Storm

by Lauren L. Garcia

  She met Leal beside the caravan. The Sufani was tall and lean, and an indigo mask and cowl covered her forehead, nose, and mouth, leaving only her light-green eyes visible. Her appearance was a marked contrast with how she’d looked when Eris had first met her during Heartfire. Then, Leal and Drake had been clad in the guise of fire-dancers: spare leather garments that left little to the imagination.

  “I don’t have the right words,” Eris told her. “‘Thank you’ seems paltry in light of what you did for us, but I suppose it must do.”

  Leal shook her head. “Save your thanks. I don’t come with good news.”

  Behind her, Eris could see the other Sufani milling about their camp as they gathered supplies and covered their campfires with dirt. More than a few shot the two women looks Eris couldn’t read, but she understood anyway. “You’re leaving.”

  “Aye. It’s time to head south, where the weather is not so harsh.”

  Eris nodded. “I heard of the…trouble we’ve caused.”

  “Not just you,” Leal replied, grimacing. “Drake’s Assembly friends turned against him when they discovered he was a mage, and left him to free you on his own. When he was captured, I had no other choice but to bring you here.” She sighed. “My parents are…unhappy.”

  “They’re not alone in that.”

  “They do not wish your people to remain among us,” Leal added.

  Eris bit back a swell of anger, for Leal was not at fault. Instead, she surveyed the Sufani again, though her attention was elsewhere. “Could Aderey and Ytel be convinced to let some of my people travel with them? Sirvat is heavy with child, and I fear the coming days will be too treacherous for her.”

  Leal considered. “I don’t know. Perhaps.” She snorted. “Da has a soft heart. He might be swayed.”

  “I know you’ve done so much for us already, but please ask.”

  “Very well. How many do you speak of?”

  Eris thought of the mages who had seemed reluctant to come with her. Sirvat was the most pressing, but Gaspar had a bad back and Lyn was so young… “Three, at least.”

  “Not so many,” Leal replied thoughtfully. “But what will the rest of you do?”

  A cold wind lifted Eris’ matted hair and stole beneath her tunic, but she ignored the chill. Wind was flight’s ally, after all. “We’re going back to the city.”

  Leal’s eyes widened. “For Drake?”

  “Aye, and a friend of mine who couldn’t come before.” Would Gid have made this choice? She thought so. He’d spoken so highly of Drake, and any friend of Gid’s was a friend of hers. Gideon was—had been—the champion of those he had loved. He’d never held a sword, but he had fought every day to make the other mages’ lives better.

  Her throat went tight as grief stung her eyes again. Both feelings, she pushed down. Later. She could grieve for her husband later. Now, she had work to do.

  “Seven mages against a sentinel garrison,” Leal said slowly. “Those aren’t good odds.”

  “They’ve never been.” Eris lifted a hand and concentrated until sleek, black feathers bloomed along her fingers. Although she was tired from her days-long ordeal as a crow, the change still came quickly and with relative ease. Another chill wind tickled the pinions with the promise of flight. Eris smiled. “But we’re not helpless.”

  Leal’s gaze caught on the new feathers, her eyes wide. But her words were hard as iron. “Once the sentinels get more hematite, you might be singing another song.”

  “Which means I must act quickly.” Eris lowered her hand and urged the feathers to recede. “When will your family leave?”

  They both looked toward the Sufani camp. In the few minutes the two women had spoken, the nomads had eliminated all traces of their presence in this copse of trees. A few wagons still needed horses or oxen hitched, but beyond that, Eris thought the Sufani would be ready to leave right away.

  Leal squared her shoulders. “Come with me.”

  She started off before Eris could speak, her long stride quick. Eris followed, threading back through the Sufani wagons, until they reached a bright purple caravan. A slip of a girl leaned against the side, drawing a bow across the strings of a viol. The sound was akin to the screech of a dying cat, but all Eris could think of was Kali learning to play a similar instrument, years ago.

  When the girl spotted Leal and Eris, she lowered her bow and said something in Sufa, the nomads’ language. Leal replied in kind, gesturing in the direction of Whitewater City, then added in Aredian, “Where are they?”

