Stranger

by Rachel Manija Brown

  Ross laid aside the page. He hadn’t been able to pay attention to it anyway. “I don’t want to go. But I think I have to.”

  “What’s your plan?”

  He let out in a long sigh. “I’m going to try telling it to leave me alone. Are you sure you want to come?”

  She nodded. “You might need some help getting back.”

  “All right. But if anything goes wrong, don’t try and help me.”

  “Okay.” Mia sounded as scared as Ross felt.

  They started off across the dark town square. When Mia’s fingers collided with his, he didn’t pull his hand away. The next step, her knuckles brushed against his hand again. On purpose? He snuck a sideways glance, just as she snuck a sideways glance.

  He promised himself that he wouldn’t flinch if she took his hand. Her warm fingers closed over his. Once the first shock of contact was over, he liked the feel of it: small but strong. Calluses in the right places. It made him feel light-headed, but it wasn’t bad; just intense. As they walked, he could barely feel his feet hitting the ground.

  They slipped into the town hall and, from the darkened mill, watched the sentries stroll by in pairs. Ross and Mia worked out their timing, then ran through the corn to the road.

  The ringing he had begun to hear in the tunnel was much louder now.

  “Something wrong?” Mia whispered.

  “It’s the tree,” he said. “Do you hear chimes?”

  “No,” she whispered. Her fingers clutched his tightly. Ross felt the tree before they saw it, moonlight reflecting crimson off its gemlike facets. He knew where it was like he knew his own left hand. He could even sense how far the shards could reach. And he knew it wouldn’t loose those shards at him.

  “Stay here,” he whispered.

  Mia dropped his hand and waited.

  He slid down the ridge. As he approached cautiously, the chiming stopped. His footsteps sounded loud in his ears—almost as loud as his heartbeat.

  The tree waited, bright as the blood that had poured from his arm and almost taken his life with it. Approaching it was harder than it had been to run past a whole grove of singing trees.

  He forced his right hand against the trunk.

  As he had in the previous night’s dream, he saw himself as if in a distorting mirror: a small figure made of red and yellow light, which he sensed indicated fields of heat. He felt his roots digging into the soil, searching out fragments of crystal to add to itself . . . Himself. Farther out were several more figures in yellow and red—one standing on two legs, and a cluster of smaller ones on four. The small ones might feed him if they came closer, but the tall one was not food. That one shouldn’t be . . . harmed.

  The “figure” was Mia. Then Ross was back in his own body, dizzy, nauseated, disoriented.

  He jerked his hand away from the tree and stumbled away. It was very dark. He scanned for heat, then remembered that a human couldn’t sense that.

  “Ross?” Mia called softly.

  He wondered how much time had passed. It had felt like seconds.

  “Ross, are you okay?”

  “Yeah. Give me a little more time. I don’t think I’ve gotten through to it yet.”

  “What are you trying to say to it?”

  “Get out of my head. Stop giving me nightmares. Stop calling to me. Stop—”

  “Why don’t you pick one?” She sat down in the road to wait.

  He hadn’t had one good night’s sleep since he’d been wounded. Stop giving me nightmares seemed a good place to start. He remembered what Yuki had told him about communicating with horses: you had to focus on one thing and really mean it.

  He pictured himself lying in bed, peacefully asleep. No, that wouldn’t make sense to a tree. How had the tree seen the world? He would have to figure out how it was reaching out to him before he could tell it how to stop.

  Ross laid his hand against cool crystal . . .

  This time he listened as well as saw. The tree’s perceptions weren’t only of physical things. It had feelings. Mia wasn’t merely a human who shouldn’t be harmed, she was a person it cared about.

  How could a tree care about a person? The tree felt the same way about Mia that Ross did. But if the tree had emotions, why was it torturing Ross?

  He tried to listen for its feeling about him, but all he “saw” was that distorted mirror again. When he tried to listen more carefully, he found himself remembering, almost reliving the desperation and the will to survive that had allowed him to drive a knife into his own body. Those feelings had gone into the shard. And now they were in the tree.

