“Keep your eyes closed,” Kristoff said. Looking down while flying at these speeds would more than likely result in Rowen losing the meal of leftover meat he had eaten this morning.
Kristoff focused on flight. In a few short hours, they would be at the island.
Rowen clung tightly the entire time, refusing to move or look down, or even at the whirling winds of the thunderstorm. His breathing wasn’t erratic, though, so Kristoff assumed he wasn’t frightened by the experience. Hopefully he was trying to sense the energy Kristoff was using.
The island came into view, a spot of lush green. The island itself was situated almost smack in the middle of the inhabitable portions of the planet, and they experienced nearly every type of weather, though it never got cold enough to snow. It was a perfect place for the Storm Lords.
Kristoff debated for a moment where to take Rowen first. Feeling the same burning warmth under his skin, he opted for the physician he trusted most. Getting Rowen help came before making his report.
The two descended, Kristoff giving up control of the tendrils as his feet hit the ground, and he stumbled under Rowen’s sudden weight. They had landed in the courtyard of the largest medical facility on the island, fluted columns surrounding them. Out of the corner of his eye, Kristoff saw a young woman run inside the marble building, shouting for a Doctor Henrees.
Rowen squirmed out of Kristoff’s arms and stepped away, looking around him a bit wild-eyed. Kristoff held up a hand.
“Are you all right? We’re here now. I’ve taken you to get some medical attention….” And a good thing too. One of the blisters had burst sometime during the flight, and dried blood and fluid caked Rowen’s shoulder. Kristoff winced in sympathy at how painful that must have been, and he wished the young man could have said something. Maybe they would be able to help him speak!
He didn’t dare voice the thought, though. There was no point in getting Rowen’s hopes up.
“Kristoff?” a familiar voice called from the doorway. “The students are in an uproar. Have you brought us a new trainee?”
“Dr. Lorence!” He pointed for Rowen’s benefit at the heavyset man who waddled into the courtyard. Those who were born on the island without the ability to summon storms typically worked as specialists or farmers, supporting the Storm Lords, and Lorence was one who Kristoff favored since he had set his broken arm after a fall.
“This is Rowen. He’s….”
Dr. Lorence took one look at Rowen and grimaced, ignoring Kristoff. “Come inside immediately. Those burns must be tended to at once! How long have you had those blisters? How long were you exposed to the sun?” He was obviously talking to Rowen, who looked to Kristoff for help.
He decided to be blunt. “He can’t speak. I’ll answer any questions you have inside.” Kristoff cursed to himself. How humiliating it must be for Rowen, to be talked about and be unable to say anything? And what would Lorence think of him being found tied up, left to die? What would Lorana think? Would the governor accept someone like that?
Kristoff tried to push it out of his mind. He was Rowen’s mentor now. He had to take care of him, and for the moment that meant focusing on helping him get medical treatment.
To Lorence’s credit, the questions stopped, and they went inside the building. Kristoff hadn’t been in the medical facility since the incident ten years before, and the long hallways and pale white marble walls would have thoroughly confused him if not for Lorence. The doctor snapped his fingers at passing white-and-gold-clad students on the way, ordering for things like aloe, bandages, and a lancet. Rowen seemed even more confused than Kristoff but followed willingly enough.
Lorence led them to a room with a cot and instructed Rowen to lay on his back on a bed that was basically stone covered with a sheet. Kristoff remembered a similar arrangement when they had set his arm back in place. Before Kristoff could ask what was going on, Lorence was ushering him out of the room while simultaneously directing two younger boys in gold and white who carried bandages, pots of liquid, and what looked like a needle. Kristoff swallowed hard.
“This will be unpleasant, but we will take care of him. You need not worry; go take care of your report.” With that, the door slammed shut in his face.
“Wait!” Kristoff shouted. No one responded. He considered banging on the door but then thought better of it. The last thing he wanted was to startle whoever was wielding the needle at the time.
