Stranger

by Sherwood Smith

  26

  Mia

  MIA PACED ALONG THE IRRIGATION ROWS IN THE Vardam orchard, followed by Mr. and Mrs. Vardam, and Sujata, all holding lanterns.

  Small, deft hands had dug a channel from the east canal, diverting a stream of water into the uncultivated woods along the wall. All around the wet earth of the channel were what looked like baby handprints.

  “See, Mia?” Sujata said. “They’re stealing our water again!”

  They followed the diverted stream into the woods, where it led to a moat crossed by miniature bridges of bundled twigs and sticks. At the center was a typical raccoon city of lean-tos, tree houses, and walkways of swinging vines. Many pairs of red eyes stared at them from within.

  “Clever little things,” Mia said. “Isn’t it amazing what they can do with nothing but the ability to tie knots?”

  “And plan,” Mr. Vardam said. “Plan their devilry.” His chameleon skin had turned black in the dim light.

  Mrs. Vardam patted his arm, leaving the brief impression of her brown fingers. “Dear, I think devilry is a bit strong. Mischief.”

  “It’s devilry if I have to dig it all up.” He swung around. “Mia, can you figure a way to keep them out? I know you’ve done your best, but this is the third time in six months.”

  She was already sifting through ideas, from traps to electrified fences to chemical repellents. Mr. Vardam cleared his throat. “Not sure right now,” she said hastily. “I’ll work on it.”

  “For every month you keep us raccoon-free, there’ll be as much fruit as you and the doctor can use.” Mrs. Vardam held out her hand.

  “Deal,” Mia said, sealing it palm to palm. She hoped she wouldn’t be faced with apricot–goat cheese kimchi—though if she was, she could always feed it to Ross.

  As she walked into her yard, she wondered how the dancing lesson was going. She sat on a tin washtub, checking to see how she felt. What if Jennie and Ross were still dancing? What if they were . . . doing something else?

  Mia glared at a chunk of pipe. So what if they were? Did that take anything away from her? She’d watched her classmates fight over who got to date whom, as if the people themselves had no say about it. She’d even seen lifelong friendships break up. Mia had always promised herself that she would never do anything so silly, assuming she ever found anyone she wanted to date who was willing to date her. Anyway, Jennie wouldn’t go behind her back.

  Mia decided to work on her flamethrower near her window, so she’d see Ross if he walked by. At first she glanced up every few minutes, but then she became absorbed in her work. She was soldering the igniter safety catch when a flicker of movement caught her eye. The front door of the surgery opened, and out walked Ross.

  She glanced at her clock. Two a.m. Was he coming to sleep in her yard? She hoped he’d want to talk to her first. She turned off the electrical current and set her tools and flamethrower aside to cool down. But the knock didn’t come. She went to the door to look out. Across the square, moonlight glowed pale on Ross’s shirt. He was walking away from her, toward the town hall.

  Should she go after him? If he’d had a nightmare, would he want company? Maybe he would if he saw her.

  Mia hurried after him, debating whether to call out. He didn’t seem to notice that anyone was behind him. To her surprise, he walked inside the town hall. No one would be there at this hour, and it had a strong slate ceiling. He wouldn’t want to sleep under that. Maybe he’d stashed his book there, instead of giving it to Jennie for safekeeping.

  It was dark inside. She felt for the flint beside the door, and lit the lamp. Ross was nowhere to be seen. But the basement door stood open.

  That shouldn’t be possible. There were only four keys: the sheriff’s, the mayor’s, Jack’s, and her own. She checked; hers was still on her key ring. Then she remembered Ross’s lock picks.

  The blanket hanging from the old wagon had been thrown back, exposing the open tunnel.

  No one was supposed to know about that tunnel but the town council, the council scribe, and Mia herself. It was the most carefully guarded secret of Las Anclas, a means of escape should the town be captured—or a means for an enemy to slip inside, if the secret got out.

  Was Ross a thief after all? Was he an agent of Voske’s? Maybe the bounty hunter had told the truth.

  Horrified, Mia thought, I offered him guest privilege, and Dad backed me up. Whatever Ross does is our responsibility.

