Kingdom of Cages(168)

Something tickled her cheek and Chena slapped at it before she could think. Her hand came down and she clenched herself for the sight of a crushed insect body. But there was nothing. Her hand was just damp.

Damp? She rubbed her fingers together. Damp with sweat. Warm, cleansing, human-smelling sweat, running down her cheeks and washing away her shield.

And up ahead, there was no end to the grass forest, or its legion of ants.

How long did she have? How would she know? Of their own accord, her legs lengthened their stride until she broke into a run, which would make her sweat harder, make her shield melt faster, but she couldn’t stop. She didn’t want to stop. She wanted to run and keep on running. She wanted to run away from the ants and the grass and the whole sick world that was chasing after her for the sake of what she carried in her blood.

Her toe jammed hard against a hillock and Chena slammed face first onto the ground. She scrambled to her feet, slapping frantically at the insects clinging to her clothing.

I’m dead. I’m dead. I’m dead. The thought filled her head as she ran. Never see Farin. Never say sorry to Teal. I’m dead. I’m dead.

Then she stopped in her tracks. She pivoted on her heel. Memory of Nan Elle cut through the hysteria.

You must stay alert to the world around you. That will save you. You have the whole world underneath your hands. The hothousers only think they do.

Trembling, Chena retraced her steps. She crouched low, not allowing knees or buttocks to rest on the ground, and peered between the grass stems. Here and there sprouted a different kind of plant. Their leaves were thicker, fleshier, and a brighter green. They grew close to the ground, shadowed by the grass. But it was high summer, and they were ripe, and now that she was down close she could smell them.

Wild onions.

Frantically, Chena tore the plants up out of the ground and crushed their crisp white bulbs between her palms. Juice ran down her hands, and the scent wrung tears from her eyes. These little bulbs were stronger than anything in the kitchen garden, and the juice was supposed to be good for insect bites. Nan Elle sneered at this idea. She said that people just liked it because they smelled strong and that made them think that whatever concoction they put it in was doing something.

All these thoughts passed laughing through Chena’s mind as she smeared the stinging juice on her raw face and hands and wiped it over every inch of her clothing that she could reach, including the tops and soles of her boots. The ground at her feet was a mess. Any hothouser who looked would know that a human had been here. What did that matter? As long as they didn’t know where she was now. She stuffed the last double handful of onions into her pockets. There was no telling when or if she would stumble across another patch.

Her nose twitched at her own smell, and her eyes watered so badly she could barely see. It didn’t matter. She could find the sun, and so she could find her way.

Chena marched across the army of ants that had lain in wait for her, and all they could smell was the scent of wilderness.

This time, though, she did not let herself get carried away with her own cleverness. Now she watched her way as carefully as she could, keeping an eye out not just for the ants, but for the plants around her. She saw blackberry and raspberry canes in between the grass. She saw the different types of grasses and wild grains. She saw the onions nestling at the feet of the tall grass stems. These were all things she could use. These were all things she had and she’d almost forgotten.

“You were right, Nan. You were right again.” And this time I will tell you so, just as soon as I get home.

Eight more kilometers passed under Chena’s boots. The gently rolling ground gradually steepened into hills. The black earth became mixed with sand, no good for onions, but great for wild garlic and carrots. The grass grew shorter until it was barely as tall as she was, and Chena wondered if she ought to start crawling. But no, she decided, lifting her veil and mopping her forehead, first with her hand, and then with fresh garlic. They had counted on the ants to find her on the dunes, and if they were waiting for her in Stem… She squinted up the hill rising before her.

If they’re waiting for me in Stem, why would they bother coming outside the fences?

Chena staggered up the hill. Hunger and thirst gnawed at the last of her strength. She’d started cursing the sun and cloudless blue sky hours ago. Wheezing, she topped the hill and looked out over the shoulder-high grasses. Lake Superior filled the horizon with sun-flecked blue and the wind held a freshness that reached her even through the all-pervasive smell of onions. A pair of dirigibles lifted off like fat flies heading out to sea. To her left gleamed the river to Offshoot and the distant misty red cliffs. The low dunes that blocked her view of the beach straight ahead had to be the back border of Stem.