“WARE THE sails!” someone screamed over the sound of the wind. A gust made them snap to and fro, and Kristoff stumbled hard on the deck as the entire ship rocked beneath him. It wasn’t large, probably a vessel made in Linland that had been adopted and refurbished after it was abandoned. Probably only merchant families lived here, or perhaps it was a merchant ship that stayed in close contact with one of the larger more residential ships.
That was made clear when a man, his hair white with age, stomped toward him. “What do you think you’re doing? Would you land that roughly on a residence ship, Storm Lord?” People were already stabilizing the rigging.
“Sorry,” Kristoff said. “I’m here looking for someone.”
“I realize you’re young.” Darseans always said “young” like it was an insult. “But I do hope your haste and shaking of the ship was because you have some sort of important warning. Are we headed toward a heat spell or a doldrum?”
“Ah, no. I’m searching for….” He almost said heatcaller but caught himself. The last thing he wanted to do was frighten anyone. “A young man with red hair. I think he may have… stowed away.”
The man’s bushy brows hit his hairline. “Fled the Storm Lords’ island?”
“Of sorts. I don’t know for sure. But if you find him, I—”
“Jonathan, Michael, search the hold. Daniella, the galley.”
Three people immediately set out. Kristoff called after them, “Be gentle with him! He’s likely frightened.” In only a few moments, they were gone, disappeared into the depths of the ship.
“So what did he do, Storm Lord…?”
“Kristoff.” He answered the unspoken question. “And he didn’t do anything. I just need to speak with him. And bring him back.” Kristoff sighed. Rowen wouldn’t be able to stop him, but he really didn’t want to bring him back against his will.
One problem at a time. First he had to find him.
“Sorry to trouble you, by the way,” Kristoff said. “Captain….”
“Theo. And it’s no trouble. Just don’t appreciate you Storm Lords rocking my boat.” He pointed at the sails. “That mast can snap in a wind, and then you’re in debt to us.” He gave a wicked grin.
Kristoff swallowed hard. “Right.”
“Don’t fret. It wouldn’t be the first time it happened.” Theo shook his head. “Now. Why did this man of yours you’re looking for run away in the first place? Is he a trainee or someone’s son who wants to see the world?” He chuckled. “He could have just asked.”
Kristoff smiled weakly. “Well, about that….”
“Found him,” a man called. Kristoff snapped his gaze toward the speaker, who strode onto the deck. “He was in the hold with the merchandise. Didn’t touch anything, though, not even the water.”
Of course he wouldn’t. Rowen was honest.
Rowen was staring at the deck, and when he looked up, he froze when he saw Kristoff, his green eyes going wide.
Kristoff took a deep breath. “Uh, one more request. Do you perchance have anything to write with?”
It was time to listen to Rowen’s side of things. And he wanted to do it in private.
He knew just where to go.
Chapter 32
ROWEN CROUCHED in pitch darkness for hours, hidden behind stacks of wooden crates that held what must be the valuables the Darseans traded for all over the world. Every so often, light would illuminate the interior as someone brought in something from outside or fetched something from the inside. No one came in as far as Rowen had, and no one found him.
When the opening was shut tight, no light shone in, which impressed Rowen. He was used to dim light that shone in through hairline cracks in whatever building he had lived in, but this floating ship had none of it. He supposed it couldn’t if it floated on water.
And soon enough, it lived up to its function. He couldn’t quite tell how, but he knew when the ship began to move, a slow lurch in his ears and stomach that told him they had left the island.
A brief flash of regret made him frown. Maybe this had been foolish. There was no telling how long it would take to get to land, and he refused to steal any water or food from people he was already hiding from. And if they found him, what would they do? Would they sacrifice him, like the villagers?
But it was too late now. He had made his choice. He didn’t belong anywhere anyway. Just like he had when he had thought his future lay in becoming a Storm Lord, it was time to focus on the future and survive as best he could without harming anyone else.
