Across the Dark Water

by Jennifer Lynn Alvarez

  Was it possible that some Landwalkers were good?

  She and Shysong allowed Rahkki to approach, and the others watched wide-eyed. “What’s he doing?” Dewberry asked.

  Graystone and Redfire tensed, ready to attack. “Hold,” Hazelwind cautioned. He knew Echofrost best and seemed to understand that she wasn’t concerned about the cub.

  Rahkki reached Shysong first, untied her halter, and slipped it off her head. Next he turned to Echofrost and stared into her eyes. “Sula,” he whispered. He untied her halter and let it fall from her face. “You’re free. Go with your friends.” Tears sprang to his golden eyes, turning them bright yellow. He stepped away from her. “Go,” he said, “before the Land Guard arrives to check on the farm. I’ll tell everyone you and Firo broke free during the attack.”

  Echofrost understood what he was doing, if not his words; he was letting her go. But Kol had told her that she and Shysong were valuable to the queen of Rahkki’s clan. He’d also explained to her that these Landwalkers would never turn her loose. She imagined that Rahkki would be punished for what he was trying to do. She exhaled. Beneath his fear and uncertainty, the little cub was brave.

  Rahkki lifted his hand toward her and then snatched it back.

  “He knows I don’t like to be touched,” Echofrost explained to her friends.

  Rahkki turned away, wiping his eyes. “Good-bye,” he said. And then he motioned for the man called Uncle to follow and they disappeared inside the nearby Landwalker hut.

  “That was easy,” Hazelwind said. “Now let’s go.”

  They turned and walked away on hoof since the mares couldn’t fly, and Echofrost felt a tug of sadness. Not for herself, but for Rahkki. The cub would miss her; she’d seen that in his golden eyes. But she doubted the Kihlari would miss her.

  “There’s something you all should know,” she said to her friends. They slowed, listening. “The pegasi that live here—they say their ancestors came from the north. That they flew here from across the sea about four hundred years ago. I believe they’re all descendants of the missing Lake Herd pegasi.” She let her words sink in and then continued. “They carry our blood, our history, and they’re trapped here. I feel like we should help them.”

  Her rescuers halted, stunned.

  But Hazelwind didn’t lose a moment considering her words. “No,” he snapped. “If we don’t leave now, then we could end up like them. This is what I’m trying to prevent. This is why I didn’t want to come back for you—at first—because I don’t want to tell Star and Morningleaf, if I ever see them again, that I failed, that I led Storm Herd straight into a trap. We have to leave these foreigners behind.”

  “But they’re from Anok, and they’re slaves, just like we were to Nightwing.”

  “Do they want help?” Redfire asked, curious.

  Echofrost didn’t answer that because she wasn’t sure—but how could the Kihlari understand freedom when they’d never experienced it?

  “Look,” Hazelwind said. “I understand why this is important to you, but it’s too dangerous for us. Their captivity is proof of that.”

  She nodded. “I understand.”

  He nudged her, and his long black forelock fell across his eye. “Are you ready to leave this place behind? Are you ready to find a new home . . . with me?”

  She met his gaze, wondering how deep his question flowed. “Yes, I’m ready.”

  “Seize them!” shouted a Landwalker.

  Echofrost spun around, expecting to see more giants, but instead there were soldiers, fifty of them on horseback. They burst from the tree line, swinging ropes at the Storm Herd steeds. Hazelwind and the others lifted off and glided forward to fight.

  “No,” Echofrost bellowed. “Fly away!”

  Hazelwind swooped down on the soldiers, kicking them.

  Since Echofrost and Shysong couldn’t fly to safety, they galloped into the empty rice fields, but the swampy turf swallowed their hooves, slowing them. They flapped their wings to help pull up their legs. Twenty horses followed. They were faster and more powerful than pegasi on land, and they leaped through the mud, splattering it across their chests. The soldiers swung ropes and tossed them around Echofrost’s and Shysong’s necks, pulling the nooses tight.

  Echofrost trumpeted in outrage. Graystone landed in the midst of the land horses and barreled through a group of soldiers, tossing them in every direction.

  A heavy shield struck Echofrost in the head, followed by a wave of dizziness. Then a dark hood was pulled over her eyes.

