Fire Country

Circ looks intently at my scratches in the durt. “I’d say you did pretty well without nothing but your brains and good sense,” he says.

“You think it was the Marked or the Glassies, too?” I ask, sitting down cross-legged and sticking my feet through the bars.

“I du

“Yeah?”

“Have you ever wondered what else is out there?” Circ asks.

“More sand, more desert,” I say. “What else is there?” I’m not sure where he’s going with all this.

“The mountains for one,” Circ says.

“Yeah, but that’s out of fire country, Circ. We can’t go there.”

“Why not?”

His question throws me. I never really thought ’bout it. The mountains ain’t ours. They’re the Icers. We stay on our land, they stay on theirs. We hunt on our land, the Killers hunt on theirs. Everyone’s happy. “We just can’t. It’s the Law.”

“Okay. Let me ask you this: Have you ever wondered about who else is out there?”

“The Icers” I say automatically. “And I guess the Glassies, too. Other’n that, maybe the Wilds and the Marked, if they’re real.”

“And beyond them?” Circ says.

“I du

“It’s a big world,” Circ says, looking up into the sky. I look up, too. The red sky is criss-crossed by thick wooden bars. Not even a single wisp of yellow cloud breaks up the sea of crimson.

~~~

By the time Circ leaves, it’s getting late and he’s probably go

After he’s gone, I think about everything he said. I’ve never heard him talk like that. About the big ol’ world outside fire country, that is. He almost sounded like he’s ready to run off and try to find it. Well, he ain’t going anywhere without me.

The jerky helped, but not a lot. I’m still ravenous—ready to eat a whole tug on my own—when my one meal arrives. It ain’t nothing to brag about, just a lump of something thick and bready, and a bit of some overcooked, chewy meat, but after having so little to eat all day, I pretty much swallow it all whole. Wash it down with the three gulps of water Keep provides.

Keep goes ’bout his suppertime business without a word, but the rest of the place gets pretty riled up. After a day of everyone keeping silent, sleeping it away, all the prisoners seem to come alive with the food. They’re all talking to each other, cracking jokes and laughing, while I sit cross-legged in the corner, counting down the moments till I’m out.

I gobble down my meager ration of food, still unsatisfied, and for the first time all day, I’m glad the cage isn’t covered. The heat of the day has melted away to a warm, but pleasant, twilight. The sun goddess’s eye is fiery red—even redder’n the sky—and as it splashes on the horizon, deep purple streaks radiate off a clump of yellow clouds that have accumulated low in the sky.

As I watch, the sun disappears, leaving behind only the ever-darkening purples as evidence she’d ever been there at all.

It’s the moon goddess’s turn to watch the world now. I wonder what she’s watching. Whether it’s fire country, ice country, or some other country like Circ talked ’bout, so foreign to us that it might as well be on another planet.

I’m ’bout to lie down and do some serious star-gazing, when there’s a rap, rap, rap on the wooden bars on my cage. The night is deepening and I hafta peer through the murk to see who’s there. Keep. “Yer’ve got another visitor,” he says gruffly. “I’m allowin’ it fer special circumstancies, but don’t yer think fer one moment yer can git away with this again. If yer ever in Confinement agin, it’ll be no visitors fer yer first day.”

He stomps away leaving me wondering what special circumstances are giving me a third visitor. And who that visitor’ll be.

Chapter Twelve

I get up and move to the bars, hearing voices off a ways. Footsteps head my way, so quiet that if my ears weren’t listening so hard, I might miss them.

Then she’s there. My mother. A soft smile and a warm kiss on my hand.

“Mother? What are you doing all the way out here?” I ask.

“I came to see you,” she says.

“Keep said there were special circumstances.”

“There are. But I would’ve come even if there weren’t,” she says. I believe her. My mother ain’t no liar. In the inky black of night her raven hair melts into the air, as if she’s become one with the sky. As always, she has my eyes in her head, but they seem brighter’n ever before, shining like an animal’s. “Siena, something’s happened. Greynote Shiva…” She trails off and she don’t need to say the rest. It’s obvious.

“Father’s Head Greynote,” I say. “Head Greynote Shiva’s dead.”

She nods, barely perceptible in the dark, only visible ’cause her eyes bob and bounce.

“Head Greynote Roan,” I say, trying the words out on my tongue. I smack my lips. Cringe. Whether it’s an aftertaste from my pitiful meal or the words themselves, I’m left with bitterness on my tongue.

“Yes, Siena. I wanted to tell you first.”

“You didn’t have to come all the way out here—”

“Yes, I did.”

The firmness of her words surprise me. Mother’s not usually firm ’bout much. She’s always been so wishy-washy. We’ll have to ask your father. Maybe, but let’s check with your father. Have you asked your father? Those are her usual words.

Now, everything ’bout her has changed. She’s being firmer with me, firmer with my father. Standing up for herself. Even standing up for me. What the scorch is going on?

“Shiva was…” she says, grasping the bar as if to steady herself. It sounds weird hearing her say Shiva without the Head Greynote part in the front. It’s almost disrespectful, but there’s no disrespect in her voice. “…a good man. He tried hard, wanted the best for the village. But he’s been sick for a long time, longer than most.”

I wonder where’s she’s going with this. Everyone knows how long Shiva’s been sick. As soon as someone—anyone—gets the Fire, everyone’s always talking ’bout it, making bets on how long they’ll last, thanking the sun goddess it wasn’t them who caught it.

“Your father’s been the real Head Greynote for a long time,” she continues. “Making important decisions, signing trade agreements with the Icers, deciding the future of the village.”

“I already know all that,” I say.

Mother nods again. “Your father’s a hard man,” she says. I already know that, too. My scarred back could tell a thousand tales of my father’s hardness. “I think he’s doing what he believes is right, but he’s way off track.”

“Mother, whatever it is, spit it out.” I don’t usually talk like that to my mother, but she’s been beating around the prickler too long and I’m itching to know where she’s heading with all this.

Mother half-laughs, half-sobs, once more surprising me. “I’m sorry, Mother, I didn’t mean to—”

“No, no, Siena. It’s okay,” she says. Takes a deep breath. “You say what you mean and you mean what you say.” I’ve never heard that expression before, but right away I like it. “What I’m trying to say is…do you believe in the Laws of fire country?”

It’s not at all what I thought would come out of her mouth. I was expecting her to tell me that we both need to be ’specially obedient to my father now that he’s the Head Greynote, or something like that. “The Laws?” I say. “Well, uh, yeah. I mean, we all do. We hafta—to survive.”

Mother grasps my hand through the bars. Her hand is warm and so is mine, so it’s like our warmth combines. “Is that really what you think?” she asks. “Or is it just something they teach you to say in Learning.”