The Storm Lords

by Ravon Silvius

  “A change of plans this evening, Rowen,” Kristoff said one night. His student stopped at the door to the schoolhouse, letting the other students pass him by. Usually Kristoff met him at the mess hall before their lessons on magic, and it was still strange to see the adult man in a class with young children.

  At least Rowen looked better. All but one bandage that wrapped his neck and shoulder was gone, and his skin had stopped peeling. Kristoff tried to quell a familiar rush of desire at how attractive Rowen had turned out to be, bright red hair and green eyes and broad shoulders….

  Kristoff moved his gaze with effort to the peeling paint on the schoolhouse. Focus. “Rowen, now that you’re healed nicely, Dr. Lorence wants to examine you again. Is that all right with you?”

  Rowen nodded. He had made what Kristoff considered good progress. He was learning his letters well, according to Lila, though he was not quite at the point where he could write out messages. It felt very strange to be told that a nineteen-year-old man was just at the point of having learned to write his name.

  Rowen was not stupid by any means, though. Considering his background, which Kristoff wished he knew more about, he was doing wonderfully.

  Kristoff also wished he saw more signs that Rowen was making friends, but with his classmates being several years younger than him, he supposed there was nothing to be done about it. He could only hope he was getting on with his roommates. He ate with them, at least.

  There had been no repeats of the strange magic Kristoff had sensed either. Every evening during his instruction, Rowen had not revealed any hint of magic at all. It wasn’t unusual for a new student, but Kristoff wished he had more proof for Lorana and Marin, and he constantly kept vigilant during their lessons for a chance to analyze that magic again.

  It took Kristoff a moment to realize that Rowen was looking at him with one eyebrow raised, his mouth twisted in a careful, questing smirk. Where had he learned that expression? “Just thinking,” Kristoff said.

  Both eyebrows raised. Rowen pointed at the door, then shrugged.

  Oh. Of course. “I’ll go with you. If that’s all right?” Another nod, but he didn’t lose the curious expression.

  Kristoff was glad Rowen was learning to communicate better and was more willing to try, but it only made him more frustrated when he couldn’t understand what Rowen wanted. He started walking, feeling the weight of Rowen’s eyes on him.

  “Dr. Lorence told me he wants to….” He had phrased it as “speak with him,” but Kristoff didn’t want to use that word. “Examine you again.” He had already said that and felt stupid. How was it that his own student made him feel so inexperienced and awkward? “He wants to see how your burns are doing. And he mentioned being curious about something you told him during your first exam.” Rowen looked less curious now and more guarded.

  Rowen walked beside him, not behind him as he had the first day, and his gaze roved the landscape as they headed down the hill through the trees toward the center of the island. Most students stayed on the east side, and this was mostly new ground for Rowen.

  The last time they had walked this path, Rowen had been confused and most likely in a lot of pain. It gladdened Kristoff that he was taking the initiative to study his new surroundings. His new home.

  Kristoff didn’t remember much of his own first few weeks on the island and what the experience of learning about it must have been like. He had been too young. Of course, he realized, that was no excuse not to educate Rowen.

  “You may or may not remember this, but as we go toward the middle of the island, you can find the medical center. The medical school is also there, in an enormous white marble building. If you ever see someone in a white or gold robe, they’re medical students or doctors. White for a full doctor, gold for a student, and a mix of the two for someone who’s completed their studies but hasn’t passed their final exam yet.” Rowen nodded. “The other major building here is the governor’s building. That’s where we Storm Lords go to make our reports. All records are kept there.”

  Rowen perked up at that, and Kristoff wondered why. Most Storm Lords didn’t find them interesting, and he had only set foot in there once as a student, content to let the job be handled by the record-keepers who worked with Lorana and helped handle reports. “Records are kept of every heat spell we’ve ever dispelled and how we did it. We also make records of any apprentices we picked up, or if we couldn’t, any that need investigation. See, it’s over there.” Rowen followed his pointing figure, narrowing his eyes at the enormous, two-story building. Kristoff’s stomach flipped at the severe expression.

