adebayo, and a rare delicacy, sweet-sticky rice balls wrapped in cabbage leaves from Shireen. Everyone was quiet, listening to the ocean music.

  Before the sun vanished, Summer leaped to a cliff below them that only she could reach. She sat there alone, her knees under her chin, her arms tightly wrapped around her legs. Jennie opened her mouth, probably to warn Summer about tarantulas or slips in the dark, then closed it. The bright stars would be out, and Summer could leap away from any danger and float safely down. Even when the whales were lost against the inky sea, they could still hear the singing.

  “I’ll take first watch,” Jennie said, and sat by the cliff above Summer.

  Kerry headed off toward the horses. Mia went in the opposite direction, walking dreamily by starlight, searching for the best place to listen. She wasn’t there for long before she heard Ross’s footsteps crunching the parched earth. His arm slid around her, warming her everywhere with that one little touch.

  As the whales sang far out to sea, Mia’s feelings for Ross flooded back, stronger than ever. And like the way her favorite wrench fit her hand, everything about them felt so right.

  The sand and the interruptions and all the rest had been excuses. Every time she thought about sex, it made her feel like the little girl who got laughed at on the schoolyard, and the older girl who still believed every mean thing anyone had ever said to her: that she’d never have a date with anything that wasn’t made out of metal, that she’d grow older but she’d never grow up, that she was terrible at anything involving other human beings.

  But Ross’s fingers tracing up and down her spine said otherwise.

  Everything had felt scary and weird when she’d thought of sex and how she was supposed to feel about sex and how she was definitely going to do sex wrong. She’d gotten so obsessed with sex, she’d forgotten about Ross.

  No what-ifs. No forcing myself to do anything because I think I’m supposed to. This is just me and Ross.

  And there was nothing scary or weird about that.

  She tucked her shoulder under his arm, and his hand tightened around her. And when he bent his head, his breath soft on her cheek, she turned her lips up to meet his.

  And so, when he whispered, “I know where we can go to be alone. Only if you want to,” she whispered back, “I want to.”

  “My sleeping bag is over there.” Ross laid his hand on her cheek, then slid it down in a caress that made her breath catch.

  His hands were so warm and strong, and she knew every inch of them, from the tiny raised scars on his knuckles to the soft pads of his fingers. He’d trusted her enough to let her measure his disabled hand for the gauntlet. He could throw a knife faster than her eyes could follow. He’d held her hands and spun her in the air, he’d touched her chest through a rip in her shirt, and the way he was running his fingers through her hair right now made her feel like she was about to burst into flames. But in a good way.

  “How about we share it?” Ross went on quietly. “There won’t be sand, or bugs, or anything to interrupt us.”

  And there wasn’t.

  Chapter Twenty-Five: Jennie

  I’m a teacher, Jennie thought. I should k
now what to say to a fourteen-year-old girl.

  But she didn’t. She didn’t even know if she should say anything.

  When she sat on the cliff above Summer, Jennie heard her sobbing her heart out as the whales sang their mournful songs of the sea. No doubt Summer thought her weeping would be lost against the whale-song and the crash of the surf, but a trick of acoustics carried it to Jennie as loud and clear as if the girl were crying on her shoulder.

  When the whales finally swam away, their singing fading into the rhythm of the waves, Summer leaped back up, then went to sleep without a word. Jennie debated telling Ross, but that would do nothing but transfer the burden of decision-making to him.

  Jennie watched Summer covertly as they proceeded southward the next morning. All that day, Summer barely said a word. The next day, she was equally subdued, and did her chores without being asked. The day after that, just as Jennie was beginning to get seriously worried, Kerry said it was Summer’s turn on Sally.

  Summer’s rare, brilliant smile transformed her face. She floated into the air and settled atop the silver mare, light as a feather. As they set out, she happily chattered to Kerry about horse training.

