Water & Storm Country

by David Estes

  “Thank you,” I say.

  “You’re most welcome. And sorry again about…the bite marks.” He turns to leave.

  “Barney?”

  “Aye, sir?” He turns back.

  “There are crumbs in your beard,” I say, unable to hold back a chuckle.

  ~~~

  The rain’s been pounding us for days, so strong and endless that all hands are on deck, using buckets to bail it over the sides. The bilge too, only, with no buckets left they have to use their hands.

  I don’t look at her, like I’ve done all week. I’m not sure if she knows why I’ve been ignoring her, but I won’t risk so much as a sideways glance in her direction, not when Hobbs continues to lurk. I’m all over you.

  Drenched from head to toe, my arms ache as I scoop another half-bucket of water, dumping it over the side just as the ship crashes into a mountainous wave, dumping ten times more water back on top of me. It’s a never ending battle, I realize as I come up spluttering. One of the sailors was knocked clean over by the wave. I help him to his feet as thunder erupts overhead.

  Just one more day, I think as I once more fill my bucket. It’s the same thing I’ve thought every day. Only the storm never seems to end.

  Although I wouldn’t have thought it possible, the wind strengthens, coming in bursts and blasts that threaten to knock every man and woman off their feet.

  Above us, there’s a horrendous riiiip! as if the very sky above us is being torn in two. I look up to find a ragged gash in the main sail, opened up by one of the wind bursts.

  And then I see her. Not because I was seeking her out, or because I’ve forgotten to avoid looking at her, but because she’s right where I’m looking, climbing the rain-soaked mast, for once using the ladder, clinging to it like I usually do.

  Jade’s headed right for the tear in the sail and it’s clear she’s going to try to repair it.

  No, I think. Even with her skill in climbing, attempting to use the rope bridges, which are swinging wildly, is suicide in the middle of a tempest such as this. But what can I do? Hobbs has stopped bailing, too, is watching her climb. He looks at me, right at me—a challenge. Whatcha gonna do, sailor?

  Lightning sizzles in jagged streaks above us, so close I can smell burning in the air. I stumble when the ship breaks over a tall wave, plummeting down the steep side, tossed about like a leaf in a whitewater river. Grabbing the railing, I regain my balance and look up. Jade has missed a ladder rung and is hanging by her hands, which are slipping, slipping…

  My breath catches as her feet scrabble wildly below her, but then they find purchase, somehow managing to find traction on the slick foothold.

  Danger looms from above.

  The next wave.

  How did it get above the ship? Do waves have wings?

  Dozens of shouts rise above the thunder as the wave rains upon us, knocking each and every man and woman and white-skinned and brown-skinned person off their feet.

  I’m swimming. I’m on the ship and I’m swimming, gasping for breath, choking on saltwater and pushing seaweed out of my eyes. Still alive, still fighting.

  And then the ship lurches over the next wave, tilting so far that the pool of water rushes off over the side and back to whence it came. I slide along the deck, not stopping until I slam into the railing, tangled with another man—the sailor I helped up earlier?—and a hefty woman who works in the kitchens and is known to eat more of what she cooks than those she cooks it for.

  But I barely see them, barely feel their arms and legs as we pull apart, because…

  Because…

  My eyes are glued to the mast, which is swaying, creaking, and finally cracking—with an awful splintering, ear-wrenching CRRRACKKK!—as Jade climbs higher and higher, past the torn sail, all the way to the bird’s nest, where she manages to slip over the side, disappearing from sight.

  Still lying on my back and feeling the Big Blue rage beneath the ship, I drop my gaze to the base of the mast, where a thin jagged line of black has formed in the wood. The mast is badly damaged, maybe permanently, but it’s still upright, not broken through completely.

  And she’s up there.

  I realize someone else is tangled up with me, straining beneath my weight, pushing me away. When I roll to the side and look back, it’s Hobbs, glaring. “Rally the men!” he shouts. “This is too much, we have to make for land, run aground if we have to.”

  There’s no time. The mast could collapse at any moment. Another wave, a burst of wind, a lightning strike.

  “You do it,” I say. “I have to do something.”

  His mouth contorts in anger. “You may be the lieutenant on board, but I’m still your superior officer. You’ll do as I command!”

  I shake my head and clamber to my feet, squinting through the blistering rain.

  With Hobbs cursing behind me, I run for the mast.

  The damage is even worse than I thought. Structurally, the mast is destroyed, splintered both vertically and horizontally, sharp shards of wood sticking out at weird angles. Half of it, however, is still holding strong, as thick as a man’s thigh. I’ll be lucky if I make it to the top before it breaks.

