I curl my fists at my sides. Right now, anger is good. It chases away the fear.
My father continues. “The Call is an important and magnificent event for us, the Heaters, the people of fire country. It is near and dear to my heart. It is a chance to say to all that threaten us, we will not be defeated! We will carry on, replenish our flock! We are not afraid!” A cheer rises up, but it’s deep and heavy—a man’s cheer. When I look ’round most of the women are silent.
“It is also when our Youngling girls become women, take on the mantle they’ve been charged with wearing. They will Bear our next generation, raise them to be future Hunters, Greynotes, and Bearers. One of these Youngling may even Bear your next Head Greynote!” A hardy chuckle from the crowd. My father is working the audience like he’s been doing it his whole life. I feel a stone in my stomach, growing bigger with each word.
“Now, without further delay, we begin the spring Call!” Everyone cheers now, either ’cause it’s expected or ’cause they’re actually excited. I close my eyes.
Someone else takes over from my father, an annoying voice, whiny and high-pitched. My father’s right hand man. Luger. “Kaya,” he reads and I open my eyes. A girl stands. She’s wearing a pretty, flowing white dress that makes her look like how I think a star would look if it fell to the earth—all shimmery and pure. I can see her legs shaking beneath the dress. The village waits.
“Goyer!” Luger shouts. Quite a few people cheer. I don’t know him, but apparently Goyer has lots of friends. An older guy, maybe twenty five, stands, smiling. It’s a kind smile. He seems like a nice man to have as a father, but as a Call? Uck! Kaya stands frozen for a moment, takes a deep breath, and then walks to meet Goyer between the two groups. Goyer reaches out and accepts her hand. They walk away, toward whichever tent or hut he’s in. There’s no time to be wasted—there’re children to be a-Bearing!
My stomach is roiling, full of acid and fear.
Luger calls another name, one of the shilty girls. She somehow manages to stand in her skin-tight dress. She pouts her lips at the men, drawing smiles from more’n a few of them. Where’s she get that kinda nerve? I wish she’d give me a bit of it.
“Marrick!” Luger shouts. More cheers. A happy, smiling guy stands. His lucky night. The shilt hikes her already short dress up even more so she can strut her way over to him. They walk away holding hands and just ’fore they slink behind the cover of the village, I see her grab his backside. Classy.
Things speed up after the first few as Luger and everyone else involved get into a rhythm. Grunt gets a pretty doe-eyed girl who looks like she might throw up. I watch Veeva’s expression, which darkens, as if she may go on a murderous rampage. Things are ’bout to get even more interesting in their already interesting tenthold.
I look ’round. The blanket’s already half empty. I’ll be Called any second.
Another girl. Another guy. Another happy, baby-making couple.
Luger pauses, looks right at me, eyes narrowed. Smiles. “Siena!” he shouts with greater fervor’n for any of the previous girls.
I shiver when an unexpectedly cold wind gusts through my dress. I feel a raindrop on my face. Then another. Rain or shine, the Call must go on. After sitting cross-legged for so long, my legs are cramped up and I struggle to pull them out from under me. When I do, they’re all tingly. In fact, my whole body’s tingly, almost like I’m not in it anymore and I’m watching everything unfold from outside of myself. If only it was that easy. If I could separate myself from my body, let it do what it hasta do without me really being there, perhaps I could get through this.
“Siena!” Luger cries again, drawing a laugh from the crowd. I’m taking longer’n the other girls to stand.
I push to my feet, feeling wobbly and like I might faint, my head hot, my palms sweaty, my body cold and shivery. The rain is misting down now, coating my skin with a thin layer of moisture. My dress is quickly becoming saturated, clinging to me like the tight dresses the shilts are wearing. I wait, feeling eyes burning my skin from every direction. But one direction is the hottest and I turn that way. My father’s eyes are looking right through me, wide and dark and ready. Ready for his daughter to be taken away by a strange man. Not his problem anymore. The best day of his life. ’Sides when I lost Circ, the worst day of mine.
The whole village waits for the name.
“Bart,” Luger shouts.
I clench my eyes shut, as tight as my fists at my side.
No, no, no!
I’m dreaming, ain’t I?—this ain’t happening. I’m back in Call Class, daydreaming, and at any moment a question from Teacher’ll snap me out of it. Or, no, I got it, I’m at my Call, but I’m daydreaming there. My name hasn’t been called, not yet, but I’m dreaming up the craziest, worst-possible Calls I could possibly get, freaking myself out.
I open my eyes, blink, watch huge, muscled Bart stand, his scarred and gnarled face curled into the most vicious grin I’ve ever laid eyes on. Shirtless, he’s huge, easily three of me. The memory of him in his cage in Confinement shudders through my mind:
“Please, nice Greynote, sir, can I share a cage with her?” He licks his lips.
I look away and we keep going. Luger doesn’t say a word.
Behind us, Bart hollers, “Just as well. I’d probably crush her under me anyway.” He laughs, a gritty, throaty sound that reminds me of the growl of the Killers that got me here in the first place.
My body starts shaking. I clench my miniscule muscles, try to stop it, but I’ve lost control. I hear laughter from some of the girls behind me. Crush her…
Just a dream.
Bart!
Just a dream.
The rain on my face, so wet and soft and real. No dream. This is real. All of it. This is my new life.
I realize Bart’s walking to where we’re meant to meet and I’m still standing there, glued to the blanket. Wind lashing my face. Rain drenching me from head to toe. Considering my options.
Run? How can I run when an entire village is watching me? How far’ll I get? Five feet? Ten? No chance. I can go with Bart, try to fight him off in his tent, knee him where the sun goddess’s eye don’t shine, make a break for it. The chances of that working: near zero. I’m a piece of kindling and he’s an entire tree. And fighting’ll just make things worse, make him more likely to hurt me.
It’s the last thing I want to do, but I’m out of options. I gotta go with him, lay with him, bide my time until I can get away.
I’m still shaking, but I manage to put one foot in front of t’other, start toward him, my eyes on the muddying ground. His hand comes into view, extended, waiting expectantly. “Come, my prize,” he growls. I take his hand and he yanks me forward, almost pulling my shoulder out of its socket. But I don’t cry out—don’t want to give him the satisfaction—just grit my teeth.
When we enter the tent sector, he slides his hand up to my arm, squeezes hard, like my father likes to do. It hurts like scorch but I stay silent. He stops, looms over me, leans his face close, so close I can smell the rancid stench of whatever he ate for dinner—probably raw meat. “You’ll do as I say,” he says. It’s not a question so I assume it doesn’t need an answer.
I say nothing.
The back of his hand flashes so quickly I don’t have any hope of protecting myself. It lashes the side of my wet cheek with a stinging pain that reminds me of being caught in the sandstorm. Realization comes with more impact’n if the sun crashed into the moon: he’ll hurt me no matter what I do. Might even kill me without even trying to. He’s three times my size and I manage to break my own bones without much help, just by tripping. Not only is this the worst day of my life, it might also be my last.