Water & Storm Country

by David Estes

  “I should give you my full report in private,” Hobbs says. “Then you can decide whether I should stay on.” There’s a glint in his eye.

  “No,” I say, balling my fists. “You can say whatever you need to in front of me, Lieutenant. I’m here to learn.”

  “I don’t think—” Hobbs starts to say, but my father raises an arm to stop him.

  “No, my son’s right. Say what you will,” the admiral says.

  Hobbs closes one eye, his other never leaving mine, as if calculating something. What is he going to say? How can he possibly shed a negative light on what I’ve accomplished on the Mayhem?

  “I fear your son is falling in love with a bilge rat,” he says.

  ~~~

  The fallout ain’t pretty. “Follow us,” my father says to Hobbs. Then he grabs my arm, drags me up the steps to the quarterdeck, and shoves me down the steps to the officers’ cabins. We nearly crash into Captain Montgomery, who has just exited his own cabin, looking exceedingly groggy.

  “Admiral, I wasn’t aware you were here. I was just getting some shut eye after a long, hard day.” Of sleeping and drinking and smoking, I think.

  “Come with us,” my father orders.

  He jostles me into my cabin, where a very surprised Barney is just finishing making up my bed. “Hullo, Admiral,” he says.

  “Out,” is all my father replies. Barney scurries on out of there, leaving me in a very crowded cabin with my father (red-faced and rock-jawed), Hobbs (smiling cruelly), and Captain Montgomery (still blinking away a long nap).

  “Speak, Hobbs,” my father commands when the door is shut.

  Hobbs cracks his knuckles, as if he’d rather punch me than talk about me. “Well, Admiral, your son”—he points at me as if no one in the room knows who I am—“has been spending a significant portion of his time with a bloody bilge rat girl.”

  “And?” my father says.

  “And…I think that shows there’s something going on between them,” Hobbs adds.

  “That’s it? That’s all you’ve got? Huck…Lieutenant Jones admitted himself that he’s training her to repair the sails. That would require time, would it not, Lieutenant?”

  Hobbs shifts from foot to foot, his toothy smile wiped away by the strength of my father’s words. “Well, aye, but—”

  “So you have no further evidence?”

  “Well, no, but surely Captain Montgomery has noticed too,” Hobbs says, trying to direct my father’s heavy stare to the captain, who looks like he’d much rather be in his hammock than here.

  “Captain?” my father says.

  “Aye, sir?”

  “What do you have to say?”

  “About what, sir?”

  Admiral Jones lets out a seething breath. “Has water country gone half crazy?” he asks the room. I stay silent. So far it’s worked pretty well for me.

  “Sir?” the captain says.

  “Have you, or have you not noticed any inappropriate behavior from my son?” my father asks.

  I hold my breath.

  The captain looks from my father to me to Hobbs, and then says, “No, sir. As far as I can tell, your son’s done an exemplary job since his arrival. One that should be commended.”

  My father fires a dagger-filled look at Hobbs, who says, “Sir, if I may, give me one more week. This is a crucial time for the Mayhem, and I want to stay on, if only to help maintain its performance.”

  “You’ve falsely accused my son and now you want to stay on the Mayhem?” my father says.

  “One week,” Hobbs says. “That’s all I ask.”

  My father sighs, looks at me. “Do you object?”

  Aye! I want to scream. But to do so would be to admit guilt. And I have nothing to hide, right? Just because Jade and I have formed a friendship doesn’t mean I’ve done anything wrong. I shake my head.

  “Very well, Hobbs. You stay,” the admiral says.

  “Thank you, sir, you won’t be sor—”

  “But if you throw any more wild accusations at my son, I will not be so forgiving.”

  “Aye, aye, sir,” Hobbs says weakly.

  “As for you…”—he turns to me—“is the bilge rat girl trained in sail repair?”

  “Aye, but—”

  “Good. Stay away from her. Let her do her job, so you can do yours.”

  “Aye, aye, sir,” I say.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Sadie

  I have no one but me and my horse.

  When I fetch Gard, Remy is there and I can tell he knows. He gives me a nod, but not a smile.

  Gard carries my father back to the camp, sets him atop the funeral pyre, makes the arrangements. I just sit there, arms wrapped around my knees, numb. Paw’s death was because of me. Only one of us could be saved, and Mother Earth chose me. But why? Father said there’s an important choice I’ll have to make, but how can one newly proclaimed Rider change anything? And how can I live with myself knowing I blamed Father all these years when it was really my fault? Paw died so I could live. A life for a life. Father let me believe he was weak, a coward, so he could protect me from blaming myself.

  I’m broken with shame, with wasted years and misplaced anger.

  Although the rain has long passed, my cheeks are still wet from running through it, leaving my father’s body in that bare circle of dryness. None of the wetness is from tears. Not another shall fall. Not one single tear.

  “Hi,” Remy says, snapping me out of my stupor and flopping down beside me.

  I have the urge to look at him, but can’t because I’m afraid I’ll see myself in his eyes. Instead, eyes forward, I say, “How’s your horse? How’s Bolt?” A normal conversation, twisting and wrenching in my gut.

  “Sadie…” he says softly.

  “Please,” I say. “Please.” A favor for a promise. Don’t talk about my father and I’ll never be unkind to you again.

  Remy kicks my foot and I’m glad for it, glad he does something that takes me back to when we first met, how many times we’ve fought and argued since. I kick him back.

  “Bolt’s amazing,” he says. “Although he prefers to run straight ahead with his head down, as if he thinks he can charge through most anything. I’m trying to get him to turn now and again. So far I can get him to go right, but not left just yet.”

  The laughter springs to my lips before I can stop it. I raise a hand to my mouth to silence it, but then it just comes out muffled. I’m looking at Remy before I can remember I’m not supposed to. When I look at him, somehow I don’t feel so alone.

  “It’s not funny,” Remy says, but he’s smiling. “Do you know how hard it will be to fight the Soakers if my steed will only charge forward and to the right?”

  Straight-faced, I say, “You know, turning right three times in a row will get you going left just fine.”

  Now it’s Remy’s turn to laugh. “Rare wisdom from a young Rider,” he says. “I can see it now. My leftward enemy holds up his sword, dripping in Rider-blood, ready to cut me down. ‘Wait one minute, Bloodthirsty-Soaker, while I force my horse to turn three times to the right so I can look you in the eye before we do battle.”

  A crowd is gathering, but I pretend they’re not there and that they’re not watching me talk and laugh, like it’s any other day, any other funeral. Like their whispers of “Isn’t it sad?” and “Both parents so close together…” are about someone else.

  “We should stand,” I say, but Remy shakes his head.

  “Not yet,” he says. “How’s Passion? Any problems turning her to the left?”

  “She’s…” A dozen words spring to mind—perfect, incredible, majestic, and on and on—but none of them do her justice. None of them sum up what I really think of her. “She’s everything,” I finally say, and it’s true on so many different levels, especially now that father is...

  He smiles. “I’d feel the same about Bolt if not for the no-left-turn thing. So for now he’ll have to be almost everything.”

  I s
mile but this time it’s not a real smile, because I know…

  It’s time.

  I stand, hating funerals. Hating this funeral.

  My knees are weak, trembling, so I squeeze my leg muscles tight to keep them still.

  Gard stands at the front of the crowd, partially obscuring my father’s body, which lies behind him on the pyre. He will likely call many of the Men of Wisdom to speak of my father’s talents, of his visions, of his wisdom. Of his life.

  “I could speak for hours of the goodness of the man we’ve lost today, but what I would have to say would be but a tip of the spear of what another can say. Sadie, will you come forward?”

  My heart races. Me? Even at my mother’s funeral I wasn’t asked to speak. How can he expect me to say anything when the pain is still so near, hiding just below the surface of my skin, ready to pour out like beads of sweat. The damn tears well up again and I grit my teeth to keep them from spilling. Never again.

  A hand on my back pushes me forward. “It’s okay,” Remy says.

  I almost turn on him, tell him it’s not okay, will never be okay, but instead I just flash him a glare and walk stiffly toward the front. When I reach him, Gard leans down to whisper in my ear. “Your father was a great man,” he says.

  I nod. Take a deep breath. Let my eyes linger on my father for a long moment. Turn around to face the people.

  “I—I…” Good start. Words have never been my thing. Fists and feet and action and speed: those are my things. I start again, feeling the words line up in my head like they never have before, as if my father—a man who always had the right words—is guiding me. “I know my father was a great man,” I say. “No one has to tell me that. Not ever again. So when you offer me your condolences, please tell me stories of him as he was, of the things he did that will hold fast in your memories for years and years to come.” I pause, search my soul for what’s been there all along, how I feel. Not the obvious feelings, like sadness and anger and fear, but for something more—the feelings behind the feelings.

  “I feel…no…I am lucky to have been born to my parents,” I say, holding back an entire ocean of tears, pausing after each sentence to compose myself. “They were the perfect combination of wisdom and strength.” Pause. “Only what I never knew until just today, was that I was wrong about that.” Swallow. “They were both full of wisdom, both full of strength. More so than I’ll ever be. Mourn not for me, but for the loss of my father, for today the world has given back someone who cannot be replaced. I love you, Father,” I finish, and it’s all I can do to get the last word out before it’s all too much.

  I step down quickly, avoiding eye contact with everyone until I return to Remy’s side. Gard moves forward, torch in hand. “We send your soul to Mother Earth!” he says, lighting the wood at the base of the pyre.

  As red and orange flames climb the pile, Remy holds my hand and I hold back, wondering how I’ll ever let go.

  ~~~

  Passion lets me rub her nose longer than usual. Normally she grows restless after a few passes of my hand, pawing and shaking her head, but today she allows me to stand for a long while, stroking the white butterfly between her ears.

  “He’d want us to be happy,” I say to her. “They both would.”

  She whinnies and I know what she says. Together, we are happy, and I know it’s true, because I’m a Rider and there’s no stronger bond on all of Mother Earth’s lands.

  “Will you ride with me today?” I ask, because I’ve learned there’s no forcing Passion to do anything she doesn’t agree to upfront.

  Her whinny makes me swell with emotion. Today I’d ride to the ends of the earth with you, Sadie, if that’s what you wanted. Is that really what she says, I wonder, or is my imagination out of control?

  “Just across the plains,” I say, my voice huskier than usual.

  After letting her munch on an apple, I lead Passion out of her stall and through the stables, enjoying watching Bolt whinny and nay and make a fool out of himself, pining for her affection. I almost feel sorry for the poor old boy when she completely ignores him. Learn to turn left and maybe you’ll have a shot with her, I think, unable to stop the smile that springs to my lips, not because of the joke, but because of who told it.

  Outside, I easily spring onto Passion’s back, instantly warming as her sinewy muscles adjust beneath me. Despite all that’s died inside me, I’ve never felt so alive. Perhaps the connection between Rider and horse is more than simple familiarity—something mystical, preordained. Despite myself, I hope that it is.

  Passion starts out at a trot but upgrades to a canter almost immediately. When she begins to gallop, my heart gallops with her. The wind whips my hair all around me as I clutch her black mane, letting her run at full speed, not trying to slow or turn her. For I am not her master; I never broke her. Riding her is a gift only she can give.

  Miles stretch out before us but we gobble them up. The dark clouds are threatening rain again before we even consider turning around.

  When we stop, I see them.

  Shadows on the water, teeming with Soakers.

  The fleet has laid anchor.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Huck

  Hobbs isn’t staying on to ensure the continued performance of the ship—that much I know.

