“Thirty two,” I answer without hesitation. I take a deep breath and hold it, still feeling the stares and smirks on me, hoping Teacher’ll move on to someone else. The fierceness of the fiery noonday sun presses down on my forehead so hard it squeezes sweat out of my pores and into my eyes. It’s days like this I wish the Learning house had a roof, and not just three wobbly walls made from the logs of some tree the Greynotes, the elders of our village, bartered from the Icers, who are our closest neighbors. I blink rapidly, flinching when the perspiration burns my eyes like acid. Someone laughs, but I don’t know who.
Teacher speaks. “I ask you this not to test your knowledge, for clearly every Youngling in fire country knows this, but to ensure your understanding as to our ways, our traditions, our Laws.” Thankfully, the heads turn back to Teacher and I can let out the breath I been holding.
“Nice one, Sie,” Circ hisses from beside me.
I glance toward him, eyes narrowed. “You coulda helped me out,” I whisper back.
His deeply tanned face, darker’n-dark brown eyes, and bronzed lips are full of amusement. I hear what the other Younglings say about him: he’s the smokiest guy in the whole village. “I tried to, dreamer. It took me four tries to get your attention.”
Teacher Mas drones on. “Living in a world where each breath we take slowly kills us, where the Glass people kill us with their chariots of fire, where the Killers crave our blood, our flesh, where our neighbors, the people of ice country, are bound tenuously by a flimsy trade agreement, requires discipline, order, commitment. Each of you took a pledge when you turned twelve to uphold this order, to obey the Laws of our people. The Laws of fire country.”
Ugh—I’ve heard this all ’fore, so many times that if I hear one more mention of the Laws of fire country, I think I might scream. Nothing against them or anything, considering they were created to help us all survive, but ’tween my father and the Teachers, I’ve had enough of it.
Watching Teacher, I risk another whisper to Circ. “You coulda told me what question he asked.”
“Teacher would’ve heard—and then we’d both be on Blaze Craze.”
He’s right, not that I’ll admit it. Teacher doesn’t miss much. At least not with me. In the last full moon alone, I been caught daydreaming four times. Wait till my father finds out.
“The Wild Ones steal more and more of our precious daughters with each new season.” Teacher’s words catch my attention. The Wild Ones. I’ve never heard Teacher talk about them ’fore. In fact, I’ve never heard anyone talk about them, ’cept for us Younglings, with our rumors and gossip—not openly anyway. My head spins as I grapple with his words and my thoughts. The Wild Ones. My sister. The Wild Ones. Skye. Wild. Sis.
“It is obvious I have captured the attention of many of you Younglings,” Teacher continues. “It’s good to know I can still do that after all these years.” He laughs softly to himself. “Surely you have all heard rumors of the Wild Ones, descending on our village during the Call, snatching our new Bearers from our huts, our tents, and our campfires.” He pauses, looks around, his eyes lingering on mine. “Well, I’m here today to confirm that some of the rumors are true.”
I knew it, I think. My sister didn’t run away like everyone said. She was taken, against her will, to join the group of feral women who are wreaking havoc across fire country. The Wild Ones do exist.
“We hafta do something,” I accidentally say out loud, my thoughts spilling from my lips like intestines from a gutted tug’s stomach.
Once more, the room turns toward me, and I find myself investigating an odd-shaped rock on the dusty ground. Hawk, a thick-headed guy with more muscles’n brains, says, “What are you gonna do, Scrawny? You can’t even carry a full wash bucket.” My cheeks burn as I continue to study the rock, which sorta looks like a fist. In my peripheral vision, I see Circ give him a death stare.
“Watch it, Hawk,” Teacher says, “or you’ll earn your own shovel. In fact, Siena’s right.” I’m so shocked by his words that I forget about the rock and Hawk, and look up.
“I am?” I say, sinking further into the pit of stupidity I been digging all morning.
“Don’t sound so surprised, Siena. We all have a part to play in turning this around. We must be vigilant, must not allow ourselves even a speck of doubt that maintaining the traditions of our fathers is not the best thing for us.”
“I think the Wilds sound pretty smoky,” Hawk says from the back. There are a few giggles from some of the more shilty girls, and two of Hawk’s mates slap him on the back like he’s just made the joke of the year.
“What do we do, Teacher?” Farla, a soft-spoken girl, asks earnestly.
Teacher nods. “Now you’re asking the right questions. Two things: First, if you hear anything—anything at all—about the Wild Ones, tell your fathers; and second—”
“What about our mothers?” someone asks, interrupting.
“Excuse me?” Teacher Mas says, peering over the tops of the cross-legged Younglings to find the asker of the question.
“The mothers? You said to tell our fathers if we hear anything about the Wilds. Shouldn’t we tell our mothers, too?”
I look around to find who spoke. Lara. I shoulda known. She’s always stirring the kettle, both during Learning and Social time, with her radical ideas. She’s always saying crazy things about what girls should be allowed to do, like hunt and play feetball. My father’s always said she’s one to watch, whatever that means. I, for one, kinda like her. At least she’s never made fun of me, like most of t’others.
Her black hair is short, like a boy’s, buzzed almost to the scalp. Appalling. How she obtained her father’s permission for such a haircut is beyond me. But at least she’s not a shilt, like so many of the other girls who sneak behind the border tents and swap spit with whichever Youngling they think is the smokiest—although at least they’re not following the Law blindly either. I’ve always admired Lara’s blaze-on-me-and-I’ll-blaze-on-you attitude, although I’d never admit it for fear of my father finding out. He’d break out his favorite leather snapper for sure, the one that left the scars on my back when I was thirteen and thought skipping Learning to watch the Hunters sounded like a good idea.
“Tell your fathers first, and they can tell your mothers,” Teacher says quickly. “Where was I? Oh yes, the second thing you can do. If the Wilds, I mean the Wild Ones, approach you, try to convince you to leave, whisper their lies in your ear, resist them. Close your ears to them and run away, screaming your head off. That’s the best thing you can do.”
Pondering Teacher’s words, I look up at the sky, so big and red and monster-like, full of yellow-gray clouds as its claws, creeping down the horizon in streaks, practically scraping against the desert floor. And a single eye, blazing with fire—the eye of the sun goddess. It’s no wonder they call this place fire country.
Chapter Two
Circ agrees to meet me later on, when it’s time to take my punishment for daydreaming in class. But frst, I want to go let my frustrations out to Veeva, who’ll understand them better’n most.
I cringe when I hear an eardrum-shattering scream from inside her tent. Her baby’s got a set of lungs on him alright.
When I push through the tentflap, Veeva’s all in a tizzy, muttering under her breath, rushing about, her hair a mess of curls around her face. She looks like she’s about to scream, too. All I know is if she does, I’m making a run for it.
She shoots me a look when I enter, but doesn’t stop her frantic rushing. “Searin’ Polk’s been burnin’ tossin’ his nuggets all day. He’ll eat everythin’ I got”—as if to illustrate, she stops, shaking her ample breasts wildly—“and more, but then he chucks it all back up no more’n five moments later. Ohhh, yer in fer a real treat, Sie, just wait till it’s yer turn. We can laugh all the way to the wooloo-hut together!”