Rebel

by Rachel Manija Brown

  Felicité was positive that he was planning to heroically fight the fire by himself. There was no way she’d let him get himself killed. She grabbed his sleeve. “Let’s go together. But let’s get to the mill and climb up. We might be able to see from there.”

  “Great idea.” Henry took her hand. As they ran along the wall, she heard someone shout from the orchard, “More wet blankets!” The voice broke into a harsh cough.

  “We need trowels,” someone else yelled from farther away. “There’s sparks everywhere!”

  The blurred shape of the mill resolved into detail. There were no sentries on duty—they’d all have reported to their fire teams. Felicité and Henry hurried inside. She’d hoped it would be cooler inside the thick adobe walls, but it was like stepping into an oven.

  Ash covered the railing and the floor. As Henry peered out over the rail, Felicité scooped up a handful and smeared it over her face and throat. If the worst happened, maybe the ash would conceal her scales.

  Henry leaped up the stairs to the lookout tower, taking them three at a time. Felicité followed him, mopping uselessly at her face. Her scarf was drenched in sweat. It was only useful now for hiding her face, not drying it. Her heart lurched in terror as she felt a familiar prickle beneath her skin. All along her spine and chest and face, scales were forming. She yanked up her skirt and scrubbed frantically at her face, but she knew it was useless. The skin split along both sides of her throat. Gills.

  Terrified, Felicité wrapped her soaking scarf along her throat, then threw the end over her head, draping it over her face like a veil. She’d claim it was to keep out the smoke. But once the skin closed over her nose, her voice would change. And then there would be no hiding it.

  She had to get out of there.

  Henry was gone. He’d climbed onto the roof. She could hear his shoes scrabbling on the tiles. She could demand that he come down and leave with her. If he wouldn’t, she could go alone. She’d rather he think she was a coward than a monster.

  But if she left him, what would he do?

  She didn’t trust him to keep himself safe. He’d do anything to impress Daddy. Maybe she could convince him that she was so terrified that he had to escort her back . . . ?

  “The fire’s jumped the stream!” Henry yelled.

  A series of thuds overhead resolved into Henry swinging inward and dropping down beside her. As she tightened her veil over her face, he exclaimed, “The fire’s jumped the stream! I’m going to fight it!”

  Felicité caught his arm. His muscles were clenched like steel. She could feel how much he wanted to go. He was so brave. And his courage would kill him.

  She snatched desperately at an idea to save them both. “No! Remember Daddy’s orders.” Her voice was already thickening. She coughed loudly. “The smoke. It’s getting in my throat.” Felicité pointed at a whirl of sparks flying upward over the wall they’d been standing on a minute ago. “We have to go and warn Daddy. Now.”

  Henry didn’t pull away, but neither did he agree. She could feel him reaching for reasons to go try to be heroic. To get himself killed proving himself. And if she didn’t get out of the mill’s blistering heat, her life might as well be over.

  Then she remembered the tunnel. The one place in Las Anclas that was sure to be cool was the passage from the mill to the town hall, running deep underground. Cool, dry, and dark. She’d never told anyone about it—unlike Mia, who had told her boyfriend, and not even for a good reason! Well, Felicité had a good reason. It would save Henry’s life, it would save Felicité’s secret, and it really was the fastest way to warn Daddy.

  She tugged at Henry’s hand. “Want to be a hero?”

  That caught his attention. She couldn’t see his face through her scarf, but she could feel his gaze. “What do you mean?”

  “There’s a secret tunnel under the mill. It’s the fastest way to get the news back to Daddy. You can’t tell anyone about it. Ever. I’ll explain why later.”

  “A secret tunnel?” Henry said. “Cool!”

  He followed her to the boards that concealed the trapdoor. She lifted them and slid aside the catch, and together they pried it open.

  “Wow,” Henry whispered. “I’ve done a million boring stints on wall duty here and never knew about it.”

  “Nobody knows,” Felicité said as they felt their way down the ladder. “Except the council. We’ll have to tell Daddy we used the tunnel, but we have to do it in private, after the fire is put out. You’ll have to swear to keep the secret.”

