Across the Dark Water

by Jennifer Lynn Alvarez

  Echofrost’s mane prickled at his words and she exchanged a glance with Shysong. “Do you know where you came from?”

  Kol shuffled his hooves. “There are elder steeds at the Ruk who might know.”

  “What’s the Ruk?”

  Rizah interrupted, nickering sleepily. “Oh, you don’t want to go there. It’s where the foals are born and where the old and sick steeds go to die.”

  “But won’t you go there when you have a foal?”

  Rizah sputtered. “I’m a Flier, a warrior. Warriors don’t have foals.”

  “But—” It didn’t make sense. In Anok, battle mares had foals all the time, and Echofrost didn’t know what to say about that. She glanced at Kol. “Don’t you want your own family?”

  “Family?” he asked, mouthing the word. “Brauk is my family.”

  Echofrost tossed her mane, frustrated. “So you don’t have any idea where your ancestors came from?”

  “We flew here from lands in the north,” Rizah said, yawning. “That’s all I know.”

  Echofrost felt the air squeeze from her lungs, and Shysong gasped. Anok was north. She whispered over the wall to Shysong, “Do you think these Kihlari are from our homeland?”

  “They could be,” the mare answered. “You heard what Hazelwind told us right after we landed here, didn’t you? Some of our elders believe that the lost Lake Herd steeds fled from Nightwing four hundred years ago, when he first took power. Maybe they crossed the Dark Water like we did. Maybe these Kihlari are the descendants of those steeds.”

  Echofrost ransacked her memories for the Lake Herd pegasi legends, again wishing Morningleaf were here. Her friend knew most of them by heart. She returned to her overturned bucket and stepped up to better see the entire barn.

  There were hundreds of Kihlari in here, more at the Ruk, and hundreds, maybe thousands, living with the other Sandwen clans—and she bet they were all refugees from Anok, all descendants of pegasi who’d once lived free. And now they lived in pens and nickered for food. Now they carried Landwalkers on their backs and suffered cold metal in their mouths.

  She dropped to her hooves, panting and scared—more scared than she’d ever been in her life. She was staring at her future, and the future of all pegasi, if Storm Herd didn’t break free of this continent and these Landwalkers

  for good. But what about all these trapped steeds? She had to help them too!

  “I think you hail from our land!” she blurted. “You fled across the Dark Water like we did, but you once lived in a herd.”

  “Not me,” spit Kol. “I was born at the Ruk and then Paired to Brauk. I’m not wild.”

  He said wild like it was a dirty word, and Echofrost huffed. “You weren’t Paired with Brauk,” she said. “He bought you.”

  “What’s the difference?” Kol asked. Other Kihlari listened, some offended like Kol, others intrigued.

  “The difference is, you didn’t have a choice,” said Shysong.

  Kol went silent, thinking.

  Rizah leaped in. “You speak about us coming here and getting captured like it just happened to us,” she said. “But it was long ago. It doesn’t matter anymore how we used to live.”

  Echofrost tossed her mane. “But it does! Your ancestors, my ancestors, I think they’re the same! Doesn’t that mean anything to you? And your herd, Lake Herd, once controlled one of the largest territories in Anok—you

  made your own rules, slept when you wanted, flew when you wanted. You weren’t locked up. And what about your foals? Do you want them sold to other clans?” Echofrost shivered.

  “It’s an honor when a foal fetches a high price,” Ilan neighed.

  “An honor?” Echofrost stamped her hoof. “To sell your offspring?”

  The Kihlari exploded into angry whinnies, denials, and shed feathers. Echofrost and Shysong let the Kihlari argue and debate, waiting for them to settle down.

  “Your words change nothing,” Kol finally whinnied at her. “It’s more important to be safe than free.”

  “I think you’ve got that backward,” said Echofrost.

  Kol kicked the wall between them. “You’re a foreigner; you don’t understand our ways.”

  Echofrost pricked her ears, stunned that they would fight so hard against their history. She’d expected them to feel relieved, empowered, maybe even angry with the Landwalkers—not angry with her!

  But she wouldn’t give up. “It’s easy to turn your head from it,” she said, breathing harder. “Since you’re not allowed to choose a mate and have foals. You don’t make

  any choices at all. You refuse to see the truth.”

  The Kihlari Fliers fell absolutely silent.

  “We can leave, all of us together,” Echofrost nickered. “My herd will help us, and we can all find a new territory. If I’m right about you, then when your ancestors left Anok, they weren’t searching for this. They were fleeing from the immortal Destroyer, a pegasus named Nightwing—just like my herd, but yours was captured by the Sandwens. It’s time you left this place and continued the journey your ancestors began. You should be angry about what happened to you.”

  Rizah exhaled. “But I love Tuni. I’ll never leave her.”

  Echofrost sputtered. “How can you love a Landwalker?”

  “We’re Paired,” Rizah explained, glancing at the scar on her shoulder that matched Tuni’s. “I swore to protect her life and she mine. I think it’s you who don’t understand. The Fifth Clan needs us.”

  Echofrost shook her head, feeling frustrated. “How can I make them understand they’re being used?” she asked Shysong.

  The mare shrugged her wings but then asked Rizah a question. “What if you flew without permission? What would Tuni do?”

  “She would come find me,” said the golden mare.

  “But would she let you go if you wanted to explore?”

  Rizah huffed. “Of course not, but not because she’s cruel. The jungle is full of predators, and I don’t know what’s safe to eat. She’d bring me back to protect me because she loves me.”

  “You’re like weanlings then,” Echofrost said, exasperated. “Mother pegasi don’t let their foals wander because they can’t survive on their own. And that’s what’s happened to you all. You don’t know how to survive and so you’re afraid.”

  Kol whipped his tail, interrupting. “Don’t pretend you aren’t also afraid. You two don’t know how to survive in that jungle either.”

  Echofrost bit her lip. That was true, but not entirely. “That’s only because we weren’t raised here, and yes, I’m afraid to wander in it alone,” she clarified. “But I’m not suggesting any of you travel alone. Together, you would learn to survive, and then you’d teach your foals. You’d look out for one another—that’s what a herd does.”

  “But the Gorlan hordes are out there,” a bay mare pointed out.

  “I’m not going anywhere,” said Rizah.

  “I won’t leave Brauk,” Kol said.

  Most of the Kihlari agreed, but a few considered leaving.

  I didn’t know my ancestors were wild.

  It would be nice to graze on fresh grass every day.

  I’m not afraid of the jungle.

  Echofrost listened, memorizing who was interested and who was not.

  When Hazelwind and the Storm Herd steeds came back for her and Shysong, she hoped to take some of these Kihlari steeds with her. Not all the Landwalkers were as kind to their mounts as Tuni was to Rizah, and those mistreated steeds were the most interested.

  Echofrost also wanted to free the pegasi at the Ruk. Since they weren’t bonded to Riders, they might be more willing to escape, but she had no way to talk to them.

  “One day Shysong and I will escape this clan,” Echofrost announced, interrupting the nickering Kihlari. “Whoever wants to join us will be welcomed by Storm Herd.” Echofrost wasn’t completely sure that was true, but she hoped she could convince her friends to accept any tame pegasi who chose to join them. Storm Herd was small. It w
ould be good for them to increase their numbers. “Think about it, about living free,” Echofrost finished.

  More excited nickering erupted, followed by loud arguments and shuffling hooves.

  Echofrost closed her mouth. She would give her words time to sink into the minds of the Kihlari steeds. No pegasus will endure captivity again, not while I’m alive. That promise felt heavier now than ever, but if these were truly the lost pegasi of Anok, she owed it to their ancestors to try and help them.

  22

  The Queen

  IT WAS LATE MORNING AND ALREADY BLAZING hot. Insects swarmed over the dewy grass in the fallows, chirping and feeding furiously before the sun rose higher. Nine days had passed since the giant attack at Leshi Creek, and since then Rahkki had come twice a day from the farm to tend to Sula. Brauk offered to pay him for the work after he sold the mare, but Rahkki had refused. “You need to get her fat and teach her to trot and canter in pretty circles,” Brauk had instructed him.

  “Are you going to sell her as a Flier or as a pet?” Rahkki had asked.

  “Don’t know yet,” said Brauk. “All I know is that I can’t

  sell her like this.” And then he’d poked her in the ribs.

  Now the silver mare chomped at the grass, her appetite hearty. Rahkki listened to General Tsun’s land troops chatting in the jungle nearby as they guarded the perimeter of their settlement. The sky patrols had increased, and escorts had been sent to help the traveling clans arrive safely at the summer Gathering. It was the Fifth Clan’s turn to host this year and the Kihlari auction was in fifteen days.

  Brauk and Rahkki stood side by side, grazing with Kol and Sula. “I should do this more often,” Brauk said. “Grazing is free. Hay is expensive.” Then he kicked at the trampled scrub. “This forage isn’t the best quality though.”

  When the Kihlari had eaten their fill, Rahkki and Brauk led their steeds back to the training yard. All Riders were on call in case the giants attacked, and so they sat at tables in the shade, passing time by fighting their bright horned beetles against one another. The insects battled on pedestals inside intricate cages. The Riders bet on the outcome of each contest. A loud cheer went up when Mut Finn’s insect beat Harak’s. “Pay up,” said the teen, grinning. Harak scowled, and Rahkki heard the jingling of coins as they passed hands.

  Brauk returned Kol to his stall and then stood with Rahkki and Sula beside a large eucalyptus tree to discuss her training. They had to teach her to walk, trot, canter, and gallop in circles and on command. It was an exercise Rahkki knew from day one she’d despise, and she had. Even Brauk’s club couldn’t get Sula’s hooves moving, and his brother cursed her to the skies and back.

  Suddenly Brauk straightened. “The queen’s coming,” he said.

  Rahkki’s excitement chilled, and the entire yard silenced as the Riders and grooms stopped what they were doing, wiped their hands on their trousers, and pushed their hair into place. Tension wound through the yard like a snake.

  From the iron gates of the fortress, the queen had emerged, riding her blood-bay stallion, Mahrsan. Lilliam kept his reins short, cranking his neck into a tight arch. The stallion walked with his mouth open, straining against the bit. His long black mane swung against his knees, and he carried his white-trimmed blue wings folded at his sides, covering the queen’s bare legs. She wore matching white and blue wildflowers in her curled hair, and her white fur cape was edged in black mink. Patterns of the Fifth Clan marked her face and hands, drawn in ochre. Her eyes, which were as dark blue as her stallion’s feathers, glittered

  in the hot sun. Bright gloss shined her lips.

  Behind her walked her bloodborn princesses—the three living threats to her throne. I’Lenna was the eldest, and Rahkki studied her face, remembering how they’d laughed together in the barn some days ago. There was no evidence of her bright smile now. I’Lenna walked with her back stretched tall and her features fixed into a bland expression, but when she noticed Rahkki, her eyes brightened. Queen Lilliam glanced from her daughter to Rahkki and frowned. I’Lenna looked away quickly, and the boy’s face flamed.

  Her mother’s sharp reaction reminded Rahkki that I’Lenna was on the cusp of her twelfth birthday. It was an age that threatened many queens, for it was around this age when exceptionally ambitious crown princesses began plotting to usurp their mothers. And since Lilliam already feared retaliation from Rahkki and Brauk—the children of her predecessor—she’d never condone a friendship between either of them and her eldest princess. It was the brutal irony of being queen—that producing heirs also produced rivals.

  Clucking softly to her stallion, Lilliam leaned back in Mahrsan’s saddle, and her huge belly swelled in front of her like a monsoon river, full to overflowing with her fourth child. She didn’t smile, nor grimace, nor strain her eyes to look at her subjects. Serenity dripped from her like the cold rain that precedes a storm. Her Royal Guard surrounded her, but aimed their spears at her people.

  The queen’s gaze shifted from Rahkki to Sula. “What’s wrong with that new mare?” she asked, sweeping her dark eyes across Sula’s body, which had not yet begun to plump. Her lips tightened, and she turned to Brauk. “Is she ill?”

  “She’ll recover in time for the auction, my queen,” Brauk said.