He dozed as the movement of the ship grew more stable, imagining the ocean all around him, harmless as he sat in a cocoon of wood. Never in his wildest dreams back when he lived in the desert did he think he would ever be surrounded by water like this. Sure, it was water he couldn’t drink, but it was still amazing.
His thoughts turned to Kristoff. His mentor had given him the chance for all of this. Rowen hoped Kristoff would have a good life and continue saving others as a Storm Lord.
Rowen blinked in darkness. He wished he could have told Kristoff how he felt. It wouldn’t have changed anything, of course, but Rowen was tired of hiding and holding back all of his feelings.
At the very least, he wished he had said good-bye.
Heavy steps thudded throughout the ship, vibration going through his body and mingling with the sensation of the ship’s movement. Rowen put a hand on the floor, stabilizing himself even though he knew he wouldn’t fall.
It took him a moment to realize the steps were getting louder, and then something creaked like the squeaking of a rat. Light from an oil lamp flooded the room, and Rowen blinked watering eyes.
“There you are,” someone said, nothing but a silhouette behind the burning lamp. “Looks like we got a stowaway.”
Rowen’s heart sank. It hadn’t even been a day, and they had found him.
It crossed his mind to fight back as the two men came over, but the urge passed. There was no way to win, and if he got upset, he might risk calling his magic again, which would endanger everyone. His stomach flipped as he thought of how the villagers had tied him up, how he had just let it happen, but he didn’t see a way out of this either.
No cords were wrapped around his wrists, and the two men even helped him when he stumbled on the stairs. Walking was more difficult on a ship, when the very floor moved beneath you. Rowen tried to calm his racing heart. Maybe it would be all right. Maybe they would let him stay.
The light of the afternoon beat down, and he stared at the soothing brown of the wood, getting his bearings. Wind whipped his hair, full of the scent of salt and a freshness that Rowen had never experienced before.
He looked up at the blue sky, his gaze sweeping the ship. White sails ballooned like clouds, and rope stretched in all directions.
Then he froze, not even hearing the men as they spoke. Kristoff was here.
His mentor—no, his old mentor—walked toward him, his hand out. Rowen shrank back, and one of the two men who had found him gave him a concerned look but didn’t move.
“Rowen, please,” Kristoff said, and his voice, full of tenderness, melted away the fear. “I want to talk to you. Please, come with me? I’ll take you to the island—not the Storm Lords’ island. Somewhere we can be alone, and really… talk. Write. I’ll give you all the time you need. There’s no need to run away. Please come with me.”
Rowen crossed his arms, holding his head still. Kristoff waited, his hand outstretched, beckoning just like he had before, when he had saved him.
Would you like to come with me?
What choice did he have?
No, he did have a choice. Rowen moved his hand, as if writing on invisible paper. Then he nodded.
“Don’t worry,” Kristoff said. As he spoke, an older man came up behind him, holding out a pencil and paper. “I’ll listen to whatever you have to say. And… and if you want, you can go wherever you want. Back here, anywhere. Your choice. Just, please, let me talk to you first.”
&
nbsp; Rowen narrowed his eyes. Kristoff had lied before. The heat spells don’t kill. We save everyone.
But he hadn’t known before.
Rowen met the old man’s eyes, and he shrugged. “You’re a stowaway,” he said. “Were it not for Kristoff here, we’d dump you off at the nearest island.”
Rowen nodded. Good. At least that part of his plan would have gone well.
He held out his hand. He would give Kristoff one more chance.
“Hang on, then, Rowen,” Kristoff said. Rowen’s heart jumped when Kristoff moved close, putting his arms around his waist. “It’s time to fly. I’m going to take you back to where this all started.”
HE HAD been too sick to appreciate it before, but the island where Kristoff had taken him to recover after his sacrifice was beautiful, even more beautiful than the Storm Lords’ island. There were no houses, no signs of habitation, just trees and enormous tropical flowers that stretched as high as his waist. Paths, probably hewn by animals, crisscrossed the island, and curling vines wrapped trees and bushes alike. The map Rowen kept in his mind ever since he had seen the globe told him that this was south of the Storm Lords’ island and north of his old home.