  “I’ll take you by there someday soon. Lorana—you remember her—works there. But for now, we have to see Dr. Lorence.”

  Rowen looked back with a sigh.

  “WELL, JUST who I wanted to see,” the doctor said as they entered the building. He had actually waited at the entrance for them, and Kristoff wondered if that was normal. “Rowen, you’re looking much better.” Rowen gave a tentative smile. “Do you feel better?” A nod.

  Kristoff felt completely superfluous, but Lorence motioned for him to follow. “Rowen, now that you’re in less pain, I want to give you another examination. Is that all right?” Another nod. They walked up to Lorence’s office, the scent of something herbal wafting through the air.

  “Fantastic. Kristoff, please wait out here for the examination. I will need you in a few minutes.”

  Rowen turned big eyes on him.

  “That’s fine. If that’s okay with you, Rowen?” He stared for a moment, then nodded again.

  The door shut, and Kristoff sighed, swallowing against the tension. Dr. Lorence was kind and understanding. There had been a reason he had taken Rowen to him specifically. Rowen would be fine.

  He just wished he knew more. He wondered if there were signs Lorence could find, marks or scars of a past that he could read and tell Kristoff.

  Of course, Rowen might not want them read. He had made no effort at all to communicate his past. It could be due to his handicap, or due to something else. The reason he had been tied up and left for dead, for example.

  He hated thinking that way about Rowen. The man had shown no signs of hostility. But if something was wrong, something he could fix, Kristoff wanted to know. Rowen could just as easily have been a victim of something, and somehow that thought scared Kristoff more.

  The door’s creaking interrupted his thoughts. “We’re ready for you.”

  A spike of anxiety went through Kristoff as he entered the sun-drenched exam room. Rowen was staring out the window, his expression neutral. He no longer wore a shirt, and while his skin was still pink in some places and covered in salve in others, the bandages were gone. He had a well-muscled chest and a flat stomach.

  “Look here, Kristoff.” Kristoff snapped his gaze up with a bit of guilt. Dr. Lorence held up a paper, covered in a surprisingly detailed drawing of what looked like a seed.

  “The first time Rowen came here, I asked him what might have caused his handicap. We were able to surmise that he was poisoned, right, Rowen?” Rowen looked over, giving a careful nod. The sun lancing through the window and bouncing off the white bedsheets he sat on made his red hair look like fire.

  “I asked him to draw me what he ate. He drew these, and surprisingly well too. We may have an artist on our hands.” He inclined his head toward Rowen. “They look like seeds, though none I’ve seen. Probably a variety specific to that part of the world.”

  Kristoff stared. The seeds were oval shaped, with two lines down the center. “Rowen, can you draw the plant that grows from these?”

  Rowen shook his head, then shrugged.

  “No plant grows from these?”

  A pause, then another shrug. Rowen made a quick motion, a careful pinch of the fingers, and mimed throwing something in his mouth.

  “Does everyone eat these seeds where you are from?” The doctor walked over to the bed. “Does it have this effect on others?”

  Rowen stare
d, his jaw tense and his eyes lined with pain. Kristoff was about to ask to stop, to revisit the topic another time, when he nodded again, slowly.

  “Is it curable where you are from?”

  Rowen shook his head, and Kristoff felt a hammer of disappointment that he hadn’t expected.

  “I have a proposition for you both,” Dr. Lorence said. Rowen’s eyes widened. “It may not be curable where you are from. But if I get my hands on these seeds, perhaps I can figure out more about them. Kristoff, can you fly to the village where you found Rowen and bring me back a sample?”

  Kristoff wanted to agree immediately, until he saw the look of terror that flashed across Rowen’s face. Green eyes met his, and Kristoff wished once again that he knew what had happened.

  This was the best way. Whatever had happened, whatever Rowen was afraid of or afraid that Kristoff would find out, it had to be done. “I’ll do it,” he said to Lorence. “Give me the paper.”

  When he looked back, a sharp stab of guilt went through his core. Rowen was looking out the window again, his face a careful mask.

