Water & Storm Country

I didn’t know Jala well, but I haven’t seenFather cry since Paw died, and though I’ve given him a hard timelately, between his crying and my mother’s uncertain words fromearlier, well, I’m out of sorts.

There’s tension and sadness in the air as Icarry two buckets of water to the stables. Men and women arescurrying about everywhere, helping the Riders prepare for theirlong ride and for battle.

As soon as I enter the stables, the walls androof seem to close in around me. For the first time in my life, Ifeel uncomfortable around the horses. While I water Shadow andplace a thin black cloth on his back, which my mother will mount,my unease grows and grows, until I want to scream. I spot Remypreparing his father’s horse, Thunder. He smiles at me but I don’tsmile back, because seeing him reminds me of our conversation fromearlier. I hate being told what I can’t do. To hell with waitingfor my sixteenth age day.

Finished with Shadow, I rush from thestables, brushing past Remy when he steps in front of me. “Hey!” hesays, but I don’t stop.

Even the open air outside the stables doesn’tease the heaviness that is now draped over me like a pile ofblankets. The air smells of rain, earthy and green and moist. Aheavy storm might delay the Riders’ departure, but the darkestclouds are still miles away, so I can’t count on the weather. Ipass Gard, who looks like a mountain next to me as he stomps by,his thick, black robe swirling around his feet. He wears a frown,but that’s not unusual for him. Frowning is expected of a warleader.

Just as I arrive at our tent, my motheremerges, wearing her own dark robe, which is open at the front asshe clasps her sword belt around her waist. “Mother, I—” I start tosay, but then stop when I see the expression on her face when shenotices me approaching.

She looks sunken, like the earth has pulledevery part of her face down a little. There are shadows under hereyes and tearstains on her cheeks. I’ve never seen my mother cry.Never. Riders don’t cry. She told me that herself. One of her manylessons. And now she’s crying, like some scared little child. She’sfought the Soakers a dozen times in her lifetime. Are the Icers sopowerful they would scare my mother to tears? This woman, who I’veidolized since the day I was born, who’s supposed to be the strongone, the person I want to be like, driven to tears by fear?

I can’t help the seed of anger I feel in mybelly. It’s small at first, but then sprouts a stem, which shootsupward into my chest, splitting into several branches which yieldred, hot leaves and burning fruit. The fruits of rage.

I’m so angry I’m trembling.

Her belt clasped, she reaches for me, botharms extended, beckoning me into their folds. “Mother, no—why areyou doing this?” I say, backing away a step.

She flinches, as if surprised by my reactionto her affections—but she has to know how ridiculous she’s acting.“I want to say goodbye,” she says, her voice weaker than someonestricken with the Plague.

“Why were you crying?” I demand, my handsfisted at my sides.

She shakes her head. “Your father—he gotupset.”

“Riders don’t cry,” I say, dimly aware thatpeople are watching us now.

“It wasn’t—I wasn’t—”

“I thought you were strong,” I say. My voicecomes out as a plea, and I feel the burning fruits of rage droppinglike pinecones, bursting into a flood of emotion, welling tearsinto pools just behind my eyes. I grit my teeth and hold them back.My mother may be weak, but I won’t be. I’ll be better than mymaster.

“I am, Sadie,” she says. “You don’tunderstand.”

But I do. I do. “I’m coming with the Riders,”I say, keeping my voice even.

The most unexpected expression flashes acrossmy mother’s face, there and then gone, like a falling star in thenight sky. Not anger, or sadness, or surprise; no, none of theemotions that would make sense.

For her expression showed only one thing:

Hope.

~~~

The hope I see in my mother’s eyes is no morethan a flicker of light on a distant horizon.

“No,” she says, and she’s back, my mother—theRider. The wind has dried her tears and I’ve hardened her jaw, andshe doesn’t reach out to me again.

This is my master, the woman who can’t beargued with, the woman with the power to give and take away. Asmuch as I want to go with her, I don’t try to argue, knowing fullwell it’d be fruitless. “Be victorious,” I say, using the standardpre-battle Rider words.

“I will go with honor and strength,” says mymaster, who’s now also my mother again.

At arm’s length, we clasp each other’sshoulders. “I’ll train double for you while you’re gone,” Isay.

She laughs, but it’s more airy than usual,more high-pitched too, but her face and eyes are still strong, soit might just be the water in the air. “Keep your father safe,” shesays.

“I will.”

I watch her go, the last of the Riders tomake their way to the stables.

“Come inside, Sadie,” my father, who’semerged from our tent, says behind me. I turn, take in his wet faceand bleary eyes, and I have to look away, because his sadnesssuddenly hits me like a punch to the gut.

I never realized Jala was such a good friendto my father.

~~~

With the rain misting down around me, I watchthe Riders go, galloping north under heavy black cloud cover, darkshadows against the plains.

Just when I’m about to return to the camp,one of them turns, looks back. A fist squeezes my heart and mythroat constricts, because I know—

—without a doubt in my mind—

—I know.

It was my mother.

I’ve watched her ride into battle many timesbefore, and she’s never turned around.

Chapter Thirteen

Huck

“CaptainMontgomery,” my father says with a warm smile as he steps acrossthe planks between The Merman’s Daughter and The Sailors’Mayhem.

The two men shake hands like old friends as Iwatch from afar, standing next to Hobbs, Barney closer than I’dlike on my other side. Although there’s no way my father wouldn’tbe able to see me, he doesn’t offer even the slightest glance in mydirection.

“You’ve improved your ship’s speed, I see,”my father says. “You were still the last ship to arrive, but wedidn’t expect you until nightfall.”

Jeb smiles broadly. “I’m glad you noticed,Admiral,” he says. “Sometimes the only way forward is throughthreat and punishment. We sent three men to the brig justtoday.”

A heavy wad forms in the back of my throat.How dare he—

I take a step forward, fully prepared to setthe record straight, but Hobbs stops me with a strong arm across mychest. “It would be unwise to interrupt,” he says. “Do not fear,Lieutenant, I’ll provide a full report to your father. You’ll getcredit for what you’ve accomplished.”

I look up at Hobbs’ scarred face, my eyeswide with surprise, both because he’s going to vouch for me andbecause he called me Lieutenant for the first time. I offera smile but he just glares down. “You can wipe that smile off yourface, boy, you’ll also get credit for what you haven’t done.”

My smile fades and the face of the bilge ratgirl appears in my mind. Letting a bilge rat—and a girl atthat—mock me without repercussion won’t impress my father in theleast. I can only hope that my leadership with the oarsmen will beenough to overshadow my weakness.

I stand at attention as my father finisheshis formalities with Jeb. The captain steps aside and pretends tobusy himself with giving orders to a few of the men who’ve stoppedto watch.

My turn, I think. I watch my fatherapproach, his every move commanding attention.