Water & Storm Country (24 page)

A crowd is gathering, but I pretend they’re
not there and that they’re not watching me talk and laugh, like
it’s any other day, any other funeral. Like their whispers of
“Isn’t it sad?” and “Both parents so close together…” are about
someone else.

“We should stand,” I say, but Remy shakes his
head.

“Not yet,” he says. “How’s Passion? Any
problems turning her to the left?”

“She’s…” A dozen words spring to
mind—perfect, incredible, majestic, and on and on—but none of them
do her justice. None of them sum up what I really think of her.
“She’s everything,” I finally say, and it’s true on so many
different levels, especially now that father is...

He smiles. “I’d feel the same about Bolt if
not for the no-left-turn thing. So for now he’ll have to be
almost
everything.”

I smile but this time it’s not a real smile,
because I know…

It’s time.

I stand, hating funerals. Hating this
funeral.

My knees are weak, trembling, so I squeeze my
leg muscles tight to keep them still.

Gard stands at the front of the crowd,
partially obscuring my father’s body, which lies behind him on the
pyre. He will likely call many of the Men of Wisdom to speak of my
father’s talents, of his visions, of his wisdom. Of his life.

“I could speak for hours of the goodness of
the man we’ve lost today, but what I would have to say would be but
a tip of the spear of what another can say. Sadie, will you come
forward?”

My heart races. Me? Even at my mother’s
funeral I wasn’t asked to speak. How can he expect me to say
anything when the pain is still so near, hiding just below the
surface of my skin, ready to pour out like beads of sweat. The damn
tears well up again and I grit my teeth to keep them from spilling.
Never again.

A hand on my back pushes me forward. “It’s
okay,” Remy says.

I almost turn on him, tell him it’s
not
okay, will
never
be okay, but instead I just
flash him a glare and walk stiffly toward the front. When I reach
him, Gard leans down to whisper in my ear. “Your father was a great
man,” he says.

I nod. Take a deep breath. Let my eyes linger
on my father for a long moment. Turn around to face the people.

“I—I…” Good start. Words have never been my
thing. Fists and feet and action and speed: those are my things. I
start again, feeling the words line up in my head like they never
have before, as if my father—a man who always had the right
words—is guiding me. “I know my father was a great man,” I say. “No
one has to tell me that. Not ever again. So when you offer me your
condolences, please tell me stories of him as he was, of the things
he did that will hold fast in your memories for years and years to
come.” I pause, search my soul for what’s been there all along, how
I feel. Not the obvious feelings, like sadness and anger and fear,
but for something more—the feelings behind the feelings.

“I feel…no…I
am
lucky to have been
born to my parents,” I say, holding back an entire ocean of tears,
pausing after each sentence to compose myself. “They were the
perfect combination of wisdom and strength.” Pause. “Only what I
never knew until just today, was that I was wrong about that.”
Swallow. “They were both full of wisdom, both full of strength.
More so than I’ll ever be. Mourn not for me, but for the loss of my
father, for today the world has given back someone who cannot be
replaced. I love you, Father,” I finish, and it’s all I can do to
get the last word out before it’s all too much.

I step down quickly, avoiding eye contact
with everyone until I return to Remy’s side. Gard moves forward,
torch in hand. “We send your soul to Mother Earth!” he says,
lighting the wood at the base of the pyre.

