Tide

by Lacy Sheridan

  I didn’t go near the water. Whether it had been storming or not I wouldn’t have. But the waves were like a song, whispering of something missing from this place. From our farm, our village, me. Each movement punctuated it, stabbing through me. I wanted for it to end.

  Love, anger, fear, grief—they swirled in me like the winds of the storm swirled with the water and the water with the rocks. I couldn’t keep them apart, and I knew they made for a dangerous combination. But this was what I had been left with. This was what I had. And there was nothing more I could do about it.

  “These are so pretty, Hania,” Isla, the cobbler’s daughter, gushed, picking through the wildflowers I’d brought with me. “They grew on your land?”

  “Yes, I picked them yesterday and today.” I smoothed a strand of her young sister’s hair and studied the flowers I’d woven into it. “My mother always wore flowers in her hair for the festival.”

  “I remember.” She chose a blue flower and considered it, then put it back. “You’ve always worn them, too. You must do mine, I’m no good at it.”

  I couldn’t help a small smile. “Of course I will. There, Brielle, all done.” Brielle was one of the youngest of the girls who had gathered with me at the festival’s start, a mere twelve summers old, and the flowers settled in her brunette curls suited her sweet, round face. She beamed as she jumped up and spun.

  “Thank you!”

  “You’re welcome,” I laughed as she pecked me on the cheek before darting to her sister.

  “Isla, aren’t you ready to go dance yet?”

  “Not just yet. Go on and find Papa, why don’t you?” Brielle had vanished out the door and then Isla sat beside me and passed me the handful of flowers she’d chosen. I motioned for her to turn so I could work.

  “Why did you send her away?” I asked as I searched for the best spots to place the flowers.

  Her answer came in the form of a question, but I understood what she was saying immediately. “Are you going to dance with Edrick?”

  “Oh, don’t start that again.”

  “Why not?” Her voice was teasing, and I was glad she couldn’t see my blush. “I saw you two talking at the market last week.”

  “Yes, we talk because he gives my family our bread.”

  “Mm, and what do you give him?”

  I hit her shoulder, and she laughed. “Apricots.”

  “Is that what you call it?”

  “Isla!” I prayed nobody overheard her comments. Isla had never been one for propriety. We’d known each other all our lives, her being a summer younger than me, and if I had to choose a best friend in the village it would be her.

  “I know you’d do no such thing, Hania, don’t worry. You’re much too sweet for that.”

  “As if you aren’t. You’re a gossip and a flirt but at least you know your limits.”

  “Try telling Bram Varen that.”

  I paused my work, gaping at the back of her head. “You didn’t, Isla.”

  “Maybe.” She turned her head to cast me a sly smirk. “Don’t tell your brother. I’m still trying to convince my father to entertain the idea of inviting him for dinner.”

  I couldn’t help the tension creeping into my spine at the mention of Tobin, but I tried to shake it off. “He’s three summers older than you and your father knows it. I can’t say I believe it’ll ever happen but best of luck.”

  “What’s wrong? You always try to talk me out of arranging anything with Tobin. That’s half the fun. Don’t tell me you’ve now decided I’m respectable for him.”

  I forced a laugh at her tone. “You’re perfectly respectable, most of the time, but can we not discuss Tobin?”

  “Well, then, hurry up and finish so we can dance.”

  I secured the last flower and got to my feet. “I thought you were going to dance with your sister first.”

  “I’m sure she’s dancing with Papa by now,” she shrugged as she got up as well. She threaded her arm through mine. “Shall we, Hania?”

  “I suppose.” The music and giddy air of the festival sunk its way into me the moment we stepped outside, and I couldn’t stop another smile as she pulled me into the crowd of dancers. The drums and flutes and strings created a harmony that floated through the air and up into the sky that was dashed through with the golden shades of sunset. The smell of smoke gave way to the flowery perfumes amid the crowd. Around me people swirled and laughed, a moving rainbow of skirts, capes, masks, and flowers. Isla and I spun with them. Their cheer was infectious. Whatever my troubles with Papa and Tobin, for tonight I could forget and enjoy the festival.

