The drumming got faster and I knew the game was about to start. I just didn’t know exactly how it would happen. Would someone say go?
“Frost!” a player wearing blue hollered. “Over here,” he said, gesturing for me to move. I realized I was on the wrong side of the starting line.
“Oh hostile take it,” I cursed under my breath, jogging to where he pointed I should stand. Things happened fast after that. Someone threw a white sash onto the field and suddenly everyone was moving. It didn’t take long to realize that my plan to ‘avoid the action’ was impossible. Each time someone was tackled the game reset, players gathering at the centerline. So I’d creep away, and the moment I felt relatively safe, I’d have to join the fray once more. For a while I kept that up, but at the start of one play I didn’t move fast enough. Even after it was over, I could barely recall exactly what had happened. Someone passed the ball. It was thrown from person to person like a hot potato, everyone trying to rid themselves of the burden before they were tackled. We were all hemmed tightly. No one player could keep the ball without being instantly plowed down. And then it flew past my head, a blur of smudged white. Everyone hurled themselves to catch it. Most landed on me instead.
I gasped for breath under a heap of flailing limbs, waiting for them to peel themselves off. Someone helped me up, asked if I was alright. I didn’t know who, or what team he was on. Adrenaline coursed through my blood, urging my heart to rage in my chest. I blinked, trying to focus on the rushing images around me, distracted by the underlying drumbeat. I gingerly patted myself down, surprised to find that I was all in one piece. When I took a step though, my ankle protested. Not with a bolt of pain, a throbbing ache rather, so I ignored it, assuring everyone around me that I was fine before they made a fuss out of it.
My efforts to avoid getting hurt were wasted after that, both teams were suddenly more conscious of my presence, avoiding me as much as possible. It was absurd, the care they took with me, considering neither team had wanted me to play in the first place. The forty-seventh format had complained, knowing my addition might cause them to lose, while the eighteenth was all up in arms, their pride offended by the suggested handicap. The rest of the convene had been taken in by the idea though, desperate to see the match. In the end, both formats had caved to social pressure. Even more absurd was how the game turned less fierce with all the players preoccupied on keeping me in one piece. The spectators would regret their earlier eagerness.
The drumbeat marked the passage of time, even perceived time as it sped up when things intensified. I could feel the game drawing to a close, and I got nervous as I prepared to complete my one task. But how was I going to kick the ball? My ankle was weak and sore! I should have told Fisher to throw it to me, but it was too late now. I’d just have to manage.
When Ram and Mar first told me they wanted to force Packer to lose his bet, I thought they meant to bribe someone on his favored team to throw the game. I had flatly refused to help them cheat. But no one owed them on the eighteenth format, so they used Fisher from the forty-seventh instead, telling him to win (as if he didn’t plan to already). It was riskier, the outcome uncertain, but it was there only option. So I watched the numbers go back and forth, neither team managing much of a lead over the other. The time ticked down and I held my breath, waiting for the blue team to take the lead. And they did, tackling a red player inches from our ditch. I’d caught on enough to learn that the further from centerline you let the opponent get before tackling him, the more points you were awarded.
And then it was time. There was less than a minute left before the game ended and Fisher was moving the ball straight towards where I hovered by the red team’s ditch. I’d been there half the game, and the red player who guarded it had taken to ignoring me. So while Fisher sprinted down the field, kicking the ball in short bursts, I sidled closer, knowing the goalie was preoccupied as he prepared to stop Fisher on the left side. In doing so he gave me his back on the right. Fisher feigned a kick toward the goal, but then very gently sent it rolling over to where I stood. The goalie pivoted, but it was too late for him to block. I’d already made my move, kicking it, weak ankle and all. The ball plopped neatly into the four by eight ditch just as someone called time. The game was over, blue leading by two points, and Packer had lost both his bets. Mar and Ram’s chances of getting into Hamilton had just gotten better and... and unfortunately my ankle was done for.
