The Storm Lords

by Ravon Silvius

  “Do you have a solution?” Marin asked. “Or is it your feelings for him that make you so determined he can be saved?”

  Kristoff jolted. His feelings for Rowen. He couldn’t deny them anymore. He had accepted his responsibility weeks ago when he became Rowen’s mentor.

  He had to do something, but he didn’t know what. But he wouldn’t allow them to kill Rowen.

  Before he could speak, the door banged open, a rush of air sending Lorana’s papers fluttering to the floor. The records keeper’s face was white.

  “The heatcaller is gone,” he said.

  “What?” Lorana shouted. Kristoff pushed past the man, but he was right.

  The bench where Rowen had sat was empty. There was no sign of him.

  Chapter 30

  ROWEN COULDN’T stay here. He was “an obvious danger.” He would destroy the Storm Lords’ island, just as he had destroyed his village and killed his parents. Maybe he shouldn’t have eavesdropped through the door. But he had to know the truth. He had to learn, and he had learned all he needed.

  Pain twisted in his throat, just like it had after taking the pit seeds. But now it was worse. The sky overhead was blue, the island still a green jewel, but he saw none of it as he headed down the path. He bumped into someone as he walked, but they only shouted, “Watch out,” and he didn’t turn, their voice unfamiliar.

  He mounted a hill, the breeze bringing him the scent of the ocean. He remembered the waves and how they had pulled him closer, and he remembered the ships near the Darsean market. He couldn’t fly, but he could still get away.

  If the ship moved, they could outrun the heat spells. The Darseans had been escaping for years. And if they couldn’t… the ocean would be right there.

  Rowen turned, heading toward the beach.

  He tried to push thoughts out of his mind as he walked. Thinking only hurt. He had hoped for a new life here. He had given up his old one, had tried to put it behind him. He had failed. Now he had to put his hopes and dreams of being a Storm Lord behind him too. He had to do better this time. Maybe if he didn’t feel anything, didn’t think anything, his power wouldn’t work. He just had to keep moving forward; that was all. He had to keep moving forever, because if he stayed in one place, his power would bring disaster.

  He stopped as the grass became beach and the ships took up the skyline. There was something else important too.

  He had to be alone. He couldn’t risk endangering anyone else. No one else would die because of him.

  Not like his parents.

  Emotion came over him then, despite his efforts to push it back. He sank to the ground, hidden in the brush and between trees, heat building and overflowing behind his eyes, and he sucked in air in heaving sobs. His entire life was a curse. He had lost everything, and it wasn’t enough. He should have died that day in his village, sacrificed to save others.

  He cried for his parents, lost trying to save him. He cried for Lucas, a life cut short. He cried for his village, for a people desperate enough to try to sacrifice someone else to save themselves. He cried out of guilt for ever being stupid enough to try to forget them. He cried, finally, for himself, and silently cursed the power he had.

  His father’s words came back to him. “To be a good man, Rowen, you must be three things—humble, honest, and selfless. Only that can sustain a village in a world like ours.”

  He had nothing to offer except his life. But his village would still die, and he could do nothing to save it. The Storm Lords’ island would continue on whether he was here or not and would do better without him.

  He didn’t want to die. But he couldn’t stay here either. He couldn’t stay anywhere.

  There had been men like him before. He sniffled, focusing on the old stories. Desert wanderers, his mother had once told him, men and women who didn’t want to share resources or water, who found an oasis and lived there, alone, until they died. He could do that. He couldn’t talk to anyone anyway.

  No one is going to go after someone who can’t even fucking talk. He hoped Volkes was right.

  Rowen took a deep breath and headed back toward the beach. He needed to get far away from anyone else. He couldn’t fly—he was no Storm Lord. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t get away.

  The presence of people made him nervous as he got close, and he dreaded seeing someone he recognized. He didn’t know what he would do if he saw Volkes, or Elise, or even Sharon. If he saw Kristoff…. Pain twisted in his heart, and he shoved the thought away. Kristoff would probably be happy to be rid of him. He was a terrible student.

