Water & Storm Country (33 page)

We both go down in a tangle.

And though I’m ready to do this, ready to
fight him, ready to do whatever it takes to stop him (even kill
him?), something changes in the attitude of the crowd. I push to my
feet expecting the stares of hundreds of men and women on me, but
they’re looking away from us, toward land.

Toward land where…

…where in the distance…

…hundreds of black-clad Riders gallop across
the plains. There’s no doubt where they’re headed, and no doubt why
they’re here.

The Riders at the front of the column are
carrying the black flags of war, flashing with shards of light from
the bolts of lightning slashing from the sky above them.

A storm is coming.

T
he heavy cloud
cover grows darker as we gallop across the plains, the thunder from
the horses’ hooves matching the thunder in the sky above.

When the ships appear in the distance my
heart skips a beat, but then races onwards, double time, matching
Passion’s speed.

Siena grips me tighter from behind.

Trusting Passion to run us in a straight
line, I gaze over the thin stretch of ocean that separates the
Soakers from us. Something’s happening. Hundreds of Soakers are
assembled on one ship, so tightly packed they almost look like
ants, crawling over each other to get into their hole.

The crowded ship looks strange compared to
the others, like something’s missing. Like there’s a huge gap in
the middle of it. Where the other ships have a thick, wooden pole
in the center, stretching higher than any of the other totems, this
ship has nothing, making it appear weaker. It’s not by design—of
that I’m certain. Something happened to this ship, crippling it. Is
the assembly related to whatever disaster overcame the ship’s
wind-catcher?

The ants have spotted us. The barks of loud
shouts can be heard over the crash of the waves on the sand.
Soakers are pointing our way, gesturing wildly.

Someone must give them their orders, because
the people of the sea begin swarming across thick wooden planks,
returning to each and every ship in the fleet. Boats begin dropping
into the water with white, frothy splashes. Men clamber down ropes,
swords gleaming from their belts, filling the boats to
overflowing.

Someone ordered them to go to war. Was it the
blue-clad boy I saw atop the hill, the one in my father’s vision?
Am I approaching the moment predicted by my father, where destiny
will meet vengeance?

Yesss
, the Evil whispers in my ear,
once more clutching my shoulder. This time, whether real or
fantasy, I don’t shake it off.

My father’s clutching the back of his head,
where he must’ve hit it when I tackled him onto the deck, but that
doesn’t stop him from shouting orders over the heavy murmurs of the
crowd. “To arms! To the boats! To war!”

The men charge back to their ships, grabbing
weapons and preparing the boats, while the women scamper below deck
seeking shelter.

I’m in an ocean of activity, swarming and
cresting and crashing about me, but I can’t take my eyes off of
her.

Jade hangs awkwardly from her wrists,
swinging slightly in the breeze. With her shirt completely torn
away in the back, exposing her ripped and shredded skin, she almost
doesn’t look human. Just a piece of meat, drying in the wind.

My heart sits in my throat and I can’t manage
to choke down the sob that suddenly convulses in my chest. “Jade,”
I whisper. “Oh no, Jade. What have I done?” Other than the slight
swinging motion, she’s not moving.

As I take a step forward, the rains begin,
swept onto the ships by an offshore wind. I barely feel the cold of
the drops, which pelt Jade’s exposed flesh, mingling with the
blood, washing it away in streams of red.

Beneath the thin layer of blood, her brown
skin is almost indistinguishable as that of a Heater, slashed to
ribbons and pocked with bulging welts from those of the leather
straps that didn’t manage to break the skin.

“Oh no, Jade,” I say again as I go to her,
oblivious to the war cries erupting all around me.

Right now, in this moment, she is the only
person on earth.

My fault my fault my fault.

If I hadn’t taught her to repair sails would
she have tried to save us in the storm? If I hadn’t taken her to
the crow’s nest, would she have climbed up there in fear?
If if
if if…

…if I hadn’t raised my hand and struck her,
would she be broken now?