As red and orange flames climb the pile, Remy
holds my hand and I hold back, wondering how I’ll ever let go.

~~~

Passion lets me rub her nose longer than
usual. Normally she grows restless after a few passes of my hand,
pawing and shaking her head, but today she allows me to stand for a
long while, stroking the white butterfly between her ears.

“He’d want us to be happy,” I say to her.
“They both would.”

She whinnies and I know what she says.
Together, we
are
happy
, and I know it’s true, because
I’m a Rider and there’s no stronger bond on all of Mother Earth’s
lands.

“Will you ride with me today?” I ask, because
I’ve learned there’s no forcing Passion to do anything she doesn’t
agree to upfront.

Her whinny makes me swell with emotion.
Today I’d ride to the ends of the earth with you, Sadie, if
that’s what you wanted.
Is that really what she says, I wonder,
or is my imagination out of control?

“Just across the plains,” I say, my voice
huskier than usual.

After letting her munch on an apple, I lead
Passion out of her stall and through the stables, enjoying watching
Bolt whinny and nay and make a fool out of himself, pining for her
affection. I almost feel sorry for the poor old boy when she
completely ignores him.
Learn to turn left and maybe you’ll have
a shot with her
, I think, unable to stop the smile that springs
to my lips, not because of the joke, but because of who told
it.

Outside, I easily spring onto Passion’s back,
instantly warming as her sinewy muscles adjust beneath me. Despite
all that’s died inside me, I’ve never felt so alive. Perhaps the
connection between Rider and horse
is
more than simple
familiarity—something mystical, preordained. Despite myself, I hope
that it is.

Passion starts out at a trot but upgrades to
a canter almost immediately. When she begins to gallop, my heart
gallops with her. The wind whips my hair all around me as I clutch
her black mane, letting her run at full speed, not trying to slow
or turn her. For I am not her master; I never
broke
her.
Riding her is a gift only she can give.

Miles stretch out before us but we gobble
them up. The dark clouds are threatening rain again before we even
consider turning around.

When we stop, I see them.

Shadows on the water, teeming with
Soakers.

The fleet has laid anchor.

H
obbs isn’t staying
on to ensure the continued performance of the ship—that much I
know.

Now that I’ve become used to being near Jade,
it will be hard to ignore her, but I will. For her sake and for
mine. At least today it will be easy; the bilge rats—I mean,
Heaters—are scarcer than sunshine in storm country whenever my
father’s around, hiding below deck.

And around he is, refusing to leave the
Mayhem, as if he’s determined to watch me even closer than Hobbs. I
stand by his side, observing the first of the landing boats as they
paddle toward shore. Once on land, they’ll move inland, filling
barrels with fresh drinking water, picking berries and nuts,
hunting for animals which will later be skinned, butchered, and
salted, replenishing each ship’s stores.

“Is there any truth to what Hobb’s said?” my
father asks suddenly, just when I think he’s forgotten I’m even
here.

“No,” I say, shocked at how easily I lie to
him. Perhaps because it’s not a lie—or at least not a full one. I’m
not in love with a bilge rat, like he suggested. I’m simply
friendly with one, interested in one. Aware of one, you might say.
And she’s not a bilge rat—not to me. She’s Jade, a Heater from fire
country. A person.

“Good,” he says. “I know he doesn’t like you,
has never liked you. I think your success has made
him…uncomfortable.”

To that I say nothing, just watch as one of
the small boats angles away from the others, further down the
shore.

“You know, it won’t be long before you’ll
need to take a wife,” Father says.

I glance at him, but his eyes are fixed on
the boat I’ve just noticed, the one apart from the others. The two
men onboard have leapt out into the shallows and are dragging the
vessel onto the beach.

“A wife?” I say, unable to hide the surprise
in my question.

“I won’t be around forever,” he says. “You’ll
need at least one heir.”

My face burns so red I’m thankful he doesn’t
look at me.

The boatmen begin scouring the sand, picking
up clumps of dried seaweed, stuffing them into bags. My eyes widen
and for a moment I forget all about my father’s talk of taking a
wife and producing an heir.

…
men leave with the big bags of dried
seaweed and then come back with a new lot of children.

“Father, why do they collect so much dried
seaweed?” I ask, motioning unnecessarily to the two men. He’s
already looking right at them. His head jerks toward me and I want
to flinch back, but foolish pride prevents me. I’m so used to not
showing weakness that it’s become a part of me.

