Water & Storm Country

I push past him, back to my cabin.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Sadie

With Passio

A few blue-clad men mill about on the ships.Officers, giving orders. Two stand out, because they’re keeping sostill, next to each other. From a distance, they are but two bluelines, one somewhat taller than the other. They appear to bewatching the seaweed gatherers.

Eventually, however, when the seaweed boat isreturning to the ship and the rain has begun to fall, the two bluemen split apart. The way the small one walks reminds me so much ofthe boy I almost killed.

You have to decide…

My father’s words run over and over in myhead as I climb down, never touching the ground as I climb ontoPassion’s back. Never has a choice been easier, I realize as wegallop back to the camp.

I’ll kill that Soaker boy if it’s the lastthing I do.

~~~

Our tent—no, my tent—despite itsrelatively small size, seems enormous with only me in it. I stretchout onto my back and extend my arms and legs as far as I can ineach direction, but there’s still so much empty space. Spaceusually filled by…

I can’t be here. Not tonight. Or at least notuntil I’m so exhausted that the moment I slip inside my feetcollapse beneath me and I fall asleep before I even hit theground.

I leave with that goal in mind, wearing myRider’s robe, pulling the hood over my head against the wind andthe rain, which comes in waves.

The night is quiet, save for the rain patterand occasional murmured conversations of the border guards. Iconsider going to the stables, but I won’t begrudge Passion herrest, not after our long run across storm country.

To my surprise, a ridiculous thought springsto mind. I picture myself sneaking into Remy’s tent, waking him up,forcing him out to keep me company. A girl with less pride mighttake the thought seriously, but I cast it away before it can somuch as dig a single root into my head.

Instead, I make for the edge of camp. I passby two border guards, who are sitting and smoking pipes. They standquickly, open their mouths as if to refuse me exit from the camp,but then close them even quicker when they realize I’m a Rider.Privileged to come and go as I please.

I ignore them as I stride away.

With an occasional burst of moonlight throughthe clouds, and from memory, I guide myself into the forest,relying on outstretched arms and cautious feet to avoid collidingwith anything dangerous.

Thankfully, the place I’m looking for isn’ttoo far in, and I know I’m close when I hear the unceasing gurgleof the creek I drank from earlier that day. When I slide my backdown the trunk of the tree, I’m not surprised to find the grounddry beneath me.

My father died here today.

“Father…” I say aloud, because I’m tired ofhearing only wind and rain.

Yes, he answers, on the wind. I knowit’s not really him, but I can still hear his voice.

And then: I love you, Sadie.

“I love you, Papa. I’m scared withoutyou.”

You are strong. Stronger than even yourmother was.

“I’m not.” Am I?

Your choice and your choice alone…

“What does it mean, Papa?”

It will change everything…

“What will? What?”

The voice deepens, darkens, and it’s notFather’s voice anymore, but something that lurks, that tears atflesh and gnaws at bone and enjoys the sound of screaming. Youmussst kill the onesss who dessstroyed your family.

“The Soakers?” I ask the night.

Yesss. But not only. Ssstab and ssslice.

“The Icers?” I say, feeling the wood close inaround me.

Yesss. Cut and crusssh.

“Who are you?”

I am vengeance and retribution.

“What? No? Papa says—”

I am life and death.

“You’re not…you’re—”

I am you!

And with a final burst of wind the treeshakes, spraying droplets of water from its leaves, marring thepreviously untouched circle of dry earth. The heaviness lifts frommy shoulders, the clouds part, and the moon shines, shines, shines,full and bright, surrounded by twinkling stars on a night that’s asperfect as my father was.

The forest is evil. As usual, Fatherwas right. Are all the stories true then? That there’s somethingthat lives in the forest, some Evil that preys on the weak, thebrokenhearted, filling their minds and souls with dark thoughts.And if so, has it entered me?

Screams shatter the night, and they’re asreal as the rough bark of the tree behind me. Death hasarrived.

~~~

I charge through the forest, tripping on treeroots and slapping away branches that lash at my face like whips.Tonight there’s more evil afoot than what lurks in the forest.

Even from a distance, I’m surprised to findthe camp quiet and black. There are no Soakers brandishing torchesand swords, burning and killing. No one at all. What evil isthis?

As I approach the edge of the camp, voicesmurmur from within. Tired voices. Surprised voices. The screamswoke my people.

Where are the guards, the border watchmen Isaw earlier? I freeze when I see them.

Two black lumps block my path between thetents. One of them groans and rolls over, his stomach slick withblood. The other’s not moving.

Gard appears behind the fallen guards, hisblack robe thrown back from his face. A half-dozen other Riderstrail behind him. The war leader pulls up short when he sees me.His eyes travel down to the guards, back to me. “Sadie?”

“They need help,” I say, my voice coming outas croaky as a frog. “Hurry.”

“Healers!” Gard yells. “We need Healers!”

As the Riders spring into action, securingthe area, scouring it for intruders, for clues, making room for theHealers, who arrive with bandages and herbs and steel in theireyes, I wonder to myself: Was it the Evil from the forest? Wasit me?

A heavy hand on my shoulder startles me awayfrom my thoughts. Gard looks down at me. “Sadie. What did yousee?”

“Nothing,” I say. “I saw nothing.”

~~~

“What were you doing out so late?” Gard asks,and despite his forced-light tone there’s a heavy weight behind hisquestion.

“I was…” What? Talking to my dead father?Discussing matters of vengeance and retribution and ssslicing andssslashing with the Evil in the forest, the Evil who claims to beme? “…uh.”

Thankfully, Gard’s wife hands me a hot cup ofsome kind of herbal tea. “Thank you,” I say, cupping my handsaround the warm pot. She nods and busies herself with pouring teafor Gard.

“Her father died today,” Remy says. “She wasprobably having trouble sleeping.”

My head jerks around. Under Gard’s scrutiny,I’d almost forgotten his son was still here, sitting silently inthe corner. When Gard had brought me in, our eyes had met, and fora moment—just a bare, silent moment—I could tell we both had thesame memory: holding hands as they burned my father’s body.

“Yes,” I say nodding my thanks to Remy. “Mytent was so…empty.”

“And you saw nothing?” Gard asks. “You werewatching them die.” Heavy words, heavy tone.

“What? No! I mean, yes, but I had justarrived, just found them…it’s not like I was standing there doingnothing.”