Stranger (34 page)

Ross

ROSS HAD BEEN HEARING CHIMES EVER SINCE HE'D
reached the wall. He'd tried to reinforce the barrier in his mind, but it was impossible to do that and fight at the same time.

He did his best to ignore the shimmering sounds as he fought beside Jennie, whose strong right arm helped cover his weak left. Tired as he was, when he caught her eye, he couldn't help but grin. He won a faint smile back.

A teenage girl charged him, sparks flashing as she threw lightning back and forth between her hands. Ross brought up his knife, then remembered how Voske's lieutenant had shocked him. He skidded backward, knife lowered. The girl smirked, molding her lightning into a crackling sphere. Ross waited. Let her move first.

An arrow slammed into her knee, and she dropped, moaning. Her lightning flickered out.

“Listen up. We've found a way in.”

It was the voice of Voske's lieutenant, as loud as if he'd spoken directly into Ross's ear. Ross spun around, expecting an attack. There was no one behind him. Someone crashed into him, sending him stumbling. When he turned back, a man lay in the mud at his feet, an arrow in his neck and a sword by his outstretched hand. But no lieutenant. Ross spotted Mia reloading her crossbow.

Chimes rang an impossibly high note in his head, over a voice too soft to hear. This was no memory or waking nightmare. His tree was trying to tell him something. He had to get out of the fight so he could listen.

He took a quick look around. Jennie had run to reinforce one of the Rangers. Mia aimed at someone in the smoky fray, her glasses reflecting the fire at the town gates. Mr. Preston ran by, rallying a group of people who'd become silhouettes in the swirling haze.

The smoke had thickened, but Ross could have found his tree with his eyes closed. He passed Felicité, still in her fancy hat, giving someone an armful of arrows.

He crouched beside a boulder and closed his eyes. He visualized his inner wall, a huge concrete structure like the one he'd crawled through to get to Las Anclas, with a small metal door.

He pushed open the door. Now he could hear the voice, sharp and clear: “. . . and grab as much ammo as you can carry. We'll move covertly alongside this ridge. It runs parallel to the town walls. Then we'll cut across and get over the wall between sentries, find either Preston or the mayor, and take them out. Then we get the rest of the town council.”

Ross opened his eyes. Mia was inches away, peering worriedly into his face. He jerked backward.

“Sorry,” she whispered.

“I've got to find Mr. Preston,” Ross said.

Y
UKI

YUKI RUBBED HIS STINGING EYES ON HIS SWEAT-
soaked shirt.

The townspeople stood shoulder to shoulder in a defensive line, but there were fewer of them. Too many people he knew lay on the ground. He didn't know if they were dead or unconscious, and he couldn't stop fighting long enough to check.

A horn blew a hoarse note. Giving a huge outcry, the enemy rallied at the smoldering hole in the gates, and charged.

Sheriff Crow and the bounty hunter raced by, and smashed directly into the front row of attackers. Her crimson-streaked sword hummed and struck, hummed and struck. His staff blurred as he blocked and attacked.

People whom Yuki had never even seen in training were fighting. Grandma Callahan stood in a shadowy alley, carefully sighting a crossbow. Jack was down on one knee, defending himself with a butcher knife. Grandma Riley darted from person to person, touching necks, hands, any bare skin. Sweat froze instantly, shocking the enemies so her partner, Flora Riley, could knock them flat with a blow from her singlesticks.

Enemies charged, but once again the town threw the attackers back. Laura Hernandez, weaponless, slashed out with her claws, sending soldiers stumbling backward, bleeding. Mr. Riley swung his rifle like a club.

Yuki ran to Meredith's side, his sword whirling directly over his sister's head. He lopped off the hand of a huge guy trying to smash her down.

He heard crossbows twanging, but no gunshots—everyone seemed to be out of powder.

Nearby, Grandma Callahan lay still on the ground. He ran to pick her up. The crossbow fell from her hands. Meredith reached out to help. Their mother came up behind, limping badly, as they retreated to the doors of the armory.

“She's dead, Yuki,” she said softly. “You can set her down.”

He straightened up, gripping his sword. This was it. This was the end.

The enemy leader began to shout a command, then dropped when the bounty hunter's staff slammed into his head. Sheriff Crow ran to back him up, sword in hand, but even her strength was giving out. She was moving no faster than an ordinary woman.