  The girl’s eyes flickered to Eris and she replied in Sufa. Unlike Leal, her face was exposed; her features were not as angular as Leal’s, but were similar enough to denote a connection by blood. A sister, most likely.

  Leal shook her head at the girl’s answer. “Dianthe, just tell me where they are.”

  Dianthe replied with what sounded like scolding in Sufa, and then added, “Mama’s inside.” She jerked her thumb to the wagon at her back. “Da’s helping to fix one of the other caravans.” She looked at Eris again. “This was the one you let sleep in your wagon.”

  Well, that was one mystery solved.

  “Observant as ever, I see,” Leal replied.

  The girl stuck her tongue out at Leal, then studied Eris with interest. “You were a bird.”

  “Aye. A crow,” Eris said.

  Dianthe’s eyes, green like her sister’s, widened. “Can you do that again?”

  “Ignore her,” Leal replied, stepping forward to rap on the caravan’s purple door, speaking again in Sufa.

  The door opened to reveal a woman with high cheekbones, dark eyes, and tanned skin. The moment Ytel’s gaze fell upon Eris, she swore in Sufa and tugged her crimson hood so it concealed as much of her face as possible. “Why have you brought her here, Leal?”

  Eris bristled, but Leal’s reply was easy as she explained the mages’ situation. To Ytel’s credit, she listened without interruption, but Eris knew the Sufani woman had already made up her mind. Indeed, when Leal finished, Ytel exhaled hard enough to ruffle her hood. “You know we cannot take outsiders with us. Bad enough we must cover ourselves in their presence.”

  “That is our choice,” Leal replied. “I have gone uncovered among the kotahi, and suffered no harm.”

  “Not yet,” Ytel muttered, her gaze still on Eris. “But your life is your own. No, they cannot come with us. And don’t even think of asking your father,” she added sharply. “You know he’ll honor my decision.”

  Leal nodded, shoulders sinking, but Eris was in no mood to concede. “Thank you for letting my people remain with you while I rested, ser. I know our presence is troubling for your family. But my family has been held captive for most of their lives; all we seek now is freedom.”

  Ytel gestured to the sky. “You have it, thanks to my daughter.”

  “Not all of us,” Eris replied. “Some of my friends were left behind. I intend to rectify that. But not everyone whom your daughter aided is fit for such trials. I humbly ask that you allow them to travel in your company for a few more days, until they are in safer country.”

  Once they left Whitewater Province, the odds of truly escaping the sentinels increased tenfold. No doubt Talon would have every sentinel garrison on the alert, but it would take a week or more for fleet riders to carry the messages across all of Aredia. Sirvat and the others had time – if only a paltry amount.

  “The Circle hates us already,” Ytel replied. “Do you know what they’ll do to us if they find we’re harboring renegade mages? Any excuse to,” her gaze flickered to Dianthe, listening raptly, “harm us, they will take. Happily.”

  “My own grandmother is of the Circle,” Eris said. “And hers was the loudest voice that called for me to be sent away to a bastion when I was no older than Dianthe. Yes, ser, I know what the Circle does to those it deems ‘heretic,’ but they’re wrong and I choose to fight back. It’s time someone did.”

  She saw Leal watching her out of the corner of her eye, but he
r attention was only for Ytel, who met her gaze with granite. At last, though, the older woman nodded once. “Your mage friends can travel with us for three more days, but they must stay inside your caravan as much as possible,” she added, looking at Leal. “I’ll not have another one contaminated by kotahi.”

  Sweet relief flooded Eris’ limbs and she could not help her smile. Seren’s light, she had needed a victory. She bowed low, suddenly conscious of her matted hair and disheveled appearance. How wild she must seem, especially given her less-than-conventional entrance to the Sufani camp. Well, mages were part of their precious One god’s world. These Sufani had best learn to get used to magic.

  Even so, she ensured her reply was warm and genuine. “Thank you, ser.”

  Ytel harrumphed. “Don’t make me regret it.”

