Fire Country

I cry.

Chapter Twenty-Two

The bells are ringing from every watchtower.

The winds have been whipping themselves into a frenzy all morning, dumping grit and sand into the Learning Hut while we sit cross-legged, trying to listen to whatever gibberish Teacher Mas is telling us.

When the bells start clanging wildly, we all suspect there’s a full-fledged sandstorm a-coming. I follow the stampede out the door, using my pointy elbows to ward off anyone who tries to jostle me amidst the confusion.

Right away I know it ain’t a sandstorm. Hunters are everywhere, rushing ’bout, strapping on thick, leather shirts and carrying blades, spears, and bows. We’re under attack. By what or who, I don’t know.

Hawk’s just finished talking to one of the Hunters, and starts to rush off, but I sprint at an angle, catch up to him, grab his arm. “Let go of me! I gotta get ready!” he says, twisting away.

I squeeze harder, surprised at myself. “Tell me what’s going on,” I demand.

His eyes are wild. Not with anger, but with urgency. “They’re comin’,” he says. “The Glassies are comin’.” My fingers go numb and he pulls away, sprints off to prepare. Even the Youngling Hunters’ll be a part of this fight.

The villagers are everywhere, ru

I race through the village, instinctively veering toward our hut. But then my mind races ahead of my body, pictures what’ll happen. My father’ll lock us in for our safety, go off to join the Hunters. I’ll be stuck inside with my thoughts, the walls closing in ’round me, no way to escape them. Not today.

I stop, head in the opposite direction, toward the edge of the village that faces Confinement and ice country. No one’s ru

Even the guard towers on this side are abandoned, the guards called to the front lines with everyone else. I slip out of the village, beyond the border tents. My father’ll be grizzing himself right ’bout now. His precious Pre-Bearer is missing. What if I die? What if I get hurt and can’t Bear his grandchildren, fulfill my duty under the Law? What then? The thought makes me happier’n anything has in a while.

I skirt along the edge of the village, feeling reckless and dangerous and so out of control that I start to feel in control. More in control’n I’ve felt in a long time. Since Circ’s death I’ve just been bobbing along, like a dead fly in the watering hole, letting the wind and ripples take me wherever they choose.

Not today. Today I choose.

As if in anticipation of the impending battle, the wind swirls, so excited that it can’t decide on a single direction to blow in. Off in the desert, mini-dust-devils rise up and spin themselves in haphazard circles, flattening the dry pricklers and last remaining stalks of brittle scrubgrass. Despite the dust in the air, I press onward, shielding my eyes with a hand, both from the sun and the sand.

When I’m more’n halfway ’round the village, cries of death rise up.

I pick up my pace, determined to see the battle in all its gruesome glory. I’m full of more energy’n I’ve had in a long time, and I’m almost scared of what I might do when I get to the other side of the border tents, when I see what’s happening. All that pent up energy’s gotta find an outlet.

I’ve done plenty of knocky things ’fore, like jumping into a Killer/Hunter fight or purposely getting sent to Confinement. Maybe I’ll just join the fight with the Glassies, I don’t know. I feel so alive, like I could do anything, score a goal in feetball without falling over, kill a tug with my bare hands, run to Confinement and break Raja out. Anything.

I’m almost to the front gate of the village, cries of war and mayhem just in front of me, sending shivers and quivers of energy through my whole invincible skeleton-like body—when I trip. I’m not so invincible after all. I’m ru

Oh no! Here we go again. I’ve just recovered from a broken wrist and I’m ’bout to break a whole lot more on the hard, cracked earth.

Powerful arms catch me in midair, pull me down, set me back on my feet.

Oh how I want to believe it—can’t believe it—want to—want to—please let it be him. The only one who’s ever caught me ’fore—besides my father, who I don’t count—so many times ’fore, is Circ. My hero. My friend. Not dead. Just a mistake, a misunderstanding. He’s saved me again.

It’s not Circ.

Circ burned on the pylon, sent to the stars.

The arms are too thin. Strong, yeah, but thin, too, almost like a girl’s. Not a girl’s. Lara’s.

She’s looking at me like I’m wooloo, and when I see her I look at her the same way. “What the scorch?” I say. “Lara? What are you doing?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” she says.

“I was, uh…I don’t know. Thanks for catching me. You’re really strong.” It’s the understatement of the year. With her buzzed head, tightly set jaw, and tight cut-off shirt, she looks exactly the way I was feeling when my two left feet got in the way of my glory. Invincible.

“No problem.”

The deep bellows of men at war roar past us, colliding with the wind, which has managed to unite its swirls into a pressing gale force that throws my hair back into my face. I push it away, wondering what I’m doing out here.

I don’t know what to say. “We should, uh, get back, right?”

“Wrong,” Lara says. “I think you’re out here for the same reason I am.”

I snap my eyes shut as a smattering of sand whips past. When I reopen them Lara’s giving me one of those looks I grew so familiar with a couple full moons ago. “Don’t start with all that ‘There’s another way,’ blaze. All we’re go

“Alright then. I’ll see you later.” Lara strides off. As I contemplate what she said, a brambleweed flies at my head and glances off my forearm when I throw up my arms to protect myself. One of its gnarled branches slashes my arm, cutting it deep, spilling my blood. The sharp pain of the wound sharpens my thoughts. The answer to the question Why am I out here? suddenly seems obvious. ’Cause I want to be. I don’t wa

I race after Lara, being careful not to trip again. She’s walking slow, almost as if she…

“Knew you’d come,” she says as I pull astride. “Like me, it’s in your blood to be different.” I say nothing, just match the increased speed of her steps.

We’re going to fight.

~~~

Maybe it wasn’t such a good decision. We’re on the edge of the village, watching men die.

The Glassies are wi