A burst of light flashed from beyond the front gates. Another explosion? But no sound followed. The enemies froze in the process of reforming their lines, then scattered, some ducking. Someone bellowed to rally them as a small figure appeared around the edge of the twisted, smoke-blackened command post and lifted gnarled hands toward the gates. White-hot flame roared, igniting the ruined doors in a spectacular conflagration.

Yuki stared in astonishment. It was his former schoolteacher, Grandma Wolfe!

Her shrill cackle reached the defenders, who cheered. Once again she sent fire after the enemies, though this burst was much smaller. Her third try was no more than a candle flame. She staggered, but Sheriff Crow sprang to her aid.

Over her shoulder, the sheriff cried, “Keep it up! Keep it up, they'll be charging again. Don't let them break the line!”

The crack of a rifle snapped Yuki's attention toward the stable. Paco leaned against the wall, hair in his eyes as he leveled Mr. Preston's rifle, aimed, and shot. An enemy dropped in his tracks. Before the man hit the ground, Paco was reloading with a speed he'd seldom showed in training, his face uncharacteristically grim. He fired again, taking down another attacker. Then another. And then he stopped: out of ammo. Yuki swore to himself. The quiver on Paco's back was empty too.

Paco hefted the rifle, ready to use it as a club. But he was braced against the wall, all his weight on one foot. His knee had obviously given out. One exchange of blows, and he'd be taken down and killed—if someone didn't shoot him first.

Yuki raced for the stable, bending low to avoid fire. Arrows whistled past, but none hit. He fetched up beside Paco, and hastily unstrapped Mia's six-arrow crossbow.

Curiosity momentarily smoothed the tense angles of Paco's face. “Does that thing work?”

“Watch.” Yuki jammed his back hard into the wall, and waited.

With an enormous roar, the enemy stampeded through the gates. Half of the attackers seemed to be headed straight for them. Yuki waited till they were in range, then shot. A tremendous impact slammed into his shoulder, jarring every bone in its socket. But six attackers fell, and the unified charge broke up around them.

Yuki hastily reloaded, then shot again. The crossbow again took out a swath of attackers. It didn't simply shoot six arrows at a time—it shot them at a lethal velocity, knocking people down even if they struck armor.

As long as he had ammunition, he could hold the line that kept the enemy out of his town. Once the defenders' line broke, they were finished.

He had enough arrows for two more shots.

On the
Taka,
they'd had a saying: “Die on deck.” In Las Anclas, they said “Die with your boots on.” Yuki had never imagined that he'd die on dry land, surrounded by people who didn't even speak his native language. He'd lost his kingdom, and he'd renounced his title. But at least he'd go down fighting, as his first parents had. He hoped they'd be proud of him.

Paco shifted his weight, then staggered. Yuki caught and steadied him. Their faces were inches apart.

“Are you mad?” Paco asked, his voice husky with exhaustion.

“Mad?” Yuki echoed.

The enemy line had retreated and gone into a huddle. He watched them, bracing for a charge.

But Paco wasn't looking at Voske's people. He glanced toward the town hall. “You've always wanted to get away. Now you're defending a town you never managed to leave.”

Yuki glanced over Paco's shoulder at his mother and sister, who were counting the little ammo they had left, and turned back.

“I'm defending the people I love,” he said. “It seems like a good way to go.”

The tension eased a little in Paco's face, though his mouth trembled before he compressed it to a thin, determined line. Not caring who might be watching, Yuki kissed Paco—and Paco kissed him back, even more fiercely.

But over the roar in Yuki's veins came the noise of the enemy. They were reassembling for their next charge. He tucked the crossbow against his shoulder, and set his back to the wall.

Ross

MR. PRESTON RUBBED HIS FOREHEAD, THEN WENT BACK
to loading the last of his powder into his pistol. “Are you sure?”

“From where I was standing, I could hear every word,” Ross said firmly.

“I could too,” Mia piped up, to his surprise.

“I'll have to pull people out to deal with it.” Mr. Preston spoke as if talking to himself. “The first few soldiers will walk straight into that singing tree. If it doesn't chime and warn them, it'll kill those few, but the rest will scatter and reform. I'll put my Rangers—”

Though Mr. Preston was so smoke-grimed it was impossible to see his expression in the snapping firelight, Ross knew what he had to be thinking: most of his remaining Rangers were wounded.