  With that, she slammed the door shut in Eris’ face, but Eris was too elated to care. Three of her people would be safe. Now, she had to make sure the others could say the same. She stepped away from the wagon and glanced at Leal. “Thank you, too.”

  “What will you do now?” Leal asked.

  Eris squinted up at the sky. She needed rest. She needed time to plan. Beyond that, she didn’t know. “I must speak with the others again.”

  Leal nodded and they began to walk back to the mages, Dianthe and her viol at their heels. “When will you return to the city?” Leal asked.

  “I haven’t worked that part out yet,” Eris admitted.

  “Within a couple of days?”

  “Probably not.”

  “Good.” Leal paused beside her caravan, the one Eris had woken up in. “I’ll leave this in your keeping, then, until I return.”

  Both Eris and Dianthe goggled at her. “Return from where?” Eris asked.

  Leal’s pale green eyes seemed gray in the morning light. “From my own mission.”

  “You’re not coming with us?” Dianthe asked, clutching her viol with white knuckles. “Mama will–”

  “As Mama said, my life is my own,” Leal broke in. Her voice softened as she knelt to meet the girl’s eyes. “You are nearly grown, Dia. Now is not the time for fear. You must be strong, for them and for yourself. Do you understand?”

  Dianthe sniffed, but nodded, then murmured something in Sufa. Leal’s eyes crinkled with her smile and she embraced the girl, murmuring a reply. Feeling intrusive, Eris looked away, but neither Sufani seemed to mind her presence. When the sisters parted, Dianthe looked at Eris. “Make sure she doesn’t die.”

  Eris tried to summon a genuine smile, but knew it didn’t reach her eyes. But Leal scoffed and waved one of her gloved hands in a gesture of dismissal. “I can take care of myself.”

  After Dianthe slipped back to the other Sufani, Eris looked at Leal. “Where are you going? What mission?”

  The Sufani woman lifted her chin. “To improve your odds.”

  Seven

  Foley awoke, gasping, to pounding thunder and boots outside of his door. It was difficult to catch his breath with the leather collar tight around his neck. In those first heartbeats of wakefulness, he was back in his old quarters in the bastion at Lasath, with Isra by his side and their little girl huddled between them. But no. He was here and now, in Whitewater Bastion. He was alone. He blinked to reorient mind and memory, and threw back the blankets, getting to his feet just as his door opened and Talon swept into his room.

  She stood a few paces inside the doorway, backlit by one of the torches in the corridor. She, too, was alone, with her helmet tucked in the crook of her arm. “I was told you wanted to speak with me.”

  “Aye,” Foley replied, as mildly as he could. “Three days ago, immediately after Heartfire.” Yet you come to me now.

  “I’ve been busy.”

  They stood facing each other, neither speaking. Rain drummed outside, as it had all night and the better part of the previous day. Foley studied the sentinel commander as best he could in the restless torchlight. The shadows beneath her eyes were darker than he’d seen in a long time, and she was paler than usual. Her hand trembled upon her dagger grip.

  Despite everything else, he still loved her. Foolish old man, indeed. “How long has it been since your last burn?” he asked, stepping toward her.

  She did not acknowledge his words other than to slightly incline her head. This close, he could see how her entire body trembled beneath her armor, and how her forehead gleamed with sweat.

  “Too long, I think,” he added when she did not reply.

  “You did not beg an audience with me to ask such a thing.”

  There was urgency in her voice, but also a more desperate, fearful edge. Against Foley’s better judgment, his heart tightened in sympathy, though he kept his own reply cool. “Has the breach been sealed?”

  “The masons finished yesterday.”

  “Good. When will the collars be removed? When will we be allowed to freely walk through the bastion once more?”

  “When I can trust you. So perhaps never.”

  He took a step closer and pitched his voice low, more out of habit than because he thought they’d be overheard. It was too early for anyone else to be awake, and she had come here alone. “You can always trust me.”

  Her jaw clenched. “Did you know, beforehand?”

  No reason to play coy or pretend he did not understand. “No.”

