Stranger

by Sherwood Smith

  Voske will not put their heads on pikes, Ross resolved.

  If he was going to do it, he had to do it now. The moon had vanished. The blue light of impending dawn outlined the mountains, melding the landscape into shadow. But Ross knew exactly where the tree was.

  He ran, leaping over the dim shapes of rocks and bushes. As he got closer, the sounds of Mia’s footsteps and his own, of her harsh breathing and his, even the clanking of her crossbow against her flamethrower, were all drowned out by chimes. Ross could hear each individual note. He even knew by the quality of the sound how big the leaves were and whether they struck against other leaves, or against branches or seedpods.

  They reached the ridge above the tree. The air was still, and no leaf moved. The music played in his mind alone.

  “Wait here.” He raced to where the tree stood silently, ruby lights glimmering within.

  He took a deep breath, and laid his hand on smooth, cool crystal.

  50

  Felicité

  “HERE I AM.” JULIO RAN UP TO FELICITÉ’S FATHER, breathing hard. Dan Valdez and Ms. Segura followed him, with Felicité right behind. “Is this everyone?”

  Daddy glanced around. “I hope not. Let’s give it another minute.”

  Purple lightning flashed from the wall to the sky. Clouds formed, roiling in a vortex. Rain began to patter down. Felicité’s veiled hat and clothing briefly protected her, but as rain soaked through her clothes and blew against her veil, the flesh of her neck began to itch and crawl. Her gills were forming.

  She backed away and reached for her scarf. Her fingers touched the bare skin of her exposed neck. Felicité’s mouth went dry with horror. The scarf had fallen off, probably when she bent to pick up those arrows. She could feel her gills gape as she pulled her hair forward and tried to tug the veil down to her shoulders.

  The smoke vanished under the rain, and the fire that had begun to lick at the trees died down to steaming embers. For the first time they could see the entirety of the hole blown in the wall, and the number of people trying to break past it. Moonlight shone on the silvery hair of a teenage girl surrounded by guards. She stretched her hands to the sky.

  “Deirdre!” shouted a woman beside her. “That’s enough! The fire’s out. You can stop now!”

  The girl clenched an upraised hand into a fist. Her clear voice rose above the rain. “Daddy thinks I’m weak! He’ll see. I can do it. I’m stronger than the storm!”

  Red, green, and orange lightning flashed across the entire sky, followed by thunder so loud it rattled through Felicité’s teeth and bones. The rain intensified. Then it stopped, just as abruptly. The girl crumpled to the ground.

  Several of the guards bent over her, checking for signs of life. In the sudden stillness, the female guard’s voice carried clearly. “She pushed herself too hard. Deirdre’s dead.”

  Felicité yanked her wet hair forward, plastering it against her neck as hard, cold triumph burned inside her. The enemy girl had died just in time. Another minute of her storm and Felicité’s nose would have closed off, forcing her to breathe through the gills. What if someone talked to her?

  She took a good long look at the dead girl, who lay still, silvery hair covering her face in locks like dead snakes. That was what the Change did. It made people use you, it made Norms hate you, it turned you into a monster, and if you gave in to it, it could kill you.

  Her father was right to hate the Change.

  The guards began squabbling over the body. “I’m not telling the king his daughter’s dead,” said the woman. “You tell him.”

  The man backed away. “Not me!”

  Bellowing a battle cry, he charged at the forge workers who stood in a line, pipes and hammers in hand. Mrs. Horst let fly a bolo that tangled his legs. The woman who had guarded the girl took his place, and the fighting resumed.

  Felicité’s father took aim at an attacker and shot, but his pistol clicked. He pulled up his powder bag, shook it, then flung it down. The last of his powder was ruined.

  Jennie ran up, followed by Henry, Mr. McVey, Mrs. Torres, and Ms. Gboizo. Henry and Jennie seemed unhurt, but the others wore makeshift bandages.

  “That makes ten of us.” Her father turned toward the ridge. “I guess this is as good as it gets. Let’s go.”

