Free Rebel Heart by Moira Young Page B

red dust whirls. Our horses hate it. The noise of the crowd. The comin storm. They toss their heads. They squeal. They dance. It’s hard to keep ’em in check. Tracker darts an snaps at the crowd in front.
    A stone, sharp and quick, flies at Lugh. Hits him in the shoulder. He cries out. Drops my reins. Suddenly, hands reach up. They haul on my leg, tryin to pull me offa Hermes. I kick out.
    Lugh! screams Emmi.
    He grabs my arm. The horses go crazy. More hands pull at me. I’m kickin wildly. Emmi’s yellin. Tommo snatches a stick an starts beatin at their heads. Tracker snarls an slashes. Somebody screams.
    Boom! Thunder splits the air. The crowd stops. Falls back. The blood beat stops. They all look to the sky. Like they’re only jest noticin the change in the weather.
    Mountains of clouds tumble this way. Quickly. Darkly. Their lightnin fingers stab at the earth.
    Somebody calls out, The Sky Speaker! She’s comin out! Quick!
    A woman shouts, Bring her to the Sky Speaker! She’ll know what to do!
    More hands grab at me. I’m pulled offa Hermes back. I struggle an fight, but four men seize hold of me – two on each arm – an run drag me up the camp. A couple of women run alongside, holdin up charms.
    Lugh! I yell. Lugh! As I twist to look behind, I catch sight of ’em bein hauled offa their horses. Emmi, Tommo an Lugh.
    The rest of the crowd’s dropped their sticks an stones. They’re pushin past each other, scoopin up the smallest kids. Everybody rushin in the same direction. Towards the top of the camp.
    We come to a piece of open ground along the riverbank, beyond the shelters. There’s a small, rough wood platform. It’s raised offa the ground about four foot, with steps on the left. A crude slat roof, the sides open to the weather. There’s a tattered tent pitched a few paces to the left of the platform. Thunder rumbles. Lightnin forks in the distance. The wind snatches at people’s clothes an hair, ripples the tent.
    Everybody’s startin to kneel, facin the platform. They hush each other. Quiet their fretful kids. They’re gonna be caught in the storm, outside when they’d be safer in. But they don’t seem worried.
    The men drag me to the front. They tie my hands with one of their belts. Kick the back of my legs. I land hard on my knees. I try to turn my head, look fer Lugh, but one of ’em grabs me by the hair. He yanks my head back so’s I’m starin up at the platform. I grit my teeth aginst the pain. Lugh! I yell.
    Shut up! says the man. We’ll see what the Sky Speaker’s gotta say about you.
    Nero’s swoopin an divin, screechin at the men. They hit out at him with their sticks. They’ll hurt him. Kill him.
    No, Nero, no! I call. Go!
    He sails to the tattered tent next to the platform an lands on top. He opens his wings wide an screams. Unease crackles through the crowd. Crows bring death. That’s what a lot of folk think.
    The Angel of Death an her crow. At Hopetown, everybody feared Nero. When I fought in the Cage, he used to watch from a nearby light tower. Wouldn’t leave till I’d won. People believed I got my powers from him.
    Another bunch of men wrestle Lugh, Emmi an Tommo up to the front. Their hands is already tied. A few heavy whacks from a stick an the boys kneel, like me.
    Saba! says Lugh. Are y’okay?
    Yeah! I says. Em’s beside me. Don’t be skeered, Em, I says.
    I ain’t skeered of these cowards, says she.
    The wind shrieks. A thump of thunder. A crack of lightnin as the storm draws near.
    There she is! cries Emmi.
    There’s a boy, Emmi’s age, comin outta the tattered little tent next to the platform. He’s leadin a girl by the hand, helpin her up the steps.
    She’s got a length of dark cloth tied around her eyes, a blindfold. She’s small, fine-boned as a bird, with maybe sixteen year on her. She wears a long white robe. Bare feet, bare arms, bare legs. With skin as white as a white winter moon. Hair of palest fire. It hangs to her waist, loose an alive,