Stranger

by Sherwood Smith

  “Shoot.”

  The air filled with the hiss and hum of arrows. Curses and some barks of laughter rose from the attackers. The line wavered slightly, then pushed on. None were hit. Yuki felt a spurt of anger and disappointment when his arrow thumped against the soldier’s armored leg.

  “If you can hit them, they can hit you,” warned Mr. Preston.

  Yuki hastily ducked behind his shield. Seconds later, another wave of arrows clattered off the shields and the upper part of the wall with a sound like hail.

  “Aim.” The whispers ceased. “Shoot!”

  This time, Yuki’s man staggered, a hand clapping to the arrow in his knee. He stumbled back, but his team pushed the barrel on. Over the field, four other figures writhed, and two lay still, arrows sticking up.

  On the wall, someone screamed, and there was a sob. Yuki’s mom ran, bent over, to see what was going on. “Take over, Meredith.”

  Meredith’s voice was steady. “Aim! Shoot!”

  Flaming arrows hit two barrels, but Voske’s soldiers yanked them out before the fire spread.

  “Aim! Shoot!”

  “Rifles at the ready!” Julio Wolfe shouted.

  Yuki’s mom ran back. “Where are the dried cow patties?”

  From below, Mr. Rodriguez said, “They’ve been rained on, Ms. Lowenstein. Shall we dip them in oil?”

  “Do it,” she called. Behind her, Meredith yelled, “Aim! Shoot!”

  Yuki leaned out, shot—and the arrow pinned someone’s hand against a barrel. The soldier let out a stream of curses.

  “Ew, they’re sticky!” Sujata cried. “And they stink!”

  “Quiet on the wall!” Yuki’s mom’s voice was calm but carrying.

  “Aim! Shoot!”

  “Team Ten, in pairs, launch those patties.”

  An acrid smell singed Yuki’s nostrils as two people from Team Ten bent low and passed behind him, heading toward the gate. Another pair followed.

  “Aim!” Meredith called, then screamed.

  Yuki spun around. His sister was down on the ground, with bright blood on her face and hair.

  Their mom appeared out of nowhere, her yellow eyes huge. “Take the archers.” She thumped his shoulder, then ran toward Meredith, keeping low, a shield angled to cover most of her body.

  Yuki tried to speak, but his throat had gone dry. He worked his lips, slapped an arrow to his bow, and yelled, “Aim!” He paused to pick a target, wishing he knew which of them had shot his sister. “Shoot!”

  A dozen soldiers fell or staggered. Yuki sneaked a quick peek along the wall, but he couldn’t see either Meredith or his mother.

  “Aim!” he called, when he remembered everyone was waiting. He nocked an arrow. “Shoot!”

  Flaming cow patties arced into the air, falling on soldiers and barrels alike. A few stuck and burned. Attackers leaped and lunged, trying to put the fires out. Yuki felt a fierce laugh building at their howling and their clumsy dance. Then he remembered that he was exposed, and yanked his head back. An arrow whistled past his cheek.

  An explosion rocked the wall, making Yuki clutch at his shield. “Aim!” He pulled an arrow up. “Sh—”

  A flaming arrow hit the barrel below him, which exploded in a fireball.

  Everything went white. His ears rang. Someone tugged his arm insistently. “Are you all right? Yuki, are you all right?”

  “I’m fine,” he said automatically. He was flat on his back. He sat up and felt around until he found his bow; he couldn’t see anything but pulsing light.

  “Good. Keep it going.”

  “Aim!” Yuki cried. He didn’t know if anyone was listening. “Shoot!”

  “Duck!” A hand thrust his head down.

  Two more barrels exploded. He kept his eyes shut. When he opened them, he could see better, though lights flashed every time he blinked. The fires were so bright, and the attackers were so close he could see the details of their armor. It wasn’t bullock armor plates, but something covered with metal links. Why wasn’t his armor here yet?

  “Are you hurt?” Meredith crouched beside him, her hand still on his head. Her head was bandaged and blood covered her face, but she was alive.

  “Aim! Shoot!” The voice on his left belonged to a man.