Warm rain speckled his skin when they landed, probably a residue of Kristoff’s storm. Rowen had been weightless while flying, but Kristoff had held him close, and Rowen had to admit he enjoyed it.
But he much preferred the ground, even as overgrown and spongy as it was. Memories began to return—he had walked here the day they had left. The cave he had recovered in was close, as was the river where he had bathed, immersing himself in water without a care for what he would have to drink for the first time.
It had been only a month, but it felt like a lifetime.
“Rowen,” Kristoff said. His blue eyes were dull and sad as he handed Rowen the pen and paper. “Why did you run away?”
Rowen took the pen, staring for a moment at the white paper. This was his best tool, now and for the rest of his life. He had to use it. Kristoff waited, a small encouraging smile appearing on his face.
The ink bled on the page. I am dangerus. He held it up for Kristoff to see, then pointed to his ears and nodded.
“You overheard us.”
Rowen nodded again. Anger bubbled into his words. You shouldnt talk about me when I’m not ther.
Kristoff paled. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”
Rowen let that stand for a time, the unfairness of it all washing through him again. He could write more, could hammer the point home, but from the way Kristoff stood, his shoulders hunched and his hair falling over his face, he got the point. Rowen couldn’t speak; it was true. But that didn’t mean he could be treated like a child.
He began to write again. He had to know. My power is dangerus. How dangerus?
Kristoff swallowed hard, and Rowen followed his gaze to a yellowing leaf on a tree. “You are… a heatcaller. You call heat spells, and there is a risk… a risk that you will summon heat spells too strong to be dispelled if you are allowed to… if you are trained.”
The knowledge hurt, but the implications hurt more. His sacrifice had been the right thing to do. Rowen wrote, his hand shaking. Did I kill my parents?
Kristoff’s face paled, his eyes going wide when Rowen held up the paper. “Rowen… no.” Kristoff’s mouth opened and shut, and he reached for the paper before lowering his hand. Blue eyes met Rowen’s. “Rowen, you didn’t kill them. It’s not your fault.”
Rowen had spent a lot of time listening to people, and he could hear the uncertainty in Kristoff’s voice. You cant kno for sure.
Kristoff shook his head, then put up his hands, his jaw tense with the words he was trying to find. “I sensed your power, Rowen. Blast what Marin says. I’m strong, I can sense it. I didn’t sense anything like you summoning a heat spell.”
But you were not ther when they died.
“If you had summoned heat spells that strong, they would have kept coming,” Kristoff said, stopping when Rowen began to write.
Like the one that killed Lucas? The one that you found me in that was so strong?
Kristoff paused while reading, and his chest rose and fell in a quiet sigh. “Who was Lucas, Rowen?”
He almost wished he hadn’t written it, but at the same time, it felt good to get it out. Blacksmiths son. I liked him.
Kristoff smiled. “Did he like you back?”
Rowen shook his head and shrugged, flicking his gaze to the grassy ground. He looked back up when Kristoff put a warm hand on his shoulder.
“C’mon, Rowen. I think I’ve gone about things, about mentoring you, all wrong. Let’s sit down. I want to hear whatever you want to tell me about your home. Then….” He fingered the gray stone around his neck. “We can figure out what we can do about your power. But don’t worry. No matter what, I am confident that you did not kill anyone.” He spoke the words with finality, with certainty Rowen wished he could feel. “You’re a good man.”
AT KRISTOFF’S urging, Rowen wrote about his village, memories of a time when it was still his home. The blocky letters came slow, and with them came emotion, and Rowen didn’t fight it when Kristoff held him through his tears.
Before his parents had died, his life had been good. He was sure the words weren’t enough to explain all the memories, but he tried. He had grown up in the desert, playing in the brush, resting in the afternoons when the sun was at its hottest and most direct. He had watched the heat waves dance over the dunes and swept the dust off the streets and the porch when the wind sent it swirling up onto the wood. When he was older, he had joined his father, roaming the desert to look for wells and filling up buckets that he would take home or distribute to others.
