Water & Storm Country (27 page)

“It…was…” The words come slow, like rainwater
dripping from a leaf long after the storm has passed.
“…our…fault.”

What? He’s dying, and yet he’s taking
blame…for what exactly? For getting stabbed? For bleeding on the
ground? He’s confused, from pain or loss of blood or trauma.

“You did nothing wrong,” I say. “Just tell us
who did this to you.”

His body stops convulsing and he suddenly
looks so calm that if it wasn’t for his sweat-stained face and
bandaged gut I’d swear he was nothing more than a man trying to get
some sleep. His voice strengthens. “They appeared out of nowhere,
as if the night spat them out just in front of the camp.” Nole
takes a deep swallow, but then continues. “There were two men, one
as light-skinned as a Soaker, but not as fair, with dark hair and a
thick beard; the other was darker skinned, but not like us. Light
brown. They surprised us. Our fault.” He cringes, but I can tell
it’s not pain, but sadness that causes it. Tears flow freely from
his eyes, spilling over his lips, which are open enough to show
that his teeth are grinding sharply against each other.

“No, Nole,” I say, trying to get his
attention back. “Nothing’s your fault. What happened next?”

For a long moment I fear I’ve lost him to
despair, but then he speaks again. “Their hands were out and they
held no weapons. I drew my sword and they stopped moving closer.
The white-skinned one had anger in his eyes, but he didn’t threaten
us, only asked to see our leader.”

At that, Gard crowds in close beside me.
“They wanted to see me? But why?”

“I—I…” Fresh tears well up. “I’m sorry. I
waved my torch to get a better look at them, and the light glinted
off a long blade hanging from the brown-skinned man’s belt. We
panicked. We attacked him, both of us, at once. We fought to kill.
He was a great warrior. Far superior to us. He had no choice.” Nole
clutches his side as if remembering when the brown-skinned man’s
blade sunk into his flesh.

“Where did they go?” I ask, picturing them
lurking within the camp, hiding in shadows, blood dripping from the
murderous sword.

“Back into the forest,” he says, his voice
weakening. “They ran, left us there…to…die.” A strangely peaceful
look crosses his face as he manages a smile.

“Nole?” I say in alarm.

“It doesn’t hurt anymore,” he says. His eyes
flash to his wife. “Teza, come to me.” The woman swoops to him like
a bird of prey to a rodent, smothering him with her arms and
kisses. Over her shoulder he says, “I love you, Teza.”

I want to look away, but I can’t. I feel tied
to this man, to his story. I’m ashamed at the relief I feel in my
heart because now I know it wasn’t my fault, wasn’t some Evil from
the forest that killed two Stormers.

No, it wasssn’t
, the Evil says.
But
I will kill. You can’t ssstop me.

Nole’s lips move one last time, his pink
tongue flashing with each word. “The white…man said…his name…was
Dazz.”

