Of Dreams and Rust (9 page)

Leye's voice breaks as he says, “This girl is innocent. You should leave her here with us.”

Melik's expression is blank as he turns back to Leye. “Commander Kudret says she must come with us.”

Melik pokes at my shoulder and gestures for me to stand behind the line of bound soldiers. When one of the Noor raiders lifts the end of the rope and comes toward me, Melik snaps at him. The fellow drops the rope, and I sigh in relief. At least I will not be wearing a noose as I stumble over rocks and shiver in the cold.

I look over my shoulder at Leye.

“You'll be all right, Miss Wen,” he says to me. “Maybe they will let you see your family.”

I can tell from the strained sound of his voice that he does not believe I will be all right, but he does not want me to be scared. “Thank you,” I say. “When help arrives, tell them to splint your foot and then take you to a doctor to make sure the bones set properly.”

He smiles, and it is laced with pain but also sweetness. “It was nice traveling with you, if only for a short time.”

Melik takes my arm and gestures after the other soldiers, who have started to trudge at gunpoint along a trail that zigzags up the hill. A line of Noor raiders is ahead of them, and my gaze traces the row of men until I see the ones at the front slipping into a narrow pass just beneath the summit. I turn back to Leye. “It was nice,” I say.

He waves to me. “Please be careful.”

He smiles once more before Melik mutters that we have to leave. I follow the prisoners, stepping gingerly along the narrow path, trailed by another line of raiders behind me and Melik. They talk in low tones, gesturing quick and sharp, eyes darting all around, as if they are afraid of an ambush too. The higher we get, the better I can see the wreckage of the train scattered along the twisted rail. The smoke billows high into the sky, and I am sure this is what is making the Noor anxious. People will see it. They will send the authorities. It makes me happy for Leye and the other wounded, but also scared—who will be chasing us, and will I be cut down like Anji was, one of the unlucky?

It takes us only a few minutes to reach the narrow pass below the crest of the hill, but by then I am huffing, my breath fogging, too warm even in this frosty air. My fingers are stiff with cold, and I shove them into the pockets of my overcoat, the one on the left side already stuffed with my father's cloth-wrapped scalpel. My fingers curl over the bundle, and in it I take a measure of comfort. I'm not entirely defenseless, but I will have to be smart about how I use this, my only weapon and tool.

The trussed soldiers plod along, occasionally stumbling, while their Noor captors maintain a tight grip on the ropes that keep them under control. We enter the pass, a long, narrow trail bounded on either side by sheer cliff faces. As soon as I step into it, a shot rings out down below. The Itanyai soldiers in front of me look around in alarm as we hear another, then another. Their eyes are wide with horror.

It takes me a moment and one shot longer, but the jagged puzzle pieces slip into place and I realize what is happening.

I cry out and spin around as the cracks fall silent, colliding with Melik as he steps forward.

“No, Wen,” he says quietly, taking me by the arms. “Keep walking. Keep walking.” His grip on me is as hard as the rocks enclosing us.

“They're shooting them, Melik! Leye and the other . . .” Then I catch the look on his face. “You knew. You knew! You told him he would not be killed if he surrendered, and—”

“They could not walk,” he replies in a tightly controlled voice. “Commander Kudret gave his orders.”

My tears, absent until now, spring forth, flooding my eyes and spilling onto my cheeks. I kick at Melik's shins and slap at his chest, stupidly trying to get back to Leye, even though I know it is too late and he will never smile again. “They were just boys!” I scream, the savagery of the day ripping the sound from my throat.

“No,” Melik says, standing solid and immobile as I pound on him with all my might. “They were soldiers.”

“How could you be a part of this?” I sob, grabbing handfuls of his shirt over the spot I so carefully stitched up all those months ago, when I prayed that he wouldn't die, when I was willing to risk anything to save him. “I believed you to be so much better than that. How could you not say one word to prevent it?”

“What do you think those soldiers would have done to us if they had had the chance?” he shouts. “You've witnessed what they're willing to do to people like me!” Melik gives me a shake that rattles my bones. “This is a war, Wen.”

I stop fighting him, anger running quiet and poisonous through my veins. “And you are a soldier too.”

His mouth forms a taut gray line, and he nods.

I look up into his eyes, eerie and pale and giving nothing away. “If your commander gives orders for my death, will you pull the trigger yourself, or will you ask someone else to do the job?”

He lets me go and steps back, his nostrils flaring as he sucks in a sharp breath. Someone behind him mutters a question.

“Susmaye!”
Melik barks, and the raider's mouth snaps shut. I stand there, waiting for him to answer my question. Waiting for him to say he would not kill me, that he would never allow anyone to hurt me, that he does not want to be a part of this at all.

But instead he points at the trail. “We are falling behind,” he says, cold and calm again. “Start walking.”

Chapter

SOMETIME IN THE last several hours I tore my dress on a sharp stone, and it is the one thing that went right today. I pull at the tattered fabric as I huddle near the fire, my face warm and my spine tingling as the wind places cold kisses on the back of my neck. When we arrived at this ridge, there were more Noor waiting. There appear to be at least a hundred of them, and they have a few packhorses to carry supplies. Several of the rebels are women, as dirty faced and ragged as the men, but also as sturdy and determined-looking.

