Roar

by Cora Carmack

  The minister was not there with them, so she whispered to Locke, “Do we have to say the words? Or can we just drip and be done?”

  He glanced around. The courtyard was not empty. There were people at the well, waiting in line for water. Others walked through the streets, presumably on their way to jobs or home. When no one seemed to pay them any mind, he shrugged. “Just the blood is probably fine.”

  Bait stepped up first, let a few drops fall, and then called out, “I’m off to help Duke. See you both later.”

  He ran off, his bright hair flopping in the early-morning wind. And then it was just Roar and Locke. He unsheathed a knife from his hip and stepped up to the altar. He let his offering fall, cleaned the blade of his knife, and held it out to her, still not quite meeting her eyes.

  She took it, weighing the heft of the weapon in her palm. “This is a good knife,” she said. “Well balanced.”

  His head tipped back toward the sky and she thought she saw the corners of his mouth lift up. “Where did you learn how to handle a knife?” he asked.

  She hesitated. “I knew a soldier, back in Pavan. He taught me.”

  Locke’s jaw tightened, and he stepped back, leaving nothing between her and the altar. She spun the blade in her hand. That same uneasiness rose in her again as it had for her last sacrifice. What if she wasn’t born without power as she always thought? What if her powers had just been warped somehow? She could not control storms, but could … read them? But that supposed they were like people with desires and fears and everything in between. She didn’t like to think that storms had that much life in them, not with what she was about to do. But she could not deny that the emotions she had experienced with each storm had been frightfully potent. If those belonged to the storms, then they felt even more alive than she herself did.

  “Roar?”

  She looked up at Locke. He had one large hand curved around the back of his neck, and his hair swung free from its usual tie. She flashed back briefly to the night before, to what he had looked like with the rain falling all around them. She felt an alarmingly strong ache low in her belly and she cleared her throat. “Yes?”

  “Do you want me to help again?”

  The only thing that came to her mind was the night before. She had pulled him so close that his mouth rested against the curve of her cheek, and she had asked him to help. She did want that again with a surprising ferocity. But then she saw that he was gesturing toward his knife that she still held. He meant help her with the blood offering. Skies, she was an idiot.

  “No. Sorry. I have a lot on my mind.”

  “Listen, last night was…” He trailed off, his hands going to the vials and weapons that hung off his harness. His fingers ran over each strap, as if checking that everything was in its rightful place. He looked almost … nervous. “Last night was my fault, and—”

  “No, it wasn’t.”

  “It was. It was a mistake, and I’m sorry.”

  That was that, then. She squeezed the handle of the knife in an attempt to calm herself. For a moment, she might have believed it was stuck in her belly rather than held safely in her hand. But this was … better, surely. What future could there possibly be here? Eventually, she would have to leave. He was saving them both from getting any more attached.

  She stepped up to the altar and quickly pricked the tip of her finger again. Three or four heavy drops fell as soon as she turned her finger over, and once again the sky overhead flashed with lightning.

  Before any more drops could fall, Locke’s hand shot out, pulling her hand away from the altar and pushing her back. With one hand around hers and the other at her waist, he tipped his head back, surveying the sky. The lightning had only flashed the once, but little bumps rose along the skin of her arms. Whether that was from the skyfire or Locke’s proximity, she wasn’t sure.

  “I knew it,” she said. “There is something wrong with me. That’s not normal.”

  “Roar.” Locke’s voice was soft, and she could still feel the heat of his big hand at her waist when he looked down at her. “There is nothing wrong with you.” But he offered no elaboration because there was none to give.

  Locke cleared his throat, and she could have sworn that before he removed his hands, his thumb grazed over the dip in her waist. But then he stepped back. “Ransom is waiting for me.”

  She nodded, her throat dry as she tried to swallow.

  “Jinx is waiting for you back inside.”

  She nodded again, but still he didn’t leave. Even though they no longer touched, she had the feeling that they were both holding on. And that after this moment, nothing would quite be the same.

