Stranger

by Rachel Manija Brown

  It didn’t belong—it didn’t fit.

  That was the signal of a potential prospecting find.

  He heard Jack’s quick footsteps and backed away from the wagon, bending to inspect the barrels, each labeled in chalk with a date.

  “Two more should do it,” Jack called.

  Ross waited until Jack had vanished up the ramp again. Then he hurried to the wagon, lifted the fabric, and held up the lantern.

  A trapdoor! It was painted to blend in with the floor, but you could see it if you were looking for it. Ross set the lantern down. Wedging his fingers into the crack, he pried the door open, then used his shoulder to lift it all the way up.

  Holding it open against his back, he picked up the lantern. Rough steps led down to darkness. Another basement? The walls and floor were plaster and brick, smelling like dust and old moss. Cold air whispered along Ross’s cheek: not a hole, but a tunnel.

  He hastily closed the trapdoor. When Jack returned, they left with the last barrel. Ross wondered if he knew about the tunnel, but didn’t ask. He’d learned that people didn’t like stray prospectors discovering their secrets.

  Jack took him into the back room of the saloon. “Help yourself, Ross.”

  A plate of crumble was already dished up and garnished with a chunk of cinnamon stick. Ross reached for it.

  “That’s for someone else,” Jack said quickly, then smiled. “Here, I’ll give you a bigger one.”

  Being full made Ross sleepy at last. Under the gleaming stars, he made his way to Mia’s house. The open windows were as bright as always. Ross could hear clinking and sifting, and smelled the rotten-egg stink of sulfur. He knew exactly what she was making, and thought of knocking—or kicking—at the door and asking if he could help. Maybe he’d ask her about the tunnel, too.

  But he was so tired, and there was a cozy space out of view of the main square, between an aluminum barrel and a pile of scrap metal. He lay down. His aches eased away with the firm support of solid earth, and the sight of nothing but stars overhead.

  A flight of green bright-moths swooped toward the windows, attracted by the light. He watched them dancing in looping circles as the sound of a flute reached him, so soft that he almost thought he was already dreaming. He had never heard music like it before, sometimes eerie, sometimes plaintive. Like the stars, the bright-moths, and the earth beneath his body, it calmed him, and he slid into sleep.

  And dreamed of the blood-red tree.

  17

  Jennie

  “MORNING, JEN. BREAKFAST?” JENNIE’S FATHER greeted her.

  “No thanks, Pa. I’m not hungry.”

  “Hurting?” he asked in sympathy.

  Jennie sighed. “You’ve been there.”

  Her pa tucked his dreadlocks behind his ears and handed her a warm corn muffin. “I have. Eat. We’ve got to deal with this pit mouth first, and you don’t want to pass out halfway through the debriefing.”

  She almost laughed. “I think I’d enjoy it more if I was unconscious.”

  He sat down at the table across from her. “It’s always hard after a major action. That time Voske’s gang tried to conquer the town, when you were a baby? The debriefing took days. The same when Gabrielle Bell lost the election, and families who’d been here for generations packed up and left. Everyone blamed everyone else. Remember, they’re all scared. Running into a pit mouth, especially one teamed up with snakes, would have shaken anyone.” He pushed a dish of peach preserves at her. “Eat.”

  Jennie crumbled an edge of the muffin. “They’ll kick me out of the Rangers and the schoolhouse. I can see the headline now: ‘Rattlesnake Fiasco Forces Dishonorable Discharge.’”

  “‘Tenacious Teacher Brings Endangered Patrol Safely Home.’ They’ll rake you over the coals, but they won’t demote you.”

  “Sure about that?”

  Her father smiled ruefully. Jennie knew she hadn’t been the only one unable to sleep. She’d heard her parents talking all night. “Where’s Ma?”

  “She’ll meet us at the stable.”

  Jennie had wrapped up the muffin and some bacon before she registered the “us.” At least she wouldn’t be facing down a pit mouth and Defense Chief Preston alone. “Let me get my weapons.”