  Yuki rubbed his burning eyes against his shirt. His face was filmed with oily, smelly fertilizer residue. Mr. Preston knelt at the next shield over, peering intently down. He raised his pistol and shot. An attacker threw up his hands and fell into the mud.

  “Are the barrels gone?” Yuki’s mom called

  A shuffling and a rustle behind Yuki, and there was Yolanda Riley, her spiky hair flattened to her skull. “Armor, Yuki.” She dropped it and crawled back along the sentry walk, her own armor creaking.

  “Two remaining,” Mr. Preston shouted, his voice strained. “They’re almost close enough to blow the gate!”

  They couldn’t aim directly below without making themselves easy targets. Yuki yanked his armor on. He couldn’t figure out why he was having so much trouble until he noticed his hands shaking.

  Quick footsteps pattered down the wall. Brisa ran past in a low crouch, her pigtails swinging at each step. She was already armored, and carried a rock in either hand.

  At the edge of the wall, next to the gate, she readied herself, then stood up. An arrow bounced off her breastplate, and another scraped her side. But her arm whirled in an expert throw as she hurled first one rock and then the other at the barrels below.

  The explosions came almost on top of each other. Flaming bits of wood and chunks of dirt rained down all around them. Yuki tried to blink away the flashing lights and jagged shadows that distorted his vision. From the wild cheering, he knew that Brisa had been in time: the gate still held.

  More arrows clattered against the shields as Yuki’s mom knelt down. “You okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  “They’re not mounting another attack,” said Mr. Preston. “That’s covering fire.”

  Arrows whizzed out, and they all ducked. Several hit the shields, and one clattered off the wall inches from Yuki’s foot.

  “It’s a distraction.” Mr. Preston turned his head. “Julio!”

  “Here, Chief.”

  “I think Voske’s out there himself. That means a secondary plan, probably already in motion, and a backup readying.”

  “Secondary?” Julio’s alarm echoed Yuki’s own. He’d thought it was all over. His stomach lurched.

  “The target has to be the back gate,” Mr. Preston said. “They’re probably moving in a wide circle so we won’t see them until they charge. Take four teams to reinforce the back wall. Trainer Crow?”

  “Here.” Sheriff Crow’s mothers, the town rat trainers, stood below the wall. Kourtney, a black-and-white rat, rode on Trainer Crow’s shoulder, and Al, a brown rat, rode on Trainer Koslova’s. Four others waited alertly at their feet.

  “Please place your best teams on each wall, and at the town hall. But I want you at the back wall, and you, Trainer Koslova, here at the front gate.”

  Yuki and Kogatana were one of the best rat-and-human teams. He hoped they wouldn’t get stuck at the town hall.

  But when Trainer Koslova began, “Yuki, go fetch Kogatana,” Mr. Preston said, “Not Yuki. I need him.” His blurry profile peered out at Voske’s lines, then Yuki felt his gaze. “Yuki, do you have to go to the infirmary?”

  “I’m fine.” Well, he would be, soon.

  “Good.” Yuki could hear Mr. Preston’s relief. “Take your bow team and follow Julio.”

  Yuki’s head ached, his ears rang, and his mouth was desperately dry. He could barely see anything but bright afterimages.

  “Yuki.” It was his mom’s voice.

  She pressed a canteen into his hand. He took a deep drink, then held it out, though he could have drained the
whole thing. Someone else took it, and he heard the water slosh as they gulped.

  “Brisa?” Yuki asked.

  Brisa chirped, “Present!”

  Yuki hadn’t seen him yet, but if Brisa was here . . . “Paco?”

  A steadying hand came down on Yuki’s shoulder. “I’m here.”

  “Paco, is the rest of our team here? My vision’s coming back fast, but I can’t see faces.”

  “Half your bow team is in the infirmary,” said Mr. Preston. “And so is Meredith’s, so combine. Meredith, you and your team are under Yuki. Go as soon as he’s got his sight back.”

  “We’re ready,” Yuki replied.

  38

  Jennie

  JENNIE FOLDED MEREDITH’S DRESS, NOTING THE seams she’d have to repair before she gave it back. It was a relief to be back in her Ranger night-training clothes. She’d enjoyed seeing her cleavage nearly make Ross walk into a wall, but she enjoyed breathing more.

