Fire Country

My heart sinks into my stomach. “What other mission?” I say.

“Like the last one,” he says. “A small one. Just a few Hunters.”

My eyes narrow and I glance at him. Teacher starts talking so I lean close to his ear, dropping my voice to a whisper. “How do you know ’bout that? It was secret.”

“I’m a Hunter, remember?” Right. He might know more’n I give him credit for. “Anyway, it don’t matter. Circ left, okay?” I nod. Okay.

“How long ago?” Teacher’s attention is on t’other side of the room. Lara’s answering whatever question he asked.

“That’s the thing. He left the same day you did. The mission was only s’posed to be three days. None of ’em have come back yet.”

~~~

My head’s hot, but not ’cause I’m sitting in the sun.

I don’t have a clue what happened in Learning. It was all a blur. Thankfully, Teacher didn’t ask me any questions, ’cause I don’t know if I coulda spoken, or even understood them.

Circ’s been gone seven days on a three-day mission.

Normally, I’d be worried but I wouldn’t jump to conclusions, but this time is different. He’s in Killer country. And it’s my father that sent him there.

Anger curls my toes and boils in my stomach.

“He did this on purpose,” I growl under my breath. A group of Youngling girls who’re chatting a mile a moment outside the Learning Hut look at me strangely and laugh. I wa

I’m lost in a sea of nothingness.

Everywhere I look people are going ’bout their business, washing clothes, cooking food, repairing tents. Kids are laughing, playing, ru

I don’t know where to go or what to do when I get there, what to say or who to say it to. I’m empty.

My father.

I could confront him, give him a piece of my mind, but not only would that not bring Circ back, but that’s exactly what he wants. He wants to get under my skin, to see that he’s not only the controller of my life, but of my mind too. That he can make me angry and sad and upset. I won’t give him that pleasure.

There’s only one other option then. Something I wouldn’t have considered a year ago ’cause I was just a scared little girl. But now I’m desperate, on the verge of becoming a Bearer without my best friend to talk to ’bout it. My best friend who kissed me, who held me, who changed me. If my mother says I hafta go after what I want, then that’s what I’m go

I’m going after Circ.

Even as I make my mind up, breathless and scared and excited ’bout the decision, a cry goes up from the tower guards. I’m not that close to the edge of town, but they’re yelling pretty loud. I crane my head, waiting to hear it. Waiting, waiting, waiting: for the bells. The guards’ll shout ’bout pretty much anything—a harmless burrow mouse scampering across the desert, an increase in the winds, a sneaky shilt and her guy out for a midnight rendezvous outside the border tents—but they’ll only ring the bells if there’s imminent danger to the village. Like when the Glassies attacked. Or during the Killer War. Sandstorms and wildfires receive a bell-toll too.

Their shouts grow more urgent, but there’s no bell. No danger. Not for the village. But they keep shouting. I scan the towers that poke like fingers into the air, high above the village. They’re all yelling to each other, trying to get information through the chain, from whichever guard spotted something worth yelling ’bout. Every guard is still in his tower—’cept one. My eyes lock on the empty tower, slide down its ladder, focus on the guard frantically climbing down.

I run in that direction.

~~~

I don’t know what comes over me, but I run like the wind. It’s gusting at my back and then it’s gone, like I’ve outdistanced it, leaving me sprinting past surprised villagers in a calm bubble.

It’s him. I know it. Circ and t’other men on the mission have returned. Rushing to see Circ’ll not go down well with my father, but I hafta. I hafta see his smiling and dimpled face, hafta hear his laugh, hafta smell the dust on his skin.

Reaching the tower at almost the same time as the watchman reaches the bottom rung, I ignore his shout as I fly past him, out into the desert. If we’re under attack, I’m rushing straight to death. There were no bells, I remind myself. No attack.

I peer across the winter wasteland, feeling the wind catch up to me as I slow my pace, swirling around my feet, swishing my dress back and forth. I see them.

The Hunters coming back from their mission. A small group. Pitifully small considering they might be facing Killers. Five men. Four walking—no, trudging, heavy-footed and on the verge of collapse. And one being carried horizontally across another’s shoulders. Something bad happened to these Hunters.

I rush forward, squinting to make out the faces. When I get close enough to see details, I realize: none of the four walking are Circ.

An exhausted groan slips from my throat. Not him. Please, sun goddess, please, I pray. It’s been su

The smell of death lingers on the air, tangy and metallic.

I reach the Hunters, who’re too tired to be surprised at the sudden presence of a Youngling in their midst. They’re older’n Circ, but not by much, perhaps only on their first Call, or maybe second.

They all have injuries: cuts and scrapes and claw marks. Killer wounds.

“I know him,” I say, panting, my elbows on my knees. “Please. Is he okay?”

Across the Hunter’s shoulders, Circ groans.

He’s alive.

Another Hunter helps pull Circ down, lays him in the durt. I hear wheels rattling across the uneven terrain behind me. Help’s on the way. I kneel down, lean over him, touch his dust and bloodstained face. “I’m here, Circ,” I say softly.

His eyes ease open, and when he sees me he manages a smile. “Sie,” he says, his voice barely audible over the sound of the wind whipping through our clothes.

“Yes, it’s me,” I say, taking in his injuries. His hair is matted with blood, aged and reddish-brown. His brown tugskin shirt is soaked through with blood, concentrated at a point where there’s a gnarled and torn hole. I can’t see the extent of the damage ’cause there’s too much blood. If he can’t walk, it must be bad. I’ve seen Circ leap up after nasty injuries, fight through it. He’s not the type to be carried ’round like a dead man.

Tears blur my vision. Circ. Oh, Circ.

“It’s go

“The Killers found us,” he murmurs. “We barely…” His voice falters and his eyelids flutter.

“Shhh,” I say, fighting back a sob. “We’ll get you help. MedMa’ll help.” A stream is ru

Circ sees me, his eyes clear once more. His face twists in agony. The tears start tumbling down his face now, too. I think it’s ’cause he’s scared to die, but then I see it in the swirls of his deep brown eyes and realize: he’s crying for me. Even in this condition, he’s focused on my pain, my anguish, my fear that he’s go

Shouts behind us. Wheels rattling over stones. A whole village of people—my people—who don’t mean a searin’ thing without him.