“Where did they go?” I ask, picturing them lurking within the camp, hiding in shadows, blood dripping from the murderous sword.
“Back into the forest,” he says, his voice weakening. “They ran, left us there…to…die.” A strangely peaceful look crosses his face as he manages a smile.
“Nole?” I say in alarm.
“It doesn’t hurt anymore,” he says. His eyes flash to his wife. “Teza, come to me.” The woman swoops to him like a bird of prey to a rodent, smothering him with her arms and kisses. Over her shoulder he says, “I love you, Teza.”
I want to look away, but I can’t. I feel tied to this man, to his story. I’m ashamed at the relief I feel in my heart because now I know it wasn’t my fault, wasn’t some Evil from the forest that killed two Stormers.
No, it wasssn’t, the Evil says. But I will kill. You can’t ssstop me.
Nole’s lips move one last time, his pink tongue flashing with each word. “The white…man said…his name…was Dazz.”
And then he dies.
~~~
Every last Rider is here, none of us able to sit although Gard has asked us to several times.
When we left Nole’s body to the care of his wife and the Healer, the sun was already peeking over the horizon, chasing away the misting rain, casting a pink glaze over the camp. Far too cheery a color for the night’s stormy events.
Gard called the Riders to assembly immediately. The rumors began buzzing in whispers and hisses as the black-clad warriors streamed to a point just outside the camp, beyond the stables.
Ten guards dead, but how?
Under attack by the Icers and the Soakers?
They fell from the sky like rain, murdering children in their beds?
Despite the ludicrousness of the gossip, I stay silent, knowing the truth will come out soon enough.
Dazz, I think. An Icer? Despite Nole’s claim that the fault lay with him, my hands clench in anger. My mother was killed by an Icer. I will get my revenge.
Eventually Gard manages to calm the Riders, even convincing them to sit in the grass, which is still wet with the night mist. My hands are anxious, resting first on my knees and then on the damp earth, before finally sitting knotted in my lap. Surely this will be a call to war. The only question is with whom.
First, Gard tells the true story, stamping out the rumors almost as quickly as they arose. Two guards dead. Likely attacked by an Icer and a Heater. Since when have those two tribes fought together? I wonder. Are we entering a time when every tribe bands together as one, an invincible adversary determined to wipe all good from the earth? Will Mother Earth allow it?
“We have to act!” a Rider yells when Gard finishes.
“Yeah!” a woman screams, her cry mimicked by a dozen more voices, like echoes. Some of the Riders stand, fists clenched at their sides.
“We cannot act against an enemy we can’t see,” Gard says, gesturing for the Riders to sit. Grudgingly, they do. “We could rush off and start a war. But will there be anyone left when we return?” There’s silence, Gard’s words weighing heavily on the too-bright morning.
“We cannot do nothing,” I say, surprised at my brazenness. I stand, wondering what I’ll say even as I say it. “They’ve attacked us in our home. They’ve practically begged us for war.” I sense the words are mine, but not. Only part mine. Evil lurks behind them, but they feel right. Will my mother’s death go unanswered?
“They were provoked,” Gard says. “Nole admitted that it was his fault—that he was spooked and acted out of fear. They only wanted to talk to me.”
“They wanted to get close to you so they could kill you,” I say, feeling strength coursing through me. A sudden desire to ride Passion into battle fills me. Even standing I feel restless, like I need to move, to run, to ride, to fight. “An eye for an eye. We killed their king so they’ll kill our war leader.”
“Maybe so,” Gard admits. “But we don’t know that. Coming into the heart of our camp with a force of only two would have been sure death, suicide. Perhaps there’s more to it.”
I know he’s right, but his words are too patient for me. “What would you have us do?” I ask.
Gard’s eyes bore into mine. “Have Riders replace the normal guardsmen. Double the watch. Be vigilant. If they want badly enough to speak to me, they will return. And we’ll be ready.”
Silence hangs ominously over our heads, a stark contrast to the rare cloudless sky. Finally I feel uncomfortable standing alone in a sea of seated Riders. Awkwardly, I lower myself to a crouch.
Gard casts his eyes over the lot of us. Despite the calmness and steadiness of his previous words, his gaze throws off sparks. “I want them brought to me alive”—his voice booms like a battle drum—“and only then will they answer for their crimes!”
~~~
We work in groups of four, silent protectors of the camp, of my people. If the foreigners show their faces again… The thought trails off in my mind because I know the rest of it will be finished by the dark one who clings to me like my black robe.
Let them come, the Evil says.
I shake my head and pull my hood over my hair as a cautious rain begins to fall. The night speaks in leafy rustles and patters.
My companions also don their hoods. They don’t complain about being tired or having to stand in the rain. Riders don’t complain. We are iron. We are rock.
A drip of moisture crawls into my eye and blurs my vision, as if to remind me that even rock and iron are affected by Mother Earth’s elements.
One of the torches planted in the soft ground beside us flickers when the rain picks up. The flame falters, wavers, and then dies, casting us into darkness. Still we stand. Still we watch, our eyes adjusting to the night.
Something flashes in the corner of my vision, a speck of movement, there and gone again. A trick of the night? A specter?
I train my stare on the spot, unwilling to raise a false alarm until I’m sure. I see only black. And then…
A flash of something lighter, growing in size as someone approaches.
“Who’s there?” I demand.
My companions turn to the sound of my voice, startled. The blob of white stops, says, “My name is Dazz. I come from ice country. My companion is Feve, one of the Marked from fire country. We’ve come to speak to your leader.” I squint to make out the face of either of them. The one who calls himself Dazz steps forward, clearer now, but still shrouded by the night.
My hand tenses on my sword, prepared to draw it, to swing it, to kill if necessary.
“You killed two men,” the Rider next to me says.
The one he called “the Marked” steps forward, just a human-shaped splotch of brown. “They left us no choice,” he says, his voice certain and free of shame. The desire to slice him to ribbons courses through me as I slide my blade from its sheath.
“Please,” Dazz says. “We are only here to understand why you steal our children.”
My next breath comes sharply, before I need it. Exhaling, I regain my composure. “Drop your weapons,” I say. “And come forward with your hands clasped above your head. But don’t be surprised if Gard is less merciful than we.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Huck
I duck beneath the icy water, my eyes burning with salt and dread. Where is she?
I search frantically, seeing only churning white and bubbles. Even the sharp-tooths are noticeably absent, smart enough to escape to a less angry corner of the Deep Blue. I resurface, gasping for breath, spluttering when a wave looms over me. My wet blue uniform sticks to me like a second skin, weighing me down. Just as the wave topples over me, I dive back down, deeper this time, fighting to see through the murk.