Across the Dark Water

by Jennifer Lynn Alvarez

  “It’s magnificent,” she said, noticing Kol was talkative when he felt flattered.

  Around the barn, Echofrost heard bells jingling and smelled the plant dyes the Landwalkers used to draw colorful patterns on their mounts’ flanks, and she heard the clanging of swords being checked and then sheathed. The Riders spoke to one another quickly and fluidly, their

  conversations like a flowing river. Excited whoops spiced the flat roar of it.

  Outside the barn, hundreds of footsteps marched toward the large riding ring that the Fifth clan used for horse training. The day she’d returned from the farm, Echofrost had noticed that the sand arena had been smoothed with tools they called rakes. The area around the ring had been cleared of shrubs and debris so that the visiting clans could gather close around it. The auction would take place inside the arena, and she assumed the Tugare would occur above it.

  One by one, the Kihlari left the barn with their Riders, leaving Echofrost and Shysong alone. “What if we’re sold to different clans?” Shysong asked.

  Echofrost’s heart thumped hard, fast. “We’ll be gone before that happens. Just keep their trust, wait for them to let down their guard, and then go—take any chance you get to escape. I’ll do the same. Fly east. Look for the Storm Herd nests.”

  “All right,” Shysong agreed, but Echofrost heard the uncertainty in her voice.

  Then the drumming began, a steady rhythmic beat. Hoots and hollers rose above the deep percussion as the Landwalkers cheered for the Tugare. Echofrost imagined the steeds of Anok—the blistering speeds of their nosedives and the stunning arcs of color when the pegasi turned circles in the air, their bright feathers flashing. No matter how impressive the Kihlari show was, Echofrost doubted it could match the flying skills of free, unadorned pegasi.

  After a while the drumming ended to roaring cheers from the crowd. Music played and time passed. Then more time passed. Echofrost grew impatient and anxious. Finally, the barn door opened.

  “I got Sula,” said a voice that Echofrost recognized. It was the green-eyed, yellow-haired Landwalker named Harak.

  Where was Rahkki? Brauk? Someone familiar!

  “Come, Firo,” said the other voice; it was Tuni come for Shysong.

  Harak strode into Echofrost’s stall, grabbed her muzzle in one hand, and yanked a halter over her head with the other. She reared back, and he jerked down on her lead rope. “Quit it,” he snapped.

  Be patient, she told herself, don’t attack him. But her back legs twitched with the desire to do just that.

  Harak also slipped a rope around her neck and then

  he jerked her forward and she walked behind, listening to the clopping beat of Shysong’s hoof steps as she followed them. They halted in the yard. Echofrost pranced as grooms swarmed her. Rahkki had bathed her yesterday, but these grooms went over her again—brushing her mane and tail, braiding bells and her own purple feathers into her white hair, smoothing her plumage, and dressing her hooves in oil to make them shine.

  Then Harak slid a grayish-blue blanket across her neck and back. It was decorated with shiny stones and colorful tassels. Next he covered her head with a sheer veil of the same gray-blue color. Echofrost reared again, confused by the transparent cloth and the ringing of the bells in her tail, the noise seeming to chase her as she moved.

  “No,” Harak snapped, and he yanked on the rope around her neck, briefly choking her.

  Echofrost planted all four hooves into the soil and took a deep, steadying breath, but inside, her pulse raced. She glanced at Shysong and saw the ropes tethering her, and the bells and beads braided into her mane and tail. They looked identical except for the blanket that Echofrost wore. It rippled across her body, soft as a foal’s muzzle, and the colorful stones glittered in the sunshine. She guessed that Kol would enjoy wearing such a blanket, but she hated it and had already begun to sweat. “Stay strong,” she whinnied to Shysong, shoving the fear out of her voice.

  “You too,” her friend neighed.

  Harak jerked on Echofrost’s lead rope again, for no good reason, and then said to Tuni, “We’re ready.”

  The two Landwalkers faced the arena and walked Echofrost and Shysong toward the auction.

  34

  Auction

  RAHKKI FOUND UNCLE DARTHAN ON THE northern side of the arena with the spectators from the Fifth Clan. Around him, men and women chatted on blankets they’d spread on the trampled grass. The visiting clans had lent their forces to the Fifth Clan army. Land soldiers and Riders guarded the Gathering in such great numbers that the Sandwens could relax and enjoy their annual celebration. The stable grooms, directed by Koko, trotted through the crowd with baskets full of shed Kihlari feathers. The bright plumage had been woven into bracelets and anklets complete with beads and bells, and were sold as charms.

  “Ten jints for one, fifteen jints for two,” they shouted.

  The younger children tied the vibrant bracelets around their limbs and flapped their arms as if they were flying. Rahkki watched a young girl swooping in large circles, imitating the antics of a winged steed, and he smiled. He used to pretend he was a Kihlara too, but he was too old now to wear a charm and flap his arms.

  “I’ll buy you one,” said Uncle, following Rahkki’s gaze.

  “It’s okay, I don’t need one.”

  Uncle grunted and took a long draw off his pipe. As he exhaled, the sweet smell of cloves filled Rahkki’s nostrils.

  Now the Tugare, which meant “aerial performance” in Talu, was about to begin. The Land Guard drummers entered the ring, and everyone hushed. They began playing, warming up the crowd with a slow beat, preparing them for the show. Clansfolk found their blankets and half tents and settled their children. The sun blazed overhead, and the heat was heavy, moist. The distant trees swayed in the hot breeze, and insects hummed softly. Rahkki flicked a grasshopper off his blanket.

  When the crowd was ready, one hundred Pairs of Sky Guard Riders and Fliers emerged from behind the Ruk and galloped toward the spectators. The Kihlari hooves pounded out a beat matched by the drummers. Dust flew from their hooves, and their adorned tails jingled. The Riders leaned forward, kicking their mounts ever faster. They charged toward the seated clansfolk with swords lifted, hollering their battle calls.

  The Sandwen people hollered right back. Some tots burst into tears and the elders smiled. Mut Finn and his friends stood and raised their arms, wielding weapons made of wood. Mut would soon age into the Land Guard, a fate Rahkki knew the boy dreaded. Not because he was afraid, but because he’d rather be a Rider. Most kids felt the same, but most kids, like Mut, couldn’t afford a Flier.

  Rahkki watched Brauk, Tuni, and Harak—the three Headwinds—lead the charge with their jaws clenched and eyes narrowed, pinning the crowd with ferocious stares. Their bright armor flashed in the sun, their mounts’ polished hooves thrummed the soil, and Rahkki’s gut twirled. How did the Gorlan giants face these warriors with such little fear?

  The Sky Guard whooped louder and galloped faster toward the spectators, aiming their sawa blades at the children. The front row screamed and covered their heads, and Rahkki felt the familiar tug of panic—were they going to lift off in time?

  Then Tuni slapped Rizah’s rump, and the Sky Guard leaped into the sky. Their flapping wings blew back the half tents. Their polished hooves just missed the front row of families. The Headwinds opened sacks of white flower petals and dumped them on the crowd. The petals streamed out and fluttered gently down.

  The crowd cheered and laughed; some cried. The teens groaned, feigning disappointment. Rahkki let out his breath, and Uncle chuckled. It was always this way, but each summer there were those who feared the Riders would not stop, that they would accidentally trample the first few rows.

  Now the beat changed as the drummers’ rhythms followed the Kihlari into the sky. Rahkki lay back and watched the Tugare. The steeds flew precise patterns; performed mock aerial attacks; nose-dived at the crowd, causing more screams; and they flew dizz
ying circles and loops.

  Across the arena, Queen Lilliam watched from the shade of her tent while her children sat outside. Princess I’Lenna held the hands of her younger sisters. Their eyes were trained on the Fliers, their expressions delighted. Rahkki wanted to warn I’Lenna about the secret meetings to usurp her mother, but she’d run off too quickly the night before when they’d fed the brayas the sugarcanes. Perhaps today he would find a chance to speak to her. I’Lenna glanced at Rahkki, caught him staring, and grinned.

  Darthan noticed the exchange. “Be careful where you look, Rahkki. Your eyes forge your path.” It was a Rider’s phrase—meaning that your mount will fly the path your eyes take. It was advice on how to avoid crashing.

  Heat rushed to Rahkki’s cheeks as he tore his eyes away from the princess. “I know that,” he said quietly. He focused on the Tugare overhead, watching Brauk fly. His gut lifted and twirled with Kol’s acrobatics, making him feel queasy.

  Soon his thoughts turned to Sula and the auction. Rahkki imagined buying her, and he became lost in a fantasy. She would live at the farm with him, and he would leave her stall door open. She could come and go as she pleased, but in his mind, she’d never leave him. He’d sleep in her stall and feed her treats. She wouldn’t shy away when he touched her.

  He’d work two jobs so that he could purchase the highest-quality grains and stall bedding. He’d clean and oil her halter each evening so that it would be as soft as doeskin on her face. He’d trim her hooves, and he’d take her to Brim Carver, the animal doctor, when she was sick.

  His uncle exhaled a long stream of smoke, shattering Rahkki’s daydream. “The queen thinks she can sell that silver braya you call Sula, but she’s wrong. That wild Kihlara cannot be owned.”

  Rahkki glanced quickly at Darthan. Had his uncle read his mind? But no, Uncle was gazing up at the clouds with great interest, as if reading tea leaves.

  “I gave her the chance to be free,” Rahkki said. “But I failed.”

  Uncle Darthan tapped his forehead. “Her freedom is here. It has nothing to do with you.”

  Rahkki nodded. “But she’ll be sold today, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it.” He looked again across the arena. The visiting queens had set up their tents alongside the Queen of the Fifth, displaying their colors. Their Kihlari mounts grazed behind them, and the tallest was Mahrsan. The Second Clan’s queen was Tavara Whitehall, Lilliam’s mother. Tavara hailed from the poorest clan, and it showed in her faded robes and snide expression. She leaned toward her daughter, speaking forcibly and angrily. Tavara had left Lilliam’s nine princess sisters at home.

  Soon the sound of a swamp buffalo horn carried over the gathered clans, followed by a sudden hush. The drumming stopped, and the Sky Guard retreated back to the barn. Queen Lilliam’s musicians picked up their reed flutes. There was always a brief intermission between the Tugare and the auction.

  Around Rahkki, the clansfolk stood to stretch their legs and talk. Children played stones or fought their scarlet beetles, betting on the strongest-looking scarabs. Folks purchased sugar-fried caterpillars and trinkets, and mothers nursed their babies. After a few songs the auction would begin.

  Besides Sula and Firo, the Second Clan had brought a Kihlara broodmare to sell and three pet stallions; the Third Clan had brought two yearling colts that looked promising plus a young Flier; and the Fourth Clan had two Fliers, a yearling filly, and three pets. Only the merchants and Landowners who relaxed in the large tents were wealthy enough to purchase a Kihlara, but the folks watching from the open grassland were excited to see who would pay the exorbitant price required to own a winged horse.

  Darthan handed Rahkki two jints. “They’re selling honeyed peanuts over there,” he said, nudging his nephew and smiling. “Why don’t you buy some for after lunch?”

  Rahkki didn’t feel much like eating, but he nodded and jogged obediently to the vendor and traded the small coins for a bag of sweet peanuts and a skin of juice. He returned, handing Uncle the change.

  The buffalo horn sounded again, cueing the first steed to enter the arena for the auction. It was the broodmare from the Second Clan, a light chestnut with violet wings and two hind socks. Her hide gleamed, and she was the perfect representation of a healthy Kihlara mare, bringing a round of cheers from the spectators.

  Her handler trotted and cantered her in circles, showing off her even cadence and flawless form. When he was finished, he removed her tethers and commanded her to fly a circle over his head. There was a stunned gasp as she lifted off and flew a perfect arc around him. And then, for some excitement, he commanded her to swoop over the area of tents, where the wealthiest bidders watched her with open mouths.

  She was not only well proportioned, she was also well trained for a broodmare; she flew without a Rider to guide her and without tethers to force her to return. She was controlled only by her handler’s voice, and after she buzzed the tents, she returned to him and dropped her muzzle into his hands.

  But then something unexpected happened: the handler slipped the broodmare a treat, but no training incentives were allowed during auction exhibitions. Rahkki examined the mare again, more keenly this time, and he noticed her large pupils and vacant expression. Rahkki gulped. “She’s drugged,” he whispered to his uncle.

  Darthan peered at Rahkki. “And what does that mean?” he asked.

  “It means she’s not trained at all, not really. It means her clan can’t control her, and they’re trying to get rid of her.”

  Uncle squeezed Rahkki’s shoulder gently. “You have good vision, Rahkki. You see past the show to the truth.”

  But the tented folk did not see the truth. They were spellbound. The bidding for the mare began high and raced quickly higher. Rahkki watched her sell for three times her worth to a Borla in the Fourth Clan. His groom collected the mare and led her away.

  Rahkki’s heart quickened as the crowd cheered. Soon it would be Sula’s turn. She’d be shown off like a prize cow and sold; he felt sick. His head hurt. He stared at his uncle. “I can’t do this,” he said.

  Darthan’s lips tightened. “Go home then.”

  Rahkki folded his arms. He would do no such thing.

  The two yearling colts sold next for fifty dramals apiece, a quarter of the price of the broodmare. One reared and one spooked, but Rahkki liked the colts. They were young

  and had never traveled. The cheering bothered them, and at least they weren’t drugged. The one who reared was particularly well built, and the curve of his wings spoke of great agility. He was aggressive, but that was needed to become a Sky Guard Flier. Rahkki pointed him out. “That colt is worth more than that broodmare,” he said.

  Darthan drew on his pipe and nodded his agreement.

  After the rearing colt left the arena, two pets and the yearling filly sold. Then there was a break in the auction for another performance. Queen Lilliam’s dancers entered the arena barefoot. They were dressed in flowing robes dyed in shades of blue, violet, and gold. They paused until everyone was silent, and then the musicians lifted their reed pipes, drums, and lutes and played a soul-lifting harmony.

  The dancers seemed to float on the wind. They twirled and leaped in ways that made their robes flash their colors, as if they were the music. Uncle Darthan opened his satchel and laid out spiced rice balls, smoked fish, fried hen eggs, and a large flask of coconut milk. Rahkki stared at the food without appetite. “Eat,” Uncle commanded.

  Rahkki ate and watched the dancing, shaded by Uncle’s goat-hide half tent. Around them, children played and adults gossiped. The tented folk smoked pipes and drank rice wine. Uncle Darthan opened the bag of honey-coated peanuts, which he shared with Rahkki.

  Then the blaring of the buffalo horn ended the dance. Rahkki wiped his mouth and faced the arena. The second half of the auction was about to begin.

  35

  Harak

  ECHOFROST TOSSED HER HEAD, TRYING TO DISLODGE the transparent fabric that covered her eyes. Harak yanked so hard
on her halter that the noseband cut into her sensitive muzzle. “Quit that,” he said, and his voice sounded to her like the growl of a wolf. She rattled her feathers, and Harak turned on her, his green eyes flat and mean. He stung her legs with his riding crop until she stood still.

  Unable to move without risking a beating, Echofrost stood beside Harak with her heart racing and her nerves jingling like the bells tied to her tail. They waited in a small holding pen that was attached to the ring. Echofrost couldn’t see outside the walls, but she knew that pegasi were being sold and taken away.

  Then there was a long break; a few more pegasi sold, and now it was just her and Shysong left, and it was Shysong’s turn to enter. Echofrost watched her friend’s body sway back and forth. Tuni tried to soothe her with treats and a soft voice, but Shysong was shedding feathers all over the dirt floor.

  The loud bray of the buffalo horn reached them. “Time to go,” Tuni said to the roan. She opened her stall door and coaxed Shysong forward, but Shysong reared back. Tuni waited, and then once all four hooves touched ground, she urged her forward again.

  Shysong glanced at Echofrost. “I’m scared,” she whinnied.

  “The Ancestors are with us,” Echofrost said, her voice wavering but determined. “Just play along for now.”

  Shysong halted and stuck her nose over Echofrost’s door so they could exchange breath a final time. “If I’m sold to someone like him”—she jerked her head toward Harak—“I won’t last.”

  “You’ll have to,” said Echofrost, “but not for long. Keep their trust until you can fly away. It’s that easy. Don’t worry.”