The Storm Lords

by Ravon Silvius

  Another swell of water and Rowen’s arm tightening around his waist brought Kristoff back to the present. Dammit, he had to get himself together. He had a student to teach.

  “You’re doing fine, Rowen,” he said, clearing his throat when his voice came out huskier than he would have liked. “Are you feeling okay?”

  Rowen paused, looking up at the sun, and then nodded.

  The water was cool, but the heat was still bearing down, raising prickles of sweat on Kristoff’s head and neck. “All right,” Kristoff said. “How about now we practice putting our heads under the water?”

  He hoped the cold water would keep his body under control. Rowen’s touch was pleasurable torture.

  BY MIDMORNING, when the heat began to grow unbearable, Rowen had successfully submerged himself in the ocean water. He still wouldn’t lift his feet to actually try to float, though, and Kristoff didn’t push the issue. It had only been one day, and he knew well from hearing stories of other mentors teach their charges to swim that rushing things could backfire.

  He missed the ocean immediately upon leaving it, the smothering heat of the island reminding him of the stone ovens used in the northern parts of Pearlen. He would love to spend the rest of the day in the water, but there were other things to do and other lessons for Rowen. The world didn’t stop for a heat spell.

  Rowen swiped his hand through his wet hair once he was on the beach and then took his shirt off, wringing it out onto the sand. He was well-muscled. No wonder his grip had been so strong.

  Kristoff tore his gaze away. “Leave the shirt on,” he said. “It’ll protect you from the sun and the dampness will keep away the worst of the heat.” That was true, and it would tempt Kristoff less.

  The sound of footsteps on sand made him look up. Rowen had moved closer. He pointed at the ocean, then at the flask on Kristoff’s hip.

  “Thirsty?” Kristoff held out the flask, and Rowen shrugged and took a few sips. Then he pointed again at the ocean, and at the flask.

  “It’s not ocean water,” Kristoff said.

  Rowen nodded, frowning. He pointed to his shirt, then licked his wet finger, grimacing. Then he shrugged, looking to Kristoff, a question clear in his eyes.

  It took a few seconds, especially after a rush of arousal when Rowen licked his finger like that. “We can’t drink ocean water,” Kristoff said, realization dawning. Some of the basics were clearly still beyond Rowen’s understanding. “Ocean water tastes like that because it’s salty. If you drink it, you’ll get sick.”

  Rowen blinked, frowning again. He pointed to the flask.

  “You want more?”

  Rowen shook his head, pointed at the flask again, and then to the island. Another shrug.

  Kristoff sighed in frustration, wishing he could understand. “Something about the water?” A nod. “Does it taste bad to you?” No, Rowen shook his head. “Do you want to go and get your own flask?” No again.

  Kristoff blinked sweat out of his eyes. “I’m sorry, I’m not sure what you want.”

  Rowen’s jaw clenched, his gaze distant. He pointed to the flask, then mimed something, as though he was holding a tool. He looked to Kristoff.

  None of that made any sense. “I wish you could speak,” Kristoff said.

  Rowen’s eyes clouded, and he looked away. Kristoff felt a hole open in his chest, a barbed growth of guilt and regret. That had been the wrong thing to say. “I’m sorry,” Kristoff said. “Let me try and understand.”

  Rowen shook his head, waving a hand as if shooing away a bug. That was clear enough.

  No. He couldn’t let it slide. “After your lessons, Rowen, let’s work together this evening,” Kristoff said. “Bring some pencils and paper. I can teach you more about the world, and the island, and you can ask whatever you want, all right?”

  Rowen nodded. Uncertain, Kristoff started walking back, Rowen trailing behind.

  The pit of guilt in his chest didn’t ease, turning instead to disappointment. He was distracted by lust at inappropriate times, and he couldn’t even understand Rowen. It was doubly stupid to desire him, because he couldn’t get a clear sense of what Rowen wanted. He would fail in a relationship with Rowen, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was still failing as a mentor.