The heat spells had come every year, most during the time when the days were longest. People would rest, sleep the days away, and he and his parents would talk about their plans for when the storm came. When it did, rushing up out of a blue sky, they would race to fill buckets and tins, and afterward the village would be rich for a week.
Lucas had always impressed him. Rowen didn’t mind the heat, but Lucas was almost immune from working the forge, making metal buckets for the rest of the village. Rowen had often watched him from outside, seeing the attractive blond man pick up molten metal with tongs, sweat streaming down his body. He had always been friendly.
The last year… the last year had been hard. Rowen still dug wells, but no one would take his water. No one would take water from a water stealer. Every day was spent wandering the desert by himself, foraging for food and water, and repairing his home when winds or dust blew in. He couldn’t talk to anyone, and no one tried to talk to him. When they sacrificed him, no one had prevented it. He knew he could live on his own here. He had been alone for a long time before Kristoff came.
As he wrote the last part, Kristoff pulled him closer, and Rowen could feel the other man’s heart beating fast. “I’m so sorry, Rowen. I wish… I wish I had known before. You’re not alone anymore, Rowen. You don’t have to be.”
Rowen didn’t want to, but he pushed away so he could write. The guverner will not let me back. They should not, if I am dangerus. His gaze flicked to his writing, describing his old home. And I cannot go back home either. As far as anyone there knew, he was dead, and for good reason.
And everyone who had been a close part of his life was gone too.
Kristoff touched his face, turning his head up. “Rowen, please. You don’t have to be alone.”
Rowen turned his face away. I have to. It is…. He paused, tapping the pencil on the paper for a moment. I can stay here. It is a sacrifice that I choose for myself. I will not hurt anyone by accident.
Kristoff sighed, his eyes narrowed. “If you stay here…. What if I stay with you?”
Rowen blinked, then tilted his head, lowering his eyebrows. He didn’t understand.
“Marin can sense power all she wants. I’m the most powerful Storm Lord on the island. I know you’re a heatcaller, but I’m Kristoff Hurricane. I can
dispel any heat spell you call. I’ll stay with you, here. You won’t endanger anyone, and together, we’ll master your powers.” His blue eyes flashed. “What do you think?”
Rowen blinked, his mind flashing back to the first few days on this island. After the sacrifice, the burning, it had felt like paradise. It still did, with birds trilling in green trees and pure, clear water burbling in a stream nearby. It was a good place to live alone, where his power hurt no one.
But if Kristoff was here….
No, he wrote, his heart hurting as he did. You will be lonely too.
Kristoff grinned. “No, I won’t. I’ll have you.”
Rowen frowned, hope growing and then shrinking in his chest. Volkes’s words echoed in his mind. I can not talk.
Kristoff’s eyes clouded when he read the sentence. “You’re communicating with me now. I don’t need to hear your voice to talk to you.”
Rowen’s mind scrambled, wanting to believe it. His letters came out shaky. What about paper and the island and your work?
“Don’t worry about that, just trust… no. Sorry. I can fly, Rowen. I’m a Storm Lord. I can get us supplies, and I can visit the island once a day to see if they have work for me. Or they can visit me here.” The hope began to build like warm kindling in Rowen’s chest. “I know they would hate to hear me say this, but they can’t control me. They can’t stop me from being with you.” Kristoff smiled, and the kindled hope burst into a tiny flame. “I’m your mentor, Rowen. I intend to keep teaching you.”
His throat hurt, his eyes burning. What if my power kills you? Like his parents. Like Lucas.
Kristoff touched Rowen’s shoulder. “You won’t, Rowen. I’m Kristoff Hurricane. I’m strong. I’m not going to leave you alone.”
Rowen’s fear tightened his throat, but Kristoff stared into his eyes, his gaze boring into him. Kristoff had saved him once already. He had given him a second chance. Now, he was offering it again.
He wouldn’t be alone.
The Storm Lords Page 24
