Amazon Queen (30 page)

The others watched, tense, ready if the priestess’s magic faltered.

“We checked here. We didn’t see anyone,” Bern said, pointing with the sword.

“Areto said she was here.”

Bern’s nostrils flared. “Maybe she lied.”

I could see Bern hadn’t forgiven Areto for choosing Thea over me . . . over us, but there had been a light in Areto’s eyes, an apology. I believed her.

I slid off the horse and approached the hay. “When we were little, we made fortresses out of the hay. Did you ever do that, Bern?” It was a rhetorical question. I really couldn’t imagine Bern as anything except the warrior she was today.

I climbed onto the stack and grabbed the first bale by its twine wrapping.

I tossed it down. It landed next to the warrior. She pulled back on the reins, making the horse step back, and eyed the pile of bales.

I knew what she was thinking: that even an Amazon couldn’t survive with a ton of hay stacked on top of her.

I tossed another bale onto the ground.

Kale appeared in the open doorway. “Padia has to be here somewhere. Maybe she’s hiding inside the house, with Tess and the baby. We should search there.”

Holding a bale, I grunted. The twine dug into my fingers. Normally you wore gloves for work like this.

“How are Mel and Bubbe doing?” I asked. I’d moved four bales now and saw no sign there was anything hidden in the pile except more hay, and maybe a snake or three.

Kale frowned. She took a step toward the house, but Mel and Bubbe were blocking her path. She cursed and looked back at me.

Bern, however, answered. “Holding,” she said. “Should we attack?”

I shook my head. Two warriors had already died. Two warriors who had been misled into believing they were doing what was right, that they were saving the tribe . . . two warriors who could have been me. I wouldn’t feel guilty for their deaths, they were necessary, but I wouldn’t add to them if I could help it.

“Call everyone to the barn, everyone except Mel and Bubbe. Tess and Andres may not be here, but Cleo is.”

Bern stared at me a second. Then without a word she sprinted to the others. Kale was in the barn too now; she had given up on getting past Mel and her grandmother. She stared up at me but said nothing.

When the others arrived, they climbed onto the pile with me and started tossing hay.

Kale stayed close to the door, glancing from us to the Amazons held at bay by Bubbe and Mel. Watching.

The barn was filled with broken bales before we found the hidey-hole. A piece of plywood had been dropped over the last layer, over a space about six feet long by eighteen inches by eighteen inches—casket size. A short casket for an Amazon.

With Bern’s help, I pulled up the board. Cleo lay inside, pale and limp. I sat on the bale beside her and reached for her throat—to check for a pulse.

Above my head there was a scream.

An owl dove from the rafters and out the open barn door.

Mateo, who had been shifting bales behind us to keep them from tumbling down on top of us, froze, then ran after the bird.

There was another, louder shriek outside . . . one I recognized as the son in his bird form.

I glanced at Jack. He dropped the bale he’d been holding and ran after Mateo.

I didn’t know what was happening, could see no danger in what had happened. Owls lived in barns; we’d startled one . . .

From outside Jack yelled and an engine roared to life.

A cloud of dirt descended on the barn . . . maybe the camp . . . I couldn’t tell.

Mel’s voice, yelling, telling me to hurry, urged me to action.

I grabbed the unconscious Cleo and tossed her over my shoulder—the second warrior I’d carried this way in just a few days’ time.

I hoped it was a trend that would go no further.

The truck we’d driven into the camp screeched sideways, sliding on gravel toward the barn.

Bubbe stood where we had left her, but her shield was smaller, almost half its original size. Mel screamed at her and threw up her arms. Dust billowed behind the old priestess, rolled down toward her, toward the Amazons still on the other side of her shield of whirling air.

“Get her!” Mel yelled at Jack, who was running toward them.

The son grabbed Bubbe around the waist. Lost in her spell, her body stiff, the priestess seemed oblivious; she kept chanting. He carried . . . dragged . . . her toward the truck.

