Ice Country

Pierced shakes his head like his child’s justpainted mud on the walls. Luckily, Buff helps me out. “Initial betwas twe

“Thanks,” I mumble. So all I gotta do isthrow in twe

But I have no choice—I have to play. So ifI’ve got to play with twin boulders in my hand, I might as wellplay big.

I shove forty sickles into the middle.

“Whoa, we’ve got a player,” Pierced exclaims,rubbing his hands together. Like everyone else, me and Buffincluded, I think he expected me to just throw away my twe

He flips two more coins in and I watch aseveryone else except Buff does the same. It’s the biggest pot ofthe night and not even a single draw card has been turned. I flipthe first card. A boulder! Excitement buzzes through me as Irealize I’m about to make both Buff and I rich. But amongst theshower of silver coins that are floating through my mind, I seeonly one face. Jolie’s. She’s smiling the biggest, happiest smileI’ve ever seen as she comes home. Although I thought we startedthis because of what happened at Yo’s, I realize now thatsubconsciously I was always doing it for her—to bring our familyback together.

Although my butt’s glued to the very chair Idesperately wanted to leave not too long ago, I feel like I’mflying way up high where the summer songbirds cut lazy circlesacross the gray clouds. Nay, higher than that, above the clouds,where the sky’s redder than blood and the sun’s hotter than chill.Nothing can bring down my mood, not even a thirty sickle bet by oneof the twins. Everyone, including me, matches it, but I run a fewmore coins through my fingers, trying to decide whether to add abet on top.

Anticipation of adding silver to the pot zipsup my spine. Everything feels so light, like I could fly right outof here with all the silver on the table and a new life.

Somehow I manage to bet small, flattening myface like a stone wall. Twe

I flip the second card. A medium stone. I’mstill way ahead with my triple boulders. No bets this time around,so I throw in another twe

Last card. A small stone, nothing against mytrifecta of boulders.

The final round of betting begins with asurprise. Pierced-Ears raises an eyebrow and then pushes his entirepile into the pot. My mouth drops open, and so does Buff’s, buteveryone else looks like it’s the most natural thing in the worldfor him to do at this point, even though they have to all know I’vegot a huge hand.

Then the folding begins. Both twins chucktheir cards into the mountain-sized pile of coins with gusto. Acouple of them flip over, a crown and an arrow, nothing thatcould’ve stacked up against mine anyway. Long-Face shakes his headand then flips his cards over to show us before folding. Twincrowns. A good hand, but not good enough.

It’s down to me and Pierced and I can’t forthe life of me see how he could have me beat, and it doesn’t matteranyway. I’ve already got so much riding on this hand that I wasalways going to see it through to the end. I push whatever coinsI’ve got left into the pot.

“Maybe you’ve got stones after all, kid,”Pierced says with a nod.

I smile, basking in the unexpected bit ofrespect from a guy who looked ready to take my head off four handsago. And now I’m going to take all his silver.

“But you ain’t got no brains,” he adds, whichwipes the smile right off my face. Huh? What does he know? “Show’em.”

He doesn’t have to ask me twice. I snap oneboulder over, then the other, slide them toward the draw cards tomake it obvious what I’ve got.

He glares at the cards like he’s going tograb them and rip them to shreds. But then his expression changes:his lips turn up, his eyebrows arch, and he laughs. Of all things,he laughs.

With a short twist of his wrist, he revealshis cards, the final boulder and a medium stone. I gawk at them,try to figure out what they mean, think back to how in the chillthose cards could be better than my three boulders. The name of thevery game we’re playing springs to mind.Boulders-’n-avalanches. His two cards, when combined withthe draw cards: two boulders, two medium stones, and one smallstone—an avalanche. The best hand in the game, and a nail in mycoffin.

I stare at him, unable to breathe, unable tospeak, feeling every prick of his continued laughter in my skin,drawing blood. Final blood.

I drop my head in my hands as he rakes at thepile with greedy fingers.

Time passes painfully slow. Chairs scrape thefloor. There are voices, pats on the back, but I barely hear them,barely feel them. Eventually, the voices die down and I’m left insilence. I feel a presence nearby and finally raise my head.

Buff sits next to me, staring off into space.“I—I—” I start to say, but my throat’s too dry and it just comesout as a rasp.

“You had a good hand,” Buff says, turning tolook at me. “You did the right thing.”

His words are no comfort. “I lost everything.Silver that wasn’t even ours to lose.” What’s my sister going tothink of me now that I’m broker than a lumberjack’s leg trappedunder a fallen tree?

“Not everything,” Buff says, pointing towhat’s left of his pile of silver. Maybe a hundred sickle. He wasthe smart one. He played it safe, didn’t take any big risks. “Andyou still got me as a friend.”

His words only make the loss hurt more. Idon’t deserve him as a friend. I don’t deserve anyone. All I’mdoing is bringing down pain on everyone I touch. “You should stayaway from me,” I say.

Buff shakes his head. “You can’t get rid ofme that easily,” he says. “We’re go

I feel numb. “How?”

A nasally voice chimes in. “You will pay backevery sickle,” the redhead says. “And you’ll do it our way.”

“What the freeze is that supposed to—” Istart to say.

“My boss has a job for you. Two months of itand we’ll call things square.”

“What kind of a job?” Buff asks.

“Now you’re working for the king,” shesays.

~~~

“I got a job,” I a

“I thought you already had a job,” Joliesays, cocking her head quizzically. It’s nice having my sister athome, even if she’s only allowed to stay until Wes and I leave. Shecan’t be alone with my mother.

“Ha! Dazz, having a job—you must be thinkingof someone else, Joles,” Wes says with a laugh. My older brotherstirs a mug of steaming tea for mother, who’s curled up on ourbearskin rug.

I give Joles a look, hoping she’ll get themessage to forget about what I said before. “Uh, that didn’t workout. But this one’s different.”

“Did Yo finally convince you to work behindthe bar?” Wes says. He always tells me I spend so much time at thepub that I might as well get paid while I’m there. He helps motherto a sitting position and folds her hands around the mug.