Fire Country

“He did a lot of wooloo things,” I say.

“I’m glad he’s dead,” Skye says. I am, too, but I won’t say it out loud, not after what he told me.

Confinement rears up in the distance, like the skeletons of massive beasts, frozen in time, the moment ’fore they were killed by a monster even bigger’n they. Will I find my heart between the ribs of one of the beasts? Or did my father manage to hurt me again, even with his last breath, giving me hope when there was none? Either way, exhilaration and anticipation swirl through me like the winds from earlier, gusting the fires this way and that.

Without a word, our steps quicken.

When we reach the edge of the prison, I say, “I’m go

Grim-faced, Skye and Lara nod.

Each of the cages contains a body. They look dead, but I can tell they’re not, ’cause of the slight rise and fall of chests and shoulders as they sleep the day away. They don’t know ’bout the Glassies or the wildfire, nor would they much care. For their lives are forfeit, stripped away by an evil leader who’d cage them to guarantee his own longevity.

I start ru

I manage to ignore him.

Next to my old cage, Raja lays utterly still, stiller’n my father’s body had been when he passed on. Tears bubble up, drip down my cheeks. More blood on my father’s hands, even after he’s dead. “Oh, Raja,” I say through the bars. I start to dig away the stone and rock blocking the cage entrance.

“Siena?” a voice says.

My eyes light up and I cry out, as Raja rolls over, his face thin and gaunt and perfect. A smile creases his mouth. “I knew you’d come,” he says.

“I thought you were dead,” I say, wiping away the tears just as more well up.

“Me? Nah, I’m a fighter. Like you.”

I’m blubbering and digging and talking nonstop, telling Raja everything between gasps of air. I probably sound—and look—like a wooloo person, but I don’t stop until I’ve dug through and crawled in. I don’t even bother to stand, just squirm over, elbows and knees and hands, fighting my way to a friend I’ve never touched, never been this close to. When I get to him, I tackle him, forgetting how thin and withered away his malnourished body is.

“Ow—hurts,” he groans.

“Sorry, Raja, I’m sorry, I’m just so happy you’re here and alive. I’ve missed you.” I kiss his durty forehead, hug him more gently, feel his emaciated ribs poking into me.

“I missed you, too,” he says, hugging me back.

I feel so full of emotion I almost wa

I take it as a compliment.

“Yer friend’s ’ere,” Raja says.

“Yeah, I know,” I say. “I came with her. My sister, too.” I swivel ’round, looking for where Raja spotted them. There’s no one in sight and Raja’s looking at me strangely.

“What the scorch are you talkin’ ’bout?” he says.

“What are you talking ’bout?”

“Not what…who,” he says. “Yer friend with the muscles and dimples.”

Tingles zip up and down my body. I’m dreaming. I’m back in Call Class preparing for my Call, daydreaming, and none of this is happening and I’m ’bout to get called on and laughed at and forced to shovel blaze all by myself ’cause Circ’s gone, and Lara, too, with my mother to follow soon. All. A. Dream.

“He’s ’ere,” Raja says.

And I’m gone, ru

I fight to my feet, dash along the remaining cages, ignoring Raja’s cries behind me. Body after random body flashes ’fore my vision and I rush on, all the way to the end of the line, shift to the next line, race along those, too. Hafta find him. Hafta find him now, ’fore my heart explodes and sends me flying every which way. Where is he? Where is Circ? I can speak his name again ’cause he’s real—Raja wouldn’t lie to me, not after all we’ve both been through.

The last cage emerges on my right and I practically crash into it, throw myself against the bars, scan the ground. A body, in the corner, stronger’n most of t’others—could be him. “Circ!” I shriek, trying to squeeze between the bars, not wanting to hafta wait to shovel away the entrance.

The body turns, slowly, a face appearing.

I can’t breathe, can’t will one more breath through my lungs. I’m choking, falling back, curling up, hoping my heart’ll stop beating of its own volition.

The face is Hawk’s.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

“Siena,” a voice says. Not close. Not far either. A dream voice. Soft and caring, smooth and gentle. My best friend, the one I love, the one I’ve always loved. Circ, in a dream.

I got my wish. I’ve died and joined him. Worth it—so worth it!—just to hear his voice.

I open my eyes to Confinement. Dread washes over me. Not a dream, a nightmare, a haunting voice of torment, sent by my father from Scorch. A voice that may very well drive me insane if I hear it again.

“Siena.” The voice again, closer, so heart-warming it’s maddening.

I look ’round, see him, so strong and perfect and real that I know my dead father’s behind it. A cruel, cruel joke. “It’s me. Circ,” nightmare-Circ says.

I wa

He comes closer. Skye and Lara and Raja appear behind him, others, too. The prisoners they’ve released, ski

“I tried to stop you,” Raja says. “Tried to tell you yer friend wasn’t in a cage. He was in the hut with Keep. Not a prisoner. Not technically.”

I don’t know what to think—my head is a sand puddle. I’m exhausted from it all. From the death, the fighting, the searching, the hoping, the losing. My lips taste like salt and my eyes sting.

Finding a strength beyond my own, I stand, take a step forward, then another. When I start ru

Just ’fore I slide through him, I close my eyes.

The collision jars my eyelids open, and then I’m in his arms, and I am clutching him, my legs wrapped ’round his waist, my head nestled against his neck, feeling the warmth of his blood, the beat of his heart, the brush of his lips on my cheeks. It’s all the proof I need to know—

—Circ’s alive.

“Your hair,” he murmurs into my neck.

“Skye cut it,” I say, worried all of sudden. Perhaps the only thing he thought was pretty ’bout me was my hair. “I’m sorry.”

“No,” he says. “I love it. You look beautiful.”

Chapter Thirty-Eight

We laugh loud enough that we can’t hear the bad memories.