Across the Dark Water

by Jennifer Lynn Alvarez

“What happened out there?” Kol asked, changing the subject. “Were you sold?”

  Echofrost inhaled sharply. Kol didn’t know what she’d done, that she’d injured his Rider. How could she tell him?

  “If you’d been sold, your new owner would have marked your shoulder. Did that happen?” Kol pressed.

  “No.”

  He huffed. “Well, it’s the Ruk for you then. That’s too bad.”

  “I don’t think so,” Echofrost replied. “Rizah said there will be a competition for me.” Then she exhaled slowly. “But I need to tell you something. I—I made a mistake.”

  “Well, that doesn’t surprise me,” he said with a playful toss of his glistening mane.

  Echofrost didn’t want to draw it out, so she blurted it fast. “I kicked Brauk. He’s hurt.”

  Kol went as still as death. “How hurt?”

  “He’s alive.”

  “I said, how hurt?”

  Echofrost backed away from Kol’s head, which was draped over her wall. “I’m not sure. It’s bad though.”

  He blew hot air out his nostrils. “If Brauk doesn’t recover, I will kill you.”

  “It was a mistake,” Echofrost whispered, knowing her words sounded weak.

  Kol withdrew and spun a circle in his stall. Then he brayed so loud she had to cover her ears with her wings. It was the same cry of alarm the pegasi of Anok used to call for help. It was used only in times of extreme distress. Echofrost felt the pull in her heart to answer him, but she couldn’t since she was the cause of his pain.

  Rizah the palomino pinto lifted her head and joined Kol’s cry with her own, and then the rest of the Kihlari in the barn joined them. Their trumpeting wails filled Echofrost’s ears. She closed her eyes, thinking: Stop, stop. Images tumbled: Rahkki racing across the arena, shouting his brother’s name; Harak’s startled face, Tuni’s rush of tears; the queen’s sly smile.

  The images merged and whirled in her head, forming and re-forming, and then reshaping into something else: her brother, Bumblewind. He appeared in her mind’s eye as if he were standing right in front of her: his friendly face, his warm brown eyes, his brown-edged golden feathers. The anger and grief she’d been battling since his death reared up in her gut, strangling her and shattering her heart. It was time to stop running from it, blaming others for it, so she faced it—her brother’s death in Anok.

  She remembered the story as she’d heard it from Hazelwind. The dire wolves had attacked them. Their leader, a white she-wolf, had snatched Bumblewind and thrown him into a tree, cracking his head against it. He’d lived through the night, but the following day, still suffering from memory loss and confusion, he’d died with Hazelwind by his side.

  She faced her memories while grief tore into her like a hungry lion. “I wasn’t there when you needed me most!” She said the words in a gasp, and then she knelt down in her straw, racked with sobs. She was his sister, his twin sister. They’d shared the same womb and the same friends, but she hadn’t been there when he’d taken his final breath. She’d lived an entire day and night in absolute ignorance that his cold body had been buried in stones. She’d blamed Hazelwind, but he’d told her as soon as he could. No, Dewberry was right: Echofrost wasn’t mad at him—never had been; no, the creature she despised was herself!

  Echofrost sobbed into her feathers, off and on, for the rest of the day. Bumblewind was gone, and she’d never cried for him, or let him go. Instead she’d coddled her anger, nursed it like a starving foal, but it was time to say good-bye.

  When she’d cried herself out, she wiped her eyes. Lying in her stall, she’d never felt so alone. Rahkki would hate her now. The cub admired his brother, like she’d admired hers. Brauk was still alive; but she’d heard the snapping of his bones, the wheezing of his breath, and she’d seen his face turn white. His injuries were severe. She’d have to live with what she’d done, and so would Rahkki and Kol, and worst of all, Brauk.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered to them all—and to herself; but no one was listening.

  38

  Viper

  THE FOLLOWING MORNING RAHKKI WOKE AND stretched, noticing his hair was full of straw. Where am I? He rolled to his feet, suddenly remembering. He was in Brim Carver’s shed. He’d slept in one of her clean stalls with Uncle, but now he was alone. Rahkki opened the stall door and spied Brauk asleep on a cot.

  The animal healer sat by his side, singing a clan lullaby, different from the one she’d sung to Rahkki. Darthan was outside smoking his pipe. The sky was warming from silver to gold, and the insects chirped with raucous abandon. It was almost time for morning bells.