Guilt set in at the thought of leaving Rowen. He was supposed to be his mentor, and Rowen was hurt and more than likely confused. On top of that he couldn’t speak, so any questions the doctor asked wouldn’t be answered.
Then again… Kristoff still knew very little about Rowen. All he knew about how Rowen had gotten like that was information he had when he found him, which wasn’t much beyond the fact that he had been tied up. Logically, there was nothing he could really do to help the doctor or Rowen.
But somehow it still felt wrong to turn and leave the room, heading down the hallway alone.
HIS NEXT stop was to make his report. Typically it was an easy affair, merely commenting on the location of the heat spell he had dispelled and how much effort it had taken to do so. All of the records were kept in the Storm Building, where the governor and her aides worked to maintain affairs concerning managing heat spells and the training of apprentices. Every Storm Lord was expected to report directly to her as soon as they arrived back.
Now, though, anxiety plagued Kristoff as he walked into the building, worrying both about how he would explain what had happened and how Rowen was faring.
“Kristoff!” He nearly jumped at Lissa’s tone, normal for the excitable young woman, and her footsteps rang loud on the stone floor as she ran over to him from the desk she had been working at. One day, she hoped to be governor herself. “You were gone for ages! Was everything all right?”
“Everything is fine…. I’m going to make my report to Lorana. I, uh, found an apprentice.”
“Really?” Her voice echoed. “Where is he or she?”
“His name is Rowen, and I left him at the medical center.” Lissa’s face fell at his tone, and he felt guilty all over again.
“Was he hurt in the storm? What happened?”
“I… I’m not sure,” he managed to say, and a woman’s voice rang out from a room at the end of the hall.
“Kristoff!” Lorana was nearly sixty, but her commanding tone cracked like a whip. “Is that you, finally? Where have you been?”
“You’d better go.”
“I… I will.” He waved good-bye and hurried over to the governor’s office. He wished he could talk to Talia first and then berated himself for acting like a child. This was not supposed to be a big deal!
Lorana was seated at her desk, her writing quill dripping ink onto a blank page. “Report, Kristoff. And I expect to hear why it took you several days to return. Your mission was to dispel the heat over a portion of land in the southwest.”
“Yes… destroying the heat went off without a hitch. It was focused on land, not oversea, which was unusual, but I centered a hurricane and it did not take much effort to dispel it. The center was focused on a village, a small one with what looked to have residents numbering in the hundreds.”
Lorana shook her head. “I thought there were fewer. No matter. Good work. The spells are getting worse, and we need to monitor every single one, even if they are in a more primitive area. Do remember for the future, though, we need you here and on other assignments.” The words were harmless enough, but her tone dripped with disappointment. Kristoff inwardly winced.
“Dispelling the heat took no longer than usual. But I found an apprentice in the village and took him with me.”
Lorana’s eyebrows hit her hairline. “You should have said that first. Where is he, then?”
“I found him outside, tied up and left to die in the heat spell. He was badly burnt and suffering from heat exhaustion. I took him to an island farther north to recover a bit; he is recuperating i
n the medical center now.”
Lorana narrowed her eyes. “Why was he tied up?”
Kristoff sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “He… can’t speak. I don’t know why he was tied up, or anything about his family or upbringing. He is nineteen and his name is Rowen. That’s… really all I know.”
Lorana went quiet for a few moments, which felt like hours to Kristoff. His heart pounded.
“Do you feel qualified to train him?” she finally asked. “You are very young to be a Storm Lord, much less a mentor.”
Kristoff froze. He didn’t know he had a choice. He was young, to be sure, but he didn’t like the way she had said it, as though he wasn’t qualified. Then again… “What if… I don’t?”
“Then he will be mentored by someone else, someone older. Typically it is the responsibility of the one who finds the potential, but they are never forced to.”
“Has… anyone ever refused before?” Kristoff asked shakily.
