Water & Storm Country

Continuing around the prisoner circle, I cometo the unmarked brown-ski

“Circ,” he says. Up close, I notice that Circis built like a Rider, tall and cut like stone.

“You’re a warrior?” I guess.

“We say Hunter,” he says.

“Can you ride?”

“Ride what?”

“A horse. A steed. A stallion.”

“Can tugs sprout wings and fly like searin’angels?” Siena says from around the pole.

I think that’s a no, but I look to Circ forconfirmation. He flashes a smile and shakes his head. “She meantno, but rarely does Siena just come out and say somethingdirectly. That’s one of the many reasons I love her.” His calm andunquestionable declaration of love for the ski

Should love be declared as casually andeasily as plucking a flower from off a stem? Or is it something tobe held on to, like a gemstone, brought out only on the rarest andmost special occasions, whispered like a secret to only the mostdeserving of ears?

Either way, I feel the truth of Circ’s wordsand I envy him. Siena, too. They seem so sure of themselves;whereas the only thing I’m sure of is my calling as a Rider.

I move on to the second pale-ski

“Buff,” he says. “That’s my name. And beforeyou ask whether I’d like to go with you to the campfire and sip on’quiddy and nibble on bear fritters, or whatever it is you eataround here, I have to decline, with regret. You see, I’ve got alovely lady waiting back in ice country for me. I’d hate todisappoint her, even for a pretty little thing like you.”

I’m speechless. Has the whole world gone madand started saying every last thing on its mind? I try to collectmy thoughts, my cheeks on fire. “I wasn’t…I wasn’t going to ask youany such thing,” I say.

“Weren’t you?” Buff says.

“No.”

“My mistake.” He shrugs, like it was nothingmore than a misunderstanding.

“And I’m spoken for,” I add quickly.

“You are?”

“I am.” Am I? Remy’s words burn in my ears.I’ve only ever thought of you in that way.

I desperately want to divert the attentionaway from me. “And what about you?” I say to Dazz.

“What about me what?” he asks. Histhin beard makes him look older than I suspect he is. Through thelayer of facial fur, there’s a youthful face, strangely withoutcolor. Between him and Buff, they’re the first light-ski

“Are you spoken for?” I ask, not because Ihave any interest in him, but because it seems to be a populartopic of conversation amongst the group.

“Who’s askin’?” Skye says, the answer in hersharp tone.

“Oh, so you two are…I mean you’re…”

“Together,” Dazz says. “Yes, Skye and I are athing.”

“What do you mean a thing,” Skye says,twisting her neck to shoot a glare at Dazz.

“Don’t get your pretty little lady-skivviesall twisted up,” Dazz says. “It’s just something we say in icecountry when you’re exclusively with one girl.”

“That better be what yer sayin’,” Skye says.“Or I’ll knock you out, just like I did when we first met.” I haveto raise a hand to hide my laugh at their banter. I can pictureSkye clocking Dazz, leaving a dark bruise on his cheek and hisego.

I still can’t believe I’m talking to Heatersand Icers. It’s like the earth has been raised on an angle, and allthe tribes of the earth have slid down, down, down, all the way tothe ocean.

The only one who hasn’t spoken since Ientered is Feve, the marked man. I stand in front of him now.“Since you’re so curious about all of our personal lives, yes, I’mspoken for. Married, with a family.” Although his words surpriseme—I didn’t think a man so serious and mysterious-looking would beso…settled—it’s not what I was going to ask.

“What do your markings mean?” I ask, wishingI could see them all. No one in my tribe marks themselves, probablybecause our skin is already so dark we wouldn’t be able to seeit.

Feve’s eyes pierce my gaze, unflinching.“Each straight marking is for someone I’ve saved,” he says, pausingto look back at his exposed forearm, which has a straight arrowsketched into it.

I admire the simple beauty of the drawing,which is so lifelike, almost as if you could pluck it from off hisskin, string it, and shoot it high in the air, piercing thegray-shrouded sky. Around the arrow are numerous curved markings: acrescent moon, softly glowing; a metal chain; a coiled snake. Thereare other curved markings too, ones that don’t take on anyparticular form, like they were drawn hastily, in random designs.They disappear under his shirt and reappear on his neck, arcingbehind his back. He must have hundreds of curved markings for everystraight one.

“And what do the curved markings represent?”I ask, unable to wrest my eyes from the graceful shapes.

“Each curved marking is for someone I’vekilled.”

~~~

We aren’t waiting for them to come to us. Foronce, we’ll take the fight to the Soakers, to show them that thetribes of the earth will not allow their evil to go unpunished.

The scouts are back and have located theSoaker fleet, anchored just off the coast a few hours ride south ofus. Fatefully close.

I’m thankful the six foreigners will ridewith us today. Although they’re a strange mixture of jokes,ferocity, and unabashed confidence, I can tell each one of them isa fighter in their own right. Better with us then against us.

Each will sit behind a Rider, at least untilthe battle begins. Then they’ll be free to drop down, to run awayif they choose. I suspect they’ll fight to the bloody end.

They’re untied and standing in a group underclose guard. Gard has allowed them to choose their weapons,although they’ll be held by their assigned riding partner until wereach the battle. Only then will they be handed over.

Siena, as requested, has already received herbow, which she’s been flexing and playing with from the moment shegrasped it. It’s clear she knows how to use it. She’ll get thearrows from me later. Skye selected a sword, almost as long as theone chosen by Circ. There’s no doubt in my mind that she can handleit every bit as well, too. Feve grunted at two medium-length curveddaggers that remind me of the graceful but deadly strokes of thekill-counter markings on his skin. Buff chose two shortstraight-daggers, polished to a shine, although he didn’t seem toosure of the selection. Dazz was the only one who insisted he’d befine without a weapon, and it wasn’t until he saw the spiked clubswielded by some of the larger Riders that he agreed to carrysomething.

Before I mount Passion, I stand in front ofher, touching her white butterfly. “We will see this throughtogether,” I whisper. She whi

Although I sense the dark presence nearby,the Evil has not accosted me since the prison tent, when it urgedme to kill Dazz, to take my revenge for my mother’s death. I ignoreit. Will it disappear if I pretend it’s not there? Is it real orimagined? Am I going crazy with unresolved grief?

I leap atop Passion’s back, relishing thelight feeling in my chest I always get before a ride. Earlier Iintroduced Passion to Siena, who will ride behind me. I was worriedthat Passion’s pride wouldn’t allow her to accept a secondpassenger, but she took to Siena right away, so quickly I felt aprick of jealousy after all I had to go through to win heraffections.