  He cleared his throat once more and in a low, rumbling whisper said, “I’ll see you around. If … if you need me at all, just ask a local where to find the blacksmith.”

  He walked away, not in the direction of the inn but toward the road they had come in on the day before. When he was fifteen paces away, he stopped and turned. She blushed to be found still watching him, and he called, “Maybe think about a token you could offer tomorrow instead.” His eyes flicked up to the calm sky before he turned and left for good.

  * * *

  “You two seem … off,” Jinx said when Roar approached the front of the inn.

  “How so?”

  “You haven’t argued all morning.”

  Roar released a slow, relieved breath. “We don’t argue all the time.”

  Jinx raised her eyebrows. “Yes. You do.”

  Roar ignored that. “So you’re my new trainer.”

  “I am.”

  “What do we do first?”

  A wide grin spread over Jinx’s mouth. “If you’re going to train like a hunter, it’s time you looked like one.”

  Half a bell later, Jinx had filled Roar’s arms with things she said were absolutely necessary, piling on more as they went through the row of stores near the center of the village. When they left around noon, Roar’s coin purse was considerably lighter, and Jinx’s infectious enthusiasm had begun to take over. Roar wore knit trousers that fit snuggly, but stretched and gave with her movement, along with a new pair of boots. And rather than the billowing shirts she had been wearing before, Jinx insisted she buy a sleeveless top that fit as well as her pants. Over that, she now had a leather harness to match the ones worn by the rest of the hunters. Hers even had detachable shoulder guards that were thick and sturdy but with a somewhat feminine design burned into the leather. She’d also bought a cropped jacket that would keep her arms warm, but left all the various holsters and loops around her middle uncovered so that she could easily get to supplies in an emergency. On a whim, to guard her forearms, they’d added vambraces that each had three small loops where she could store vials of magic.

  Of course, at the moment, all of the loops and hooks on her harness and vambraces were empty. But Jinx promised to take care of that soon. For the first time since the twister, Roar did not feel like this life was hopeless. She felt almost like she belonged.

  They broke for lunch at the inn. Then in no time at all, she and Jinx had saddled up their horses and were heading out of the town into the dusty red landscape.

  “We don’t want to upset the Sacredites,” Jinx had told her. “If they think we’re bringing storms near the town, even magicborn ones, I doubt they’ll be so keen to grant us shelter.”

  They rode for over an hour, dust rising in their wake. In the distance large rock formations could be seen, the same red hue as the sand. But when Jinx pulled her horse up to a stop, it was in a flat area with mostly dry, dusty earth, a few swaths of red sand, and one lone tree—its branches bare and the bark bleached nearly white by the sun. They tied their horses to the tree, and Jinx told Roar to wait while she walked over the land. She stopped here and there, placing her hand upon the earth as if listening to it in some way. When she was about a hundred paces away, she stopped and knelt. This time when she pressed her hand into the dirt, she did more than listen. The ground rose under
her command, creating a long line of earth that became a knee-high barrier or marker.

  She dusted the sand from her hands and jogged back to Roar, grinning.

  “Before we get to the fun stuff,” she said, “there’s a few more things to take care of. You have your crystal and your firestorm powder?” Roar nodded. “Good. A certain someone was very insistent that we take all precautions. And you have plenty of leaves of Rezna’s rest in case a storm comes while we’re out here?”

  Roar looked down at the vine coiled around her wrist and the bitter leaves that grew there. She was so tired of having to use them. Each time, they left a foul taste in her mouth and the weight of hopelessness on her chest.

  “I know this is a lot,” Jinx said, “but it’s temporary. Just until we learn what we’re dealing with here.”

  Roar dragged her bottom lip through her teeth and asked, “What if it’s not? What if I’m never able to do what you do?”

