“I burnin’ lost,” Skye mutters. But her grin gives away the pride she’s feeling. “Anyway, fightin’s in our bones. You’ll catch on soon enough.”
I grin back, hoping she’s right.
Chapter Thirty-One
I don’t catch on that day. By the end of it I’ve lost sixteen times and I think every bone in my body is broken. For the last two fights I was so tired I couldn’t even lift my arms to defend myself.
Skye carries me back to our tent and brings me supper in bed. Lara eats with us, too, chattering on and on about how well I did and how I’ll get better and how soon I’ll be winning fights. Eventually though, she can’t help asking Skye, “So, where do you think I stand in the class?” Lara didn’t lose a fight all day, though a few of the girls gave her a real battle.
Skye looks her up and down. “The searin’ top,” she says. “Tomorrow you’ll be fightin’ with the class that arrived ’fore the last Call.” My heart sinks. Although I know I should be happy for my friend and her rapid advancement, a pit of jealously pops into my stomach, growing and growing until it feels bloated with all the prickler churning ’round in my gut.
Lara’s all smiles. “See you tomorrow,” she says ’fore she leaves.
“Yeah, tomorrow,” I say.
Skye zones in on my mood like a Hunter’s pointer on a bird. “You alright?” she asks.
“How am I gonna do this again tomorrow? I can barely move.”
“Don’t worry. You’ll—”
“Catch on?” I say, cutting her off and stealing her words. “That’s what you keep saying, but I’m not like you. I’m—”
“Weak? Scrawny? Skinny?” This time she’s the word-stealer. “When’ll you get it through yer tug-brained head that you ain’t any of those things. Stop thinkin’ ’em, stop feelin’ ’em, and take it one day at a burnin’ time!”
The passion in her voice humbles me. So do her words. They’re so similar to what Circ told me.
Don’t even think those words about yourself. Don’t even joke about them. Not now. Not ever again.
My vision blurs. “Sear it, Sie. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…” Skye hugs me and although it hurts my broken body so bad I wanna cry out, I grit my teeth and bear it. When she releases me there’re tears in her eyes, too. “Ma would be proud of you, you know. Fer makin’ it this far, fer bein’ stronger’n you ever give yerself credit fer. You take after her a lot, you know.”
“I do?” I say, lifting my chin.
“She’s not as weak as we thought. She was always standin’ up to Father, just not that we could see. She started talkin’ to the Wildes as soon as…well, as soon as Wilde created them. All secret-like, behind Father’s back. She had my name at the top of the recruit list. Yers, too, though they weren’t sure you’d come.”
“I couldn’t believe she killed Bart,” I say. “I think my eyes were bigger’n Granger’s white buttcheeks the day he got his pants pulled down in Learning.”
Skye laughs, which scares the scorch out of me. Death ain’t no laughing matter. Even with Bart. Then I realize she’s laughing about Granger’s buttcheeks. “Mother’s been hidin’ that knife for years,” she says, “practicin’ with it, stabbing at anythin’ she could git her hands on when Father wasn’t ’round. I once saw her hack up a tugskin pillow she was plannin’ on replacin’.”
“But why?” I ask.
“I asked her the same thing when I caught her doin’ it, and you know what she said?” I shake my head. “She said you never know when you need to defend yerself or the ones you love, so you’ve got to be ready. That always stuck with me.”
I look at Skye, thinking on what my mother told her, thinking on Skye’s words from earlier, about how Mother’d be proud of me. “You know, Skye,” I say, “I think Mother’d be proud of you, too.”
“Thanks,” she says.
And I know I’ve gotta tell her.
“Brev’s dead,” I say.
Skye just looks at me, gives a slight nod like she’s not surprised, and as tough as Skye seems to be now, she cries with me until we sleep.
Every tear is for Mother and Brev.
~~~
The next day I’m determined not to get down on myself, and though every part of my body urges me to stay in bed, I don’t.
Lara’s notably absent from the fights, and when some of t’other girls asks where she is, I’m glad to hear pride in my voice when I tell them she advanced a level already.
Again, I don’t win a single fight, but I do better. It even takes Char a long while to pin me. I might not have strength in my arms, but I do have strength. My strength, like Skye, is in my speed. I don’t have all the right moves, the graceful and tenacious kicks and punches that my sister has, but I can still move. Today I use it to evade my opponents’ attacks, to throw them off balance, landing a few blows here’n there. It’s not enough to defeat anyone, but at least I’m not completely pathetic.
Latching on to Brione’s motto to support even the weakest of the Wildes, t’other girls get behind me whenever I fight, cheering and shouting and urging me on. I might not win a fight, but I do win.
And although I’m sore and tired and wanna just curl up in my tent and let Skye pamper me again, I don’t. I set out by the fire with everyone else, eating and listening to everyone’s conversations ’bout the day. To my surprise, a measure of love surges through me; not for Skye and Lara only either, but for every last girl setting here, both the ones whose names I remember and the ones I don’t. They’re family now and I’m glad to have them.
~~~
Although I love it in Wildetown, I been thinking a lot ’bout Circ. What if he was still alive? Would I still’ve come? Or would he have saved me from Bart, taken me far, far away from the Heaters and the Call and the Law? Or if I had still come to Wildetown, could he have come with me? Even Wilde admits the tribe can’t survive on its own forever. Would she ever consider adding guys to the mix? Not Calls, but guys that we actually care ’bout, wanna Bear children with. I mean, I’m not in a hurry or anything, but I know if Circ was alive I’d want him to be with me no matter where I was.
I’m just saying.
~~~
After a quarter full moon I’ve won twice. After a full moon I’m winning half my fights, not by brute strength but by speed and skill. Skye gives me tips every night ’fore we sleep. And I have muscles! Not big, and kinda hard to see unless you cram your eye right up against my skin, but they’re there. My skin feels tight against them.
Some of the girls in my class have cut their hair short, opting to cast away the final reminder of their old life. Others of them have been marked with swirls or artistic designs or images of their own choosing. Lara’s got a dozen markings already, and, of course, her hair was already short. She’s moved up two more levels, fighting against girls who’ve been with the Wilde Ones for nearly two years. I’m happy for her. Like me, she belongs here.
My hair is long and my skin unmarked. It’s enough for me just to be here. Following Skye’s lead, I removed all the charms from my bracelet ’cept for the ones for her, my mother, and Circ. Unlike her, I couldn’t bare to part with the bracelet itself. Every night I kiss each charm ’fore I sleep, wishing more of them were alive. Skye’s seen me do it a few times but she don’t say nothing.
A quarter full moon ago we started learning to use weapons, shooting pointers, throwing spears, fighting with blades. I’m the worst with the spear, improving with the blade, and best with the bow. Even once learning is over, I find myself staying behind, shooting pointer after pointer at the target, until I don’t miss.
I’ve got a long way to go ’fore I can fight like Skye, but at least I’m heading in the right direction. And those awful words that used to occupy every second thought? It’s as if they don’t exist anymore. I hope Circ, wherever he is, is proud of me.