Stranger

by Sherwood Smith

  Glints and shadows resolved into a line of posted guards behind close-packed barrels and boxes: ammunition.

  She fixed the scene in her mind, then began to inch backward. A roving guard, swinging lantern in hand, skirted a barrel less than twenty feet away. Jennie froze, not even breathing, as the footsteps crunched steadily by.

  After they faded, she resumed her crawl, wriggling backward until she no longer could see individual barrels or guards. Then she got to her hands and knees, retreating . . . retreating . . . where were they? Had she missed the team? The thought of crawling alone into the desert, with its cougars and acid lichen and singing trees, was terrifying.

  She licked her lips and whistled the nightjar call. Sera’s nightjar whistled back. They were about thirty feet to her left. She reached them in a burst of speed.

  Sera held up her hand. Jennie couldn’t see her expression, but her attitude was one of expectation—and release. She could hear Sera’s voice, after countless drills: “Over to you.”

  Jennie pointed to her four, breathing steadily to keep her frantic heartbeat under control. Steady, steady. Smooth. Just like drill. Rico’s eyes were wide, his mouth solemn.

  She pointed at the barrels. She and her team crawled toward the enemy.

  41

  YUKI

  YUKI’S HEAD ACHED, BUT AT LEAST HE COULD SEE again.

  The moon shone clear and bright, flooding the desert with silver, as he followed Julio beyond the yellow nimbus of the wall lights.

  The rest of the team caught up, panting. Paco was limping badly, his face drawn with pain. Yuki pulled him aside, and kept his voice low. “You should go back.”

  Paco gave what passed for a reassuring smile. “It’s fine. I’ll hold this position.”

  “Start counting paces from here,” Julio called. “Bow team captains, station a fighter every twenty-five paces. On my signal, lie flat. When you hear my next signal—when the enemy is within range—attack. Yuki, place your team first.”

  Meredith poked Yuki as they began counting. “Don’t forget to test-fire Mia’s crossbow. Nothing worse than a completely new weapon in the middle of a fight.”

  He held up six arrows: he hadn’t forgotten. She watched as he loaded the crossbow, braced himself, aimed at a scrub oak, and fired.

  The bow slammed into his shoulder, knocking him to the ground. He scrambled up and dusted himself off. “Good thing I brought a regular one, just in case.”

  “It tore up that oak,” Meredith said. “Too bad you can’t use it.”

  “I could if I was up against a wall.” He slung the bow across his back.

  “I hope it doesn’t come to that.” His sister adjusted her glasses with difficulty; the bandage kept getting in the way. “Can you see the enemy?”

  He peered toward the tent of hazy light above the town, and shook his head. The stridulation of crickets drowned out any other sound. “Wonder how Mom’s doing.”

  “Oh, I’m sure she’s fine. I think I scared her half to death, though.”

  “You scared me half to death.”

  “I was startled,” she protested. “It was wet. I slipped.”

  “Twenty-five. Meredith, here’s your position.”

  He began counting again, moving until his entire team was placed. Then he took up his own position as Julio’s people moved off into the darkness.

  He stood gazing at the distant walls, outlined by tiny lights. Even after all the fighting, the whole battle felt unreal, as if he might wake up at any moment to the dull, peaceful routine of Las Anclas life.

  A coyote yipped twice in quick succession, followed by a long howl. Julio’s signal. Yuki dropped to the cold sand. Now everything felt real. He shivered.

  Then Julio blew his horn. The enemy—already? Yuki leaped to his feet. As battle cries rose up all around him, he gave voice to his own, and charged.

  42

  Mia

  ALL AROUND HER, PEOPLE SCREAMED AT THE TOP OF their lungs.

  What am I supposed to yell? Mia thought.

  Just like Ross had warned, she was thinking too much. He’d said not to think at all. How did you not think at all?

  Flames glowed on faces, armor, upraised swords. Now that Voske’s secret attack was ruined, his people had lit their torches. The mass of running soldiers resolved into individuals.

  Clutching her crossbow, she calculated distance versus velocity. Ten steps more, and she could shoot . . . five . . . four . . . three . . . two.

