Stormrise

by Jillian Boehme

  “Yes,” Willow said. “That’s it exactly.”

  “Easily remedied,” Madam S’dora said, “though I am admittedly low on supply right now. That will affect the price.”

  “Any price is fine.”

  I opened my mouth to contradict her, thought better of it, and clamped my mouth shut.

  Madam S’dora pulled something out of a jar—a small bag of some sort. “I’ve found that the most effective way to administer the tincture is through a simple tea. Drink three cups during the day your bleeding starts, and by the next morning, it will stop.”

  Willow took the bag. “How does it work?”

  Even in the dim shop, Madam S’dora’s smile was bright. “Dragon magic, of course. That’s all you really want to know, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.” Willow’s laugh was nervous. “If you say so.”

  “Whether I say so or not hardly matters.” Madam S’dora took the bag from Willow’s hand and placed it on the counter.

  “Three cups of tea, then,” Willow said. “And you’re sure it will work?”

  “I wouldn’t sell something I wasn’t sure of.” She gestured to the bag. “Extract of dragonmilk never goes bad. So if luck goes your way on your wedding night, you can save it for another time. Is there anything else I can help you with?”

  “Well, yes. I was wondering … I mean, some of my friends told me you have…”

  She lowered her voice so that I couldn’t understand her words. I considered sneaking up the closest aisle and eavesdropping, but that would have been like admitting to Madam S’dora that my own sister didn’t want me to hear what she was ordering. I folded my arms and wished they’d hurry.

  “One tak, thirty,” Madam S’dora said when they’d finished whispering.

  My head shot up as Willow sucked in an audible breath. “Two hundred thirty coin?”

  “It’s a full tak for the tea,” Madam S’dora said. “Creating extracts is a long, complicated process.”

  I waited for Willow to look over her shoulder and ask for my advice with a raise of her eyebrow, but she only sighed and reached into her leather pocket-purse. Two dull plunks sounded through the dust—a tak and a half-tak hitting the counter.

  Madam S’dora scooped them up, then counted the change into Willow’s hand. “May every blessing be upon your wedding night.”

  “Thank you.” Willow placed the small package on top of her embarrassing nightgown and picked them both up. “Ready, Rain?”

  I gathered her purchases from the table, balancing them carefully before following her out the door. As soon as the door closed behind us, I turned to her.

  “What were you thinking, spending that kind of money on back-alley tinctures?”

  Willow bit her lip. “I didn’t know the tea would be so expensive.”

  “And for what? To avoid bleeding on your wedding night? Why would it even matter? You’re going to be married the rest of your lives—he can surely wait a few days if he has to.”

  “A successful wedding night ensures the blessing of future sons,” Willow said. “You know that.”

  I didn’t know any such thing. But if it were true, then Papa and Mama must have had an unsuccessful wedding night.

  “You’re going to have a successful marriage no matter what,” I said. “I wish you’d stop worrying.”

  Willow kissed my cheek. “Once you meet him and approve, then I’ll stop worrying.”

  “Why then?”

  “Because if you like him, you won’t attack him in his sleep.”

  I laughed. “Let’s go home. I’m starving.”

  We passed two of the horsemen as we turned onto the main street. As always, I lowered my eyes and continued along my way. But as soon as they were some distance, I turned and gawked.

  “I wonder why they’re here.”

  Willow shrugged, her mind too full of wedding plans to be bothered about the horsemen. We continued in silence until we passed another horse and rider. Something in my stomach tightened.

  “What do you think is going on?” I said after the rider had passed.

  “It could be anything,” Willow said absently. “Or nothing.”

  By now, we were at the mouth of the Central Square. A fourth rider made his way through a growing crowd that had clustered around a wooden signpost.

  “Some sort of edict has gone out,” I said.

  “Or an invitation?” That was Willow—always hopeful.

  “We’re not close to any holiday. Come on.”

  Worry gnawed at my stomach as I tried to read the faces of those who had already seen the sign. Concern. Introspection. Anger.