  But I have to try. I killed for her. I lied for her. And now I have to save her.

  The ladder rungs feel like they’re made of water, not metal. Before I can even get a grip, my fingers slide away. I try again, this time being careful to lock my fingers around them.

  My feet slip twice on the way to the top, but each time I manage to regain my footing. Three times I have to stop and just hang on as the ship climbs and topples over waves that seem more like Big Blue’s fists than rolling mounds of water. He punches us, kicks us, but still the ship floats.

  There are shouts from below, and I know it’s Hobbs who’s rallying the men, the women, the bilge—saving us, doing my job, or Captain Montgomery’s, or both.

  Head down, I climb the last few rungs, hearing a voice from above. “Huck!”

  I look up and Jade’s arms are there, stretching to grab me, to pull me into the crow’s nest. I tumble over the side in an exhausted heap. Jade’s hugging me, but not awkwardly or passionately or anything normal. It’s more like clinging to me, and I realize I’m clinging right back.

  Water sloshes around us, escaping through cracks in the lookout structure, but refilling faster than it can be emptied.

  “We have to get down before it collapses!” I yell amidst a sudden clap of thunder.

  Jade’s entire body shakes as she nods, trembling with cold and fear in my arms. Gone is her tough exterior. Was it all an act or has she just reached her limit?

  Whatever the case, I must be strong for her now.

  I stand, pulling her up with me, peering over the side. The crew, under Hobbs’ command, has managed to turn the ship. The air is so thick with rain and fog that they can’t possibly be sure of the right direction. More likely we’ll be sailing in circles until the storm passes.

  The ship lurches sharply one way and then back the other, rolling over the mountains of waves. Each change in direction puts strain on the mast, which, miraculously, is still holding strong.

  Maybe, just maybe, we can get down before it’s too late…

  CRRREAKKK!

  The mast sways when it’s hit by a giant’s breath of wind.

  CRRAACKKKK!

  It shatters, shuddering and groaning, wavering one way and then the other. The Deep Blue beckons it, calling for wood and blood and destruction and debris.

  “Huck!” Jade cries as we fall, clutching at me as I clutch the side of the bird’s nest.

  We fall, slowly at first, but then faster and faster.

  This can’t be happening. A bad dream. A really bad dream.

  I stare into the waiting arms of the waves. There’s nothing to be done. Nothing but fall and beg for mercy, think silent prayers. Deep Blue, please take me instead of her. Let my life be your sacrifice. Take me. Please.

  All I see in the face of the Deep Blue is hunger
. There will be no trade. Not when He can have us both.

  SNAP! SNAP! SNAP! SNAP!

  One by one, the rope bridges we so carefully constructed to allow us to repair the sails break off, snapping past us, cracking like whips. One lashes my face, stinging my skin. If we can only grab one, swing away…

  It’s too late—far too late for action.

  The Deep Blue calls my name. Huuuuuuuck!

  The impact of hitting the water is as powerful as the shock. Water surrounds, cold and frantic, trying to force its way into my mouth, my nose, to pull me under. I clutch the splintered shards of wood sticking out from the bird’s nest, cutting my hands. Fighting for my life. That’s when it hits me:

  Where’s Jade?

  Chapter Thirty

  Sadie

  Firm hands shake me awake in the dark. “Sadie!” a voice says.

  Reflexively, I reach out, grab the hands with my own. Heat flashes in my head and chest. The hands are rough and strong and Remy’s.

  I let go like I’ve been burned.

  “What is it?” I say.

  “It’s, uh, I’m supposed to, um…”

  I’ve never heard him stumble so much on a simple sentence. Did I surprise him just now? “Spit it out,” I say, smiling in the dark at his rare display of awkwardness.

  “He’s awake,” Remy says, and he doesn’t have to explain who the he is. The guard. The injured guard.

  But there was so much blood.

  “He won’t last long,” Remy says and I push out a heavy breath. He’s dying.

  “I’m—I’m sorry,” I say.

  “Later,” Remy says. “You have to hurry. Father says you should be there for the questioning. You’re the closest thing to a witness we have.”

  The weariness falls away from me like a snake shedding its skin. I’m on my feet in an instant, hurriedly pushing out of the tent and following Remy. Light, misting rain leaves glistening drops on my skin, attaching to the fine hairs on my arms. The night is ink-black, save for the burning glow of the Big Fire, raging strong enough to withstand the sprinkle from the clouds above.

  We reach the string of healing tents and Remy leads me inside one. A man cries out in agony. Gard kneels beside him, filling a corner of the tent. A Healer mops the man’s brow with a wet cloth.

