The Shattered Mountain Read Online Free PDF
Author: Rae Carson
are as big as paddles, hinting that he
might be even taller than Julio someday.
Mara steps up beside him, squinting against the morning sun.
“He’s coming, right, Mara?” Adán says.
“He’s coming.”
“And then what are we going to do?”
She shrugs. “Julio will know. He’ll probably lead us to the nearest village. Some
of these children might have family there.”
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” says a voice at her back, and she turns.
Reynaldo’s curly hair is sleep mussed, and his wide-spaced eyes blink against the
sun. Mara has always thought him young looking for his age, with his round cheeks
and open gaze. But there is something old and weary about him now. Perhaps they’ve
all aged years in the last day.
“What do you mean?” Mara probes.
“Our village isn’t the only thing that burned.”
As he stares out into the empty expanse of sky, something in his face prompts Mara
to say, “Your farmstead. Is that why you were in the village yesterday?”
He nods. “They killed everyone. All the livestock. Burned our . . . I ran to the village
to warn everyone. But I was too late. And I’ve seen smoke on the horizon.”
Gently, Mara says, “You helped me save these children. You weren’t too late for that.”
He swallows hard and nods, but he says nothing.
Mara crosses her arms and hugs her shoulders tight. She wishes Marón had lived. He
was a smart businessman, and his tavern was a cornerstone of their community. He would
have known what to do. “So you think the nearest village suffered the same fate?”
“All of them, Mara. All of them within two weeks’ journey. It’s war, now. Full out.”
Adán whirls on him, tears in his eyes. “We have to go somewhere !”
“We don’t have enough supplies to stay here forever,” Mara agrees. “We hardly have
enough to get us through the next two days.”
Reynaldo says, “Maybe we could hunt—”
“Game is scarce,” Mara interrupts. “The fires will have driven most of it away.”
Reynaldo looks down, scuffs the toe of his leather boots against the rock ledge. “I
know of a place, but . . .”
Mara and Adán regard him expectantly. “But . . . ?” Mara prompts.
“It’s a secret. I’m not supposed to tell.”
Mara inhales sharply. “The rebel camp. You know where it is.” Julio was always so
sure it existed, that the rumors were true. A safe, hidden place, somewhere west of
here in the scrub desert, where an oasis provides good grazing and even some farming.
Reynaldo says, “My cousins Humberto and Cosmé went there last year. I visited once.
They invited me to join, but my Pá needs . . . needed me.”
The tiny hope sparking in Mara’s heart is all the more precious for how fragile and
weak it is. “Would they take us in, do you think? Could you show us the way?”
“I can. But it’s on the other side of the Shattermount, where the hills start to become
true desert. A week away. We should leave right now. Before our food runs out.”
“No!” Adán says.
Mara nods at the boy. “We’ll wait for Julio.”
Reynaldo sighs. “What if he doesn’t come?”
“We’ll wait,” she repeats.
“But, Mara . . .”
“Two days. Give us two days.”
Reynaldo nods once, sharply. “Two days.”
9
T WO days later, the children are restless and hungry, the shallow, hastily dug latrine
is full, and there is no sign of Julio. There is no sign of anyone else, either. Reynaldo
and Adán scouted back toward the village to no avail. Mara searched the area around
the cave but found only flood-tumbled boulders and dried brush. Though she says soothing
words to the children, she has come to believe they are all who remain.
Overlooked, because they were the smallest and most helpless.
Mara goes through the motions of heating up leftover soup, breaking camp, and packing—all
without speaking. She will do what she can to get the children to safety, because
it is a
might be even taller than Julio someday.
Mara steps up beside him, squinting against the morning sun.
“He’s coming, right, Mara?” Adán says.
“He’s coming.”
“And then what are we going to do?”
She shrugs. “Julio will know. He’ll probably lead us to the nearest village. Some
of these children might have family there.”
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” says a voice at her back, and she turns.
Reynaldo’s curly hair is sleep mussed, and his wide-spaced eyes blink against the
sun. Mara has always thought him young looking for his age, with his round cheeks
and open gaze. But there is something old and weary about him now. Perhaps they’ve
all aged years in the last day.
“What do you mean?” Mara probes.
“Our village isn’t the only thing that burned.”
As he stares out into the empty expanse of sky, something in his face prompts Mara
to say, “Your farmstead. Is that why you were in the village yesterday?”
He nods. “They killed everyone. All the livestock. Burned our . . . I ran to the village
to warn everyone. But I was too late. And I’ve seen smoke on the horizon.”
Gently, Mara says, “You helped me save these children. You weren’t too late for that.”
He swallows hard and nods, but he says nothing.
Mara crosses her arms and hugs her shoulders tight. She wishes Marón had lived. He
was a smart businessman, and his tavern was a cornerstone of their community. He would
have known what to do. “So you think the nearest village suffered the same fate?”
“All of them, Mara. All of them within two weeks’ journey. It’s war, now. Full out.”
Adán whirls on him, tears in his eyes. “We have to go somewhere !”
“We don’t have enough supplies to stay here forever,” Mara agrees. “We hardly have
enough to get us through the next two days.”
Reynaldo says, “Maybe we could hunt—”
“Game is scarce,” Mara interrupts. “The fires will have driven most of it away.”
Reynaldo looks down, scuffs the toe of his leather boots against the rock ledge. “I
know of a place, but . . .”
Mara and Adán regard him expectantly. “But . . . ?” Mara prompts.
“It’s a secret. I’m not supposed to tell.”
Mara inhales sharply. “The rebel camp. You know where it is.” Julio was always so
sure it existed, that the rumors were true. A safe, hidden place, somewhere west of
here in the scrub desert, where an oasis provides good grazing and even some farming.
Reynaldo says, “My cousins Humberto and Cosmé went there last year. I visited once.
They invited me to join, but my Pá needs . . . needed me.”
The tiny hope sparking in Mara’s heart is all the more precious for how fragile and
weak it is. “Would they take us in, do you think? Could you show us the way?”
“I can. But it’s on the other side of the Shattermount, where the hills start to become
true desert. A week away. We should leave right now. Before our food runs out.”
“No!” Adán says.
Mara nods at the boy. “We’ll wait for Julio.”
Reynaldo sighs. “What if he doesn’t come?”
“We’ll wait,” she repeats.
“But, Mara . . .”
“Two days. Give us two days.”
Reynaldo nods once, sharply. “Two days.”
9
T WO days later, the children are restless and hungry, the shallow, hastily dug latrine
is full, and there is no sign of Julio. There is no sign of anyone else, either. Reynaldo
and Adán scouted back toward the village to no avail. Mara searched the area around
the cave but found only flood-tumbled boulders and dried brush. Though she says soothing
words to the children, she has come to believe they are all who remain.
Overlooked, because they were the smallest and most helpless.
Mara goes through the motions of heating up leftover soup, breaking camp, and packing—all
without speaking. She will do what she can to get the children to safety, because
it is a