The Earth Dwellers

by David Estes

  Lines are already being drawn, even in this supposedly “equal” tribunal.

  The Black District reps are sitting alone. Well, only three of the four have shown up and they don’t seem interested in anything but whatever card game they’re playing—Boulders ’n Avalanches probably. They only turn their attention away from the game to spit wads of tobacco on the dirt floor of the large council room.

  I fight back the desire to grab Buff’s arm and jump off the raised platform we’re sitting on.

  Buff seems to recognize my discomfort. “Don’t worry, you’ll do just fine,” he says.

  “Whaddya mean, I’ll do just fine? You’re in this as much as I am.”

  Buff’s chuckle is his response. He knows when the time comes, I’ll do the talking.

  I’m tempted to start the meeting without the last Black District member, but just as I’m mustering the courage to stand, the door swings open and a wiry form fills the entrance. When the man steps into the lantern light, I gasp, my breath sticking in my lungs.

  I want to laugh or cry or shout or all three, but I can’t do anything as I’m still holding my breath, because…

  …because the last Black District rep is Abe, my old friend, as responsible for me being alive as anyone else on this planet. And behind him, filling the entirety of the doorway, is his brother, Hightower, as big and tough as a Yag, but with a heart as bright and shiny as the bags of gold that the two of them stole from the palace when the whole world was being sliced to ribbons by a million swords.

  “Hey, Dazzy,” Abe says. “I heard you’ve got somethin’ big to tell the consortium.”

  Chapter Seven

  Adele

  There are fierce red marks where my metal belt dug into my belly and hips. The gashes sting like hell, but I’ll take them any day compared to having razor-sharp teeth embedded in my skin. My belt probably saved my life. Well, that and Skye, who threw her own life to the winds of fate and attacked the Killer just before it mauled me to death.

  She saved my life. Why? The question zips around my head, but I can’t seem to latch onto it to really focus.

  Killers. A strangely appropriate name for the enormous beasts that attacked us. Their carcasses lie nearby, dark shadows on the sand. More than once Siena has had to shoot her arrows at the Cotees who’ve been skulking close by, drawn by the scent of blood and hoping for an easy and satisfying meal. Cotees and Killers: I’m thinking about them like they’re normal things that people think about, when really they’re as foreign as the sparkling—actually sparkling—stars filling the clear, dark night sky, their beauty dwarfed only by the unbelievably surreal moon looking down like a pale fluorescent eye.

  I sit back to back with Tristan, who’s got nasty claw marks bleeding down his naked chest, his shredded shirt being torn into strips by Wilde, who’s tending to his wounds. Miraculously, she’s mostly unscathed, having only had the wind knocked out of her before Tristan saved her from the Killer.

  Siena’s working on her sister, who took a pair of nasty claw scrapes, one to her cheek and the other to her shoulder.

  “We got lucky. Searin’ lucky,” Siena says.

  “I don’t believe in luck,” I say, not unkindly.

  “Neither do I,” Skye says, and then, as if realizing she’s just agreed with me, clamps her mouth shut and focuses back on her shoulder, which Siena has just wrapped tightly with some kind of animal skin.

  “Thank you,” I say to Skye. “You saved my life.”

  She mumbles something I can’t make out. “What was that?” I say.

  Siena grins. “She said ‘Thank you’ back. Don’t make her say it again, she might not survive it.”

  I can’t help but to grin back. What the hell am I doing? Where the hell are we? It’s like Tristan and I are trapped in this strange world of burning suns and fierce sword-swinging, arrow-shooting women, fighting for our lives against creatures that see us only as their dinner.

  “Welcome to fire country,” Siena says, dabbing at the blood on Skye’s cheek.

  “What is fire country?” Tristan asks dumbly, stealing the question right off my lips.

  Skye laughs. “As if you don’t know.” She says it like she doesn’t believe us, but there’s less certainty in her voice than before.

  “It’s everything around you,” Wilde says. “Fire country extends to the great forests in the east, to the cliffs and the waters in the south—where the Killers live in packs—and to the north, to the edge of ice country.”