  Rahkki’s screaming reached her ears. “Let them go!”

  She heard feathers fluttering and grunts of pain, from both pegasi and Landwalkers.

  “What’s happening?” Echofrost whinnied.

  Hazelwind’s voice drifted down to her. “Graystone’s been hit. We’re carrying him back to the nests!”

  “Is he alive?”

  “For now,” Dewberry grunted.

  Echofrost panted beneath the dark hood, her heart breaking.

  “Don’t give up,” Hazelwind whinnied. “We’ll get you out as soon as we can.”

  Echofrost wanted to scream his name, to call him back, to say Please don’t leave me here. But Hazelwind had to protect Graystone and the others.

  Shysong moaned.

  “Are you hurt?” Echofrost asked her.

  “No, I’m mad!”

  Strong hands dragged Echofrost back into the barn and locked her in a stall. Shysong was dragged in next. The soldiers grumbled, and the barn animals oinked and bleated.

  Later that evening, Rahkki entered the barn escorted by soldiers. He removed Echofrost’s and Shysong’s hoods and wept. “I’m sorry,” he said to the mares. Then to the soldiers, “Can I stable them together? Please.”

  “Yeah, but don’t get smart,” said a blond soldier. “I saw you trying to free them. You’re bloody lucky we caught them before they ran off.” The other nine soldiers stood with batons in hands, ready to smack Rahkki and the mares if they tried to escape again.

  Rahkki led Echofrost and Firo to Lutegar’s stall. They entered and stood next to the swamp buffalo. Lutegar rolled her eyes over their feathers and hooves and then mooed with pleasure, as if deciding she fit right in with them.

  The mares nickered back to her and Echofrost noticed that Lutegar’s heart rate was slow, her breaths far apart. She was calm from her flat ears down to her heavy cloven hooves. She doubted that anything could spook this beast, not a spit dragon, not a Landwalker, and not a giant. But the buffalo’s quietness soothed Echofrost’s nerves much like a medicine mare’s mashed concoctions had once calmed her after she was freed from Mountain Herd.

  Rahkki pitched hay at their hooves and took their bucket to the river behind the barn and filled it. When he returned, he reached out his fingers to Echofrost, speaking softly. She flinched, and he snapped his hand back. “Sorry,” he whispered.

  “Be nice,” Shysong scolded. “He set you free, and now look, he’s in trouble.”

  The mare had a point. The way the guards glowered at Rahkki, she knew he’d displeased them.

  Echofrost sighed, regretting her blunt show of revulsion. “I’m trying to trust him.”

  Rahkki exited the barn and latched the damaged door as best he could. Outside, Echofrost heard the soldiers surround the barn and the hut, protecting the farm from the Gorlanders, she assumed, and guarding her and Shysong. Echofrost considered the fact that the Landwalkers were like a herd, working together, which made them stronger.

  As usual, she’d underestimated them.

  27

  Stopping Time

  AFTER RAHKKI LOCKED THE MARES IN FOR THE night, he hurried to the River Tsallan. Rotten fruit and dead ants still flecked his skin from the Gorlander’s filthy sack. He made a quick scan for alligators, undressed, and then dived into the clear water, swimming to the deepest part. The cool liquid soothed his aching muscles and bruised skin. He kicked against the current and then turned onto his back and floated downriver,
his eyes on the clouds. High, high above, he spotted the small specks that were the wild herd. They zoomed southeast, carrying their injured friend.

  “That’s enough swimming!” shouted a guard, startling Rahkki. A small unit of soldiers had followed him to the river. “Get inside where it’s safe.”

  Rahkki paddled to shore, climbed out, and shook his wet hair. He retrieved his filthy outer clothing and carried it back with him to the hut. The soldiers watched, their eyes wary.

  When Rahkki entered his uncle’s small home, he saw that Darthan had built a fire and fried two small fish. Pulling on a clean shirt and soft pants from his loft, Rahkki straddled the chair next to Uncle’s.

  Darthan slid a charred fish onto a plate and handed it to Rahkki. He’d already poured him a cup of goat’s milk.

  Rahkki tapped his feet, staring at Darthan.

  His uncle smiled. “Go on, ask me.”

  Rahkki’s questions exploded. “Where did you learn to fight like that, Uncle? And where did you get a Daakuran sword? Did you travel there?” Everyone knew that the Daakuran smelters forged the best blades on either shore of Cinder Bay. “I’ve never seen one up close!” Rahkki ripped off a bite of the hot fish, suddenly starving, then jumped back in. “And where did you learn to swing it? You were like two people at once. Does Brauk know about this sword?”

  His uncle sat on the chair where he meditated into

  the fire each evening, waiting for his dinner to cool and cleaning his sword. He stroked the grooves with a polishing cloth, working with slow precision. “You squawk like a bird,” he said, stuffing his smile.

  Rahkki lowered his voice. “I thought you were a farmer, Uncle.”

  Darthan guided the clean sword into its sheath. “I am a farmer,” he replied.

  “But—”

  “I’m also a fighter and a traveler,” said his uncle, picking up his fork. “I’m not one thing, Rahkki, and neither are you.”

  “Did you learn to fight in the Land Guard?” It made sense—all Sandwen youths spent three years in the Land Guard, unless they purchased a Flier and joined the Sky Guard. But Uncle shook his head and lifted his sleeve, showing Rahkki the brand burned onto his shoulder, a Kihlari brand. Rahkki gaped at it. Was this why his uncle always wore long sleeves? “You were a Rider?”

  Uncle nodded.

  “Where is your Flier?” Rahkki blurted this, and then he slapped his hand over his mouth. Riders and Kihlari Paired for life, so there was only one answer to Rahkki’s question—Uncle’s Kihlara was dead. “I’m sorry,” he said.

  His uncle sheathed his sword and lit his pipe. “Don’t be sorry; it has nothing to do with you.” Uncle leaned back and cleared his throat.

  Rahkki held still, sensing that one of Darthan’s stories would soon pour from his lips as smooth as the smoke from his pipe. Outside, the soldiers spoke quietly and cooked their dinner, which was sadly Uncle’s smallest pig.

  Darthan drew on the pipe, and the clove leaves flamed red. “I was twenty-five when I first saw him,” said Uncle. “He was a small bay stallion with sparkling feathers—dark amber, they were, and tipped in black. His tail waved behind him like a banner when he flew, thick and arched.” Darthan used one hand to demonstrate the waving tail. “The stallion was faster than lightning and as comfortable to ride as a cloud.” Darthan lipped his pipe, an expression of pure pleasure on his face. “The stallion’s name was Drael.”

  Rahkki started. “Wait, Drael was my mother’s stallion.”

  “Hmm,” said Uncle, sighing. “Not yet he wasn’t. I had my eye on that bay steed, but so did my sister.” A slow curve touched Darthan’s lips. “Reyella was younger than I, but she was ferocious. You know the clan called her the Pantheress?”

  “I know.”

  “She was also my queen, but that stallion—he was perfection. I had to have him.” Darthan tapped his chest over his heart.

  “I know what that’s like,” Rahkki whispered.

  Darthan nodded. “Reyella felt the same way about Drael as I did, but your mother, she wouldn’t use her position to take him from me. She wasn’t that way. No, she said she’d fight me for him.”

  “She wanted to fight you?” Rahkki couldn’t believe it. He remembered Darthan and Reyella as being close.

  “Yes, she did, and I couldn’t offend her by backing down. She challenged me in front of the clan.” Darthan pulled on his pipe and looked at Rahkki with a crooked smile. “Besides, I wanted that winged horse. I wanted him bad.”

  Rahkki was stunned. Uncle had always seemed content with so little. It was difficult to imagine him wanting anything so much that he’d fight his own sister for it. Rahkki studied his uncle’s face, seeing past his sun-wrinkled skin to his younger self.

  Darthan exhaled a long stream of smoke. “The next morning, when the sun cast its light into my room in the fortress, I knew that I would lose the stallion to her. I

  don’t know how I knew it, but I was as certain of it as the rising sun.”

  Uncle paused, and spent several minutes shifting in his seat, fussing with his pipe, and clearing his throat until Rahkki felt about to explode. Finally, he continued. “We fought in the courtyard of Fort Prowl. She chose the staff as our weapon. Drael was there. He belonged to the First Clan, and his owner held his lead rope, waiting for one of us to win the fight and buy the stallion.”

  “How much did he cost?” Rahkki asked. His uncle stared into the fire, not answering, and Rahkki shut his mouth.

  After a moment Uncle resumed the story. “Your mother faced me in the courtyard, fearless. When I charged her, she crouched, waiting for me. I was angry now because I didn’t want to hurt her.” He chuckled. “I needn’t have worried. She sidestepped and threw me into the air. I charged again and she knocked me to the ground, then she flipped me over her head—but she didn’t hit me, not once. Reyella used my force, my anger, against me. I’d never experienced anything like it. I was like Brauk then—a scrapper. I relied on my strength and speed, but in that fight those forces betrayed me.”

  “How could she do that?” Rahkki blurted, unable to

  stop himself. “Was she magical?”

  “If only she had been magical,” Darthan said, his expression wistful. “But no, she was not.”

  “Then how—”

  “Our mother sent Reyella to Daakur for training. She learned many things there—letters and science and number figuring—but she also learned the Daakuran fighting art called Sehvan. Sehvan means “flow” in Talu.”

  Rahkki mouthed the word. “Sehvan.”

  “She controlled the flow of my energy, all the while remaining calm and serene. It was powerful, and she won Drael. She paid four full rounds for him.”

  “That’s four hundred dramals!” Rahkki whistled.

  Darthan puffed on his clove leaves, allowing Rahkki to ponder a moment.

  “So if my mom won Drael, then how did you become a Rider in the Sky Guard?”

  His uncle’s eyes sparkled with tears, and it was a few moments before he spoke again. “Your mother knew something I didn’t.”

  “What?” Rahkki asked, his heart speeding as he leaned forward. “Tell me!”

  His uncle inhaled slowly, then let out his next words in a puff of clove-scented smoke. “Drael had an identical twin.”

  Rahkki leaped out of his chair. “No way!”

  “He did. A stallion chipped from the same stone, so to speak. Her personal guard led the bay steed out of the stable and trotted him into the sunlight.” Darthan wiped his eyes. “His name was Tor, and he was just as exquisite, just as fast, and just as smooth to ride.”

  Rahkki’s thoughts swirled. “But then, why did she fight you if she knew Drael had a twin?”

  Darthan laughed in a short, hard burst. “That was for fun.” He sighed. “Though I can’t say I enjoyed it. But she also did it to teach me.”

  “To teach you how to fight?”

  “No, to teach me not to fight her. After she beat me she paid the First Clan
for my stallion too, the same sum she’d paid for Drael, and she gave him to me as a gift. When she handed me Tor’s reins, she said, ‘We’re family, Darthan.’” Now Uncle’s tears flowed silently down his cheeks. “And I understood. She was telling me that we were stronger standing together than fighting against each other.”

  He tapped his pipe into the fireplace. “You see, her Borla had a vision that she’d bear only sons while she was queen, and she knew that having an unsecured throne would cause trouble for her. She wanted me by her side in all things.”

  Darthan set down his pipe. “I never challenged your mother again. She taught me Sehvan, and I joined the Sky Guard with Tor. But three years later Tor died.”

  Rahkki dropped his fork. “So soon?”

  Uncle nodded. “We were flying on patrol, and his . . . his heart failed. He died instantly, and we crashed. The trees saved me, cradled me like a babe, but Tor—his body broke on the ground.”

  His uncle paused. “Poke the fire, will you?”

  Rahkki clasped the poker and shoved on the wood, pushing it back toward the center of the fireplace.

  “I became a Half,” Darthan said. “The Sky Guard Riders avoided me after that. It’s bad luck, you know, to be friends with a Half. I moved out of the fortress, bought this farm, and didn’t look back. Reyella didn’t ask me to stay, but I knew she wished I had. And now, so do I.” His eyes met Rahkki’s. “I wasn’t there the night she died. I didn’t really understand her lesson until it was too late: we’re stronger standing together.”

  Rahkki stared down at his hands, remembering that awful night. Brauk had spent years training him not to cry, but Brauk wasn’t here. He bent over and watched his tears splat onto the dusty wood floor.

  Darthan smoked while the energetic firelight danced