“Baby you? You’re only sixteen. I’ll baby you if I want.”

“Sixteen is old enough to be married,” he’d said.

“Maybe, but until the day some other woman takes you into her house, I’ll make the decision on whether or not to baby you.” She stood and paced.

“Please, Mother, you’re making me nervous with all this walking. I’m fine!”

“You’re burning up, Johnis. I can’t find a scrap of Catalina cactus in the village. I can’t just stand here and let you burn to a crisp!”

He’d tried to convince her to wait until she had a proper escort, but she reminded him that she did know how to swing a sword well enough. And his fever was getting worse.

The last time he saw her was in his door frame, giving him parting instructions: “If your fever gets too hot, put the wet cloth on your forehead.”

“I know, Mother.”

“I’ll be back in two hours. No longer.”

“You’re sure about this?”

“I love you, Johnis.”

And then she was gone. It was the last time he’d seen her, because they hadn’t recovered her body. They found the blood on the sand and her boots, but her body had been hauled off by beasts or Horde.

Ramos, his father, had gone on a rampage and killed ten Scabs, the hair from whom he’d formed a Horde ball which he’d presented to Thomas, the supreme commander of the Forest Guard.

Johnis had recovered from the fever, but not from his mother’s death. And then last night he’d learned that she wasn’t dead at all. She was, instead, a Horde.

The thoughts buzzed through his mind like a mammoth Mazumbi hornet. Had he ever been so helpless? There was nothing he could do, was there? Nothing at all.

Johnis pulled the reins tight and stared through the branches at the village outskirts. Nothing at all, except . . .

But the thought bordered on lunacy.

He loosened the reins and let the horse have its head while his own head spun with this new thought.

The truth was Michal had found evidence of his mother, presumably alive.

The truth was Johnis had heard her voice in the books.

The truth was the books had saved him once before.

The truth was there could be a way, however insane, to go after his mother, who at this moment was with the Horde army, retreating to the south, a step farther with every breath he took. He could still hear his mother’s voice from the books.

Bring me back to life . . .

Did he have a choice?

But this thought now burrowing itself deep into his mind was impossible. And if not impossible—if by some trick or power he made it happen—it was the stuff of blithering foolishness.