  “I can do that,” Henry said, laughing. “And you never even hinted when we played Secrets. Think of the kisses we could have had.”

  Felicité was thinking of her scales, which were already receding. Her gills tickled as they began to close up. She loosened the wet scarf to help the dry air do its work as they felt their way along the walls of earth.

  “What’s it for?” Henry asked. “Where does it come out?”

  “It’s the last resort, if we ever get invaded,” Felicité said. “Remember my job in the attack?”

  “Sure. You took the little kids to the town hall basement.”

  “And that’s the other end of the tunnel. If the town falls, at least I can try to save the children,” she said grimly. “It’s my one job that I hope I never, ever have to do.”

  “I had no idea.” Henry sounded excited, not horrified. But during the battle, he’d been out fighting, not waiting to find out if he’d have to leave people he loved to die while he fled with a bunch of crying brats.

  Her fingers finally bumped into the ladder. She touched the skin of her face and throat. Smooth. Normal. She was safe.

  “Here we go.” She led the way up. They felt their way along the stacked barrels, then up the ramp. Felicité held up a hand to stop Henry before he could throw it open, then put her ear to the door. She heard nothing, but she still eased the door open a crack and peered through.

  The town hall was deserted except for the clutter of the Catalina Players’ tawdry props and costumes. As she led Henry out, she couldn’t resist stepping on and crushing a fake crown that had fallen to the floor. “Oops!”

  The town square was also deserted, a sight made even eerier by the huge red sun hanging in a smoke-gray sky. They ran hand in hand to the gate, where Daddy stood at the command post.

  “You tell him,” Felicité suggested.

  Henry leaned over to kiss her. When he turned away, he had soot smeared over his lips. Only then did she remember that she’d deliberately made herself filthy. But it didn’t matter. She’d kept her secret.

  Henry vaulted up the steps while Felicité waited below.

  “What are you two doing here?” Daddy asked.

  “The fire has jumped the stream,” Henry said. “I climbed to the mill roof and saw it myself.”

  “It has? Why didn’t you report to Horst?” Then Daddy shook his head. “That’s right, he’s up in the hills fighting the fire from the east side.” Felicité rejoiced at the approval in his tone as he said, “Good work, Henry. You followed orders. Horst’s people are with him, and I dispatched my last backup team. Run to the dairy. They have three teams there. Recall Leo Vargas’s team and send them to the stream.”

  Henry turned to the steps, then glanced over his shoulder. “Can I go with them?”

  Daddy smiled grimly. “Go ahead. You earned it. And I’m sure they can use your help.”

  Henry rushed down, his blue eyes shining. Felicité watched him proudly as he ran away. All her plans had paid off. Not only had she saved his life and preserved their relationship, but he’d finally managed to impress Daddy.

  Her pride faded slightly at the recollection of how she’d done it. It was the first town secret she’d ever broken. But it would be all right. They’d explain when the emergency was over, in private. It might even turn out to be a good thing, after Henry’s help with the fire. If Daddy didn’t appoint Henry into the Rangers on the spot, surely he’d at least let him try out again.


  She mounted the steps to the command post. Daddy gave her a proud smile and a pat on the shoulder, then offered her his handkerchief. “Water’s over there. I can see you’ve been working as hard as Henry.”

  Felicité took the handkerchief and turned her face away, scrubbing quickly at it without touching any water. The handkerchief darkened with smoke grit. Felicité’s face burned from the dry rubbing.

  She stuffed the handkerchief in her pocket so that her father would not wonder why it was not wet. She backed away, then stilled when she spotted a girl watching her. Humiliation and anger burned through her when she recognized the actor who had made a mockery of her onstage, but she forced herself to give the player Mother’s best cool, unconcerned glance. Felicité had a town to be concerned about. Who cared what some stranger thought about her, anyway?

  Sheriff Crow and Becky appeared at the base of the stairs. The sheriff called up, “Everything’s quiet at the west end. Becky and I are going to investigate the cause of the fire. I’d like to get a look at the evidence before the entire town stomps all over it.”

