Across the Dark Water

by Jennifer Lynn Alvarez

  Tuni clucked and urged Shysong out of the small, dark barn and into the blinding light of day. The door closed behind the mare, and Echofrost moaned her grief softly, so Harak wouldn’t hear.

  When Echofrost heard the cheering, she knew Shysong was in the ring trotting and cantering her circles. Soon there was heated arguing. Kol had explained to her that the Landwalkers would try to outbid one another for the chance to own a wild pegasus. He said that she and Shysong were exotic, which meant “foreign.”

  A sudden swell of hollering noise filled her ears, and Shysong reentered the barn, looking stunned.

  “What happened?” Echofrost nickered. “Was there no chance to escape?”

  “There wasn’t. I’m sold,” she whispered, sounding shocked. “But I won’t be leaving. Rizah’s out there, and she told me that the queen bought me for I’Lenna. I’m a birthday present. A pet.” Shysong’s gaze was hollow, and her feathers drooped. “What does that mean?”

  “I don’t know,” said Echofrost.

  “I’Lenna seems kind, at least,” Shysong nickered.

  “But her mother . . .”

  “I know.”

  “Be very careful,” Echofrost warned. “If any harm comes to I’Lenna while you’re near her, I imagine you’ll be blamed.”

  Shysong nodded, but overall began to relax.

  The buffalo horn sounded again. Harak yanked on Echofrost, pulling her from her thoughts. “You’re up,” he said.

  Tuni’s hand darted to Harak’s. “Don’t jerk on Sula like that,” she said, her eyes darkening.

  Harak broke free of Tuni’s grasp. “I know how to handle a Kihlara.”

  “She’s not fighting you,” Tuni said. “I’ll issue a violation if you abuse her without cause.”

  Harak spit on the ground. “You take her then. Or get Brauk.”

  Tuni sighed. “I’m on crowd patrol, and the queen doesn’t want Brauk in that arena. Just lead the mare in and don’t be a bully about it.”

  Harak grunted and pulled Echofrost forward, but with less force this time. He pushed open the gate and led her into the light.

  When Echofrost emerged with the intricate blanket rippling around her, a hush fell over the crowd of Landwalkers. Harak led her into the arena and then walked her once around so everyone could see her up close. She pranced, and he allowed it. The bells in her tail jingled merrily, the glittering blanket ruffled around her legs, and she was suddenly grateful for the soft veil covering her eyes, allowing her a measure of privacy.

  She picked up a springing trot, almost floating across the sand, and the spectators made appreciative noises. An announcer spoke loud words, and Echofrost heard her Sandwen name often: Sula.

  She passed a group of Landwalkers sitting on blankets and she glimpsed Rahkki. He sat with the man he called Uncle. He was upright and wide-eyed, and as awed as the rest of his kind. He mouthed something to her, and of course she didn’t know what he was trying to say; but her heart slowed, and she realized suddenly, and quite unexpectedly, that she liked him.

  But then in a flash he was gone. She pranced past him and toward a group of heavily robed Landwalkers who lounged inside large tents that were loaded with tables of steaming meats and padded with soft rugs. Then she passed Queen Lilliam’s pagoda. Echofrost spotted I’Lenna first, and the little female’s eyes were bright with joy. Behind I’Lenna, the queen reclined on a fur-softened platform, seeming flattened by her round belly, and she eyed Echofrost with the cold stare of a serpent.

  Echofrost turned her head away and followed Harak to the center of the horse-training ring. A Landwalker dressed in black spoke to the crowd with dramatic flourishes of his hands, saying her name in a long rolling drawl. Echofrost understood that she was on display. She tossed her head and rattled her feathers in annoyance, but stayed near Harak, obeying him as best she could. Cooperating would benefit her, not hurt her; she’d learned that the hard way.

  Ring attendants attached a tether to her halter and slid off her showy blanket and veil, handing them to Koko, who had appeared from across the arena to whisk them away. Now that the spectators had their first solid look at her, they whooped with approval and drummed the ground with their feet.

  Harak grinned, enjoying the attention, and then cracked his whip, sending Echofrost trotting in a circle around him. As she moved, the crowd hollered louder. She turned her head toward the sky, scanning the clouds for Hazelwind, but the horizon was empty. Where was he? He’d said he’d come back for her, or was Graystone still recovering from his injury? Despair struck her. She felt

  like a weanling again, stuck in enemy territory.