At least I know the answer to that question
is
yes
. Given the vicious manner in which my father
delivered the final blow, it’s clear he would’ve brutally issued
the punishment on his own if I had refused.

I reach her, withdraw a knife from my belt,
grab her under the arms being careful not to touch the rawness of
her wounds, and cut her down. Her body is limp and lifeless as it
falls against me, her shredded shirt clinging to her front because
of the rain.

Slowly, slowly, I lower myself to the wet
deck, letting her lie on top of me, her head resting on my chest. I
can’t put my arms around her, because then they’ll touch her back,
so they stick out awkwardly at my sides.

Her eyes are closed, but her lips are open,
breathing. Exhaustion and shock from the pain have rendered her
unconscious. For that I’m thankful.

And now, while the rest of the seamen go to
war, I’m content to just hold her until she awakes, drinking in the
rainwater streaming down my face, quenching my burning throat.

“Oh, Jade, I’m so sorry,” I say, although I
know she can’t hear me and that it’s not enough, that my words are
but a drop in the oceans of forgiveness.

I raise my head as heavy footsteps clomp
across the deck. My father stands above me, his shadow falling over
my face. Water drips from his admiral’s cap, obscuring parts of his
face like I’m looking at him through a rain-drizzled glass
portal.

“Not as sorry as you’ll be if you don’t board
the officer’s landing boat,” he says.

“I’m staying with her,” I say between
clenched teeth. The time for listening to my father’s orders is
long past. First my mother, and now Jade. Enough.

He has the sword at Jade’s neck before I even
see him draw it.

“You’ll fight or she dies.”

The first of the boats rides a long wave onto
shore, allowing the heavily armed Soakers to leap out without
trudging through knee-high water.

Another boat lands. Then another. Soon there
are dozens, all in a brown-and-blue-striped line, scattering men
with swords and knives like a pinecone scatters seeds.

Gard has halted on the plains, even with
where the boats are landing. We stand in a long ribbon of black,
both horse and Rider. As one, we melt into the storm, which has
raised a light fog, reducing visibility to barely the edge of the
ocean. We know the ships are there, bearing more men in more boats,
but we can’t see them until they run aground.

“I can start feathering those baggards now,”
Siena says from behind me.

At first I don’t know what she means, but
then she holds out her bow to the side. Even as she does, Gard
shouts, “Archers! To arms!”

Remembering the satchel of arrows hanging
around my neck in the front, I unloop it and hand it to my riding
companion. “Can’t hardly shoot from up here,” she says, swinging a
leg over and dropping to the ground. Her legs tangle and she almost
falls, but she manages to catch her balance with the tip of her
bow, like a walking stick. She flashes me a smile, says, “I’d be
lucky to hit a blind tug in a sandstorm.”

I’m not sure how to respond to that, so I
turn my attention back to the beach, where the Soakers are already
charging up the slight incline to the plains, swords swinging with
their arms.

“Aim!” Gard shouts. At the edge of my vision
I see Siena nock an arrow, bringing it up to eye level. Down the
line, dozens of archers do the same.

“Fire!” A flock of arrows sings through the
storm, illuminated by dual flashes of lightning, joining the drops
of moisture that rain upon our enemies. Soakers fall in droves,
tumbling to the sand and tripping up those who were lucky enough
not to be hit. Every man I can see is wearing brown. Where are the
officers?

The Soakers reach the edge of the plains and
pick up speed as their feet find greater purchase on the
hard-packed grass than they had on the constantly shifting sands.
Another round of arrows fly, and this time I watch Siena shoot. Her
form is impeccable and her arrow lodges within the upper chest of a
particularly angry-looking Soaker. When he drops, there’s no
question it was a fatal wound.

“Baggard,” she mutters under her breath as
she draws another arrow. “When I’m done with the lot of you, you’ll
be pricklier’n Perry.”

Although I don’t know Perry, I’ve got a
pretty good idea what she means. Her next arrow is every bit as
effective as the first two, bringing down another Soaker.

“Hold your fire!” Gard shouts. “Riders!” My
ears perk up. The Soakers are much closer now, perhaps only a
hundred strides away.

