I’m about to argue again but his sudden promise stops me. Circ don’t make many promises to me. I can probably count them all without even taking off my moccasins. And he’s kept every last one of them. Like the time I accidentally kicked the feetball and broke grumpy ol’ Greynote Finn’s window, Circ promised it would be alright and that I wouldn’t get into trouble. He copped the blame and took the punishment for me. Or just before his first ever Hunt and he promised me he’d be safe and kill his first tug. He did, of course. Nope, he never broke a single promise to me. I owe him my trust now.
“Be safe. Please,” I say.
“I will.” His words are solider’n the stone blocking me from digging my way out. “What’s that,” he says, motioning past me, toward the durt in my cage.
“What’s what?”
“Those scribbles in the durt,” he says.
“Just scribbles,” I say. “I was trying to pass the time, do a little sleuthing of my own, try to figure out who’s behind the Killer attack.”
Circ looks impressed. “What’d you come up with?”
“It ain’t us,” I say. “The Heaters, I mean. No one ’ud be that stupid. Other’n that, I’d say the Glassies are a good bet. They don’t know the land as well as us. Mighta done it by accident, or on purpose, to get to us. I don’t know much about the Marked, but they coulda done it too, ’cause they were hungry, maybe even starving. I’m still not sure about the Wild Ones, but I hardly think a bunch of Bearers who don’t Bear could do much damage. That leaves the Icers, who don’t seem the type to come down into the heat of fire country.”
Circ looks intently at my scratches in the durt. “I’d say you did pretty well without nothing but your brains and good sense,” he says.
“You think it was the Marked or the Glassies, too?” I ask, sitting down cross-legged and sticking my feet through the bars.
“I dunno,” Circ says, following my lead. The tips of his moccasins touch mine, just like they should. Only there’re bars between us. “But what you said makes sense. Hey, Sie?”
“Yeah?”
“Have you ever wondered what else is out there?” Circ asks.
“More sand, more desert,” I say. “What else is there?” I’m not sure where he’s going with all this.
“The mountains for one,” Circ says.
“Yeah, but that’s out of fire country, Circ. We can’t go there.”
“Why not?”
His question throws me. I never really thought ’bout it. The mountains ain’t ours. They’re the Icers. We stay on our land, they stay on theirs. We hunt on our land, the Killers hunt on theirs. Everyone’s happy. “We just can’t. It’s the Law.”
“Okay. Let me ask you this: Have you ever wondered about who else is out there?”
“The Icers” I say automatically. “And I guess the Glassies, too. Other’n that, maybe the Wilds and the Marked, if they’re real.”
“And beyond them?” Circ says.
“I dunno, no one.” This conversation is becoming more mind-whirling’n the one with Lara.
“It’s a big world,” Circ says, looking up into the sky. I look up, too. The red sky is criss-crossed by thick wooden bars. Not even a single wisp of yellow cloud breaks up the sea of crimson.
~~~
By the time Circ leaves, it’s getting late and he’s probably gonna get a lashing for missing dinner. I feel bad about it, but I feel worse ’bout him going with the special group of Hunters.
After he’s gone, I think about everything he said. I’ve never heard him talk like that. About the big ol’ world outside fire country, that is. He almost sounded like he’s ready to run off and try to find it. Well, he ain’t going anywhere without me.
The jerky helped, but not a lot. I’m still ravenous—ready to eat a whole tug on my own—when my one meal arrives. It ain’t nothing to brag about, just a lump of something thick and bready, and a bit of some overcooked, chewy meat, but after having so little to eat all day, I pretty much swallow it all whole. Wash it down with the three gulps of water Keep provides.
Keep goes ’bout his suppertime business without a word, but the rest of the place gets pretty riled up. After a day of everyone keeping silent, sleeping it away, all the prisoners seem to come alive with the food. They’re all talking to each other, cracking jokes and laughing, while I sit cross-legged in the corner, counting down the moments till I’m out.
I gobble down my meager ration of food, still unsatisfied, and for the first time all day, I’m glad the cage isn’t covered. The heat of the day has melted away to a warm, but pleasant, twilight. The sun goddess’s eye is fiery red—even redder’n the sky—and as it splashes on the horizon, deep purple streaks radiate off a clump of yellow clouds that have accumulated low in the sky.
As I watch, the sun disappears, leaving behind only the ever-darkening purples as evidence she’d ever been there at all.
It’s the moon goddess’s turn to watch the world now. I wonder what she’s watching. Whether it’s fire country, ice country, or some other country like Circ talked ’bout, so foreign to us that it might as well be on another planet.
I’m ’bout to lie down and do some serious star-gazing, when there’s a rap, rap, rap on the wooden bars on my cage. The night is deepening and I hafta peer through the murk to see who’s there. Keep. “Yer’ve got another visitor,” he says gruffly. “I’m allowin’ it fer special circumstancies, but don’t yer think fer one moment yer can git away with this again. If yer ever in Confinement agin, it’ll be no visitors fer yer first day.”
He stomps away leaving me wondering what special circumstances are giving me a third visitor. And who that visitor’ll be.
Chapter Twelve
I get up and move to the bars, hearing voices off a ways. Footsteps head my way, so quiet that if my ears weren’t listening so hard, I might miss them.
Then she’s there. My mother. A soft smile and a warm kiss on my hand.
“Mother? What are you doing all the way out here?” I ask.
“I came to see you,” she says.
“Keep said there were special circumstances.”
“There are. But I would’ve come even if there weren’t,” she says. I believe her. My mother ain’t no liar. In the inky black of night her raven hair melts into the air, as if she’s become one with the sky. As always, she has my eyes in her head, but they seem brighter’n ever before, shining like an animal’s. “Siena, something’s happened. Greynote Shiva…” She trails off and she don’t need to say the rest. It’s obvious.
“Father’s Head Greynote,” I say. “Head Greynote Shiva’s dead.”
She nods, barely perceptible in the dark, only visible ’cause her eyes bob and bounce.
“Head Greynote Roan,” I say, trying the words out on my tongue. I smack my lips. Cringe. Whether it’s an aftertaste from my pitiful meal or the words themselves, I’m left with bitterness on my tongue.
“Yes, Siena. I wanted to tell you first.”
“You didn’t have to come all the way out here—”
“Yes, I did.”
The firmness of her words surprise me. Mother’s not usually firm ’bout much. She’s always been so wishy-washy. We’ll have to ask your father. Maybe, but let’s check with your father. Have you asked your father? Those are her usual words.
Now, everything ’bout her has changed. She’s being firmer with me, firmer with my father. Standing up for herself. Even standing up for me. What the scorch is going on?
“Shiva was…” she says, grasping the bar as if to steady herself. It sounds weird hearing her say Shiva without the Head Greynote part in the front. It’s almost disrespectful, but there’s no disrespect in her voice. “…a good man. He tried hard, wanted the best for the village. But he’s been sick for a long time, longer than most.”