  Harak yanked on the tether and Echofrost slowed, confused as to what he wanted. “Git up,” he said, and he stung her flank with the whip. Startled, she kicked out, and he struck her again. Echofrost whirled around, backing away from him. Harak’s face turned red when a few Landwalkers laughed.

  Echofrost stiffened and snorted.

  Harak cracked the whip behind her, sending her forward again—Ah, she thought, he wants more speed. She broke into a gallop, but then he yanked on her nose and yelled at her. She stopped and threw back her head in frustration. Harak stumbled and fell in the sand, and more laughter erupted.

  The Queen of the Fifth narrowed her eyes, and Echofrost’s muscles quivered. She was trying to obey Harak, but she didn’t know what he wanted. The whip meant go faster, didn’t it?

  Harak stood and ran at her. He slapped her chest twice with the slack in the rope, snarling and yelling, and then he cracked her again with his whip.

  Her fury ignited, and Echofrost screamed a challenge at him. He wanted to fight; she’d fight! Maybe this was even part of the show; she didn’t know, and suddenly she didn’t care.

  Harak bellowed back, swelling his chest and raising the whip over his head.

  Echofrost pinned her ears even as her sensible side told her to calm down.

  From somewhere behind her, a Landwalker shouted. “Stop! She’ll kill you.” It was Brauk, racing across the arena.

  Echofrost shut down her thoughts and trained her eyes on her attacker. All the stress of her captivity erupted, and the world blurred. She saw nothing but Harak. Felt nothing but anger.

  He advanced, murder in his eyes, and the crowd hushed.

  Rahkki leaped over the fence and ran toward her, pumping his arms. “Sula, no!”

  Harak snarled and snapped the whip across her neck.

  Echofrost whirled around and kicked out with both hind legs. She heard a sharp crack when her hooves connected with flesh. A body flew across the sand and struck the fence.

  Absolute silence dropped on the arena.

  And then Rahkki screamed. “Brauk!”

  Echofrost turned slowly around. There was Harak, standing off to the side, unharmed. Fifty winglengths away was Brauk, lying motionless in the dirt.

  Echofrost dropped her head, her fury spent. The heat of her anger was replaced by cold dread.

  She’d kicked the wrong Landwalker.

  36

  Contest

  FEAR SQUEEZED RAHKKI’S HEART AS HE SPRINTED toward his fallen brother. “Brauk,” he cried, his voice strangled. As Rahkki passed Sula, he noticed her panicked eyes and the big vein pulsing in her neck.

  He reached Brauk and fell beside him, sobbing shamelessly while everyone watched, and he didn’t care. Brauk’s face was slack and his eyes closed. “Somebody help him!” Rahkki screamed.

  Uncle Darthan and Brim Carver rushed to Brauk’s side. The Fifth Clan Borla emerged from his tent, nodded to the queen, and entered the arena with his apprentices. Brauk was a member of the Sky Guard. The Borla could refuse to treat Rahkki but not Brauk, and not in front of the other clans. To let a Rider suffer would bring shame on the Fifth, but when the Borla arrived at Brauk’s side, Uncle Darthan shooed him away. “We’ll take care of him,” he said.

  The Borla glanced at the queen, and she turned her back, leaving the decision to him. He appraised Brauk, and then glared a
t Uncle and Brim. “You’ll need more than this goat healer to save him,” he said.

  “Brim can handle it,” Darthan insisted.

  The Borla stood and motioned for his apprentices to follow him back to his tent.

  Rahkki watched him go and was glad. His mother’s Borla had been kind and helpful, but this one was in the pocket of Queen Lilliam. Rahkki held his brother’s hand while Brim examined him.

  “Don’t move him,” Brim said. Her face was creased with worry, and she made no jokes, sang no songs.

  Brauk was unconscious but breathing, and that gave Rahkki hope.

  He looked to the center of the arena where Sula stood by herself, trembling violently, with no one holding her. It occurred to Rahkki that she could fly away, but the second that thought hit him, Tuni and four Riders grabbed the ends of Sula’s tethers and began leading her back to the holding pen.