  “How is he?” Rahkki asked Brim. His brother’s suntanned skin was pale. His wave of dark hair lay flat.

  “He’s not going to die,” Brim murmured, but by her eyes Rahkki knew something was terribly wrong.

  “What?” he asked as his throat tightened.

  “He can’t feel his legs, Rahkki.”

  “What does that mean?”

  Brim met his gaze and told him straight. “When Sula kicked your brother, her hooves broke several ribs. But those aren’t the injuries I’m concerned about. When she struck, she sent him flying backward into a fence post. His spine is injured—bruised or fractured maybe—I can’t be certain until the swelling recedes. But right now, your brother can’t wiggle his toes. He can’t walk.”

  Rahkki’s legs wobbled like noodles, and he had to sit down. Can’t walk? No, that was impossible. Brauk was always in motion, always springing on his toes, always dancing, or fighting, or running. It wasn’t conceivable that he couldn’t walk. “No. That’s not right; it can’t be right.” Rahkki’s eyes bulged, but he saw only Brauk in his mind: Brauk lifting Rahkki onto his shoulders, Brauk racing him to the barn, and Brauk flying on Kol.

  “It will be days before I know more, maybe longer,” said Brim. “And healing will take time, perhaps several months.”

  Several months! Rahkki squatted, unable to breathe.

  “Brauk must rest and stay positive.” Brim’s wrinkles danced across her face as she spoke. “Your brother believes he’ll heal in a few days. He won’t accept a thing I tell him, and he’s leaning on his anger for strength; but anger won’t help him with this.” She nodded toward Brauk’s limp legs, and then she left Rahkki alone with his brother and joined Darthan outside the shed.

  Rahkki crawled to Brauk’s side. He wanted to lie beside him, but there was no room on the cot. He took Brauk’s hand, tracing his calluses, prodding his strong fingers, and wondering at his trail of scars. Brauk had the grip of a python, and he often won silly contests with the other Riders—squeezing their hands until they cried out or hanging from a tree branch longer than anyone else. Rahkki hugged his brother’s forearm and kissed his palm.

  Brauk blinked, his eyelids mere slits. “If you’re going to practice kissing, could you use your own hand?”

  Rahkki sputtered into a weak laugh and gripped Brauk’s palm tighter.

  “I can’t sit up,” his brother said.

  “Don’t try,” Rahkki said. “Just rest.” He took long, slow breaths, stuffing his grief where Brauk couldn’t see it.

  “What happened to that viper, Sula?” Brauk asked, his voice low and his words slurred. “Did the queen sell her?”

  “No,” Rahkki answered. “She’s holding a contest. Whoever can ride Sula gets to keep her.” And if they can’t, the queen will feed her to Granak—Rahkki couldn’t bear to think about it.

  Brauk groaned and closed his eyes. “Sula’s going to kill someone, or worse.” Then his breaths slowed as he drifted into deep sleep.

  Rahkki clutched his short hair. Sula had perhaps already done the worst; Brauk just didn’t know it yet. Why had his brother interfered? He should have let Sula kick Harak. Rahkki shook his head, no; Brauk was protecting another Rider, something he did without thinking.

  Brim and Uncle entered the shed. “Come outside with me,” said Uncle Darthan. Rahkki stood and followed his uncle while the ani
mal doctor tended Brauk. “Brim told you about your brother?” he asked.

  Rahkki nodded. “It’s not fair. Brauk was trying to help.”

  Uncle faced the rising sun, exhaling. “You don’t want life to be fair, Rahkki.”

  “I don’t?”

  Uncle shook his head. “No, because who decides what is fair—the queen, the giants, Granak? What is fair to one is not fair to another. Fairness is a sentiment that will sprout bitterness in your heart.”

  “But if Brauk can’t walk . . . it will kill him,” he said quietly.

  “Only if he lets it,” said Uncle.

  “When will you tell him?”

  “Soon,” said Uncle, “but not today.”

  “Brim said the numbness might be temporary.”

  Darthan smiled. “Life is temporary, Rahkki.” His uncle pointed toward the arena. “They’re about to begin the contest for Sula. Did you enter?”

