Water & Storm Country

“What a joke,” I hear Hobbs mutter before hestomps away. There’s more scuffling feet and I know the crowd isdispersing, going back to their morning work.

“Huck,” a gentle voice says. A kindvoice.

“Go away,” I say.

“Open your eyes,” Cain says, more firmly thistime.

“No. Leave me alone.”

“Your father’s gone,” he says. “It’s just youand me.”

Great. Even worse. My father is so ashamed ofme he wanted to get as far away as possible. Me, a man? Ha! I’m noteven a boy, not even better than a bilge rat.

I open my eyes, squint as a ray of sunlightshoots between the billowing sails rising above me. Feel the warmthof a tear creeping down my cheek, tickling my skin.

Men don’t cry.

I wipe it away with the back of my hand.

Cain looks at me with eyes bluer than theocean. “I saw what happened,” he says.

“Yeah, everyone did,” I mutter. “I got my asskicked.”

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “Youcould’ve won. You were the better swordsman, but when you almostcut him, you freaked. You practically let him win after that.”

“I almost killed him,” I whisper, as ifsaying it any louder might take away the almost part,leaving the brown boy lying bloody on the deck, my sword throughhis gut.

“True,” Cain says. “But you didn’t. You chosedefeat over ending a life. A brave choice.”

It doesn’t feel very brave. Feels awful.“Father will never make me a man now,” I say.

Cain laughs and I frown. “He doesn’t havemuch of a choice,” he says. “Plus, he’ll be itching to get you offhis ship as soon as possible now.”

I glare at him. “Thanks for thereminder.”

I see movement over his shoulder, on theshore, and I crane my neck to look around him. “What is it?” heasks, turning to follow my gaze.

Dozens of dark Riders spill onto the beach,their black horses stamping and bucking, their swords gleaming inthe morning light. Watching us. Waiting. Almost like they’re hopingwe’ll come ashore and fight them.

~~~

Because I’m the admiral’s son, turningfourteen and becoming a man means leaving The Merman’s Daughter,the ship I’ve grown up on, the ship I love, from its flowing whitesails to its polished decks to the songs of the sailors in themorning, bellowed on the wind as they work. Songs of glory andvictory and bravery.

Songs about people who aren’t me.

The men are singing now, and their songis for me, but I clamp my hands over my ears and try toblock it out. I haven’t seen my father all day, which is fine byme. Seeing him will bring me nothing but pain.

My entire cabin rocks back and forth, as thewaves flow beneath the ship. I welcome the gentle, calming motion,a source of normalcy in a place that’s feeling more and moreabnormal by the day.

Maybe leaving is a good thing.

Maybe all I need is a bit of change to becomea man.

Maybe not.

Blood in the water. Ripping, ripping,crushing my life away.

My father’s face, paler than the white sandbeaches of storm country; his blue eyes, wet at first, shocked, butthen later dry and red and full of spite. Anger directed at me andmy failures.

I slam my fist against my bed pad, feelingpain lance down my fingers when I hit the wood through thestuffing. But the physical pain feels better than what I’m feelinginside. I hit the bed again and again, and I realize the tears areflowing now, which only makes me angrier, because

(men don’t cry.)

Do they?

Do they?

“Bring us the boy! Bring us the boy!” Thechanting begins above deck, and although the word boy ismeant to be a temporary label, I feel like it’s being shoved intomy chest with a hot iron.

I rub my chest with one hand while wipingaway my tears on a blanket with my other—

“Bring us the boy!”

I stand up, smoothing the wrinkles on my newblue uniform—

“Bring us…”

Squeeze my fists at my sides—

“…the BOY!”

—and leave my cabin, taking the stairs one ata time, which I haven’t done since my legs grew long enough to skipa step or two.

On the top step, I pause, take a deep breath,and emerge onto the quarterdeck at the rear of the ship, above theofficer cabins.

A cheer rises up, but there’s laughing too,and men elbowing each other’s ribs, telling a joke or two aboutearlier today, reliving my defeat at the hands of a scrawny bilgerat. Hobbs’ jokes are the loudest of all, careening across theship, bouncing off barrels and railings and masts, swarming aroundme like relentless flies.

Cain greets me with a smile and a firmhandshake, which I don’t return, because I’m distracted by thehundreds of torches blazing across the ship, illuminating thetypically dark and shadowy deck. And I’m trying, desperatelytrying

(to find him.)

But my father is nowhere to be seen. Did heforget? Impossible. And yet he’s not here. He’s finally given up onme, abandoned me.

I feel a pain in my stomach so sharp it’slike the bilge rat’s kicking me again.

But no, this pain is worse. Much worse.Because my father’s not here.

“Cain?” I say.

“He’ll come,” he says, reading my mind.

Blood in the water.

“He won’t,” I say, and Cain doesn’t respondbecause he knows I could be right.

As Cain leads me across the quarterdeck tothe edge, where it’s elevated above the lower decks, I scan thecrowd. Everyone’s here, even the women, having come up from belowdeck, throwing aside their pots and pans and the clothes they werecleaning. Come to watch me become a man.

I recognize many men and boys I know andlove, like Cain, who have been my friends for as long as I canremember. There’s Grubbs, the ship’s head cook, wearing a splotchedand stained apron bulging out with the curve of his well-fed belly;a man who used to let me sit on his table and sneak extra rationsof gruel before it was served to the rest of the men and women.Down the row is Croaker, the lookout with a voice like a crow, whofirst taught me to climb the ladder to the very tops of the tower.I spot a group of boys, jostling and pushing each other forposition, trying to get the best view possible. My friends. One ofthem, Jobe, sees me looking their way and stops punching the kidnext to him to wave. I want to wave back, but if I had to guess I’dsay men don’t wave. So I just nod in his direction, finally feelingthe tug of a smile on my lips.

Because I’m becoming a man! Whether myfather’s here or not, this is one thing he can’t stop.

Cain clears his throat and a cheer eruptsfrom the men and women and boys and girls, louder than before—andno laughs, no jokes. All for me.

All for me?

I feel a shadow from behind.

My father looms over me, his admiral’s caplike a dark cloud.

Chapter Four

Sadie

“Why didn’t theystop to fight us?” I ask, hours later.

Clang!

I catch my mother’s sword on the broadside ofmy own, spin to get in close to her, but she pushes me away with astrong hand. Although my legs are tiring, I feel reinvigorated whenI suck in a deep breath of the cool, salty air.

Mother dances to the side, onto the hardsand, her feet lithe and graceful like an animal’s. “I don’t know,”she says. “They don’t always fight. Sometimes they move past us,searching for a safe place to land, to refill their freshwatersupply.”

I shove the tip of my sword in the sand andrelease it, letting it spring back and forth in the wind. Put myhands on my hips. “But why do they get to choose when we fight. Whycan’t we attack them for a change?”

She looks at me with an amused expression,her black ponytail dangling in front, over her shoulder. Her darkbrown skin almost seems light brown against the darkening sky,which is one single mass of black clouds with no begi