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.