by Tam Linsey
A thought occurred to Eily. “Councilman, have the traders agreed to this?”
“That’s what we’re relying on you for—to convince them to aid you.”
She smoothed her dress over her knees. “The traders said they would lead me to my sister. They may not agree to take the reversions. They can only provide so much safety under their trader’s staff.”
“I go, too,” Gid said. She wasn’t sure how much of the conversation he’d been able to follow, but he obviously wouldn’t allow her to go alone. Part of her was grateful, but part of her felt smothered.
Rael said, “That’s up to the Order. Just know that if the reversions don’t go with you and the traders, we’ll release them into the Reaches on their own. It’s up to you.”
Prickles broke out across Eily’s skin. Either way, the reversions were likely to die. The traders could offer moderate safety, but once the reversions left their care, she didn’t think they would last long. Perhaps during the journey she could change their minds about the Protectorate. “How many reversions have signed up to leave?”
“I believe you have worked with two of them.” He leaned forward and input something on the com screen. Three names appeared along with their conversion data.
She scanned the list. Lisius didn’t surprise her. But she was surprised to see Wint. She’d never met the third man. This whole thing was a bad idea. She felt it in her gut.
Ijon produced a small, black nuvoplast box and handed it to Eily. “This is a GPS locator. In case you get into trouble. Just push the button, and it will send out an emergency signal.”
The box was surprisingly light. She flipped open the hinged lid. The inside of the lid was a dark glass interface panel, but the box itself held a single black button.
“Don’t worry about the gamma screen. All you need to know how to do is push the button.”
“You want to track us?”
Rael answered for Ijon. “You may appreciate the signal if the cannibals turn on you. What do you know about these traders, anyway?”
She placed the box on the desk and folded her hands in her lap. “Contrary to what the Protectorate believes, the tribes have some very specific codes they follow. The diplomacy of traders is one. I trust these men to do as they say.”
“We will not show ourselves unless you press the button,” Rael said.
She looked at Rael’s video image and then to Ijon. “How do I know dusters won’t swoop in after I rescue Ana? You’ll destroy the tribe.”
Rael answered in a grandfatherly voice, like he was talking to a child. “The Haldanian mission is to offer conversion to the cannibals, Eily. For peace.”
“Right,” she said, remembering her childhood capture. “Tell that to my dead mother.”
Ijon lowered his gaze to his lap.
Rael acted like she hadn’t spoken. “We won’t let you leave without it.”
“You can’t keep me here!”
Ijon raised a brow. “You may belong to the Order, but there are no religious rules about allowing you to leave. That much I’m sure of. You are a member of the Holdout and under my care. I won’t allow you to die if I can help it.”
Eily stared wide-eyed at Ijon then at Councilman Rael. The Board will lock you up and you’ll never find Ana. She glanced at the beacon. It was so small. But it would be a huge betrayal to the traders if she took it. Grabbing the box, she shoved it into her apron pocket. She’d take it now, but they couldn’t make her pack it. “When can I leave?”
Chapter Nine
Darkness had fallen, but inside the lightning wall, posts topped with white fire bathed the area with an artificial glow. Around the clearing, pale-skinned men in clothing like Gid’s set up tables, and women snapped long sheets of impossibly white cloth to cover the surfaces. The cloth alone would be worth a fortune on the trade route, and Jubal tried not to gape from his spot at their small table, displaying what he now considered a meager show of merchandise. Why hadn’t Pops ever mentioned how wealthy these people were?
Rann leaned to whisper in his ear. “Do you think he was serious about not talking to the women? I like how light their skin is.”
“Don’t.” Jubal gritted between his teeth as he maintained a smile. Although no women approached the traders, many glanced in their direction beneath lowered lashes, groups of younger ones often giggling and speaking in their foreign tongue.
Rann said, “I don’t see that Flame Runna female anywhere.”
