Free Rebel Heart by Moira Young Page A

know common sense if it walked up an slapped you in the face. Tommo’s right, we need to check it out.
    Is that what you got? says Em. Common sense?
    You bet, he says.
    Then I’m glad I ain’t got none. Emmi takes my reins. C’mon, Saba, I’m gonna git you some help. These two can do what they like. She heels her horse an starts leadin me down the bluff.
    In the east, a thunderhead gathers itself. It eyes us up. An heads this way.



We make our way towards the camp. Emmi an Tracker lead. Me next, with Nero ridin on my shoulder. Tommo an Lugh bring up the rear. Hermes ain’t bothered in the least by Tracker now. You could almost say they’re friendly. Which is odd. Considerin.
    As we approach, a pack of mangy mutts rushes at us. Tracker snarls a warnin, teeth bared, hackles raised. They yip a swift retreat, tails between their legs.
    On the edge of camp, there’s a crowd of raggedy kids playin a loud game of bladder ball. The dust flies as they elbow an trip an wrestle. Rough rules. As we git closer, they spot us. They stop. They stare. There’s one raggedy scarecrow of a girl around Emmi’s age. She gawps at me, open-mouthed. Like she cain’t believe her eyes.
    Hey, says Emmi. Can you tell me where we could—
    It’s th’Angel of Death! she yells. Run!
    The kids scatter. They race towards the tents, hollerin, Th’Angel of Death! She’s here! Ma! It’s th’Angel of Death!
    They vanish inside. Silence.
    Emmi looks back at me. She knew you, she says. She must of bin at Hopetown.
    Quite the reputation you got, says Lugh.
    Saba’s the most famous fighter in the world, says Em. On her fight days, you couldn’t hardly move in Hopetown. People came from all around, jest to—
    Can it, Emmi, says Lugh.
    I’m only sayin—
    Nuthin, he says. I’ll say what needs sayin from here on.
    He moves up next to me. We ride slowly into camp. There’s a wide space between the two lines of shelters, like a road. We make our way along it. All quiet. Not a soul in sight. Nobody watchin the pots that bubble on the cookfires. There’s a few stools tipped over, like whoever was sat on ’em left in a hurry.
    We edge closer together.
    Where is everybody? says Em.
    Behind us. Tommo’s voice, a cracked whisper.
    We look back. A crowd’s appeared. Men, women an children. Dried husks of people. With fear in their eyes an weapons in their hands. Sticks an stones, bottles an bones.
    Tracker growls. Starts towards ’em.
    Tracker, stay! Lugh calls him in. G’day, folks. We don’t come to make no trouble. Anybody in charge here?
    They don’t make no answer. A man at the front starts bangin two sticks together. Others join in. Wood. Stone. Glass. Bone. The steady beat beat beat of bad blood fouls the air.
    We turn to face front. My mouth’s dry.
    Keep movin, says Lugh.
    We go on. They follow. They keep a gap between them an us, careful of Tracker.
    The wind rises. The sky darkens. The storm from the east is nearly upon us. Thunder grumbles a threat. Lightnin forks in the distance.
    Then, in front of us, more people step in our path. They block our way. Armed with wood an stone. Glass an bone. Beat beat beat. A few of ’em hold up odd things. Sticks tied in triangles. A bead an skin dolly.
    What’re those? says Emmi.
    Charms, says Lugh, to pertect ’em from evil. He grabs my reins an pulls Hermes up tight next to Buck.
    What evil? Em’s squeaky with fright.
    They’re afeared of Saba, he says. I knew this was a mistake. Let’s go.
    We cain’t, says Tommo.
    To the front, at the back, they’ve blocked our way. There’s a wall of shelters on eether side.
    The ugly beat closes me in. Traps me. An I’m tremblin. Shakin. I’m back in Hopetown. Back in the Cage.
    The ground shakes. The crowd stomps. They chant fer the blood of the defeated fighter.
    Gauntlet! Gauntlet! Gauntlet!
    I won’t let ’em hurt you, Lugh says to me.
    Nero screams an dives at their heads.
    All this time, the storm’s bin movin closer. The wind wails. The