Ice Country(98)

When she got tired of that, she latched onto Skye and now appears intent on talking her ear off.

“What’s it like to live on sand? I don’t really know what sand is, but it sounds nice. Saaand. It’s even fun to say the word. How hot is it where you come from? Hotter than summer here? Is my brother a good kisser? I bet he is. Will I like fire country?” Jolie continues to let loose a random assortment of questions, answering half of them herself, as Skye scratches her head. Even she’s baffled by what to make of my sister.

“Uhh…” she says, probably wondering which question to answer first.

“I think that’s enough for one day, Joles. I’m sure Wilde’ll be happy to answer your many questions over time, while we’re gone,” I say, sitting on her bed next to Skye.

“You’ll be back soon, right Dazz?” Her nose crinkles up earnestly.

“I’ll do my best,” I say. “But you’ll be safe with Wilde and with Mother.” I can’t believe I’m saying it and actually meaning it, but it’s true. Mother’s better than she’s been in a long time and I have a feeling this time it might stick.

Jolie’s nose uncrinkles and her eyebrows lift, her eyes widen. “Dazz, you find her, you find that girl, and all the rest too,” she says, hugging me tight.

I hold her close, feel her warm little body, so real, so alive, her heart pumping. The world is right again. So right. “I will,” I whisper into her hair. “We all will.”

I stand up, trying to hide the tears in my eyes. Mother awaits.

“You don’t worry about anything at all while you’re gone,” she says. “I’m better, and with Wilde here, I’ll stay better.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” I say, embracing her, feeling her frail body fold into mine. “Goodbye, Mother.”

“Goodbye, Son.”

Somewhat solemnly, we leave, Siena then Circ then Skye then Buff.

I start to follow but then turn in the doorway. “Thank you, Wilde,” I say. “Thank you for everything.”

She just nods and smiles. “Go,” she says.

Out in the autumn-cold, I pull in a deep breath of cool, crisp air, hold it for a second, and then push it out in a cloud of steam. Watching me, Skye says, “I still can’t get over how we all breathe smoke up ’ere.”

I just smile and drape an arm over her shoulder, which earns me a punch in the gut that I think is meant to be soft and friendly, but which hurts like chill and leaves me gasping. I try to hide how much it really hurts while Skye laughs.

We make our way through and out of the Brown District, ignoring the stares we get from all the Icers who still haven’t gotten used to seeing brown-skinned folk walking around town. You’d think after having the dark riders charging around they wouldn’t bat an eye, but sometimes change don’t sit so well with folks. After a couple of glances though, they go back to whatever it is that they’re doing—repairing burnt houses, shoveling snow, or chasing their kids around.

Cutting across the space that connects the four Districts, we head for the White District. Entering the upscale area, it’s strange to see so many of the beautiful houses devastated by the fires set by the Stormers. A roof missing here, a once-beautiful mahogany door charred black there. But the really interesting thing: there are Brown District men repairing everything. Even after all that’s happened, the rich folk can’t bring themselves to do an honest day’s work, relying on the sweat and muscle of the lower classes. Things are changing alright, but sometimes change is slower than you want, while other times it’s faster than a dark rider’s gallop.

As we pass a familiar house with a red door that evidently escaped the Stormers’ fires, I see a familiar scene. The door is thrown open and a guy pops out, chased by a vase, which hits him in the back of the head, sending him tumbling out into the snow. “And stay out!” a shrill, witch-like voice hollers after him before the door slams, jarring clumps of snow off the roof.

I laugh when I recognize the guy. Soft-hands LaRoy, previously known as girlfriend-stealer. Little did he know he was doing me a favor. It seems things didn’t work out for him and the witch so well after all.

I approach him, chuckling to myself.

When he sees me he shrinks back into the snowdrift, hands above his head. I fake a punch and he shrinks further still. Smiling, I extend a hand, which he stares at with the most disturbed look on his face. “Take it,” I say.

After a moment’s hesitation he does, and I pull him to his feet, using a hand to brush the snow off his back. “Trust me,” I say, “you’re better off without her.”