  “No.” Rahkki blushed. In the cozy light of morning, he felt like a coward.

  “The queen wants it over with before the feeding of Granak later. Why don’t you go watch? Brauk needs to rest.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes. Here, take this with you.” Darthan walked inside and returned with a wooden bowl. Inside was a mixture of rice that was soaked in goat’s milk and spiced with nutmeg.

  Rahkki took his breakfast and walked to the arena. He arrived to a smaller crowd than had appeared the day before. Most of the clansfolk, especially the mothers and elders, did not want to watch the contestants attempt to ride Sula, certain she would destroy them. So it was young, single, and childless folk who were attending today, along with the wealthy merchants and traders who planned to wager on the odds.

  Sula was already standing in the ring with Tuni, dancing nervously on her hooves. Her coat was sleek and shining silver; her white mane and tail were braided with feathers, bells, and colorful beads. She was tethered to a tree so she couldn’t fly away, and the Headwind had attached reins to her halter. She wore no saddle, no bit. Whoever rode her today would have to do it bareback.

  The contestants rolled on the balls of their feet, anxious to get started. They were young, mostly teens and apprentices.

  Mut and Koko met his gaze, each looking fierce and eager. This was probably the only chance they would ever have to own a Kihlara Flier.

  Rahkki watched Sula stare down the contestants, her eyes flat and black, like a snake’s before striking, and he knew like he breathed air that none of them would be able to ride her.

  And if they couldn’t, the queen would feed her to Granak.

  The morning bells began to ring. “Last call for names!” shouted the auctioneer. “Who wants to win this wild braya?”

  Before he could stop himself, Rahkki threw up his hand. “I do.”

  39

  The Contenders

  EVERYONE TURNED TO STARE AT RAHKKI: THE queen, the contestants, the bettors, and the spectators.

  The auctioneer gaped, raking his eyes over him as though there must be more to Rahkki than met the eye. Then he glanced at the queen, and she nodded. “All right,” called the auctioneer. “We have thirteen contestants.” He introduced all thirteen, ending with “Rahkki Stormrunner, Rice Apprentice of the Fifth Clan. Now step out of the arena, please,” he instructed. “You’ll ride in the order you were announced. The mare will remain tethered until a contestant has control of her. On the queen’s signal the tether will be cut. The first one to fly her to the clouds and back keeps her.”

  In the pale morning sunshine, the wealthy folk who’d pitched the plushest shade tents gathered around a communal table. They were mostly merchant traders, generals, and royal advisers. Their stewards held their sacks of coin, and as the odds on the first contestant were announced, the betting began.

  The folks watching on the grass were friends and relatives of the contestants or curious bystanders. They had grim expressions and crossed arms. Since Uncle Darthan had refused Brauk any visitors, a rumor had spread that he’d died. A Kihlara steed that killed a Rider was a bad omen—bad luck—and the contestants’ families were not pleased. But the contestants themselves looked hopeful. An unlucky Kihlara was preferable to no Kihlara—and for those without means, like Mut and Koko, Sula was their only chance to touch the clouds.

  Rahkki found a spot on the grass next to the teens who’d come to cheer on Mut and Koko. “Isn’t that your wildling mare?” one asked.

  “She’s not mine,” Rahkki replied, keeping his eyes on Sula.

  Mut looked down at him. “You sure there’s no size limit to ride her?” His friends laughed.

  Rahkki finished his breakfast, ignoring them.

  Mut was the first contender. He strode into the arena full of spit and swagger.

  “Two to one,” the auctioneer barked.

  Rahkki noted the low odds. It meant they thought Mut could ride Sula, but he doubted it. The boy was too large to control his own weight if she tossed him.

  Tuni held Sula steady, but Mut grabbed her reins and shooed Tuni away. A long rope extended from Sula’s neck to an ancient tree, tethering her but giving her room to run and glide. The queen wouldn’t risk her flying away by herself.

  Mut leaped onto Sula’s back, and Tuni shuffled out of their way. The silver mare staggered a few steps and then stood frozen. The tent folk exchanged excited murmurs. Mut flashed a big smile to his friends and kicked Sula in the ribs.

  She lowered her head and bucked him off, launching the big kid thirty lengths with cool calmness. He landed with a grunt. “What?” Mut said. “I wasn’t ready.”

