Snowburn

by Frost, E J

  “G!” The kid protests. He peers up at me incredulously. “Don’t you know who she is?”

  Kez laughs. “Snow’s too important to be on the Liquid Circuit, Slip. Can I borrow a scarf?”

  “Sure, g.” The kid takes a length of pale fabric out of the box, wraps it carefully around Kez’s head, and ties off the ends at the nape of her neck. “That too tight?”

  “Nope, perfect. Light me up and give me something I can dance to.”

  “You got it, g.” The kid snaps his fingers and a bright flame appears above his first and middle fingers. He holds his hand out and Kez dips each ball into the flame. They catch with a whush. There’s something intensely primal about that sound. Fire. Heat. Life. I step in close behind Kez and she leans back against me.

  “Stay with me as I move. Maybe, um, put your hands on my waist?”

  I’m still not clear on how this is going to work without turning us both into human torches, but I trust Kez more than I’ve ever trusted another living creature. I cup her waist and wait to see how we’re going to avoid immolation.

  Slip gives us a thumbs up, fiddles with one of the boxes until the music changes to a slower, deeper beat, then backs away to the edge of the hoverropes. Kez flexes her shoulders, flicks her wrists, and the fireballs whirl around us.

  The crowd, which had been drifting after the end of Slip’s performance, snaps back to attention. They press, three deep, at the hoverropes. Probably hoping to see me and Kez burn.

  But as Kez begins to move, slow steps, echoed by the whushing, whirring fireballs that weave around us, describing bright circles in the night air, it becomes clear to me that she’s not going to light us up. Her moves are perfectly rhythmic. Wholly fluid. Unconscious, unconsidered. These are the movements of muscle memory. She’s practiced these motions, the coordination of shoulder and arm and wrist, to create the dance the fireballs perform, now above our heads, now circling in front of her to wrap around her hands, now thrown out at our sides as she turns, so many times that she doesn’t have to think about them anymore. They’re part of her, and as long as I keep step with her, neither of us will burn.

  She whispers to me occasionally, telling me which way to turn, or warning me before a spin. I sink into the dance, beginning to anticipate her moves, becoming part of her flow. There are certain moves she repeats. A long weaving spiral that starts to her left side, arcs over our heads, and ends at her right ankle. Crossing circles that flick from front to back and back again. When she bends backwards, I bend with her and watch as the balls paint burning arcs in the black night sky above us. As the balls cross in front of us, Kez blows out a long breath, spitting fire a meter into the air. We straighten within a curtain of flame. Kez holds her hands out to her sides; I mirror her, and the chains wrap around my wrists, the balls spiraling inward until they kiss my skin. The sweat on my forearms sizzles. Before I feel anything more than a lick of heat, Kez flicks her wrists and the balls whirl outward, the chains unwrapping until my arms are free. I run my fingers up Kez’s arms and cup her waist again. Kiss the back of her head so she knows how much I’m enjoying this.

  She begins moving again, slow steps and turns. I match her. Within the circle of fire, with only the whush and crackle of the flame and our synchronized breathing to match the slow drumbeat, with our bodies moving in harmony, a moment of infinite calm stretches. The only other time I’ve felt this at peace is after sex with Kez. I don’t understand how she does it. How she brings this out in me, but this is her gift.

  Finally, the balls burn out. Kez flicks her wrists so the smoking balls hang suspended in the air for a moment, then drop to her sides. She looks over her shoulder at me with a tired grin and I understand that the dance is over. I take a deep breath, smell the sea, sweat and fuel from the balls. Draw back into myself and bury that perfect moment deep.

  Until the next time.

  I smile back at her. “Almost as good as sex.”

  “Almost,” she says. She moves back to Slip’s pile of gear and drops the smoking balls into a ceramsteel box. She shakes out her hands, then turns and throws her arms around my neck. I clasp her firmly against my chest and lift her off her feet for a deep kiss. The crowd cheers and wolf-whistles.

  When I let her drop back onto her feet, her grin’s as wide as I’ve ever seen it. Her pupils so roundly dilated, her eyes look solidly black. “We need to do that again soon,” I tell her.

  She nods. “Anytime you want.”

