Read Online The Country of Ice Cream Star by Sandra Newman - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Sandra Newman
Ads: Link
my hand, I fear again. My heart gone small.
He say, ‘My stubborn, heed. Been talk, the Nat Mass Armies want to take you. Once they knowing I be sick … ain’t only hunger that you need to fear, Ice Cream, is slavery.’
9
OF NAT MASS ARMIES
When Sengles come to Massa woods, it been three peoples here already: Lowells, Christings and the Nat Mass Armies.
With the Christings and the Lowells, we had truce from the beginning. Never our tiny thefts and misbehaviors hurt this peace. But with the Nat Mass Army kings and featherboys, been war. Yo, war be ever our respect to all their cockroach hearts.
How Sengles will rob eggs and corn, the Armies robbing girls. They take them to do sweating work, and for unwanten sex – for any nasty use that be. These slaves be callen simper girls, and they lose every other name. Ya, every Army baby born from these unlucky slaves. The Armies give their own girl enfants to the Christings, when they grown. Trade for Christing males, whichever ain’t been chosen husband. So Armies all be boys, and any females in their town be slaves.
Sengles hate a slaver worse than our bad luck. We hate their sally smell from drinking, and we hate their feather heads. Will raid their chickens for this hatred, or we run to skirmish. Ya, they raid us like a stenching wind, come wild and evil. From twelvish age, all Sengles harden to this war farouche.
When our greats arrive in these wood forests, this been murder war. In they times, the Armies stolen girls from Massa woods. Now, for years and lives, the Armies leave their neighbors peaceful. Theyslave afar from fishers and Vermonters of the north. Will travel off two days, then stalk and rob a child while her town sleep. Only the Army queen be took from Christings, by their old agreement.
Yo, as our woods grown soft in peace, our Sengle wars grown soft alike. In my time, our war knives sharpen only at their tip. Make cuts prettieuse and reddish but ain’t take no life. Our wars be beating-wrestling strife, for pleasure of our hate.
Armies come to war with feathers braiden in their hair. Be like fighting with a hatred bird, no pity in this case. Your one hand have its knife, it hurt from holding on so hard. You slash and beating at his head until you breathing hard and tired. Until it feel a kind of lonely. And close, you smell that feary unwash slaver who dive his knife at you. Can smell blood when you cut him. On a colder day you feel his warm.
Been one occasion, in my younger memory, we fight to murder. A Sengle girl was taken careless for their Army rape, and in wars of vengeance, Dogness Fofana was kilt. They been the years of NewKing Hak, a spider-hearten wretch. But he become the OldKing now, is gone in posy sickness. Already he kilt his queen and burnt her gods.
Now is NewKing Mamadou, as honest as a knife. He Army, born without a gentle turn, but keep his slaves in fatness. Yo, he bell to love. My own heart’s secrecy been his, my cat insanities of night.
But he die seven deaths before I capture so, I swear my heart. Be ever a hundred Armies, I go shred them all to blood despair. Be screaming on this land to them and broken dreams, be hell and hell.
The sun be risen now, is cold and feary in the sky. Where I stare across that poory yard, the sun’s bright ache. And Driver’s hand be hot in mine, his skin unhealthy dry.
I say hoarse, ‘They insects capture nothing. Kill them all, they try this.’
‘You stop them how? They got twelve boys is grown to size. Without myself–’
‘Who even saying they will take me?’
‘Better you think, who fight them. Ice we be too few.’
‘But Lowells–Christings fight them also. It be murder wars again.’
‘For Sengles?’ Driver set his mouth. ‘Cannot expect this, sister. If you gone to Lowell–’
I flee my hand from his. ‘I go defeat your Armies, weakness. Who fight them, be myself.’
Driver clench his hand into a fist. ‘Can leave your mally pride. How you will fight twelve
He say, ‘My stubborn, heed. Been talk, the Nat Mass Armies want to take you. Once they knowing I be sick … ain’t only hunger that you need to fear, Ice Cream, is slavery.’
9
OF NAT MASS ARMIES
When Sengles come to Massa woods, it been three peoples here already: Lowells, Christings and the Nat Mass Armies.
With the Christings and the Lowells, we had truce from the beginning. Never our tiny thefts and misbehaviors hurt this peace. But with the Nat Mass Army kings and featherboys, been war. Yo, war be ever our respect to all their cockroach hearts.
How Sengles will rob eggs and corn, the Armies robbing girls. They take them to do sweating work, and for unwanten sex – for any nasty use that be. These slaves be callen simper girls, and they lose every other name. Ya, every Army baby born from these unlucky slaves. The Armies give their own girl enfants to the Christings, when they grown. Trade for Christing males, whichever ain’t been chosen husband. So Armies all be boys, and any females in their town be slaves.
Sengles hate a slaver worse than our bad luck. We hate their sally smell from drinking, and we hate their feather heads. Will raid their chickens for this hatred, or we run to skirmish. Ya, they raid us like a stenching wind, come wild and evil. From twelvish age, all Sengles harden to this war farouche.
When our greats arrive in these wood forests, this been murder war. In they times, the Armies stolen girls from Massa woods. Now, for years and lives, the Armies leave their neighbors peaceful. Theyslave afar from fishers and Vermonters of the north. Will travel off two days, then stalk and rob a child while her town sleep. Only the Army queen be took from Christings, by their old agreement.
Yo, as our woods grown soft in peace, our Sengle wars grown soft alike. In my time, our war knives sharpen only at their tip. Make cuts prettieuse and reddish but ain’t take no life. Our wars be beating-wrestling strife, for pleasure of our hate.
Armies come to war with feathers braiden in their hair. Be like fighting with a hatred bird, no pity in this case. Your one hand have its knife, it hurt from holding on so hard. You slash and beating at his head until you breathing hard and tired. Until it feel a kind of lonely. And close, you smell that feary unwash slaver who dive his knife at you. Can smell blood when you cut him. On a colder day you feel his warm.
Been one occasion, in my younger memory, we fight to murder. A Sengle girl was taken careless for their Army rape, and in wars of vengeance, Dogness Fofana was kilt. They been the years of NewKing Hak, a spider-hearten wretch. But he become the OldKing now, is gone in posy sickness. Already he kilt his queen and burnt her gods.
Now is NewKing Mamadou, as honest as a knife. He Army, born without a gentle turn, but keep his slaves in fatness. Yo, he bell to love. My own heart’s secrecy been his, my cat insanities of night.
But he die seven deaths before I capture so, I swear my heart. Be ever a hundred Armies, I go shred them all to blood despair. Be screaming on this land to them and broken dreams, be hell and hell.
The sun be risen now, is cold and feary in the sky. Where I stare across that poory yard, the sun’s bright ache. And Driver’s hand be hot in mine, his skin unhealthy dry.
I say hoarse, ‘They insects capture nothing. Kill them all, they try this.’
‘You stop them how? They got twelve boys is grown to size. Without myself–’
‘Who even saying they will take me?’
‘Better you think, who fight them. Ice we be too few.’
‘But Lowells–Christings fight them also. It be murder wars again.’
‘For Sengles?’ Driver set his mouth. ‘Cannot expect this, sister. If you gone to Lowell–’
I flee my hand from his. ‘I go defeat your Armies, weakness. Who fight them, be myself.’
Driver clench his hand into a fist. ‘Can leave your mally pride. How you will fight twelve
Similar Books
