“How are we supposed to get down from here?” Jane asked.
“We have an arrow,” Saffron said. “They very helpfully shot it at you, remember?”
“But no rope. No---.” She patted her pockets. “Wait, I have a paracord.”
“I suddenly love your ridiculous posh survival gear.” She pushed a green tendril behind her ear. She rose into a cautious crouch, expecting to feel sick. Instead, she felt even better than before the Taggers had grabbed her. “We need a distraction.”
Jane rummaged through the baskets. “We have tomatoes and a handful of peas. Not exactly enough to strike fear in the hearts of Feral warriors.”
“Pack ‘em. If nothing else, we’ll need food.”
“And there’s mead.”
Saffron paused thoughtfully. “And torches.” She smiled slowly. “And lamp oil. We have a firebreather at the sideshow. I’ve seen him do it a thousand times.” She didn’t mention that he’d once set his own eyebrows on fire. “How hard can it be?”
Jane was nibbling on her lower lip in that way Saffron had come to realize meant she had something to say but didn’t know how to say it. Who knew the Enclave folk thought so damn hard all of the time? “Spit it out.”
“If we throw most of the torches into the gardens, that will distract them.”
Saffron nodded. “Perfect.”
“It has a certain poetic justice, I suppose.”
“If you say so.”
“But we’d end up burning what food they do have.”
“Not if they’re quick enough.”
The plan was both simple and logical, and at the same time relied on undiluted luck more than Saffron liked. Actually, she liked it just fine. Killian would be horrified. But it was better than nothing. Sort of.
Jane had already fastened the carbiner at the end of the paracord around the arrow and then up through the slats around the metal tip. There was just enough space between the planks, though her fingers came away bloody. Saffron kept a careful eye on the guards, while trying not to feel so inappropriately happy—as though she were finally at home within herself. She ought to be feeling anger, vengeance, adrenaline. But mostly they were watered down, all flavoured with this brimming well-being. She hated people like that.
It had to be the leaf mask. She knew that to leave it behind was paramount to suicide. She had no interest in turning into a mound of dirt in someone’s flowerpot, like the last Green Jack. She’d just have to bear it. Unless it led to giggling, then she’d hurl both her and the leaf mask straight over the edge of the platform.
“It’s secure,” Jane whispered. “Maybe.”
They strapped on their packs and Saffron tucked the stone lamp carefully in her pocket. There were more torches at the base of the platform—she’d just have to reach them before anyone else, if and when, it came down to a fight. She had no daggers left, and Jane’s pristine survival knife was too valuable to throw. They’d need it later. Assuming there was a later.
Jane tossed the honey liquor, splashing it down over gardens. Saffron threw the torches, hoping the mead would fuel the fire. One of them went out before it landed. Another fell and vanished through the cornstalks. The others stayed lit, and the flames caught hot and hungry. With any luck, the smoke would add another shield to their escape.
Saffron was the first one down the pole. Using the paracord to keep from plummeting before she could wrap herself around the pole was more frightening than any Elysium City rope bridge. There was no slowing down, no scrabbling for purchase. She hit the ground so suddenly she nearly bit her tongue off. Jane landed right on top of her seconds later.
Fire crackled in the gullies, sending up plumes of orange light and smoke. The guards had already rushed to help. Nothing was as important as crops in a place like the Badlands. Anywhere, really. Someone hit a drum—three hard beats. The alarm had sounded. The resulting chaos would either save them or damn them further.
Burning green stalks, silky corn tassels, tomatoes bursting; Saffron felt a twinge of something remarkably like guilt. Annoyed, she snapped a hasty bouquet of dandelions and thistles from her mask, dropping them at the foot of the metal pole. It might help them grow back what they lost tonight. If nothing else, it would grow better than any other plant they had ever seen. They might even get sick of eating dandelion leaf salads. She felt Jane watching her. “Shut up,” she muttered.
The drum played on but underneath it they could hear the panicked voices, the splash of precious drinking water. Steam and smoke billowed like breaths. No one had noticed the empty platform yet. The fire consumed all, crops to common sense.
Saffron and Jane made it to the outskirts of the village, the orange glow flickering violently behind them. Jane was the first to hear the growl. Saffron was too busy gloating in her head. Three coyotes blocked their way. They were bigger than Saffron remembered, reaching to her hipbones. Their growls traveled between them like a cup passed around a feast table. She didn’t know what they were saying. She didn’t have to.
“Don’t run,” she said to Jane softly. “They’ll chase you.”
There was the soft scuff of paws on the packed clay behind them. Saffron fumbled for the lamp. One of the other coyotes yipped loudly, starting a chain of response. The yips got louder, signalling to the village. Jane jumped, startling the coyote behind them, already poised to attack. He became a streak of light brown fur and glistening teeth. Jane twisted away and nearly fell into a dark gully. She swung her backpack in a wide arc but he was already on her. She gave a shout, brief and broken with pain.
The other coyotes sprang into motion. Saffron waved her torch to cut them off. They flinched but they knew torches in the village and it wouldn’t fend them off for very long. She stabbed it at the coyote attacking Jane until his tail fur smoldered. He yelped and raced away.
“Are you dead?” Saffron tried to get a better look at Jane.
“Mostly alive,” she replied, gasping for air. There was a tear in her pants, above the knee. She pressed her hand to it, blood seeping through her fingers. “Thank you.”
The growls of the remaining coyote became agitated. And much closer. Their eyes glinted. “Don’t thank me yet. We’re probably going to die horribly. I just put it off a few minutes.”
“That’s what I like about you. You’re so optimistic.”
Saffron unstopped the lamp and filled her mouth with the oil. It was viscous and thoroughly unpleasant. She forced back an involuntary gag. She waited until Jane had scrambled to her feet before she exhaled forcefully, spraying the oil. It hit the flame and kept going, dragging fire. The flames shot towards the coyotes like a red spear. They yipped, scrambling out of the way. Saffron kept the exhale going until her cheeks tingled and her mouth was empty. The pulse of afterlight slashed at the darkness. She spat, shuddering at the lingering aftertaste.
The coyotes raced away but she didn’t think they would stay away for long. She kicked the empty lamp into the gully.