Kale and I flipped Cleo over the side into the bed, and Bern raced toward the struggling son. She grabbed Bubbe by the ankles and the two of them jogged her to the truck.

Her lips slowed; her shield fell, and every Amazon who had been waiting behind it rushed toward us.

Mel was the last
of us still standing her ground. Her arms raised, her body shaking, she was holding back the wave of dust she had gathered.

“Drive toward her,” I yelled at Lao, who was behind the wheel. The hearth-keeper gunned the engine.

I clung to the side of the truck, my body hanging out over the edge while I prayed we would reach my friend before she was hit by a knife or sword.

There was a war cry . . . a victory cry. Weapons smashed into the side of the truck. The Amazons thought they had us, thought they’d won. And if they got to us, managed to stop the truck—they would. We had no weapons now, and Bubbe, our strongest weapon, was in much the same state as her daughter, staring blindly and chanting.

But a new weapon had appeared—the Amazons’ own confidence. They were focused on us, focused on what they saw as an easy win and completely unaware Mel was holding back a wave of dirt and debris that would ensure our escape.

At least I hoped it would.

Lao barreled the truck toward the rush of Amazons as if they weren’t there . . . or as if she had zero qualms about mowing a line of them down. Which, after seeing her attack on Thea, I suspected was the more accurate scenario.

The Amazons were close, but we were closer. Six feet from my friend, I yelled at Bern to grab me and leaned out, far enough I would have fallen if the warrior hadn’t taken hold of my legs. She stood between my knees, her fingers wrapped around my belt. My pelvis bounced against the top of the bed; I ignored the pain and focused on Mel.

We drove by barely slowing; I looped my arms around my friend’s waist and jerked her off her feet.

Her arms fell and so did the wave. “Pull!” I screamed at Bern and in seconds the three of us—Mel, Bern and myself—tumbled into a pile on the hard truck bed.

A roar sounded behind us and we were pelted with tiny rocks, twigs, and dirt.

Coughing, I pulled myself up to peer over the side of the truck. I could see nothing but dirt, but I could hear the curses . . .

The truck roared up the drive blind, but unimpeded. In minutes we were on the highway, headed back to Jack’s neighbor’s house.

We gathered behind the house. Cleo and Bubbe had both come out of their fog, but neither was back to normal. Mel watched them through half-closed eyes as she pretended to replace handles on knives Jack had retrieved from the ashes of his home. She hadn’t said a word about Cleo’s or Bubbe’s condition, but I knew she was shaken.

I hadn’t been close to my mother and losing her had blown my worldview to smithereens. Mel, despite her differences with her family, loved them. And they had always been strong . . . stronger than her, in her mind . . . although not in mine.

“What happened?” I asked, running a whetstone over one of the blades.

She shook her head. “I don’t know. Things seemed to be going well. Bubbe was holding them off, seemed as strong as ever . . . then something happened. She didn’t weaken. She went somewhere . . . ”

“Here.” Bubbe tapped herself on the forehead, then stood and crossed the yard between us. She wore the same red dress she had this morning, but it had lost its crispness and now hung limp and dirty from her shoulders. Her eyes, however, were sharp again as were her steps.

“I went inside myself.” She pointed at her temple. “Went where others tried to go.”

Mel glanced sideways at me. Both of us thinking the same thing—she wasn’t herself, whatever had happened back at the camp was still affecting her, might for a long time.

Bubbe sighed and grabbed the stone wolf that hung from her neck. Her eyes closed, and her lips moved.

Something shifted in the trees.

I glanced toward them, expecting Mateo, who hadn’t reappeared since shooting out of the barn.

But instead I saw a wolf, gray and rangy. His nose lifted to sniff the air. I tensed. His eyes scanned over those of us gathered in the yard, coming to rest on the old priestess, her eyes still closed, her lips still moving. He padded forward until he stood next to her, then he lifted his nose and nuzzled her hand.

With a smile, she opened her eyes.

