Fire Country

As I ponder the weather, a familiar voice carries through the thin walls of the Greynote hut I’m passing. “We won’t be able to survive another attack by the newcomers,” the voice says. It’s Luger, his whiny voice unmistakable, even through a wooden wall. Who are they talking about? The Killers? They’re hardly new.

“We need to find out what our Glassy friends to the south are trying to achieve,” a voice replies, sharp and commanding, like both a crack of thunder and a streak of lightning. My father. By newcomers Luger meant the Glassies.

Luger responds. “The first team of investigators was certain an attack was imminent, but gave no indication as to the motives.” Another attack by the Glassies? I need to go tell—

My heart sinks when I remember Circ’s not back yet. When he talked about his mission, he never mentioned there was another team of investigators. Maybe he didn’t know. If they’re back already, surely he’ll be back soon.

“In the absence of information, we have to assume they have only one goal: to wipe us out and steal our land.” My father’s words hang over my head like a dark cloud, pregnant with rain, unmoving despite the buffeting it’s taking at the hands of the wind. Circ, where are you?

~~~

The first Glassy attack was the scariest day of my life, although I didn’t really see anything. The women, the children, including all Youngling, and those afflicted with the Fire, were told to stay inside the Greynote huts. I remember how angry my father was with Head Greynote Shiva for making the decision to keep male Younglings away from the fighting. He thought all males aged twelve and older should be out there, defending our village. Shiva wanted them behind, as a last line of defense in case it came to that. Circ got to stay behind.

We huddled together, tighter’n a thousand ants in an anthill. The pre-Totters were crying and carrying on while their mothers shushed and sang to them. Some of the Younglings were bragging about how many Glassies their fathers would kill, like it was a competition or something. I stayed by Circ, always close enough that one part of us or another was touching. Comforting.

The sounds of battle got really close at one point. Men were yelling and metal was shrieking. The crackle and roar and bitter odor of heavy flames and smoke filled the air. I thought they were burning down our village, that they’d broken through, would soon set fire to our hut.

They didn’t, although when one of the Hunters came to tell us it was safe to come out, we emerged to find a quarter of the tents burned to no more’n ash and kindling. Evidently the Glassies never set foot in the village, but did shoot a whole heap of fireballs past the Hunters, lighting quite a few tents on fire.

But the Hunters held them off.

And the Glassies haven’t come back since.

Until now, if Luger is right.

~~~

I’m the first one to know that the Hunters are back from their investigation. Unable to thwart my anticipation any longer, I take to sitting on the outskirts of the village, watching the desert. Just sitting, waiting, hunger growing in my stomach, thirst growing in my throat, ignoring it all. Sitting and waiting.

They start as dots on the horizon. Could be anything. Killers. Glassies. But I know they’re not. They’re Hunters. There’s a bubble in my gut telling me so. Circ’s back.

When he gets close enough where I know without a doubt it’s him, I want nothing more’n to rush to him, to throw my arms ’round him, to hold on tight and never let go, but I hold it back, ’cause he looks awful serious with his Hunter friends. Like they’ve got a story to tell and someone they gotta go tell it to. So I just sit there, watching them march past, thinking how strange it is that everyone always hasta act a certain way, for appearances’ sake. Why can’t we just be ourselves?

But then, at the last second, Circ glances in my direction and winks, flashes a two-dimpled smile that raises my lips and expands in my chest. He’s back, really back.

I follow them through the village, keeping my distance so as to not make it too obvious. When they get to the same hut I heard my father talking to Luger in earlier, they knock and go in. I’m too scared and nervous and excited to eavesdrop, so I just sit a ways off, picking at the sand and waiting for him to come out. He’ll tell me everything anyway.

They’re not in there long enough for the sun goddess to move an inch in the sky, but it’s searin’ close to that. I’ve built two big ol’ piles of sand and I’m about to co

~~~

We both have stories to tell but I let him go first, ’cause he’s practically itching to tell it. He still hasn’t let go of my hand after walking all the way to the Mouth holding it. I don’t mind at all.

“Sie, we went into Killer territory,” he says, squeezing my hand outta excitement.

I frown. “I thought you were just going to the border,” I say. My wooloo mind starts conjuring up all sorts of visions of Circ and the Hunters, surrounded by Killers, fighting them off barehanded, bleeding and missing arms and legs. Stop! I shout to myself. You saw as well as I did that none of them looked hurt. Sorry, my mind says. Sometimes I can’t help myself.

“Me, too,” Circ says. “And that’s what we did at first. Surveyed the border, looked for tracks and evidence that anyone might’ve crossed over from our land to the Killers’.”

“Did you find anything?” I ask, prying his fingers offa mine. I don’t want to, but his grip is so tight my brittler’n-scrubgrass fingers are starting to ache.

“Sort of,” he says. “There were human footprints all right, coming right in from Killer territory to Heater land, as if one of our people had gone over there to cause trouble and then come back. But the strange thing was that there were no prints going in the other direction.”

A dull throb starts in my slinged arm. “It’s been windy. The tracks mighta just been smoothed over,” I say.

“Maybe,” he says. “And we thought that too, but some of the tracks coming in were deep. They were made with someone wearing something on their feet that none of us had ever seen before. Not moccasins, that’s for sure.”

“Not Heaters,” I murmur, holding my bad arm gingerly.

He shakes his head. “Someone else. We didn’t want to waste the mission, come back empty handed, so we went over the border, not to cause trouble with the Killers, but to see if we could find anything to point us to the cause of their invasion. There were all kinds of tracks over there made by someone else, not Heaters. We found a whole pile of tug bones, too, nice and neat and organized. Someone was hunting.”

“Circ, I gotta tell you something too.” I tell him what I overheard my father and Luger talking about.

“It makes sense,” he says. “If it was the Glassies riling the Killers up, tricking them into thinking we’d come onto their land, then they’d follow it up with an attack of their own. You know, now that we’re weakened.”

“What about the Icers?” I ask.

“I don’t know anything about any of that. We’ll probably never know.” That might be good enough for Circ, but it’s not for me. Call it curiosity or just plain silliness, but if we’re ’bout to be invaded by foreigners, I wa