The admiral’s eyes are fierce, but then
soften in an instant. “For tea, of course.” A logical answer,
but…

“But why so much? Surely there aren’t enough
sailors in all the Deep Blue to require the amounts those men are
gathering.”

His eyebrows lift ever so slightly. “Why are
you suddenly so interested in tea leaves?” he asks. “Who have you
been talking to?”

Although he keeps his voice level, I can
sense a shift in his tone. Something dark lurks just behind his
seemingly innocent questions. His questions seem to confirm Jade’s
suspicions about the seaweed being important.

“No one,” I say, answering the second
question first. “It just seems unproductive. Wasting two good men
who could be out gathering necessary supplies when a child could
scrounge up a few tea leaves to last us months.”

I’m glad when Father breaks into a smile,
releasing the tension. “My boy, the lieutenant,” he says, clapping
me on the back. “Always worried about improving performance. Let me
put your mind at ease, Son. We’ve got more than enough men hunting
and gathering, and the stores have never run dry. Now back to that
bride of yours.”

“What bride?” I say sharply.

“Exactly. You’re a man now, more than old
enough to marry and carry on the Jones’ family name.”

“But I’m still…” I don’t want to sound like a
child, but…

“So young?” my father says. “Yes, you are,
and I’m not suggesting you have to marry at age fourteen. But
certainly by sixteen. It’s something you should be thinking about
now.”

My mind spins. I’ve barely even spoken to any
girls on the ship, and none for an extended period of time, Jade
being the longest. And surely she doesn’t count, because…well,
because my father can never know of her.

“But I don’t—”

“I know, I know, Son”—he lowers his voice, as
if telling me a secret—“the Soaker women aren’t much to look at,
and they’ve got far too much strength in their backs and minds. But
I’m not suggesting you take one of them at all.”

“Then who?” I ask, getting more confused by
the second.

“Have I ever told you about the foreigners?”
he asks.

The men have filled the bags of seaweed and
are loading them into the boat, two in each hand, four total.

“You mean the Stormers?” I say.

The admiral leans on the rail. “There’s them,
but obviously I don’t mean them. There are others, too.”

Like the Heaters
, I think, but I stay
silent.

“You’re not surprised?” he says, piercing me
with a sudden stare.

“Uh, no, I mean, yes…I mean, I guess not. I
always assumed there were others out there somewhere.” I didn’t, at
least not before Jade.

“Hmm,” Father muses. “I suppose you would.
Have you heard of ice country?”

Jade only mentioned fire country, but she did
say something about “Icers.” Something about them being involved in
the trade of the Heater children and the bags of seaweed. Why is
Father talking about them now?

“No,” I say.

“It’s a country that’s high up in the
mountains, where it’s always cold. They have many beautiful
white-skinned girls there. One of them would suit you just fine.
And I’ve heard they’re obedient to their husbands. Or at least more
so than Soaker women, especially when they have something to
motivate them.”

“What are you talking about?” I blurt out
before I can stop myself.

Father frowns. “Mind your tone, Son. I know
this is a lot to take in, but I’m still your commander and father.
If you must know, I’ve arranged everything. A perfectly suitable
bride will be brought from ice country. The ice country King, his
name is Goff, wrote a long letter telling me her name is Jolie and
that she’s very pretty and
moldable
.” The way he says the
last word makes me think of the clay that the men sometimes dig up
in storm country for the children on the ships to play with.

“Jolie,” I say, trying out the name. It’s
pretty, but… “Why would she marry me?” I ask, still not
understanding where this is all coming from.

Father shakes his head. “Son, she’s a girl,
it doesn’t matter what she wants, only that she will. Your mother…”
He trails off, as if he’s thought better of what he was about to
say.

“What about her?” I say, sharpness creeping
back into my tone.

“Nothing,” Father says. “She was just a hard
woman to live with sometimes.”

How dare he? How dare he speak of her like
that? My fists clench and my teeth lock and I know I’m dangerously
close to doing something stupid, but…

My mother was an angel.

And I couldn’t save her.

“There’s something you should know about her
death,” he says, and that’s when the rains start falling from the
dark clouds I didn’t even notice moving in overhead.

~~~

Our conversation ends at the worst possible
moment, because Father’s off and making sure the men on all the
ships are placed to capture the rainwater, which will save the men
onshore a lot of effort of finding drinking water in creeks and
streams.