The Storm Lords

by Ravon Silvius

  “Where on the map are you from?” Elise asked.

  Rowen looked up at her and then down again. He had no idea. All he had ever seen was his village, the island with Kristoff, and now this place. He shrugged helplessly.

  “Okay, look here.” She pointed to a spot on the map near the middle of the blue. “That’s us.” It was a tiny green speck between three enormous landmasses, two of which were connected by a strip of land that ran beneath the speck.

  “Down there is the southwestern region. It’s really mysterious, and no one knows much about it. People assumed it was all desert, although some northerners from the tribes sometimes claim to have traveled down there and found people. People from Linland never go, though.” All the detail made Rowen’s head swim. He wished he knew more about the world, more than just digging holes for well water. Maybe this was too much for him.

  No, he couldn’t think that way. If he did, they would send him back.

  The door banging open made Elise jump, and Rowen looked up from the map. And then his heart skipped a beat or two, and he felt his face drain of blood.

  The tall blond boy striding through the door looked almost exactly like Lucas.

  “Who’s home?” the blond called out roughly, his deep voice carrying through the house.

  “In here, Volkes!” Elise called and waved, and the boy noticed them. Rowen’s heart beat faster. He tried to tell himself it was only the resemblance to his dead friend that did it, not instant attraction. The two were too closely entwined. His mind blanked as Volkes approached, and he just stared. There were differences between the two. Volkes’s eyes were much lighter, almost gray, while Lucas’s had been sky blue. Volkes was taller, his face more angular, and his body less muscled than the blacksmith’s apprentice had been, more taut. Almost more attractive. Rowen swallowed hard.

  “This is Rowen,” Elise began, oblivious to his discomfiture. “He’s a new student.”

  “What’s with all the bandages?” Volkes tilted his head, his voice infused with confusion or possible contempt. He had an accent that Rowen couldn’t quite place.

  “Um….” Elise bit her lip, and Rowen tried to think. Kristoff hadn’t mentioned his injuries, and Elise hadn’t asked.

  Rowen tilted his head up and patted his throat, trying to make Volkes understand. Elise jumped in. “He can’t speak, so I don’t know what happened. It doesn’t still hurt, does it?” She turned worried eyes on him.

  “You can’t talk?” The blond raised his eyebrows, incredulous. “Why not? Your throat looks fine to me.”

  His words gave Rowen pause. He couldn’t explain, even if he had been somehow able to. A familiar wash of blankness came over him, of a dark need to escape. There was too much going on, and he couldn’t talk. He didn’t know how to make himself understood.

  “He’ll learn to write soon, and then he can tell us, right?” Elise looked hopefully at him. Rowen managed to shrug.

  “You can’t write, either?” Volkes crowed. “Where are you from?”

  His words cut, more so because of his appearance and Rowen’s quickly dawning realization at how far behind he was here. But he couldn’t let himself be frightened. All the work ahead of him would help him to carve out his new life, erasing his old. He met Volkes’s cocky glare with one of his own and was rewarded with a careful smile that edged on a sneer. The blond sat down next to him on the couch, peering at the map.

  “I’m from up here—the Kituan tribe.” Volkes pointed to the top of the map, where the colors bled from green to white. “Our tribe used to skirmish with the Pearlens all the time.” He gave a wolfish smile, as though remembering the taste of a particularly delicious food.

  “Point on the map to where you’re from.” Volkes turned demanding gray eyes on him.

  Rowen finally placed his accent. “Where I come from, we give up the people who do not deserve resources.” He stared at Volkes, not really seeing him, but seeing the faces of the villagers as they stripped him and tied him up.

  “Rowen? Rowen?” Elise called his name, but he couldn’t quite hear her over the memories of his old village, their voices condemning him to death.

  “He’s never seen a map before,” Elise said, picking up the book and closing it, flashing Rowen an apologetic look. “But Kristoff said he’s from the southwest.” Her words sounded distant, and Rowen fought to focus over the memories of people’s condemnations in his head and the sound of his own pounding heart. Suddenly his throat hurt.

  “Southwest? People live there? I thought it was just desert.” Volkes was regarding him with disbelief. Rowen mechanically shook his head.

  “Huh. Well, what’s your specialty? Do you know yet?”

  “Not yet. He only just got here today!” Elise answered for him. “I’ve been here years and I don’t know for sure.” Volkes rolled his eyes as she talked.

  “Well… I guess I hope you catch up fast.” Volkes stood up and stretched. “I’ve been learning to summon lightning all day, and I’m tired. I’ll see you tomorrow, Rowen.” He walked upstairs without looking back. Rowen blinked, looking down at the wooden floor, emotions whirling. Volkes brought back bad memories of his village and the northerner who had called for him to be sacrificed, but he also reminded him of Lucas, and there was something about him that lured Rowen against his better judgment. He wanted… he wanted to get to know him better. The more Rowen learned of him, the less he would remind him of his past, he felt sure.

  “Volkes is kind of… I don’t know, nasty sometimes. I don’t know if he means to be. Don’t let it get you down.” Elise put the book back on the shelf with a sigh. “I can help you learn to read and write too if you want. The longer you don’t know, the more he’ll bother you.” She spoke as though she had experience with Volkes bothering her in the past. Rowen wanted to ask how long she had known him, what to expect from him… and couldn’t. That influenced him to nod, hoping she would start teaching him now.

  “Okay. Once you’ve learned a few things, let me know and I’ll help you out.” So she wasn’t going to begin from nothing. Disappointing, especially since he didn’t know what else to do for the rest of the night. The sky outside was deep purple, the day almost over.

  Rowen got up, waving once at Elise before heading outside. He needed an escape, and that wasn’t likely to happen inside. While he enjoyed being around people again, at the same time, it was stressful after he had been alone for so long, when they expected him to communicate and he couldn’t. Kristoff and Elise had done their best to accommodate him, asking yes or no questions, but Volkes hadn’t, and after meeting him, Rowen didn’t expect others to either. That was probably good, though. He didn’t want to be treated differently. He wanted to be the same as everyone else here.

  Moist grass bent under his feet as he walked around the back of the house. A gravel road arced from the front door toward where lights from torches flickered in the distance. The back of the house was dark and the night air was cool, and Rowen looked forward to the day when he would be rid of all the bandages that covered his skin so he could feel it wash over his entire body.

  Things here were so different. He could not help comparing it all to his old village, the lush trees against the dirt ground, the cool air with the promise of moisture against the skin-flaking dryness. Desert… his village had been in the desert, an area of the world people here didn’t seem to know much about. He couldn’t write, couldn’t even read a map…. What did he know? What skills did he have?

  What was his specialty? He still felt as though all of this might be a mistake. He had never shown any ability to summon storms or affect the weather at all. He might be gone soon, sent back, alone again if the villagers even let him live.

  He tried to think of something else. What were Volkes’s powers, exactly? Elise had mentioned that he knew, but had not said what they were. Were they like Kristoff’s? Why did specialty matter? It was just storms, wasn’t it?

  Thinking of Kristoff calmed him a bit, and Rowen focused on
his memories of the tall dark-haired man. Kristoff was beautiful too, more attractive than Volkes, and Rowen’s face heated as he thought of him. Their time in the forest while he recovered had been… not perfect, certainly, but a time of incomparable relief at being alive, at experiencing what seemed like a new world. This place was similar, but not the same. Now everything he learned just seemed to reiterate how little opportunity he’d had in his old home. He never would have known about any of this had Kristoff not found him.

  “Rowen?” An unfamiliar voice came out of the darkness, and he whirled. A tall girl with dark skin approached him, a careful smile on her face.

  “I’m Sharon. Elise told me you were out here. I know you probably have a lot on your mind, and I’ll leave you be for now, but I just wanted to introduce myself and let you know that I’m glad you’re moving in.”

  He nodded, returning her smile, and she waved and turned to go back inside. Obviously older and more mature than Elise, and more proper than Volkes.

  Elise, Volkes, and Sharon. His new… not family. Rowen didn’t like that he had thought that way. Friends? Not yet, especially not Volkes, although Elise seemed like she wanted to be.

  His new village. That label was close enough.

  Chapter 9

  KRISTOFF KNOCKED on the door as the sky was pinking, hopeful at what he would find. Rowen had seemed eager to begin his lessons, and while it was early, he hoped to get the young man into the habit of starting work at dawn. Talia had forced him to do the same, and his progress had been quick, not to mention that Rowen needed all the extra time and help he could get.

  A sleepy-looking blond answered. Volkes, he figured, as that was the only other male living here. “I’m looking for Rowen,” Kristoff said briskly. “Is he awake?”

  The boy’s eyes widened briefly. “It’s awfully early to start lessons, isn’t it?” Volkes replied with a yawn.

  The statement took Kristoff aback. “That’s an awfully disrespectful tone, isn’t it?” Kristoff knew he might be young for a full Storm Lord, but he wasn’t about to let himself be questioned by a student.

  “Hm.” The blond looked away. “He’s still asleep, I think.”

  Kristoff stepped through the entranceway, Volkes forced to step back. “Try not to wake up the whole house,” Volkes muttered.

  Kristoff didn’t know if the other man had meant the statement to be audible or not, and he warred with a desire to put him in his place. He would never have spoken in such a way to his mentor, and especially not to a Storm Lord he had never met! Talia would have punished him severely, no matter his age.

  Ignoring the barb, he headed up the stairs. While Kristoff didn’t have direct authority over Volkes, he could easily speak to Lorana about him, and the thought was enough to calm him down. He was here for Rowen, after all.

  He knocked lightly on his student’s door, and when no one answered, he opened it just enough to peek inside. The lamps were unlit, and through the gloom he could make out Rowen’s sleeping form, uncovered by blankets.

  Kristoff slipped into the room like a wraith, shutting the door behind him. The window was shuttered too, and he fumbled to light the lamp.

  The fire’s glow illuminated Rowen, sleeping naked on his stomach with his face on the mattress, the pillow discarded on the floor. Some of the bandages had been removed, and his skin was still peeling in places, but he looked much recovered compared to the time Kristoff had first seen him in the lake. He looked… good. A little too good, and Kristoff fought to focus.

  “Rowen,” he whispered, unwilling to shake him. “Rowen, it’s time to get up.”

  The youth stirred, his body shifting. “Rowen, it’s Kristoff. It’s time to get up.”

  Green eyes opened, and he stiffened once and looked around before his gaze settled on Kristoff. His mouth opened in a little O, and he sat up, pulling the covers over his lap.

  Kristoff politely kept his gaze just above Rowen’s head. “I’m sorry to wake you, but I want to establish our training regimen early. Your classes will begin just after breakfast, and there’s a lot I want to show you before then. Can you be ready and come outside in half an hour?”

  Rowen blinked, looking a bit lost, and then finally nodded. Kristoff felt there was some confusion or misunderstanding, but he couldn’t begin to guess at it.

  “All right. I will meet you at the front of the house.”

  Rowen nodded again, already getting out of bed as Kristoff left the room.

  A clattering in the living room caught Kristoff’s attention as he walked through the foyer, and he paused in midstep. He remembered living in a house like this one, when many of his peers had hid things in bookcases, usually erotic drawings. It would certainly be satisfying to confiscate something from that rude northerner.

  With a shake of his head, he left the house. Not worth it.

  The air was cool outside, but no cooler than the air had been the night before. Summer was ending or should be, but it seemed like it would be another warm day. Kristoff closed his eyes, sending out his awareness. Sensing long distances was not his forte, but you didn’t need much skill when the heat built on your doorstep.

  He let out a sigh and relaxed. Not dangerous, not yet. Knowing what they did, every Storm Lord was hyper alert to the beginnings of a heat spell.

  The front door burst open, and Rowen skidded to a halt on the gravel path, tiny stones skittering.

  “Ah… you have fifteen more minutes, you know.” Kristoff almost laughed.

