Call the Rain

by Kristi Lea

  “She brought a terrible storm.” The words were almost a whimper.

  “Yes. And that terrible storm has soaked our ground with more water tonight than we've seen in a year. Watch what she does with the lake.”

  The words seemed to calm Shikan as they both looked skyward.

  Joral was afraid to look away from the skirmish above, afraid to leave Illista unguarded.

  The fight between the Segra warriors seemed to have ended. People had come from the camp to the top edge of the lakeshore. Hundreds of sets of eyes stared skyward at Illista's magic.

  The green ball writhed above them sending showers of water droplets cascading to the lake below, as though a great invisible hand were wringing it out, shrinking it with every gyration. The glow faded too, until only the red-gold of Zuke's dying fire-ring was left to illuminate the scene.

  A breeze picked up then, blowing the remains of the poison, now a ball the size of a man, away from the water. It blew over past where Zuke held Mulavi. With a grunt of effort from the medicine man, the fire ring shot skyward catching the ball. It cleared the fire ring and continued to fly, now glowing with blue flame. The flames spread and turned red then white until it looked like the sun hovering over the shores. Then it burst in an explosion of purple and green, raining ashes and embers over the rain-soaked dirt.

  With a soft sigh like a whimper, Illista drooped.

  Joral dropped his sword and gathered her into his arms. The waters of the lake slowly calmed until the edges lapped at his feet, and the winds stilled, leaving only the light patter of rain.

  Chapter 12

  Illista huddled in a thick fur and sipped a cup of merrily refreshing tea. The steaming water danced a lively jig with the herbs, making her almost want to smile. Instead she took another fortifying sip.

  The fire in Vituri's tent smoldered nearby, and her skin felt clean and smooth in the fine quality trousers and blouse that Shikan had given her to wear. The cloth would not stand for any strenuous work and would be utterly ruined by a cookfire or the greasy spatters from the kitchen tents. For now, she simply relished the feel of it on her shoulders, her legs.

  She relished the feel of her own shape and the ache of her own muscles. Not the Waki body she'd hidden inside for so long.

  The tent flap opened, shining bright morning sunshine across the leather-lined tent and Joral stepped in. He hesitated at the doorway to allow his eyes to adjust to the change in light. “They’re gone.”

  Illista's cup rattled in her hands and she lowered it slowly to the floor.

  Vituri looked as placid as ever at the announcement, except for the fresh cut down one cheek, from the point of a spear during the previous night's battle. With Mulavi captured, the Segra had made expedient work of his men. When faced with the combined forces of both tribes, many of the mercenaries had simply turned tail and raced their horses into the dark of night. The line would form a wicked scar from her temple to her jaw line.

  Joral strode across the tent and squatted between Illista and his mother, looking at neither. “Zuke and Quarie both. No one saw him pack his tent. They were simply not there at dawn.”

  Illista inhaled a shuddering breath. Quarie...gone?

  Vituri only nodded. “She missed the ocean.”

  Illista swallowed the tears that threatened. Since first hearing the call of the water, she had only spent a few days in her Waki form. Quarie had spent years in hiding, both from Zabewa and from the oceans that called her. She was not surprised that her sister had gone, only sorry that she had not been able to say goodbye.

  Joral shot Illista a hooded look, and stretched out his hand to her. “Come on. The others are expecting us in Qitkan's tent.”

  She placed her hand in his. His fingers were warm, comforting, but they tingled, too, around the edges. Like the lightning did as she called it down last night, only lighter. Softer. He gave her trembling hand a squeeze.

  Joral kept her hand as he led her from the tent towards the Xan Segra. Vituri followed. The Chieftess wore no headdress and carried no sword. This meeting would not be a war council. Others of the Ken Segra emerged from their tents, all walking calmly together. Soon they were a gathering of more than a dozen. Elders and warriors, men and women, circling Joral and Illista, still hand-in-hand.

  They stopped outside the Chief's meeting tent and Joral stopped, allowing the others to enter first. He pulled a small folded scrap of fabric from his belt and pushed it into Illista's palm. He leaned close and whispered, the clean scents of his spiced soap surrounding her, “From Quarie. Don't open it now.”