  One girl shoved her way through the crowd, her face wet with tears.

  “Rain, let’s not push,” Willow said.

  But I was beyond worrying about stepping on anyone’s toes. My arms burned with Willow’s tower of purchases, and I used their bulk to my advantage as I wedged my way between unyielding people. It was either move aside or be squashed by wedding clobber.

  Finally I reached the sign, nailed firm and embellished with the seal of the high king’s secretary. The words dropped like stones into my heart.

  By order of His Majesty the high king of Ylanda: Every household within the borders of our kingdom shall submit unto His Majesty’s national army one able-bodied male, whether father or son, nephew or brother, according to the census and in accordance with the Law of Mandatory Conscription. Soldiers must report to the camp at Grigsbane by Bri 20 to receive immediate assignment or training.

  Willow pushed up beside me as I stared at the words, her breathing rapid in my ear. “What does this mean? What’s going on?”

  My mouth could barely form the words. “It means we’re at war.”

  I didn’t say what I also knew to be true—that Storm was bound by law to go, because he bore no physical disability.

  And he would be among the first to die.

  3

  I turned away from the notice and shoved my way past people trying to move in closer. Willow’s voice floated on the periphery of my hearing, her words lost to me.

  Storm.

  It was enough that his intellect had been stolen. Would he now lose his life on the front lines of battle—and never know the injustice of his sacrifice?

  “Rain, stop.” Willow’s fingers dug into my arm.

  I dropped my armload of her things, remembering at the last moment to let the bathing pitcher land lightly. “You’ll have to take some of these.”

  Willow picked up the nearest package. “Storm is a simpleton. Surely they don’t mean for him to go.”

  “One male from every household. It’s Storm’s place to honor his family.”

  “But that’s not fair. Why can’t—oh!” Her face contorted into something close to horror. “My betrothed. He’s an only son.”

  “And he will go and fight, as an only son would.”

  “No, Rain! No!” She hugged the package to her breast, pacing. “This can’t be happening.”

  Before my eyes, Willow’s world began to fall apart. I draped my arm around her shoulders. “All brides must prepare for this sort of thing, yes?”

  “I haven’t even met him! I’ve waited so long for this, and now I’m going to lose him before I ever see him.”

  I wanted to point out that her concern should be for Storm, and not for some boy she might end up hating. But I pinched the words back and instead said, “Let’s go home.”

  We divided the bundles more evenly, though I still took the bathing pitcher, figuring it was safer with me. I knew I was walking faster than Willow could handle—she spent most of her time sewing and painting, after all—but my need to see Papa and bring him this news grew more urgent with every step. When we came into view of our gate, I started off at a run, only to come up short when I saw Papa standing outside the low wall with a visitor. I slowed then, catching my breath and hoping to look at least somewhat presentable.

  Papa turned to me, his face lighting. “Ah, Rain. May I pre
sent General Tamar?”

  I curtsyed, my face pressing into my armload. “Sir.”

  “Your father and I once fought together,” General Tamar said. “I was in the area, and I thought I would pay him a visit.”

  My mouth felt dry, as though I might choke if I kept talking. I could detect no hint on Papa’s face that he had already received the news I’d rushed home to bring him myself.

  At the last moment, I remembered my manners. “Will you stay for lunch?”

  “Thank you,” General Tamar said, “but I have many miles to travel before nightfall.” He gestured to the black steed tethered to our fence.

  Willow finally caught up, breathless. “Papa!” she said in the midst of her curtsy to the general. “Papa, we’ve such news.”

  Papa exchanged a glance with the general, but his face remained placid. Unreadable.

  The perfect Neshu grandmaster.

  “I will leave you to your family.” The general patted Papa’s shoulder. “It was good to see you again.”

  “And you, Branch,” Papa said. “Thank you for your visit.”

  We waited respectfully while the general mounted his horse and gave us a final wave. Then, as soon as he had passed beyond our property, I cut off Willow’s attempt to speak.

