Ours Is the Storm
Page 29
“I’m sorry. For everything,” Azra said. “I love you. Please—end this.”
Ahi’rea felt the weight of the knife as she closed her fist around it. She looked back to the man standing over her. He was in pain, struggling to fight back the darkness that had almost taken him. Ahi’rea put the point of the knife to Azra’s chest. He nodded, and clasped her hand in his.
“I forgive you,” Ahi’rea said. “Azra—be free.”
He smiled, and then his eyes clouded with the void. His mouth twisted into a snarl.
“You,” she said. “Fall.”
She pushed, and let everything go in a torrent.
Azra was thrown back and shadow screamed from him, and green light surrounded it and burned the shadow away. Ahi’rea felt her arm shatter. All sound was lost in a wordless roar that seemed to arise from the stone itself, and she felt her breath stolen away and her eyes burn in the emerald fire.
—Twenty-Seven—
Ahi’rea shivered. The wind that swept in from the ocean was cold, and she pulled her doeskins tighter around her with one arm.
She felt Ruun’daruun’s touch and leaned into him. He put his arm around her and together they looked on as Haaph’ahin himself set flame to Tak’la’s pyre. It was an honor they had seldom seen given to the death-touched; a Sending of his own, on his own death, and an elder as his Sender. Ahi’rea had insisted on it, and Haaph’ahin had readily agreed once he had heard all that had happened.
They watched the flames consume his body and send his spirit on the Journey. In the east, the sun rose over the ocean, and the salt breeze carried the smoke away into the sky. Rahi’sta sang the chant for him, her child in her arms.
When it was over, the few remaining Huumphar began to drift away. Lasivar was leading the rest of the army south, to Ferihold, and there were others to mourn before they left the coast. Though Halkoriv’s army had scattered mid-battle, around the time the rain had stopped, they had killed many. Other Sendings had yet to be held.
Soon Ahi’rea and Ruun’daruun were alone on the beach, watching the pyre smolder. Beside it stood a small cairn, a dozen gray stones in a pile. No one had asked Ahi’rea why she built it, and she was not sure how she would have explained it to those who had not been at the Monument.
How Lasivar had lived, Ahi’rea was not sure. She had never understood all his power. He had not seemed surprised to learn that she and Azra had been the ones to destroy Sitis, nor had he seemed surprised when they did not find Azra’s body. Lasivar could not, or perhaps would not, explain it.
Ahi’rea’s vision was still weak, and she doubted she would ever regain the use of her arm. Lasivar had tried, unsuccessfully, to heal it. Her Sight, however, was stronger than it had ever been.
She and Ruun’daruun looked at the little cairn. She mused that this was all that remained of Azra, who had changed the course of so much—yet so few knew it. It was too much to explain to any but perhaps Lasivar and Haaph’ahin.
Ruun’daruun pulled Ahi’rea closer. “The other Sendings will be soon.” Ahi’rea nodded. “I must go—Ken’hra has no one to Send her—nor do many of the others.”
“I will be along soon.” Ahi’rea stepped away but let her hand linger on Ruun’daruun’s arm as she met his eyes. “Go. They need you.”
Ruun’daruun nodded and looked again at the small cairn. “We’ll have to move as soon as it’s done. Lasivar says they will come for us again.” He smiled. “We still have much to do—and I am glad we are together to face it.”
Ahi’rea smiled back and kissed him. “So am I.” Her eyes flickered.
“What do you See?” Ruun’daruun asked.
Her vision became unfocused, and her words were not all her own. She did not fight it this time, did not hate the feeling; she let it come. “Conflict. Halkoriv is gone, and Sitis’s spirit is cut off from this world. One storm has passed, but there is always another on the horizon.” Her vision came back to her, and Ruun’daruun looked at her, then toward the south.
“I’ll get our rain-capes.” He gave her hand a final squeeze.
As Ruun’daruun walked away, leaving her alone on the shore, Ahi’rea stepped toward the small cairn and the embers of Tak’la’s pyre. She reached down and took another stone from the rocky beach. It was heavy in her hand, and she was tired.
She reached out to place it atop the cairn she had built for Azra, but something stopped her. Instead, she drew her arm back, and threw the stone out over the ocean. It whirled and flashed in the sun, and fell and vanished beneath the waves.
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—Acknowledgements—
Thanks to Julie for all your love and support, as well as to my parents, grandfather, and brother and sister. Thanks to my early readers for suffering through drafts, errors, and more drafts, and for your insightful comments and encouragement: Ashlee Supinger, Alexis Wolf, Jason Faris. Allen Sanders, you've been and continue to be perhaps my greatest source of encouragement and enthusiasm. Thanks dude. Jared and Jasen, loafing around with you two telling stories has been one of the joys of my life, and my writing wouldn't be what it is without you. I owe Nicholas Theisen a debt of gratitude and also whiskey for his translation of the epigraph. Thanks to cover and map artist John Pohlman for working with my direction or lack thereof.
Many more have contributed long hours of reading and/or listening to me babble, so to anyone I missed, know that you have my sincere gratitude. Thank you for everything you've done.
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D. Thourson Palmer sheared sheep in central Ohio, studied in the Appalachian foothills, explored Japan by train and pack, and wandered the Central Valley of California. He lives in Columbus, Ohio.
Ours Is the Storm
Copyright © 2014 by D. Thourson Palmer
LCCN 2014957679
All rights reserved.
Cover and map by John Pohlman
Epigraph Translation by Nicholas Theisen
2nd Edition 2017
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