  She opened the schoolhouse weapons chest. The bounty hunter was a big man, and carried a sectional staff as well as a rifle. She’d avoid the worst danger from the rifle by staying away from the windows. He’d only have one shot before he had to reload, and if that shot hit the book, it would be worthless confetti.

  Ms. Lowenstein had drilled them in gun versus knife. No one believed it until they saw someone with a dye-soaked sponge race twenty feet and tag the person armed with a dye-loaded water-shooter without getting shot.

  She shrugged into her sword harness, making sure the straps fit snugly over her shoulders, and belted it across her ribs. Then she reached over her shoulder to check that the sword was loose in its sheath.

  The bells began to ring Battle Stations.

  She took a step, then stopped. The back wall was her battle station, but the bounty hunter was already inside. The bells meant that he was at large and fighting people—he might even have backup. She needed to be right where she was.

  Jennie added a pair of fighting knives. Why give him even twenty feet? She’d take her position right inside the door.

  Standing in the shadow of the doorway, dagger ready, Jennie waited. What a great story this would make for the Heraldo! Maybe Ross would let her write about the book.

  The porch steps creaked. Jennie flattened herself against the wall. The door flew open. She leaped behind the silhouetted figure and pressed her knife up against his throat.

  A very female scream ripped the air.

  “Felicité?” Jennie exclaimed, yanking her knife away.

  “Jennie!” Felicité gasped.

  Jennie glanced past her to a cluster of little kids, every face bug-eyed and scared. She had forgotten that Felicité’s Battle Stations job was to escort the under-tens to the schoolhouse.

  She forced her voice to be calm. “Good job, kids! You were quiet as mice, exactly the way you’re supposed to be. I didn’t even hear you! Now, come sit in your places.” As the children trooped inside, she whispered, “Did they really think that guy would attack little kids?”

  Felicité’s veiled hat tilted upward. “Voske might attack anyone.”

  “Voske?”

  Crash! They spun around. The smallest children had started wandering. Some were rummaging through the weapons chest. Even worse, others peered out the windows, presenting perfect targets.

  “Get away from the windows!” Jennie shouted.

  “Stop messing with the weapons and get back to your seats!” Felicité cried.

  The kids running away from the windows collided with the kids leaving the weapons chest. Some laughed, while others shrieked. A few started crying.

  Felicité began grabbing kids and pushing them toward the benches. Their yelling rapidly changed to cries of “That hurts! Let me go!” and the inevitable “I want my mommy!”

  Jennie strode to the front of the classroom. A slate flew across the room and smacked into her hand. She slammed it down onto her desk.

  Into the instant quiet she said, “Sit. Down. Now.”

  The kids sat down.

  “All right. Felicité is in charge,”

  “Right. Yes.” Felicité came up beside her, her dress ghost-pale. “You have to do your jobs, and that means being quiet. If Voske’s army gets past the walls, do you want them to hear you yelling?”

  Voske’s army? Jennie thought.

  “No,” several said, and heads shook.

  “So we’ll sit here in the dark, quiet as mice.” Between the dark room and her veil, Felicité’s face was completely invisible. Jennie could hear a tremor in her voice, but her tone stayed firm. “Everyone who does exactly what I say may come to the mayor’s house for a party when this is over. Would you like that? Put up your hand if you would.”

  Hands shot skyward.

  Jennie slipped up next to Felicité. “Voske’s army?”

  “It’s at the gates.”

  Jennie’s hand went to her sword hilt.

  The bells rang again, in a pattern Jennie had only ever heard in drills: Inner Perimeter. The walls were in danger of being breached, and everyone but these children and their caretakers had to go defend them.

  Jennie turned to the kids. “Follow Felicité to the town hall. Whoever she says is the quietest and the quickest will get a special prize at the mayor’s party.”

  As they swiftly formed a line, Jennie whispered to Felicité, “If you hear the last bell, you know what to do.”