  “He’s already told you, hasn’t he?” I said.

  “It was kind of him to come,” Papa said.

  “What did he say?” Willow asked. “What did he tell you?”

  We had reached the door to our house. Papa turned to face us, his eyes gentle. “Clearly the high king’s notices have already gone up in town. It spares me the sorrow of telling you about it.”

  Willow stifled a soblike sound. “But, Papa…”

  He held up his hand. “Your mother is inside waiting to serve our meal. Calm yourselves, and allow me to tell her myself.”

  We followed him silently into the quiet warmth of our home, its low ceilings and exposed beams hugging me with a welcome I didn’t feel. Everything was tidy as always—clean-swept floors, cinderless hearth, freshly plumped pillows on every seat. The family table, round and worn and filled with memories, sat laden with a meal fit for an underking.

  Mama’s face was wreathed in steam from a large bowl of quail cakes as she placed it on the table. She smiled at us, her eyes fixed on Papa. As always.

  “I’m sorry for the delay,” Papa said, sitting at his place and dipping his hands in the water bowl to wash them.

  “Who was that?” Mama asked.

  “Branch Tamar. An old army friend.” Papa passed the water bowl to me.

  I dipped my hands into the warm water without taking my eyes from him. He dried his hands as though nothing were the matter.

  “And?” Mama’s normally calm voice had an edge to it.

  “He’s been called out of retirement to return to his post as a general in the high king’s army,” Papa said. “There is a conscription.”

  Mama’s hand went to her mouth, pressing against it with such force that I thought her teeth might break. She said nothing, holding back her words with the strength of her will. Her eyes were large, waiting.

  “Branch tells me the threat is greater than any we have known. They’re asking for one able-bodied male from every household.”

  “Me,” Storm said. “I’m a able boy. I can fight.”

  Papa met Storm’s gaze. “You are an able boy. And I will go with you to Grigsbane.”

  Storm’s eyes widened, his expression like a sunrise. “Together?”

  “Yes, together,” Papa said.

  “But, Papa,” I said. “The battlefield is no place for Storm.”

  “Branch assured me there’ll be noncombat work for him. Honorable work.”

  Like digging latrines and disposing of severed limbs. “It’s too much for him.”

  Storm frowned. “It’s not too much. I’m a Neshu fighter.”

  “Yes, you are,” Papa said. “But the high king may need you for other things.”

  “He’s my little boy.” Mama had found her voice. “My forever-child.”

  “And yet we must send him,” Papa said gently. “If it’s not enough, I will be there to take his place.”

  “You can’t go,” I said, though I was out of turn. “We need you here.”

  “Rain.” Mama shaped my name into a sharp hiss. A slap. “Do not dishonor your father.”

  Papa reached across the table and laid his hand on Mama’s. “She means no dishonor.”

  “It’s bad enough they would take Storm.” Mama’s bottom lip quivered. “You would let them take you, too?”

  “He cannot go alone.”

  “Surely there’s no way for them to know that he exists.”

  Papa’s words were calm, like warm tea. “His name is on the census.”

  “Yes. Of course.” Mama squeezed her eyes shut and swallowed hard. When she opened them, they were bright. “They might turn you away, though.”

  “Branch assured me they won’t. Stonewall has been breached—they will take every man they can get.”

  Fear swam through my stomach. “How is that even possible?”

  Stonewall was our greatest defense—a hefty wall that had proven impenetrable for generations. Its sheer height and breadth were deterrent enough, but Ylanda warriors stood guard on its broad walkways as well. The nomads of the barren northern plains, though covetous of our fertile provinces—and especially Tenema’s prized avila crops—had always fought among themselves more often than they attempted to breach our wall. No more than two or three tribes had ever been known to unite against us, such as during the skirmishes on the seaward border. Where Papa had been wounded.

  “General Tamar says one of the chieftains—Tan Vey—has conquered all the other chieftains and united the nomads into a single people. A single army.”

  “Bigger than ours?” I asked.