  “Very few people can do what I do. I’m special that way. You don’t think my magic was awful in the beginning?” Jinx touched the side of her head where her hair was cut short. “I keep my hair like this as a reminder to myself that I am in control, because for a long time I wasn’t. When I was six, a little boy in my town cut my hair to be cruel. Right there in front of everyone, it grew back. In fact, it kept growing, fast and out of control. Then that boy and a few other children started throwing rocks at me. And even though it hurt, I couldn’t get my magic to stop them. I could not get it to do anything useful. It only made my hair grow down to my ankles. For weeks afterward, my mother had to cut my hair ten times a day. I think it was because deep down I was scared to leave my house and face the other children. And as long as my hair kept growing, I did not have to.”

  “Children can be so cruel.”

  “They’re afraid of anything that’s different. And I was too. But eventually, I stopped fearing my magic, stopped fearing what made me different, and my abilities became less volatile. I still had the occasional incident, but I was able to harness my magic to make my life better instead of worse.”

  “I can imagine earth magic is very useful.”

  “It is. But it took time to realize the full scope of my abilities. I thought at first that I could only do small things—making plants grow faster, fruit grow larger. It was not until later, until I needed my magic to be bigger, that I did anything more advanced. That’s how Duke found me actually. My mother died when I was in my teens, and it wasn’t safe to stay behind in the home we shared. So I set out on my own. My connection to the earth made it so that I could always find food. Or grow it if I needed it. And when storms came, I could coax the trees to provide shelter. But one day I happened to be traveling along the same road as Duke’s crew when a firestorm hit. There were no trees, not that they would have done me any good. We were all more than a little shocked when the earth opened up to swallow me and the hunters both until the storm passed.”

  “That’s amazing.”

  Jinx’s smile was so genuine and content. “It took me a while. But I know myself now. I know my worth. My mother always said that every kind of magic requires balance. You might see only the bad things now, but the good exists. You just have to be willing to find it.”

  Jinx went to the saddlebags on her horse and began rummaging for something. She pulled out a small crossbow with a long rope attached. Roar recognized it as the tool the hunters called their anchor. Jinx tied one end of the rope to Roar’s harness, then attached both the crossbow and the small pouch that held excess rope to a metal loop on her hip.

  The witch stood back and grinned. “Now you look like a hunter.”

  Roar’s heartbeat picked up, excitement thrumming through her, and she smiled back.

  “We’ll start with something simple,” Jinx said. “A thunderstorm. Your goal is to get to that line of earth I made. My goal is to stop you.”

  The hunter raised her eyebrow in a challenge, and Roar answered, “You’re on.”

  She lined up and set her sights on the finish line as Jinx pulled a jar filled with dark clouds and swirling rain from her holster. “I’ll keep the storm contained so it doesn’t spread too far. You just be ready for whatever comes,” Jinx told her.

  Jinx pulled the cork and threw the bottle. Dark clouds began to rise from the jar like smoke as it flew through the air. When it hit the hard earth, the jar shattered and a gust of wind blew out in all directions. It picked up the sand, carrying it on the wind like a frothing, bloody wave. Roar covered her eyes, but she was too slow to close her mouth and she choked on the dust. Thunder cracked, so loud and close that the ground rumbled beneath Roar’s feet. And then it began to rain, the clouds reaching out like groping hands to snatch up more of the sky. It took a few moments to remember that she was supposed to be running, and by the time she did the rain had reached her, pummeling her skin and making the sand clump to her boots.

  She set off at a hard run, her eyes fixed on that line of earth that was her goal. So she did not see when the ground bulged up only a few strides ahead of her. She tripped and went sprawling, mud spattering across her face. She looked behind her, and beyond the newly formed mound of earth was a smiling Jinx, standing still in the pouring rain.

  Roar shoved herself up off the ground, and her hands sunk into the sticky mud. She slid back on her knees, her entire front covered in muck. Her boots were caked and heavy when she stood and began to run again. This time she saw the next trap coming, and she hurdled over the rising barrier.

