Prairie Fire (32 page)

Across the valley, the sky and ground lit up with fire. It took a moment for the sound to reach us, but when it did, it was deafening.

“OWEN!” I screamed into the radio one last time.

But there was nothing after that.

VERY WELL TRAINED

There was fire, and plenty of it, but I wasn't afraid of it anymore. The forest around us burned, despite the efforts of Annie and the others. The Patricias reached us—not just the squads that had come out with us, but a whole company from base camp. Kaori helped out where she could, but I kept losing sight of her in the dark river of people. The engineers were on standby to fix, replace, or stand in as necessary. The medics had water for drinking and every kind of burn dressing you could imagine.

I don't remember climbing out of the tree.

Nick must have done it for me, somehow got both of us safely back on the ground. As though safety mattered anymore. I sat down and lost track of him. My hands were bleeding, and someone wrapped them with a light gauze, but I didn't feel it any more than I felt fear. If I was lucky, I would never feel anything again.

I couldn't imagine telling Hannah, telling Sadie, that I'd be coming home alone. Then I remembered that I wouldn't have to. Some officer they didn't know, probably, would bring them the news. Sadie might hear it through the grapevine, but Hannah and Lottie would get a knock on the door and two officers in perfect uniforms. Hannah would know, of course, as soon as she saw them. But they had words they were supposed to say.

They'd have to call Aodhan home. Someone would have to tell Catalina. And they wouldn't be able to take any time to grieve properly. There were always other dragons. Always other fires. And there was no one to take Aodhan's place. And now there never would be.

“Siobhan?” I realized that Davis had been saying my name for a while. I forced myself to pay attention to him, to a person who was here and breathing.

“What?” I said.

“Don't touch any of the chemicals.” His eyes were wet. I wondered if it was water or snow or tears. Probably tears. “You might get an infection.”

I wanted to tell him that I didn't need my hands anymore, that it didn't matter if they got infected. I couldn't tell the Story of Owen. There wasn't anything to tell. It would end in a crash of cymbals and drums and one fading note from the horn.

“All right,” I said. “Tell Courtney to find me something else to do.”

It was like my words had gone on without me.

Nick still hadn't let me go. “You should go back up the tree,” I told him. “They'll need you to see what's happening.”

“I gave Courtney the radio,” he said softly. “She's getting orders from on high.”

Above the fire, I heard the sound of helicopter blades. One passed overhead, and a large crate fell into a clear space. Courtney was on it immediately, distributing new supplies with efficiency, but the steady beat that usually accompanied her movements and her organization was gone. The helicopter passed over us again, much lower this time, and I saw we had more backup. Amery jumped, landing hard in the snow, but she rolled to her feet quickly enough and waved off Davis and Ilko when they converged on her. She went to Courtney and began issuing orders.

I looked at Nick. His face was covered with tree sap and scratches that had come from fingernails not bark. I had fought him when he brought me down from the tree. I hoped that I would remember to apologize later. Now, though, all I could focus on was the great nothing that surrounded him. His fingers moved, twisting at his sides, but there were no whispering strings. No promise of a backing orchestra.

“Nick,” I said very seriously. He leaned closer to hear me. “Why do you do that with your fingers?”

“What?” He sounded confused.

“Your fingers,” I repeated. “Why do you twist them?”

He looked at his hands like they didn't belong to him. I knew how that worked. There was the slightest ghost of a smile, and then: “It's what I do to check the fletching on my arrows,” he said. “It's a habit. Like how you always check the slides before you play.”

I didn't think I was ever going to play again. There was too much quiet, even with the fire raging. If I tried to find the music, I would have to find everything else too.

“I can't hear the music,” I told him.

“It'll come back,” he said. “I know it. It'll come back.”

“No, he won't,” I told him. “The fire took him.”

“You had music before Owen, didn't you?”

“Yes,” I said. “But it was different. It wasn't as much fun.”

“It's not gonna be fun for a while,” Nick said. “But it'll come back.”

“Siobhan!” Courtney appeared beside us. Nick finally let me go. “They've brought us that compound I was talking about, the Swiss one.”

“How did it get here?” I asked.

Then I remembered: Porter had sent for it. They must have flown it up, and then he'd given it to Amery.

“We need to go and put it down on the fires,” Courtney said. She was talking to me like I was a child. I was grateful. It was easy to understand her. “We're going to use the usual equipment, but we need Nick to help. Amery is going to stay here and run the operation. Will you be okay with the medics?”

“Of course,” I told her. “The dragon's slayed.”

Ilko came over and took me to where he and the other medics were set up. They wrapped a blanket around me, even though I was wearing a snowsuit, and then I remembered that blankets are what people get when they are in shock.

We waited for hours. Every now and then, someone would return for more supplies, and Ilko or Davis would get up to help them, following Amery's orders to the letter. One of them always stayed with me. They talked about everything. Ilko told me more than I ever thought I'd learn about the Toronto Blue Jays. Davis told me about his plans for medical school, and how he was hoping to be a GP in a small town, like my mother.

And the fire burned.