  The veiled hat nodded violently. Then Felicité took her place at the front of the line, her voice more like spun sugar than ever. “Remember. Quiet and fast!”

  The kids streamed out the door behind her.

  Jennie surveyed the empty schoolroom, moonlit in silvery blue squares. The book would have to remain where it was. Her place was on the wall at the back gate.

  39

  Mia

  MIA COULDN’T DECIDE WHICH HURT MORE, HER FEET or her lungs.

  Sheriff Crow and the bounty hunter ran easily along the sentry walk, sending water splashing. A few steps ahead of her, Ross was breathing hard; he’d only been out of the infirmary for one day, after spending the last four flat on his back.

  The sheriff called over her shoulder, “Come on!”

  Now Mia wished she hadn’t found so many excuses when Jennie wanted to practice. The crossbow seemed to get heavier with every step. If she had a chance to redesign it, she’d figure out some way to use less metal.

  Ross slowed down until she could catch up. “Want me to carry that thing for you?”

  “I’m thinking . . . toss it in the bushes,” Mia panted.

  She hadn’t even had a chance to explain that she couldn’t use it herself. Once the bells had rung, they’d headed for the front wall. Sheriff Crow had told Ross, who had no Battle Station position, to come as her aide, and had waved Mia along.

  At the time, Mia had been delighted. But now, with the crossbow banging into her back and a stitch stabbing her side, she wished she were anywhere else.

  The moment they’d reached the wall, the bounty hunter had said, “I’ve seen Voske take towns this size before. Half his army is missing.”

  “Then we’d better find them,” the sheriff had said.

  Since he had Changed vision, Mr. Riley was making a circuit of the sentry walk to the west. The four of them were doing the same thing, heading east.

  The rain stopped. A hand came down on her shoulder, and Ross said, “I can carry the crossbow.”

  She handed it over, and hastily polished her glasses on a wet ruffle. The result was smeary, but at least she wasn’t squinting through raindrops. They’d reached the back-gate command post.

  The sheriff peered into the darkness. The sentries clutched their weapons, scanning the barely visible fields. All the adults looked worried and grim.

  Mia said, “The rain’s lifted, and my cottage is close. Should
I get my flamethrower?”

  Sheriff Crow gave a decisive nod. “I’ll wait here for Mr. Riley’s report. Bring it here to the back gate.”

  “Can I go with her?” Ross asked. “I can protect her in case anyone got over the wall.”

  The sheriff smiled briefly, an eerie sight in the moonlight that shone through the rapidly vanishing clouds.

  They trudged through the mud to her cottage. When she turned on the lights, they cast a golden glow on Ross standing in the doorway, his hair hanging in wet black threads, his dancing clothes clinging to his body and displaying every curve and angle of muscle and bone.

  She’d never really studied the shape of his shoulders, though she’d had her arms around them. Or his hips. What was that little hollow called, right above the hipbones? Whatever it was, the wet cloth clung to it without a wrinkle. If Mia put her hand there, it would feel like skin on skin. Ross was clear on the other side of the cottage, but she imagined touching him so vividly that she was half surprised that he hadn’t already run away.

  So this was what people meant by fiery, swoony passions. Mia really did feel as if she was about to burst into flames and pass out.

  When a familiar blush began to darken Ross’s face, she wondered in panic if she had spoken her thoughts out loud. He carefully set down the crossbow in midair. It clattered to the floor. He recoiled. Mia realized that he’d meant to put it on a nearby box.

  “I’ll wait outside,” he said.

  “What for?”

  Ross informed the floorboards, “In case you don’t want to fight in it. The dress, I mean.” He bolted, the door slamming behind him.

  Oh.

  Rummaging wildly, she found a sheet of aluminum and tilted it to get a reflection. While the ruffles hid most of her breasts, every other contour of her body was outlined in wet pink silk.

  The aluminum crashed on top of the crossbow.

  She carefully extracted herself from the dress and hauled her shirt and overalls over her damp underwear with unprecedented speed, then searched for a place to stash the dress where it wouldn’t rust anything and wouldn’t get stained, and where Ross couldn’t see it. She finally moved the engine off her bed and hid the dress beneath the quilt.