“It is rare, but yes, a few times. Do you wish to refuse?” She gave him a knowing glance. The youngest Storm Lord. Of course she expected him to refuse.
Did he want to refuse? He knew nothing about Rowen. He was incredibly old to start training and could be a criminal for all Kristoff knew. He obviously had experienced hardships, and would experience far more. A student who couldn’t even speak would be a nearly impossible challenge, especially for one who had never mentored before, especially for a young Storm Lord like him. It would be logical to leave Rowen’s training up to someone else, someone more qualified.
And yet…. Kristoff realized that while it might be logical to refuse, while it would make his life easier, he didn’t want someone else to train Rowen. What little interaction he had with the young man, while nerve-racking, had instilled a sort of responsibility. Rowen was hurt, possibly afraid, and would be beginning his training at an enormous disadvantage. Kristoff was all he knew. It would be cruel to leave him now.
“No. I will train him.” Lorana’s eyebrows rose again, but Kristoff felt confident. With those words, much of Kristoff’s anxiety vanished.
Chapter 6
ROWEN WOKE to a gray stone ceiling, lighter than the dark stone of the cave, and definitely not the brown mud and thatch of his home. His body felt numb, only the slightest fleeting tingle letting him know that he even existed.
Memories came back slowly. The cave and Kristoff and the flight here, with the pain of blisters bursting, and finally the doctor. He was on the Storm Lord island that Kristoff spoke of, where they would train him. They had made him drink something, and then he remembered nothing else of whatever they had done.
It was obvious now, though, that the doctor had taken care of his injuries, healing the remnants of the burns that had covered his body. He moved his hand over his shoulders and abdomen, finding tight cloth bandages in places, and a cold creme on others.
Rowen had liked the mud Kristoff used better. The numbness bothered him, made him feel less than corporeal. The buzzing in his head from the medicine they had made him drink did not help.
Movement out of the corner of his eye turned into a woman wearing white and gold. “You’re awake?” she asked. He nodded, and she smiled brightly, but it looked fake. “Your mentor is waiting to meet with you, but first Doctor Lorence would like to examine you. Is that all right?”
He nodded again, happy that she asked easy yes or no questions. She walked off down a row of empty beds, exiting through a door to the left of the room.
Kristoff hadn’t told him that his medical treatment would be so involved. He had been in pain but had not realized that the burns were so serious. Was there a risk of them turning into that same splotchy illness that had killed Steveren?
Dr. Lorence seemed to sense his anxiety as he walked into the room, flanked by the woman from before. “Are you in any pain?” the doctor asked as he sat down on the bed next to Rowen’s.
Rowen shook his head.
“Excellent. Now that the primary injuries are taken care of, I want to examine your throat. If possible, I want to figure out why you can’t speak. Were you born that way?”
Rowen froze for a moment, his composure threatening to slip. Why? Why did this matter? Why couldn’t they leave that alone?
Rowen had heard the angry mutters of the people in his village. He had deserved what he had gotten, they said, for stealing from his parents. It was a curse from the Brush Goddess, a way to mark a water stealer. The pit seeds paralyzed the throat, one woman had said, and Folar, the village’s doctor, had told him something important in his throat was cut from his brain from the effect of the seeds, incurable. He had put it behind him then, as much as he could. Why did he have to deal with it all again? Why didn’t they just start teaching him to write?
“Rowen, were you born unable to speak?” the doctor repeated. Rowen shook his head, hiding his annoyance from his expression. He would have to put up with it, like he had everything else. At least they weren’t blaming him.
“Was your throat injured in some way, physically?” He shook his head again, trying not to think too hard about it. Dull pain twinged in his gut at the calculated appraisal of his handicap.
“Did it occur after an illness?”
No.
“Were you poisoned?” Rowen paused. Pit seeds weren’t poison, but it was a food he had eaten…. Perhaps too much was poison? He gave a cautious nod.