  Evidence? Felicité had assumed it was a natural fire. Despite the heat, a chill made her shiver. Who would deliberately try to burn down the entire town? Would the Catalina Players do it for revenge? Felicité spun around to glare at that actor, but the girl was gone.

  Chapter Thirty-Four: Kerry

  If there was one place in Las Anclas that Kerry had never wanted to be, it was the grove of black crystal trees.

  Everybody else avoided them for fear of an agonizing death. Kerry did, too, but also because she knew who those trees had been. She’d known every one of Father’s elite team by name. She hesitated atop the wall, probably right around where they had been supposed to breach. Father had ordered them to kill the town council. Instead, Ross had killed them through his crystal tree.

  She glanced at Ross as he peered into the smoke, his prominent shoulder blades ridging his shirt. Though she knew what he’d done—even though she’d seen him fight—it was still hard to believe. It was his little sister who stood with the arrogant pride that Kerry would expect in someone who had killed thirty soldiers at one blow.

  Summer put her hands on her skinny hips and glowered contemptuously at the rope ladder Mr. Riley’s fire team had thrown over. “I don’t need that.” She leaped off the wall and floated down through the smoky air, light as a feather.

  Ross yelled, “Stay there, Summer!”

  Her voice rose indignantly from the smoke. “I’m not stupid!”

  Kerry grinned, expecting Ross to share her amusement, but he seemed unaware of her. His expression, etched against the drifts of smoke, was the one she’d never thought to see after he left Gold Point: closed in and grim. Kerry wondered if she ought to say something, but before she could, Jennie appeared with the hose.

  Jennie dropped it over the wall, then put a hand on Ross’s shoulder. “I know it might not seem like it, but Summer really is listening to you. She’s not going to run off and do something dangerous by herself. Besides, Kerry will look after her.”

  “Of course,” Kerry said. But she wondered why Jennie had said that. Ross would protect his sister himself, wouldn’t he?

  Ross dipped his head in a nod and stepped onto the ladder. His gauntleted hand couldn’t quite close around the rope, forcing him to descend slowly. Kerry followed. The heat and smoke were much more intense once they hit the ground. Within seconds, her nose and throat burned, her lungs labored, and her eyes felt dried out.

  Mr. Riley and his team were lined up on the wall, wavering like ghosts in the smoke and fading light. Ross peered up at Jennie, then bent to examine the brass-nozzled hose with the valve control grip.

  “I’ll take that,” Summer said.

  Ross shook his head. “Kerry, will you lead? Summer, you’ve got to hold the hose still. I don’t think I’ll be able to help any.”

  That also surprised Kerry. Of the three of them, Ross was probably the strongest. She wanted to ask, but his expression unnerved her. Instead, she lifted the hose. It was even heavier than she had expected, and there wasn’t any water in it yet.

  Everything about this mission was unsettling, from the dragging weight of the hose to Ross and Jennie’s odd remarks to the crystal trees themselves. She didn’t like how limited their visibility was, either. All she could see was dirt, and that for only a few yards, except for the wall behind them. In the other direction, where they were headed, was another wall, towering skyward, made of brownish gray smoke.

  Kerry remembered how the Gold Point fire teams had drilled, and put one arm around the hose to grip it and the other under it to hold it against her hip, and to guide it. Summer stepped behind her and copied her.

  Ross took a stance between them. “Kerry, I’ll guide you.” He took off his gauntlet and locked its fingers around his belt, then laid his right hand on her shoulder and reached back with his left to do the same with his sister. “Summer, whatever you do, don’t shake off my hand. I don’t know if I can keep you safe from the trees when I’m not touching you.”

  Summer’s eyes widened in the dim light, and she gave a firm nod. “Got it.”

  “And I can’t talk to you while I’m talking to them,” he added.

  Talking to them? Despite the hot breezes, a chill tightened Kerry’s gut.

  On Opportunity Day, Ross had described to her how the last thing a woman had seen was Father’s face before she died in agony and became a crystal tree. At the time, Kerry hadn’t asked for more detail because she hadn’t wanted to believe him. Later, she didn’t inquire about his power because he obviously hated discussing it. Now she wished she’d asked anyway.