  As Felicité trotted behind him, she thought of the Change that had ruined Sheriff Crow’s face and killed her baby. Even Changes that didn’t physically warp you could break you inside, like Ross and his bond with that deadly tree. She wondered what he was planning to do. She’d seen him talking to Mia, and then the two of them had headed straight for it.

  After about fifty yards, her father pointed south. Three people ran off. Another twenty yards or so, and he pointed north. Jennie and two others headed for the cornfield. Only Julio and Henry stayed with Felicité and her father, Henry running by her side.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Yes.” She tugged her hair closer to her face.

  Henry patted the hilt of his sword. “Isn’t this exciting? Did you see how many I killed?”

  “I hate this,” Felicité said.

  His face became serious. “I’ll keep you safe.”

  She didn’t want the protection of anyone who thought bloody chaos was exciting. She leaped over a small cactus, hoping to get a little distance. Dawn was coming.

  She glanced at her father, whose face betrayed exhaustion and tension.

  That was a mistake. He sent a searching gaze her way, reaching his free hand to give her a comforting pat on the cheek. His eyes narrowed—she could see them clearly in the pale light.

  “Did you hurt your neck? Let me see.” He reached for her veil.

  Felicité’s hands darted up to block his. “No, it’s nothing. It’s just my hair.”

  “No. I see something. Sometimes you don’t notice a bad wound until it’s too late. Let me—”

  Felicité backed away, then stopped. If she ran, he’d know she was hiding something. He reached out again. As soon as he lifted her veil, Daddy would know she was a monster, and he would never love her again.

  She spun around and pointed toward the ridge. “Ross is Changed. He can control that singing tree. He’s doing it right now. I’ll show you.”

  “What?” Her father’s bloodshot eyes widened. “He’s what?”

  Felicité started running. His footsteps were right behind her, Henry and Julio flanking him.

  Mia stood on the ridge, peering down. Below her, Ross leaned against the singing tree, pressing his face and right hand into the crystal trunk.

  Her father stopped beside Felicité, staring in horror. “What’s he doing?”

  The tree’s brilliant coloring began to fade, starting at the tips of its branches and draining downward. It went pink as a rosebud, then transparent as dusty glass, and then so clear that Ross appeared to be leaning on air.

  “Felicité’s right,” Julio whispered, his eyes wide with shock. “He’s controlling it.”

  Ross stumbled away and scrambled on hands and knees up the ridge. When he neared the top, Mia grabbed his hand and hauled him up. Before anyone could say anything, the two of them bolted, Ross staggering as if he was wounded or utterly exhausted.

  “Get back,” Felicité’s father warned.

  As she obeyed, she wormed her fingers under her veil. The desert air had evaporated most of the rain. Daddy was watching Ross and Mia flee. Felicité stealthily rubbed her neck dry until she felt her gills close up under her fingers.

  51

  Mia

  MIA HAULED ROSS INTO THE RELATIVE SAFETY OF the cornfield. He was already reeling, and the tree hadn’t even done anything yet.

  “Did you do it?” she gasped.

  He didn’t speak, and she thought maybe he couldn’t. Then he whispered, “Yes.”

  A heartbeat later, she heard
the distant sound of shattering glass.

  Shouts of surprise and fear echoed across the ridge. Ross doubled over. Mia pulled him upright. He sagged against her. All the color had gone out of his face, except for where he’d bitten his lip till the blood ran down.

  The far-off cries turned one by one into screams. His plan had obviously worked, but Mia didn’t feel any relief, let alone triumph. She didn’t know which was worse, listening to Voske’s soldiers dying in agony, or listening to Ross sobbing with pain beside her.

  She dragged him farther into the field, but he only made it a few steps before he tripped. Mia bent to steady him, but the flamethrower swung around and nearly hit his head. She had to let go of him to block it, then shoved it back impatiently as Ross sank to his knees, hands over his face.

  Mia put her hand on his shoulder. “Come on, I’ll help you walk.”

  He didn’t move. She unstrapped her flamethrower and put it on the ground. Obviously she’d never get to use it, and she might have to carry him.

  Ross screamed, then recoiled as if he’d been shot. He fell on his back, arms outflung. Mia dropped down beside him.