Jubal was thinking the same thing. Hope was decaying into panic as he realized they were going to have to sneak away and explore the lightning wall. He nodded cordially at a passing man. The older men all had facial hair except for their upper lips, and no ornamentation whatsoever, which seemed an odd affectation to Jubal, especially in a group so obviously rich. The women also wore no ornaments except the white or black caps covering their hair. Where were the other Flame Runnas? Other than those inside the dome and a handful of what were obviously warriors, they’d seen none among these strangely dressed people. Eily had been the only one. “She might still show up,” he said doubtfully.
“I’ll go scout the gate. Find a way to get Sefe in.”
“You can’t. They’re always watching us.” Jubal smiled at a couple strolling by, but they barely looked at his table. The Flame Runna guards were no longer in sight now that this crowd had gathered, but he had no doubt someone would be set to watch them through the night. And they were expected to finish trade tomorrow. They couldn’t return to Sefe with nothing.
Brother John appeared. He gestured toward a table. “Please. You come share food.”
The scent of cooked meat made Jubal’s stomach growl. He looked at his trade goods then at Rann. “We’d rather not leave our items untended.”
“All is safe.” Brother John nodded once. “No one steal here.”
Rann wiggled his fingertips in a shooing motion and flicked a meaningful gaze down the road to the lightning wall. “Why don’t you go? I can handle things.”
Brother John’s face remained placid, unaware of Rann’s silent intent. Jubal hesitated. Most feasts involved entertainment, which would hopefully draw attention away from the trade table at the outskirts of the crowd. The opportunity was less than ideal, and letting Rann go on his own could end in disaster. But this might also be their only chance. He looked directly into Rann’s eyes. “Remember. Don’t talk to them.”
“I promise.”
Brother John led the way to one of the long tables and took a seat among the men, patting the bench next to him for Jubal. An empty plate and cup awaited him, and down the center of the table larger dishes sat piled high with food.
Jubal took the offered spot. As one, the men dropped their chins to their chests and began a chant. “Unser Vader...”
The rest of the tables joined in, eyes closed, and Jubal couldn’t believe his luck. He checked to be sure Rann had taken the opportunity to slink off, then dropped his chin, emulating the men around him for the final verses. The men raised their heads and began passing the dishes of food.
He recognized sliced meat as the plate reached him and took a piece, but much of the food was unknown. A white pulp might have been cattail but tasted less earthy. Brown lumps resembling mushrooms smelled like the flat cakes the rice tribes served. He passed on the green vegetable matter; would these people dare serve amarantox? Large golden seed kernels seemed safe enough, so he scooped some onto his plate. The man across from him used a utensil with several points to stab the morsels and raise them to his mouth. Jubal attempted to do the same, only to end up with precious food across his lap. He plucked up the spilled kernels with his fingers and popped them into his mouth, hoping he hadn’t missed any.
Brother John chuckled, and the others pretended not to notice. An old man with a thinning beard and milky blue eyes spoke over the sound of utensils scraping against plates. “You are new to our Holdout. From which direction have you traveled, son?”
The Flame Runnas had been so
interested in the Taguan, Jubal wondered if perhaps these men were sent to gather information he hadn’t volunteered to Ijon. He took a measured breath before speaking. “We bring salt from the Great Salt Lake tribes, but before that we had been all the way to the Sunset Shore.”
“Have you encountered any other people like ours? Those behind fences, or perhaps who speak as we do?”
Using a bite of food to delay his answer, Jubal considered how much to say. The Fosselites were the only technological rivals he had seen, but they were obvious enemies, hunting the Flame Runnas. He couldn’t risk being affiliated with them and taken into custody again, so he shook his head. “Most tribes travel to gather food throughout the year. Far to the north and west, the rice tribes build homes near lakes and harvest rice seeds to keep them through the winters. They make a potent drink called bitters, of which we have a few flasks to trade. On the Sunset Shore, some men live on boats and dredge up huge fish which they come to trade for rice and leather, but they move their boats with the seasons.”
