Of Dreams and Rust

by Sarah Fine

  And still, this is much worse. The engine and the passenger car at the front, the one that held the only civilians on the train, the place where I had been sitting until a few minutes before the attack . . . they are a twisted, blazing inferno. As I look around, I see none of those old ladies, none of the factory girls, none of the families. I can only assume they were trapped inside. There is no rescue effort, no attempt to put out the fire. The Noor raiders, their guns slung over their shoulders, walk among the dead soldiers, removing rifles and bayonet blades to pile near the rock wall.

  Bajram drags me past Musa and Anji. Except for the blood, they look for all the world like lovers. Behind us I hear the shuffle of Leye and Melik, and Leye’s stifled moans as he tries to walk on his broken foot. We weave our way through a maze of dead young men, gray uniforms stained with their heart’s blood.

  What is the price for giving my secret knowledge to the rebels? More dead Itanyai boys?

  But weren’t these dead boys on their way to Kegu to do the same to the Noor?

  Bajram shoves me around a bend, and now I see what happened to the rear of the train. One of the cars was knocked from the rails and rolled down the long incline. Bodies and debris litter the rock field below us. But the other car is still on the track—there are survivors, and some of them are huddled, injured and bleeding, gray faced and silent, against a few big boulders, guarded by more Noor raiders. Bajram pulls me to the end of the line and points to the ground.

  “Sit,” says Melik quietly, guiding Leye down. I obey, pulling my knees to my chest, huddling within my skirt and coat, wishing I could disappear entirely. Melik and Bajram converse for a few moments before Bajram jogs toward a knot of raiders near the last car in the train. They are gathered around a body, and I find myself wondering if it is the Itanyai colonel.

  Melik squats in front of me. He looks like he has aged five years at least since I saw him last, with lines around his mouth and the thick growth of his beard to hide his youth. His teeth, however, are not chipped like I saw in the wanted poster. Now that I see him up close, I know he is not the Red One. I doubt that would matter to an Itanyai soldier, though, especially now.

  “Why are you here?” he whispers harshly. “This was a military train.”

  “No, it wasn’t,” I say. I glance at Leye, who is nearly green with the pain from his foot. Despite the cold, he is sweating. “The first car was full of grannies and factory girls.” My throat is so tight I can barely speak. “There were children, too.”

  Some of the color drains from Melik’s face. “That can’t be true.”

  “Why would you care?” Leye spits out. “You pigs shot an unarmed woman not twenty minutes ago.” He gestures to where Anji lies on Musa’s chest.

  Melik stands up, towering over both of us. “And why would you care? Itanyai.” He says it like a curse and makes a quick, dismissive gesture that feels like a slap. “How you love to trample on the vulnerable. Using women and children to disguise your intentions.” His lip curls in disgust.

  “They were all getting off at the next station,” says Leye from between clenched teeth. “But you killed all of them first. Don’t try to blame this atrocity on us.”

  Melik grimaces and turns away for a moment before glaring down at me again. “You were traveling to Vuda?”

  “No, she was trying to get to Kegu, but we wouldn’t have let her.” Leye swallows, looking on the verge of vomiting.

  Melik doesn’t appear to hear a word Leye says after “Kegu.” He is too busy staring into my eyes, his brow furrowed under the brim of his dirty cap. “Is that true?” he asks me, a million other unasked questions clouding his expression.

  I nod.

  He sinks to his knees in front of me. “Why?” he whispers.

  Leye groans. “Her family lives there, you idiot.”

  Melik’s eyes narrow. He knows very well that’s not true.

  I bow my head. I have to find a way of offering this message without putting Leye and the others in danger, and I don’t know how. My mind spins with possibilities. Could I offer to tell them in exchange for the prisoners’ freedom? Is there any way to do that and still keep all of the Itanyai soldiers from knowing I am a traitor?

  A deep, rumbling voice calls out in Noor, and Melik jumps to his feet and salutes with his hand over his chest. A thick-bodied man with a long, silver-streaked brown beard strides toward us with Bajram at his side. Bajram gestures at us and then at Melik, who speaks in Noor, making more slicing, rapid-fire gestures as he does. As the older man listens, he slowly draws a revolver from his belt.