“I have been told you cannot write, but I would like for you to draw me a picture of what you may have consumed that caused this.” Lorence gave the woman a pointed look, and she left and returned quickly with a sheet of something white and some ink. Rowen’s heart sank into his stomach at the thought of drawing it. It shouldn’t be a big deal, but somehow it was. It reminded him of that day, the last time he had seen pit seeds, taking them from the box above the kitchen table as his parents’ bodies rotted in the heat in the other room, sweat blinding him as he put them all in his mouth and swallowed without chewing.
He looked away from the doctor and his assistant, staring at the covers and the tiny drops of moisture that had fallen onto the blanket. His eyes burned, and shame filled him.
“I’m sorry, Rowen.” When he looked up again, the assistant had gone, the sheet and ink with her. “Perhaps another time would be better for this.” Sympathy was there, but not directed. Lorence didn’t know what Rowen was upset about, could only assume. “Do you want to see Kristoff now?”
No. He would not let Kristoff see him upset. Rowen blinked hard to erase the traitorous tears. Put it away, focus on something else—becoming a Storm Lord, learning to write, the future—the past didn’t matter. It would recede and fade away, if only people around him would let it. He had a chance for a new life now.
Finally he nodded, composed enough. Lorence left him without a word, and Rowen wondered if he felt guilty. He shouldn’t. It wasn’t his fault.
By the time Kristoff came inside, flanked by the doctor and two older women, Rowen had erased any sign of his previous melancholy. He smiled when he saw Kristoff, and it wasn’t all affectation.
“Lorence says you’re doing better,” Kristoff spoke up, and then one of the women talked over him.
“This is him, Marin. What do you think?”
Rowen looked back and forth between them. One woman had dark hair with streaks of gray, and the other was even more aged, with dark skin but hair as white as snow. Her gaze pierced him.
“He’s no Storm Lord. I sense no power.”
Kristoff jerked in place, then took a step forward. “No. He is. I sensed it, trust me.”
Marin’s already wrinkled face grew more wrinkles as she frowned. “I do not. But perhaps he is weak from his injuries.”
The other woman broke in. “I know you can’t speak, but you are fully capable of understanding your future task, aren’t you?” Rowen raised his eyebrows in surprise at her brusqueness and nodded hurriedly.
“I am Lorana, the governor of this island and the final authority on the train
ing of future Storm Lords.” She spoke quickly, and Rowen was hard-pressed to keep up with her words. “Marin questions your power, but given the circumstances, final tests can be done later when you are well.” She glanced at Marin, who nodded.
“Currently, you are potential number twenty-three. Your quarters will be in the southern complex within the forest, shared with three others near your age who have not yet completed their training.” Kristoff frowned slightly at that but said nothing. “Your first lessons will consist of learning to read and write. Kristoff will mentor you and instruct you on the planet’s geography, and you will see him about any problems you encounter with anything about your life here. Did you understand all that?”
Rowen paused for a moment and then nodded. Even if he hadn’t, he felt sure Kristoff would remind him of anything he had missed.
“I understand that your background is a little… strange. Once you are better able to communicate, we can perhaps discuss it, but for now I anticipate no trouble from you.” She phrased the last with more force than Rowen thought necessary, and he winced inwardly. Had he done something wrong already? Violated some unspoken rule? Things here were so different from the village, where he had known his standing and his role, as low as they were.
“In time we expect you to support the planet as best as you can.” It sounded rote, without feeling. “I wish you luck with your studies.” She reached out, and he stared stupidly at the offered hand.
“Shake it, Rowen,” Kristoff said kindly. “She’s accepting you as a student.”
Rowen shook the governor’s hand, which was surprisingly cold. “Good. Train hard. If you are not a Storm Lord, and Marin is right, you will be sent back to where you came from.”
She left, her steps as fast as Rowen’s heart. Back to the village, where he had been sacrificed? That would be disaster. They would try to kill him. Again.
The Storm Lords Page 4