Rae Carson: The Shattered Mountain

She watches carefully as the shock on his face fades to acceptance.

“You’re free of him,” he says finally.

She nods, unable to speak. Free of him , yes. But she doesn’t feel free. Maybe when Julio recovers. Maybe then.

With the rustle of dry brush, Adán and Reynaldo return. Adán barrels forward, tears streaming down his face, and drops to his knees beside his brother. He reaches down to hug him, but Mara says, “Easy. Don’t jostle the wound.”

“Hello, Adán,” Julio breathes. Mara hopes it’s the duerma-leaf tea making him sound even weaker than before. “I hope you’ve been keeping an eye on my girl for me?”

Adán nods, swiping at his cheeks with the back of his hand. “Even though you’re too ugly for her.”

“True,” Julio says. “I hope . . .” His voice devolves into a cough. “I hope she likes scars. This one is going to be huge.”

“I love scars,” Mara says, but her voice trembles. Coughing is a bad, bad sign.

Her blade glows red. It’s now or never.

“We’re getting this arrow out. Reynaldo, take his shoulders. Adán, his legs. He’ll try to throw you off. He won’t be able to help himself. You must hold him down. Do you understand?”

“I can help,” says Carella’s daughter. “I’m a good helper!”

Mara almost snaps at her to go away, but changes her mind. “Could you . . .” She searches her mind for a task to keep the girl busy and out of her way. “Hold his feet? That would be a big help.”

The girl nods solemnly. Everyone gets into position.

Reynaldo reaches for a twisted bundle of mesquite and snaps off a large twig. He slides it into Julio’s mouth and encourages him to bite down. “Don’t want you biting off your own tongue,” he says.

Mara hesitates. She has treated all sorts of minor wounds, for their village had no doctor. But she has never removed an arrow. What if she makes it worse? “Everyone ready?” she asks, knife poised.

They nod, eyes wide.

Mara touches the burning knife to Julio’s back. He hisses as it sizzles his skin, but he doesn’t move. She shoves the blade down alongside the arrow shaft. He screams.

She works fast, abandoning finesse. There is so much pus, and the flesh is so swollen that it’s hard to see. He grunts horribly, over and over like a hungry pig, and his body thrashes around. “Hold him!” Mara yells.

Adán squeezes his eyes tight, and tears leak from them as he strains to hold his brother down.

Mara cuts away dead flesh, sopping up viscous, red-tinged fluid as she goes. Finally she exposes the arrowhead enough to get a grip on it. It’s lodged in his rib. You will not vomit, you will not vomit, you will not vomit.

She slows down to dig at the bone with the point of her blade. Too much pressure and she’ll crack it. Julio yells one last time and goes limp. She breathes relief.

Once the arrowhead is loosened a bit, she wraps her hands around it. Before she can think too hard, she gives it a powerful jerk, and it comes free. Blood pours from the wound.

While her knife reheats in the fire, she cleans the wound as best as she can, using the last of the boiled water. Cleaning helps her see that most of the blood is coming from one tiny spot. So she lays the blade against his flesh and cauterizes it. She gags on the scent. She’s not the only one; Reynaldo lurches to the side of the ravine and vomits into the mesquite.

Mara sits back on her heels, wiping sweat from her forehead with a sleeve. “It is done,” she says to no one in particular. Her hands are soaked with Julio’s blood.

“Aren’t you going to stitch it up?” Adán says.

“I’m going to let it drain,” she says. “Might help the infection.” She’s guessing about that. All she has are guesses—that draining the wound is the right thing to do. That Inviernos won’t patrol the Shattermount’s fault. That there is indeed a secret haven where these children will be safe.

She feels a hand on her shoulder and turns to find Reynaldo standing above her. His face is pale, but he’s steady now. “We can’t stay here,” he says. “Especially with a fire.”

Julio shouldn’t be moved. Not for days. But Reynaldo is right. Staying in one place will just bring the Inviernos down on top of them. There is also the small matter of provisions. They will use the last of their food tonight. Nothing but a bread round and a handful of dates shared among eleven people will ensure they all wake with aching, empty bellies.

“We’ll move at first light,” Mara says. “I’ll strap him to one of the horses if I have to.”

“I’ll hunt tonight,” Reynaldo says. “Maybe I can turn up a rabbit.”

Mara nods. “Just be careful. This mountain might be crawling with Invierno scouts.”

REYNALDO does not find a rabbit. He does, however, encounter a burned-down farmstead with a cellar. In the cellar, he finds three musty turnips, a jar of pomegranate jelly, a side of bacon, and two frightened boys.

He brings them back to their campsite, and Mara is both delighted and dismayed to see them. Two more survivors. Two more mouths to feed.

The boys themselves, ten and thirteen, are so happy to see everyone that they burst into tears. Mara hugs them tight, even though they might be a bit old for hugging, and assures them that they are safe.

When did she become such a liar?

She gets everyone organized for sleep—small children with older ones, two or three to a blanket—then lies down beside Julio, who still sleeps soundly. She yearns to wrap her arms around him but doesn’t dare jostle the wound. She is chilled, her shoulder aches from the hard ground, and her stomach rumbles with hunger, so it is hours before she finally drifts off into restless sleep.

In the morning, her first conscious thought is for Julio. She puts a hand on his shoulder, terrified that she won’t feel the rise and fall of his breathing. But she does. It’s steady and even. Almost healthy. The tiny spark of hope inside her burns hot and bright.

His eyelids flutter at her touch, and when he opens his eyes and sees her, he smiles.

“How do you feel?” she asks, reaching for his bandages. They are soaked with brownish drainage.

He winces as she peels them back. “I feel wonderful,” he says. “Like I could fight the Inviernos, carry Adán over my shoulder, and dance a jig all at the same time.”

Her lips twitch. “Well, I’m glad to hear it. Because it turns out we’re running away together to join the rebellion after all.”

He reaches for her hand and gives it a weak squeeze. “I saw this going differently in my head.”

She sighs. “Me too. But . . . as long as we’re together, right?”

He frowns. “No.”

Something unpleasant curls in her belly. “What do you mean?” she asks carefully.

He lifts his head. “Mara. Love. Don’t pin all your hopes on me. You are so much more than that. Instead of saying ‘as long as we’re together,’ I’d much rather you say, ‘as long as I’m alive.’”

She squeezes his hand. “I can’t imagine life without you. I don’t want to.”

“I don’t want to imagine a life without you either. But I do worry . . . sometimes . . . that you only think you love me. That you’ve had so little kindness in your life that . . .” His voice breaks off at the horror on her face. “Oh, Mara, I’m not saying this well. That damn arrow has addled my mind. . . .”

Mara brushes dark hair away from his forehead. “I do love you. And you know it.”

He lets his head fall back to the earth and closes his eyes. “I just need . . . a little more rest.”

“Sleep,” Mara orders. “I’ll rouse you when we’re ready to go.”