  “Bigger by far,” Papa said. “That’s why the conscription has been called.”

  “And they’re marching for Ylanda City?”

  “Most likely.” Papa wrapped his hands around his tankard of ale. “We must protect our high king at all costs. If he falls, so falls the kingdom.”

  I knew the ancient law, set in place long before Stonewall existed. In the land stretching from the western mountains to the eastern sea, a kingdom with no ruler belonged to whoever claimed it. Ylanda sat within these boundaries, fair and prosperous since the first high king took the throne centuries ago.

  This was why our high kings throughout history were never seen on the field of battle. The death of our ruler and his heirs would mean the loss of everything we held dear—our traditions, our safety. So the royal family lived ensconced in the castle in Ylanda City, ensuring that not even the greatest invasion would put us in jeopardy of losing everything.

  Surely the nomads, the only ones who ever sought to claim us, would never reach the capital. Perhaps they were great in number, but this was our land, and they couldn’t know it as we did. The avila they coveted might’ve been theirs through fair trade, but always the various tribes had tried to take what they wanted through raids and border skirmishes that they almost never won. It was about more than the medicinal plant, I was certain. But I had no idea what.

  “I’m a grandmaster, like you, Papa.” Storm looked at me. “I’m your favorite grandmaster, right, Rain?”

  My heart twisted. “Yes. You’re my favorite.”

  “So, then,” Papa said. “It’s settled.”

  Oh, Papa.

  He had served his time, fighting faithfully in the border skirmishes when I still had my baby teeth. I remembered the papa that left us—strong, quick, ready to toss me into the air or race me along the hedgerow. And I remembered the papa that came back—broken, barely making it down the lane on a rough-hewn crutch, his chest and shoulder heavily bandaged.

  He hadn’t given his life for the high king, but he might as well have, because, for several years, he couldn’t work at all. We almost starved. When he had healed enough to resu
me teaching Neshu students, it took a while for word to spread. Finally, last year, he had achieved the position of grandmaster, and our fortunes turned. Papa had regained the life and the honor he once had.

  And now the high king was taking him again—all because his only son wasn’t able to do it alone.

  I’m sorry, Storm. Things would be different if I hadn’t been born.

  Willow sighed. “It’s not fair.”

  “We live to serve our high king, voice of the Great God,” Papa said. “It’s not ours to say whether or not something is fair.”

  “But, Papa—” A sharp sound from Mama’s throat arrested me.

  “My son and I will serve the high king,” Papa said. “There’s nothing more to discuss.”

  I saw the pride in Papa’s jaw and heard it in his voice. But I saw the sorrow in his eyes, too. And the shame. It shouldn’t have been necessary for him to accompany his son to the army camp. If Storm had recovered from the fever, we would all have been proudly sending him off. Then Papa could have stayed home, where he belonged, and provided for his wife and daughters. My eyes filled with angry tears that I brushed away.

  “We will manage until you return.” Mama’s words shook like petals in the wind.

  Papa took a great breath. “And if we do not—”

  “Don’t say that, Papa!” I couldn’t restrain myself. “Of course you’ll come home.”

  Papa glanced at Mama and said nothing.

  “Besides,” I said, “you’re the greatest grandmaster in Tenema. Your students need you as much as we do.”

  “Most of my students will go and fight, Rain,” Papa said softly.

  I pressed my lips together and lowered my eyes. Saying more would only make Papa’s shame greater.

  “Me and Papa are brave soldiers,” Storm said through a mouthful of quail cake. “Don’t worry, Rain.”

  “Papa.” Willow’s voice was not quite a whisper. “How will this affect … my dowry?”

  “The Chance family will hold it in good faith until their son returns,” Papa said.

  “But what if … what if…” Her words crumbled into a silent sob.

  “There is no what if, Willow L’nahn,” Mama said gently. “A woman knows that her place is to wait quietly and trust the Great God to take care of things.” She must’ve missed my grimace, because she continued without reproving me. “When your time comes to marry, nothing will hinder it.”