  She aimed and shot. The man stumbled to his knees, clutching his shoulder. He wasn’t wearing armor. She slapped another arrow into the crossbow and cranked hard. There was someone, thirty degrees to the west. Five . . . four . . . three . . . two . . . She shot. The arrow hit the woman’s chest and bounced off, not even slowing her. That one wore armor.

  Load, calculate, shoot. Load, calculate, shoot. She shot too quickly, and the arrow flew over the next soldier’s head. But Meredith dropped him when he was just ten feet away. Teamwork! Mia exulted. She could do this. It wasn’t that hard: load, calculate, aim, shoot.

  She grabbed another arrow, fingers sweaty; she nearly dropped it. Into the crossbow. Load, calculate, aim, shoot—

  That arrow and two others hit a soldier. But the next woman over ran straight toward her—too close to shoot.

  She flung down her bow and yanked out her short sword. Ross was right. It had come to hand-to-hand. Exactly what she wasn’t good at! And thinking that she wasn’t good at something was a thought, which was what she wasn’t supposed to have. And thinking that thinking—

  Something slammed into her, knocking her flat on her back. She stared up as a man loomed over her with a sword—

  She flung herself to the side. The blade sank into the earth where her head had been.

  From the ground, she saw the joint at his knee gape open. Using both hands, she drove her sword into it. The man screamed and fell.

  Mia scrambled to her feet. It had worked! She’d fought without thinking. Of course, now she was thinking again. Looking around wildly, she saw that there was no one left to fight. The enemy had retreated.

  43

  Ross

  ROSS DUG INTO HIS AMMUNITION POUCH, HOPING TO find one more bullet. It was empty. He hefted his shotgun to use as a club, then saw the enemy soldiers falling back. He spared a glance for Mia. She’d been holding her own with her bow, but when the fighting got fierce, he’d lost sight of her.

  “We did it!” Julio exclaimed. “They’re on the run!”

  His people cheered. Ross finally spotted Mia, moonlight glinting off her glasses. To his relief, she seemed unhurt.

  “Fall back!” A familiar voice roared out. “Fall back now!”

  It was the voice of Voske’s lieutenant, the man who had jumped Ross’s claim and stolen everything he owned but the clothes on his back.

  A cold anger burned through him. One of Voske’s men sprawled nearby, a sword near his lifeless hand. Ross dropped the shotgun and grabbed it. The sword was heavier than he was used to, but it would do.

  Yuki panted up. “Come on, we have to—”

  “Voske’s lieutenant!” Ross pointed at the burly, red-headed man. “I’m going after him.”

  “Go for it. I’ll get my team and follow you.” Yuki whistled sharply.

  The moon had descended, riding above the hills. The retreating soldiers were silver-outlined silhouettes, led by the silhouette with glinting red hair. Ross put on a burst of speed. The man had slowed as he scanned his soldiers. Counting them. There was a hissing sound, and one of Voske’s men fell with an arrow between his shoulder blades.

  Ross didn’t look back for the bow team. He was still running as he pulled his belt knife. He slowed to take aim, then threw.

  The lieutenant whipped up his shield. The knife bounced off. But it delayed him long enough for Ross
to close the distance. He hefted his sword, and brought it down with all his strength.

  The man’s sword came up in a vicious underhanded arc. Sparks flew as the steel blades met. The shock jolted Ross’s arm to the shoulder, forcing him back as his opponent slashed for the kill. Ross dropped low and pivoted, using his momentum to snap a side blow to the rib cage.

  The man blocked with the shield, then lunged, trapped Ross’s blade in a bind, and tried to wrench it from his hand. But Ross had seen it coming in the twist of the man’s wrist. He waited, then yanked back with all his strength.

  The lieutenant was too strong to drop his blade, but he stumbled, lowering his shield. Ross side-stepped. If he’d had a knife in his left hand, he could have driven it into the man’s side—but his arm was useless for anything but balance. He started to bring his sword around; the man raised his shield, and the opening was gone.