  Her eyes—dark like her mother’s—narrowed. Only in anger did she remind him so much of Isra. “How is that possible? You are the First Mage. You know everything that happens here.”

  Foley tilted his arms as if revealing that he held no weapon; the hook that replaced his right hand gleamed in the torchlight. “Apparently not.” When she scoffed, he shook his head. “It is precisely because I am First Mage and steward of the bastion that Eris and,” he could not bring himself to say Gideon’s name, “her friends did not care for me. They rarely spoke to me unless in anger or derision. I have told you that.”

  Her lip curled in a sneer. “Even so, you should still have known what they were planning. You should have paid more attention. You should have–”

  “What’s done is done,” he broke in. “Eris, Cai, and the others have made their choices. I’ve no doubt they will be found and dealt with as you see fit. In the meantime,” he added more gently, “the mages who made the choice to remain, who showed respect for the gods and your sentinels, should not be punished for the actions of those renegades. Nor should the people of this province be denied magical assistance, particularly in these trying times.”

  Talon’s forehead creased. Much of her earlier hostility had fled from her face, leaving only curiosity. “What do you mean?”

  “Kalinda and Sadira described Parsa quite vividly. Kali believes she can cure a thrall, if given the opportunity.”

  “The sergeant who accompanied them submitted a report with similar speculation. But I have not yet spoken to him. I have…doubts about the truth of his words.”

  “Is he not trustworthy?”

  She did not answer immediately. “He has a history with Mage Halcyon.”

  Ah. Sergeant Stonewall, then. Kalinda had not mentioned his presence. “You think the two of them are trying to find ways to be together?”

  “I don’t know what the sergeant’s playing at,” Talon replied, pinching the bridge of her nose in a rare display of weariness. “Nor the mage. I have other, more pressing matters on my shoulders than the misguided romance between a mage and a sentinel. Stonewall knows the consequences of his actions if he steps out of line again. I have no doubt he’ll ultimately make the right choice.”

  Her tone left no room for discussion, so Foley moved on. “I’m sure, one way or another, you’ll get to the heart of this. But in the meantime, it seems the thrall attacks are increasing in number and ferocity. The people will need mages to heal their wounds, regrow their crops, and purify their wells.”

  Talon had started shaking her head halfway through his speech. “Where magic is concerned, the Circle will decide what the people of Whitewater
Province need.”

  Foley’s heart sank at the renewed, rigid set of her shoulders and the iron in her voice. “So we are truly prisoners here,” he could not help but say.

  Perhaps that reality had never been anything else, but this was the first moment he had felt the truth so keenly.

  The sentinel commander regarded him. “You will all be permitted to leave the dormitories,” she said at last. “More than that, I cannot allow.”

  “But the collars–”

  “Shall remain in place.” She straightened, her gaze turning hard. “You should be grateful.”

  Grateful. The word struck an old wound within him, unfurling one of those memories he tried so hard to tuck away. His right arm ached with a phantom pain and his own pleas echoed in the back of his mind. He could feel his wife’s weight as she lay dying in his arms.

  And through it all, a sentinel’s voice, hard and cold as hematite. “You should be grateful I have spared your miserable life.”

  “And Gideon?” Foley heard himself ask.

  Talon lifted her chin. “That matter has been laid to rest.”

  Perhaps if she’d phrased her reply differently, he might not have reacted so strongly. Perhaps if she’d shown even the smallest trace of the sweet, shy girl he’d once carried on his shoulders, he might have forgiven her for those cruel words. But she did neither and anger flamed in his heart.

  Foley stepped forward again, so that she was within arm’s reach. He balled his left hand into a fist. “You disgrace yourself and those under your command. You shame the gods themselves with such a barbaric act. You are a coward.”

  The words landed with the force of a blow; her eyes widened and she took a step backward. But she banished all traces of surprise, and anger replaced all other emotions as she faced him. “You dare to call me a coward, when you watched your own wife die without lifting a hand to save her? When you let your child be ripped from your side, with no argument?”

  The anger within him burned everything away but his grief. “As you strive to remind me every day, I had no choice.”