  Chapter 22

  THE HEAT of the day permeated the classroom, and Rowen’s wet clothes were dry within the time it took for his writing lesson to be half over. The heat had intensified, and he could feel it now, an uncomfortable warmth that would be just the beginnings of a heat spell in his village, a time when wells would be dug with extra fervor and people would begin conserving water. It was easily ignored, though, and he focused doubly hard, determined to be able to write out legible questions for Kristoff in the evening. He wished he could speak too, but he couldn’t, and he had to learn to do what he could.

  He had almost thought Kristoff might desire him. The signs were obvious enough, the way his gaze lingered on Rowen, the way he moved when Rowen grabbed him, and his touch when Rowen had been afraid. He could still feel Kristoff’s hands on his shoulders, a soothing massage. But Kristoff wouldn’t want someone who he couldn’t understand. It was stupid to hope for such things. He had to focus on work.

  Although he was the only one working, it seemed. Benjamin sat a few desks behind him, slumped in his chair, and most of the other students, children and teenagers both, were wilting in the heat. A basin of water and ceramic cups sat by the open door, and the teacher didn’t stop anyone from getting up in the middle of the lesson to fill one. Rowen had sipped from one cup throughout the afternoon, but everyone else had filled theirs multiple times. Rowen didn’t understand how they could waste so much, especially since he had learned this morning that the ocean water couldn’t be drunk. Where was it all coming from? Who dug the wells? It hadn’t rained on the island since he had been here. Storm Lords could summon rain, he knew, but they weren’t doing it now for reasons he couldn’t understand. He took a tiny sip of water, intuitively estimating how long he could make the rest of the cup last.

  “So, have any of you sensed the heat spell with your mentors?” Lila asked. Her long brown hair hung limp on her shoulders, damp with sweat. “For today, since there is a heat spell, it is a good time to talk about what they actually are.”

  Rowen perked up, and even Benjamin sat up a little straighter. “For those of you who’ve had this lesson before, you’re free to leave. Remember to drink lots of water and stay in the shade or indoors.”

  Benjamin leapt out of his seat. Oh. Perhaps that was why he had sat up. The remaining people were Rowen and two very young children, probably a year younger than Benjamin. Rowen sighed. He wished he could just learn everything all at once.

  At least Kristoff would help him this evening. Anything he didn’t understand he could ask, as long as he could figure out how to write it.

  Lila gave him a smile. “So, does anyone here know what a cold front and a warm front are?”

  Rowen shook his head, and he heard two piping nos from the back.

  “All right, what about air pressure?”

  More nos.

  “Good. Then we can start with the basics.” Rowen listened intently, watching as she drew on the chalkboard. He picked up his pencil, drawing along with her, the descriptions of warm and cold air masses mingling with the taste of what he had experienced when he had sensed the heat spell.

  “A heat spell is, at its heart, a warm front that has ceased to move. It is high-pressure, slow-moving air. As the air pressure rises, the air warms—remember, the more pressure inside something, the more heat. And for Storm Lords, high pressure means it’s impossible to control.” Rowen nodded, drawing the same picture he had sketched in the sand, of the warm air pushed on all sides by the cold air around it.

  “Since the pressure is so high, it will push away colder air. And since the warm air is slow moving, it will simply stay put until a Storm Lord uses their power to break it—they do this by bringing in a cold front, like
popping a bubble.” Lila mimed a bubble bursting, making a popping sound with her mouth, and the younger students laughed. “The stronger the heat spell, the more powerful cold front the Storm Lord has to bring. And sometimes, the heat spell can cause nasty things, like ozone or intense humidity, that a Storm Lord with certain abilities can deal with, by causing lightning or hail.”

  Rowen nodded as he drew. He wondered if he could work with lightning, like Volkes had said. He also wrote in the corner of his paper, wat is hale?

  “Heat spells can happen anywhere in the world, but they’re more intense during summer when it’s warmer, of course. Sometimes, if the heat and pressure get too great, they become impossible to break.” Lila’s voice dropped for a moment, then brightened. “That hasn’t happened in a long time, thankfully. That’s why we have you three. The more Storm Lords there are, the sooner we can break heat spells and prevent something like that from happening.”