* * *
I hobbled off the field, bypassing my format while slipping through the crowd. I didn’t take off the protective gear; it somewhat hid my identity. But a few soldiers recognized me regardless and tried to get my attention. I ignored them, but they congratulated me on the winning kick as I passed. I had no desire to revel in the victory. I was just glad it was over.
My ankle ached with each step, and though I knew there wasn’t anything seriously wrong, I wanted to rest it and relax for the remainder of my free day. But first I wanted to get away from everyone and strip off the sweaty shoulderpads and helmet. I’d already spit out the mouthguard, leaving it unceremoniously in the grass. Someone else could get it.
My shed wasn’t far and I reached it quickly, dumping the protective gear outside the door before flopping into bed. I’d left the door open, so Winslow unexpectedly waltzed right in shortly after, speaking to me as if we were in the middle of a conversation. “What was that? You only played to spite me. Admit it.”
I adjusted my foot on the rail of the bed, hoping he wouldn’t realize I was keeping it elevated because it had started to swell. “Alright, I only played to spite you, it’s true.”
“Why?” he demanded, pacing the short distance of my shed. “I only have your best interests in mind.”
I lost patience; being tired and achy would do that to a person. “You’ve been insufferable for months!” I hissed, propping myself up on my elbows to lessen my vulnerable position. “You ignore me!” I added. “And I can’t believe you forbid Edwards from entering my shed. Do you know how humiliating that was?”
“You forget, I know what can happen in this shed,” he said, throwing me a glance over his shoulder.
I swung my foot off the bed frame and jumped up, ignoring the pain as I shoved him into the wall. “Bastard!”
He grabbed my wrists, preventing me from further slamming him against the cool, hard adobe. “Don’t push me!” he said, his voice low and angry as he gave me a firm shake.
I tried to shove him again anyway. “You’re not being my first, you’re being my father!”
“It’s easier!” he yelled right back.
“Easier than what?”
His mouth clicked shut, the muscle in his jaw flexing. And then he lunged, grabbing the back of my neck as his lips crashed down roughly on mine.
We stumbled then, our feet floundering beneath us as we collided with the bed frame, then back into the wall. I don’t know where I meant to go, or him for that matter, but my whole body felt like it needed to be in motion. For a while I felt nothing but the kiss, the moment not soft as before, but consuming, pulling me down to a place without thought. My foot brought me back, my heel coming down too hard, sending a small jolt up my calf. My eyes flicked open, my head tipped back, and Winslow, sensing my drop into reality, opened his eyes as well.
When the silence stretched on and neither of us moved, he finally sighed. “Come on,” he said, sounding defeated. “Let’s talk about this.” I followed him to the bed where we sat together, the length of our sides pressing into each other where the mattress sagged under our weight. “This can’t happen,” he said.
“Okay,” I agreed. Paused. “Well, why not?”
He turned his head and gave me a look.
“I know you’re supposed to treat me like any other soldier,” I said, shifting uncomfortably. “And I’m sure you don’t go around kissing them,” I added just to lighten the mood. “But girls my age bac
k home are getting married. You drop a female into a camp full of soldiers and it’s hard to believe that she wouldn’t find one that she... well, that she...”
“That she what?”
“That she liked!” I said, sounding totally annoyed.
“And usually you’re so articulate,” he almost smiled.
“Obviously,” I said while touching my lips, “you know how I feel.”
For some reason that gesture seemed to snap him back into something of his usual self. “I don’t have to ask Bardzecki to know he wouldn’t approve of you fraternizing with any soldier. And it’s worse that it’s me. I’m your first, and you are my responsibility—anything between us would mean I was taking advantage of you.”
“You know that’s not true,” I argued.
“So what?” he asked. “We sneak around, and then what? I’ve already requested to spend my specialized training at Concord. Do you even know where you’ll be by then? The obstacles for us are long-term.”
