Water & Storm Country

“Today, even the filthiest of rats mustfight,” my father says. Then, motioning to Jade’s sleeping form, headds, “If she could stand, she’d fight too.”

My anger fades in an instant. My mind buzzeswith a strange and unexpected excitement. Although everything I’vedone, every choice I’ve made to this point has led to Jade beingbloody and broken, it also might’ve saved her life. She doesn’thave to fight, and when this is all over, I will go to her, I willmend her wounds, and I will take her away from this awful place. Iwill. I will find a way.

Casting a final glance at her, I strideacross the deck to where the other officers are boarding a sleek,polished-wood sea-craft. Hobbs is already sitting near the front,along with a dozen other blue-clad lieutenants and captains. EvenMontgomery is there, although he looks like he might be sick, hisface greener than the churning ocean around him.

Cain waits for me. “Stay alive for her,” hesays, low enough that only I can hear him. “The time for mutinyisn’t far away.”

I lick my lips. Although he’s helped me keepmy secret from my father, I never expected him to go so far as toopenly rebel against his leadership. “Thank you,” I say, claspinghis shoulders. “Fight alongside me.”

He nods and slides down the rope. I followshortly after him. Last to board is my father. I make a point ofinspecting his sword, which is perfectly shined silver, not a speckof blood on it. Unless he wiped it clean afterwards, he’s sparedJade for now.

We push off from the ship and pull towardshore, which is nearly invisible in the growing fog.

Sadie

Wind whips around me and rain spatters myface, but Mother Earth isn’t trying to stop me—more like egging meon, telling me that she sees what I’m doing and she approves. Whenlightning flashes, it flashes for me.

We’re halfway to the charging Soakers andclosing fast. I spot Remy, who looks dark and dangerous and ready,and a sudden and surprising lump gels in my throat. This could bethe last time I see him. Then I notice Skye behind him, hanging onwith one hand, holding her sword in the other. She sees me andsmiles, a devilish, slightly maniacal, and remarkably calming smilethat refocuses me.

There is only one thing I should be thinkingabout: killing our enemies.

Revenge! the Evil screams.

The Soakers are so close I can see the dropsof rain—or is it sweat?—on their faces, see the anger anddetermination and fear in their eyes.

Twenty steps—I raise my sword…

Ten—I hold my breath…

We crash into the line of Soakers like a wavecrashing on shore, Passion’s weight and strength battering throughthem like a falling tree on a flower patch. Swords poke and prod atme, but I deflect them away, hacking and hacking and stabbing andcutting. A Soaker falls when I slash him across the throat, a lineof blood showing just before his skin gapes open.

A shudder runs through my body, filled withdisgust and shame and excitement.

I’ve killed my first Soaker. For Mother, forFather, for Paw.

For me.

All those thoughts run through my head in aninstant, but I have no time to ponder them, because another Soakeris upon me, his sword slicing through the air.

Clang!

I block it with the edge of my own blade, andshove him back. His body is swept away as a horse bashes into him,not stopping until the Soaker’s been trampled and bruised under itstrod. I know that horse. With Gard atop him, a massive andawe-inspiring warrior, Thunder rears up on his hind legs and kicksanother of the enemy in the head, sending him sprawling.

While I watch, captivated by the force ofnature that is Gard and Thunder, Passion turns sharply, remindingme that we’re in a battle. Two Soakers approach from the side, asif trying to surround us. Passion kicks at one and he grunts,stumbling back. A ziiipping sound creases the air as anarrow lodges in his chest. He falls, spitting blood.

The other Soaker stops his attack and looksaround in confusion just before an arrow catches him in the gut. Ispur Passion forward, adding my sword near where the arrow entered,finishing him off.

We wheel around and I see Siena, bow strungwith another arrow, having already moved on from helping me. ASoaker attacks her, but ends up on the ground with an arrow throughhis throat.

All of a sudden, the area around me isrelatively clear, the battle having spilled further down the shore,as if carried on the wind, which has shifted, sending the rainswirling in circles around us.

Without command from me, Passion runs backtoward the fray. I watch in horror as one Rider, then another, arestruck down by Soakers in quick succession. The men of the seadon’t spare their horses, stabbing them through their bellies.

In fact, without looking very hard, I canpick out twenty or thirty Rider bodies sprawled along the plains,mounds of black and red. Littered amongst them are the dead bodiesof brown-clad Soakers, at least double the number of our dead. Butare we wi

The first familiar face I see is Remy’s, buthe’s no longer on his horse. For some reason he has dismounted andis sword-fighting a Soaker. He blocks a strike and then kicks hisopponent back, where he stumbles over a dead horse carcass. Theanimal looks familiar and I realize it’s Bolt, Remy’s horse, killedin battle.

Everything about Remy, from his body languageto the torn expression on his face, cries rage. With two quicksteps he’s on the Soaker, stabbing him once, twice, and then moretimes than is necessary to kill him. Again and again and again,desecrating his body.

Finally he stops and looks up, tears in hiseyes. He sees me and his expression changes sharply. Isit…concern?

Even as he raises his finger to point behindme, I’m turning, trying to raise my sword, trying to be faster thanI know I’m capable of.

The Soaker sword cuts into my hip, all theway to the bone, sending ripping, roaring shockwaves through mybody. “Arrrrrrrr!” I scream, frantically slashing out with myblade, slicing the chest of the enemy who snuck up on me. The manfalls, his sword coated with blood—my blood.

Passion, as if sensing my pain, nays loudly,a cry of angst. “I’m okay, girl,” I say, cringing as another boltof agony shoots from my hips to my toes. I stuff a hand in mymouth, bite down hard, trying to distract myself from what I knowis a serious wound. “Go, Passion, go!” I scream through myfingers.

For the first time since I met her, Passionseems unsure of herself, moving forward first at a walk, onehesitant step after another. When I manage to kick her gently inthe ribs with the foot on my uninjured side, however, she breaksinto a run.

On the beach, a large raft washes up. Thenanother.

I forget the pain of my injury when I seewho’s on the rafts.

The Heater slaves have arrived.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Huck

I refuse to meet myfather’s eyes as we cut through the rough waters, just behind therafts.

They’re all going to die, every last one ofthem. Stolen from their homes, brought upon ships where they’retreated like animals—no, less than animals—and now forced to fighta war that has nothing to do with them.

Hatred burns for the one who raised me. Whatwill I do with it?

The rafts land before our boat, and thechildren of fire country spill onto the shore. Beyond them, thebattle rages. Men scream with anger and pain. Swords ring out.Bodies fall.

“Attack or I’ll kill you myself!” my fatherscreams at the Heaters. They look back, unsure and unarmed, butthen run toward the plains, toward sure death.