I lie directly in the middle, look up at the sparkling sky. I spot Circ immediately, as I always do, brighter’n t’others. “Hi,” I say.
I know he wants to reply, but can’t. From up there, he has no voice. But something tells me he’s not just a pretty thing to look at. He still has power in him. Power to change things for me, to impact my life. He’ll always impact my life.
My discussion with Veeva pops into my head. The Call. Not that far off. Scary close now. If I could choose any of the eligible guys in the village, who would I choose? I know the answer. None of them. None of them are Circ.
But, for the sake of humoring Veeva, I try to think ’bout it seriously. ’Cause I’m going to get one of them whether I like it or not. Grunt pops into my head first and I laugh. Being Veeva’s Call-Sister would be incredible, but the thought of lying with Grunt even once makes me wanna throw a handful of rocks in the air and run under them. I’d take thirty rocks to the face over having to touch him any day.
’Cause I’m so anti-social these days, I don’t really know anyone. I barely even really know the Younglings I go to Learning with, much less anyone eighteen or older. There’re a couple of brothers who seem friendly enough, Graum and Baum. They’re Hunters, too, like Circ is—was. Pretty smoky, too. Not Circ smoky, but nice to look at. Either of them would be okay I guess. But there are many more worse options—options I don’t wanna think ’bout right now. Not ever.
Circ stares at me. I’m sorry, Circ, I say. I don’t wanna, but I don’t know what else to do. If there’s any other way, please tell me.
He winks, as if to say, I understand.
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, running amok, parents trying to find their children, brothers trying to find their sisters, Hunters going to wherever they’ve been commanded to go. The Lodge. Or the guard towers. Or out into the desert to fight.
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 running in that direction. The Hunters are all going the other way, ’cause that’s where the Glassies are attacking from, taking the quickest route possible, direct from the Glass City to here. Soon I’m all alone, rushing past tents that are sealed up tight, full of scared women and children whose lives are dependent on the Hunters’ ability to once again hold off the mysterious Glassies, who, for some unknown reason, seem determined to wipe us off the face of fire country.
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 running so hard that I literally go flying, completely airborne and flapping my arms.
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.