  At the metallic click Leye takes my hand. His dark eyes are riveted on the weapon. That he feels empowered to touch me without a reason tells me that he thinks it is the last thing he will do. Melik points at Leye and continues to speak the harsh, back-of-the-throat language, one that suddenly sounds ugly and cruel. The air is hazy with smoke from the destroyed railcars, and the wind is heavy with the scent of burned meat. I don’t want to think about what it really is.

  The older man points his revolver at Leye. Melik looks down at us, and I don’t think I am imagining the concern in his eyes. “Commander Kudret wants to know if there are other trains of soldiers coming behind this one,” he says. “He wants to know the timetable for the invasion.”

  Leye looks at his fellow soldiers, nearly a dozen in all, and shakes his head. “I won’t talk,” he says, his voice strained.

  The commander swings his gun to the left, and suddenly I am staring down its barrel. Melik begins to speak very quickly, gesturing at me and then at Anji. He points to the fire that still burns within the first derailed car. The commander frowns as he sees Anji and the carnage beyond. He lowers his gun and speaks sharply to Melik and Bajram, neither of whom look happy. He beckons to a few other raiders and then walks down the line of prisoners, pointing to the ones who seem most healthy and fit. Then he walks away, shouting and waving his arms, gesturing at the hills.

  “We are leaving now,” says Melik, his expression smoothing over. “The pass is blocked and the rails are destroyed. No more trains will get through. We are returning to Kegu so the general can speak to a few of you.”

  “You’re going to torture us, you mean,” calls out a soldier at the end of the bedraggled line.

  Melik’s gaze settles on him. “You have three days of hiking ahead of you, during which you may wish to think about what information each of you can use to save your own life.”

  A few more raiders jog over with a length of hemp rope. They yank the selected soldiers out of the line and bind them to one another, with the rope around their necks. Melik shudders and rubs at his throat as he watches. For a moment I see the hulking shadow of memory in his haunted eyes, and I know he is reliving the mob, the noose, the minutes he spent dying. But when two of the Itanyai soldiers begin to speak in low tones to each other, he snaps back to the present and shouts, “No talking! You will have plenty of time to talk when we reach Kegu.”

  “What about the rest of us?” Leye’s fingers are still tight over mine, and Melik’s gaze drops to our joined hands. I cannot tell what he is thinking. After so many nights of dreaming of him, it is strange to be this close, especially because in those dreams I felt nearer to his heart than I do now.

  “Those too injured to hike are staying,” he says to Leye, giving a sidelong glance to Bajram.

  Leye scowls, as do the other six who are too wounded to walk. “We’ll freeze to death.”

  Melik gives him a ghostly smile. “I’m certain that won’t happen.” He takes a step forward and offers me his hand.

  I stare at it for a moment before taking it. His callused fingers enclose mine, and I shut my eyes, dazed by the touch I have wanted to feel for so long, wondering if perhaps the distance between now and the past is too far to bridge. He pulls me to my feet and immediately lets go of my hand.

  “Are you injured? Can you hike?” He yanks my skirt just high enough to see that I am wearing boots, then drops it again. �
��You’re fine. You’ll be just fine. You can hike,” he mutters. He says something in Noor to Bajram, who arches his eyebrow and looks at the hem of my dusty, blood-streaked skirt.

  “I can hike.” My legs are aching, my head is aching, my heart is aching. When I imagined carrying my message to Kegu, I did not think it would happen like this.

  Leye’s voice breaks as he says, “This girl is innocent. You should leave her here with us.”

  Melik’s expression is blank as he turns back to Leye. “Commander Kudret says she must come with us.”

  Melik pokes at my shoulder and gestures for me to stand behind the line of bound soldiers. When one of the Noor raiders lifts the end of the rope and comes toward me, Melik snaps at him. The fellow drops the rope, and I sigh in relief. At least I will not be wearing a noose as I stumble over rocks and shiver in the cold.

  I look over my shoulder at Leye.

