Free The Shattered Mountain by Rae Carson Page A

opens into a small vale. Figures appear on the ridge above, surrounding
     them, just like the Inviernos who attacked their village. Mara has a moment’s panic.
    But instead of attacking, they pour down the slope. Some smile in greeting. Only a
     few have weapons—all sheathed. They are children, mostly. Clean, well-fed, healthy.
    These perfect strangers take their hands, murmur words of welcome. One young man lodges
     himself under Hando’s good shoulder and supports him the rest of the way.
    A beautiful girl with short, curly hair takes charge. She lifts the corner of the
     blanket covering Julio’s body and says, “Too late for this one. Take him to the other
     side of the butte.” Someone grabs the reins to the packhorse and leads it away. Mara
     swallows hard, but does not protest.
    “This one needs an amputation immediately,” the beautiful girl says when she sees
     Hando’s black-streaked forearm. “Head gash here will need stitches,” she says of Teena.
     “Too late to treat your burn,” she tells Marco. “But maybe some salve will help.”
     Mara hadn’t realized Marco had been burned; he never complained.
    One by one she goes through each member of their party, directing others to action,
     until finally she reaches Mara. “You’ve been though a lot,” she says, her head cocked
     quizzically.
    Mara shrugs. “It’s war.”
    The girl nods. “I’m Cosmé. Welcome to our camp. If you betray us, I’ll kill you.”
    “If you betray me or these children, I’ll kill you first.”
    Cosmé flashes a grin. She indicates a general direction with her head. “Head over
     to the cavern if you want some hot stew.” And then she’s off, tending to the wounded.
    An old man with a missing arm approaches next. “You are Mara, the leader of this group,
     yes?”
    “I guess.”
    He reaches up and clutches her shoulder. “I am Father Alentín, priest to these wayward
     miscreants, and you, dear girl, are most welcome. Come, I’ll show you the way.”
    As they head up the slope together, Mara says, “Everyone here seems so . . . healthy.”
    “Compared to recent refugees, I suppose,” he says with a sad smile. “We’re managing.
     Lots of wounded, though. We lose someone almost every day. But!” His grin becomes
     enormous. “This war may have just taken a turn for the better.”
    They crest the rise, and Mara looks out on a small but beautiful village of adobe hutas built into the side of an enormous butte. Just beyond, the butte curves inward, resulting
     in a massive half cavern that is open to the sky but sheltered from the worst of wind
     and rain.
    “What do you mean by a turn for the better?” she asks. Looking at this bright, warm
     place, she can almost believe it.
    “We found the bearer, you see,” he says. “God’s chosen one. There.”
    Mara follows the direction of his pointing finger and sees two people standing on
     the highest point of the ridge—a boy with wild hair, and a plump girl with a thick
     braid. The boy doesn’t look like anything special. Intelligent and sturdy, maybe,
     with a roundness to his features that gives him an air of perpetual surprise.
    As Mara and the priest approach, he leans over and whispers, “Her name is Elisa. She
     is a princess of Orovalle, and we stole her right out from under the nose of His Majesty
     King Alejandro, may sweet wisdom drop from his lips as honey from the comb.”
    The chosen one is a girl ? Mara peers closer.
    She can’t be more than sixteen years old, and she seems out of place in this harsh
     desert. Her limbs are too soft, her gaze too wide with horror and shock. But her pretty
     brown eyes spark, and there’s a stubborn set to her lips that makes Mara wonder.
    The princess stares as they come face-to-face. Stares hard and with keen interest,
     the way Julio always did. And just like with Julio, she is compelled to fill the silence.
     “I’m Mara,” she says. She’s not sure what makes her add, “Thank you for