  Rowen smiled slightly, and it dawned on Kristoff that Rowen may not know what minutes or hours even were. While the village hadn’t looked that primitive, apparently clocks were not something just everybody owned. Another little bit of education he would have to include.

  “All right, follow me. We’re heading to the mess hall first, because as I’m sure you’ve noticed, you don’t have a kitchen or access to a stove. While some students store food, for good meals you’re going to want to go there.”

  Kristoff’s explanations continued as they walked, and Rowen appeared to eagerly absorb the minutia of life on the island, eyes wide.

  He was doing well enough at teaching so far, Kristoff thought. But he was no closer to really understanding Rowen or anything about his personality. He was too focused on learning and understanding. Of course that made sense, considering he had to succeed, but Kristoff found himself wondering what the youth’s hobbies were, what he had done for a living in his old home. He was an adult, nearly ready to live on his own and may have already been expected to by the standards of his village. Did he have a family at home? What sort of work would he have been expected to do in his village?

  Rowen paused outside the mess, staring inside the enormous building with what looked like trepidation. Others, students and the Storm Lords who mentored them, and some who were too lazy this morning to cook for themselves, wandered in and out, and the din buzzed in Kristoff’s ears. Kristoff was about to say something when Rowen continued walking, heading inside.

  Kristoff followed, hoping Rowen could figure out how it worked. “I’ll meet you at that table,” he called, pointing, and Rowen looked over his shoulder and nodded before disappearing into the throng of people who were picking up plates.

  Kristoff sighed, too tense to be hungry, and sat down at the indicated table. Within moments he was joined by Lissa and Franken, and he groaned inwardly.

  “So let’s meet this Rowen,” Lissa said eagerly.

  “Lucky, for getting one so old.” Franken’s student was currently ten and lived in his home with his wife and children. Kristoff got the distinct sense that he didn’t like the kid.

  “Look, he’s still new, and I’m sure you’ve heard about his, uh….”

  “Can’t speak and is uneducated, right?” Franken filled in, taking a bite out of an apple. “That doesn’t seem so bad. Once he learns to read and write, he’ll be fine.”

  Kristoff hoped he hid his anxiety well enough. “Right. Well, I just don’t want to
overwhelm him—”

  “Kristoff, he’s what? Nineteen?” Of course she would know—Lissa kept track of everything, probably practicing for her bid to become governor when Lorana retired. “He’s not a child. He needs to get used to things. You told him about us, right?” Lissa asked. “He needs to know who the other Storm Lords are if you aren’t around.”

  “What?”

  Lissa sighed, and Franken answered for her. “Just because you have an apprentice doesn’t mean you aren’t going to be dispelling. Considering your strength, you should introduce Rowen to others as soon as possible.”

  Kristoff nearly swore. He hadn’t even thought of that. “I thought… if he just got independent….”

  “He may be living on his own, but unless you’re suggesting he try to train his powers himself….”

  “No.” Kristoff felt like an idiot, grateful for Franken’s presence. He didn’t feel right asking Talia, but asking someone who was closer to a peer than a mentor didn’t seem like as much of a cry for help. “What do you suggest I do?”

  “Stop treating him like he’s a child. Just because he may not be able to speak doesn’t mean he can’t do things for himself,” Franken said. “He probably doesn’t need your help as much as you think he does.”

  Kristoff snapped his mouth shut. Was that really what he had been doing? Had he been so concerned with Rowen’s well-being that he had been treating him like a child because of his handicap? How had Franken hit on the issue so quickly, if it wasn’t at least partially true?

  But what was he supposed to do? He couldn’t let Rowen fail, not after what Lorana had said. On top of that, he still wanted to make sure Rowen was happy here. He wanted to know more about him.

  He pushed away a rush of wholly inappropriate desire at the thought of how intimately he could get to know him. Rowen was his student, dammit.

  Rowen’s arrival interrupted his thoughts, and he hoped his blush wasn’t obvious. “Oh, uh… Rowen, this is Lissa and Franken. They’re both Storm Lords like me. Franken has a student too.” Rowen’s tray clanked on the table as he waved to them both, and he cocked his head at Franken.