  “You’ll be all right, Miss Wen,” he says to me. “Maybe they will let you see your family.”

  I can tell from the strained sound of his voice that he does not believe I will be all right, but he does not want me to be scared. “Thank you,” I say. “When help arrives, tell them to splint your foot and then take you to a doctor to make sure the bones set properly.”

  He smiles, and it is laced with pain but also sweetness. “It was nice traveling with you, if only for a short time.”

  Melik takes my arm and gestures after the other soldiers, who have started to trudge at gunpoint along a trail that zigzags up the hill. A line of Noor raiders is ahead of them, and my gaze traces the row of men until I see the ones at the front slipping into a narrow pass just beneath the summit. I turn back to Leye. “It was nice,” I say.

  He waves to me. “Please be careful.”

  He smiles once more before Melik mutters that we have to leave. I follow the prisoners, stepping gingerly along the narrow path, trailed by another line of raiders behind me and Melik. They talk in low tones, gesturing quick and sharp, eyes darting all around, as if they are afraid of an ambush too. The higher we get, the better I can see the wreckage of the train scattered along the twisted rail. The smoke billows high into the sky, and I am sure this is what is making the Noor anxious. People will see it. They will send the authorities. It makes me happy for Leye and the other wounded, but also scared—who will be chasing us, and will I be cut down like Anji was, one of the unlucky?

  It takes us only a few minutes to reach the narrow pass below the crest of the hill, but by then I am huffing, my breath fogging, too warm even in this frosty air. My fingers are stiff with cold, and I shove them into the pockets of my overcoat, the one on the left side already stuffed with my father’s cloth-wrapped scalpel. My fingers curl over the bundle, and in it I take a measure of comfort. I’m not entirely defenseless, but I will have to be smart about how I use this, my only weapon and tool.

  The trussed soldiers plod along, occasionally stumbling, while their Noor captors maintain a tight grip on the ropes that keep them under control. We enter the pass, a long, narrow trail bounded on either side by sheer cliff faces. As soon as I step into it, a shot rings out down below. The Itanyai soldiers in front of me look around in alarm as we hear another, then another. Their eyes are wide with horror.

  It takes me a moment and one shot longer, but the jagged puzzle pieces slip into place and I realize what is happening.

  I cry out and spin around as the cracks fall silent, colliding with Melik as he steps forward.

  “No, Wen,” he says quietly, taking me by the arms. “Keep walking. Keep walking.” His grip on me is as hard as the rocks enclosing us.

  “They’re shooting them, Melik! Leye and the other . . .” Then I catch the look on his face. “You knew. You knew! You told him he would not be killed if he surrendered, and—”

  “They could not walk,” he replies in a tightly controlled voice. “Commander Kudret gave his orders.”

  My tears, absent until now, spring forth, flooding my eyes and spilling onto my cheeks. I kick at Melik’s shins and slap at his chest, stupidly trying to get back to Leye, even though I know it is too late and he will never smile again. “They were just boys!” I scream, the savagery of the day ripping the sound from my throat.

  “No,” Melik says, standing solid and immobile as I pound on him with all my might. “They were soldiers.”

  “How could you be a part of this?” I sob, grabbing handfuls of his shirt over the spot I so carefully stitched up all those months ago, when I prayed that he wouldn’t die, when I was willing to risk anything to save him. “I believed you to be so much better than that. How could you not say one word to prevent it?”

  “What do you think those soldiers would have done to us if they had had the chance?” he shouts. “You’ve witnessed what they’re willing to do to people like me!” Melik gives me a shake that rattles my bones. “This is a war, Wen.”

  I stop fighting him, anger running quiet and poisonous through my veins. “And you are a soldier too.”

  His mouth forms a taut gray line, and he nods.

  I look up into his eyes, eerie and pale and giving nothing away. “If your commander gives orders for my death, will you pull the trigger yourself, or will you ask someone else to do the job?”

  He lets me go and steps back, his nostrils flaring as he sucks in a sharp breath. Someone behind him mutters a question.

