Water & Storm Country

“Sadie…” he says softly.

“Please,” I say. “Please.” A favor for apromise. Don’t talk about my father and I’ll never be unkind to youagain.

Remy kicks my foot and I’m glad for it, gladhe does something that takes me back to when we first met, how manytimes we’ve fought and argued since. I kick him back.

“Bolt’s amazing,” he says. “Although heprefers to run straight ahead with his head down, as if he thinkshe can charge through most anything. I’m trying to get him to tur

The laughter springs to my lips before I canstop it. I raise a hand to my mouth to silence it, but then it justcomes out muffled. I’m looking at Remy before I can remember I’mnot supposed to. When I look at him, somehow I don’t feel soalone.

“It’s not fu

Straight-faced, I say, “You know, turningright three times in a row will get you going left just fine.”

Now it’s Remy’s turn to laugh. “Rare wisdomfrom a young Rider,” he says. “I can see it now. My leftward enemyholds up his sword, dripping in Rider-blood, ready to cut me down.‘Wait one minute, Bloodthirsty-Soaker, while I force my horse toturn three times to the right so I can look you in the eye beforewe do battle.”

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

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

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

“She’s…” A dozen words spring tomind—perfect, incredible, majestic, and on and on—but none of themdo 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 manydifferent levels, especially now that father is...

He smiles. “I’d feel the same about Bolt ifnot for the no-left-turn thing. So for now he’ll have to bealmost everything.”

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

It’s time.

I stand, hating funerals. Hating thisfuneral.

My knees are weak, trembling, so I squeeze myleg 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 thepyre. He will likely call many of the Men of Wisdom to speak of myfather’s talents, of his visions, of his wisdom. Of his life.

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

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

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

I almost turn on him, tell him it’snot okay, will never be okay, but instead I justflash him a glare and walk stiffly toward the front. When I reachhim, Gard leans down to whisper in my ear. “Your father was a greatman,” he says.

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

“I—I…” Good start. Words have never been mything. Fists and feet and action and speed: those are my things. Istart again, feeling the words line up in my head like they neverhave before, as if my father—a man who always had the rightwords—is guiding me. “I know my father was a great man,” I say. “Noone has to tell me that. Not ever again. So when you offer me yourcondolences, please tell me stories of him as he was, of the thingshe did that will hold fast in your memories for years and years tocome.” I pause, search my soul for what’s been there all along, howI 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 beenborn to my parents,” I say, holding back an entire ocean of tears,pausing after each sentence to compose myself. “They were theperfect combination of wisdom and strength.” Pause. “Only what Inever 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 myfather, for today the world has given back someone who ca

I step down quickly, avoiding eye contactwith 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, Remyholds my hand and I hold back, wondering how I’ll ever let go.

~~~

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

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

She whi

“Will you ride with me today?” I ask, becauseI’ve learned there’s no forcing Passion to do anything she doesn’tagree to upfront.

Her whi

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

After letting her munch on an apple, I leadPassion out of her stall and through the stables, enjoying watchingBolt whi

Outside, I easily spring onto Passion’s back,instantly warming as her sinewy muscles adjust beneath me. Despiteall that’s died inside me, I’ve never felt so alive. Perhaps theco

Passion starts out at a trot but upgrades toa canter almost immediately. When she begins to gallop, my heartgallops with her. The wind whips my hair all around me as I clutchher black mane, letting her run at full speed, not trying to slowor 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 gobblethem up. The dark clouds are threatening rain again before we evenconsider turning around.

When we stop, I see them.

Shadows on the water, teeming withSoakers.

The fleet has laid anchor.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Huck

Hobbs isn’t stayingon to ensure the continued performance of the ship—that much Iknow.

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