The Shattered Mountain

3

THEY slow as they approach, fearful of stumbling upon the enemy. The village lies in a small canyon at the base of a mountain. It’s usually impossible to see until one is at the edge of the ridge, looking down at it. But today its existence is brutally marked by a beacon of brown-black smoke choking the sky.

They hear the Invierno before they see him—his anklet of bones rattling, the thwack of a longbow releasing its arrow, the victory yell. Mara barely holds in a whimper. The Inviernos are up here on the ridge, shooting the people she grew up with like they’re sheep penned for slaughter.

They crouch behind a manzanita bush. Julio slides a knife from his boot. He pantomimes creeping through the scrub and taking the Invierno by surprise. She shakes her head in protest, but he grabs her hand, brings her knuckles to his lips. His eyes are dark with intensity, and she hopes he’s not saying good-bye.

He’s on his feet in a swift, silent movement, and he disappears into the scrub brush.

Mara claws the dirt as fury washes over her. She will not let Julio die. Or young Adán. Or even her papá. She won’t.

She reaches behind her back and quietly slides an arrow from her quiver.

Mara steps forward in a half crouch even as she notches the arrow against her bowstring. With luck and no wind, she can hit a rabbit at fifteen paces. Can she kill a human at five?

Julio is nowhere to be seen, but the back of the Invierno’s head is barely visible through the high scrub. Never has she seen such hair—pale yellow-brown, like aged oak. As she creeps toward him, his longbow comes up. He pulls an arrow, draws, sights something—or someone—in the village below.

Mara abandons stealth. The underbrush stabs her ribs, slices her face as she charges through, yelling. His shot flies wide, and he whirls to face her.

She breaks through the manzanita as he pulls a dagger. She draws her bow. Focus, breathe. He lunges, and his eyes—blue as the spring sky—are so startling that her elbow shakes as she lets fly.

The arrow grazes his shoulder with enough impact to twist him around. He rights himself and stumbles toward her. She pulls another arrow from her quiver, tries to notch it, misses, tries again. He is nearly upon her.

He freezes, back arched, eyes wide. Mara sidesteps as he topples forward to reveal Julio standing behind him, holding the blood-soaked skinning knife.

“Are you all right?” he says.

She nods. Her heart races, her hands shake, and something wet and warm slips down her cheek, but she feels neither pain nor exhaustion. That happens sometimes, when her father raises a hand to her. It might be hours before she understands whether or not she is hurt.

She steps over the body of the Invierno, trying to ignore how human it looks, and together they look down into the burning village.

The blacksmith’s stall has burned to the ground, with the attached stable soon to follow. Horses neigh in panic. Villagers scurry everywhere. Most try to flee, but volleys of arrows from the south ridge keep them penned toward the center. Papá’s huta is intact for now, but it’s only a matter of time before the roof catches.

Her breath hitches. The dry wash behind their huta! It’s overgrown, invisible to outsiders. It hasn’t caught fire yet, and she doesn’t see any arrows coming from the ridge above it.

Her people could use it to escape, if someone showed them the way.

“Do you see Adán?” Julio says, panic edging his voice.

“Maybe he got away.” The lie feels heavy on her tongue.

Julio starts forward. “I have to find—”

Mara grabs his arm. “Look. The east ridge.” She points to the tall figure silhouetted against the sky—one of the dreaded animagi. Wind whips his robes taut against his gaunt body and sends his eerie white hair streaming behind him.

He lifts his hand. Something dangles from it, something that shimmers in the morning light. A white-hot firebolt spews from the shimmering thing and explodes against a nearby rooftop. The roof collapses, shooting flames and smoke into the sky.

Mara lurches back, her heel skidding in gravel, as Julio whispers, “Oh, my God.”

Her heart hammers with fear and rage. “If I were a little closer, I could shoot him.”

“If you miss your first shot, you’re dead. I can try with my sling.”

“A sling is even more useless long range!”

“We have to do something.”

Julio pulls her down, out of sight, and Mara is struck breathless by how stupid they were to stand there gaping, right out in the open.

“No one will get out of the village unless the Inviernos are distracted,” Julio says.

“The gully behind my father’s huta is still clear, but probably not for long. If you . . .” She swallows hard against what she is about to suggest. “If you distract them, attack the animagus from behind, I can get them out. I can show them the way.”

“It’s not just the animagus we have to worry about!”

“It’s smoky, and most of the archers are concentrated on the south ridge.” She reaches up and cups his cheek. “I’ll find your little brother.”

The knob of his throat bobs as he swallows. “I’ll just have to make a big enough distraction.”

“We’ll meet afterward.”

“Where?”

“The meadow. No, wait.” They would be going from one sheep pen into another. “The cave. Where we first . . .” Tears prick at her eyes. Where they first made love.

He’s shaking his head. “That’s halfway up the Shattermount!”

“It’s safe. Invisible from the outside. We could see anyone coming.”

Something crashes below. Smoke billows into the sky.

“Julio, there’s no more time! We have to—”

He takes her face in his hands, kisses her once, hard. “I love you, Mara.” And he melts into the brush.