  Blue-green light flared under a door; Tonio was playing with his luminescence—or practicing, she hoped. As she passed Dee’s room, she heard through the closed door, “Oh, aren’t you pretty, Princess Cloud! Hold still, I have to comb your be-yooo-tiful fur.”

  At least Dee had recovered from her tantrum the night before. Jennie was glad Dee could distract herself with Princess Cloud, who had to be the fluffy white kitten from Tansy’s latest litter. That made four cats, six kittens, three dogs, nine ferrets, and a wounded hawk. If Dee decided not to apprentice with their mother, she should consider the veterinarian, Ms. Segura.

  Jennie went into her own room and sat on the bed she hadn’t been able to sleep in. Her weapons flew into her hands. She only wished that she had problems that could be vanquished in a good fight.

  At the stables, her pa rapped three times on a support post, making the wood vibrate. Her ma glanced up and greeted them. “Saved a nice horse for you, Jennie.” She indicated Sidewinder, a buckskin gelding with a magnificent rack of antlers.

  Jennie stroked his velvety nose, then turned so her mother could read her lips. “Thanks, Ma.”

  Her pa had already mounted Spot, a huge pinto mare. He settled his sword across his back and slung his fighting staff into its holder. Her ma handed up his rifle. He checked the chambers and pocketed his ammunition. By then the rest of the patrol had gathered, and Mia’s barrels of explosives had been packed into a cart.

  Mia patted the nearest ox’s armor plating. “I saw Ms. Lowenstein and the sheriff close in on you last night. How did that go?”

  “Rotten,” Jennie began, then stopped. A step, a rustle of silk, and the aroma of rose water. She turned reluctantly, knowing who was there.

  Felicité was immaculate in eggshell blue, from her ribboned sun hat to her fingerless gloves and walking shoes. Jennie couldn’t help remembering Indra’s description of her splattered in pomegranate juice, nor could she help wishing that she’d seen it.

  Usually she felt guilty for thinking mean, small thoughts about Felicité, but the girl had called Ross a mutant. She’d sounded sincere when she’d apologized before the entire schoolhouse, but Jennie suspected that Felicité had rehearsed it all, down to the regretful tilt of her head. Every time she tells me how pretty I look, Jennie thought, she has to be thinking “for a mutant.” It was like they were all acting in a play, with Felicité Wolfe in the leading role. And she was the only one who knew her lines.

  On the other hand, they still had to live with each other.

  “Hi, Felicité.” Jennie forced herself to smile.

  “Jennie, a delegation of kids came to me before breakfast. Your sister Dee was one of the ringleaders.”

  “I didn’t know that,” Jennie admitted, intrigued.

  “It was a conspiracy among the thirteen-year-olds,” Felicité said. “They’ve asked me to speak for them before the council. I agreed, but I wanted to hear your thoughts first.”

  Jennie tried to be fair. Felicité was not making the disaster her own issue—she was listening to all the sides, just as Jennie herself would have done.

  “My parents told me what happened yesterday. Would you recommend keeping the patrol age at thirteen, or raising it back to eighteen, as my parents want?” Felicité asked.

  “Since everyone sixteen and up did well, I’d make the age sixteen,” Jennie said slowly. “Meredith Lowenstein might have taken the blame for Paco being shot—she did the most shooting—but I’m certain she placed every arrow where she wanted it to go.”

  “Thank you, Jennie. As it happens, that’s what the sheriff said too, after speaking to Yuk
i and Paco. I’ll carry your words to the council.”

  As Felicité left, Jennie faced Mia. “Those thirteen-year-olds went berserk. Chely got a saguaro spine in the eye! It was such a disaster, I wonder if some of them will still be useless when they reach sixteen. But if I get kicked out, I won’t have to worry about that, will I?”

  Mia polished her glasses on her shirt. “I bet Mr. Preston will find some way to blame everything on the Changed kids.”

  Jennie didn’t want to think about that possibility, let alone talk about it. “Hey, how’s Ross doing? He must be so relieved to have gotten probation.”

  To her surprise, Mia shook her head. “Not really. He thought the vote was for him staying a couple of days. I don’t think he even considered living here permanently. He doesn’t like buildings any more than he likes crowds. I ran into him in my yard this morning, and he jumped like I was attacking him. I have no idea what he was doing there. He sure didn’t want to get near me.”