  Jennie pounded up, mud splashing, braids flying, eyes wild. “Where’s he hit?”

  “He’s fine. He’s only fainted.”

  “What?” Jennie knelt next to Ross. “He’s been shot. I saw it. Just like Sera. Just like—”

  “He’s done this before.” It was unnerving to see Jennie panicking. “He’ll be all right. See?”

  She laid her hand on his chest. The ribs molding the thin shirt were still. She waited, but her hand didn’t move. She leaned over and put her ear against his mouth. She heard no hiss of breath, felt no puff of warm air. Mia felt as if the earth had crumbled beneath her and she was falling through cold and empty space.

  Jennie cried out, “He’s dead. Mia, he’s—”

  “No, he’s not,” Mia insisted, willing it to be true. She put two fingers under his jaw. Nothing. She pressed harder, her own heart lurching, and found a faint pulse.

  His heart was beating. But if he didn’t start breathing soon, it would stop, and then there’d be nothing anyone could do.

  Dad had taught her how to make people breathe. He’d told her it had worked for him twice, years before she’d been born, once on a choking baby and once on a woman struck by lightning. But everyone she’d ever seen him try it on had died.

  Mia drew a deep breath and gently exhaled into Ross’s mouth. It felt as if something was blocking her, and she didn’t see his chest move. Then she realized that she’d skipped the first step.

  Though every nerve burned with impatience, she forced herself to go through each step, exactly as she’d had been taught. She tilted his head back. Pinched his nose shut. Made sure her mouth was sealed over his.

  And tried again.

  This time she felt his lungs fill with air. As she breathed for him again, she kept her mind on her father’s lessons, visualizing everything he’d showed her and carrying out each step without variation, as if she were following the directions in a manual.

  Three breaths. She tasted salty iron—blood from where Ross had bitten his lip.

  Four. She should have let Ross go, that night after the rattlesnake attack.

  Five. She should have made him go.

  Six. That look on Jennie’s face, when she’d said Ross had fallen just like Sera.

  Seven. How long could they stay here before someone attacked them?

  Eight. If she checked his pulse again, what if she couldn’t find one?

  Nine. She had to stop thinking. She couldn’t stop thinking.

  Mia was taking the tenth breath for herself, her head buzzing weirdly, when she heard a gasp. Ross coughed, then sucked in his own breath of air. And another. He breathed in ragged, shuddering gasps. But he was breathing.

  Jennie was guarding them, sword drawn, gazing out toward the ruddy, dawn-lit ridge. Tears ran down her cheeks, glinting in the peachy glow of the rising sun. Her mouth trembled with grief.

  “Jennie.” Mia’s voice was hoarse.

  Jennie didn’t move.

  Mia made an effort and put more force into her voice. “Jennie, he’s all right. Look.”

  Jennie slowly lowered her head, then sheathed her sword and dropped down beside Ross. She put one arm around him, and pulled Mia down with the other. Mia gripped her tight and laid her cheek against Ross’s hair, which was as soft as a cat’s. Now she was crying too.

  The screaming had stopped.

  Mia lifted her head at the sound of running footsteps. Enemies approached, silhouetted against the pink-streaked sky. Mr. Preston’s sharp voice rose as he drew a small group of defenders together into a line.

  One of Voske’s men ran to the edge of the ridge. He took one look, then backed up hastily, nearly falling. “They’re dead!” His voice was clear in the still dawn air. “They’re all dead! There’s crystal growing out of them.”

  The enemy line faltered. Then a tall man stepped out, facing Mr. Preston. He was too far away for Mia to be able to see his face, but his hair glinted silver in the strengthening light.

  “That’s Voske,” Jennie said, her voice flat. She stood up, drawing her sword.

  The sweet sound of crystal chimes rose delicately on the air. From farther away came more chiming, faint with distance, but joining into the same intricate melody. All the way out to the ruined city, the deadly trees rang out their warning. Mia tightened her grip on Ross.

  “Retreat!” Voske shouted. “Sound the retreat!”

