Rae Carson - The Shattered Mountain

“Who are you?” one demands, his hand on the hilt of a hunting knife at his belt.

Reynaldo whispers, “We’ve made it.”

“Refugees,” Mara tells them. “Our village was destroyed by Inviernos.”

The boys eye them warily. Their collective gaze roves over Julio’s body, draped over the packhorse, but their expression gives away nothing.

Reynaldo steps forward. “I am cousin to Humberto and Cosmé. I have a standing invitation to join your cause, and these are my companions.”

“Were you followed?”

Reynaldo doesn’t even blink. “We were. But we took care of it.”

The boys exchange a glance. One nods at the other and says, “I’ll take a look. Tell the others we need to extend the perimeter for a few days.

As he melts back into the scrub, the remaining boy says, “This way. Keep quiet.”

They are led through a maze of twisting ravines and choking bramble. Mara considers that the boy might be leading them in a roundabout way on purpose. If so, it’s a smart plan, because she is well and truly lost in moments. Marlín’s tiny hand slips into hers, and she gives it a reassuring squeeze. “Do you need me to carry you?” she whispers down to the girl.

“No. I’m a big girl now,” she says.

The ravine opens into a small vale. Figures appear on the ridge above, surrounding them, just like the Inviernos who attacked their village. Mara has a moment’s panic.

But instead of attacking, they pour down the slope. Some smile in greeting. Only a few have weapons—all sheathed. They are children, mostly. Clean, well-fed, healthy.

These perfect strangers take their hands, murmur words of welcome. One young man lodges himself under Hando’s good shoulder and supports him the rest of the way.

A beautiful girl with short, curly hair takes charge. She lifts the corner of the blanket covering Julio’s body and says, “Too late for this one. Take him to the other side of the butte.” Someone grabs the reins to the packhorse and leads it away. Mara swallows hard, but does not protest.

“This one needs an amputation immediately,” the beautiful girl says when she sees Hando’s black-streaked forearm. “Head gash here will need stitches,” she says of Teena. “Too late to treat your burn,” she tells Marco. “But maybe some salve will help.” Mara hadn’t realized Marco had been burned; he never complained.

One by one she goes through each member of their party, directing others to action, until finally she reaches Mara. “You’ve been though a lot,” she says, her head cocked quizzically.

Mara shrugs. “It’s war.”

The girl nods. “I’m Cosmé. Welcome to our camp. If you betray us, I’ll kill you.”

“If you betray me or these children, I’ll kill you first.”

Cosmé flashes a grin. She indicates a general direction with her head. “Head over to the cavern if you want some hot stew.” And then she’s off, tending to the wounded.

An old man with a missing arm approaches next. “You are Mara, the leader of this group, yes?”

“I guess.”

He reaches up and clutches her shoulder. “I am Father Alentín, priest to these wayward miscreants, and you, dear girl, are most welcome. Come, I’ll show you the way.”

As they head up the slope together, Mara says, “Everyone here seems so . . . healthy.”

“Compared to recent refugees, I suppose,” he says with a sad smile. “We’re managing. Lots of wounded, though. We lose someone almost every day. But!” His grin becomes enormous. “This war may have just taken a turn for the better.”

They crest the rise, and Mara looks out on a small but beautiful village of adobe hutas built into the side of an enormous butte. Just beyond, the butte curves inward, resulting in a massive half cavern that is open to the sky but sheltered from the worst of wind and rain.

“What do you mean by a turn for the better?” she asks. Looking at this bright, warm place, she can almost believe it.

“We found the bearer, you see,” he says. “God’s chosen one. There.”

Mara follows the direction of his pointing finger and sees two people standing on the highest point of the ridge—a boy with wild hair, and a plump girl with a thick braid. The boy doesn’t look like anything special. Intelligent and sturdy, maybe, with a roundness to his features that gives him an air of perpetual surprise.

As Mara and the priest approach, he leans over and whispers, “Her name is Elisa. She is a princess of Orovalle, and we stole her right out from under the nose of His Majesty King Alejandro, may sweet wisdom drop from his lips as honey from the comb.”

The chosen one is a girl ? Mara peers closer.

She can’t be more than sixteen years old, and she seems out of place in this harsh desert. Her limbs are too soft, her gaze too wide with horror and shock. But her pretty brown eyes spark, and there’s a stubborn set to her lips that makes Mara wonder.

The princess stares as they come face-to-face. Stares hard and with keen interest, the way Julio always did. And just like with Julio, she is compelled to fill the silence. “I’m Mara,” she says. She’s not sure what makes her add, “Thank you for coming.”

Mara feels the girl’s eyes on her back as she heads into the half cavern. Somehow, in this moment, Mara knows that nothing about her will go unnoticed ever again.

SHE has barely gone from sunshine to shadow when Teena thrusts a bowl of stew at her. Mara is stunned for a moment as she breathes in the scent of venison. It’s so thick, with huge chunks of meat. Even carrots. And suddenly Mara’s lips are on the side of the bowl and warm, generous stuff is sliding down her throat, filling her stomach. It leaks past her mouth, smears her cheeks and chin, but she doesn’t care.

“That’s what I did!” Teena says, laughing. “But then my belly hurt.”

Mara forces herself to stop and take a breath. Stew drips from her chin to the ground. She looks around to find the other children slurping with equal abandon, especially tiny Marlín, who sits cuddling her bowl, her eyes closed in perfect ecstasy. For the first time in days, Mara smiles.

“They’ve already assigned huts to us so we can rest,” Teena says brightly. “You get to share with me. They even gave us some blankets. Do you want me to take you there?”

A hut. Rest. Blankets. Words that feel like home.

Mara takes another, less hurried sip of stew. Across the cavern, the beautiful girl Cosmé is tending to Hando’s arm, preparing it for amputation. Belén, the boy she briefly loved before she met Julio, interviews the children, trying to find matches with friends or relatives who might already be in their camp. Mara was relieved when he left the village last year, but she’s surprised at how glad she is to see him now.

Even the princess is busy, carrying buckets of water from the pool to the infirmary area.

These rebels are people of accord. Of purpose.

Mara throws back her shoulders, as if by doing so she can shake off their long journey, her father’s abuse, Julio’s death. It’s not enough. The memories will cling stubbornly, maybe forever, but she finds that she can stand under their weight after all.

Teena peers at her questioningly, for she has been silent too long.

She takes a deep, cleansing breath. Her hope can’t come from Julio anymore. She must nurture it inside herself, and she must fill it with purpose. Mara says, “Thank you, Teena, but not just yet. Do you know where the kitchen area is? I want to get to work right away.”

Read on for a preview of Elisa’s and Mara’s

continued adventures,

in book two of Rae Carson’s epic trilogy!