  Isla and I danced, taking turns spinning one another or passing through the rows of other dancers. There was no room for thought in the crowd, only the rhythm of the music thrumming through my heart and the cobblestone beneath my feet, and I was grateful for it. When I was breathing hard and Isla had been swept away to dance with one her admirers, I slipped through the crowd to catch my breath. Away from the press of bodies the air was cooler as night fell, and I closed my eyes, tipping my head to the stars.

  “Hania.”

  I jumped at the sound of Tobin’s voice beside me. He stood a step further away than he might have under normal circumstances, a drink in each hand. He held one out to me in offering, and I swallowed the lump in my throat before I took it. Our conversations had been scarce today; Tobin had been off working in the fields while I had stayed at the house to prepare for the festival. The tense quiet between us felt so wrong, like it was ripping into my skin, but I didn’t know what to do about it. We’d never fought before, not any more than short-lived sibling squabbles. Every time before, our argument had been forgotten in a matter of hours. I wanted my brother back, and yet every time I looked at him to say so, fury and betrayal seared through me and stopped the words from leaving my mouth.

  “Tobin,” I said, avoiding his soft gray gaze. “Happy Midsummer.” Too formal a greeting for my brother.

  “Happy Midsummer.” Several long seconds of quiet stretched between us before he spoke again. “I’m sorry you found out about Inka that way. Papa just told me and I did want to find a better way to talk to you about it—”

  “It’s not your fault, Tobin,” I murmured. I looked down into my drink rather than at him. It wasn’t his fault I’d eavesdropped on their conversation. It wasn’t his fault Papa had made the decision.

  It was his fault that he wanted to throw away the last piece of Mama left on the farm. It was his fault that he couldn’t see why we needed Inka there.

  He sighed. “You say that but you won’t look at me.” I blinked but couldn’t find anything to say. “I don’t want to sell Inka any more than you do, but—”

  “I don’t want to hear this again,” I said. I forced myself to look at him now, to look into his eyes and make him see how much this hurt me. “I know what you think about it. And I know it will happen no matter what I say because you and Papa decided it already. But that doesn’t mean I forgive you.”

  “You’re my sister. I’d give anything for what you want, but life isn’t about what’s easy and nice. The right things to do can be the hardest.”

  I shook my head, stepping away. “I said I don’t want to hear it again. I’m going to find Isla.” I left him, retreating as quick as possible. We were going in circles. I couldn’t talk to him until I figured a way out of the loop. I wasn’t going to give up Inka, and he wasn’t going to change his mind. To Tobin, Inka was a mere horse. Something that could be replaced or gotten rid of if not working properly. He may have loved her like any of our animals, but she wasn’t a piece of Mama to him. I couldn’t change that. I’d lose no matter what happened, and for that alone, I couldn’t forgive him. Papa may have been the one to decide it, to put it in his head, but Tobin didn’t fight it.

  I slipped around people left and right, ignoring their cheerful greetings and smiling faces. Everybody else was having a delightful time, dancing, drinking. A group of men in costume masks reenacted one of th
e old stories, shells and furs for the tidespeople, and false gold for the King’s men, animal masks for the dancers among them. Children played a game of horseshoes nearby and squealed with laughter. The bonfire had been lit and was beginning to lick up toward the night sky, eating away the piles of firewood that had been collected all afternoon for it. Meat was surrounding it—fresh-cooked pigs and lambs, with more being tended to—and the smell was heaven. It was the festival as always, sheer joy, but I felt like I was a million miles from it.

  I set my drink down beside the food and chose a small cake from the many somebody had made, but only snacked at the berries on top. My stomach rolled with far too much anxiety to eat; I knew I needed to act as if I was enjoying myself. I didn’t want to have to answer questions.

  From the spot I’d chosen, I had a clear view of the dancing crowd and near the edge of it spotted Isla, a grin wide and bright across her face as Edrick spun her. She caught sight of me as he did and said something to him. I couldn’t hear his response, but she laughed at it and pulled away, pushing him in my direction. By the time he looked back, another boy had taken his place, and he didn’t bother to argue. The hint of a smile curled unbidden across my lips—not enough to chase away the bitter feeling my conversation with Tobin had left, but enough to dull it a little.

  I pushed away from the table to meet him, and we hovered halfway between it and the dancers. Neither of us spoke, and I tried not to notice the way Edrick’s dark eyes skimmed over me for an instant before righting themselves. “You look beautiful,” he said, voice soft. He lifted one hand to brush one of the flowers woven low into my loose hair. “I like the flowers.”

  A little surge of warmth spread through my belly. “Thank you.”

  “Isla reminded me that it would only be polite that I ask you to dance.”

  I laughed. “I’m sure she did.” That girl would never give up.

  He held out a hand to me. “So?”

  It was the midsummer festival. It was a time for joy and celebration, not wallowing in anger. I risked a glance toward where Tobin had gone. He was further away, half blocked by people, but I could see the way he moved, tense and upset. I didn’t want to ruin his night, and I didn’t want him to ruin mine.

  I took Edrick’s hand. “I’d love to.”

  He looked relieved, like he hadn’t expected me to accept, but he hid it behind a smile and led me to the dance. The music had slowed, rhythmic and haunting compared to the lively songs Isla and I had danced to before. I didn’t often dance like this—the few times the musicians shifted to this I left to give others the space—and I had to stop myself from watching my feet in the worry I would stumble. But Edrick didn’t mind, leading us around the floor. He worked hard for his family, I knew, but he’d studied the finer arts more than most village baker boys would have thought to. One of the many reasons Isla fawned over him for me. Edrick Catessar was someone I should have been grateful to have the affections of.

  So why wasn’t I? I enjoyed his company, and I considered him a friend, but why did the thought of going through with what the entire village expected of us spark no pleasant butterflies to life in my stomach?

  Why did I find myself glancing over his shoulder, past him to something I couldn’t name, instead?

  “Are you alright, Hania?” Edrick asked, jolting me out of my thoughts. I blinked and looked at him. I settled back into my own body, into the festival and our dance.

  “Yes. Yes, I’m fine.”

  “Is something wrong? You’re quiet tonight.”

  I debated over how to answer before I let myself speak. “No, it’s nothing.” He raised an eyebrow, catching the lie, and I looked down again. “Tobin and I had a fight, that’s all. It’s nothing for you to worry about.”

  “Do you want to go find him?”

  “No,” I answered too fast, and from the curl of his mouth I knew he stifled a laugh. “Maybe. I don’t know. I’m still mad at him but I feel terrible.”

  “He’s your brother. I’m sure he won’t hold anything against you. And I hate to see you two not speaking, so let’s go.”

  I stopped and looked over my shoulder again, toward where I’d last seen Tobin. “Now?”

  Edrick didn’t bother to hide his laugh this time, tugging me after him by the hand. “Yes, now. It’s not like we’re in the middle of working.” I kept quiet and followed him, half of my insides squirming with anxiety and half calmed by his easy confidence. We dodged around people, receiving a few amused glances, but we only made it to the edge of the bonfire before I realized I had no idea where Tobin had gone.

  “He could be anywhere,” I said.

  “The village isn’t that big; he can’t be too hard to find…” But he trailed into silence, looking upwards. Something flickered across his face and I followed his gaze.

  At first I saw nothing unusual. The night sky stretched above us, lush black scattered with stars. The air was tranquil and warm. The ideal night for the festival.

  And then the storm clouds caught my attention. They weren’t over us yet, most of them drowned out by the glow of the fire beside us, but they cut off the soft starlight in the distance and turned the sky too deep and dark. They moved too swift, rushing across the sky.

  “What is that?” I asked in a whisper. My voice refused to go any louder. Something in the pit of my stomach fluttered, but it wasn’t excitement and anticipation at the feeling of Edrick’s hand around my own or the flush of the fire and music around us.