  One of his soldiers blew a horn. The line of enemies began to back away, all except Voske. He lifted a rifle to his shoulder and aimed at Mr. Preston. Mr. Preston shoved Felicité behind him, and started to raise his sword.

  Julio leaped to shield his uncle, but Mia was already on her feet. She dove for her flamethrower, snatched up the nozzle, and slapped the plunger. A huge tongue of flame roared out in a spectacular burst of orange and red.

  It sputtered out immediately, but it was enough to distract Voske, whose hand jerked as he pulled the trigger. The bullet smashed into a sapling oak beside Mr. Preston, and a spindly branch fell.

  Voske stared at Mr. Preston, who stared back. Then he slapped his pockets; he’d run out of ammunition. He wheeled about and took a couple steps, loping to rejoin his retreating soldiers.

  52

  Jennie

  FOR THE FIRST TIME IN THE FOUR DAYS SINCE THE battle, Jennie’s hand didn’t hurt when she fixed her hair. Though the bruises were fading, her memories stayed sharp and bright as knives.

  In the mirror, she saw an unfamiliar figure, an intruder in someone else’s room. But her room was exactly the same. She was the one who had changed.

  She touched the weapons mounted by the mirror, then let her hand drop. There would be no morning drill.

  There hadn’t been any in those awful days when she helped bury the dead, enemy and friend, then searched for more beyond the walls.

  She’d been so dazed and exhausted that she had felt as if she were sleepwalking. Adding to the dreamlike sense were the fields of wildflowers that had sprung up after the rains: brilliant orange poppies, yellow mustard flowers so bright they stung her eyes, purple sage, sun cups, desert stars. Glitter-lizards scuttled among them, creatures they usually saw only in early spring. She’d had to push aside spires of blue lupine to find the bodies. But there hadn’t been as many enemy dead as she’d expected, and Voske’s people had taken away their wounded.

  “They’ll be back,” her pa had said as they stood on the south wall, staring out at the new grove of obsidian singing trees.

  But he was laughing as Dee made a sugar dust devil whirl into his coffee mug. Paco sat by José, his leg stretched out and resting on a chair.

  Her pa leaned back in his chair. “There’s no need to decide yet whether or not you want to k
eep the house, Paco. You’re always welcome here.”

  “If you move in with us, you can help with my chores,” José said, and wiggled his arm in its sling. “Between the two of us, we make up one guy.”

  “Thanks,” said Paco, as if the joke hadn’t even registered. She was glad to see that he was even speaking. Those first few days, he hadn’t talked at all.

  Jennie tried not to stare at his prominent cheekbones and angular jaw, so much an echo of Voske’s. Paco didn’t know who his father was—he’d sometimes talked about it when he lived with them. She wondered if her parents knew. They must. A lot of the older people in town had to have figured it out.

  In this town where everyone knew everything, for once, a secret had been kept. As far as Jennie was concerned, she would take it to her grave.

  Paco met her eyes, and she realized she’d been staring. His forehead puckered inquiringly.

  “Any ideas for a headline?” It was the first thing that came into her mind. “I want to write an article for the Heraldo.”

  He shook his head, his expression closing off.

  Her ma had been watching him too. “You don’t have to write about the fighting, Jennie. Everyone knows what happened.”

  “That’s true,” Jennie said. “But people keep saying, ‘Did you know my uncle was a hero? My dad, my mom, my cousin?’ Mr. Tsai told all of us contributors that it’s important to record the brave things people did.”

  And maybe if she filled her ears with other people’s stories, she’d be able to drown out her own.

  Paco bent his head over his plate.

  Jennie took a square of corn bread. “But you’re right, Ma. That can wait. I’ve got to give the students the big news, so I’d better get moving.”

  As she passed the infirmary, she glanced at the curtained windows, as she had every day since they’d carried in Ross’s limp body. Mia had reported that he was getting better, but Dr. Lee wouldn’t let anyone see him. “Not even me,” she had said indignantly. He wouldn’t let Jennie visit Indra, either. With so many seriously wounded patients, Dr. Lee had been forced to ration his Change power, healing them only enough to save their lives.