Water & Storm Country

Would my father agree? Not a chance.

I push past Hobbs, suddenly eager to do theonly thing I really, truly know how to do: be a sailor. The ordersfly out of my mouth without thought: “You four, Norris, Budge,Ferris, Whittle—raise the anchor!” “Hurley, Key, Toadstool—raisethe sails!” “Breakfast can wait, you dogs. We have miles to makeup!”

Although the words feel good and right andlike the words of a lieutenant, it’s not until the men snap toattention and begin scurrying about the ship that I realize: I’mone of them and they know it, and they’ll work for me.

Chapter Eighteen

Sadie

Torrents of rainlash my skin, soaking my clothes through in an instant. But I don’tturn back—won’t turn back.

I have everything I need to avenge mymother’s death: the anger, spilling through me and around me andout of me like a molten stream, scorching my words and my actions;the strength, coursing through my lean and toned body, built forfighting, for killing—my mother ensured that; and the opportunity,foretold by a Man of Wisdom whose visions have come to pass timeand time again, in the form of a battle that will include Soakersand Icers, my two most hated enemies.

There is only one thing I’m missing: thehorse. To be a full-fledged Rider, the war leader must grant you ahorse and declare your training complete during the Ceremony ofLightning and Thunder. All I want is the horse. Surely Gard willunderstand that?

The bodies are in neat rows, blanketed bythick coverings usually used to build tents. Despite the heavinessof the rainfall, the dead will remain dry tonight. Too bad the deaddon’t care either way.

I give the corpses a wide berth, gritting myteeth as I count down two rows and across five bodies, the locationof my mother, which I memorized earlier. Under the sheet, she’sjust a bump, but in my mind I can still see her spouting blood fromthe mortal wound in her side, her head cradled in my father’s arms.And I can still hear her last words to me: Listen to yourfather, for he is wise.

Not that, Mother. Anything else, please.

Hunt down my killers and avenge mydeath.

Fulfill your legacy as a Rider, Sadie.

Become the strong woman I’ve taught you tobe.

I can think of any of a number of things shemight’ve said to me in her last breath, and I would’ve easily andgladly obeyed. But listen to my father? Already I’ve failedin that regard, storming out into the rain when he needed me themost, even asked for it with a soulful plea that extended into thelines of his arms.

And I walked away.

Is my father wise? If sending my mother toher death is wisdom, then he has the knowledge of kings. If ru

Damn Father for putting me in thisposition!

Remy is outside his tent, sitting in a brownpuddle, head in his hands. What does he have to mourn? Aria? Shewas like a sister to him, but not a sister, not really. Hehas lost no one who is tied to him by blood, while I have lost thevery person whose blood runs through my veins. Get up! Iwant to scream. Be a man, be a Rider! Get your father! Fortonight we take the first steps toward revenge.

But all I say is, “Is Gard inside?”

Remy looks up slowly, rainwater tearsdripping from his eyelashes, his dark hair plastered to hisforehead. The memory of him smiling, shedding his clothes, duckingbeneath the cool ocean springs to mind. A lifetime ago, when wewere both people we’ll never be again. “Sadie,” he says in a heavytone.

“No,” I say, because I know what’s comingnext.

“I’m so sor—”

“No!” I shriek. “You’re a Rider—start actinglike it.” The shock on his face is something I’ve wanted to see fora while, but somehow it’s not satisfying, not anymore.

He opens his mouth to say something, but thencloses it, motions for me to enter the tent behind him.

When I step inside, I’m not sure what toexpect. Something…bigger, more spectacular, full of maps andminiature horses and Riders and Soakers, all laid out like a game,with Gard pouring over it, seeking out the weaknesses in ourenemy’s defenses. But instead, the inside of the war leader’s tentlooks much like our tent. The edges are lined with bedding, neatlyfolded and ready for use. Animal skins hang from a line thatstretches from end to end. Remy’s mother, a Healer, is notablyabsent, most likely working tirelessly to save the few Rider’slives that continue to hang in the balance.

Gard is sitting cross-legged, eyes closed,his big hands in his lap, folded, like two animals sleeping.Although I’ve always known him to be a big man, seeing him in sucha confined space magnifies the effect, as he takes up nearly halfof the tent which is but a fraction of the size of what I wouldexpect a warlord to command.

I stand before him for a moment, consideringwhether to disturb his meditation or sleep or whatever it is he’sdoing.

I flinch when, eyes still closed, he speaks.“Your mother was a great warrior,” he says. “She died with honor.She slew many of the enemy before and after receiving her fatalwound.”

No apology, no whispered sentiments, nosadness in his voice. Only pride and truth. His words warm me andI’m surprised to feel tears welling up. Never again, Icommand myself. I blink the budding drops away before they can growto full size.

“Thank you for telling me these things,” Isay.

“You did not come here for these words,” hesays, his voice deeper than thunder. His eyes flash open with thestatement, two black orbs flecked with fireflies from theflickering lantern. “You want to ask me a question, yes?”

How does he know? Or is he just guessing? Aquiver of fear runs up my spine and I stiffen, squeezing my musclesto burn away the coldness seeping into my bones. I won’t ask thequestion, won’t leave the matter open for his judgment. I can’trisk it. My words will be similar, but different. Stronger. Mywill.

“I will receive my horse tonight. I will be aRider with your blessing or without.” A statement, there and gone,but the feeling from it still lingering in the silence, broken onlyby a thunderclap so loud it rumbles the very earth under myfeet.

“Yes. You will,” he says, and I can’t help mylips from parting and sucking in a sharp breath of surprise. “Youhave your mother’s eyes. And her strength. You will be a great andformidable Rider.”

“Thank you,” I say numbly, holding back mypride. Gard stares at me, unblinking, and I can’t help but feelawkward and un-Rider-like under his intense gaze.

I move to leave the tent, but his words stopme. “Revenge is only satisfying if the right adversary ispunished,” he says.

I turn, but his eyes are already closed,leaving me to wonder whether it’s a coincidence that his wordssound so much like my father’s.

~~~

There will be two ceremonies on this night ofnights. First is the presentation of the lost Rider souls to MotherEarth atop a funeral pyre. Because there are so many, they will beburned as one.

The soggy ground squishes under my boots as Ishift from side to side, uncomfortable. Not so long ago I wore mygrief on my arms, which covered my face, on my cheeks, which werewet with tears, in my curled up body, which was wracked with sobsof hurt and longing. My grief was a luxury I no longer haveavailable.

My father’s sniffs and sobs are enough forthe both of us, as he stands at my side, allowing the other Men ofWisdom to conduct the ceremony. He tries to put his arm around mebut I shrug him off.