  “What’s ice country?” I ask.

  “Where the Icers live,” Siena says, as if that answers everything. “Like my sister’s boyfriend, Dazz.”

  “He’s not my boyfriend,” Skye says, cringing when her sister dabs her scrape too hard.

  “Lover then,” Siena says, hiding a smile. I smirk at their banter—the same banter that gave me the opportunity to escape the first time. Now escaping’s the last thing on my mind. Not when there could be more Killers—or worse—roaming the desert. Not when there are oceans of sand surrounding us, as far as the eye can see, and I don’t have the slightest clue what direction we came from.

  “And to the west?” Tristan says.

  “What about the west?” Siena says.

  “Wilde told us how far fire country goes in every direction but the west.”

  “Anyone who’s gone west has never returned,” Wilde says. “As far as we can tell, fire country goes on forever to the west.”

  ~~~

  Evidently, we’re going to march straight on through the night. They don’t bind our hands this time. Or blindfold us. Skye starts to object, but Wilde silences her with a hand. “We’re beyond all that,” she says.

  Skye looks like she wants to say something, but bites her lip instead. Her message is delivered when she points the tip of her blade in my direction. If I try to run, she’ll kill me.

  I guess saving each other’s lives didn’t change anything. It just goes to show that enemies can be temporary friends in a life or death situation. Then everything goes back to normal.

  Siena, however, seems to have softened somewhat. She walks easily next to me, swinging her arms, her bow bouncing against her back. I cast a final glance back at the shadowy forms of the dead Killers, just to make sure they’re still dead.

  Wilde leads; Skye watches from behind.

  Tristan falls in beside me. “You okay?” I say.

  He gives me a wry grin. “Yeah, you?”

  “Never been better,” I say.

  “Perhaps a holiday at the Sandy Oasis would’ve been a better choice,” he says casually.

  “There’s sand here,” I point out.

  “But no cold drinks.”

  My mouth seems to go even dryer. “Thanks for reminding me.”

  “What’s the Sandy Oasis?” Siena asks.

  Surprised, I look at her. “It’s a place where sun dwellers go on vacation.”

  “What’s vacation?” she says, her head tilted to the side like a child.

  “Uhh,” I say.

  “It’s taking a break from life to just relax,” Tristan explains.

  “But then who will do all the work?” This time it’s Skye who asks the question. Evidently our conversation has captured even her attention.

  “The other people,” Tristan says, sighing. “I suspect the world we come from is very different than yours. Some people work harder than others.”

  Siena’s head bobs in understanding. “That ain’t different. We got shankers, too. People who just live off the work of others. One of my good friends, Veeva, her guy’s the shankiest shanker ’round. I ain’t never seen him so much as lift a finger to help out. He’s always on—what did you call it?—vaycayshun?”

  “Yeah, something like that,” I say, suddenly feeling very weary, like my legs can’t go another step. We’re climbing a large dune, one step at a time, our feet sinking into the soft sand. “How far is New Wildetown?” I ask.

  “’Bout a day’s hike in the oppos
ite direction,” Skye says. “Why? Are you gettin’ tired, Glassy?”

  “No. And I’m not a Glassy.” I’m barely able to make my voice sound strong, when inside of me my heart’s settled into the pit of my stomach. A day’s hike?

  “I thought that’s where we were going?” Tristan says.

  “We hafta stop somewhere else first,” Siena says.

  “Don’t worry, weak little Glassy, we’re almost there,” Skye says.

  I take a deep breath, hold it, fight off the urge to turn around and punch her. After all, she did save my life. I can be civil.

  As we near the top of the mountainous dune, Wilde slows her pace, lowers to a crouch, peeks over. She looks back. “The Glass City sleeps,” she says.

  We crowd around her, in a cluster, staying low. Sneak a quick look over the sandy peak.

  My heart rises from my gut to my throat, trapping my breath in my lungs.

  For the sight before me is beyond spectacular, beyond unexpected, beyond real.

  A city, domed by glass, filled with metal and stone and glass structures: buildings.

