Rae Carson: The Girl of Fire and Thorns

Then, far away at first, a drumbeat resounds. I can’t pinpoint its direction, but the echoing thrum makes a cavern of my chest. It thunders again, closer.

The carriage jerks to a stop.

No.

Alejandro’s guard has acted on instinct. They sensed danger and stopped the procession to establish a perimeter defense. The foliage hugs our path; were I to reach from the carriage window, my fingertips could flutter the drooping palm leaves. An unseen enemy could spear me just as easily.

Ahead is a slight clearing in the jungle where the trees retreat from the road.

“Lord Hector!” I call, heart pounding. He glances at me; his chest rises with a long, controlling breath. But I know I’m right in this. The Belleza Guerra devotes whole passages to sizing up an enemy’s approach. “Make for the clearing ahead. We must be able to see them coming!”

He nods and shouts an order as another drumbeat thrums beneath my breastbone. The horses huff and prance in response, but they pull us forward, toward the clearing.

“Aneaxi. Ximena. We must get down, away from the windows.” The carriage wobbles as they comply. We are an awkward threesome, barely able to squeeze into the floor space between benches.

“His Majesty’s guard is the finest in the world,” Aneaxi insists breathily. “We are in little danger.” But her hand bruises mine with its grip.

With my free hand, I trace the line of the trapdoor until I can finger the latch. The thought of leaving the carriage frightens me, and I envision the three of us smacking the ground. I hope Aneaxi is right, that there is little danger.

The drums beat faster now, louder. My shoulder crashes into a bench as the carriage heaves. I don’t dare lift myself to peer out the window, but I hope we’ve reached the clearing. I hear running footsteps and Lord Hector’s muffled orders, then the metal-scraping-metal sound of drawn steel.

Something thunks against the carriage. And again. Soon it’s like a rain of stones cracking against wooden walls. I hear a thud against the wall near my head. The shining black point of an arrowhead pokes through, a mere handsbreadth from my nose. My skin burns. The air is too hot, too stifling to breathe. The Godstone in my navel flashes ice cold, and I gasp, astonished. It has never gone cold before.

The paneling beneath my palms feels sun warmed. Too warm. The acrid scent of burning wood tingles in my nose as the Godstone continues to throb its icy warning.

Aneaxi whimpers, “Fire!” as our carriage fills with smoky haze and the shouting outside becomes frenzied.

“The princess!” someone yells. “To the princess!” But the voice is far off.

I search across the paneling for the latch to the trapdoor again. It opens downward, and we tumble through into the cooler, cleaner air beneath the carriage. I land on something that cracks beneath my weight. Aneaxi screams.

I don’t have time to worry about how badly I’ve hurt her. The horses catch the scent of smoke and dance in their harnesses. We could be pinned beneath the wheels at any moment. I yearn for a knife to cut the horses free, to feel some kind of power in my hand. The carriage lurches forward. Behind me and to my left, I see Aneaxi’s leg, cricked unnaturally, lying in the path of the wheel.

I feel sick. “Aneaxi, you must pull your leg in.”

“I can’t!” she sobs.

I hook her armpit and pull. Ximena does the same on the other side, but Aneaxi is large and I have never been strong. A horse rears. The carriage jerks. Panicked, Ximena and I wrench Aneaxi toward us, but we are at such an awkward angle, pressed against the ground, and oh, it is not enough.

Steel rings, and the carriage shudders. Someone has sliced through the harnesses, and tears of relief prick my eyes.

I’m not sure what to do next. The carriage provides cover, but it burns. Even now, smoke licks the floor above, curling around the panels like white snakes. Feet patter by at eye level. Our enemies are barefooted demons, nearly naked and painted in black-and-white swirls. Anklets of tiny bones clatter as one darts in and out of the jungle. Lunge, sidestep, disappear; then another takes his place. Their attack has no pattern. It is random, constant, indefensible.

A few paces away from our burning carriage gapes the opening of an enormous buttress, a cavern formed by the roots of a silk-cotton tree. I could reach it quickly, and Ximena, but I worry for Aneaxi and her broken leg.

I flip over to face my ladies. “We must get away before the carriage collapses.”

They nod; Aneaxi’s round cheeks are smeared with dirt made muddy by tears. My heart swells for a moment, for I’m not willing to lose either of them.

“Ximena and I will go first,” I say to Aneaxi. “Then we will pull you out by the arms.” I hope that by standing, we’ll have the leverage to do what could not be done beneath the carriage. “Aneaxi, you must not scream, no matter how much it hurts.”

She takes a few ragged breaths. Then she rips a strip of fabric from the hem of her traveling gown. My chest burns with pride when she wads it up and shoves it in her mouth. I’m ready , her eyes tell me.

Still we wait. The fighting is too close. From where we lie, we see pairings of naked, painted calves with boots and stiff hide. A man tumbles to the ground before me, and I scramble backward. His eyes are open and blinding white against the black paint of his face. His hair is as long as mine but twisted into thick clumps. He lies unmoving. Gingerly, heart pounding, I pry a stone knife from his still-warm hand and stuff it into my bodice.

At last I see a break in the fighting, and I gesture frantically to Ximena. We scramble from beneath the carriage on all fours. My foot tangles in my slip as I rise, but I rip right through it. Once clear, we turn and grasp Aneaxi’s arms. She groans around the wad in her mouth as we pull. Her eyes clench tight; her face is bright red. Then she goes limp as unconsciousness takes her. As we pull her toward the dark cavity of the buttress, I expect to see an arrow impale her chest at any moment. Sweat slides down my back and across my stomach. Beside me, Ximena’s gray bun has come loose and her hair swings below her shoulders. Little by little, we reach the line of the jungle. The ground slopes downward as we step beneath the roots. It’s cooler here, and comfortingly dark. There is just enough room for the three of us in the little cavern. I catch my breath, holding tight to Aneaxi’s shoulders, so relieved to have made it this far.

I have a better view of the battle now. My husband’s guard seems to have found its footing against these strange savages. They fight back to back against the random attacks, shield arms at ready for incoming arrows. Bodies from both sides litter the ground, and my stomach roils at the scent of burning flesh. Our carriage is an inferno. Next to me, Ximena flinches when the flaming structure collapses to the ground, sending sparks in all directions. A few moments more, and we would have burned.

Beyond the ruined carriage, two savages have trapped one of our own against a tree. I cannot see his face, but his body is frozen in panic.

One of the savages leaps forward with a shriek, plunges a stone knife toward the man’s chest. He lurches away just in time, and the knife jams into his forearm instead.

He fights weakly then, with left-handed strokes. When he hesitates yet again, I know he cannot last. The painted bodies sense the kill. They begin an odd movement, like a dance. Squat, pivot, creep. They are like jungle cats, all wild grace and hunting fury. Then I catch a glimpse of the doomed man’s face.

Alejandro.

“No!” I clamber from our shelter. Ximena yells something indecipherable. She grasps my arm, but I wrench away. I feel so slow as I run toward my husband, my belly and breasts bouncing painfully with each step. As I pass the collapsed carriage, I pull the knife from my bodice. I don’t know what I’m going to do, but I can’t let Alejandro die. The painted men circle my husband, unaware of my approach. They move closer as Alejandro readies his sword with his good arm.