Green Jack (17 page)

Saffron looked
back at herself.

It gave her a
brief moment of vertigo. But there was no denying the coppery skin,
the black eyes, the scar on the collarbone from the time she slid
off one of the bridges and landed on a rusted truck. She wore only
a dress of iron chains wound through with ivy, thistles, and
thorns. The Green Jack mask glittered like fireflies. Blood snaked
down her arm.She was sure one was supposed to say something
spiritual or wise, when confronted with oneself.

“What the
jacking hell?”

In response,
her twin snarled.

“If you bite
me, I’m biting you back.” The surrealness of threatening herself
with herself, was disorienting. She touched the chains gingerly.
Her twin watched her with the same expression as the bear in the
cave below. The iron was cold and slick. She yanked on it, hoping
the bolts that secured to the wall were rusty. They weren’t. There
wasn’t even a lock to pick. She shook them harder, frustrated. She
eventually sat back on her heels, sweat running into her eyes. “I
don’t get it.”

She poked her
head over the ledge. Elisande was tiny at the bottom. Her antlers
looked like tree branches in winter. “What the hell am I supposed
to do?”

“Open your
eyes, Saffron Foxfire.”

“We hate her,
right?” Saffron asked her twin. She could almost feel the chains on
her own wrists. Thistles scratched her temples, stinging. The leaf
mask was as impatient as she was. The wind changed, and she could
smell the musty, wild smell of trapped animals.

There was mud
on her twin’s feet, red dust under her nails. Paint on her side,
just there under her ribs. “Stand up.” She remembered Elisande’s
advice with the tree and added a belated “Please.”

Her twin stood
slowly. A fox painted in russet and red ochre stretched from her
back, under her ribs, with its head looking between her breasts.
Elisande had used Saffron’s full name. Saffron was fairly certain
she hadn’t had the strength to tell her what it was when they were
first brought to the village.

“Fox for a
Foxfire,” she said slowly. Elisande had porcupine quills and a deer
headdress. Anya had white swan feathers tied to her staff. There
were animals all around her, trapped in the caves. There were
stories even in Elysium City of totems and people who turned into
animals. Her grandmother still told those stories, passed down from
her own grandmother.

“If I knew how
to turn into an animal, don’t you think I would have done it by
now?” She felt useless and furious and exhausted.

Her twin
grabbed her wrist. Saffron froze. She wasn’t going to let herself
be trapped in this cave too. But her twin only pulled Saffron’s
hand, pressing her palm over the painted fox. Her twin stretched
and contorted, her body racked with cramps. Leaves and white
berries fell from the mask. She crushed them under her feet,
fighting some internal battle. Saffron felt her own insides clench
in sympathy. They gasped in unison.

And then skin
turned to fur, teeth got smaller and shaper, hands became paws. Her
twin landed on four feet, a fox lean and red as fire.

Saffron
couldn’t help a breathless laugh. “Well, okay then.” Her tag was
healing already. She laughed again, feeling better than she had in
years. “Let’s get out of here.”

The climbed
down the rough steps. Saffron couldn’t stop staring at the fox,
even though it made her a little dizzy. At the bottom, Elisande
smiled smugly at them. The fox barked once and then took off
through the golden grass. Saffron didn’t call it back.

Anya tilted her
head. “You’re supposed to keep your animal spirit tied to
yourself.”

“Why would I do
that?” Saffron said. “Ever seen a caged fox?” She’d seen them in
the City, slinking down alleys or trapped in cages and gnawing at
the bars with bloody gums. Jedekiah had considered animals for his
sideshow but Saffron threatened to quit. His ridiculous dogs didn’t
count.

Elisande smiled
wider. “I told you she was strong enough once we broke the binding
magic of the tattoo.”

Saffron was
acutely aware of the lush and vibrant purple thistles, and
goldenrod unfurling from the mask pushed back over her forehead.
“Strong enough for what?” She asked, even though she already knew
the answer.

Chapter
26

Jane

The villagers
lay unmoving in some kind of magical sleep. Saffron had no
training. Jane rubbed the back of her neck, where her mark
prickled.

She waited a
long time, long enough for concern to turn to boredom. She watched
beetles crawl through the cracks in the clay. They made a
pattern—she’d been taught that everything made a pattern. But this
one was just too chaotic to read.

When the
villagers sat up as abruptly as they’d laid down, Jane jumped.
Saffron stood up more quickly than the others. She looked fit,
strong. Until she collapsed again. Anya signalled for help, and
they carried Saffron towards the gully gardens. Jane tried to push
through the crowd. “Wait!”

They took
Saffron to a large wooden platform with a lit torch in each corner
and set her down on a pile of blankets. Shanti prodded Jane with
her spear again, hard enough that her shirt tore. Blood welled on
her spine, sticky and hot. Suddenly, all she could think about were
those Directorate videos again, the ones about the dangers of
Ferals: human sacrifice, cannibalism.

“It’s a place
of honour,” Shanti said.