  A Glass City. The Glassies. The Earth Dwellers.

  The fourth Realm.

  Chapter Eight

  Siena

  I’ve never seen the Glass City ’fore, but now that I have, I wish I hadn’t. ’Cause what chance do we got against people who could build such a thing? Their city next to our measly huts and tents is like comparing a Killer to a burrow mouse. There ain’t no comparison.

  A sudden burst of anger rises to my head and I feel even hotter’n I did ’fore the sun went down. “Why won’t you people just leave us alone?” I say. I meant to aim the question at the fathomless glass dome, but for some reason I’m looking right at Adele.

  She stares right back at me, her eyebrows heavy in the middle. For the first time I notice how dark her hair is. If her skin weren’t so pale, she might fit right in amongst my people. Strange how something as basic as the color of one’s skin can make two people seem like they’re from different planets. Does it have to be that way? Everywhere I turn it seems like the world is separated by color. Us, the brown Heaters. To the north, the white Icers. To the east, the white, freckled Soakers and the dark-as-night Stormers. No mixing allowed. Maybe that’s why Skye won’t admit to her feelings for Dazz. Seems kinda silly if you ask me.

  And yet…yet I feel my cheeks heating as I glare at Adele. White Adele. Pale Adele. Does the way she looks make her the enemy? Her eyes are wide with wonder as she gazes at the dome. Is she faking her amazement at the size and beauty of the city?

  “They’re not my people,” Adele says. Sun goddess, how I wanna believe her, but I can’t. Not yet. Not when I could pluck her ’tween my fingers and stick her inside the glass dome and she’d fit right in. She’d look like she’d been there her whole life. And then she’d come out holding a fire stick and riding a fire chariot, killing my people, killing everyone who’s not a Glassy.

  I sigh, don’t respond. I’ve got nothing in me but anger.

  “My father was a terrible man,” Tristan says, gazing out over the Glass City. “The man inside that dome, the one controlling everything, he might be even worse. President Lecter is the one man who managed to control my father.”

  “You want to prove to us that you’re not with them—that you are who you say you are?” Wilde asks.

  Adele nods; Tristan says, “Yes.”

  “Then tell us how to beat them.”

  Chapter Nine

  Dazz

  “Abe?” I say, because it’s the only question hammering through my mind. Abe? Abe? Abe?

  “Sometimes wealth is power, son,” Abe says, smiling that crooked-toothed smile of his. “Especially if you use a little of it to help rebuild the lowliest District in ice country.”

  “Get that monstrosity out of here,” a plump woman from the White District says, looking Hightower up and down. Hightower grunts, but I can’t tell if it’s a burp or if he tried to say something.

  “He’s with me,” Abe says.

  “Consortium members only,” a man with a curly mustache from the Blue District agrees.

  “You’ll have to make him leave, I’m afraid,” Abe says. “And I wouldn’t advise that at all.”

  Hightower grunts in agreement.

  “He’ll sit in the back and won’t cause any problems,” I find myself saying, as if I’m the one calling the shots.

  All heads turn to look at me, which allows Hightower the chance to duck his head slightly and enter, filling a whole corner of the room as he slumps down.

  Yo stands as Abe sits with the other reps from the Black District, who go right on slapping their cards down, as if there’s not a crucial meeting happening right in front of them. They deal Abe in as he lights a cigarette, drawing glares from the plump woman and the curly-mustache man. The other six White and Blue District members simply ignore the less wealthy side of the room, as if they’re not even worthy of complaint.

  I clear my throat, trying to open a path so my voice will come out sharp and strong. Yo begins. “Fellow consortium members, we’ve taken major steps to rebuild ice country and our way of life since the unexpected yet necessary fall of King Goff. However, it has come to my attention that a greater enemy stands at the foothills of our great country, one we cannot ignore. Thus, I have called you here today to listen to the testimony of the witnesses.” I realize my jaw has fallen, leaving my mouth gaping open. I’ve never heard Yo talk like that. It’s like outside of his pub, he’s a different person.