  Then Jennie was glad she’d kept Summer’s grief secret. If the girl ever decided to confide in anyone, it would be Kerry. Or maybe Ross. She certainly wouldn’t appreciate her teacher butting in.

  * * *

  They encountered two more Saigon Alliance towns in the next few days. Like Palos Verdes, they were built on small lagoons sheltered between high cliffs, with some buildings on the land but mostly houseboats connected with little bridges. This time they knew to display the royal horses and mention Yuki immediately. Along with the inevitable news that they’d just missed the Catalina Players, the royal horses and Yuki’s name netted them a warm welcome, a good meal, and more stories about Yuki’s courage, cleverness, and way with animals.

  Jennie was happy for Yuki, but also sorry for all the years he’d spent feeling trapped within the walls of Las Anclas. These towns appreciated him more than Las Anclas had, where he’d been respected but not hailed as the greatest guy ever. Then again, prospectors didn’t need to fit in, since they were always only visiting; the differences that had made some people in Las Anclas regard Yuki as not quite one of them only made him seem cool to the Saigon Alliance towns.

  She was glad that he was clearly having a good time prospecting. But she knew he’d eventually tire of the towns and strike out for less populated territory. He’d never much cared what others thought of him. It was the idea of new lands and new discoveries that had drawn him away from Las Anclas. And from his family. And from Paco.

  Jennie also enjoyed seeing new places, but the longer they traveled, the more she wanted to get home and report Kerry’s news about Voske buying ships. If they didn’t catch up with the Catalina Players soon, they’d have to give up and turn back. Mr. Preston needed to know, so he could have the Rangers investigate. Without her. After all this time, she still felt a hole in her days that had once been filled with training and patrolling, and a hole in her heart that had once been filled with camaraderie. Would she ever stop missing those empty spaces?

  Then they reached the top of the hill they were climbing, and the sight below drove all regrets from Jennie’s mind. Inland, a blue lake spread out, surrounded by more greenery than Jennie had seen in her entire life. On the sea side, a huge lagoon joined the sapphire ocean.

  A city rose up from the stretch of land between the two bodies of water, much bigger than Las Anclas. Every building was on stilts at least ten feet tall, and many were much higher. The platforms extended over the edges of the lagoon and the lake, so part of the city seemed to hover above the blue water.

  Most of the homes were round, with roofs of woven reeds, built of wood rather than heavy adobe. Some platforms had gardens instead of buildings, lush with greenery or bright with flowers. Others were bare wood, and seemed to be gathering places like the town square of Las Anclas. A maze of interconnected bridges and staircases joined the buildings and gardens and platforms, and roads ran below the ones on dry land. A rainbow cloud of messenger birds circled high above, diving and chirping.

  It was awe-inspiring. After she’d seen the other Saigon Alliance towns and heard the whales sing, not to mention the ruined city, Jennie had thought she’d had her eyes opened to the wonders that lay outside of Las Anclas. But now she truly comprehended that there was a whole world out there that she had barely even begun to glimpse. For the first time, she understood why Yuki had been willing to leave everything to travel.

  Summer leaped up and stood on Sally’s saddle, poised like a dancer. “Prettiest town yet!”

  “It looks like a raccoon village,” Mia said doubtfully.

  “You don’t think those are cute?” Kerry asked.

  Mia shoved her glasses defiantly up her nose. “Not if you’ve spent the entire year trying to move it out of the Vardams’ orchard.”

  Kerry laughed. Nugget tossed his silky mane as she turned to Ross. “Have you ever seen anything like this?”

  Ross shook his head. “Closest I came was that ruined city by Gold Point. You couldn’t see it from the outside, but inside it was green and wet.”

  Summer settled gracefully back into the saddle, then lifted her chin, the signal that she was about to brag. Jennie waited for her to announce that she’d seen fifteen lakeside bridge-cities and had killed a hundred bandits in every one. But all she said was, “I’ve seen a lot, but nothing like this. I hope we can explore those bridges. They look cool.”