  She did not believe it. Did not want to believe it. But she had to know.

  Mia descended into the tunnel, ran till she reached the ladder, and climbed up into the mill. She could hear her own heart beating in the silent, empty space. For the first time in her life, she was outside Las Anclas after the gates closed for the night.

  If she went out with the lantern, the wall sentries would see her. If Ross was waiting outside with invaders, the sentries would be her allies. But if there was some innocent explanation, she didn’t want them involved—and she didn’t want anyone to know about the tunnel if she could avoid it.

  Mia doused the lantern and waited until her eyes adjusted to the darkness. Then she slipped between the rows of corn until she reached the trail that ran along the ridge. Ross was far ahead, a lone figure moving south.

  He’s running away, she thought, coming to a halt. It’s all my fault! I made Jennie ask him to the dance with both of us. He’d rather leave everything than go to the dance with me.

  Sickened, she watched, uncertain what to do. In the distance, coyotes howled. She was sure he could hold his own with the coyote packs. That was no excuse for running after him and trying to drag him back to a life he clearly didn’t want. But those were animals. And what about that bounty hunter? Mia didn’t believe he’d really gone. Ross had lost his first fight with the man, and he still couldn’t use his left hand effectively. She should at least try to talk him into staying until it healed.

  She ran after him. She’d tell him he didn’t have to do anything he didn’t want to do. He could go to the dance with anyone. He didn’t have to go to the dance at all. She’d never mention the book again. She’d give him back all the diagrams she’d copied from it.

  The fire-bright glow of the singing tree brought her to a sudden halt.

  He was heading straight toward it.

  Mia tucked her head down and ran, shouting, “Ross! Stop!”

  He stumbled, swayed, then turned. “Mia?”

  “Ross, get out of there!” She started down the slope, skidded on a patch of gravel, and fell. She was fifteen feet from the tree, well within range of the lethal shards. Ross was much closer. She didn’t know why the pods hadn’t exploded already.

  Leaves clashed together, ringing out a final threat. She was too close to get out of range and too far to reach him, but she jumped toward him anyway.

  Ross turned from her and lunged at the tree. His fingers spread over the crystalline trunk. The chiming stopped.

  Mia gave a sob of relief. “Ross?” Why wasn’t she dead? “Get out of there!”

  The tree shivered, chimes rising in pitch with the rise of her voice. She froze, watching hm in silent agony. He stood very still, hands and cheek pressed against the tree. Then he whispered, “Back up, Mia. All the way.”

  “You’re not safe.”

  “Yes, I am. Back away. Go up to the road.”

  One step at a time, without taking her gaze away from Ross, she climbed back up the slope, until she was twenty-five feet away, and he was the black shadow of a boy against a pillar of crimson light.

  Then, while she watched, he too slowly backed away, step by step until he stood next to her, breathing hard.

  “I did it. It wanted to hurt you. But I stopped it.” He sounded bewildered. “How did I get here?”

  “You walked out. I followed you.”

  “I . . . what? The last thing I remember was try
ing to fall asleep. I dreamed that it called to me.” He began to turn away, but stumbled and nearly fell. Mia caught him by the shoulders.

  “Come on. Let’s go back.”

  For once, he didn’t pull away. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

  As they headed home, she asked, “What happened? How did you stop that thing?”

  “I think it’s like you said. It’s my tree. Those dreams—I think it was trying to talk to me. Trying to get me to talk to it.”

  “Talk, how? Aloud?”

  He shook his head. He was staring sightlessly up at the sky. She had to steer him to keep him on the path.

  “I don’t have the words,” he said at last. “I’m so tired.”

  “A little farther. Here, between these rows of corn. We don’t want the sentries to see us.”

  Inside the mill, Mia relit the lantern and led him into the tunnel.

  Ross ran his fingers along the dirt walls. “This is amazing.”

  “Yes, but you can’t tell anyone about it, ever!” she said urgently. “It’s the town’s last resort, to get the kids out safely if we’re ever invaded. How did you even find it?”

  “Jack took me into the basement once. That’s what prospectors do—find hidden things. I meant to ask you about it.” He yawned again. “I forgot.”

  “Well, forget you ever saw it.”

