~~~
We say our goodbyes. My friends, Jobe and Ben and Thom, wish me luck and say they’ll join me as men soon. Then we can all fight the Stormers together. The thought sends excited-nervous ripples through my skin, but I just pull them into hardy half-hugs and it’s a promise.
Cain loops an arm over my shoulder and walks me away from the beached boats and the water, up a slope to a grassy patch. My legs wobble slightly with each step, because the land is solid, unmoving, a stark contrast to the ebbs and flows of the ship’s deck. “You can spend as much time up here as you need to prepare,” he says. “We set sail when you’re ready.” I nod.
“Go with honor,” I say, using the traditional farewell between officers.
“And you with the comfort of the sea maids,” he returns, using an old favorite joke. I smile, but I can’t hold it, because Cain’s been the older brother I never had, and I can already see it’s time for him to go, and I’m not ready—I’m not—but I know lingering isn’t an option.
Not wanting to look childish, I extend a hand.
He looks at it, and I swear he’s got seawater in his eyes and on his face from our splashing in the boat earlier, but then I do too, because he takes my hand and pulls me to him, hugging me in a brother-worthy embrace. “Take care of yourself, Huck,” he says.
Fighting off a sob, I say, “That’s Lieutenant Jones to you,” in my best Admiral Jones impersonation.
He laughs and I do too, and he slaps me on the back because we both need something solid and strong to feel. Sticking out his jaw, he nods, winks, and turns, leaving me to decide when to board the Mayhem.
Chapter Eight
Sadie
I run.
The smart thing to do would be to run back the way I came, all the way to the camp to alert my mother, who would tell Gard. And then the Riders would ride forth to meet the Soaker’s in the first battle in a long time.
And that’s what I start to do, but then I stop, look back at the shadows on the horizon. Consider my options. What will I tell my mother? I saw ships. What were they doing? she'll ask. And I won’t know anything. Just that they’re there, anchored.
I have to get closer. A Rider would try to get closer.
So I do run, but in the other direction, toward the ships. I cut an angled path up the beach, stumbling slightly when the sand rises up onto the grass, which rolls away from me in mounds broken only by the occasional tree or bush.
On the grass I could run much faster, but I remain cautious, vigilant, pushing myself down each hill with speed and then slowing on the rises, creeping over the crests, looking for Soakers.
If they spot me I’m dead.
Rise and fall, over a hill and down a valley. Again and again and aga—
I drop flat on my stomach when I peek over the next hill, cursing silently, because I didn’t expect to reach them so soon. Distance can play tricks on you sometimes, especially near the ocean; the ships were much closer than I thought.
My heart pounding in my chest, I edge my head—just my scalp and eyes—over the hill, half-wondering whether I was seeing things, if maybe I’d imagined it.
No. Because sitting on the top of one of the grassy mounds, just a hill over, is a Soaker. Not a big one, but a boy, with dirty-blond hair pulled into a ponytail and a forlorn and thoughtful expression. He’s half-turned toward me, as if he wants to look at the land but can’t seem to pry one eye off of the ocean. They say the ocean constantly calls to the Soakers, which is why they never stay on land for long. Seeing this Soaker boy makes me believe them.
A dozen ships are anchored in the sea, but it’s like the boy refuses to look at them, preferring to take in the vast blue ocean beyond.
I look past him, to the sand, where men and boys scramble around small boats—landing vessels my mother calls them—manhandling them into the water, the waves crashing at their knees, and then they clamor onboard, using thick sticks with broad, flat ends to push forward. Back to the ships.
Leaving this boy here alone.
Except for me, who he’s not even aware of.
But then I notice: not everyone left. There are a few men down the beach. And one closer. One Soaker, a man, stares up the rise at the boy. From this distance, I can’t make out his expression, but something about his posture makes me shudder. He’s lean and wiry, but stands with a slight hunch. I can almost imagine him slinking in the shadows, sneaking from behind, his fingers curled around a dripping knife.
Soakers.
They killed my brother. They’ve killed many of my people. Countless souls sent back to Mother Earth before their time, buried on the plains of storm country.
We’ve killed them by the hundreds, too, but we were provoked. We didn’t start the fight so many years ago, but we will finish it. When I become a full-fledged Rider, I swear I’ll finish it.
Starting now.
This boy is only one, alone and unthreatening, but one day he’ll be a man, he’ll bear children. Children who will kill my people.
Paw’s face flashes in my mind, the way I want to remember him. The bravest four-year-old in the camp, my mother still says when she talks about him. And I’d follow him anywhere.
I don’t have a weapon, but I don’t need one. This is a mere boy and I’m a Rider.
On my hands and knees, I veer right, start to circle the inland side of the mound so I can come up behind him. Sweat pools under my arms and in the small of my back. Something winged flutters in my stomach. Anticipation of my first kill.
I gasp when someone grabs me from behind, covering my mouth with a dark hand.
~~~
I struggle against my captor, try to scream, but he’s strong and has the element of surprise on his side.
“Shhh,” he hisses sharply in my ear, his exhalation a hot burst. “It’s me. Remy.”
I freeze, both because I couldn’t be more shocked if a bolt of lightning struck me in the head, and because it’s Remy, and he’s…touching me. Well, not really touching, but locking me up from behind, holding me back.
But still…he feels warm and strong and I could so easily relax and just melt away…
“Mmmhhh,” I murmur through his hand, trying to speak, my body remaining as rigid and stiff as a long-dead corpse.
“You’ll be quiet?” he asks, his lips so close to my ear that it tickles.
I nod against his grip, and he relaxes his arms, pulls his hand away from my mouth, rolls over next to me, staying low. Our heads are side by side—there’s no stall wall to separate us now.
I glare at him. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I whisper.
He raises an eyebrow. “Saving your skin,” he says, peeking over the mound. I do the same, watching as the boy stands, turns so his back is completely toward us. That’s when I notice what he’s wearing: a clean blue uniform, slightly wrinkled, but other than that, unmarked. An officer’s uniform.
“I didn’t need saving,” I whisper, wanting to hit him for wasting my opportunity. This boy—an officer?
“They’d have killed you,” Remy says.
“Not if I killed them first,” I mutter under my breath.
“Hurry your bloody ass up!” a gruff voice bellows from somewhere below the mounds.
Remy and I duck our heads even lower, pressing our cheeks to the grass, stare at each other with wide eyes.
“Cain said I could take as long as I wanted,” a voice returns. The officer boy.
“It’s Lieutenant Cain to you, and he ain’t bloody well around now, is he? Now move it before I have to make you.” A challenge. Will the boy answer?
There’s a deep sigh of resignation. “I was ready to go anyway,” the boy says.
“Aye, sure you were,” the gruff voice says, laughing. Footsteps fade away and silence ensues.
I realize I’m still staring at Remy, although I haven’t been seeing him. Heat floods my cheeks and I look away, crane my neck over the mound’s crest, watch as the officer boy and the gruff-voiced man stride through the sand, back toward the water.