  When the crowd begins to break apart and Slip’s circled the square at least twice, he comes back to us, counts out the credits and hands half to Kez. They’re mostly blues and twos, but they’ll do us for dessert, and a decent breakfast.

  Kez drops most of the credits into the hideous purple bag, but weighs an octagon in her palm and looks up at me. Her pupils contract and she looks uncertain.

  “What’s wrong, kitten?”

  “Could I . . . I shouldn’t ask when we’ve got so little, but I wasn’t able to reach Gig before I sold my vcom. He’ll be frantic by now.”

  “You askin’ if you can call home?”

  She nods. Her face is a study. She wants to make the call so badly she’s almost pleading, but she trying to hide it in case I want to save our credits. I smile at her. “Make the call.”

  “Here,” Slip says, handing Kez a throatband and earpiece. “It’ll reach the mainland. Ten credits a minute, so be quick.”

  Kez takes the comm and slaps the octagon into Slip’s hand. “Thanks, Slip.”

  I beckon the kid with two fingers and when he moves over to me, turn slightly to give Kez some privacy.

  “Three things,” I tell him. The kid nods anxiously and I wonder if he’s yet another orphan, fearful of paternal disapproval. I change the order of what I was going to say. “First, thanks for letting her use your comm. Second, we need a sheet of plaz. Is there any on the Market?”

  “Yeah. Back up on Redburke Street. Flo’s Fabulorium.” The kid hooks his thumb towards the Night Market. In the direction of the port; at least we’re not going out of our way.

  “Thanks. Third thing. We’ve heard the Eff Tubes are safe for the night. That true?”

  The kid nods and radiates relief at the end of my laundry list. “You need a place to crash for the night? Kez is, uh, you’re welcome to come back to my dorp.”

  Kidspeak is mostly a foreign language to me, but I’m pretty sure dorps refer to the stacked coffins that can be rented by the hour in most of Kuseros’s cities. They’re strictly single-sex, and not big enough for two bodies, anyway. I’m not sleeping without Kez tonight. I shake my head and thank the kid before turning back to Kez, who I can hear saying her good-byes.

  She unhooks the comm from throat and ear and hands it back to Slip.

  “Everything okay at home?” I ask gently. This is where it all went to fuck last time, if memory serves.

  “Yup. Nev’s evening out. Gig will meet us in Jielt tomorrow with the skimmer.”

  “Good. C’mon. Bedtime.”

  She gives me a smile that would be sexy if she wasn’t so tired. It just manages sleepy. She and Slip say their good-byes, with the kid exhorting us to come back to the Cloudlands soon.

  Chapter 26

  The Eff Tubes are a twenty-meter high stack of hollow outlet pipes that cross the beach just to the north of the port. Disused since the closure of the old desalinization plant, they’ve fallen to ruin. The softer joints have disintegrated, leaving the tube sections free-standing in the sand. Some tubes have been scavenged for their permacrete tiles and show moonlight through the gaps where the tiles have been removed. Others have fallen over and stand upended in the sand.

  Fires flicker in several tubes close to the waterline. I avoid these, moving up the beach to higher ground. With the Broken Moon up, the tide will turn in the night and I don’t want to end up soggy. Nor do I want to intrude on the fire-makers’ turf. The tubes higher on the beach are empty, although some show signs of having been used. Discarded piles of cl
oth. Blackened stones. I avoid these, too. There are lots of tubes to choose from; I’m looking for something specific.

  I find it in a tube that’s broken away and rolled across the sand. The section is about five meters long and half-buried. It’s high enough to walk into without ducking, but what’s more important is that the tube is half-full of sand, which creates an even floor to sleep on. I’ve slept on curved surfaces before; not the way to get a good night’s sleep.

  I lead Kez into the tube and continue a meter in, just in case it rains in the night, before I gesture for her to unpack. I leave her shaking out the ground cloth from Flo’s Fabulorium while I check the other end of the tube. It’s sunk further into the sand on the far end, filled so there’s only about a meter gap between the sand and the top of the tube. A fringe of cer-cer grass has gained tenuous hold in the tube’s overhang, creating a softly glowing screen. A natural early warning system if anyone tries to climb through in the night.

  Satisfied, I return to Kez. She’s spread out the plaz sheet, which covers half of the tube’s six-meter width. She glances at me as she puts two of Doc Gray’s pillows on the sheet, close to the tube’s opening. I shake my head and flick a finger towards the far end of the sheet. If someone comes into the tube, that extra second before they reach our heads could make all the difference between me reaching my knife and not.

  I unwrap the fuel cell that friendly Flo sold us for two extra credits and place it at the end of the ground sheet nearest the tube’s opening. The glow will warn the casually curious that this tube is occupied, and the terminally curious will have to come past it before encountering my knife. It’ll ruin my night vision, but it’ll do the same to anyone coming into the tube. I pull the tear strip on the cell and step back as it sputters to life. It burns brightly for a minute, then settles down to a mellow, chemical glow. It will give off some heat, too, which we might be grateful for if Doc Gray’s thermoblanket lets us down.

  Kez comes to stand on the other side of the cell, holding the thermoblanket and blinking owlishly in the cell’s soft light.

  “Ready for bed, kitten?”

  She nods.

  “You bring the rest of those clothes? If we put them under us, it’ll be better than sleeping on the plaz.”

  She nods again, probably too tired to speak, and returns to where she’s left the ugly purple bag. She pulls three bundles of cloth out of it, which, when she spreads them out, turn out to be more man-skirts. Fuck, she’s killing me. There’s no way I was ever going to wear a skirt in bright green or orange. At least the chemical light washes out the worst of their color.

  I dust sand off my feet before climbing into the middle of the makeshift bed. Unwrap the freaking skirt and bundle it up to create another pillow, under which I tuck my two knives. If I need to deal with the terminally curious in the night, the skirt’s just going to get in my way, and I sleep better naked.

  Kez’s eyes widen when I take off the skirt. She stands at the edge of our bed for a moment, looking uncertain, then begins to pull her dress over her head.

  “Keep it on, kitten,” I tell her. “Unless it makes you uncomfortable.” It’ll keep her warm; she won’t stick to me with the dress on; and having something between her skin and mine will help keep the little monster under control.

  She lets the dress fall back to her feet. Sags like a deflating balloon, and sinks to her knees.

  “C’mon, kitten. Night-night.”

  She topples over into the bed, scoots around until her head finds a pillow, and slumps into stillness. I spread the thermoblanket over both of us, lie down next to her and hold my arm out. She burrows into me.

  “G’night, kitten.”

  She nods against my shoulder, her eyes already closed. Her hand steals across my chest. I cup my hand over hers and close my eyes.

  I’m just beginning to drift when she asks, “Do you think it’s safe?”

  Evidently, she’s not too tired to speak. “I’ll keep you safe. Go to sleep, kitten.”

  “I meant, is it safe to call you by your name?”

  I sigh. Wonder if I should give her a vasal massage, the way I did her whiny friend. She won’t thank me for giving her the runs. “Yeah, I don’t think anyone’s listening. You’re not tired?”

  “I’m too tired to sleep. Do you ever feel that way?”

  Not at the moment, I’m tempted to snap at her. But my one in a billion deserves better. She saved my life. She told me she loves me. If she needs help to get to sleep, it’s the least I can do. I take a deep breath. Let it out slowly.

  “Sorry,” Kez mumbles. Not too tired to be oversensitive, either. She begins to draw away from me.

  “Here, kitten. Turn on your side.”

  “Huh?”

  I help her turn so she’s facing away from me. So that vulnerable bare nape is to me. I give it a soft kiss. Smooth my thumb over the spot I’ve just kissed, then down over her neck. Her muscles are knotted. She’s had a long day, my kitten. I scoot a little closer in our makeshift bed, slide my thigh between her legs, cuddle against her back so she can feel my warmth. Then I knead her neck and shoulders until the muscles are soft and fluid under my fingers.

  She’s silent while I rub her neck except for small murmurs of pleasure. I close my eyes, relax into the rhythm of what I’m doing to her. Find I’m not too tired to speak, either. “When’d you learn to spin the fireballs, kitten? Was it after you got burned?”

  She mumbles something I take for assent.

  “Musta taken a lot of courage to handle fire like that, after you’d been burned so bad.” I kiss the nape of her neck again. My brave kitten.

  She nestles back against me, her round ass-cheeks rubbing into my groin. The little monster immediately perks up. Guess neither of us is too tired for that, either.

  I put my arm around her. Nuzzle her nape. I’m going to take her like this. From behind. Enjoy the new vulnerability of her neck to the fullest.

  Then I hear a soft snore.

  I chuckle. Figures.

  I give her neck another kiss; roll onto my back so her soft ass can’t provoke the little monster any further. She scoots back against my side. I smile into the darkness behind my eyelids and finally let myself sleep.

  The rustling of the cer-cer grass wakes me. Four-fifteen by the chrono in my eye. Kez is a warm weight against my side. We were both so tired that neither of us has moved since we fell asleep.

  I slide my hand under the pillow. Grasp the handle of the survival knife. Shift Kez off my other arm and flex my hand to restore circulation. My right shoulder’s still griping, so I may need to fight with my left hand.

  Kez murmurs.

  “Shh, kitten.” I sit up slowly and run my hand across her shoulder to soothe her back to sleep. Tuck the thermoblanket around her. Whatever’s disturbing the grass, I’ll take care of it. Kez needs her rest.

  I rise and move a few steps away from our bed and the flickering fuel cell. Let my eyes adjust in the darkness.

  A rat-man sits on its haunches two meters away from me. At the bottom of the sandy slope at the far end of the tube. The rat-man wrings its hands, like it’s washing its paws, and blinks huge, black eyes at me. Otherwise it doesn’t move. Non-threatening. No visible weapons. But then, the Kuus rat-men didn’t use any, either.

  It’s wearing more than the Kuus rat-men did: a fringed loincloth that puddles to the ground between its long, bare, clawed feet, and a beaded poncho that covers its chest and shoulders. Since the night’s gotten cold, I can understand why it would want some clothes, despite the light covering of brindled fur I can see on its exposed limbs. But then I notice the curves that the poncho covers and realize this one’s different from the rat-men of Kuus in another way.

  This is a rat-girl.

  “Somethin’ I can do for you?” I ask quietly, still hoping I can deal with this without waking Kez.

  “There is a whisper underground,” the rat-girl says, matching my tone. “That Lightfoot has brought her Reaper-Man t
o the Clouds. I came to see if it was true.”

  I don’t see anything to be gained by lying. “Yeah, it’s true. Who are you?”

  “She’s Tiancha. Wisdom of the Deep Whites,” Kez says. I didn’t hear her wake, or roll over, but she’s lying propped on her forearms, watching us. She rises from the bed, pulling the thermoblanket around her. Takes the few steps that separate us to stand next to me, and offers me the edge of the thermoblanket.

  If she’s offering me the blanket, which will prevent the ready use of my blade, then she doesn’t think there’s any imminent danger from the Wisdom of the Deep Whites. To be fair, Rat-Girl doesn’t look particularly threatening. Squatting, she’s at my waist-level, but judging from the length of torso and leg, even standing she won’t come up to my collar. She has the long, black claws that the rat-men of Kuus had and they might be poisoned, but they’re hard to be afraid of when she’s painted them with white stripes and spots and chevrons, and on each thumb-claw, fuck me if that isn’t a smiley-face. She’s also got the thickest, longest lashes of any creature I’ve ever seen, coupled with the big dark eyes, she looks harmless.

  But appearances can be deceiving. Usually are, in my experience.

  “Lightfoot,” says Rat-Girl. I like the way the rats, and the surf-punks we’ve met, say Kez’s moniker. There’s a certain respect to it. Respect I know that Kez has earned. Doesn’t hurt to be associated with that.

  I put my arm around Kez and pull her against my side. She wraps the blanket around me, which is a relief because the night air has developed a definite bite and the cold is doing embarrassing things to a place I’ve usually got nothing to be embarrassed about.

  Kez nods. Then she yawns, and covers it with her hand.

  “Apologies for waking you,” Rat-Girl says. “I usually pass unseen.” She glares at the cer-cer grass. I can’t help but smile. I knew that would come in handy.

  “S’okay.” Kez stifles another yawn. I resolve to make this a short interview so we can get back to sleep. “I’m sorry we have nothing to offer you.”