  She closed her fingers around the parcel allowed him to lead her inside the tent. The crowds parted around them and ushered them forward into the middle of the great pavilion. Qitkan came forward first and Illista started to back away, but Joral's hand held hers firmly.

  The chief bowed deeply before the pair. “My people and I owe you both a great debt. You have saved our water and brought rain to the land.”

  Illista stared at the top of the man's balding head, stunned.

  Rafil stepped forward next and fell to his knees at Joral's feet. “My honor is blackened. I deserve no mercy.”

  Joral shook his head. “You did nothing but protect your people.”

  “I do not speak of last night. I made two attempts on your life. Thank the rains that neither succeeded.” He held out a small pouch like an offering.

  Illista snatched the pouch before Joral could take it. She sniffed delicately at the opening. “You were the poisoner on the night of the betrothal ceremony? Why?”

  A stir went up from the crowd at her question. Of course, no one but Zuke, Joral, and herself had known that Joral had been poisoned.

  “I could not allow the betrothal to succeed. When you lived that night, I made a deal with Mulavi. He was to kill you on the road. I deserve death, no less.”

  Shikan pushed past her father and dropped to her knees at Rafil's side.

  “Shikan, get back. What are you doing?” Qitkan tried to stop her.

  “Rafil's fate is my own. What he did was for me.”

  Rafil shook his head. “No. I acted alone. Shikan is innocent of any plotting.”

  She took the warrior's hand. He tried to pull it away. “My love, I could not live knowing that you died for me.”

  He tried to pull away again. “You do not deserve death for my foolish thinking. I could have started a war with my selfishness.”

  Illista watched the scene unfolding with fascination. She could almost feel the fire burning between the two Xan Segra lovers.

  “Enough,” interrupted Joral. “No one else is going to die because of me. Shikan, I release you from the betrothal. You are free to marry Rafil if that is your wish.”

  A collective gasp went up from the crowd. Qitkan bowed again, nearly groveling. “Please be merciful to us. We of the Xan Segra can be useful to powerful ones such as yourselves.”

  Joral made a noise of disgust and regarded the chief. “Peace, Chief. I don't need to marry your daughter to be your ally. The news of King Zabewa worries me. Chieftess Vituri knows him as a heartless mercenary. Illista has told me that he has invaded her homeland forcing her into hiding. Mulavi's own words and actions in poisoning the Xan Segra water and attempting to incite war between us show that he is not to be trusted. We need to stand together as one Segra people.”

  Illista's heart swelled at Joral's speech. She took a deep breath. After so long speaking as a Waki, she did not trust her own voice. But these people who sheltered her needed to hear what she had to say. Joral needed to hear it. “The rains that feed the Xan Segra lands also run to the Ken Segra's. I think that Mulavi had done some magic to hold the rain back. Last night I broke some sort of…barrier that was keeping the rain away. I called it back. There will be enough water.”

  Qitkan stared, mouth agog. “You...called it?”

  Illista felt her cheeks flush a deep red as every eye in the tent stared at her. “The rains…the water…they speak to
me. This is my family’s magic that Zabewa tried to steal. This is why I have been hiding. I am sorry that I ever brought his attention toward you, that he would steal from you to find me.”

  Qitkan shook his head. “No, little one. Don’t blame yourself for the evil deeds of another. It was Zabewa and his henchman Mulavi who stole the rains from us. You have brought them back. You could have escaped and left us to our misery, but you didn’t. You stayed and risked your own life to restore what Zabewa stole. We are in your debt.”

  The room erupted in a chorus of murmurs. Joral turned to her, his eyes liquid pools of blue brimming with emotions she could not untangle.

  Heads nodded and Qitkan bowed even lower.

  “What happens to Mulavi?” asked one of the Xan Segra warriors once the commotion quieted.

  Chieftess stepped forward. “As the Ken Segra were the ones to capture him and reveal his plots against us, we would like the honor of his punishment.”

  “What sort of death do you call for, Vituri?” asked Qitkan.

