The Earth Dwellers

by David Estes

  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 ’em 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 hafta 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’ve 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 to 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 she 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 and 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 knife 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 crouch down, and then they wrap around my waist as she slams into me.

  I pick her up and 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.”

  Chapter Four

  Adele

  I can tell Tristan’s offer has shocked them, because none of them are saying anything. Even Skye’s eyebrows are raised, her mouth slightly open. Gone are the accusations, fired at us with her round words and strange accent.

  But does Tristan mean what he said? Can we really offer these people any help? Is it our job, our responsibility? Down below, we’ve got our own problems. The Tri-Realms are shattered, and without Tristan, leaderless. And Roc and Tawni will be wondering where we are, whether we’re dead. And my mother…my mother…

  “We’ll come back with an army,” Tristan says, his words cutting into the silence like a knife.

  “Come back?” Skye says, and I know from her tone and the pissed off look on her face that coming back is NOT an option…because we won’t be leaving in the first place. “Yer our prisoners. Yer comin’ with us.”

  “Like hell,” I say, my sword coming up without me even having to think about it.

  As casually as pushing back a strand of hair, Siena fits an arrow and aims it at Tristan, half-smiling. “Skye says you’re coming, so you’re coming.”

  “But the air,” I plead, “you said it yourself: The air is bad, toxic. We’ll die if we stay here.” I’m surprised how high-pitched and whiny my voice sounds, even to me. But I’m frustrated, tired—of all the fighting, of the nonstop adventure I’ve been on. We’re supposed to be in the Sun Realm changing things, uniting the people. Who knows what the other generals are doing in our absence. If we stay aboveground…will I ever see my mother and sister again?

  “Not right away,” Skye says. “You can cover yer noses and mouths with cloth until we can find somethin’ better.”

  There’s still tension in my muscles, but I drop my sword arm. In this case, a bow and arrow trumps a sword, and I’m not about to die now. Not after racing across the Moon Realm, dodging sun dweller soldiers and killing a deranged psychopath named Rivet to free my sister and father. Not after infiltrating the Sun Realm and assassinating the President of the Tri-Realms. I can’t let an arrow from this strange girl be the reason I won’t get to see my sister, Elsey, ever again.

  Tristan throws his sword on the ground in front of us, also realizing we’ll have to make our move later. I follow his lead and do the same. We can’t fight arrows with swords. Not now. Maybe later.

  “Where are we going?” I ask.

  “New Wildetown,” Wilde says. “Home of the Tri-Tribes.”

  ~~~

  They cover our faces with thin pieces of cloth, tied tight against the backs of our heads and clamped down by our hats and sunglasses, which they put on over them. I can’t see anything except the glow of red light. We can breathe, but I don’t believe for one second that filtering our breaths through the cloth will protect us from whatever harmful chemicals are in the air.

  What the hell is going on? Who are these girls, so young, so rough, so here? With their sun-kissed skin they’re clearly not Dwellers, not the ones from the Sun Realm, the Glassies as they call them. But didn’t everyone else die when the meteor hit hundreds of years ago? That’s what the scientists predicted, that’s what the history books say. But what if they were wrong…?

  My hands are strapped behind my back, but my feet are free so I can walk. Big mistake. All I need are my feet, if I can just get the cover off my eyes…

  A firm grip on my elbow. I pull away, struggle against it.

  “Everything’ll be easier if you don’t fight us,” says a voice. Not the smooth one, not the rough one, the in-between one. The young, skinny girl with the pack full of arrows. Siena.

  When she tries to take my elbow the second time, I don’t resist. Not because she told me not to, but because it’s not the time to fight. They’ve got our weapons, we can’t see, our hands are tied. Not the right time.

  I stumble on my first step, because there are rocks and lumps under my feet, but Siena holds me up. “Careful,” she says, like she cares whether I fall or not.

  “Why are you doing this?” I ask, my voice muffled through the cloth that’s over my mouth.

  “No talking,” the rough one says. Skye, who would sooner kill us first and ask questions later. Siena’s sister. I’m still trying to wrap my head around everything that’s happening. Is it real? Am I dreaming? Just a few minutes ago Tristan and I were enjoying my first ever glimpse of the earth’s surface, and now…now we’re prisoners of the people who apparently live up here—who have maybe lived up here for a very long time. What? I repeat: What!?

  “Tristan?” I say, just to make sure they haven’t separated us,
leading us in two different directions.

  “Yeah?” he says.

  “I swear to the sun goddess if you say one more word I’ll—”

  “You’ll what?” I spout. “Abduct us? Take us prisoner? Kill us? Do what you have to do and quit talking about it.”

  I tense my muscles, wait for the blow. There are scuffs and scrapes and grunts: sounds of a struggle. And then: “Okay, okay, let go of me.” Skye’s voice.

  “We’re not going to hurt you,” says Wilde, and I almost believe her, because her voice is so calm, so warm, almost like a song. But no, it’s not true. Although they stopped Skye from hitting me just now, I can still remember the gleam in Siena’s eyes as she looked down the arrow pointed at my chest. If we threaten them, they’ll kill us in a heartbeat.

  Which is why I’ll have to do more than just threaten.

  Siena’s hand is back on my elbow and we’re walking again. The rocks and hard ground disappear, and it feels like we’re walking on clothing, on some type of material that sinks down beneath our feet. Everything up here is new and I desperately want to see it, but I can’t, because…damn this covering!

  “We’re on the sand dunes,” Siena says, as if reading my mind.

  Sand? “Like on the beach?” I ask. Memories of my grandmother’s stories flash amidst the red glow leeching through my blindfold. The beach. The ocean. Waves lapping against the shore. Tiny granules of sand, countless, stretching for miles and miles, as far as the eye can see.

  “You’re thinking of water and storm country,” Siena says. “This is fire country. Our sand is much hotter and there ain’t no big water next to it.”

  “I’m not thinking of anything,” I say. “I don’t have the slightest clue what you’re talking about.”

  I’m hoping saying that will get her to keep talking, to tell me more about what lies above the Tri-Realms, about fire country and water country and storm country, and any other countries there happen to be, but she goes all silent on me.