“I'll put a group on either side of the ridge to ambush them while they scatter. All right, that's the plan,” Mr. Preston said decisively as he shoved the pistol through his belt, and bent to pick up his sword. “Where are the rat—no, there's no time. You stay here. I'll be back.”

And he was gone, into the smoke.

Ross whispered, “Did you really hear it too?”

“Of course not.” Mia pushed up her glasses in a defiant gesture. “It was Mr. Preston, so I figured you'd need backup.”

Tired and aching and worried as he was, Ross felt a brief warmth behind his ribs, almost like a laugh, except that it hurt in a way that nothing to do with physical pain. He wanted to hug Mia, but flexed his hands instead. His left had gone numb except for occasional flashes of tingling pain.

“Who can Mr. Preston find?” Though a fragile light blued the eastern sky over the hills, the gate was lost in a cloud of black. “If he pulls anyone from the front gates, Voske's people might get inside.”

“He'll have to take the defenders from the town hall,” said Mia.

“Where the wounded and the little kids are.” Ross felt sick.

They were losing. Even with his ammo gone, Voske had the advantage—an army of professional soldiers up against townspeople used to drill, not war. If his lieutenant's team got over the wall, there would be no stopping them.

Flakes of ash drifted on the wind, dusting Mia's hair. Ash had been falling the last time Ross had seen his parents. He remembered sitting on the floor of Mia's cottage, telling her how they had died. How they might have lived, if it hadn't been for him.

If he and his book hadn't come to Las Anclas, maybe Voske wouldn't have attacked. The citizens here had protected Ross from Voske's bounty hunter.

There was one thing he could do for them. If he could take out the lieutenant and his soldiers, that might turn the tide.

Ross knew exactly how terrifying and painful it was to have a shard growing inside you. He even knew, though he flinched away from the memory, how agonizing it was to die that way. But if he wanted to save Mia—if he wanted to save Jennie, and Jennie's family, and Dr. Lee, and the kids in the town hall—he didn't see another way.

“I thought of something.” Once he said the words, there would be no taking them back. “Like Mr. Preston said, I think my tree will kill the first soldiers who go near it. If I can get it to hold back until they're all within range . . . it could get all of them.”

“Can you do that?”

Ross shrugged. “No idea. I can try.”

Mia started to reach out toward him, then pulled back. “Ross. If it does work, what will that do to you?”

He closed his eyes, but the images were in his head, where he couldn't get away from them. Mia had seen the outer effect when she'd had to half-carry him to the infirmary. What she couldn't understand was how it had felt—and those deaths had only been memories caught in crystal.

He wrapped his arms tight around himself to stop shaking. “Probably knock me out? Maybe I can get far enough away that it won't.” He forced out the words. “Or. I do have that wall I built in my mind. But it hasn't been holding up very well.”

“I don't think we should count on that.” Mia hefted her flamethrower. “If you do it, I'll cover you.”

Ross turned away. His throat hurt and his eyes stung. She had spoken so easily, without knowing what it felt like to hear those words for the first time in his life.
I'll cover you.

He would do anything to save her life.

He wiped his eyes on the ruin of his embroidered sleeve, feeling a pulse of regret. Paco had raised a hand in salute at the dance, clearly pleased to see Ross making use of his outgrown clothes.

Voske will not put their heads on pikes,
Ross resolved.

If he was going to do it, he had to do it now. The moon had vanished. The blue light of impending dawn outlined the mountains, melding the landscape into shadow. But Ross knew exactly where the tree was.

He ran, leaping over the dim shapes of rocks and bushes. As he got closer, the sounds of Mia's footsteps and his own, of her harsh breathing and his, even the clanking of her crossbow against her flamethrower, were all drowned out by chimes. Ross could hear each individual note. He even knew by the quality of the sound how big the leaves were and whether they struck against other leaves, or against branches or seedpods.

They reached the ridge above the tree. The air was still, and no leaf moved. The music played in his mind alone.

“Wait here.” He raced to where the tree stood silently, ruby lights glimmering within.

He took a deep breath, and laid his hand on smooth, cool crystal.