  Chapter 12

  “ROWEN?” KRISTOFF said. “We’re here.” Rowen looked up. The mess hall loomed over him, chattering people heading inside for their evening meal. The breeze blew warm on his skin, but given his fears, he couldn’t really enjoy it.

  “Eat up. I… we’ll skip the evening lesson for today. Get some extra rest. Tomorrow you have a break from lessons, so take the day to relax.”

  Rowen nodded.

  “And… don’t worry, Rowen. Please?” Kristoff’s blue eyes bore into his, willing him to relax. Rowen couldn’t. But he nodded anyway.

  Kristoff would know. The villagers would tell him everything. How he had left his parents to die, stealing their water, all the lies they had believed that had led them to kill him. And he wouldn’t be able to defend himself. Not until he could write, and even then, what reason did Kristoff have to believe him?

  Rowen knew he liked Kristoff more than he should. He was a lowly student, one who might fail, and Kristoff was a Storm Lord. Rowen couldn’t help but hope, but Kristoff would never have any feelings for him if he thought Rowen was a water stealer.

  No one survived heat spells without water. He didn’t know why his parents had died and he had lived once the water had run out. But he had, long enough to take the pit seeds. Would it have made a difference if his parents had taken them? He didn’t know. It had been too late then.

  Thinking of them, of his old village, brought back a sudden pain that was different than the burning healing of his skin over the past few weeks. It had been his home, no matter what.

  No. He couldn’t think like that. He had a future here, and there he had been only a sacrifice. He had to focus on the good, on all he could learn and experience here. Everything was so much more beautiful than the dust and heat of his village.

  “I will see you the day after tomorrow. Same time in the morning.” Kristoff smiled, but Rowen couldn’t smile back.

  Rowen took his time selecting his meal, trying to put his fears out of his mind. The food here was amazing, so different from the bland tubers and roasted lizards and insects he had eaten as staples back home.

  Here, there were green vegetables and thick-sliced meats with flavorful sauces among the dizzying array of things Rowen had never sampled before, and now that he was no longer in pain, he was beginning to enjoy them. Of course, he would have enjoyed the salted meat and sauce he chose more if the idea of Kristoff visiting his village wasn’t occupying all his thoughts.

  He chose a table near the window, eating the luscious food and watching the sunset. Even the sky was more beautiful here, the puffy clouds and the setting sun shooting it with pinks and purples.

  He wanted to forget his past. His family was gone. Lucas was gone. Why did Kristoff have to go back?

  “Hey,” an accented voice said. Rowen nearly dropped his fork. “You look kind of stressed.”

  Volkes set his tray down on the table, his chair scraping against the wooden floor. “Did something bad happen?” His eyes narrowed. “That last bandage is gone. Bad day at the doctor’s?”

  Rowen just nodded. Technically that was true.

  Volkes smirked. “Thought so. But you look better without them.” Rowen’s face heated, and he focused on his food. Volkes kept staring at him, a smirk on his face that Rowen didn’t know how to interpret. Volkes often ate with him these days, but it felt different now.

  “You’re not in pain with all the bandages gone?” Volkes said suddenly. Rowen shook his head.

  Volkes leaned back. “Good. Then I have a proposition for you.”

  A proposition? Rowen raised both eyebrows.

  “I see you’re interested. Good. Tomorrow is rest day. No classes, no work, or anything. And I don’t have any extra lessons with Katia, finally.” The last few rest days Rowen had slept, his burns healing and his mind full of things he was trying to learn. “So tonight, we’re going to finally celebrate you coming here. Are you up for it?”

  Rowen wanted to ask what the celebration actually entailed. Celebrations at home had usually involved drinking and dancing by the adults, while the younger ones were expected to serve the drinks and food. They hadn’t earned the right to such things yet. By the time Rowen was old enough, there had been no reason for any parties. Not for him.

  Rowen hadn’t celebrated anything in a long time.

  “Well?” Volkes set down his fork with a clink.

  Rowen nodded. He wanted to see what celebrations here were like.

  “C’MON,” VOLKES said, the cool air making Rowen shiver as they stepped outside the mess. The sky had gone from pink to deep purple. “No Kristoff this evening?”