  It’s me, he thought. The tree is part of me.

  It’s not trying to hurt me. Trying to shut it out is like trying to cut off my own arm.

  He tried to convey his intention the way that he had conveyed his intentions to the mare: Humans need to sleep at night. You have to be quiet.

  The tree understood quiet. Its leaves went still and its scarlet pigment drained into the roots, leaving every part of it above ground absolutely transparent.

  That wasn’t exactly what Ross had meant, but at least he was communicating. He’d gotten that far by listening, so he’d listen harder.

  Not listen harder, listen wider. Ross stretched out his—the tree’s—senses.

  The world became a chorus of shimmering sound. Beyond the range of human hearing or vision, the trees sang to one another. His tree could hear music all the way out to the borders of the ruins, and see signals of light. What were those other trees saying?

  Not listen harder, not wider, but deeper.

  Ross imagined himself diving into a well, swimming deeper and deeper into black water, searching out a spark of light. The light was blue. He reached for it. Pain seared through him, like when the shard had been growing inside his arm, but now it was everywhere. Crystal daggers expanded in his chest, crushing his lungs, piercing his heart.

  He hit the ground, gasping for breath. Someone was calling in a low voice.

  “Ross. Ross. If you don’t answer me, I’m coming down there to get you.”

  His throat ached as if he’d been shouting. “Don’t come near—no—no. Wait.” He glanced up. Ruby veins glowed in the leaves silhouetted against the night sky. “No, it’s okay. It won’t hurt you.”

  Mia hesitated. Then, moving jerkily, she skidded down, grabbed his arm, and hauled him to his feet. His legs were so shaky he could hardly stand, and his vision swam.

  “You were yelling. Or trying to. It sounded like you were being strangled. What happened?”

  “I think I felt somebody die.”

  “What?” she squeaked, then cut herself off. The wall and its alert sentries were not that far away.

  Ross struggled up the slope, leaning on Mia. He was relieved that a little of his strength was returning, though he was still dizzy.

  “I think it was a prospector,” he whispered. “A prospector who got made into a tree. I felt her death. I think the last memories of the people they killed are in those trees. And my tree . . . it’s got some of mine.”

  “Seriously?” Mia whispered back. “Wow. That’s the most amazing scientific discovery I’ve ever heard of. Can I tell Dad?”

  Hesitantly Ross said, “I guess. If he’d promise not to tell anyone else.”

  “Never mind. I can’t. You’re not even supposed to know about the tunnel. If I tell him we were out here, he’d have to tell the rest of the council.”

  “Then don’t say anything. I still need to come out here. I’ve got to figure this out.”

  “Okay. Sure. Look, it’s late. How about we go back now? You don’t look so good.”

  “I don’t feel so good,” he admitted.

  As they walked up the road in silence, Ross wondered what he’d dream about that night.

  29

  Felicité


  FELICITÉ MADE CERTAIN THAT SHE WAS EASY for Indra to find. She arrived at school early every day, although that meant she kept getting stuck doing drill. She exercised without protest, grateful that the overcast sky kept the air cool, so she wouldn’t get sweaty and smelly. But he never returned to the schoolyard.

  She considered various graceful speeches. All began with showering golden coins upon Jennie, moving to sympathy, and then to the dance—and her own lack of an escort. Should she be humorous? “Oh, how funny, here I am organizing everything, and I forgot to organize a date for myself!” But that wasn’t funny, it was pathetic.

  When Indra’s braid brushed against her chair at Jack’s, was that on purpose? At Luc’s, when she walked past him, she distinctly heard his breathing change. Was he admiring the fit of her dress, her graceful walk? Each tiny gesture was examined for hidden meaning when she retired at night, but the light of day brought dissatisfaction.

  Pursuing him was undignified. A Wolfe should not have to ask.