  A woman cries softly into her hands. The guard’s wife. Remy’s mother comforts her with a gentle hand on her back, an occasional whisper in her ear.

  I know her loss, and no amount of words can comfort her now.

  You sssee what I have done? the voice says in my head.

  You’re not real, I think, only realizing I’ve spoken it out loud when Gard looks up at me in confusion.

  “What was that, Sadie?” he asks.

  “Nu-nothing,” I stutter. “You asked for me?”

  A question clouds his wrinkled brow for a moment, but then his face relaxes. “I fear you’ve wasted your precious hours of sleep. Mother Earth is taking him in the most painful manner. We’ve barely drawn a word or two out of him, and nothing meaningful.”

  Across from Gard, the woman sobs.

  “Let me speak to him,” I say, fear squeezing my heart as I wonder: What did this man see? Will he tell us a tale of a clawed forest-dwelling monster? Attacking and ripping and tearing.

  I am Evil, the voice says.

  I shake my head as Gard moves aside so I can get closer.

  The man’s face is wracked with pain, his eyes closed, his lips clamped tight until he lets out a tortured moan that pushes a shudder down my spine.

  “His name,” I say.

  “Nole,” Gard says.

  “Nole,” I say, trying to keep the uncertainty out of my voice. What can I say that Gard hasn’t already? How can I convince Mother Earth to let this man speak one last time? “My mother and father have both been taken. Soon you will go to join them.”

  Nole stiffens for a second, but then relaxes. Sweat trickles down his cheek. Or is it a tear? Thick white bandages are wrapped around his naked stomach. The Healer has done all she can do. It’s in Mother Earth’s hands now.

  A flash of pain crosses Nole’s face and his eyes spring open, but this time he doesn’t cry out. “Nole, tell us what happened. You could save many lives,” I say.

  His eyes meet mine for the first time, like he’s only just realized I’m here, that I’m the one speaking. A wail slips from his wife’s lips, but I raise a hand in her direction and she manages to stifle it. How am I so calm when this man is dying? The answer is black and obvious: Because I have to know what did this.

  “It…was…” The words come slow, like rainwater dripping from a leaf long after the storm has passed. “…our…fault.”

  What? He’s dying, and yet he’s taking blame…for what exactly? For getting stabbed? For bleeding on the ground? He’s confused, from pain or loss of blood or trauma.

  “You did nothing wrong,” I say. “Just tell us who did this to you.”

  His body stops convulsing and he suddenly looks so calm that if it wasn’t for his sweat-stained face and bandaged gut I’d swear he was nothing more than a man trying to get some sleep. His voice strengthens. “They appeared out of nowhere, as if the night spat them out just in front of the camp.” Nole takes a deep swallow, but then continues. “There were two men, one as light-skinned as a Soaker, but not as fair, with dark hair and a thick beard; the other was darker skinned, but not like us. Light brown. They surprised us. Our fault.” He cringes, but I can tell it’s not pain, but sadness that causes it. Tears flow freely from his eyes, spilling over his lips, which are open enough to show that his teeth are grinding sharply against each other.

  “No, Nole,” I say, trying to get his attention back. “Nothing’s your fault. What happened next?”

  For a long moment I fear I’ve lost him to despair, but then he speaks again. “Their hands were out and they held no weapons. I drew my sword and they stopped moving closer. The white-skinned one had anger in his eyes, but he didn’t threaten us, only asked to see our leader.”

  At that, Gard crowds in close beside me. “They wanted to see me? But why?”

  “I—I…” Fresh tears well up. “I’m sorry. I waved my torch to get a better look at them, and the light glinted off a long blade hanging from the brown-skinned man’s belt. We panicked. We attacked him, both of us, at once. We fought to kill. He was a great warrior. Far superior to us. He had no choice.” Nole clutches his side as if remembering when the brown-skinned man’s blade sunk into his flesh.

  “Where did they go?” I ask, picturing them lurking within the camp, hiding in shadows, blood dripping from the murderous sword.

  “Back into the forest,” he says, his voice weakening. “They ran, left us there…to…die.” A strangely peaceful look crosses his face as he manages a smile.

  “Nole?” I say in alarm.

  “It doesn’t hurt anymore,” he says. His eyes flash to his wife. “Teza, come to me.” The woman swoops to him like a bird of prey to a rodent, smothering him with her arms and kisses. Over her shoulder he says, “I love you, Teza.”

  I want to look away, but I can’t. I feel tied to this man, to his story. I’m ashamed at the relief I feel in my heart because now I know it wasn’t my fault, wasn’t some Evil from the forest that killed two Stormers.

  No, it wasssn’t, the Evil says. But I will kill. You can’t ssstop me.

  Nole’s lips move one last time, his pink tongue flashing with each word. “The white…man said…his name…was Dazz.”

  And then he dies.