  She smiled a broad, almost feral smile. The smile of a wolf mother who has caught the hyena among her cubs and is poised above his throat. “Mulavi does not die by Segra hands. We have friends among the Waki miners to the East. The Waki are especially well suited to the dark, smoky work deep within the tunnels far from the sunlight, but they also require the assistance of taller folk. I think they will find Mulavi and his men to be acceptable. You may think that our serving folk are peace-loving. But they are, I assure you, quite capable of handling the mercenaries.”

  Qitkan clapped his hands and three Waki filed quietly into the tent carrying cups of grol. One stopped in front of Illista, standing half a head shorter and nearly twice as broad. “Nunzi.”

  The woman glanced up and the back at her feet.

  “Thank you for helping me and my sister.”

  Nunzi's head bobbed up and down.

  Illista clasped the woman’s hands within her own. “Please look at me. I am the same Illista I have always been.”

  Nunzi raised her head slowly. Illista smiled at her broad, familiar face. The woman's face had the almost-smiling, nearly expressionless look that all the Waki had, but her eyes spoke of her uncertainty and intelligence.

  “You do not need to hide your eyes from me, ever. I hope that we can continue to be friends.”

  Nunzi's glance flicked behind Illista to where the Chieftess stood and then back to Illista. “Of course, child.” she whispered.

  Illista grabbed the woman by the shoulders and drew her into a fierce hug, spilling grol down the front of them both. She ignored the heavy silence around them as the Segra watched the strange display of affection between the changeling and the servant.

  Nunzi pulled back, and Illista gently took the cup from her hands. Then, with a whisper to the joyfully singing beverage, the spilled drink withdrew from the fabric of their clothing, gathering into drops that flowed upwards and back into the cup.

  “I should have assigned you to the laundry instead of the cooking tent.” Nunzi said, her voice ringing out across the quiet room.

  Illista laughed and dropped a kiss on her forehead.

  ***

  Joral watched the beauty by his side as they were served a feast worthy of a king. She thanked each Waki servant, many of them by name. He found himself doing the same.

  He didn't miss how her gaze flicked to his cup each time it was refilled or to the platters of food as they were brought in. “Does the food taste different now?” he couldn't help but ask.

  She smiled. “It is not the taste. It is the sound. Every dish, every ingredient has its own voice.”

  He eyed his grol cup askance. “How can you eat something that is talking?”

  Illista laughed, the sound bubbly and more relaxed than he had ever heard from her. “I don't know. But it doesn't feel wrong. The voice isn't like the cry of an animal. It is more like a scent or a color.”

  They stepped outside the tent after the long meal into the starry dark of night. He felt peaceful, almost. He thought they had an understanding with the Xan Segra now. He hoped the two tribes would agree to work together in the future. He turned to Illista.

  “You are not bound to stay with us, you know. I will escort you to the edge of the Segra territories. All the way to the ocean if you want.”

  She shook her head. “Are you so quick to be rid of me?”

  Joral quashed the sadness that threatened to well inside of him at the thought of her gone. He had just begun to know her and yet he felt he had known her forever. “If I were being selfish, I would forbid you to leave.”

  She was quiet for a moment. “The sea does not call to me like the rains here do. If I may, I would like to stay with the Segra.”

  Joral took Illista's hand and pulled her around to face him. “You don't have to serve anyone, not the Segra, not me. I want you to stay, not for the rains or for the tribe. For me. I have never felt so complete as when I am with you.”

  The shadows of the night seemed to deepen as he looked into her eyes.

  And then she smiled a smile like a rainbow after the storm. She launched herself into him, flinging her arms around his neck. He caught her and pulled her close and kissed her. He drank of her kiss like the sweetest water from the sacred pond.

  When he pulled back for breath he felt the dampness of a light drizzle falling all around them, soaking into his hair and trickling down his back. Rain had never felt so welcome.

  “I love you Illista.”

  “I love you, Joral.” She reached forward to plant another sweet kiss on his lips. “Tomorrow I will teach you to swim.”

  The End

  About the Author

  A voracious reader since before she can remember, Kristi has always been drawn to romance, science fiction, and fantasy (preferably all three). Now, when she isn’t reading her favorite books to herself or to her kids, she is writing her own stories. Kristi, her husband, and their two children live with a pair of cats rescued from life on the streets of suburban St. Louis.

  http://www.kristilea.com

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