And then he dies.

~~~

Every last Rider is here, none of us able to
sit although Gard has asked us to several times.

When we left Nole’s body to the care of his
wife and the Healer, the sun was already peeking over the horizon,
chasing away the misting rain, casting a pink glaze over the camp.
Far too cheery a color for the night’s stormy events.

Gard called the Riders to assembly
immediately. The rumors began buzzing in whispers and hisses as the
black-clad warriors streamed to a point just outside the camp,
beyond the stables.

Ten guards dead, but how?

Under attack by the Icers and the
Soakers?

They fell from the sky like rain, murdering
children in their beds?

Despite the ludicrousness of the gossip, I
stay silent, knowing the truth will come out soon enough.

Dazz
, I think.
An Icer?
Despite
Nole’s claim that the fault lay with him, my hands clench in anger.
My mother was killed by an Icer. I will get my revenge.

Eventually Gard manages to calm the Riders,
even convincing them to sit in the grass, which is still wet with
the night mist. My hands are anxious, resting first on my knees and
then on the damp earth, before finally sitting knotted in my lap.
Surely this will be a call to war. The only question is with
whom.

First, Gard tells the true story, stamping
out the rumors almost as quickly as they arose. Two guards dead.
Likely attacked by an Icer and a Heater.
Since when have those
two tribes fought together?
I wonder. Are we entering a time
when every tribe bands together as one, an invincible adversary
determined to wipe all good from the earth? Will Mother Earth allow
it?

“We have to act!” a Rider yells when Gard
finishes.

“Yeah!” a woman screams, her cry mimicked by
a dozen more voices, like echoes. Some of the Riders stand, fists
clenched at their sides.

“We cannot act against an enemy we can’t
see,” Gard says, gesturing for the Riders to sit. Grudgingly, they
do. “We could rush off and start a war. But will there be anyone
left when we return?” There’s silence, Gard’s words weighing
heavily on the too-bright morning.

“We cannot do nothing,” I say, surprised at
my brazenness. I stand, wondering what I’ll say even as I say it.
“They’ve attacked us in our home. They’ve practically begged us for
war.” I sense the words are mine, but not. Only part mine. Evil
lurks behind them, but they feel right. Will my mother’s death go
unanswered?

“They were provoked,” Gard says. “Nole
admitted that it was his fault—that he was spooked and acted out of
fear. They only wanted to talk to me.”

“They wanted to get close to you so they
could kill you,” I say, feeling strength coursing through me. A
sudden desire to ride Passion into battle fills me. Even standing I
feel restless, like I need to move, to run, to ride, to fight. “An
eye for an eye. We killed their king so they’ll kill our war
leader.”

“Maybe so,” Gard admits. “But we don’t know
that. Coming into the heart of our camp with a force of only two
would have been sure death, suicide. Perhaps there’s more to
it.”

I know he’s right, but his words are too
patient for me. “What would you have us do?” I ask.

Gard’s eyes bore into mine. “Have Riders
replace the normal guardsmen. Double the watch. Be vigilant. If
they want badly enough to speak to me, they will return. And we’ll
be ready.”

Silence hangs ominously over our heads, a
stark contrast to the rare cloudless sky. Finally I feel
uncomfortable standing alone in a sea of seated Riders. Awkwardly,
I lower myself to a crouch.

Gard casts his eyes over the lot of us.
Despite the calmness and steadiness of his previous words, his gaze
throws off sparks. “I want them brought to me alive”—his voice
booms like a battle drum—“and only then will they answer for their
crimes!”

~~~

We work in groups of four, silent protectors
of the camp, of my people. If the foreigners show their faces
again… The thought trails off in my mind because I know the rest of
it will be finished by the dark one who clings to me like my black
robe.

Let them come
, the Evil says.

I shake my head and pull my hood over my hair
as a cautious rain begins to fall. The night speaks in leafy
rustles and patters.

My companions also don their hoods. They
don’t complain about being tired or having to stand in the rain.
Riders don’t complain. We are iron. We are rock.

A drip of moisture crawls into my eye and
blurs my vision, as if to remind me that even rock and iron are
affected by Mother Earth’s elements.

One of the torches planted in the soft ground
beside us flickers when the rain picks up. The flame falters,
wavers, and then dies, casting us into darkness. Still we stand.
Still we watch, our eyes adjusting to the night.

Something flashes in the corner of my vision,
a speck of movement, there and gone again. A trick of the night? A
specter?

I train my stare on the spot, unwilling to
raise a false alarm until I’m sure. I see only black. And then…

A flash of something lighter, growing in size
as someone approaches.

“Who’s there?” I demand.

My companions turn to the sound of my voice,
startled. The blob of white stops, says, “My name is Dazz. I come
from ice country. My companion is Feve, one of the Marked from fire
country. We’ve come to speak to your leader.” I squint to make out
the face of either of them. The one who calls himself Dazz steps
forward, clearer now, but still shrouded by the night.

My hand tenses on my sword, prepared to draw
it, to swing it, to kill if necessary.

“You killed two men,” the Rider next to me
says.

The one he called “the Marked” steps forward,
just a human-shaped splotch of brown. “They left us no choice,” he
says, his voice certain and free of shame. The desire to slice him
to ribbons courses through me as I slide my blade from its
sheath.

“Please,” Dazz says. “We are only here to
understand why you steal our children.”

My next breath comes sharply, before I need
it. Exhaling, I regain my composure. “Drop your weapons,” I say.
“And come forward with your hands clasped above your head. But
don’t be surprised if Gard is less merciful than we.”