  “Okay.”

  Back in her cottage, they sat on the floor by her bed, and she poured out hibiscus tea. “You should get Dad to look at you. Make sure you’re okay.”

  He shook his head, nearly spilling his drink. “Tomorrow,” he mumbled. His head tipped back, and his hand sank toward the floor.

  She caught the jar before he could drop it, and put it on the floor. When she straightened up, she found that he was leaning against her, fast asleep. He was warm and his hair was soft against her neck. She stroked his cheek gently, then curled herself into him and closed her eyes.

  27

  YUKI

  YUKI SHADED HIS EYES AGAINST THE FIRST RAYS OF dawn. Mr. Riley and the others on the day’s patrol waited outside the stable, but Ross was nowhere to be seen. The teenage sentries peered down at them from the sentry walk. Everyone was watching, amused or pitying, as if Yuki had been stood up at a dance.

  Mr. Riley leaned down from his seat on Spot, the pinto mare, his dreadlocks swinging. “When did you last speak to Ross about his riding lesson?”

  “Yesterday morning, at school. He knows he’s supposed to be here.”

  “We can’t wait any longer. The two of you will have to catch up with us.”

  As the patrol rode out, Henry called down from the wall, “Hey, babysitter! Did your baby toddle off and leave you alone?”

  Yuki’s mother clapped her hands. “Back to work, sentries.”

  “Yes, Ms. Lowenstein!” Henry said with exaggerated respect and an unnecessary salute.

  She turned her baleful yellow eyes on him. “Or do we need extra drill after your watch?”

  “Shut up, Henry,” said Sujata. They all scrambled into position.

  Yuki took one last look around, but he saw only the kids in the training corrals, the grooms with the tired horses from the night patrol, and Mrs. Riley soothing a mare in heat.

  Gritting his teeth, he returned Fuego and Snow to their stalls. Ross was the one who had shirked his duty, but Yuki was the one who had been made to look like a fool. He regretted having told him off after the rattlesnake attack. If he’d kept his mouth shut, Jennie would never have given him this assignment.

  He wished he were with Paco, who had been assigned sit-down duty until his knee healed. Making arrows at the armory was tedious, but it wouldn’t feel that way with Paco there. . . .

  “Stay, Kogatana,” he ordered. She leaped up on to Fuego’s saddle, and began to clean her whiskers.

  Yuki set off for the surgery, expecting to see Ross running toward the stables, or to meet someone who would explain that he had been taken ill or sprained his ankle or been sent to run some crucial errand. Not even a ten-year-old—not even Henry—would simply not show up for an assigned task.

  At the surgery, he yanked off his boots, then hurried inside, surprising Dr. Lee.

  “Where is he?” Yuki demanded.

  “Yuki! You startled me!” Dr. Lee was filling a jar with some pungent liquid. “Where is who?”

  “Ross was supposed to meet me for a riding lesson.”

  “Ah. His room is at the top of the stairs. Knock first.”

  Yuki took the stairs three at a time. He slipped and caught himself painfully against the banister. He banged on the door, then threw it open. The room was empty.

  “He may be at Mia’s,” called the doctor. “Knock first. Actually, let me come with you.”

  Yuki jammed his feet back into his boots and stalked out, Dr. Lee following him. He forced himself to rap more politely on the door to Mia’s cottage.

  No answer.

  He tried again. Nothing. He opened the door.

  Ross was asleep—asleep!—on the floor, leaning against a sleeping Mia. Their backs rested against a bed piled with machinery and loose pages. Between them rested a jug of . . . something.

  Yuki’s expectations of Ross had been low to begin with, but this was unbelievable. He was even more surprised by Mia, who was responsible, if a bit absentminded.

  The sound of laughter startled him. Dr. Lee leaned against the door, wiping his eyes.

  Yuki didn’t find it the slightest bit funny. While Mia and Ross had been having their drunken party, he’d helped Paco with a series of painful exercises to keep his knee flexible. Ross hadn’t actually shot Paco, but he’d contributed to that disaster. Getting drunk enough to miss his riding lesson was not only selfish and irresponsible, it showed a total lack of respect for Yuki as a person and his role as Ross’s teacher.

  “Wake up!” he shouted.

  If he hadn’t been so angry, the way the two jumped would have been hilarious. Ross kicked the jug over—Yuki was surprised to discover it was full of hibiscus tea, not liquor—and Mia flailed her arms, then dived for her glasses, knocking them under her desk. She scrambled after them, sending a flurry of papers across the floor.

  Ross’s next reaction was even stranger. He clutched at his ankles with both hands, then fumbled behind his back and whipped out a wrench, which he brandished like a weapon.

  “What are you doing?” Yuki demanded.

  Ross squinted at the wrench, then put it down again, flushing a dark red-brown all the way to the tips of his ears.

  Mia had found her glasses, and was busy shoving the papers away from the pool of hibiscus tea, her hair falling into her crimson face. “Dad? What are you doing here?” She cast Yuki a nervous glance. “What are you doing here?”

  “You’re late,” he said to Ross. “You have a riding lesson. Remember?”

  From the look on Ross’s face, he clearly had not remembered.

  “I’m sorry. I’ll get dressed.” He glanced down at his grubby jeans and shirt. “Never mind. I’ll go now.”

  Yuki walked out in a rage. Ross caught up, wincing every time his feet hit the ground. He looked terrible. His hair was stringy, the shadows around his bloodshot eyes were as dark as if someone had punched him, and he moved as if the air hurt his skin.

  “What did you two put in that hibiscus tea?” snapped Yuki. “Dr. Lee’s preserving alcohol?”

  “Let’s get on with the lesson.”

  At the armory, Yuki picked up two saddle swords and his bow and arrows, then waited impatiently as, one by one, Ross tested the balance of four knives. The guy could weigh himself down with all the knives in the world, but they’d never make up for the fact that he couldn’t wield a sword or shoot a bow.

  Ross recoiled when the bright morning sunlight struck his face. He backed up and leaned against the doorway. />
  That was the last straw. Yuki folded his arms. “You don’t want to learn? Fine. We’re done here. Go nurse your hangover.”

  Ross looked up in confusion. “I don’t—I do want to learn.”

  “You’re not acting like it.”

  “I’m here, aren’t I?”

  Someone cleared their throat loudly from the sentry walk. Yuki looked up into his mother’s narrowed cat-eyes. “Do your job, Yuki,” she ordered. “Do you want your life to depend on someone you didn’t teach to ride?”

  Then she turned her yellow gaze on Ross. “As for you, it looks like you’ve already punished yourself. If you don’t like working with a hangover, don’t drink more than you can handle.”

  Ross opened his mouth, then closed it. He gave Yuki’s mother a quick nod.

  “Let’s go.” Yuki mounted Fuego slowly, so Ross could see how it should be done.

  He was still brooding on his mother’s words as they rode toward the gate. He knew his life might depend on anyone in Las Anclas, down to the little kid assigned to ring the bell. But he couldn’t conceive of trusting them with his life. He imagined himself in some pitched battle, certain that the person at his back would protect him, as he was protecting them. He could imagine Paco in that position, and Sera. He could imagine Meredith, and his mom. That was it.

  He certainly couldn’t imagine trusting Ross, who couldn’t even manage the reins correctly. Yuki raised his hand to demonstrate. “Hold them like this.”

  He knew that Ross had an injury to his left hand, but this was the first time he’d paid attention to how Ross used it. Leaning over the saddle, Yuki watched Ross struggle to close his fist. The muscles in his forearm bulged and the scar went from white to pink, but he couldn’t get his fingers to touch his thumb. There was no way he could grip the reins.

  Yuki took a deep breath, trying to set his anger aside. He had a job to do. As long as Ross was willing to put in minimal effort, Yuki would do whatever he could to ensure that he learned how to ride competently, if not well.

  “Grip with your thighs. You don’t really need the reins to ride. See?” He tucked his reins under one knee, raised his empty hands, and urged Fuego forward. “I’m telling him which way to turn by shifting my balance and nudging him with my knee. Horses are very sensitive. You don’t kick them. You don’t jab them. And you don’t yank on their mouths. Press with your right knee. Gently.”