I shifted back, taking a moment to think while stretching my leg out on the bed. “They say you’ll marry your career,” I told him, almost whispering for some reason. Concord was a specialized training camp for soldiers who wanted to be captain of their own Scarlet one day. It was very prestigious in the Triangle Patch. I’d heard of it even from the farming sector back home. He was going to the top, and the rumors said Bardzecki men didn’t marry until late in life, when their careers were secured and set in stone.
He nodded bleakly, not denying it as he rubbed the back of his neck.
“Alright,” I said finally. “I accept all that. I have no desire to hurt your career. But for just one second, imagine that we didn’t have to follow Little Red’s traditions. Nothing is frowned upon or forbidden. Would you want me then?”
He grabbed me, pulling me half onto his lap as his hand slipped around my back and curled against my waist. The kiss was even hungrier than before, his face pressing into mine, our features imprinting on one another. His free hand squeezed my thigh, possessive and heavy. He left no room for doubt. But it was over as abruptly as it began, with him setting me gently to the side. “No one else would tempt me,” Winslow said, his eyes burning into mine. And then he left, with soft and measured steps. I could tell by the calm stillness of him as he went that he wouldn’t be back. He had opened that door just long enough to close it, giving us both a taste, but more importantly, the closure that we needed. It just couldn’t be. He knew it, and I knew it.
Chapter 26
Dear Lizzie,
There is a soldier here at camp who snores so loud that the sandcreepers ring out and answer. There’s another from the fourth format, I think, who is so flatulent at night, his mates make him sleep outside when the weather allows it. And when it doesn’t, they all suffer. Men are not as romantic as you imagine. I do hope though, for Mum and Da’s sake, that things are going well with Davies. Don’t be too forward with him. You have years to wait until you’re old enough to marry, and they’ll be easier to bear without a broken heart.
You’ll be surprised to find that I have some experience with broken hearts. Well, maybe not broken, just a bit cracked. But that’s a story that’ll have to wait until I’m home. Won’t be long now, trials are coming.
Love, Fiona
Tell Mum and Da not to worry, I’m doing well.
Truthfully, I had been doing well. Little did I know, that wasn’t meant to last. Folding the letter carefully, I set it aside until the next day when I would give it to Winslow at breakfast. I’d been sending my sister short letters, mostly just to let my family know I was okay, or perhaps to remind them that I still existed. Lizzie would write back, long ramblings with little to no real information concerning the farm, which I took to mean that things must be alright.
With the letter complete, I started to gather my dirty laundry. From the many chores I’d had, I knew that most soldiers waited until their free day to dump their clothing and sheets at the convene to be washed, overwhelming the ladies who toiled down there. So I always made a point to go mid-week, when they were sure to have a lull in duties. It was late and I didn’t expect to find anyone in the basement, but when I swept through the swinging doors, Mave was there speaking with another woman. Seeing me she paused her conversation, pointing to the first in a row of tables. “Drop it there. We’ll take care of it in the morning.”
The woman turned, wanting to see who Mave was addressing. She was young, too young to be working at the convene. My age and no older. I was probably staring, but she gaped at me in return, surprised to find a girl in uniform. The embroidered image of Providence and the six stars of hope on my vest gave me away.
“You must be the female soldier,” she said, skipping over.
I nodded, looking past her to Mave with a question in my eye. Mave, appearing a little irritated, trailed her over just as I dumped my laundry on the table. “This is Samona, she’s visiting family,” Mave explained.
I tried to hide my reaction, but I’m sure I failed. Samona. Winslow’s Samona. I had conveniently forgotten that she’d ever existed. A bit more difficult now, what with her standing right in front of me. “Hello,” I managed, trying to smile.
She smiled back, a perfect set of teeth winking as her face dimpled prettily. She had soft brown eyes and thick black lashes to match her heavy black hair. She was lovely and delicate in her sky green frock. “Your name is Frost, right? I didn’t think I’d get to see you, how exciting!” she beamed.