When both Jane
and Saffron were on the platform, two men turned a huge metal crank
and it moved up a column until they towered over the gully gardens.
The stars seemed closer. Saffron was covered in green leaves.

There were jugs
of mead and a basket of breads and tomatoes, a soapstone lamp with
oil and matches. Jane had her pack and everything in her pockets
but none of it was immediately helpful. The planks creaked when the
wind rose up to touch them with curious fingers. Vertigo nibbled at
her knees like rats. Saffron lay quietly, looking surprisingly
well-rested. The stitches and the slash through her tag were
already healing. They’d be healthy prisoners then.

“Saffron, wake
up!” She pinched her shoulder but Saffron didn’t stir.

She had no
magic to wake her friend, only magic to see that she needed to be
awakened.

Now.

The smoke from
the fires being put out turned to steam, became a herd of white
horses galloping towards them. The torches set at each corner
flickered into eyes, arrows, screaming mouths.

And unlike the
beetles, she could read these omens perfectly well.

“Wake up, wake
up, wake up.”

Nothing.

Jane reached
out to snap a leaf off the mask. Saffron woke up swinging. Jane’s
head cracked back, pain shooting up her jaw and into her ear. “What
the hell---sorry. Ow, my head. Sorry. Am I sorry?”

Jane pressed on
her jaw. “Never mind. We have to get out here. I’ve seen the
omens.”

Saffron glanced
around. “Don’t need omens to know we’re in trouble.”

“What happened
to you?” Jane asked.

“Underworld,”
she replied shortly. “Fox. Shadows. It was a thing.”

“But you’re all
right?”

“I feel great.”
She frowned over the edge. “Pissed off, but great.” Already the
plants were getting bigger. “I guess they think they caught
themselves a Green Jill.”

“There’s no way
down,” Jane told her. “There are three guards, there, there and
there. The platform is controlled by that crank. And it’s oiled
metal so we can’t climb down.”

“You’ve been
busy.”

“It’s easy to
see stuff when no one’s looking at you.”

“Enclave
philosophy?”

Jane gave an
indelicate snort. “Not exactly.”

“Good.” Saffron
noticed Elisande on the stairs leading down to a patch of
cornstalks. She whistled sharply. “Hey, kid! Get us down from
here.”

There was an
offended pause.“I helped you fetch your soul back,” she finally
replied. “I saved you. And now you owe me.”

Saffron ground
her teeth. “Nobody asked you to save me, kid. I made no deal.”

“We’ve never
had a Green Jill.”

“Not my
problem. And to be clear, you still don’t.”

“Maybe we can
reach a compromise,” Jane cut in.

“No,” Saffron
and Elisande replied in unison.

“Do you want
the Directorate at your doorstep?” Jane pressed.

“Is that a
threat, outlander?” An arrow slammed into the wooden platform,
piercing through the boards from underneath. The metal tip scraped
along her ankle.

“An
observation,” Jane corrected calmly, though Saffron could see her
hands trembling. The smoke-horses trampled through her.

“We don’t need
you,” Elisande said. “We need the Green Jill. And anyway, the
Directorate doesn’t come here.”

“They will if
they’re chasing a Jack,” Jane pointed out. “It’s not worth it.”

“Not worth it?”
It was Anya who replied this time. She said something that had
Ferals gathering on the crests, thin as twigs. “You’ve never seen a
person starve to death, have you?”

Saffron folded
her arms. “I come from Elysium City. Of course I have.”

But Jane
hadn’t. She came from a place of candied violets and tea biscuits.
She winced. Saffron nudged her hard. “Don’t.”

“What?”

“Don’t go soft
on me. They’re doing it on purpose.”

“They’re
hungry.”

“They’re not
any hungrier than the rest of us,” Saffron pointed out. “And I’m
not living the rest of my life up here. However short it will be,
before they decide to have one of their own wear the mask.”

“Oh. Good
point.” Jane swallowed hard. “Then we should fall back on my
philosophy. There’s definitely too many people watching us.”

Saffron made a
noise of frustration. “You’re right. God, I hate this.” She
stumbled, as if overtaken by a wave of dizziness. She fell to her
knees. “I’d move,” she warned, coughing. “Before I’m sick on your
heads.”

The Ferals
scattered. Elisande and the spear-sisters stepped out of reach but
didn’t leave the area. Saffron let herself go boneless, draped over
the blankets. Jane knelt beside her, making noises of panic. “What
have you done to her?” she called out. There was a hitch in her
voice.

“Nice touch,”
Saffron smiled faintly, taking care to stay still.

“Shh.”

“She needs
rest,” Anya called up. “Not everyone is strong enough to handle the
Underworld.”

“Not strong
enough, my ass,” Saffron hissed under her breath.

It was another
two hours before Saffron rolled over, stretching on her stomach to
peer over the edge. Most of their fires had dwindled down to coals.
There were the same three guards on duty, but they were playing
dice.

“Last chance,”
Saffron murmured. “Three days of hospitality come to an end
tomorrow at sunset.”

Chapter
27

Saffron

“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.