  Then the man lunged, blade whirling in a complicated feint and strike. Ross blocked, using his left wrist to support his right hand. The man threw his shield; Ross barely managed to dodge it. As he ducked, the lieutenant’s free hand swept down, and though Ross hurled himself away, one fingertip brushed his neck.

  There was a flash of blinding white light, and an impact like the time his burro Rusty had kicked him in the head. When he opened his eyes, he was flat on his back, his ears ringing. Most of the bow team stood around him, looking down, Yuki wincing and wiping his eyes.

  “Did you get him?” Ross tried to sit up. His right palm stung when it touched the ground, as if the hilt of his sword had burned him.

  “No,” said Yuki. “And we won’t catch up now. He’s gone.”

  Mia pounded up, weapons clattering, and dropped down beside Ross. “What happened?”

  “Voske’s lieutenant has some kind of Change power. Don’t let him touch you.”

  He wrung and flexed his fingers. His muscles and joints felt watery. Mia offered him her hand. So did Yuki. But he was tired of looking weak, so he managed to pick up his sword and himself without anyone’s help. He planted his feet wide so he wouldn’t wobble, as Paco, the last member of the team, grimly caught up, dragging his bad leg.

  Yuki pointed with his sword. “We’re not far from the west wall. Let’s get over there. The sentries will pull us up. We’d better report.”

  44

  Jennie

  IN THE FLICKERING LIGHT OF THE ENEMY’S TORCHES and lanterns, Jennie could make out Brisa and Yolanda on one side, Rico and José on the other.

  The diversion had to be soon. It was time to place the bottles.

  She slid her backpack off, and the others swiftly followed suit. Rico and Brisa began to hand their packs to Yolanda and Jennie.

  As Yolanda took Brisa’s pack, a bottle clinked. Yolanda froze.

  “I heard a noise!” cried the nearest sentry.

  Jennie pulled a throwing knife from her belt, and readied it as the sentry raised his lantern high, cocked rifle held loosely under his armpit. In her peripheral vision, she spotted José about to lay his palm on the ground. With her free hand, Jennie grabbed his wrist and shook her head. It was still possible—

  “Tarantula!” someone yelled.

  “Another one over here!” Guns fired.

  The Rangers had been forced to start their diversion early. The sentries turned, and the one with the lantern took one step, directly toward Brisa. Two.

  The air filled with the ululation of the Ranger charge, and the sentries ran to meet the attack.

  Jennie gave the signal. She, Yolanda, and José crawled toward the nearest barrels, leaving Rico and Brisa behind. From the tightness of their mouths, she knew they understood the danger: if the three of them were killed trying to place the bottles, the other two would complete the mission.

  She slid bottles from her pack as she knee-walked the last few feet. With trembling hands, she shoved a bottle between barrels, and kept going, placing the bottles one by one.

  Soon both backpacks were empty. José was done. Yolanda placed her last bottle between a barrel and a big box, and began crawling back. Jennie and José followed—

  A shadow moved. “They’re at the barrels!”

  Jennie leaped to her feet, drawing her sword.

  “Retreat!” she yelled, hoping the sentries would think they’d repelled an attack.

  As someone shouted, “Retreat? Where?” and a deeper, sharper voice snapped, “Who said that?” Jennie whispered fiercely to her team, “Go, go, go!”

  They ran, José and Jennie closing in behind the others.

  “Now?” Brisa panted.

  “Edge of your throw,” Jennie muttered.

  Brisa glanced over her shoulder, almost unfamiliar without her ribbons.

  Ten feet, fifteen . . . fifty. The sentries, blinded by their own lights, did not spot the black-haired team in their black clothes. Jennie exulted. It was working . . . it was working . . .

  “Here!” Brisa whispered.

  Rico shut his eyes and clenched his fists. Yolanda took up a defensive position, sword high in her right hand, left outstretched to summon the wind. Jennie and José flanked them as the sentries began to close in.

  The sentries stumbled as the earth shifted beneath their feet. Before they could recover their balance, Yolanda’s fierce wind sprayed mud into their eyes. Jennie reached out with her mind and yanked a pistol from one man’s hand, then jerked so hard at a woman’s belt that she went sprawling to the ground.

