Лори Девоти - Amazon Queen

Friend or foe? Who was who? When did it stop being simple?

Another warrior jerked the knife from her fallen companion's chest and pulled back her arm, ready to launch it back at the son. I didn't think; I didn't let myself.

I acted. . my knife struck. . two warriors down.

Thea spun and screamed, "Traitor! I thought it before, but here is the proof!" The stack of spears rose and turned. . pointed toward us. . me. There was death in her eyes. . directed at me.

I ran away from Kale and Lao, praying I was right, praying the spears would follow.

They did. One by one they shot toward me like they were being flung by a catapult. I dove and leapt, not pausing from one movement to the next. I put what I'd learned with Jack into practice, let instinct guide each motion.

Beyond me, the two groups fought; knives flashed; staffs twirled. There were yells and screams. I couldn't tell from whom or why. My attention wavered. A spear grazed my neck, then shot through the length of my hair.

I cursed and rolled again, only to see another spear hurtling toward me. My breath was ragged.

I was losing a battle I hadn't even been allowed to fight. I cursed myself then, my own stupidity. I'd let the enemy define the conflict-a beginner's mistake, a mistake that could kill you. I flipped into a somersault but didn't come out, kept going toward the spears rather than away. Didn't stop until I was in the middle of the struggle and a sword was within my reach.

I grabbed it and spun; adrenaline pumped through me. Thea stalked toward me, her lips moving, but Areto cut her off, a sword in her hand.

I smiled at my old student and wondered if her time under Thea had served her well.

She jabbed. I parried. She jabbed again. Our swords met; metal slid over metal until the crossguards met. She stared into my eyes. "The barn. Look in the barn."

Then she stepped back, her eyes dead, her body poised to continue the fight.

The barn.

I spun and slapped her against the wrist with the flat of my blade. She dropped her sword and fell to the ground as if struck.

A horse flew toward me, with Bern on his back. I tossed her the sword. Still moving, she grabbed it midair. I ran and jumped, using both hands to propel myself into place behind her on the animal. "The barn," I yelled. "Cleo is in the barn."

Swinging the sword at Areto, who had recovered her own, Bern nodded, then reined the horse toward the barn and kneed him back into a gallop.

As we raced by Bubbe, I yelled, "Hold them off."

The sound of air whooshing and Amazons yelling told me the old priestess was hard at work.

The barn was dark and smelled of wet hay. There were bales piled up to the rafters.

As Bern slowed the horse to a walk, I glanced back over my shoulder. Bubbe had called up a wind and was spinning it into a shield, the Amazons on one side, my allies on the other. Mel had joined her, spinning a buckler of her own, smaller than her grandmother's but more agile. It darted around, following any Amazon who thought to work her way around Bubbe's magic.

The others watched, tense, ready if the priestess's magic faltered.

"We checked here. We didn't see anyone," Bern said, pointing with the sword.

"Areto said she was here."

Bern's nostrils flared. "Maybe she lied."

I could see Bern hadn't forgiven Areto for choosing Thea over me. . over us, but there had been a light in Areto's eyes, an apology. I believed her.

I slid off the horse and approached the hay. "When we were little, we made fortresses out of the hay. Did you ever do that, Bern?" It was a rhetorical question. I really couldn't imagine Bern as anything except the warrior she was today.

I climbed onto the stack and grabbed the first bale by its twine wrapping.

I tossed it down. It landed next to the warrior. She pulled back on the reins, making the horse step back, and eyed the pile of bales.

I knew what she was thinking: that even an Amazon couldn't survive with a ton of hay stacked on top of her.

I tossed another bale onto the ground.

Kale appeared in the open doorway. "Padia has to be here somewhere. Maybe she's hiding inside the house, with Tess and the baby. We should search there."

Holding a bale, I grunted. The twine dug into my fingers. Normally you wore gloves for work like this.

"How are Mel and Bubbe doing?" I asked. I'd moved four bales now and saw no sign there was anything hidden in the pile except more hay, and maybe a snake or three.

Kale frowned. She took a step toward the house, but Mel and Bubbe were blocking her path. She cursed and looked back at me.

Bern, however, answered. "Holding," she said. "Should we attack?"

I shook my head. Two warriors had already died. Two warriors who had been misled into believing they were doing what was right, that they were saving the tribe. . two warriors who could have been me. I wouldn't feel guilty for their deaths, they were necessary, but I wouldn't add to them if I could help it.

"Call everyone to the barn, everyone except Mel and Bubbe. Tess and Andres may not be here, but Cleo is."

Bern stared at me a second. Then without a word she sprinted to the others. Kale was in the barn too now; she had given up on getting past Mel and her grandmother. She stared up at me but said nothing.

When the others arrived, they climbed onto the pile with me and started tossing hay.

Kale stayed close to the door, glancing from us to the Amazons held at bay by Bubbe and Mel. Watching.

The barn was filled with broken bales before we found the hidey-hole. A piece of plywood had been dropped over the last layer, over a space about six feet long by eighteen inches by eighteen inches-casket size. A short casket for an Amazon.

With Bern's help, I pulled up the board. Cleo lay inside, pale and limp. I sat on the bale beside her and reached for her throat-to check for a pulse.

Above my head there was a scream.

An owl dove from the rafters and out the open barn door.

Mateo, who had been shifting bales behind us to keep them from tumbling down on top of us, froze, then ran after the bird.

There was another, louder shriek outside. . one I recognized as the son in his bird form.

I glanced at Jack. He dropped the bale he'd been holding and ran after Mateo.

I didn't know what was happening, could see no danger in what had happened. Owls lived in barns; we'd startled one. .

From outside Jack yelled and an engine roared to life.

A cloud of dirt descended on the barn. . maybe the camp. . I couldn't tell.

Mel's voice, yelling, telling me to hurry, urged me to action.

I grabbed the unconscious Cleo and tossed her over my shoulder-the second warrior I'd carried this way in just a few days' time.

I hoped it was a trend that would go no further.

The truck we'd driven into the camp screeched sideways, sliding on gravel toward the barn.

Bubbe stood where we had left her, but her shield was smaller, almost half its original size. Mel screamed at her and threw up her arms. Dust billowed behind the old priestess, rolled down toward her, toward the Amazons still on the other side of her shield of whirling air.

"Get her!" Mel yelled at Jack, who was running toward them.

The son grabbed Bubbe around the waist. Lost in her spell, her body stiff, the priestess seemed oblivious; she kept chanting. He carried. . dragged. . her toward the truck.

Kale and I flipped Cleo over the side into the bed, and Bern raced toward the struggling son. She grabbed Bubbe by the ankles and the two of them jogged her to the truck.

Her lips slowed; her shield fell, and every Amazon who had been waiting behind it rushed toward us.

Mel was the last of us still standing her ground. Her arms raised, her body shaking, she was holding back the wave of dust she had gathered.