  The dance was four days away. She sadly regarded her exquisite lace dress embroidered with silver starflowers. There was no use pretending Indra’s tiny gestures had any secret meaning. Couldn’t he see how perfect they were for each other? How long could he hold on to a grudge over a single slip of the tongue?

  She’d give him one more day, and then she’d have to settle for Tommy Horst, who at least was a reasonably good-looking Norm from the Hill.

  Her mother called, “Felicité? Someone is here to see you.”

  Felicité raced out, her heart beating fast.

  But there was no dark braid on the guy waiting below, no warm brown skin. She didn’t recognize the black tunic embroidered with silver starflowers or the tight-fitting trousers. And his hair was blond—

  He turned. To her astonishment, it was Henry Callahan. He bowed—formally, not mockingly. “I came to show you what you’ll get if you’ll be my escort to the dance.”

  Her habitual “no” was shaping her lips, but it stayed unspoken. She realized that she was looking up at him, even though she was wearing heels. When had that happened? Henry had always been one of the shorter boys, with those unfortunate freckles shining unpleasantly under the aloe salve that Dr. Lee handed out to fair-skinned families.

  He’d asked her out before, but never in a way that would make any girl want to say yes. Once he’d sworn that he’d die if she didn’t date him, and when she politely declined, he’d clutched his throat and dramatically collapsed to the ground, making the entire school laugh. And that was typical.

  But here he was, alone, almost unrecognizable. How had he gotten so stylish? If it weren’t for those freckles, and that floppy hair the color of old straw, he’d almost be . . . kind of cute.

  “You match my dress for the dance,” she said. “But no one’s seen it yet.”

  “My mother made that dress, and I asked her to make me something that matched. I hope that wasn’t too weird.” He shifted uncomfortably.

  Mrs. Callahan would be a horrifying mother-in-law, but Henry wasn’t proposing—only asking her to a dance. On impulse, she said, “I would love to go with you.”

  Henry had been glumly eyeing the carpet. His head lifted. “You’re joking.”

  Felicité clasped her hands. “I never joke in matters of the heart,” she said mock-soulfully. He laughed, as she’d known he would, and she held up a finger. “But you have to promise.”

  “What?” Henry said suspiciously.

  “No heroically rescuing me—and by that I mean no more roaches.”

  He raised his hand as if taking an oath. “I swear.”

  • • •

  Felicité felt much better when she came to breakfast the next day, and was even happier to find her parents alone. “Good morning, Daddy. Good morning, Mother.”

  “What have you learned about Ross Juarez’s book?” her father asked.

  Simultaneously, her mother said, “How are you progressing with the dance?”

  They smiled at each other across the table.

  Someday Felicité wanted to sit across from her own husband. They would smile at each other just like that, perfectly in tune.

  Her daddy said, “You first, Valeria.”

  “Darling? Is there anything you need?”

  “Everything’s nearly ready.” Felicité hadn’t breathed a word about the presentation. It was to be a surprise for her mother and the whole town, to start the dance on a memorable note.

  “I’m proud of you.” Mother took a last bite of fried turnip cake and set her chopsticks on their rest. “I must go, dears. The guild chief is waiting.” She kissed Daddy, and Felicité watched as she left. How did her mother make walking out a door look so elegant? Felicité straightened her spine, and arranged her arms more gracefully. Control, every moment.

  Her father laid down a half-eaten scallion pancake and turned to her. “Have you discovered anything regarding Ross since your last report?”

  Felicité couldn’t think of a positive way of saying “Still nothing,” so instead she focused on details. “He spends a lot of time alone with Mia Lee.”

  Her father smiled, but his tone changed. “I don’t need a report on his love life. I want a report on his book. Beginning with its location.”

  Felicité was thrilled. He was asking her to spy for him! “Should I search Mia’s hut?”

  Regretfully, he shook his head. “That would be going a bit far. Just keep watch. If you visit Mia and spot it lying in the open, let me know.”