  Brisa’s arm whipped back, then out. A rock hurtled through the air. It hit a barrel, bounced off, and exploded. Flames flickered from the bottles, one by one, lighting up the barrels.

  A man yelled, “Sabotage! Put out the fires!”

  Most of the sentries dashed back toward the ammunition, then staggered as José loosened the earth beneath their feet. Brisa hurled another rock. It hit a barrel and exploded.

  “Flat!” Jennie yelled. Her voice was lost in the blast.

  She wasn’t aware of hitting the ground. She blinked up at the stars, then sat up, struggling against dizziness. Rico, Brisa, José, Yolanda: everyone was present. Everyone was alive.

  She got to her hands and knees as another barrel exploded, rocking her backward. Then another. Flames shot skyward, lighting the faces of her team. Brisa laughed. Rico grinned.

  Silhouettes appeared from beyond the blaze, coming straight at them.

  “Run!” Jennie commanded. Her ears rang. She wouldn’t hear a signal if Sera was giving one.

  But in the light of the fires, she saw that the fighting continued between the Rangers and far more soldiers than she’d seen protecting the ammo dump.

  The plan had been for Jennie to retreat first with her team, and for the Rangers to close in behind her. Their mission was complete, so there was no reason for them to stay and fight. But the Rangers were not retreating, even though they were vastly outnumbered. Something was wrong.

  Jennie raised her hand, then dropped it. She was too far from the fighting to be able to use her Change power. But she was able to catch Sera’s eye.

  “Jennie!” Sera shouted. She pointed her sword at a man with clipped silver hair. “That’s Voske!” Then an ax swung at her head; she whipped the blade around to deflect it, then in to strike. The ax fell at her feet, followed by its wielder.

  The silver-haired man—Voske—was surrounded by soldiers, so many that Jennie kept losing sight of him in the crowd.

  Sera pressed toward him, backed by the other Rangers. Her voice rose above the clash of metal and crackle of flames. “Take him down! They’ll fall apart!” She had worked for Voske. If she thought his army would scatter if he was killed, she had to be right.

  “Did the plan change?” asked Yolanda. “Should we go fight?”

  Rico tugged at Jennie’s arm in silent inquiry.

  She had sworn to his mother that she would protect
him. The only way to keep her promise was to follow the original plan and escort the kids back to town. The chance to win the battle right now didn’t change that. The fact that the Rangers desperately needed help didn’t change that. She couldn’t abandon the kids.

  Jennie counted seven Rangers. Someone was already down. She couldn’t abandon them. The captain could give independent orders—but one rule was absolute: you never abandoned your team.

  She turned to José and Brisa. “You two get the kids to safety. I’m staying here.”

  José gave a quick nod. “You heard her,” Brisa told Yolanda and Rico. “Run!”

  Jennie drew her sword and dove into the fray. The trees were on fire. Burning leaves drifted down, and acrid smoke stung her lungs.

  Light flashed off steel. She ducked, kicked her attacker in the knee, then whirled her sword in a lethal figure eight, forcing a path toward Sera.

  “Where is he?” Jennie shouted.

  Sera sidestepped a small fireball. It hit a branch and set it aflame. “There.” She began to gesture with her dagger, then shouted, “Duck!”

  Jennie dropped. An arrow flew past; she heard it hum through the air. An ax swung down at her head. Still on the ground, she brought her sword up horizontally, blocked the ax, and used both her physical strength and her power to twist the blade. The ax flew out of the enemy’s hand. Jennie rolled to the side, and the blade buried itself in the dirt.

  She leaped up. Five paces away an archer raised a crossbow. Jennie extended her fingers and jerked the bow out of the woman’s hands. But the fighting was in such close quarters now that she didn’t take a shot; instead, she smashed the bow over the back of a soldier’s neck.

  Her shoulder stung, and she slapped out a burning leaf.

  On her left, Indra staggered. He’d lost his machete, and was fighting two opponents with a pair of knives. A man behind him raised a sword.