Nodding, the old man said, “I fear we are—”
The lights flickered, and a frightening, high-pitched pulse of noise rose out of nowhere. The crowded tables erupted into action. Dishes clattered and crashed; women clutched young children and dashed into the night. Barking dogs joined the earsplitting noise. Tablemates took the old man’s elbows and helped him join the flow. Jubal rose, looking around in bewilderment. Brother John clutched his arm. “Where is your brother?”
Jubal’s heart galloped. “What’s happening?”
“The fence. Cannibals.”
Hunters had breached the lightning wall? He’d thought that impossible, but obviously these people had been attacked before. Did Rann have anything to do with what was happening? “Where’s everyone going?”
Brother John’s gaze followed the last of the people, his jaw trembling. “They will hide.”
“Okay.” Jubal ran to his goods, grabbed his staff with one hand, and wrapped his arms around as much of his merchandise as he could gather. He took a few steps toward the darkness where the last stragglers had disappeared.
“No.” Brother John remained rooted in place. He drew a square of white cloth from his rear pocket. “You are not of us. I will remain with you. The Lord must be our protection.”
The man lowered himself to his knees and began waving his cloth overhead as he chanted the same chant the men had made over the meal.
Jubal’s heart fell into his stomach. Here in the open, he was vulnerable. A packet of salt tipped from his loaded arms, hitting the earth and breaking open. Ignoring the waste, he dropped the rest of the items back onto the table and settled his staff’s butt end at his feet. His trembling hands did the work of jangling the bells, although nothing could be heard over the rhythmic wail of the siren. A Flame Runna machine zipped overhead, completely silent, whirling clouds of dust and leaves behind it. From the craft, beams of light played over the fields. Groups of people dodged toward the distant houses. Every group held small white flags above their heads.
Then the sirens stopped.
Dogs continued to yowl, and Brother John kept up his chant. Jubal swallowed and peered down the road toward the lightning wall. Did the light that direction seem brighter? Three short horn blasts clipped the air. Brother John heaved a sigh, pressing his face into his hands. “Danke Vader, danke...”
“Rann!” Jubal called as he scoured the darkness, hating the tremor in his voice but unable to control it. A light in the sky drew closer until it resolved into the Flame Runna craft. Jubal squinted in the light and dust as the machine lowered toward the earth. The sleek silence reminded him of a predator. All his instincts directed him to flee. On the Tox he would have. Flame Runnas didn’t respect the Peace, the Knowing, or trader law. But here there was nowhere to hide.
Brother John clambered to his feet with slow, deliberate ease. Out of the machine hopped several Flame Runnas, their green skin even more brilliant in the artificial light from the posts overhead. Between them they bore a man. They trotted toward Jubal to drop the unconscious figure at his feet.
“Rann!” Jubal dropped to his knees beside his brother. The stink of cooked flesh wafted toward him, but Rann’s eyelids fluttered at the sound of his name.
The Flame Runnas chuckled, and one spoke, slowly, as if Jubal might not understand. “Found him near the Gate. Looks like he tried to piss on the fence.”
Jubal scanned his brother’s body. The front of his leather pants was wet, and the waist-tie was loose. “Will he be all right?”
No one answered. Brother John spoke to the Flame Runnas. “Is power back up?”
“Yes. Tell your guests to stay away from the perimeter. And you might mention the white flag. We nearly flashed him.” The Flame Runnas trotted back to their machine, joking among themselves.
Jubal crouched next to Rann and put a tentative hand over his brother’s heart. Rann’s chest rose and fell. The scent of urine mingled with singed hair. “Rann, wake up.”
Rann groaned and flung a hand into the air, but his arm fell back to the ground like a flopping fish. “Brrrrrrns,” he slurred.
Brother John joined them, looking down at the prone man. “You must see to his...” He fumbled for a word, then instead pointed to his crotch.