  “Maybe he was shook up over the fight,” Jennie suggested. “Give him time. He’ll come closer.”

  Mia’s eyes were huge behind her glasses. “I’m not trying to get him to come closer! Anyway, he runs away any time I touch—I mean, get near him. But that’s fine. He can keep his distance.”

  As Mia continued to babble about exactly how much she didn’t want to get near Ross, Jennie thought, She really likes him.

  What kind of “like”? Jennie scratched Sidewinder’s withers as she tried to define her own “like.” Whenever she and Ross sparred together, she felt a connection—more than a connection, an attraction. Though they were fighting, they were also completely in tune, aware of each other’s bodies and movements to an intense degree. And though he was painfully embarrassed about his lack of education, he asked intelligent questions. He made her heart beat faster, and he made her think. It was an irresistible combination.

  When she’d started dating Indra, they’d agreed that they were free to date others. But neither of them had. And until a few days ago, they hadn’t had “the talk” about where the relationship was going. They’d never needed to; it just was. Until now.

  Jennie shouldn’t even think about another guy until she figured out what was happening with Indra. And she certainly shouldn’t if Ross was someone Mia might be interested in too.

  “Is Ross planning to leave, then?” Jennie was relieved at how casual her voice sounded.

  Mia shrugged unhappily. “I don’t know. If Dad hadn’t talked him out of it, I think he would have taken his stuff and gone. He was really upset.”

  “Over Henry’s stupid prank?”

  “More about that singing tree we found.”

  “Think he’d feel better if we burned it for him?” Jennie suggested.

  “We can’t. I used the flamethrower on a snake, remember? The range was only twelve feet. The hottest point is halfway along the flame—”

  “You were calculating the range in the middle of a fight?” Only Mia! Even now, with everything going wrong, being with her made Jennie . . . not exactly happy, but happier. “Hey, I’m taking the Terrible Three for a beach picnic next Saturday. How about you come too, and bring Ross? He said he wanted to see the ocean.”

  Mia’s beaming smile was answer enough, and Jennie smiled back. A pang of guilt accompanied the thought, It’s been too long.

  “Mount up,” her pa called.

  Jennie mounted Sidewinder, and Mia hopped into the cart with her explosives. Yuki was waiting outside, between Sheriff Crow and Mr. Preston. Kogatana perched on the back of his saddle, cleaning her whiskers. The rat was the only member of the party who seemed pleased to be there.

  The riders reached their destination first. While they waited for the cart, Mr. Preston examined the hoofprints, scuffed footprints, and winding tracks. Jennie heard someone counting up the dead snakes. That made her feel slightly better—until Mr. Preston called her over.

  He pointed to a stab mark in the dirt. “There’s no snake track here, so no one killed a snake. But someone dropped their weapon point-down.”

  “Ross Juarez,” she admitted. “He’s never fought on horseback before, and he can’t use his left hand.”

  The defense chief stared at her incredulously. “And you let him ride with you?”

  Jennie felt like a fool. “He’s a match for me when he’s on foot,” she protested. “He killed at least one snake.”

  “One.” Mr. Preston raised his bushy eyebrows. “I hear he panicked over that singing tree.”

  “He didn’t panic.” If Ross wasn’t getting snubbed for being a stranger and poor and illiterate and maybe Changed, he was getting accused of being a coward. Jennie couldn’t help leaping to his defense. “He almost got killed by one of those things. Of course seeing it upset him. A bit.”

  “Sounded like more than a bit, the way I heard it. Sounded like he might be unstable. Might even be dangerous.”

  Jennie folded her arms and kept quiet. Defending Ross was obviously only making things worse.

  Disapproval radiated off Mr. Preston as he followed a trail of footsteps to a scuffed area. “What happened here?”

  The trampled earth didn’t reveal anything special. “I don’t know,” she was forced to admit. “I don’t remember this spot.”

