Call the Rain

by Kristi Lea

  Joral stared in shock at the woman.

  It isn’t Illista. She had Illista's long silvery hair and similar features. But her jawline was more square and her cheekbones more pronounced. The turn of her nose. So close and yet so different. Illista's sister.

  In the torchlight, her eyes looked wild, crazed. She spat in Mulavi's eye. He cursed and backhanded her across the cheek.

  “Enough.” Joral shouldered past the others. “Only a coward would beat a defenseless woman.”

  Mulavi reached under his tunic and pulled out his conch shell necklace. “This one is far from defenseless. She murdered Zabewa's son with only a word. She called upon the sea to carry her away, and now she has poisoned the sacred waters of the Xan Segra. There is only one way to silence such a creature.”

  The sound of ocean waves crashing on a shore washed over Joral. Quarie's flailing limbs paused. Not calmed or stilled, but stopped, mid-air like a statue.

  Paralyzed, just like before.

  He had to get that shell.

  ***

  Illista ran as fast as her fat Waki feet could carry her, through the brush towards the Segra camp, her heart thundering in her chest. Her pack was too heavy, so she dropped it without a second thought. The cloak caught the wind like a flag, so she threw it off as well.

  Mulavi has Quarie. Mulavi has Quarie. Get Zuke.

  She found Zuke walking slowly towards the lake from the gathering tent and nearly bowled him over scrambling to a stop.

  “Hurry. He has her.”

  She didn't stop to explain herself, only turned and ran the other direction. She knew Zuke followed, his limping gait keeping time with her short legs.

  The path taken by the elders was smoother than the grass and shrubs that Illista had climbed through and they made quick progress. As they crested the last rise before the descent to the water, Illista gasped. “No!”

  Quarie hung lifeless between two of Mulavi's men in a circle of Segra warriors. The Ken and Xan had separated into sides and Chieftess held Joral's tunic by the back of the neckline like a lioness with her cub held by the scruff of his neck.

  Illista started forward, but Zuke stopped her, grasping her wrist in his.

  He closed his eyes muttered words she could not understand. He released her suddenly and she stumbled back. His face seemed to burn in the moonlight. Not the green of the lake, but a deeper reddish sort of fire that spoke of power. She wondered briefly if fire could speak to him the way the water spoke to her.

  “Stay near me.” He took her arm and motioned for her to walk with him. He leaned more heavily on her than she expected, exaggerating his limp. It was all she could do not to pull away and run down the hill and...

  It was that “and” that held her back and kept her by his side for the slow descent. She had no idea what she could do. Mulavi's men had swords. If they had been standing on the edge of the water, she could possibly call up a wave to knock them over, but the water cried so forlornly from the poison that she wasn't sure it would obey her. She wasn’t sure if it even could.

  She had to clean it, to draw out the poison. But she would need to remove her bloodstone first. That was what Quarie had been trying to do. That was what Illista had begged her sister to do. She swallowed a sob. She was responsible for Quarie being captured.

  There had to be a way to free her sister.

  ***

  “Not every fight is won by confrontation.” Vituri's words were a low growl in Joral's ear.

  “They have no right to take her.”

  “This is not our crime to judge, son.”

  Quarie moaned softly and began to stir. Joral could see her arms softening lightly.

  With a snarl, Mulavi spun around. “Where is the lowland trickster. Where is Zuke?”

  Joral scowled. “He does not walk as fast as the rest of us.”

  “Release the woman, Mulavi.” Zuke's voice filled the air around them, echoing off the far cliff wall.

  Joral and the rest of the men and women gathered turned to stare as Zuke descended the path. He walked stiffly leaning on a servant like the crippled old man he often pretended to be. But he carried an aura of power that Joral had seen only rarely. The green from the lake seemed to bend around him.

  Joral frowned as he realized that the Waki at Zuke's side was Illista. Her face was impossible to read in the shadowy light. His throat twisted at the dueling thoughts.

  She was all right. She was walking straight into Mulavi's path.

  “Let the girl go, Mulavi. She belongs to me.” Zuke’s voice carried across the water.

  “The witch belongs to the king, not the cripple.” Mulavi nearly spat the words.

  Zuke lifted a hand and the two men holding Quarie's arms jumped back. She slumped to the ground and lifted her hands to her eyes as though to shield them from some sound no one could hear.

  Before Mulavi could retort, Rafil rounded on Joral. He held a wickedly curved knife blade to Joral's throat, daring him to move. “You and Zuke have been hiding the witch. The Ken Segra have betrayed us.”

  The rustle and swish of leather, the rattle of beads, and the slice of metal on metal filled the air as every Segra woman and man, drew a weapon and pointed it at the opposite clan. Joral held his breath as bows and spears took aim, held at the ready. Many were aimed at his own head.

  Across a clearing only a handful of paces wide, Xan faced Ken Segra. Uncertainty echoed in everyone's eyes but Rafil's. Rafil's gaze held only malice with an undercurrent of something desperate.

  “Your warrior Rafil threatens our alliance, Qitkan,” warned his mother from behind. “Make him stand down.”

  “Is it true, Mulavi?” asked the Xan Segra chief with a quavering voice. “Did Joral aid the witch? Are the Ken Segra here to poison us?”

  Joral kept his gaze on Rafil's, but he heard calculation in Mulavi's voice. “It would appear he is.”

  The knife point pushed into Joral's throat, not quite cutting. Not yet.

  “Rafil, please.” Shikan's words were shaky with fear. “There is no honor in killing an unarmed man.”

  Rafil bared his teeth in a feral smile. “And there is honor in submitting to a marriage with this…this lowlander who would murder us all?”

  Shikan walked behind the Xan Segra warrior and placed a hand on his shoulder. He shrugged it off.