  Ross closed his eyes. His expression shuttered, still and distant, as if he was listening to something very far away. He couldn’t possibly mean to walk blind through fire and crystal . . . could he?

  “Ready?” Mr. Riley shouted from the wall.

  Kerry had no idea. But Summer yelled, “Yes!”

  Mr. Riley called, “Release the water!”

  “Oh!” Summer gasped.

  A second later, the hose stiffened in Kerry’s arms. It felt five times as heavy. Drips oozed out of the nozzle. She planted her feet wide and clamped her arms firmly, letting her hip take most of its weight as she tested the valve control. Water gushed out as the hose tried to writhe out of her grip. She cut off the flow quickly.

  Ross’s hand tightened on her shoulder. Kerry plodded, one foot at a time, in the direction he pushed her—straight toward the singing trees. The smell and the smoke thickened on the left. Ross nudged her that way until she made out a cherry glow within the boiling smoke. She shifted her hips and set her feet hard, pulling at the unwieldy hose to shoot spray straight into the crackling flames. With a whooshing hiss, the smoke thickened briefly, then wavered and thinned, and Kerry let go of the grip. The scarlet glow vanished; the fire had gone out.

  Ross’s hand pulled her to the right. The hose jerked as Summer stumbled, then regained her balance, once again matching Kerry’s steps. Between the two of them, they were just barely able to control that heavy hose. Grip, spray, stop. They managed to douse another small fire.

  Ross guided them to another fire. By then they’d found their rhythm. Step, grip, douse. Kerry could see nothing but roiling gray smoke and the red glow of flame. Her arms and lungs and legs burned, her eyes watered, and the skin of her palms rubbed raw.

  Her foot came down on empty air, and she almost pitched forward. Ross yanked her back. Her heart pounding, she felt with her foot. They were at the edge of a slope.

  “Watch your feet,” Kerry called. “We’re going down the ridge.”

  “Oooh!” Summer’s voice shrilled between fear and excitement. “Where my brother’s tree is! I’ll finally get to see it! Everyone says it’s blood red!”

  Ross stiffened, and crystal tinkled sweetly ahead. Kerry almost jumped out of her skin. The hose promptly tried to fight loose. She wrestled it back under control.

&nbs
p; “Quiet, Summer,” Kerry hissed. “I think you’re distracting Ross.”

  A tiny voice came from behind. “Oh.”

  Summer fell silent as Kerry edged her way down, step by step. Twice Kerry shot sprays in front of her in a wide arc, in case there were sparks.

  When they reached the bottom, Ross directed her to the left. Kerry tried to breathe shallowly, but her lungs still filled with the acrid smoke that was all that she could see. She had to be close to Ross’s red tree, and the black trees that were all that was left of Father’s team.

  Kerry wondered if the singing trees knew they were there. Then she wondered if they knew her. Ross had told her they remembered the moment of their deaths, but did they remember more? Which one was Santiago’s cousin, Bernardo? He’d been like an older brother to Santiago, and Kerry had known him well. After she’d begun dating Santiago, Bernardo had often joined them for lunch when he had the palace watch.

  As Kerry edged forward, steadying the heavy hose in aching arms, she remembered asking Santiago if he’d told Ross about Bernardo. She’d meant to warn Santiago not to mention him, but it hadn’t been necessary.

  Santiago had shaken his head fiercely. “Tell Ross he killed my cousin, who I loved like a brother? No. Not a chance. The king ordered me to make friends with Ross. Besides . . .” Kerry hadn’t understood his expression at the time, but now she thought that Santiago had felt sorry for Ross and guilty about his own role. “He’s got enough to think about.”

  Bernardo was here—or all that was left of Bernardo. Ross kept turning his head as if he was listening. What could he hear?

  Silvery chimes rang out all around Kerry. She froze, clutching the hose so tightly that stabbing pain shot from her forearms to her shoulders. She felt Summer stop behind her. Ross gave her an insistent prod. Gritting her teeth, Kerry took a step forward.

  A sudden gust of wind hit her in the back, snapping her clothes in front of her. The smoke before her blew away, and she could see everything.