  Summer had gotten much less prickly since the whales had sung. And that wasn’t the only change that had happened that night. From the little touches and looks between Mia and Ross, Jennie suspected that they had finally found their mathematical formula. All their lives, Jennie had been the leader and Mia the follower, even when it came to dating the same guy. It made her feel off-balance to realize that Mia had caught up with her in so many ways.

  Well, good for Mia, Jennie thought firmly. Ross, too.

  He smiled a lot more now, and seemed more relaxed than he’d been since his return from Gold Point. It was one of the most complicated relationships Jennie had ever had, but it was also one of the best. They’d gone through so much together, it was worth some awkwardness to make it work.

  They rode down a switchback trail leading to the city, past hillside terraces with a crop that looked like giant stalks of grass. That had to be rice. Jennie stared at it, fascinated. Yuki had drawn her a picture of rice cultivation, but it had shown the stalks sprouting from boxes full of water. Both previous towns had served rice at every meal, as if it were as common as corn was in Las Anclas.

  And here is where they grow it, thought Jennie.

  The chatter of messenger birds filled their ears, along with the distant sounds of human voices. A splash of pink caught Jennie’s eye. A flock of flamingos hopped along the rice terraces, their long beaks diving into the water. They were as bright as in the one picture Las Anclas had of them, in an ancient children’s book about birds, but larger, and though the book had said they were pink or white, a few were brilliant blue or emerald green.

  “Look at the colors!” Mia exclaimed. “They’re like the bugs in the car in the ruined city. Except they’re too big to run up my leg.”

  “Lucky for you,” Jennie said with a grin.

  “Is that a hippo?” Kerry peered at a fat gray creature in the lake. “I thought they were bigger.”

  “Big enough to eat you,” Mia remarked as it opened its gaping jaws, displaying a few sharp teeth and a vast pink mouth.

  “They’re herbivores,” Jennie said. “At least, they were in ancient times.”

  Smaller hippos, the size of medium dogs, seemed to be pets or working animals, trotting at people’s heels like a dog or a rat would in Las Anclas.

  Jennie waited for someone to accost them. Shouldn’t there be guards? Or patrols? The town was completely open. It couldn’t possibly be as defensel
ess as it looked. The houseboat towns could pull in their bridge-ramps and pole seaward if threatened, but this stilt city wasn’t going anywhere.

  The first building they reached was an enormous stable. A girl their age popped out and ran up to them. Her rumpled black hair and overalls reminded Jennie of Mia, though the girl was taller and didn’t wear glasses. “Hi, I’m Lin. And there’s the horses! You must be Yuki’s friends. Welcome to Dai La!”

  Not for the first time, Jennie mentally thanked Ross for inviting Kerry. Without her and her royal horses, the entire trip might have been a complete disaster.

  Lin chirped to Nugget and Sally. Their ears twitched toward her, then they trotted up to snuff at her palm. Rusty and the other horses followed, and she patted noses all around. Jennie wondered if Lin was like Ma, either Changed to communicate with horses or so good with them that she might as well be. A wave of homesickness washed over her. Travel was exciting, but if it had been up to her, she’d have turned around then and there. Never mind the Catalina Players, she just wanted to see Ma and Pa.

  “I gave Yuki Tigereye,” Kerry said.

  “Oh, you’re Kerry Cho,” Lin said with deep respect. “Yuki told us how you gave him your only alpha mare so he could fulfill his dream. It’s an honor to meet you. And the rest of you, of course,” she added quickly.

  It was strange how they’d traveled in Yuki’s footsteps. Everywhere they went they heard more about him, until he felt like an invisible companion.

  I wish he hadn’t left, Jennie thought, remembering Kerry’s grim news about Voske. Yuki was one of the best fighters she’d ever known. And he’d been the only person in Las Anclas with training in sea battles. He’d mentioned that to Jennie, but she’d never thought to have him teach it to her. And now it was too late. He might be gone for years.