  The familiar stalls full of objects from around the world took up the beach, and voices swirled around him, men and women trying to get his attention and buy things. But he wasn’t interested in those. He walked through the throng of people clustered around stalls, a few shiny stones catching his eye. He pushed on, moving through until the stalls thinned out. The beach here became rocky, stones littering the sand, and he kept walking, the voices and clamor fading in the rising sound of the ocean wind.

  He stumbled, realizing too late that the beach sloped sharply. Dust plumed around him as he slid, and he regained his footing with effort, heart pounding as he stood. The stalls were on a hill that was invisible from the island side, and now he stood below, close to the water. He felt alone again.

  “Hey,” a voice called. A dark-skinned man was walking toward him from the water. “You okay?”

  Rowen nodded.

  “Good. You shouldn’t be down here. It’s for merchants and crew members only.” He paused, waiting for Rowen to respond, and then added, “The stalls are that way. There’s nothing out here.”

  Rowen pointed at the ship and cocked his head.

  “Are you simple or something?”

  Rowen frowned.

  “Go on. You can’t swim here. The water’s choppy around the hull.” Rowen peered at the ship, wondering where and what the hull was. The ship bobbed a good distance from the beach, but a wooden platform stretched out from the sand to the side of the craft, long poles anchoring the planks to the ground beneath the rolling water. Rowen couldn’t see a way to get inside the ship, and he couldn’t ask either. He wondered if Storm Lords ever rode on ships or if they just preferred to fly. Would people question it if he just walked onto the ship?

  The man slung the length of rope over his shoulder and headed back toward the stalls, looking once more at Rowen before turning his back completely to struggle over the hill. “Be careful around the water,” he called.

  He could try to swim there without being seen, assuming he could put Kristoff’s lessons into practice. But there was still no way to get inside. Rowen sighed, looking up at the sky. If only he could fly.

  If only he was a real Storm Lord.

  The sand felt cooler beneath his feet as he paced in frustration. The midmorning sun beat down, the ship casting long shadows into the water. As he watched, a woman carried a large metal box from the stalls. She glanced at him once before walking out onto the wooden pathway, not missing a stride as the wood creaked beneath her weight.

  When she got to the ship, she reached up and grabbed something Rowen couldn’t see. The wood swung down, revealing a dark hole in the side of the craft. A way to get in.

  Rowen waited while she walked back. She narrowed her eyes at him as she passed, but soon she climbed the hill and left him alone.

  The ship bobbed on the water, the waves rolling up, but not cresting over the steeply sloped beach. There was no one to prevent him from leaving.

  Rowen thought back to the map of the world. His desert home had been in the south, and a strip of land had connected it to an enormous landmass that was…. He had to think. Pearlen, and then Linland above it. He could find somewhere deserted. Maybe he could even head north, where the heat spells wouldn’t kill anyone because of the cold. He could see snow. All he had to do was hide on the ship until it got to land.

  It was risky and maybe foolish. He knew that. But he didn’t have a choi
ce.

  The stalls were busy, and when he glanced over his shoulder, no one was watching. The woman running the closest stall, which sold silks that fluttered in the breeze, was facing the island, not the ocean.

  Rowen took a breath. He had come this far. He had let himself be sacrificed, agreed to become a Storm Lord, and let others make choices for him. Even now, Kristoff, his mentor, held meetings about him, talking about him, without asking Rowen for his input. They talked about him like he was a child too young to be trusted to carry a pitcher. It was past time to make his own decisions.

  He walked forward with purpose, his body tensing as the sand turned to the wooden planks of the walkway. The creaking made him nervous, and his pace slowed as the ground beneath it became the steadily moving water of the ocean.

  A slapping sound made him pause, but the water was below him, not around him, and no one was stopping his progress. He took a breath, wincing again when the wind whistled in his ears. Keep going. Just keep going.