  Rowen frowned, staring at his paper. His diagram matched Lila’s, for the most part. But the high-pressure air confused him. The heat spell popped like a balloon, Lila had said. But he had felt it. It was a thing, a mass. Where did all the hot high-pressure air go?

  “The thing you will all be learning to do is to control air. A Storm Lord’s main power is calling the low-pressure cold air to themselves. When they do this next to a heat spell, then pop—” She made the popping noise again. “—no more heat spell.” She erased the circle she had drawn on the board.

  “Now, another important thing to know. When you start sensing cold air, or warm air to pinpoint where heat spells are, you’re going to have to be able to estimate where it is. Your mentors can help you with that, but knowing the geography of the world will too.” One of the kids groaned.

  Rowen tried to focus on the lessons about the cities along the Linland coast, but he couldn’t shake his curiosity about heat spells. He had sensed the warm front, what Lila had called the high pressure. But the cold, the thing Storm Lords were supposed to control, had almost hurt.

  Maybe he hadn’t done it right. He would have to ask Kristoff.

  THE LESSONS let out at dinnertime, and Lila smiled at him as he stood, folding his papers to bring with him to Kristoff. “Make sure to drink lots of water, Rowen,” Lila said.

  Rowen just nodded. He took a sip to make her happy. He was a little thirsty, but he couldn’t bring himself to chug water the way others were. It would just be vulgar, especially during a heat spell.

  The walk back to the mess hall was quiet. Usually Rowen would see others walking around, but not today. He took a longer route, looking back at the trading center where he had seen the man with the paintings, but there was no one there either. The ground shimmered in the heat, and Rowen moved back under the trees. It wasn’t so bad in the shade.

  Birds trilled overhead, but there wasn’t any of the rustling of branches there usually was when they flitted from tree to tree. At least people were conserving energy, if not water.

  The food at the mess was cold, a mix of bread and vegetables. Rowen chose an array of greens and a hunk of bread. He missed the roasted tubers from home all of a sudden. They grew beneath the ground close to sources of water, and it was one of the few foods well-diggers like his family often had and shared with their neighbors. Lucas’s family sometimes traded fresh-caught desert rat for it. The meat was lean and not particularly filling but flavorful.

  He doubted he would ever eat either again.

  He stopped before choosing a table. Kristoff wasn’t here yet, but Volkes was. The blond ate across from an older woman, her hair streaked with gray, and he gestured angrily. His face was red and dripping with sweat, and he had two cups of water in front of him. He hit the table with a fist at something she said, and one of the glasses tipped over.

  Rowen’s stomach turned. What a waste.

  He sat at a table a good distance away, but he couldn’t help but overhear. “—telling me there’s ozone, but I don’t get to at least try? It’s right here!”

  The woman answered in a low, calm voice that Rowen couldn’t hear.

  “And I’m telling you I am ready!” Volkes shot back. “Give me a chance!” Whatever the woman said, it angered Volkes more, and he gestured flippantly. “I don’t care. You guys need more Storm Lords, right? You’re letting the little ones and the useless ones practice. Just talk to him!”

  The woman’s jaw clenched, but this time whatever she said made Volkes smile, his eyes narrowed. “Good. See? Was that so hard?” With that he stood, leaving the water glass tipped over on the table. The woman rubbed her temples.

  Volkes caught Rowen’s eye as he passed by and gave him a victorious smile. “I’ll be working with Kristoff tomorrow to clear the heat spell,” he said. “I’ll be a Storm Lord soon enough.”

  Rowen nodded in approval, but Volkes just huffed and left. Rowen frowned and looked back at his food. He didn’t dislike Volkes, not really. He just didn’t want to, as Volkes put it, fuck him. Volkes was content to ignore him because of it, though.

  It was odd. His whole life he had wanted to be with another man. Volkes was willing, but he wasn’t the right man.

  Rowen still didn’t know if Kristoff was. Rowen thought he could be, especially with the way Kristoff looked at him sometimes. But other times…. I wish you could speak, Kristoff had said. Rowen did too. He always did, every day. It had hurt to know other people were as frustrated by him as he was with his own handicap.

  How could he have a real lover if he couldn’t talk to him? Who would put up with that?