  Wind and rain lashed at her face, and she had to squint to protect her eyes. Another test came at her only moments later, but this time it was no small bit of earth made to trip her. It was much bigger, and the ground actually did quake as a wall of dirt sprang up in front of her. She tried to stop, but her feet slid in the mud, and she turned just in time for her side to collide with the blockade. It was tall, but narrow, so she used her momentum to spin, letting her back roll against the wall, until she met open air again. The downpour had only gotten heavier, and clods of dirt had plopped onto her head and shoulders from the impact. She brushed off the bigger clumps and ran again.

  She was not even halfway to the end of the course, and what had looked like a simple distance to cross now loomed out in front of her as an endless muddy sea. Her eyes stung, but she did not dare try to wipe them. The rest of her was far less clean.

  She leaped and dodged and spun over a few more obstacles, and her breath ripped from her lungs in heaving gasps. She just had to get to the end. She could do that. She was three-fourths of the way there now.

  When the earth shook again, she readied herself for another wall, but instead the ground began to split in front of her, a chasm opening that stretched all the way across the magic-made obstacle course. Roar jumped. But the rift kept widening while she was in the air, and soon the ledge was out of her reach. Her feet landed on the slope of the crevasse. She clawed at the ledge above her, trying to pull herself up, but the wet earth kept coming loose in her fingers. Her feet slid until she came to stop in a trench that had to be at least ten feet deep.

  The water was already up to her ankles, and more was pouring in, sliding down the walls of the pit like a waterfall. She could try to find the end, but she imagined Jinx could just keep lengthening the trench forever if she wished. And it would not take long for the water to rise. She could wait until the water was high enough to carry her to the surface, but there were too many things that could go wrong. Better to attempt to climb out before all the walls turned to mud around her.

  She looked around, but could find no footholds. So she decided to make her own. She pulled one of her knives from the holster on her back, and cut into the wall of the trench. She scraped until she got past the wet surface to the dry earth behind it. She made a notch just large and deep enough to put half her foot inside. She knew she would only have a limited amount of time to dig the next one before the first foothold became too saturated by the rain and crumbled beneath the pressure of he
r boot. So she grabbed a second blade with her left hand and took a steady breath.

  Quickly she used her blades to scoop out the dirt that she had cut loose, then she lifted her leg and shoved the toe of her boot inside. She sunk the knife in her left hand into the wall high above her, and pulled herself up. She held her breath, hopeful, and when the wall did not collapse beneath her, she quickly carved out another notch in the dirt. She shoved her next foot in, and did it all over again. Two more notches put her high enough that she could see over the ledge.

  The end of the course, that final low-lying earth wall that Jinx had made at the beginning, was ten, maybe fifteen paces ahead of her. The rain stopped just shy of that line, so unlike the rest of the land around them, that barrier stood dry and firm. Roar pulled the crossbow anchor from her hip and aimed it at that wall. She pulled the trigger just as the footholds that held her up gave way. She slid down the wall in a splash of water and mud, the rope attached to the arrow uncoiling fast from the pouch at her hip. When the flight of the rope halted, she gave it a tentative tug. It held.

  She had no idea if she’d hit the wall; she fell before she could see if it made contact, but she hoped that whatever it hit was strong enough to hold her weight. She sheathed one of her knives, keeping the other to sink in the wall and give her added leverage if she needed it, then she used the rope and began to climb.

  When she made it back to the ledge again, she heaved herself up by the rope one final time. Her belly scraped over the edge of the trench as she pulled herself free. She crawled first on her hands and knees, then scrambled to stand and began to sprint as hard as she could for that ending line. She expected another obstacle, another test, but nothing came. And when she cleared that final hurdle of the wall with a jump, she landed in a patch of dry, red sand, untouched by Jinx’s storm. She collapsed onto her knees, rolled onto her back, and laughed.

  The sand stuck to her muddy clothes and skin, but she did not care. That was … amazing. She laughed again, louder, the sound echoing out across the land.