Mave must have sensed my tension because she began to speak, giving me a moment to pull myself together. “We don’t live like you do in the farming sector,” she explained. “Most families get spread out over the military districts, so if a Scarlet is making a trip surface-side, then any additional room aboard is offered to local families. Samona came with her mama to visit Cleo, her aunty who lives up by the landing strips.”
“Well, enjoy your visit,” I replied. “I’ve got to get back to my shed, got a lot of studying to do.” That was a lie. I’d polished off my textbooks months ago. Much to Bardzecki’s chagrin, I knew the subject matter of each very well. Fitallion had taken to giving me advanced lessons in Shetheerie for a while, but even he had exhausted the topic. After that he’d taken me to McMoore, finding me a grindt lexicon in his office that I’d taken to studying in my spare hours. I turned to leave, hurrying to get back to the hostile’s native language and make my escape.
“Why don’t I come along?” Samona piped up.
“You aren’t supposed to wander camp,” Mave said, sounding peevish. “You know that.”
“Oh, pshaw,” Samona replied, waving a hand. “I’m just going to walk with Frost, and since she’s a she, I won’t get in trouble for fraternizing with the soldiers, now will I?”
I tried to interject. “If Mave thinks it’s best—”
“It’ll be fine,” Samona assured, ushering me toward the door. “Don’t you miss speaking to girls your own age?”
That last bit seemed to sway Mave, who I knew, like most of the laundry women, had grown a soft spot for me. “Oh alright,” Mave muttered. “But hurry back,” she said darkly to Samona.
Samona did not hurry. In fact, she seemed to go as slow as possible, her eyes roving over camp, pausing briefly on each soldier before moving on. I didn’t have to guess who she was looking for. But I knew Winslow was at a firsts’ meeting all the way on the other side of camp, so she was destined to be disappointed over and over again. For a while I let this continue, but she attracted too much attention in her dress. With the soldiers continually turning to stare, I eventually picked up my pace, leaving her in the dust.
“Frost!” she called, running to catch up. “I’m sorry, I got a little distracted is all,” she said, and I thought she meant it sincerely.
“It’s fine,” I said, continuing with the lie, “I just have a lot of studying to do for tomorrow.”
“O
f course,” she said. “I can imagine how stressful this place must be.” She paused briefly, “But you have a format right? Are you all very close?”
Not only pretty, but clever. She had managed to get her way with Mave, no easy feat, and now was subtly pumping me for information. The walk, the questions—it was all about Winslow. “I suppose,” I replied vaguely.
“Oh how modest you are!” she said sounding amused. “A camp full of soldiers, surely you must have made a few close friends.”
“A few,” I agreed.
“Perhaps more than friends?” she suggested, giving me a sly smile.
“This isn’t a festival, there’s hardly room for flirting here.”
“I’m sure you are right,” she agreed happily. Content having gotten the answer she was after, she became more pleasant and engaging. “Is this it?” she asked as we rounded the corner of my shed. “Well, it’s... charming.”
“Thank you for walking with me,” I said. “It was nice to meet you.”
She seemed to sense my further withdraw from the conversation, agreeing, “You too!” before skipping off back to camp.
After immersing myself in Shetheerie for months, switching to Braacktdese was a challenge I enjoyed. Shetheerie dripped from the tip of the tongue, smooth and lilting. Braacktdese couldn’t have been more different. Hacking and throaty, I often had to pull the words up from deep in my gut. I usually fell into the task, consumed by it really, but not that night. I stared at the words, unseeing, thinking of Samona. Samona and Winslow.
He’d said that no one else could tempt him, and those words ran reel through my mind, an ironic backdrop to Samona’s beauty. Winslow wouldn’t have lied, of that I was sure. But it was easy to love a lizard in the desert, out here any creature was unique—like me at camp. But Samona was a bird, and I paled in comparison. He would see her, and he would know.