  He knelt carefully, placing one knee into one scuff mark, the other knee in the one beside it, and finally putting the heel of his hand into a gouge in the earth. “Looks like someone fell down.” He flicked a finger at a patch of brown-stained grass. “And bled. I’m guessing Paco was here. You didn’t see it?”

  “I was too busy killing snakes.” And trying to keep the kids from killing one another.

  Sheriff Crow called to them, “We’re up to fourteen.”

  Mr. Preston got to his feet and dusted his knees. “Fourteen snakes, one lost horse, and several wounded kids. And we haven’t found this supposed pit mouth.”

  Supposed. Mr. Preston wasn’t ranting about Changed people; he was disappointed. In her. For the first time ever—and only days after she’d been inducted into the Rangers. Jennie’s stomach churned.

  He shaded his eyes, observing the cloud of dust of the approaching oxcart. “Let’s spread in a line. Mia! Stay behind me. Team Leader Riley, take the right wing. Sheriff Crow, please take the left. Yuki, show me this pit mouth.”

  Jennie fell in behind Yuki, sick with humiliation and anger. It was obvious what had happened once Mr. Preston had interpreted the marks. She’d studied tracking for years, but she’d never before had to read the scene after a fight, with the man standing in judgment over her.

  She wished Sera were leading the expedition instead. Sera never made her feel intimidated, but the Rangers hadn’t yet returned from investigating a possible bandit sighting. They were off being heroes, while Jennie had stayed behind to lose control of a bunch of little kids and get Sera’s son shot by friendly fire.

  Yuki peered at the grass. “There’s no tracks. But I know I rode out from here. There’s that big juniper that the snake dropped out of.”

  The moment was vivid in Jennie’s memory: the snake, the screams of the little kids, the juniper with a black streak from a lightning strike. “Yeah, this is the place.”

  Yuki scooped up Kogatana. “Mr. Preston, can I go on foot with Kogatana? Maybe the tracks are too faint for me to find.”

  “Hoofprints are too faint to find?” Mr. Preston asked.

  “Can you find them?” Sheriff Crow retorted.

  The defense chief waved at Yuki. “Go ahead. Send the rat.”

  Yuki set Kogatana down. “Track me.” Kogatana set out northward, sniffing constantly. Then she stopped and let out a loud squeak. “It’s here,” Yuki said.

  Mr. Preston ran up, almost bent double. “But there’s no prints.”

  “It’s right here. Watch this.” Yuki jabbed the trackless ground with the tip of his
sword.

  The earth crumbled into emptiness. Then cracks spread out, not only before him, but beside him.

  Jennie watched in horror as Yuki scrambled backward. His feet broke through into empty space as a gust of rot spread through the air. Yuki threw himself full-length on the ground, and clutched at earth that fell away under his hands.

  Mr. Preston lunged out, grabbed Yuki by the collar, and yanked him onto solid ground.

  “Kogatana!” Yuki yelled.

  “She’s right here,” Jennie called.

  Mr. Preston shook his head, his expression solemn. “I have never seen one that big. And snakes herding you kids to be devoured.”

  He shook his head again as Mia stepped up, rubbing her hands. “It’s my turn now.”

  • • •

  Jennie’s headache had reached thunderstorm proportions by the time she reported to the town hall. She fought it with relaxation breathing during the debriefing and the resulting vote, but her head still throbbed when she and Felicité were released to return to the schoolhouse.

  As they walked through the plaza, sounds jabbed at Jennie like cactus spines, unnaturally loud: Felicité’s mincing steps, the rustle of her skirts. Even the smell of her expensive lemon verbena soap was nauseating.

  Jennie took a deep breath. Everything had turned out fine. Both the defense chief and the mayor had been unstinting in their praise of her handling of the disaster in light of what they’d discovered. As the mayor put it, “for keeping a cool head under extraordinary circumstances.” To which the defense chief had added, “This is exactly what I expect of a future leader.”

  Felicité had smiled as she noted it for the record, but Jennie wondered if that was yet another part of her act. Who was the real Felicité Wolfe—the considerate girl who did everyone favors, or the mean-spirited bigot who had called Ross a mutant? Jennie wished she’d been there, if only to hear what Felicité’s voice was like when she wasn’t . . . performing.