“See, the wolf, you think he comes to the crazy?”

The creature, Mel’s family
telios,
turned eyes old and wise on me. I’d seen the priestess call him before but wasn’t sure then or now if he was real or just mist gathered into his shape. His eyes were knowing. They held wisdom I knew I’d never gain, and I wished more than anything I could see through his eyes to know what he knew.

Bubbe laughed. “Not for you, queen. Your
telios
is like our goddess . . . jealous. Best you learn about him before you cheat with another.”

She raised her hand and the wolf disappeared, answering whether the animal was real or magic. But she had made her point, whatever had happened to her back at the camp wasn’t affecting her now.

She tapped her temple again. “Did you not feel it? The probing? Someone tried to get inside, but I hold that key close. There is too much hidden in here to let go easily.” She laughed. I wanted to laugh with her, but I couldn’t; what she had said was too chilling.

“You felt someone in your mind?” I asked.

She nodded. “Here”—she touched her temple—“but not here.” She placed her fingers over her heart. “That was her mistake. The brain holds knowledge, but the heart . . . that is what makes an Amazon strong.”

My mind whirled. The thoughts I’d had while staring down Thea . . . the doubts . . . they had come from nowhere.

“No priestess has such skill. We don’t poke where we do not belong,” Bubbe added.

Cleo had already shared her story, or what she remembered, with us. Like Kale, that was very little. But she repeated it now.

“I was in the barn. Thea and Areto walked in. They knew something, I could tell. I acted casual, positioning myself to fight, but then”—she frowned—“I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to do anything. I’d been feeling lethargic all day, since breakfast, but this was worse. It scared me; I forced myself to push through, but it was like swimming through oil. I bent for a broom, to use as a staff, but I was shaky, couldn’t concentrate on more than staying upright. Then someone hit me from behind.

“Falling was almost a relief. Losing myself to the darkness was too.” She looked down and shook her head. “When I woke up, I was under the hay. I don’t know if I could have escaped if I’d wanted to, but the fact was, I didn’t want to. I was happy just to lie there staring at the darkness.” She walked to the edge of the woods. Her back tense, she didn’t move, just stared into the shadows of the forest.

I looked at Kale. “Did you see Padia there?”

She picked up one of the pieces of wood Mel was carving into knife handles. “I don’t know.” She dropped the wood and looked back at me. “I don’t remember what she looks like. I’ve tried to remember, but whenever I try to recall her, I get a blank. I can’t even tell you what her hair color is or how tall she is.”

“How long were you on the council together? How many times did you meet? If you saw her, you’d know, right?”

She ran her hands down her shorts. She whispered, “Twenty years, hundreds of times. Would I remember her now? I don’t know, but I don’t think I would.”

I licked my lips. She had to be wrong.

I looked at Bubbe. “Could Padia do that? Could she wipe Kale’s memory?”

The old priestess pursed her lips. “No.”

A bit of tension left my shoulders. Whatever had happened to the two warriors, to me . . . to Bubbe . . . it wasn’t what we were thinking. There was some other explanation, some simple one that didn’t involve someone probing around inside our heads.

“But then, she couldn’t convince Kale to kill those humans, make her forget what she’d done, make my daughter lose her will to fight or try to tip her toe into my head. She couldn’t do any of those things. No one could, but someone did.”

I’d been worried about recognizing the enemy; now I learned she might be inside me . . . or could get there.

Silence settled over us.

Mel broke it. “What about Tess? Was she at the camp and we missed her? We missed Mother.”

I answered, “Thea claimed she hadn’t seen Tess or the baby.” Thea’s other comments, her suggestion that perhaps Tess had taken on the job I’d refused, nagged at me.

“Thea lies.” Lao stood on the porch holding a tray of sandwiches.

I acknowledged her comment with a nod. I didn’t trust Thea either. I couldn’t even be certain Tess wasn’t hidden in the barn. Despite the mess we had made, there were still plenty of bales left stacked.