  “Halt,” Queen Lilliam ordered. “This braya has yet to be sold.”

  Tuni stared at her, speechless. “What?”

  “Keep her here. Resume the auction.”

  Tuni handed Sula’s rope to the Riders with her. “You heard her,” she said under her breath, and she rushed away to check on Brauk.

  Rahkki squeezed his brother’s fingers, and Brauk’s eyelids fluttered. “What happened?” he groaned.

  “Sula kicked you.”

  “That viper,” Brauk rasped. “I knew one day she’d strike.”

  Rahkki brushed back Brauk’s long hair and leaned over him, touching foreheads with him. He glanced at Sula. She watched them, her eyes ancient and sad. “She didn’t mean it,” he said.

  Brauk’s lips twitched. “Oh, yes she did.” Then he opened his eyes when Rahkki’s tears splashed on his face. “Are those tears for me? Or for her?” Brauk laughed, and blood sprayed from his mouth.

  “For you,” Rahkki said, wiping his eyes. “But she meant to kick Harak.”

  Brauk grimaced. “Don’t fool yourself. She hates us all.”

  “Shh,” said Brim. “Don’t talk.” She edged Rahkki away from his brother and unbuckled Brauk’s armor and cut open his undershirt, exposing his tan, muscled chest. Purple bruises bloomed there. Her gnarled fingers prodded his ribs gently but expertly, and Brauk growled like an animal. She felt his pulse and placed her ear over his heart. Rahkki watched in sickening silence, waiting to hear if his brother would die.

  Brim sat up and gave orders to bring an animal-hide stretcher so Brauk could be removed to her shed. Brauk’s eyelids fluttered shut, and he slipped back into unconsciousness.

  “Well?” Rahkki asked.

  Brim touched his shoulder. “His injuries are severe. If he survives the night, I think he’ll live. That’s all I can tell you right now.”

  Rahkki nodded, gulping air. He looked again at Sula. Amid much muttering, the auction had resumed, but the energy had left the arena. Sula stood like an elder Kihlara, hollow backed and lackluster. Tuni urged her to move, but she refused, not with defiance, but with dejection. Tuni tapped her rear lightly with the whip, but when Sula didn’t flinch, Tuni gave up, not wanting to beat her with it.

  The auctioneer, a small Sandwen man in a black tunic, cajoled the spectators, but no highborn Sandwen wanted to bid on a man-killer, because that’s how they viewed Sula now, even though Brauk was currently still alive.

  The stretcher arrived, and Brauk was loaded carefully onto it. Uncle and a few Riders took the stretcher’s handles and walked toward the arena gate. “Coming?” Brim asked.

  Rahkki stood between his brother and Sula, looking from one to the other. He knew she hadn’t meant to hurt Brauk. He knew Harak had pushed her past her limits. Sula stared back at him, her spirit appearing crushed. She took no pleasure in having kicked the wrong man. “I’m coming,” he said to Brim.

  But then the spectators burst into loud murmuring. Rahkki turned, wondering what was happening. Mut Finn was standing on the rail, waving his purse over his head. “Two dramals for her,” he shouted.

  Rahkki’s heart sped a notch. Sula was worth a full round at least. Two dramals was nothing!

  Lilliam rose up, her face inflamed by the low bid.

  The grass folk surged to their feet, inspired by Mut. If the wealthy would not bid on the wild mare, then they would. It was the opportunity of a lifetime—a chance to own a winged steed for a song. Several young men and women rushed the fence, throwing out bids—two dramals and twenty jints, three dramals even, three dramals and ten jints—upping each other by the tiniest increments.

  “No!” roared the queen. “The minimum bid is one round.”

  The young bidders spit on the ground and yelled at the queen. Dissatisfaction with Lilliam had begun long before it ripened, and now it ramped higher. She’d failed to protect them from the giants. She collected exorbitant tithes. And now the lowborn Sandwens saw their chance to strike a blow, however symbolic. Tuni and her Dusk Patrol rode in to threaten the crowd.

  The bidding stopped, and the tented folk sat back, chomping on honeycombs and watching the crowd, looking bemused.

  The auctioneer approached the queen and they had quick words, then Lilliam smiled widely. “This braya is no longer for sale,” she announced.

  The grass folk booed her, but the queen remained smiling.