For the first while, I didn't answer them at all when they spoke, but eventually it seemed rude to just sit there and not contribute. Without realizing it, I found myself telling them about how I'd drawn music as a child without realizing what it was. I told them about my house in Trondheim, about the piano and my grandmother's hymnal. I told them about the high school, that St. George was our mascot. And I told them about the time a family of dragon slayers had moved to our town.

“Everyone's been so happy,” I said. Ilko wasn't looking at me, but Davis was. He looked a bit concerned. “Since they came, I mean. Livestock deaths are down by almost thirty percent, and we've only lost three barns in two years, not counting what happened to Saltrock, of course. That was a little different.”

Davis's hand was on my arm under the blanket. I wondered if he thought I was going to run away, or if I was going to break.

“We wanted them to stay,” I said. I realized that Amery was standing very close by, her own medics attending to a fresh scrape on her face. Tree branches, I thought. “We wanted our own dragon slayers. They helped us, and we fed them. They don't have to stay, but they stay. They made Trondheim their home, and now they protect it.”

I met Amery's eyes, and she nodded.

“It's a good plan,” she said. “For the right kind of town.”

“Trondheim's a good little town,” I said. “We're lucky to have them. The Thorskards.”

But we wouldn't have all of them anymore. I pushed the thought away even as it occurred to me, but it was no good. I couldn't talk anymore. I just sat there and listened while Ilko went on about baseball and Amery answered calls on the radio. At some point, Porter arrived, landing no more gently than Amery had. He looked at me, and I stared blankly at him. I thought for a moment he might take me by the shoulders and shake me, but instead he turned away towards someone who had crashed back into the cut line.

On it went. Things fell from the sky every time the helicopters came close. Before, I would have noted the pitch of their blades as they cut the air and how it harmonized with the roar of their engines, but not now. I heard the noises, but I didn't make them into music the way I used to. I couldn't find the hidden notes the way I always had. I couldn't make them sing.

“Siobhan.” It was Courtney again, at my elbow. I hadn't heard her come back.

“What time is it?” I don't think I was sleeping. I was just completely out of touch.

“It's almost dawn,” she told me. I looked around. The sky was a bit more grey. And the smoke was clearing, even though we still couldn't see any stars above our heads.

“Is the fire out?” I said.

“As much as possible,” she said. She coughed, and Davis pressed a bottle of water into her hands. She drank it obediently. I tried not to think about what we might have inhaled all night. “The smoke jumpers are going to come over from BC and do the rest of the drops from planes.”

“How bad is it?” I asked.

“It'll be okay,” she said. “Trees grow back, and they were able to block off the Wapiti River before it joins the Smoky. He picked a good spot.”

“He's very well-trained,” I told her. I didn't even want to think his name. I knew as soon as I did, I would never be able to stop.

The others drew closer. They were burned and covered with dirt and sap, but they were whole, and I was glad to see them. That feeling of gladness stirred and worked up all the other feelings with it, so I tried to tamp it back down, but I couldn't. Underneath, I thought I heard something familiar. Something I loved. Something I thought I had lost.

“Siobhan?” It was Nick. He was holding the bugle.

“You brought the bugle?” I said to Courtney.

“We'd been having problems with the radio,” she said. “I packed it in case we needed to call for each other in the woods.”

That wasn't what I was going to use it for now, though. I could call muster all I wanted. All of us who could respond were already here.

“You should do it now,” Amery said. She pointed up. “They'll be here soon.”

They would. And when they did, he wouldn't be ours any more. We'd have to share him with everyone who wanted to hear the story.

I was still frozen. But when Nick set the bugle in my hands, I felt cold brass and remembered. The familiar thing I heard was the horn. It was Owen's horn, in spite of everything. He had one more song. And I would find the music to write it.

“Siobhan?” Courtney asked, but I nodded.

I was clumsy, even more so than usual, because of the gauze. Courtney helped me put my fingers on the bugle and then stepped back, giving me space. I didn't know if I had the breath, if I had the air, but as I raised the horn, the squads fell into their lines, and the bard came through.

Day is done,

Gone the sun

From the lakes, from the hills, from the sky.

It was the wrong song for this time of day. But it was the first song that came to mind. In Canada, they play the last post on Remembrance Day. But in the Oil Watch, we play something else. Taps is not just a song to play for the setting of the sun.

It's the song we play for the dead.

All is well

Safely rest

God is nigh.

The last note hovered in the trees, and then the helicopters started to land.

TRADITION

We were airlifted back to Fort Calgary as soon as the sun came up. We could see the smoke jumpers' planes, and the jumpers themselves, or at least their parachutes. I hadn't even noticed them last night, but of course they had been brought in. They could cover more of the fire from the air than we could on the ground. For a moment, I envied them. They only had to come in when the dragon was dead, and most of them must have stayed aloft to disperse the chemical. From that high up, the fire damage didn't look as bad.

I was taken straight to the infirmary, where they re-bandaged my hands. The gauze they used was much heavier; I could barely move my fingers at all, but the doctor told me that I'd be out of the wrappings soon enough.