  “What enemy?” a heavyset White District man shouts. I recognize him as the owner of the largest timber yard in the village. He grew up in the Brown District, but found a way out when he founded his business. Of all the White District members, he’s the one who’s most likely to be sympathetic to our message.

  “That’s what these boys are here to tell you about,” Yo says, waving a hand at us to begin. He sits.

  I stand, very aware that Buff remains seated. “The Glassies,” I say, but before I can continue, a dozen voices start shouting at once:

  “The Glassies are our friends!”

  “We trade with the Glassies!”

  “I never liked the Glassies, kill them!”

  “Who are the Glassies?”

  Yo stands again, waving his hands and shouting, trying to quiet the members, while Abe blows a puff of smoke out, half-laughing, half-coughing, as if I’ve just made the funniest joke in the world.

  And I just stand there stupidly, wondering where I went wrong. Perhaps I should’ve started at the beginning of the story, instead of the end. Leave it to me to mess up in the opening seconds of one of the biggest moments of my life.

  Finally, after much arm-waving and a whole lot of red-faced shouting, Yo, with the help of Hightower and his clenched fists, manages to regain order. I take a deep breath, start again.

  This time, I start from the beginning. I tell them about my role in taking down King Goff, about how he kidnapped Jolie, how his men killed Wes, about Skye and Siena and the others from fire country. How we went to water and storm country, what happened there. About the information Wilde brought us. “Now that King Goff has fallen,” I say, “the Glassies are no longer our friends, if they ever were. A friend to a mad king is no friend to us. Simply put, they want to wipe us off the face of the earth.”

  When I finish this time, there’s silence. I think it’s partly due to the heaviness of my words and partly because Hightower has inched his way up the side wall, silently daring anyone to speak over me again.

  “Uh, any questions?” I say.

  Curly Mustache Man raises a tentative hand, glancing nervously at Hightower. “Yes,” I say.

  “What do you expect us to do with this information, exactly?”

  I raise my eyebrows. Have I been talking to a wall? Did I not make it obvious? We’re under attack, for Heart’s sake! Or maybe he wants specifics, like what is my recommendation to the consortium. “An alliance,” I say. But befo
re I can add “With the Tri-Tribes,” the man’s curly mustache twitches as he speaks:

  “I couldn’t agree more. An alliance with the Glassies is just the thing we need.”

  Chapter Ten

  Adele

  Wilde didn’t mean for us to literally tell them how to defeat the earth dwellers, at least not right away. Which is good, because Tristan and I need to talk about it, think about it—talk and think about A LOT of things.

  “Follow me,” Wilde says, and we all do, partly because none of us want to look at the beautiful monstrosity that is the Glass City, and mostly because we’re all too tired to argue.

  She leads us down the slope and to the right, where a rock formation juts out from the sand. It’s large, roundish on one side with sharp protrusions of rock on the other. We head straight for one of the sheer sides of rock, facing away from the city.

  As we approach, Wilde whistles, high and clear, and suddenly the rock ripples, folds, opens up to reveal a dark cave. Not rock, an animal-skin cover, stained to look like rock, almost perfect. A secret cave…but why so close to the enemy? There’s only one answer: spies.

  A young head pokes from the opening, brown skinned, dark eyed. A guy. Shirtless, skin pulled tight across his pectorals and biceps. Basically the male version of Skye. Ripped.

  “Hawk, you baggard,” Siena says, punching him on the arm.

  “How ya doin, Skinny?” the guy answers with a smirk. He straightens up when he sees Wilde. “Uh, Wilde, uh, good to see you.”

  “We need food and bedding,” Wilde says, waving us inside.

  “Yeah, sure, right away,” Hawk says. He’s about to turn, but then notices Tristan and me. “What the—”

  “Hawk—meet the pale-faces,” Skye says, pushing me past him and inside.