  “Instead, I’m going to give her away tomorrow . . . in a contest.” She let her words settle on the gathered clans, and then she lifted her chin. “Whoever can fly her to the clouds and back can keep her.”

  The grass folk broke into wild murmuring. The tented folk leaned forward, interested in the new turn of events.

  “But my queen, she’s not saddle broke,” said Tuni, loud enough for all to hear. “She’s never worn a bit or bridle. No one can control her in the sky.”

  The queen smirked. “That’s what makes it a contest, Headwind Hightower.” Then she glanced toward the tented folk. “And to keep it interesting, my auctioneer will place odds on the contestants and organize the betting.”

  The tented folk slapped their legs in excitement, and Rahkki understood the queen’s plan right away. She would make more profit on the betting than she would have made on the sale.

  Lilliam motioned toward the young men and women who were eager to become Riders. “Come forward if you think you can ride this wild winged steed.”

  A flurry of young Sandwens, five females and seven males, including Mut and Koko, hopped the arena fence and gathered in front of Sula. The mare backed away, flaring her nostrils.

  “And what if no one can ride her?” asked a young man from the Fourth Clan.

  The queen’s smile was ferocious. “Then tomorrow I’ll feed her to our guardian mascot, Granak.”

  Rahkki gasped. Sula was a Child of the Wind. She was precious.

  The silver mare fidgeted, uncomfortable with the throng of people staring at her; and Rahkki, who was still in the arena, stepped toward her, thinking to calm her.

  The queen spotted him and frowned. “You have to be twelve or older to enter the contest,” she said, making up the rule on the spot.

  “I am twelve,” Rahkki answered automatically.

  There was some laughter from the other clans.

  “So you’re entering?” the queen asked, smirking now, her eyes daring him.

  She hopes I’ll fall off Sula and die, Rhakki thought, but his heart thudded with the possibilities. If he entered the contest and stayed on Sula for one ride, he could have her—and then he could set her free. It’s just one ride. But then he glanced at her and saw the fear and desperation sloshing behind her gaze—and he doubted she’d ever been more dangerous. No, he thought. No way can I ride her. And Sula would never forgive me if I tried.

  “No,” he said. “I’m not entering.”

  Queen Lilliam nodded dismissively and then made her last announcement. “Entries close at morning bells tomorrow. All contestants have until then to put in their names”—she smiled and paused dramatically—“or to withdraw them.”

  Rahkki turned away, but d
eep inside him a voice flickered—If you can’t ride her, then who can?

  37

  Grief

  TUNI SLID A DARK HOOD OVER ECHOFROST’S HEAD and then led her out of the arena with her mare, Rizah, following. Echofrost swished her tail, hating the rattling of the bells and the weight of the hard beads. Her legs trembled and her thoughts tumbled—what was going to happen to her? She’d kicked Brauk—a Rider who was not threatening her. Harak must have anticipated her kick and dived out of the way just as Brauk was running up behind her. It was a mistake, an accident.

  Tuni stroked Echofrost’s neck. “It’s not your fault,” she said.

  Sadness caused Tuni’s voice to warble, and Echofrost heard it. Tuni and Brauk were friends, but Tuni wasn’t angry with her. No, but she sounded worried.

  The pinto mare Rizah walked beside Echofrost, nickering to her. “Listen, Sula, tomorrow those young ones are going to compete for you. Sometimes this is done when a Kihlara doesn’t sell.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means you better pay attention, because whoever can ride you to the clouds and back gets to keep you. You’ll be bound in a ceremony and sent to the Sky Guard of the Rider’s clan.”

  I will never let that happen, thought Echofrost.

  The familiar creaking of the barn door told Echofrost she was back in the Kihlari den. This was confirmed when Tuni led her into her stall and removed her hood. Tuni pitched her some hay, then she left without another word, leaving Echofrost alone.

  “Shysong?” Echofrost nickered.

  “She’s gone,” said Kol.

  “Gone?”

  “She lives in Fort Prowl now, with the princess. Probably in her bedroom, though she’ll have a stall in the royal stable too. Your friend has done well, Sula. She’ll have the best of everything.”

  “But she’s alone! She has no herd. A . . . a person alone

  is not good company for a pegasus.” Echofrost’s anger cleared away her muddled thoughts.