  Getting his legs to move again was a challenge, but Rowen made it work. The farther away he got from the island, the harder his heart pounded. There was nothing around but water. If he fell, Kristoff wouldn’t be there to save him. The wood creaked, the planks springy beneath his feet, not at all like the solid ground of the island or even the shifting firmness of the sand.

  He gasped in relief when he could touch the ship, the wood grainy beneath his hand. It reminded him of the trees on the island Kristoff had first taken him to when he had recovered. That felt so long ago now, but it truly wasn’t that long, when he thought about it.

  He had failed quickly.

  The latch the woman had pulled wasn’t hard to spot—Rowen hooked his fingers into it, then jumped back in surprise, legs shaking as the wooden plank swung down. Inside the hull this time wasn’t blackness but stacks and stacks of crates.

  This was it. He could hide here and leave whenever the ship docked. He didn’t know how long it would take. He didn’t have food or water. But he had gone without those things for at least a day before. Ships traveled fast, didn’t they?

  There was so much he didn’t know. But he did know that no one on the island wanted him. He couldn’t go home, and he couldn’t be left somewhere where he could hurt anyone else.

  This might be wrong, or dangerous, but it was his choice. Rowen stepped inside and pulled the latch shut behind him.

  All he had to do was hide and survive until the ship made landfall. Then he could start his life anew, again.

  Chapter 31

  KRISTOFF GASPED for breath, the afternoon sun beating down on his head. Sweat dripped from his brow, and he wiped it away, trying to maintain his composure while two young kids stared at him from the door to the mess hall.

  Rowen hadn’t been inside. There was no sign of him anywhere.

  “Hey. Have you seen a man about my age, with red hair and green eyes? He would be very quiet. Have you seen him?” Kristoff knew he sounded repetitive and probably breathless, but he didn’t care.

  The boys both shook their heads.

  “Dammit.” One of the boys giggled at Kristoff’s curse, but he was past caring about propriety too. Where had Rowen gone?

  More importantly, why had he run? All Kristoff wanted to do was help him. There was no way he was going to let anyone do anything to Rowen, heatcaller or not. He had thought Rowen trusted him.

  “Anything?” Kristoff grit his teeth as Franken jogged closer, his friend red-faced and out of breath. They had both circled the island twice in their hunt for Rowen, with nothing to show for it.

  “No.”

  “Marin says she sensed a flash of his power by the beach, near the Darsean merchant stalls. I checked there, and a man said he saw him on the beach, but that was hours ago.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me hours ago!” Kristoff snapped. His legs burned, but he prepared to run.

  “I just talked to him now.” Franken put a hand on his arm. “He’s not there. Like I said, he saw Rowen hours ago.”

  Kristoff blew out a breath. “Did you tell Marin and Lorana before telling me? Again?” He bit the last word.

  Franken frowned. “C’mon, Kristoff. I had to tell them. He was going to call a heat spell. I couldn’t just let that go.”

  “And now look!” A woman leaving the mess hall hurried her steps as Kristoff raised his voice, throwing up his hand to emphasize his point. He fought to keep from yelling. “You should have come to me first, not thrown Rowen into a situation he barely understands.”

  “I barely understand it, Kristoff,” Franken shot back. “What would you have me do, ignore an obvious danger? You didn’t feel his power the way I did.”

  “You should have waited until I came back, at least!” Kristoff glanced at the blue sky, the waving green trees, as if Rowen would mysteriously appear. He didn’t, and the sight didn’t do anything to calm his rattled nerves. “I’m his mentor, dammit. I should have been the one to talk to Lorana and Marin, and talked to Rowen about it first!”

  Franken shook his head. “I did what I thought was right.”

  “Yeah, and now we have a terrified heatcaller missing somewhere on the island,” Kristoff said through gritted teeth. He hated to call Rowen that, the word heatcaller feeling too much like a curse. “You didn’t think about his feelings at all, did you?”

  “Do his feelings matter?” Franken said. “You talked to Marin. You know what heatcallers can do. I could sense what he could do. He’s dangerous, Kristoff. Sacrifices have to be made.”