  Lilliam’s nostrils flared gently, absorbing his words like a foul odor. “You have fifteen days to make that happen,” she said. Then her gaze found Tuni, who had just flown in on Rizah and was hovering overhead. “Where is the other mare?” she asked. “The one with the blue eyes?”

  “Firo is resting inside the barn, my queen,” Tuni answered.

  “Bring her to me.”

  Tuni nodded and shouted an order to Koko, who was cleaning buckets. The head groom loped inside the barn and soon returned with the roan mare. She’d had the good sense to quickly pull the straw from Firo’s mane and to smooth her coat before presenting her to the queen. The roan glistened in the sunshine, and her light-blue eyes were striking against her long black lashes.

  Brauk used the moment that the queen was looking away to tuck Rahkki behind his back, but his quick movement drew her attention back to them. Rahkki’s heart skittered as her cold eyes regarded them with open disdain. He knew that the only thing protecting him and his brother from her was the bargain that Uncle Darthan had struck—feeding the Land Guard for free in exchange for their lives—but sometimes, like now, it seemed a fragile covering.

  Sula’s hot breath on his neck drew Rahkki from his thoughts, and he looked over his shoulder at her. She was standing closer to him than she ever had, her eyes trained on the queen.

  Lilliam nodded toward the other mare, Firo, and then spoke to her daughter I’Lenna. “What do you think of the roan?”

  I’Lenna grinned. “She’s pretty.”

  “She’s also rare,” said Lilliam. “A wildling. Take a closer look.” Her dark-blue eyes softened toward I’Lenna, and Rahkki wondered what it was like—raising a crown princess who could not rule until you were dead. He imagined it drove a wedge between them.

  I’Lenna approached Firo slowly, studying her. She lifted the roan’s hooves one by one, ran her sure hands down her legs, and stroked her feathers. After her inspection, she nodded. “This braya will fetch heavy coin, Mother, but not as a Flier. She’s a pet.”

  Rahkki’s eyes widened. I’Lenna saw what he saw—that Firo was not powerful enough for war. The princess glanced at Rahkki and he smiled at her, but she looked quickly away.

  Queen Lilliam returned her attention to Sula. “I agree with my daughter about the roan. Sell her as a pet. But this silver mare is a Flier.” She glared at Brauk. “Put some fat on her first, because I will not be embarrassed. If she’s not trained and shining like a star by the day of the auction, I will tie her up and feed her to Granak myself. You are running out of time.”

  Rahkki’s blood drained at her words.

  Brauk bowed his head and balled his hands into tight fists. “Yes, my queen.”

  Lil
liam clucked at Mahrsan, and the big stallion flew forward, whipping his adorned tail at Brauk as he passed. The sharpened beads she’d tied into his hair sliced Brauk’s face, drawing red stripes across his cheek.

  Rahkki’s brother mouthed silent curses at Mahrsan as the winged steed glided away. The guards ecorted the princesses across the yard, but I’Lenna stayed behind to admire Firo.

  When the queen and her younger daughters were out of sight, Rahkki slumped over like a half-empty sack of grain, and Brauk spit in the dirt. Tuni flew lower, still aboard Rizah, her expression anxious. “You two want to go for a ride? Get out of here for a while?” She glanced at Rahkki. “You can sit behind me.”

  Brauk exhaled. “I do, but you heard the queen. The auction is in fifteen days. Rahkki and I have to train this mare.”

  Tuni nodded, and Rahkki noticed she’d tied the roan’s black-edged feathers onto her wrists along with Rizah’s.

  “You’ve done well with Firo,” Brauk said to her.

  Tuni shrugged, tugging on Rizah’s reins to keep the excited mare close to the ground. “I chose the less-stubborn wildling,” she said. “But your Kihlara is coming around.” She smiled at Rahkki, addressing him. “I knew you’d understand her.”

  “How did you know?” he asked, hoping she wouldn’t call him a Meld in front of everyone. No one liked animal speakers since most turned out to be charlatans.

  “You always understood Drael,” she answered.

  Rahkki’s chest tightened at the mention of his mother’s winged stallion.

  Brauk scowled. “Rahkki was four years old. He doesn’t remember anything about Drael.”

  “Wait,” Rahkki said. “I do remember. He was a bay stallion. He was small.”