“Dear Wild Ones, on the fiftteenth of March I’ll turn sixteen, and half a full moon later, will be forced to take place in the Call. If at all possible, I’d appreciate an abduction sometime ’fore then, if you’re not too busy, that is. Your friend, Siena (aka Scrawny).”

Yeah, I’m sure that’ll fly.

I remember when they took my sister. She’d just turned sixteen. It was the night of her Call. Unlike me, she was so excited. “I’m becoming a woman!” she squealed as I helped her put on her nicest dress. She really did look beautiful, older’n she’d looked only a few days earlier—transformed. I could tell she was nervous ’cause she was babbling on and on, but who ain’t nervous for their Call? My father’d already left, so we were walking, my mother, Skye and me, toward the village center, where everyone was gathering. Although it was as hot as scorch, it was a perfect summer night, with every servant of the moon goddess out to watch the event. And the moon goddess herself was full and beautiful, an orange beacon contrasting the dark night sky. That’s when it happened. Skye stopped suddenly, said she needed to take a few deep breaths to prepare herself for what was coming. ’Fore my mother or I knew what was happening, she ducked behind a tent. My mother told me to wait and she went after her. That was the last time I ever saw my sister. The Greynotes investigated, found no signs of a struggle, declared her a runaway and a Lawbreaker, said if she was ever caught she’d be forced to bear her first child while in Confinement. There was talk about the Wild Ones, as there was every time another girl went missing, but even that fizzled out after a full moon or two. After all, no one had any proof they even existed.

I realize everyone’s standing ’cept me and Lara.

She’s looking at me with an eyebrow raised and her head cocked to the side. It’s the type of look I tend to get when I been daydreaming. “What’d I miss?” I ask.

“Circ’s team lost,” she says. “But I think the better question is: What did I miss?”

I’m afraid to tell her, ’cause I know now that somehow, some way, she’s connected outside of the village. And that scares me more’n anything.

Chapter Six

“Please be careful,” I say. We’re in one of our favorite spots, what we call the Mouth, a pair of sand dunes so large that if you look at their profile from a distance they look like a giant pair of lips. They’re far enough away from the village that if we sit with our backs on one of the slopes, no one can see us until they’re practically right on top of us. Even then it’d be difficult, ’cause we always burrow a little hole to get a bit of shade. Our shoulders and knees are touching like they always do.

“Don’t be such a worrier,” Circ says, dropping an arm around my shoulder. I lean into him, feeling a twinge of I-don’t-know-what hammering in my chest. He’s staring off into nothingness, and I take a moment to study his face. It’s a face I don’t need to study, ’cause I have every aspect of it memorized. From his sun-chapped lips to the slight cleft in his chin that you can only see from certain angles, to the way his nose casts a shadow in the shape of a ghost on his cheeks, I could draw his face while sleepwalking. I even know the exact depth of the two dimples that burrow so symmetrically in each cheek, regardless of whether he’s happy, sad, or something in between. When we were just Totters and first met, I asked him why he had holes in his cheeks. I remember his response as if it were yesterday: “Mama says they’re not holes, they’re star craters, and they’re magic.” Ever since that day I still believe there’s some magic in those dimples of his—perhaps they’re the source of his being so searin’ good at everything.

“I’ll be watching,” I add, as if that’ll scare him into being more careful. Regardless, I’m glad the final Hunt of the season falls on a non-Learning day, so I’ll get to watch.

I’ve watched a few Hunts ’fore, and to be honest, the thought of seeing the men shooting pointers and throwing spears into the broad side of a bunch of rampaging beasts curdles my stomach; but the thought of sitting at home worrying about whether Circ’ll make it back okay is even worse, so I’m going.

“I’ll look for you,” Circ says, grinning. “I’ll kill my first tug of the day for you.”

“How romantic,” I say, playing with my bracelet. It’s a leather strap, given to me by my parents when I became a Youngling. All Younglings get one. Fastened to it are seven charms, one for me and one for each member of my living family. For me there’s a tree, signifying my duty as a Bearer when I turn sixteen, to grow my family. My father’s represented by bull horns, for strength and providing for his family, although I think it also means he can be a bit bullheaded sometimes. Okay, a lot bullheaded and all the time. My mother’s got the sun goddess’s eye, the sun, to watch over me. My sister, Skye, is a flame, burning brightly as a beacon for me to follow. Kind of hard to follow her when I don’t know where she is or if she’s even alive. My father’s encouraged me to bury her charm now that she’s gone, but I just can’t. Not yet. Maybe never. For my Call-Mother, Sari, there’s a flower for her beauty. My Call-Siblings, Rafi and Fauna, are a footprint and a raindrop, for a road long travelled and new beginnings. I used to have four others, three for my other Call-Family, but when they died, we all buried our charms together, freeing their spirits to the gods. The fourth missing charm is for my other real sister, Jade. She died when she was only seven, taken by a rampaging summer fire. I never saw her body, ’cause the fire was so hot it took every last part of her. ’Cept her soul, which I know is dancing in the land of the gods. When she died, it was the only time I saw my father cry.

I’m not sure how long I been playing with my charms, but when I look up, Circ’s holding back a laugh. “Did you just make a joke and then space out on me?” he says, smirking.

“I dunno. Was it funny?” I ask. “The joke, I mean.”

He laughs, grabs me under the arms, and lifts me to my feet. “I’ve got to get ready,” he says.

“Me, too,” I say, punching him lightly on the arm.

“Hey, watch it! I bruise easily,” he says, a twinkle in his eye.

I narrow my eyes. “No you don’t.”

“Oh, right. That’s you I was thinking of.” I reach out to punch him again, but he dances away, and my fist wags awkwardly in the air.

“Oh no you don’t!” I scream, giving chase.

It’s a full two miles to the village and I’m determined to catch him by then. The one thing I’m good at is running, unless of course something gets in the way of my two left feet, in which case I’ll probably end up with a mouth full of sand.

He’s already at the top of the dune, his head slipping out of sight. I charge after him, stumbling once when I step in a hole, probably left by a burrow mouse, or some other digging critter, but regain my balance and make it to the top.

He’s standing just over the crest, watching me. “Good luck,” he says, whooping once and racing off toward the village.

I’m after him a split-second later, my legs full of the energy of a day off from Learning, a morning spent with Circ when I was meant to be replenishing our trough from the watering hole, and the anticipation of the afternoon Hunt. Circ’s fast—really, really fast—’specially over short distances, but things are much closer the farther we go. Plus, he loves taunting me, letting me get close and then cutting away, almost like he’s avoiding a defender on the feetball field. All the time he’s laughing, egging me on, trying to get under my skin. But his cries of “Come on, Sie, my grandmother could run faster than you and she’s been dead for fourteen years!” or “I think a sand slug just passed you, Sie, how embarrassing!” fall on deaf ears, as I grit my teeth and stay focused. Left foot, left foot. Left foot, left foot. Laughing at my own thoughts, I lose concentration for a moment and miss a rock that’s suddenly under my foot, breaking away beneath my tread, rolling my ankle to the outside.