  Rowen shook his head, his face heating slightly. He didn’t want to think about Kristoff, or Kristoff visiting his village, at all. Not when he was supposed to be celebrating.

  “Hmm.” Volkes’s gaze sharpened, but he left it alone. “Fine, then. We’ll get an early start.” He broke into a wide grin, his teeth visible. “I’ll make it worth your while. C’mon.”

  Rowen followed Volkes, tracing the now familiar path back to their shared house. Rowen wished he could ask about Volkes’s training, maybe get some information about what to expect from his own. Elise was talkative but didn’t usually bring up her magic, and Sharon was usually away. Rowen didn’t know where.

  Volkes didn’t offer anything as they walked, and the first few stars began to appear in the sky. Rowen shivered again as another cool breeze blew, bringing with it the still strange scents of deep forest and the pungent edge of what Rowen knew must be the ocean. He wished he could see it again, as scary as it was. He hadn’t yet had the time or courage to get close. Maybe tomorrow he could explore the island itself some more.

  “Enjoying yourself?” Volkes dug into his pocket for his key, pulling out a key ring. Rowen wondered what the others were for. “It’s been a while now. Used to it all yet?”

  Rowen gave a sheepish smile and shook his head as they walked up to the front door. No lights shone from the windows of their shared house.

  “It took me a while too when I first came here. I was twelve.” Rowen hadn’t expected that. “In the north, where I’m from, we didn’t have quite this much forest and greenery. Certainly not the varieties you’re seeing here.” He lit the torches inside, skipping every other in the main hall and not bothering with the sitting room. “It was mostly snow and cold. Heat spells were different—when the snow started melting, we knew the storm would come.”

  Rowen raised his eyebrows, hoping Volkes would keep talking. He wanted to know what snow was.

  Instead Volkes headed up the stairs, keeping the lamp lighter in his hand, clicking the two metal pieces together as though to catch Rowen’s attention. “C’mon, Rowen.” His blond hair gleamed in the dim light. “Come up to my room. I want to give you something to help you celebrate.” He grinned. “Ever had Darsean beer?”

  Rowen paused on the first step.
He was beginning to realize what kind of celebration Volkes might have in mind, especially since there was no one else in the house with them. Volkes waved the lamp lighter, a spark illuminating the hallway for a moment when he clicked it again. “C’mon, Rowen.”

  Skin prickling with unease and no small amount of anticipation, Rowen headed up the stairs and into Volkes’s room, waiting in the doorway while Volkes lit one sconce in the corner. Volkes had a window, the untied curtains fluttering in the breeze. The covers on his bed were rumpled, and clothes and books lay strewn on the floor. Rowen carefully stepped inside. Volkes had more things on his floor than Rowen had ever owned in his life.

  Something gleamed on a shelf, and Rowen walked toward it. It was a knife, keenly sharp, with the edge darkened and discolored.

  “My hunting knife,” Volkes said, making Rowen jump. “I used it to kill a deer during my manhood ceremony when I was eleven.” Volkes pulled Rowen away from the shelf, guiding him with one arm. “Did you do what you have to do to be considered a man where you’re from, Rowen?”

  Rowen didn’t know how to respond. Men and women didn’t prove anything in his village. They just survived.

  “Hm. Let’s see, then.” Elise’s words from his first meeting with her came back to his mind as Volkes opened his dresser drawer and pulled out two glass bottles, holding them aloft. The light from the sconce shone through the clear liquid. “I got this from the Darsean traders. Best stuff there is.” No one had ever mentioned Darseans to him, and Rowen tilted his head.

  “The traders.” Volkes shook his head with a snort. “How do you think our island gets supplies? The Darseans are seagoers. Live and die on ships. Apparently heat spells destroyed their home country way back. Undispellable ones.” He waved a hand. “They’re the only ones who can come to the Storm Lords’ island, and Storm Lords are respected in their culture. They ship food and supplies to the island from around the world.” Rowen nodded. Suddenly the plethora of foods in the mess hall made sense. “You can ask Sharon more about them if you’re curious. She’s Darsean.”