  Now that I’ve become used to being near Jade, it will be hard to ignore her, but I will. For her sake and for mine. At least today it will be easy; the bilge rats—I mean, Heaters—are scarcer than sunshine in storm country whenever my father’s around, hiding below deck.

  And around he is, refusing to leave the Mayhem, as if he’s determined to watch me even closer than Hobbs. I stand by his side, observing the first of the landing boats as they paddle toward shore. Once on land, they’ll move inland, filling barrels with fresh drinking water, picking berries and nuts, hunting for animals which will later be skinned, butchered, and salted, replenishing each ship’s stores.

  “Is there any truth to what Hobb’s said?” my father asks suddenly, just when I think he’s forgotten I’m even here.

  “No,” I say, shocked at how easily I lie to him. Perhaps because it’s not a lie—or at least not a full one. I’m not in love with a bilge rat, like he suggested. I’m simply friendly with one, interested in one. Aware of one, you might say. And she’s not a bilge rat—not to me. She’s Jade, a Heater from fire country. A person.

  “Good,” he says. “I know he doesn’t like you, has never liked you. I think your success has made him…uncomfortable.”

  To that I say nothing, just watch as one of the small boats angles away from the others, further down the shore.

  “You know, it won’t be long before you’ll need to take a wife,” Father says.

  I glance at him, but his eyes are fixed on the boat I’ve just noticed, the one apart from the others. The two men onboard have leapt out into the shallows and are dragging the vessel onto the beach.

  “A wife?” I say, unable to hide the surprise in my question.

  “I won’t be around forever,” he says. “You’ll need at least one heir.”

  My face burns so red I’m thankful he doesn’t look at me.

  The boatmen begin scouring the sand, picking up clumps of dried seaweed, stuffing them into bags. My eyes widen and for a moment I forget all about my father’s talk of taking a wife and producing an heir.

  …men leave with the big bags of dried seaweed and then come back with a new lot of children.

  “Father, why do they collect so much dried seaweed?” I ask, motioning unnecessarily to the two men. He’s already looking right at them. His head jerks toward me and I want to flinch back, but foolish pride prevents me. I’m so used to not showing weakness that it’s become a part of me.

  The admiral’s eyes are fierce, but then soften in an instant. “For tea, of course.” A logical answer, but…

  “But why so much? Surely there aren’t enough sailors in all the Deep Blue to require the amounts those men are gatherin
g.”

  His eyebrows lift ever so slightly. “Why are you suddenly so interested in tea leaves?” he asks. “Who have you been talking to?”

  Although he keeps his voice level, I can sense a shift in his tone. Something dark lurks just behind his seemingly innocent questions. His questions seem to confirm Jade’s suspicions about the seaweed being important.

  “No one,” I say, answering the second question first. “It just seems unproductive. Wasting two good men who could be out gathering necessary supplies when a child could scrounge up a few tea leaves to last us months.”

  I’m glad when Father breaks into a smile, releasing the tension. “My boy, the lieutenant,” he says, clapping me on the back. “Always worried about improving performance. Let me put your mind at ease, Son. We’ve got more than enough men hunting and gathering, and the stores have never run dry. Now back to that bride of yours.”

  “What bride?” I say sharply.

  “Exactly. You’re a man now, more than old enough to marry and carry on the Jones’ family name.”

  “But I’m still…” I don’t want to sound like a child, but…

  “So young?” my father says. “Yes, you are, and I’m not suggesting you have to marry at age fourteen. But certainly by sixteen. It’s something you should be thinking about now.”

  My mind spins. I’ve barely even spoken to any girls on the ship, and none for an extended period of time, Jade being the longest. And surely she doesn’t count, because…well, because my father can never know of her.

  “But I don’t—”

  “I know, I know, Son”—he lowers his voice, as if telling me a secret—“the Soaker women aren’t much to look at, and they’ve got far too much strength in their backs and minds. But I’m not suggesting you take one of them at all.”