I grip Passion’s mane. “You are mine and I am
yours,” I whisper in her ear. She bucks, rising onto her hind legs,
kicking her front hooves in front of her, anticipating the
command.

She starts forward a split second before Gard
yells, “Chaaaarrrggge!”

“I hate you,” I say, but I obey him, easing
myself out from under Jade, resting her gently on the deck. Head
pounding, I realize I’ll kill him if I have the chance. I
want
to kill him.

The admiral doesn’t move, keeps the tip of
his sword at her neck.

“I love her,” I say, shocked at my own
boldness. The time for caution and subservience is long past. “If
you kill her, I’ll kill you.”

“I don’t doubt it,” my father says. “Get in
the boat.”

It’s only then that I notice groups of bilge
rats—both girls and boys—milling about near the edge of the ship.
Every few seconds, another one leaps over the side. When they’ve
all disappeared below, large rafts float into view, pushed forward
by dozens of oars.

“What are they…” I say, but I don’t need to
finish the question to know the answer. Anger rises so fast and hot
that it feels as if I’ve swallowed the burning end of a lit
torch.

“Today, even the filthiest of rats must
fight,” my father says. Then, motioning to Jade’s sleeping form, he
adds, “If she could stand, she’d fight too.”

My anger fades in an instant. My mind buzzes
with a strange and unexpected excitement. Although everything I’ve
done, every choice I’ve made to this point has led to Jade being
bloody and broken, it also might’ve saved her life. She doesn’t
have to fight, and when this is all over, I will go to her, I will
mend her wounds, and I will take her away from this awful place. I
will. I will find a way.

Casting a final glance at her, I stride
across the deck to where the other officers are boarding a sleek,
polished-wood sea-craft. Hobbs is already sitting near the front,
along with a dozen other blue-clad lieutenants and captains. Even
Montgomery is there, although he looks like he might be sick, his
face greener than the churning ocean around him.

Cain waits for me. “Stay alive for her,” he
says, low enough that only I can hear him. “The time for mutiny
isn’t far away.”

I lick my lips. Although he’s helped me keep
my secret from my father, I never expected him to go so far as to
openly rebel against his leadership. “Thank you,” I say, clasping
his shoulders. “Fight alongside me.”

He nods and slides down the rope. I follow
shortly after him. Last to board is my father. I make a point of
inspecting his sword, which is perfectly shined silver, not a speck
of blood on it. Unless he wiped it clean afterwards, he’s spared
Jade for now.

We push off from the ship and pull toward
shore, which is nearly invisible in the growing fog.

Wind whips around me and rain spatters my
face, but Mother Earth isn’t trying to stop me—more like egging me
on, telling me that she sees what I’m doing and she approves. When
lightning flashes, it flashes for me.

We’re halfway to the charging Soakers and
closing fast. I spot Remy, who looks dark and dangerous and ready,
and a sudden and surprising lump gels in my throat. This could be
the last time I see him. Then I notice Skye behind him, hanging on
with one hand, holding her sword in the other. She sees me and
smiles, a devilish, slightly maniacal, and remarkably calming smile
that refocuses me.

There is only one thing I should be thinking
about: killing our enemies.

Revenge!
the Evil screams.

The Soakers are so close I can see the drops
of rain—or is it sweat?—on their faces, see the anger and
determination and fear in their eyes.

Twenty steps—I raise my sword…

Ten—I hold my breath…

We crash into the line of Soakers like a wave
crashing on shore, Passion’s weight and strength battering through
them like a falling tree on a flower patch. Swords poke and prod at
me, but I deflect them away, hacking and hacking and stabbing and
cutting. A Soaker falls when I slash him across the throat, a line
of blood showing just before his skin gapes open.

A shudder runs through my body, filled with
disgust and shame and
excitement
.

I’ve killed my first Soaker. For Mother, for
Father, for Paw.

For me.

All those thoughts run through my head in an
instant, but I have no time to ponder them, because another Soaker
is upon me, his sword slicing through the air.