  “Next,” roared the queen.

  Coins flew as the odds changed on all the contestants,

  and the queen smiled sweetly. Her auctioneer was collecting and paying out the bets, and as the odds rose, so did her profits.

  Mut returned to his friends looking about a head shorter and with a sour expression on his face. “I wasn’t ready,” he repeated as his friends patted his sore back, making him wince.

  Sula easily threw off two more hopefuls with the same halfhearted buck as the first. Koko was the fourth contender. She was small and strong and able to ride through the bucks. Sula changed tactics and reared, then spun around in a fast circle. She wasn’t trying to hurt Koko, just unload her; but when the excited girl remained attached, Sula took to the sky. “Cut the tether,” Koko cried in excitement, but the queen raised her hand.

  “Not yet,” she commanded.

  Sula flew low, just a winglength over the arena, gliding in a wide circle. She flapped hard, gliding faster and faster until Koko’s eyes whirled in her head. Then Sula angled her wings, braked hard, and ducked. Koko sailed off her back, blond hair streaming, and hit the dirt with a dull thud and a sharp squeal. She earned a few admiring nods as she staggered out of the gate.

  A skinny boy, older than Rahkki, whistled. “Did you see that speed?” he said to no one in particular. “And in such a tight circle. Sula will make an excellent Flier.”

  The boy might as well have been eyeing a juicy buffalo steak the way he salivated over the mare, and Rahkki’s anger flared. That’s my winged horse, he thought, but of course, she wasn’t.

  The skinny boy was also the next to ride. He approached Sula slowly and offered her a treat. She snubbed it, which didn’t surprise Rahkki. Then the boy slid onto her back, and for a moment Sula held perfectly still. Dead silence fell on the arena, and Rahkki could hear his heart thudding. Then Sula turned, snatched the boy’s belt in her teeth, and tossed him aside like an annoying piece of tack.

  The bettors and the remaining contenders burst into loud laughter and applause. Even the queen managed a chuckle, and the odds in the tent changed again.

  Sula dislodged the next six contenders with equal aplomb, and Rahkki grew nervous. What would Sula do to him? He squeezed his fingers into fists, noticing the clammy feel of them. There was one contender left before it was Rahkki’s turn, an adult male. He was tall and fit. Rahkki recognized him—he was a
horse breaker—a man used to untrained steeds. He strode to Sula’s side, grabbed her mane, and heaved himself onto her back. She lifted off

  and flew a fast circle, then halted suddenly, but the young man held on, handling her firmly but gently.

  Sula whinnied and flew a loop. The man tightened his long legs and rode it out. Rahkki chewed his lip.

  As Sula bucked and whirled in the sky, the horse breaker counterbalanced her movements.

  “They’re a good pair,” said the skinny boy, leaning on the rail.

  Rahkki felt sick at his words, but he agreed, at least somewhat. They were a good pair, except that the young man’s height would be a problem for Sula in the long run. He was too tall, too heavy. He could ride her, but could he really pilot her for life? Rahkki thought not. He’d break her down.

  “Shall I cut the tether?” the auctioneer inquired.

  Lilliam nodded.

  Just then Sula pinned her ears and flew straight up, as high as the rope would allow, and then straight down, hurtling at a breakneck speed toward land. Her tail waved behind her like a banner, her bells jingled in the wind. Just before striking the dirt, she pulled out of the dive and barrel-rolled wing over wing across the arena, dumping her rider onto the sand.

  Free of him, she halted her spin and hovered with perfect balance, clearly unfazed by her incredible display of agility—which was beyond the capabilities of the Kihlari steeds. The tether twisted behind her, a tangled mess.

  As the queen, the gamblers, and the contestants gaped at her, Sula landed and preened her feathers, letting them stare.

  Rahkki’s heart overflowed with pride. Sula was magnificent in the small things as well as the big things. And as he’d predicted, no one could ride her.

  But now it was his turn. He entered the arena and stood in the center, wiping his sweating palms on his trousers.

  Queen Lilliam drummed her fingers on her bare arm, pondering him and the mare as the gamblers settled their wagers. Just then I’Lenna approached the arena from Fort Prowl, riding her new winged pet bareback. Firo looked confused, but she walked obediently. I’Lenna’s smile was radiant, and when she noticed Rahkki, she waved.