5. Two
1009 Words
Two
Solma’s body throbs with panic.
“Warren?”
She whirls to face Piotr. “Did you see where he went?”
Piotr shrugs. “S-sorry, no—”
Solma doesn’t wait. She races to the edge of the orchard, reaching the rest of her squad in a breathless frenzy.
“Where’s Warren? Did he come back?”
Four faces stare at her with alarm. It’s Olive who speaks first, rolling her eyes again as her jaw works around that ridiculous sugar cane.
“Earth’s sake, Solma. We ain’t got time for this!”
Solma glares, ready to utter something scathing, but Maxen is between them before she can draw breath. His white-blue eyes are full of calm.
“Alright, alright,” he fixes Olive with a stern stare. She huffs and stalks aside, unholstering her pistol and examining the magazine.
“He’s probably just got bored and headed home,” she calls over her shoulder. Solma clenches her jaw, not trusting herself to speak. She meets Maxen’s gaze.
“I gotta find him,” she says. “Please. I won’t be long. Meet you at the western edge in half an hour?”
Maxen searches her face, a frown forming on his. He’s a reasonable boy and a fair Staff Sergeant. He and Solma have known each other since they were in their cradles, their birthdays only months apart. He’s got to let her search. But he shakes his head.
“We need to finish patrol, and you got to pick up your ammo ration, still.”
“Please,” she whispers again. “Warren ain’t like other kids. He’ll—”
She can’t say it, but the images buzz around her head like the wasps that once swarmed these meadows. He’s too gentle, too soft and unassuming. He’ll get lost. He’ll trigger a snare. He’ll fall and hurt himself. He’ll wander too far and be eaten by a redbear …
She looks away and shakes her head. Maxen sighs and Solma fixes him with a pleading look. He’s not Gatra—not technically, anyway. As the Steward’s son, he doesn’t have a caste. He and Blaiz are the only people in the village allowed a sire’s name. He’s not Gatra like the rest of them. He’s Camber.
But he’s Gatra in his heart. She sees him relent.
“Half an hour,” he says. “No more. Clear?”
Solma nods, turns and plunges away before Maxen can say anything else. Olive’s protests drift after her on the still air but Solma ignores them. She must find Warren.
She hurtles down the path back to the main village. Her breath catches on her panic.
Where is he?
“You seen my brother?” she calls as she passes, barely stopping by the gate of each orchard. A few of the Oritch workers look up and one points south, towards the village with a shrug. Solma’s off immediately, desperate for another sign of him. That little footprint could be his … or he might have kicked that pebble.
Children’s laughter drifts from the cluster of mud-and-stone houses ahead and she lengthens her stride. She mustn’t give in to panic. But he’s so little, so clueless.
Please, please, please …
“Have you seen Warren?” she shouts as she pounds down the dirt road. The Aldren-caste elders, dressed in brown and hunched in their rocking chairs, barely look up, just shake their heads and return their attention to the youngsters in their care or the cloth they’re mending.
Where could he be? Despite her fear, Solma marvels at his stealth and speed. He managed to slip away under the noses of a whole Guard squad and has somehow made it a long way before Solma noticed.
If Aunt Bell ever finds out she’s lost him …
Solma cuts between two houses and onto a smaller path to avoid passing her own house. Warren might have wandered home, might even now be sitting at the table while their aunt fusses over him, exclaiming, just you wait ’til your sister gets home!
But if Solma can’t avoid having her ear torn off by an irate Aunt Bell, she’ll at least put it off for as long as possible.
The blade of her prosthetic leg rings off the stones as she hammers up the main path, out towards the planting fields. The landscape changes around her, from run-down houses and huddled old women to tough, clustered grasses fringing bare fields where Fei-caste planters scatter meagre seed.
“Seen Warren?” Solma cries, pausing to catch her breath by the first field. One of the enormous bay workhorses, tethered nearby, flattens his ears as she skids to a halt beside him. The nearest Fei shake their heads. Solma shoves her dark hair out of her face and pushes on, scanning the desolate landscape in the hopes she might catch sight of her brother’s red-blonde hair, his vivid freckles.
There!
Solma skids to a halt by field four, peering along the fence. Yes! A flash of bare-soled feet, that familiar giggle. She grabs hold of the fencepost and swings around the gate.
“Warren!”
He’s just standing there. What’s he looking at? If he’s hurt … Solma forces herself on, though her lungs scream for relief.
“Warren!”
He glances round. His green eyes meet hers, dancing with mischief. What’s he doing? He smiles but doesn’t come when she calls. Instead, he puts a little finger to his lips and points towards his feet.
Earth’s sake! The last shreds of Solma’s ragged fear knot into anger. How could he do this to her? He knows how much energy it takes her to run! She’s going to give him a piece of her mind when she reaches him! Ridiculous kid.
“Warren!” she shouts, her knee giving out so that she staggers the final few feet, flushed with rage. “What was that? You can’t just run off—”
She stops, peering at her brother. He hasn’t even looked up. The usual wide-eyed remorse whenever he disappoints her is nowhere to be seen. Solma drops to the floor, massaging her right knee—the one not supported by a prosthesis—gasping for breath, and follows his line of sight.
“What you staring at?”
Warren says nothing, just points again, kneeling and peering at a tiny mound of earth. A mound that’s moving.
And despite Solma’s desperate lungs, despite her anger and fear, she gasps as the mound of earth pops open and the tiniest, strangest creature scrambles free.
- Writer