  ~~~

  Every last Rider is here, none of us able to sit although Gard has asked us to several times.

  When we left Nole’s body to the care of his wife and the Healer, the sun was already peeking over the horizon, chasing away the misting rain, casting a pink glaze over the camp. Far too cheery a color for the night’s stormy events.

  Gard called the Riders to assembly immediately. The rumors began buzzing in whispers and hisses as the black-
clad warriors streamed to a point just outside the camp, beyond the stables.

  Ten guards dead, but how?

  Under attack by the Icers and the Soakers?

  They fell from the sky like rain, murdering children in their beds?

  Despite the ludicrousness of the gossip, I stay silent, knowing the truth will come out soon enough.

  Dazz, I think. An Icer? Despite Nole’s claim that the fault lay with him, my hands clench in anger. My mother was killed by an Icer. I will get my revenge.

  Eventually Gard manages to calm the Riders, even convincing them to sit in the grass, which is still wet with the night mist. My hands are anxious, resting first on my knees and then on the damp earth, before finally sitting knotted in my lap. Surely this will be a call to war. The only question is with whom.

  First, Gard tells the true story, stamping out the rumors almost as quickly as they arose. Two guards dead. Likely attacked by an Icer and a Heater. Since when have those two tribes fought together? I wonder. Are we entering a time when every tribe bands together as one, an invincible adversary determined to wipe all good from the earth? Will Mother Earth allow it?

  “We have to act!” a Rider yells when Gard finishes.

  “Yeah!” a woman screams, her cry mimicked by a dozen more voices, like echoes. Some of the Riders stand, fists clenched at their sides.

  “We cannot act against an enemy we can’t see,” Gard says, gesturing for the Riders to sit. Grudgingly, they do. “We could rush off and start a war. But will there be anyone left when we return?” There’s silence, Gard’s words weighing heavily on the too-bright morning.

  “We cannot do nothing,” I say, surprised at my brazenness. I stand, wondering what I’ll say even as I say it. “They’ve attacked us in our home. They’ve practically begged us for war.” I sense the words are mine, but not. Only part mine. Evil lurks behind them, but they feel right. Will my mother’s death go unanswered?

  “They were provoked,” Gard says. “Nole admitted that it was his fault—that he was spooked and acted out of fear. They only wanted to talk to me.”