Rae Carson - The Shattered Mountain

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.

MARA slips down the gravelly slope. The manzanita tears at her skin and clothes, but it also hides her descent. The smoke is thicker here. Not much time before she won’t be able to breathe.

She lands on the valley floor between the stables and the tanner’s huta and pauses. Adán first, because she promised. Then Papá.

Mara creeps down the alley until she reaches the front of the buildings. Before she can think, before she can be afraid, she bursts from cover and sprints across the plaza, past the stone well, into the market. An arrow zings by her ear, but she keeps pumping arms and legs as fast as she can. She scoots behind a burning market stall. It won’t provide a real barrier, but the smoke and flames might make her hard to spot from the ridge.

Gasping for breath, she peers through the gloom. There must be survivors . There must be.

Movement, just to her left. A shape materializes. “Mara!”

“Reynaldo!” A boy from one of the surrounding farmsteads. She has never been so glad to see anyone in her life. Ash-gray tears streak the boy’s face.

”Have you seen Adán?”

The market stall behind her collapses on itself. She darts forward, into the cover of smoke, grabbing the boy’s arm. Her lungs sting and grit fills her eyes.

“This way,” he says, but the smoke is too much. The hutas are thickest here, and all of them burn. She pulls him to the ground, where the air is a little clearer, and together they crawl forward through an alley.

More shapes ahead. Children. Huddled on the ground, clutching one another in the lee of the cliff wall. Out of range and sight of the Inviernos, but they will burn soon enough. If they don’t suffocate first.

Mara scrambles toward them. There are five, all different ages, and she almost sobs with relief to see Adán. He and Reynaldo are the oldest, almost young men. Adán holds the littlest in his lap, a tiny girl of three or four.

“I know how to escape,” Mara says without preamble. “There’s a gully behind my papá’s house. We can use it to sneak out.”

Adán hitches the little girl to his chest. “They’ll shoot us!” he says.

“Better than burning alive,” Reynaldo counters.

Mara meets Adán’s gaze. “Julio is providing a distraction. We’ll go carefully, try to stay out of sight, but we have to do it now.”

The children exchange terrified glances. “Now!” Mara yells. “On your feet or I will thrash you!” She’s not above threats if it means saving lives.

They all jump to their feet.

“Crouch low to avoid smoke. Put up your shirts, like this.” She lifts the collar of her blouse over her mouth and nose, and they copy her, eyes wide with hope and fear. “Follow close, and don’t look back. Reynaldo, can you take up the rear? Make sure no one straggles.”