The Earth Dwellers

I take a deep breath, hold it, fight off the urge to turn around and punch her. After all, she did save my life. I can be civil.

As we near the top of the mountainous dune, Wilde slows her pace, lowers to a crouch, peeks over. She looks back. “The Glass City sleeps,” she says.

We crowd around her, in a cluster, staying low. Sneak a quick look over the sandy peak.

My heart rises from my gut to my throat, trapping my breath in my lungs.

For the sight before me is beyond spectacular, beyond unexpected, beyond real.

A city, domed by glass, filled with metal and stone and glass structures: buildings.

A Glass City. The Glassies. The Earth Dwellers.

The fourth Realm.

Chapter Eight

Siena

I’ve never seen the Glass City ’fore, but now that I have, I wish I hadn’t. ’Cause what chance do we got against people who could build such a thing? Their city next to our measly huts and tents is like comparing a Killer to a burrow mouse. There ain’t no comparison.

A sudden burst of anger rises to my head and I feel even hotter’n I did ’fore the sun went down. “Why won’t you people just leave us alone?” I say. I meant to aim the question at the fathomless glass dome, but for some reason I’m looking right at Adele.

She stares right back at me, her eyebrows heavy in the middle. For the first time I notice how dark her hair is. If her skin weren’t so pale, she might fit right in amongst my people. Strange how something as basic as the color of one’s skin can make two people seem like they’re from different planets. Does it have to be that way? Everywhere I turn it seems like the world is separated by color. Us, the brown Heaters. To the north, the white Icers. To the east, the white, freckled Soakers and the dark-as-night Stormers. No mixing allowed. Maybe that’s why Skye won’t admit to her feelings for Dazz. Seems kinda silly if you ask me.

And yet…yet I feel my cheeks heating as I glare at Adele. White Adele. Pale Adele. Does the way she looks make her the enemy? Her eyes are wide with wonder as she gazes at the dome. Is she faking her amazement at the size and beauty of the city?

“They’re not my people,” Adele says. Sun goddess, how I wa

I sigh, don’t respond. I’ve got nothing in me but anger.

“My father was a terrible man,” Tristan says, gazing out over the Glass City. “The man inside that dome, the one controlling everything, he might be even worse. President Lecter is the one man who managed to control my father.”

“You want to prove to us that you’re not with them—that you are who you say you are?” Wilde asks.

Adele nods; Tristan says, “Yes.”

“Then tell us how to beat them.”

Chapter Nine

Dazz

“Abe?” I say, because it’s the only question hammering through my mind. Abe? Abe? Abe?

“Sometimes wealth is power, son,” Abe says, smiling that crooked-toothed smile of his. “Especially if you use a little of it to help rebuild the lowliest District in ice country.”

“Get that monstrosity out of here,” a plump woman from the White District says, looking Hightower up and down. Hightower grunts, but I can’t tell if it’s a burp or if he tried to say something.

“He’s with me,” Abe says.

“Consortium members only,” a man with a curly mustache from the Blue District agrees.

“You’ll have to make him leave, I’m afraid,” Abe says. “And I wouldn’t advise that at all.”

Hightower grunts in agreement.

“He’ll sit in the back and won’t cause any problems,” I find myself saying, as if I’m the one calling the shots.

All heads turn to look at me, which allows Hightower the chance to duck his head slightly and enter, filling a whole corner of the room as he slumps down.

Yo stands as Abe sits with the other reps from the Black District, who go right on slapping their cards down, as if there’s not a crucial meeting happening right in front of them. They deal Abe in as he lights a cigarette, drawing glares from the plump woman and the curly-mustache man. The other six White and Blue District members simply ignore the less wealthy side of the room, as if they’re not even worthy of complaint.

I clear my throat, trying to open a path so my voice will come out sharp and strong. Yo begins. “Fellow consortium members, we’ve taken major steps to rebuild ice country and our way of life since the unexpected yet necessary fall of King Goff. However, it has come to my attention that a greater enemy stands at the foothills of our great country, one we ca

“What enemy?” a heavyset White District man shouts. I recognize him as the owner of the largest timber yard in the village. He grew up in the Brown District, but found a way out when he founded his business. Of all the White District members, he’s the one who’s most likely to be sympathetic to our message.

“That’s what these boys are here to tell you about,” Yo says, waving a hand at us to begin. He sits.

I stand, very aware that Buff remains seated. “The Glassies,” I say, but before I can continue, a dozen voices start shouting at once:

“The Glassies are our friends!”

“We trade with the Glassies!”

“I never liked the Glassies, kill them!”

“Who are the Glassies?”

Yo stands again, waving his hands and shouting, trying to quiet the members, while Abe blows a puff of smoke out, half-laughing, half-coughing, as if I’ve just made the fu

And I just stand there stupidly, wondering where I went wrong. Perhaps I should’ve started at the begi

Finally, after much arm-waving and a whole lot of red-faced shouting, Yo, with the help of Hightower and his clenched fists, manages to regain order. I take a deep breath, start again.

This time, I start from the begi

When I finish this time, there’s silence. I think it’s partly due to the heaviness of my words and partly because Hightower has inched his way up the side wall, silently daring anyone to speak over me again.

“Uh, any questions?” I say.

Curly Mustache Man raises a tentative hand, glancing nervously at Hightower. “Yes,” I say.

“What do you expect us to do with this information, exactly?”

I raise my eyebrows. Have I been talking to a wall? Did I not make it obvious? We’re under attack, for Heart’s sake! Or maybe he wants specifics, like what is my recommendation to the consortium. “An alliance,” I say. But before I can add “With the Tri-Tribes,” the man’s curly mustache twitches as he speaks: