The Earth Dwellers Page 5

  ~~~

  “Hawk’s a durt bag,” Siena says with a smile. Her arm’s around a bald girl who has tattoos winding around her bare arms, legs, and neck. She was introduced as Lara, an old friend of Siena’s. Apparently now a spy.

  “A reformed durt bag,” Hawk clarifies. “I was sort of a bully growing up. Until I realized I was an idiot—that I was on the wrong side.”

  We’re sitting inside the secret cave, which is quite a bit larger than I expected from the small opening on the outside. Eerie light glows from above us, entering through a largish hole in the roof, which I fully expect is covered with a rock-colored cloth during the day.

  My mouth is full of the sort of crunchy, sort of chewy vegetable that Siena called prickler. It’s not half bad, although I’m so hungry I could probably eat raw meat from the Killer carcasses right now. Crunch, crunch, crunch. Tristan chews happily beside me, his knee touching mine. Evidently, the food’s woken both of us up a little.

  “So yer Glassies?” Hawk asks, handing a plate of prickler salad to Siena.

  “Reformed Glassies,” I say around my food. When Skye’s chin lifts and her eyes narrow, I hold up a hand. “I’m kidding. We’re not Glassies.” Skye’s lips part, so I say more forcefully, “We’re not. For the hundredth time, I swear it. On the sun goddess, moon goddess, rock goddess and every other goddess out there.”

  “There’s no rock goddess,” Siena whispers.

  “Look, let me explain things once and for all…” So I do. I tell them all about the Tri-Realms. The history. How they were dug out and formed before, during, and after Year Zero. The class system. The rebellion. What we learned about the Glass City and the earth dwellers before we came up. Everything leading up to our arrival except for the fact that Tristan has actually been inside the Glass City once before. Somehow I know that won’t help them to trust us.

  When I finish, everyone’s plate is clean, and Hawk is dishing out bowlfuls of some kind of soup. Tristan takes the first one, raising an eyebrow in question. “’Zard soup,” Siena says, which means about as much to me as Cotee steaks would’ve before I came face to face with a pack of Cotees. “It’s better warmed up, but it’s too dangerous to light a fire this close to the Glassies.”

  I nod and take a sip, feeling something slimy roll over my tongue. When I bite down on it, I find it’s somewhat chewy. I swallow twice, trying to keep it down. It might not be that tasty, but I need the energy.

  While everyone’s busily slurp-chewing their soup, Skye looks at me, steel in her eyes. “Why would you help us against the Glassies, if they’re the same kind of people as you?”

  Her question takes me by surprise. One, because I’ve never thought of myself as a “kind of people,” and if I did, I would most associate myself with moon dwellers, rather than all dwellers; and two, because I’ve been fighting against “my own people,” for so long, I’ve never really had to think about it.

  Tristan nods at me. It’s a look he’s given me many times, that says, “I trust you, I believe in you, I’ll follow you to the ends of the earth.” If nothing else, it reassures me.

  “I fight on the side of life,” I say. “For those who are being treated unfairly, against those who would seek to oppress others just because they can. We didn’t come to the earth’s surface to fight the Glassies. No, we came because we were curious, and because we wanted to give our people the same chance to live above as anyone else. Living in the dark, under mountains of rock, choked by dust, always hungry—that’s no kind of life. Not for anyone. We might’ve won the battle against Tristan’s father, but a war still rages below us, and our people are fighting for their lives just like yours. And at the center of it all is President Lecter and the Glassies. So maybe we’re not so different. Maybe we’re on the same side, after all. Does that make any sense?”

  Although I’m looking from face to face as I speak, out of the corner of my eye I can tell Skye’s eyes never leave mine, never blink. When I finish, she says, “I understand what you mean more’n you could possibly know.”

  Then she stands and pushes through the fake-rock flap and into the night.

  Chapter Eleven

  Siena

  I can’t believe I’m looking at Lara right now. She looks great, tougher’n bones, as always.

  Adele and Tristan and Wilde all went to sleep a while ago, curled up on tugskin mats, but although I’m exhausted, I can’t waste this chance to catch up with my friend. Even Skye wandered back in and dozed off. Now it’s just me, Lara, and Hawk.

  “When did you become a spy?” I ask.

  “A few weeks back,” Hawk says with a smirk.

  “Not you, wooloo baggard,” I say, but I’m smiling as I say it. Although not that long ago I wished Hawk’d curl up in a hole and die, he’s truly turned things ’round for himself. I even sorta like the guy now. Not that that means I’ll cut him any slack.

  “Almost right after you left for ice country,” Lara says. “You know me, I can’t sit still for long.”

  “Don’t I know it,” I say, taking a sip of water.

  “Have some of this,” Hawk says, passing me a water skin. I take a sniff.

  “Whew! What’s this, fire juice? Should you really be drinking on the job, you shanker? Don’t you need your wits—however dim—’bout you in case the Glassies do something unexpected?”

  “Told you,” Lara says, glaring at Hawk.

  “You won’t tell anyone, will you?” Hawk says, looking scareder’n a mouse under the shadow of a vulture with no hole in sight.

  “Nah,” I say. “I should just be happy you’re not lighting ants on fire and beating up defenseless Midders.”

  “Defenseless like you and Circ?”

  “Circ was never defenseless,” I say. “And now, neither am I.” I grab my bow and fit it with a pointer faster’n you can say Reformed bully baggard. Hawk’s hands are up and over his head and he’s standing and backing away, but I shoot him anyway, right through the heart.

  Only it’s a play pointer, made of braided wildgrass for the shaft and bark for the tip. It bounces harmlessly off his left breast.

  “Bullseye,” I say. “Oh blaze, you shoulda seen your face. Better check your britches, make sure you didn’t grizz yourself!” Lara’s cracking up, which makes me crack up.

  I put up with Hawk’s bullying for so long it’s nice to see the tents turned on him every now and again.

  “Ha ha. Hilarious,” Hawk says. “If Lara’s staying up and taking my shift, then I’m getting some shuteye. Perhaps you should, too, Skinny.”

  I ignore the parting shot, his old nickname for me. Somehow, it doesn’t hurt the way it used to. We also ignore his advice, talking and laughing and catching up like the old friends that we are, reminiscing ’bout our days spent training with the Wilde Ones, back when it was new and exciting.

  We talk until the hole in the cave roof starts getting lighter, the sky above it split with streaks of red and gold. Lara wakes Hawk for his watch shift. Only then do we flop down next to each other and sleep.

  ~~~

  I awake to a scream.

  “Holy freakin’ son of a—”

  I’m on my feet and blinking away the sleep and grabbing my bow ’fore I even have the slightest clue what’s going on.

  Tristan and Adele are on their feet too, staring at their tugskin mats like they’re covered in fire ants. Beyond ’em, Skye’s practically going into convulsions, laughing her head off. What the scorch?

  Then I see it.

  The ’zard. Rough, gray skin with green spots. A pink tongue that’s flicking out, almost like a snake. Sitting right on Adele’s blanket. I start laughing too.

  “You ain’t scared of that little thing, are you?” I say. “It ain’t even full grown yet.”

  Adele looks at me, at the ’zard, back at me. “What is it?”

  “What? You don’t recognize it? You gobbled it up last night right quick.”

  Tristan looks ’round Adele, a look of horror on his fa
ce. “Not the soup,” he says.

  “The soup,” I say, holding back another laugh. I rub my belly. “And guess what’s for breakfast?”

  The ’zard, as if suddenly realizing we’re all staring at it, takes off, running right at Adele. She leaps aside and it passes by, scurrying out through the camouflaged skin that apparently didn’t fool it for one second.

  Although the cave is already heating up from the morning sun, Adele shivers, her face all screwed up like she might be sick. “I can’t believe I ate one of those,” she says.

  “Well, not a whole one. Just pieces of one, all chopped up. The tail, the legs, the eyeballs…” I trail off when Wilde, who’s awake now, too, gives me a look.

  Adele’s hand is over her mouth. “There were eyeballs in that soup?” she says through her fingers.

  “Quit messin’ with her, Sie,” Lara says, rolling over and rubbing her eyes. “There were no eyeballs, just the meat. ’Zards give you long-lasting energy.”

  Adele doesn’t look convinced, but she manages to keep the prickler salad and soup down, so I give her credit for that.

  “Do we want to know what pricklers are?” Tristan asks, one cheek scrunched up. Even with the weird expression on his face, he’s a good looking guy: wavy, yellow-sand colored hair, sparkling blue eyes—though he’s got nothing on Circ, who’s smokier’n a bramble fire.

  “We passed ’bout a hundred of ’em last night, but in the dark you mighta missed ’em. Some are green, some gray, some brownish. Each one looks a little different, like people, I guess. But most every one of ’em have these nasty little prickles coming out of their skin. Trust me, you don’t want to run into ’em. Once, when my baggard father sent me to Confinement, I managed to break out, but not without running smack into a searin’ prickler. It hurt like a thousand fire ant bites, but later I found out the prickler’s name was Perry, and we sorta became friends, or at least acquaintances, and I mostly liked him ’cept when he ragged on me, which was most of the time…”

  I stop when I realize everyone’s staring at me with the strangest expressions, like maybe I’ve caught the Fire, and it’s eating away at my skin. I check my arms, my hands—my skin looks normal. Brown. Just brown. Like always.

  “You made friends with a prickler?” Hawk says, standing just inside the secret opening, apparently having come inside during my story.

  “I’m confused,” Adele says. “At first I thought pricklers were some kind of plant, but are they an animal? Or some weird kind of person?”

  “We ate your friend?” Tristan says, his handsome face screwed up even more.

  Some things you just can’t explain, so for the first time since I sprang outta bed, I keep my mouth shut tighter’n a Killer’s mouth on a bone.

  ~~~

  When the whole thing ’bout Perry the Prickler blows over, and Adele and Tristan have had a chance to peek outside to see what pricklers look like—they’re sticking to eating plants from now on; ’zards are out—we have a real meeting, which is the reason we came in the first place.

  As usual, Wilde kicks things off, and she doesn’t waste any time with small talk. “You’re not going to last long up here breathing this air.”

  Adele and Tristan nod in unison, their faces even.

  “I believe your story. I believe you,” she adds. I glance at Skye, whose eyes flick to mine, ’fore returning to Wilde’s. Ain’t she gonna say something? “Skye and I have talked it over, and we agreed we can’t hold you here against your will.”

  “You have?” I blurt out, once more looking at Skye. She doesn’t look at me this time.

  “Yes,” Wilde says. I raise my eyebrows. I guess Adele saving Skye’s life went a lot further with her’n I first thought.

  Adele and Tristan exchange a look. “We’ve talked things over, too,” Tristan says. They have? When has all this talking been happening? And where was I? I like talking things over, too. “We don’t want to go back yet.” I stop breathing. What? “We’ve got as much to gain as you do from seeing Lecter defeated. We’d hoped there might be a chance to talk to him, to understand his point of view, but it’s clear now that he’s set on violence. We want to help you.”

  “But you’ll die!” I say, unable to hold it in any longer.

  “If we don’t help you, you all might die. And we won’t die right away,” Adele says. “We’ll last long enough to help you.”

  I shake my head. “You can go back down and get more of your people to help.” You can do anything but stay up here and die! Even as I’m thinking it, I’m wondering why I care so much. I barely know these two. They could be enemy spies for all I know. But something deep inside of me knows they’re not, that they’re good, that they’re really on our side.

  “There’s no time,” Tristan says. “This war is happening now. And if we go back there’s no guarantee anyone will follow us. We can’t make them. They have enough of their own problems to deal with. We will stay. We will help.”

  “Sorry to interrupt,” Wilde says, an unexpected smile creasing her face, “but we may have a solution to the whole toxic air thing. Show them, Lara.”

  Then, to my amazement, Lara unfolds a blanket on her lap. And inside are five of the strangest looking objects I’ve ever seen in my sixteen-year life.

  Chapter Twelve

  Dazz

  “No!” I say, not caring that my voice is raised.

  Curly Mustache Man looks incredulous. “No? Last time I checked, young man, you’re not a member of the consortium. You’re here to inform, not to decide.”

  “This is wrong,” I say, pleading. “I’ve already discussed this with one of the leaders of the Tri-Tribes—Wilde. She’s the one who helped save my sister, who helped my mother…but that’s not what’s important. The point is, we came to an agreement. The Unity Alliance. Us and the Tri-Tribes. It’s our only hope against the Glassies. Strength in numbers.”

  “Not. Your. Decision,” the White District rep says. “I put it to a vote. Two options. One: Do the smart thing and ally ourselves with the winning side, to a people who are slightly mysterious, yes, but who have been a valuable and amicable trade resource to us. Namely, the Glassies. Or two: Take this boy’s advice and ally ourselves with the very people who were involved in the distasteful slave trade that ultimately led to the overthrow and execution of King Goff. Two options, my friends, I need not tell you which option I’ll be voting for.”

  My face is on fire. My knuckles hurt and I realize my fists are clenched at my sides. The old Dazz is back, and if I let him loose I’m pretty sure he’ll charge off the platform, break this man’s freezin’ jaw, and rip every last icin’ hair of his curly mustache from his skin, one by one. Breathe, Dazz. Breathe. Focus. Words, not actions.

  “If I may,” I say, trying to keep my voice even, to mimic the air of confidence and slight arrogance my adversary just displayed. “While…”—I almost say Curly Mustache Man, but I catch myself—“…our honorable Blue District member has been sitting in his parlor room drinking hot tea and eating bear fritters, I’ve been in the middle of the action, seeing things that would shock and disgust you all. I might not be as old, might not have as much experience, but I am more informed than anyone in this room. Without the Tri-Tribes, Goff never would’ve been exposed or overthrown. Without the Tri-Tribes, my little sister would be dead. Without the Tri-Tribes, the dictatorial Admiral of the Soakers would still be enslaving Heater children on his ships. So, if you want to make an informed decision, I advise you to take option two.”

  When I finish a shiver runs through me, and I realize my fists are still clenched, my face still on fire, and I’m leaning forward, all the way to the edge of the raised platform. Who was that? Where did those words come from? I almost want to jump up and pump my fist. I never knew words could have such power, not when my fists are so good at what they do.

  “Hmm, well met, boy,” Mustache Man says. “But it will still be decided by a vote. And your plan is still teetering on the edge of crazy and ins
ane. Voting begins now. You can choose one of the two options presented to you today, or you may, as always, choose to abstain.” Things are moving much quicker than I expected. Too freezin’ quick. “All those in favor of option two, an alliance with the Tri-Tribes…”

  I also didn’t expect my option to be presented first. I hold my breath.

  Abe’s hand is the first one up. He even drops his cigarette on the floor, stomps on it with his heel, and folds out of the current hand of cards he’s playing. Yo’s hand is up a second later, followed by another Brown District member. Although the three other Black District reps seem oblivious to the vote, Abe grab’s each of their arms in turn, lifting them above their heads. Six out of sixteen votes.

  I stare at the two unvoted Brown District reps. They’re looking at their feet. Yo nudges one of them, but she doesn’t react, just keeps staring down. The other guy is equally nonresponsive when Yo says something to him. Yo looks up at me, lips pursed, eyebrows narrowed. I’m sorry, he mouths.

  It’s not over. Everyone might just be abstaining, because they’re unsure, or scared, or whatever. As long as the other option gets less than six votes we’re okay.

  “Six votes,” Curly Mustache says with half a smile, as if we can’t count. “Now for the first option, the smart choice. All those in favor of an alliance with our old friends, the Glassies…”

  Four White District hands go up. Two Blue District hands. Six votes. All tied. The final four are evidently abstaining. How do they break ties?

  But my question is lost on my lips, because just then, very late, a final hand goes up from one of the Blue District reps.

  No.

  No.

  It’s not a stretch, or a yawn, or a question—it’s a vote. The seventh vote.

  No.

  This can’t be happening. It can’t.