  She daintily dipped a cruller in warm soy milk as she wondered how she could manage that. Wu Zetian had not been much help when it came to Ross, nor had the bounty hunter. Before he was ordered out of town, he’d spent all his time in Jack’s, talking to people, especially the sheriff. Felicité was sure he’d been mining for information.

  “I’d need some business for Mia,” Felicité said. “We’re not friends, you know.”

  Her father laughed. “Mia might not be your first choice for your drawing room, but she’s a fine mechanic.” Then his smile faded. “Maybe I’m old and suspicious, but it occurs to me that she has access to the entire town. I’ve seen people do things they never would have done, except that they thought they were in love.”

  Felicité had never considered that angle. How many times had her parents told her to look beneath the surface?

  She nodded, disappointed with herself. “I’ll do my best.”

  • • •

  Once again, Felicité watched Ross sparring with Jennie. She’d seen engaged couples dance less sensually. Teachers weren’t allowed to date students. But he wasn’t really a student—he wasn’t even a citizen—and she’d only been appointed temporarily.

  Good; that meant Jennie was distracted from Indra. Felicité did wonder what Mia thought, though; even her father had assumed Mia and Ross were dating.

  After school, Felicité followed Ross as he dragged a wagon all over town, collecting smelly used vegetable oil. He spoke to no one. Then he had dinner with the Lees. She strolled past the window and spotted Dr. Lee demonstrating some surgical technique on a fried flounder. Ross and Mia looked as fascinated as Felicité was repulsed.

  Then Mia and Ross went to Mia’s cottage. Felicité followed, tired and hungry and incredibly bored. But Daddy had given her a mission, and she meant to carry it out. Still, she told herself, at the first sign of lip-locking, she’d call it a day.

  She ducked around an untrimmed shrub, disturbing a flight of glowing bright-moths, and wedged herself between the wall and the bush, her knees pulled up under her chin. Felicité signaled to Wu Zetian to keep out of sight and fetch her if anyone approached the cottage.

  For the next two hours, Felicité heard nothing but clanking, scraping, and an excruciatingly dull discussion about electrical wiring. Then Ross said he needed to study, and for another hour, there was onl
y clanking. Felicité remembered that Mia often stayed up all night. Surely her father wouldn’t expect her to do the same?

  Ross broke the silence. “I think tonight I should go alone.”

  Crash! Some metal object dropped to the floor.

  “No way,” Mia said. “It’s not safe.”

  That sounded interesting. Felicité’s discomfort and hunger were forgotten. She was wondering if she should risk a peek when she felt the tap of a little paw: Someone is coming.

  There was a knock on the door. From the way things crashed and tinkled inside the cottage, Mia and Ross were not expecting visitors.

  Felicité was surprised to hear her cousin Julio’s voice. “Mia, we’ve got an emergency. That winch on the front gate is jammed and the gate’s stuck open. Mr. Horst and Mr. Nguyen each sent a couple of workers over, and Jack’s bringing coffee. This could be a late night.”

  “Oh. The gate.” Mia sounded alarmed, which was odd; normally she seemed to love burrowing into greasy machines. “Um, you go ahead. I’ll catch up with you.”

  “I can wait.”

  There was a series of clatters that Felicité couldn’t help hearing as exasperated. Then Mia said, “Ross, don’t study without me. It’s important; you need a study partner. Wait for me to get back!”

  It was the most suspicious-sounding thing Felicité had heard in her life. Her father was right. They were definitely up to something.

  She waited until Mia and Julio’s footsteps faded, then sent Wu Zetian to keep an eye on Mia. If Ross left, Felicité would follow him herself.

  She inched upward, glad she’d thought to wear a black hat and dress. She tilted the brim to shadow her face, though she knew that people in lit rooms couldn’t see out. Pins and needles prickled her legs as she peered inside.

  Ross sat on the floor with a book. The book? No. Felicité recognized the reader she’d studied when she was five. He rubbed his eyes, then leaned back against the bed and stared at the ceiling.