With a grimace, Jubal tugged at the flap of Rann’s pants. Inside, his groin was red, and his genitals were covered in small blisters. Jubal flinched, averting his eyes, his own parts shriveling in sympathy. Pops had warned them that the wall would burn them, so why would Rann touch it, especially with that part of his body? It made no sense.
From the Flame Runna building, Ijon approached on foot. Eily and Gid followed close behind him. When they saw Rann lying there, parts exposed, Gid made a grunting noise in his throat and put an arm out as if to shield Eily. Jubal eased the leather flap back into place.
“What happened?” Ijon’s face puckered in tight lines of disapproval. “Never mind. You want our medic—our healer? Or theirs?”
Jubal swallowed past the lump in his throat. “Will he be able to... use it again?”
Brother John shrugged. “Sometimes boys do these things. We’ll take him to the Ward and see.”
Gid helped lift Rann’s legs while Jubal scooped him up by his shoulders. They lumbered past numerous buildings until they reached a tall brick structure with many windows. Inside, a woman greeted them with downcast eyes. She and Brother John spoke a moment then she showed them to a room with a small bed.
“Der Arzt kommt,” she said, and exited with Brother John.
Ijon turned to leave, saying, “Let me know if you need anything.”
Eily watched the men depart, but she and Gid remained. Rann groaned, and his eyes fluttered open. His hand slithered toward his crotch and he flinched. “By the Knife!”
“Don’t touch, Rann.” Jubal searched his brother’s face. “Why would you put... that part... on the wall?”
Rann cleared his throat, but his voice still came out crackly. “I didn’t. I thought it would be fun to piss on it. Then the lightning jumped at me, and that’s all I remember.”
Eily spoke up. “The fence is electric. Like invisible fire, but a kind of fire that burns water instead of wood. It traveled up his stream.”
Rann cracked open his eyes and focused on her. “You.” He grinned. “Like what you see?”
Eily took a step back and lowered her eyes. Gid clasped her arm, speaking in their strange tongue.
Jubal rose and turned his back to his brother to block their view of him. “Forgive him. He’s in pain from the burns.”
A bearded man entered and said something to Gid, and Gid ushered Eily out ahead of him. He looked over his shoulder at Jubal, his face hard. “Healer says go. He will look to brother.”
Jubal squeezed Rann’s hand. “You be okay?”
“Can’t get much worse.”
Following Gid out, Jubal stopped in the hall where Eily waited, gripping the edges of her overskirt. She darted a loo
k at Gid and bit her lips together.
The man must not want his woman to interact with the traders. Jubal hid his disapproval; it wasn’t his place to counter these people’s ways. Instead, he dipped his head at Gid. “I apologize for Rann. He will not act so again.”
To his surprise, Eily spoke. “This tribe who has Ana—they’ve accepted her as their own?”
Ana was a part of the tribe but in a very special, and separate, way. She wasn’t quite a slave, he thought, but he doubted Sefe would allow her to leave. “Yes.”
“Would they accept other Flame Runnas? Some who used to be of the tribes?”
What was she asking? “You want to go live with her?”
She shook her head. “No. But there are three Flame Runnas who wish to leave the Protectorate. They ask to travel with us.”
Jubal’s breath quickened. A whole group of Flame Runnas wanted to surrender themselves to Sefe? And she’d said “us,” so she wanted to come, too. He couldn’t believe his luck. Too good to be true. The old trader’s saying floated through his mind in Pops’s voice: when something came easy, there was a steep price later. But right now, the spirits were with him.
“This tribe calls itself the One Tree, made up of several tribes who have banded together.” He almost added after Flame Runna attacks but caught himself. “They are very open to new members.”
She licked her lips. “Will you—can you—escort us all there, under your trader’s staff? I’ll understand if you say no. Traveling with Flame Runnas is probably a horrible thought.”
Don’t give in too easily, or she might get suspicious. He widened his lips in his best trader’s smile and winked. “What do you offer in trade?”
Eily’s eyes widened. “I’m to be married.”
Gid muttered something and shook his head, his gaze fierce on Jubal.