I
duck beneath the
icy water, my eyes burning with salt and dread. Where is she?

I search frantically, seeing only churning
white and bubbles. Even the sharp-tooths are noticeably absent,
smart enough to escape to a less angry corner of the Deep Blue. I
resurface, gasping for breath, spluttering when a wave looms over
me. My wet blue uniform sticks to me like a second skin, weighing
me down. Just as the wave topples over me, I dive back down, deeper
this time, fighting to see through the murk.

A hand waves to me in the distance, but it’s
not really waving—more like thrashing. Churning the water around
it, unable to generate enough thrust to pull the attached body to
the surface. That’s when I remember: Jade can’t swim. None of the
Heater servants can. It’s intentional, another of my father’s
brilliant ideas. Makes it kind of hard to escape from a ship if you
can’t swim and the landing boats are guarded all day and night.

Kicking hard, I swim toward Jade’s thrashing
hand, grabbing it before she can sink further into the abyss. When
she feels me, she jerks, as if I’m a monster of the sea come to
claim her. But then she sees it’s me and lets me pull her. She’s
choking, jerking her head about, swallowing seawater, unable to
hold her breath any longer.

Clutching her around the waist, I kick and
kick and paddle with my free hand, surprisingly desperate to get
back above the water and into the fiercest storm we’ve seen in a
long time. My lungs are on fire, burning with the desire for air.
My head breaks the surface and I gulp in a deep breath, getting a
mouthful of water when Jade unintentionally spits it in my face.
Using both arms, she clings around my neck, frightened and
exhausted, choking me, threatening to pull us both back under.

“Jade, relax,” I manage to squeak out. “Yer
chokin’ me.”

Her grip relents slightly, giving me the
chance to suck in a breath. My head on a swivel, I look around,
locating the end of the toppled mast, floating nearby. I make for
it, Jade on my back. When I’m finally close enough to grab part of
the bird’s nest, I realize: the winds have weakened, the rain has
slowed, the waves have shrunk. The storm is dying.

For a while we just hang onto each other and
the mast, content to be alive, her cheek on my shoulder, my ear
resting on the crown of her head.

Eventually there’s a shout and a rope
splashes nearby us in the water. I grab it, my fingers cold and
unsteady, wrap it around Jade, under her arms, and then around me,
tying it tightly in a classic fisherman’s knot. I raise a hand as
high as I can, signaling to the rescuer who I can’t see above the
angled mast.

The rope tightens and begins to drag us in. I
hug Jade without shame. She hugs back.

We reach the ship and I steady us against the
side with a firm hand as we rise slowly out of the water, the rope
twisting and spinning, showing us wood and then sky and water and
then wood again. Strong hands pull us over the railing and we
collapse on deck in a pile, like fish tumbling from a net. The
day’s catch.

Looking up, I see the eyes of our rescuer,
dark brown and almost shining with glee. “Look what the Deep Blue
spat out today,” Hobbs says with a sneer.

~~~

I don’t know where they took Jade, but I was
so shocked at seeing Hobbs that I did nothing to help her, just
watched them drag her away, below deck somewhere, presumably to get
her dry clothes and a blanket. Something to warm her up. All that
matters is that she’s alive.

“I should’ve left you out there to drown,”
Hobbs says as I strip off my shirt.

Barney helps me to my feet, loops one of my
arms over his shoulders as I stumble, my feet like jellyfish. “Then
why didn’t you?” I snap, a flash of anger hitting me.

Surprisingly, Hobbs smiles at me. “Because
I’d rather find out what the admiral will have in store for
you.”

My father. I try to swallow down the unwanted
sour taste of fear that fills my mouth, but it sticks in my throat,
lingers. I stare at Hobbs, trying to hide my fear. “Until then,
stay out of sight until you’re called for,” Hobbs says with a
sneer. “Clearly you’re not needed up here.”

Barney grabs my arm, says, “We need to get
you cleaned up.”

I know it’s an excuse to run, to hide, but
I’ll take it. With Barney acting as my crutch, I limp away, hating
the way my heartbeat thunders in my chest when I see the rest of
the ship: