Ice Country

I sigh. If we do win anything tonight, I’llhave to find a better place to hide whatever’s left over afterpaying Yo back. Like somewhere in another country, fire countryperhaps.

Shaking my head, I light a small fire so mymother doesn’t freeze to death.

My brother, Wes, isn’t around, because unlikeme, he has a job doing the nightshift in the mines. Ain’t much of ajob if you ask me, but without his dirt-blackened face we’d havedied of starvation months ago. He’s only two years older than me,but if you asked him, he’d tell you he’s ten years my senior inmaturity. Not that I’m arguing.

Given our situation, I should’ve gotten a joba long time ago, when I turned fourteen and school ended. Or atleast at age sixteen, when most guys do, after they’ve had theirtwo years of fun. So why am I seventeen and wasting my life away? Iwish I knew.

My little sister, Jolie, is staying with aneighbor down the street until my mother can pull it together. Theway things are going, she might be there forever. Although I’ve hada pretty shivvy day, not seeing Jolie’s smiling face at home is theworst part. She’s only twelve, and yet, I swear she’s one of theonly people who really gets me. Her and Buff, that is.

I leave my mother babbling to herself abouthow the Cold is growing wings and flying above the clouds, or somerubbish like that. The warmth of the fire I made chases me out thedoor.

It’s colder than my ex-girlfriend’spersonality outside. Even with my slightly-too-small double-layeredbearskin coat that I won playing boulders when I was fifteen, andthe three thick shirts underneath it, I’m instantly frozen fromhead to toe. When the wind blows it goes right through me, like I’mnaked and made of brittle parchment, and I find myself ru

Before heading to meet Buff, I stop at ourneighbor’s place to see Jolie. Although not rich by any stretch ofthe imagination, Clint and his wife, Looza, are better off than us,which I’m glad for. It means Jolie gets a decent place to stay,three warm meals a day, and a taste for what it’s like to be partof a real family. Selfishly, I want my mother to get cleaned up somy sister can come home, but I know that might not be the bestthing for her. Either way, I’m glad she’s close by.

I rap firmly on the door, feeling every thudecho in my head. On the third knock the door opens and Jolie pokesher head out. “Dazz!” she exclaims, breaking into a huge smile thatinstantly warms my frozen body and soul. Her dark brown hair is ina long, tight braid down her back, almost to her waist. It’s notdone exactly like how I would do it, but it’s close enough. When mydad died and my mother lost herself, I had to learn how to braidreal quick, because Jolie wouldn’t have it any other way.

She rushes out into my arms and the cold. Asalways, she stands on the tops of my snow-capped boots, her socksgetting soaked through. She’s getting so big that my toes getcrushed under her weight, but I can’t bring myself to tell her.“You’ll catch the Cold,” I say, walking us both inside where I canfeel the tempting heat from a crackling fire.

Face smashed against my chest, she says, “Areyou staying for a while tonight?”

I can hear the memory in her voice, adesperate longing for another time, when life was simpler andnights were spent listening to Father’s stories by the fire, orplaying sticks and rocks on the big bearskin rug between ourbeds.

But those days are long spent. “I’m sorry,Joles, there’s something I have to do.”

She steps off my feet and looks up at me allpouty mouthed. She calls it her sad sled dog face. “Fro-Yo’s,” shesays, accusation in her voice.

“Uhhhh…” I wish? I can’t tell her thetruth—about my fighting and getting ba

Jolie’s eyes widen and her smile returns likea flint spark. “Really?”

I nod uncertainly, on an angle, like I’m notsure whether I’m saying yah or nay. She takes it as a yah. “That’swonderful, Dazz! Does that mean I can come home soon?” Her hopefulwords are like ice daggers shoved between my ribs and I find myselfbreathless.

She senses my hesitation. “Mom?” shesays.

“She’s still pretty bad,” I admit. “But maybesoon,” I say, unable to resist giving her a small measure ofhappiness, even if it’s as false as the so-called job I have to dotonight.

“What’s the job?” Jolie asks, which is thenatural question that I’m totally unprepared for. I’ve got to comeup with something, and fast, because she’s looking at me with thatcocked-head snowbird expression that usually makes me laugh.

“Master of Chance,” I say, once more goingwith the first thing that flashes to mind. Technically I won’t bethe Master of Chance tonight, but I will be a master ofchance of sorts as I participate in a few rounds ofboulders-’n-avalanches.

“Congratulations,” she says, giving meanother hug. Hopefully her congratulations will still beappropriate tomorrow, when I’ve quadrupled my tiny pouch ofsilver.

“Thanks, Joles,” I say, giving her a finalsqueeze. “See you tomorrow?”

“Promise?”

“Yah, Joles, I promise.” This one I’llkeep.

“Will you at least stay for supper, youngman?” Clint says from across the room. I didn’t even notice thethin sandy-haired carpenter and his wife, silently preparing di

“Evenin’ sir and ma’am. Sorry, I didn’t seeyou there. I’d love to, but I really must be on my way. First dayand all.” More like last night. If I’m not lucky, thatis.

“Are you sure, sweetie?” Looza says, chimingin, her wide waist swinging from side to side as she mixessomething in a big pot. “There’s ple

“I’ll take it with me, if that’s all rightwith you,” I say.

She sighs, but nods and begins filling alargish pouch.

“Bye, kid,” I say, kissing Jolie lightly onthe forehead.

She steps back up onto my boots and I leandown so she can kiss my cheek. “Bye, Dazz. I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you, too, Joles,” I say, clenchingmy stomach around the empty pit that’s forming. I take the pouchfrom Looza and open the door. “Thank—” I start to say, but shemuscles me outside, still holding onto her half of the pouch. Shepulls the door shut on my sister.

I look at her face, which has formed aquestion mark out of her eyes, nose and mouth. “Don’t do anythingto hurt that little girl,” she says, her eyes as iron grey as theclouds were earlier.

“I won’t, ma’am,” I say, unsure of what she’sgetting at.

“Well, then you might want to turn around andgo right back home,” she says, firmly but not unkindly.

“But my job,” I say, knowing how weak itsounds.

“Yah. Your job,” she says.

Easing the stew pouch from her grip, I say,“Thank you, ma’am. For the stew and…well, for everything.”

Chapter Three

I take the trail tothe lower Brown District, where Buff lives. The further you go downthe mountain, the less silver people have and the shivvier theirjobs are—if they have work at all. Buff’s father’s a treejacker,earning a sickle a day from backbreaking work that supplies all thetimber to the White District and the palace. There’s not much newconstruction in the Brown District, so little of the wood is sentour way. By the time Buff’s father gets home he’s so bone-wearythat it’s all he can do to take di