I recognize at least two of the rebels as men from Melik's village, men who worked at the factory last year. One of them is the man who wiped blood from my face and hands after finding me in the lower levels of Gochan One with Ugur, who had been killed by one of Bo's spiders. Baris, I think his name is. He is short for a Noor, but built strong like a bull, and he and Melik embraced when they met on the ridge. Now all the Noor have separated into camps, and their fires, fed by scraggly brush, dot the ridge.

I tear one long strip from my skirt, then another, then another. Above us the stars glitter like chips of ice. My head throbs with the effort of blocking out memories that could bring me down, but I will not let myself collapse and give up. I am best when I am working, so I will work. By the time I am finished, the hem of my skirt is three inches higher than it should be. Ordinarily, that would be quite shameful, but I am wearing long boots and my overcoat, so nothing is revealed.

I get to my feet and slowly approach Bajram. He is guarding us while the others, Melik included, eat dried beef and hard biscuits with their commander. They are clustered on the boulders just up the ridge, where they have built their own fire. They no longer seem to have a fear of detection—we are deep in the hills, with a clear view of the slope below us and the path on either side. From the dramatic gestures and loud laughs, I suspect they are drinking more than water.

Bajram's brow furrows when I hold up the strips of my dress and wave them under his nose. He has hollow cheeks and a soft-looking mouth that he has tried to hide with a scraggly beard, and up close it is clear to me that he is Melik's age, maybe younger. He looks down at my shortened skirt peeking out from the folds of my overcoat, and then at the scraps in my hands. He steps away from me cautiously, as if he believes my behavior is part of a bizarre Itanyai mating ritual.

“Bandages,” I say, then point at the bedraggled group of young prisoners, some of whom are dozing with their heads on their knees. Their comrades sit around them, shoulder to shoulder, but we are Itanyai, and Itanyai men do not lean on one another. I run my fingers along my throat and then point to them again, saying I want to help in clumsy Noor.
“Yorh zhaosteyardie.”

Bajram gestures with the nose of his rifle. “Go.”

I place my hand over my heart and turn my palm to him, and he rolls his eyes and mutters something in Noor. Biting my lip, I inch past him and kneel next to the nearest soldier, who has blood crusted in his ears and the rims of his nostrils. He stares into the fire as if it is the only thing he is aware of. We are in the open, sitting on a mountainside at the edge of the massive, deep canyon that connects the Ring to Melik's village, linking the west to the east. It is a grand sight, lit by stars and moon, brightened by cold, but the young man next to me is focused on the flames. “How are you?” I ask softly, and he flinches.

Slowly his gaze slides up to mine. “I told my father I would be back before Third Holiday,” he says. “I promised him that we would feast together.”

“And maybe you will.” I settle in next to him. The flesh of his throat is chafed and raw from the rough pull of the rope. Now that we aren't walking, the Noor raiders have bound the soldiers' feet and hands instead. “I can bandage your throat for you.”

“Who are you, sister? Why do you talk to the Red One as if you know him?” he asks, confirming that although Melik is not the man on the poster, it hardly matters. The title fits, after all.

My fist closes over the thin brown strips of cloth. Now it is my turn to gaze at the fire. “I did know him once,” I murmur. “We worked at the same factory last year.”

I could say so much more. I could tell him what Melik and I started to build together, and how the last year wore it away, how this morning destroyed it entirely. I could explain how Melik was gentle, how he protected me. I could admit that my desire to protect him and his people is the reason I am probably going to die. I could tell him how my heart is aching, and how Melik's has turned to stone. All of those laments and confessions are on the tip of my tongue, but it does no good to say them aloud. It might even do harm. I blink and look at the soldier. “My name is Wen, and my father is a doctor. Let me bind the wound?”

The soldier, with a lean body and eyes heavy with fatigue, says, “I'm Shimian.” He nods toward his fellows. “And that's Yino, Mabian, Senza, and Lidim.”

The others nod and mumble their hellos, devoid of the bravado and flirtation of this morning. “Do you have a family, Miss Wen?” asks the one named Mabian, who has a gash above his eyebrow and dried blood striping the right side of his face.

“Just my father now.” And Bo. I have come to think of him and my father as the places I call home.

“He will be missing you,” says Mabian.

I swallow back the pain of missing them both and nearly choke on the sadness I know I have caused them. “If my father were here,” I say, my voice breaking, “he would tell me to get to work and take care of my patients.”

I tilt Shimian's head to the side and examine the abraded skin of his throat. It is brownish red with dust and grime.

“Bajram?” I call, and our guard takes a step closer, his finger twitching toward the trigger of his rifle. I point to his canteen and say, “Please,” then pinch my fingers together. Just a little water is all I ask.

He shakes his head.

The soldier at the far end of the line of five, the one named Lidim, lets out a snort. “If you think that Noor is going to offer his precious water so that you can clean our Itanyai wounds, you are very naive.”

I suppose I am. I glance at the knot of men with Commander Kudret. Melik is a shade taller than the others, easy to spot even when he is wearing a cap over his rust-colored hair. He is gesturing wildly, speaking loudly. His face is lit by the firelight, his smile bright as he entertains the group. He never once looks my way. I thought I understood him. I thought I knew who the Noor were. How wrong I was.