  He shook his head. “I don’t know.”

  I wanted to look around us, to be sure that somebody else had seen it and had an answer, but before I could, a crack of lightning lit up the sky and made us jump. Thunder roared through the air, and the entire festival slowed. The dancers stopped. The musicians faltered and quieted. A wave of murmurs began, but the village felt too static, too tense. Nobody moved, waiting. My heart raced in my throat, but my muscles were like stone.

  Something was coming. I didn’t know how I knew, perhaps by some long-dormant instinct, but I did. We all did. Fear gripped the crowd like chains, falling onto us as sudden as the lightning. Edrick’s grip on my hand tightened.

  The clouds rolled closer, churning like boiling water, and the sky darkened, making the bonfire and the hanging lanterns feel like the last lights in the world. Every shadow turned from gray to pitch black, flickering and dancing with the flames as if they were alive. The sight of them made my palms prickle.

  A wet, uneven dragging sound pierced the dead silence. I turned with everybody else in its direction and watched the dark shape stagger to the village center. I stiffened my joints to keep from fleeing, for an instant sure it was some monstrous creature, but then the lights reached it, and I saw a human, a body contorted with bent armor.

  The whispers built up again, but I had no voice to join them. “Gods,” Edrick breathed beside me, and I shuddered.

  I knew both of the men who limped toward us by face, though not by name. They were watchmen, in charge of protecting our borders and land in the event of intruders or thieves and assisting the safe passage of travelers. The festival night was no exception to their duties, but I hadn’t even thought of them. I rarely saw them in their armor, and they ran into little trouble, but now one was held together only by the metal plates, glistening with scarlet blood that made my stomach roll. The other pulled him along, a jerking, shaky walk. I couldn’t tell how much blood belonged to either; both were drenched. Both sets of simple armor were twisted and broken in places, gone in others. I looked away before I could register the extent of their injuries; bile was already rising in my throat.

  With a heavy sound the man still standing collapsed, and there was a moment of piercing, shocked silence before the rush of movement to help him. A hundred questions were being shouted at him, and I wanted to add to them, but my voice was caught in my throat. Edrick looked to me, expression full of cold fear, before disentangling his hand from mine and pushing through the crowd to get to the watchmen.
I trailed behind him; I didn’t know what else to do.

  “—they’re bringing the storm. There are too many,” the watchman was saying when we reached him. Up close he was even more horrific to look at, one arm dangling uselessly, one side of his face shredded. The metallic smell of blood hit me, and I covered my mouth and nose with one hand in an effort to keep the nausea at bay. He gasped for breath, hunched over on the ground, but waved off all offers to help him. “They’re coming again. You have to leave, now.”

  “Who’s coming?” Edrick asked, but I knew better.

  I knew the stories. I’d listened to the tales of the war centuries past, to the memories of the slaughter of the villages fifty years ago. I knew who brought storms and death. My voice didn’t sound like my own, far away and tight with disbelief and terror “The tidespeople.”

  Most of the crowd was too focused on the watchman to hear me, hovering over him in distress, but not all. The people closest to us looked up and the word spread like wildfire.

  Tidespeople.

  The tidespeople were coming.

  Tidespeople.

  Tidespeople.

  The word circled me like a storm of its own. My heart pounded at the sound of it, racing in my fingertips. The crowd around me dropped away to nothing.

  No one stirred, repeating the realization again and again like that would make it any better, but then the village burst to life. People bolted away, shouting for their families. Some raced to gather weapons. I could do nothing but watch, my feet sealed to the spot and body numb.

  They were coming. Fifty years ago, they’d failed to destroy this shore, and now they had returned to finish the job. Those who remembered the last attack spoke of the way they had slaughtered the last village they’d reached before being stopped, wreaking havoc for no apparent purpose but their own entertainment. No care of the lives they took or destroyed. They spoke of how it had taken an army of men to repel them .

  Our village didn’t have an army.