  Rowen took a sip of water, pushing the thought away. That wasn’t what he was here for anyway. He had fantasies and dreams for that. Reality was for becoming a Storm Lord and making his sacrifice worth something.

  He had nearly finished his food when Kristoff arrived at the mess, and his mentor met his eyes from across the room. Before he could sit down, though, the woman who had been talking to Volkes met up with him, and the two sat down together, discussing something. Rowen could only assume it was Volkes trying to work with him tomorrow. Maybe that woman was Volkes’s mentor.

  Rowen waited while they talked, and finally Kristoff joined him at the table. “Sorry,” Kristoff said. “Katia wanted to ask me if I’d let Volkes help dispel the heat spell tomorrow. I can do it myself, and she isn’t sure Volkes is ready, but it would also be a good training opportunity, and I can’t imagine him screwing it up, so….” He shrugged. “I’ll get to finally work with him.”

  Rowen wasn’t sure how to respond, so he nodded. He glanced at the folded papers in front of him.

  “It’s important to meet as many other Storm Lords as you can,” Kristoff said. “Unless you’re very strong, you’ll likely be working in teams. Fun, right?” He smiled. Rowen wasn’t sure if it was genuine. He got the sense that Kristoff didn’t like Volkes much.

  He could ask, he realized. He had a pencil and paper. But that might be private, and besides, there were other more important things to ask.

  Kristoff leaned forward when Rowen picked up his pencil, sending a jolt of happiness through Rowen. At least Kristoff was interested in whatever he might have to write.

  First, the question from this morning. Were does the water come from? Rowen wrote it out slowly, hoping it made sense. There were too many ways to spell things.

  Kristoff stared at it, then opened his mouth. “Oh. Oh! That’s what you meant.” He laughed, leaning back in his chair. “We have an underground lake here, beneath the island. It’s kept as clean as possible—no one is allowed to swim in it. That’s why I have you learning in the ocean, after all.” He grinned.

  An underground lake? That must be like a really big well. Rowen tapped his pencil on the table. How many bukets does it fil? Wat if it does not rane?

  Kristoff looked at Rowen, then glanced at his water glass. “Are you worried about running out of water because of the heat spell?”

  Rowen almost nodded, then opted to write instead. His hand shook, effort mixed with happ
iness and disbelief that he could finally get out some of the things on his mind. Wy is everyone not worried? They waste so much. And we can not drink the oshun.

  Kristoff grinned at him, kicking his seat back. “C’mon, Rowen,” he said. “Bring your pencil and paper. I can show you.”

  Their path took them first toward the ocean, the ground sloping beneath Rowen’s feet. Then it doubled back, cutting beneath a cliff that became an overhang.

  “Not nervous about going underground, are you?” Kristoff asked. Rowen shook his head. It was almost comforting, actually, like the cave he had recovered in, or even the tunnels he had dug with his father.

  Soon enough the light dimmed, and Rowen sensed two things he had learned to pick up on. One was the unmistakable scent of wet dirt. The other was the drip of water.

  He expected a basin in stone or wetness filling earth, like the short-lived wells he and his father had found over and over. Instead, he was met with the sight of a crystal clear lake as big as… the house he lived in? No, bigger. As big as the village square. Maybe even bigger.

  Kristoff grinned. “Still worried about running out of water, Rowen?”

  This well—no, Kristoff had called it a lake—would mean his village would survive for almost five years without rain. Rowen moved closer, and Kristoff called out, “Remember—no swimming.”

  Rowen nodded, then unfolded his paper. It was more awkward writing without a table, but he managed it. How deep?

  “Twenty feet,” Kristoff answered. “The engineers estimate it would keep us safe for four years with no rain. And yes, it does rain here, and a lot in winter and spring. There’s no need to worry, Rowen. It’s not like your village.”

  He had been right the first day. Not about the ocean, but everyone here had water. They weren’t wasting it. They just had so much.

  “Were there other things you wanted to ask?” Kristoff said. “I know a lot has been happening. It must be overwhelming. But I am your mentor—I want to help you. It may be helpful to have a pencil and paper with you all the time. I’m glad you can begin to communicate.”