  “Susmaye!” Melik barks, and the raider’s mouth snaps shut. I stand there, waiting for him to answer my question. Waiting for him to say he would not kill me, that he would never allow anyone to hurt me, that he does not want to be a part of this at all.

  But instead he points at the trail. “We are falling behind,” he says, cold and calm again. “Start walking.”

  Chapter

  Seven

  SOMETIME IN THE last several hours I tore my dress on a sharp stone, and it is the one thing that went right today. I pull at the tattered fabric as I huddle near the fire, my face warm and my spine tingling as the wind places cold kisses on the back of my neck. When we arrived at this ridge, there were more Noor waiting. There appear to be at least a hundred of them, and they have a few packhorses to carry supplies. Several of the rebels are women, as dirty faced and ragged as the men, but also as sturdy and determined-looking.

  I recognize at least two of the rebels as men from Melik’s village, men who worked at the factory last year. One of them is the man who wiped blood from my face and hands after finding me in the lower levels of Gochan One with Ugur, who had been killed by one of Bo’s spiders. Baris, I think his name is. He is short for a Noor, but built strong like a bull, and he and Melik embraced when they met on the ridge. Now all the Noor have separated into camps, and their fires, fed by scraggly brush, dot the ridge.

  I tear one long strip from my skirt, then another, then another. Above us the stars glitter like chips of ice. My head throbs with the effort of blocking out memories that could bring me down, but I will not let myself collapse and give up. I am best when I am working, so I will work. By the time I am finished, the hem of my skirt is three inches higher than it should be. Ordinarily, that would be quite shameful, but I am wearing long boots and my overcoat, so nothing is revealed.

  I get to my feet and slowly approach Bajram. He is guarding us while the others, Melik included, eat dried beef and hard biscuits with their commander. They are clustered on the boulders just up the ridge, where they have built their own fire. They no longer seem to have a fear of detection—we are deep in the hills, with a clear view of the slope below us and the path on either side. From the dramatic gestures and loud laughs, I suspect they are drinking more than water.

  Bajram’s brow furrows when I hold up the strips of my dress and wave them under his nose. He has hollow cheeks and a soft-looking mouth that he has tried to hide with a scraggly beard, and up close it is clear to me that he is Melik’s age, maybe younger. He looks down at my shortened skirt peeking out from the folds of my overcoat, and then at the scraps in my hands. He
steps away from me cautiously, as if he believes my behavior is part of a bizarre Itanyai mating ritual.

  “Bandages,” I say, then point at the bedraggled group of young prisoners, some of whom are dozing with their heads on their knees. Their comrades sit around them, shoulder to shoulder, but we are Itanyai, and Itanyai men do not lean on one another. I run my fingers along my throat and then point to them again, saying I want to help in clumsy Noor. “Yorh zhaosteyardie.”

  Bajram gestures with the nose of his rifle. “Go.”

  I place my hand over my heart and turn my palm to him, and he rolls his eyes and mutters something in Noor. Biting my lip, I inch past him and kneel next to the nearest soldier, who has blood crusted in his ears and the rims of his nostrils. He stares into the fire as if it is the only thing he is aware of. We are in the open, sitting on a mountainside at the edge of the massive, deep canyon that connects the Ring to Melik’s village, linking the west to the east. It is a grand sight, lit by stars and moon, brightened by cold, but the young man next to me is focused on the flames. “How are you?” I ask softly, and he flinches.

  Slowly his gaze slides up to mine. “I told my father I would be back before Third Holiday,” he says. “I promised him that we would feast together.”

  “And maybe you will.” I settle in next to him. The flesh of his throat is chafed and raw from the rough pull of the rope. Now that we aren’t walking, the Noor raiders have bound the soldiers’ feet and hands instead. “I can bandage your throat for you.”

  “Who are you, sister? Why do you talk to the Red One as if you know him?” he asks, confirming that although Melik is not the man on the poster, it hardly matters. The title fits, after all.

  My fist closes over the thin brown strips of cloth. Now it is my turn to gaze at the fire. “I did know him once,” I murmur. “We worked at the same factory last year.”