Emberhawk - Jamie Foley Page 0,2
straightened, picking a wad of pine needles from the bandana across her forehead that held her curls at bay. The overripe cherries for the vintner were already loaded, as were the small ones for the candy maker and the shriveled pits for the inkmaster. All she needed was the shopping list, her wide-brimmed hat, and Granny’s fan—then her escape to Navarro would be flawless.
The back door betrayed her with a loud creak. The kitchen still smelled of eggs, cheese, and cactus syrup from breakfast, but the wooden counter and skillet over the fire pit were scrubbed clean. Kira ducked under bundles of drying herbs and a garlic braid, then nearly swallowed her tongue when her mother stepped out from the dining room.
“Kiralau, where have you been?” Inowae’s steel-blue eyes blinked from dark, sunken sockets and flicked to Kira’s hands. “No luck this morning?”
“Sorry. A raccoon raided my traps in the orchard.” Kira slipped past her, snatching the list of charcoal-scribbled parchment from a nail on the wall as she went.
“So it was a raccoon that took another hen from the coop last night?”
Kira halted mid-stride. “What?”
Her mother sighed. “I’m going to send a ranch hand to Navarro so you can figure out why your traps don’t work.”
Kira’s jaw fell open. “They do work. I just . . .” She bit the inside of her cheek before she could reveal what she’d just trapped on the wrong side of the border. Inowae wouldn’t understand that the traps in their drought-starved plains hadn’t caught anything in months, so Kira had no choice but to lay snares in the forest.
Kira pursed her lips. “Whatever it is, it’s just too smart.”
Inowae’s expression was as flat as her humor. “Then you won’t mind watchin’ the coop ’til it shows up again.”
Kira reeled in her frustration before it spilled out in a jumbled mess. “Whatever’s eating the chickens only hunts at dusk. I have a full load to sell in town, and we need the ranch hands here. Lee thinks that heifer’s about to give birth, and he might need help pulling the calf—”
“I don’t want you going into town by yourself anymore.”
Kira felt like her frail mother had punched her in the gut. “Why?”
“You know tensions with the tribes are worse than ever.” Inowae pulled a mortar and pestle from a shelf below the counter. “It’s not safe for a young girl.”
“Mom, I’m eighteen, and I’ve been making the weekly trip since I was twelve. I’m the one who knows all the vendors, and I speak Phoeran better than anyone.”
Her mother pulled a bundle of dried rosemary from the overhead rack. “Well, we’re not going to trade with tribesmen anymore, regardless.”
Kira balked. “Mother! How can you—”
“Did you forget about the girl who disappeared last week?” Inowae ran bony fingers down the rosemary stem, letting the thin leaves fall into the green-stained mortar. “They say it was a Katrosi man.”
“Is there any proof of that?”
Inowae gave Kira that sidelong glance she knew all too well. “Kiralau, take your father’s bow, get on the barn roof, and sit there until that chicken-killer shows up.”
“Mom, seriously, I think your illness is—”
“Do I need to remind you of what will happen if we lose any more livestock?”
“Do I need to remind you we wouldn’t have food on the table without tribal irrigation designs for our garden and orchard?”
Her mother halted halfway down another stem. “Have you been readin’ their scrolls again?”
Kira paused long enough to forcefully calm her voice. “The tribes lived in a desert before their ancestors sailed here. They know how to survive in this drought, and they even have schematics for cooling air—”
“Kiralau.” Inowae pointed to the door, looking like a ghost of herself. Exhaustion hung from her every movement, as if breaking down dried herbs would crush her instead.
Pushing her any further would only send her to Grandpa’s graveyard faster.
Kira brought her hat, Granny’s fan, and Father’s bow to the barn roof. She watched her cart leave without her, then Lee deliver a fluffy white calf by himself, then the workers retreat to the house for lunch. After midday nap, her grandmother appeared to tend the garden, and her mother the orchard. The heat finally began to abate when everyone retreated again for dinner.
Kira bit off a mouthful of jerky and washed it down with stale water from her water skin. Maybe marrying some idiot from Navarro would be best, or one of those rich guys from the island with their lighter skin and fancy