  Kristoff reeled back. It always came back to that, didn’t it? Sacrifice. Giving up on people who they didn’t have the resources or the knowledge to save.

  Anger boiled in his chest, and he turned away.

  “Where are you going?” Franken called. Kristoff didn’t answer. He didn’t need to; it was obvious.

  He had to find Rowen.

  He didn’t bother knocking on the front door to the familiar house, and whoever had left last hadn’t locked it, so he let himself in. Rowen’s room was empty, just as it was that morning when Kristoff had checked last. There wasn’t much to the room other than the items Rowen had been given when he moved in. Kristoff pulled the covers off the bed, but he wasn’t hiding there either.

  Dammit. He knew this island like the back of his hand. Where could Rowen be?

  “Hello?” Elise was standing at the door. “Kristoff, are you still looking for him? I haven’t seen him.”

  “Yes, I’m still looking.” He didn’t want to talk to her. Failure gnawed at him; he had let Rowen down. Again. He had to find him and fix it, and he didn’t want distractions.

  “I didn’t see him anywhere, but I did find this.” She held out a piece of paper, and Kristoff grabbed it, hoping for a written note.

  That had been too much to hope for. But it did make him pause.

  “He drew you,” Elise said. “It looks nice. He must really trust you. I’m sure he didn’t go far.”

  Kristoff remembered the first time he had seen Rowen. He had been lying on the sandy ground, soaked from the storm, bright red from the burns of the baking sun. His eyes had been mostly shut from exhaustion and pain, but he knew Rowen had seen him. He remembered that flash of green that had reassured him the man was alive.

  He had never thought about what Rowen would have seen, but the drawing showed him. Kristoff, flying and reaching out for him. Saving him.

  He could do it again. He would do it again.

  “Thank you,” he told Elise. “Don’t worry. I’ll find him.”

  It was time to get serious about things. Kristoff headed outside, taking in a deep breath as he walked to the beach. He cast out with his senses, savagely pulling tendrils of air toward himself. The palm tree fronds lashed back and forth as he did, and whitecaps formed on the surf before he stabilized it, hovering in the air.

  He flew higher, the island receding below him. It was a long shot, but maybe with a bird’s-eye view he could spot Rowen if he was hiding somewhere
.

  He made out the governor’s building, where he was sure Marin could sense what he was doing. People milled around the mess hall, and the markets near the beach were quiet now, the stalls taken down in the heat of the afternoon. A Darsean ship sailed offshore, receding into the distance. He scanned the beaches all around the island, but other than one amorous couple, there was no one there who shouldn’t be.

  Only a few white-and-gold-clad healers roamed around the medical buildings, and a few people traveled on the paths between the residence areas. A flight over the less traveled areas of the island, where the plant life was overgrown and the palm trees were snaked by vines, didn’t reveal anyone hiding either. There were no clues.

  Dammit. Rowen was so quiet, and Kristoff knew so little of him. How could he possibly find him?

  No, that wasn’t entirely true. Kristoff watched the horizon line, thinking back over what he knew of Rowen. Rowen was kind and caring. He wanted to save his village. That first note Rowen had written, the one that had made Kristoff so happy to see….

  I want to help peeple. I do not want my vilege to die out, like Darsea. I want to lern about what has happend in the world. Pleese teech me everything.

  Kristoff had tried. He still wanted to try. But why had Rowen run away? Kristoff refused to believe Rowen had drowned. The man was too strong. Sacrifice or not, he wouldn’t do that.

  But he did want to help people. Even during the heat spell, he hadn’t drunk much water, always serving his community.

  The wind whistled in Kristoff’s ears, the only sound this far up. Maybe… maybe that’s why he had run. Everyone was frightened of him. He thought he could save them all by hiding. But where could he possibly go?

  The Darsean ship was about to disappear over the horizon, and Kristoff caught the motion out of the corner of his eye.

  He had looked all over the island. But maybe, he thought with a jolt, Rowen wasn’t on it anymore.

  Wind howled, and Kristoff flew after the ship.