  Rafil stepped backward two paces. “Draw your sword, lowlander, or let your cowardice show us what kind of Chief you would be.”

  ***

  Illista opened her mouth in a silent scream as Rafil charged Joral with a knife in one hand and a shortspear in the other. Joral dodged out of the way with a roll and Rafil stopped short before breaking through the circled line of Ken Segra. Why does no one stop him?

  Joral leaped to his feet several paces away, his sword already in hand.

  All of the Segra had stepped back to allow the two men room to fight. Even Shikan, who twisted her hands around and around her bow.

  “We must get your sister,” whispered Zuke in her ear.

  Illista gave herself a shake and looked down to where Quarie huddled in the dirt. Mulavi was alone in ignoring the duel between the two men. Two of his men still lay on the ground where they had fallen earlier. Two more followed in the mercenary’s wake.

  “Wait!” Illista ignored Zuke's cry as she ran down the rest of the path to Quarie.

  With a cry, she flung herself over her sister protectively as Mulavi came at them with his fists. She covered her head and Quarie’s with her thick arms, deflecting the worst of the thrashing.

  “Out of my way, flyspeck,” he snarled.

  Men-at-arms grabbed Illista. She kicked and bit and clawed at them. One yanked her by the hair and another caught a fistful of her dress.

  A roar went up from Joral and Rafil, but Illista could not see what happened. She kicked again and punched at the hands that held her hair, sobbing against the pain. Her own cries were nearly indistinguishable from the wails of the lake.

  Mu
lavi shoved past the he men at arms who held Illista and charged toward Quarie, his blade drawn. Illista screamed again. Or she thought she did.

  Just then the man holding her dress got hold of her bloodstone and tugged, attempting to choke her with its length. The cord snapped.

  With a cry of surprise and pain and relief, Illista's form changed. Her limbs grew longer and more slender and she slipped through the shocked man's grasp.

  A rumble of voices erupted around her like thunder. Below her, the water wailed for help. But the voices of the water weren’t just in the pond.

  Mulavi kicked at her sister's head and Illista screamed again. Her voice sounded like a crack of fresh lightning and something burned between her fingers.

  The chorus of the water changed in that moment. The plaintive wails turned into something hard. Louder than the battle cry of an entire army. Angrier than a wounded bear. It was the sound of a pack of wolf-mothers protecting their own.

  Illista threw her voice into that sound. She threw herself into the sound.

  A thousand-thousand horses at full gallop would sound like a whisper next to the storm that arrived. Lightning crackled in the air, striking the ground around her. Bolts more numerous than the blades of grass gathered over the lake. The wind growled. Thunder shook the ground.

  And droplets of water laced with knife-edged ice cut through the night.

  Nothing touched Illista. She controlled the storm.

  She was the storm.

  She threw the force of it at Mulavi and his men, pinning them to the ground with the daggers of ice, with bludgeoning balls of ice. He tried to back away from Quarie's huddled form and Illista formed a circle of unbroken lightning around him and his men.

  The Segra people fled before the storm, but Joral and Rafil remained, circling each other, barely noticing the tempest around them. Zuke didn't flee either. He knelt over Quarie, the rain hitting his back and sizzling. He checked her head, her arms, smoothed the hair from her face.

  “Illista, get out of here,” shouted Joral, his breathing harsh as he dodged a wicked blow from Rafil.

  “Lowland bastard. You do not deserve Shikan, and you have killed us all,” heaved Rafil.

  Joral parried a blow, stopping it just short of his head. He deflected it, but didn't respond with an attack.

  Joral's eyes flicked past Rafil to hold Illista's for half a second. The rain still fell but Illista's lightning illuminated the clearing like it was daylight. He mouthed the word “go” and charged.

  Lightning singed her fingertips and the rain slicked her hair with its sweetness.

  She shook her head. She would not leave him.

  Rafil attacked with a flurry of blows like a hurricane pounding on the shore. Joral defended, deflecting the blows but losing ground. His sword took slivers out of Rafil's hardened wood spear, but did not break it.

  Then Rafil's foot slipped in the mud. He lost his balance just for a moment. Joral stepped in and swung the flat of his sword against the man's head. Rafil fell to the ground with a wet splash.

  Shikan ran to the downed warrior.

  Joral stood back and rested the point of his sword into the mud.

  “Witchcraft! Segra to arms! Kill the witch before she slaughters you, too. Zabewa’s, to Arms!” Mulavi screamed over the storm, his voice unnaturally loud and laced with fear and panic.

  Illista's eyes flew to Zuke's, then to Joral. Something moved behind him and she called more lightning to brighten it. A dozen or more Xan Segra warriors, spears and bows in hand, streamed down from the camp towards the water.

  “Run, Illista,” he said. “To the water. You will be safe there.” Joral turned and raised his sword, readying himself for an attack.

  He could not hold off so many warriors. The Xan Segra looked murderous. To a man, each burned with the fire of vengeance.

  Rains and thunder, Joral would die to give her enough time to flee. Illista gasped as her heart constricted in fear for Joral. She turned, drawing the lightning to her, ready to defend.

  But something in the sound of the rains spoke to her. It was a voice, almost human, and it sounded like her mother. Her gentle, loving mother. Gentle but strong, and selfless as she hid Quarie and Illista and sacrificed herself so that her daughters might escape. The water was part of her mother’s spirit, Was her her mother’s spirit, then, part of the water. Even here, so far from the sea? The water spirit’s words flowed around Illista. How many Segra will die without fresh water? The children need your help, Illista.

  “Mother,” she whispered to herself as the wind whipped the dust around the shores. But the water that had coalesced into the spirit of her mother faded to mist.

  She turned to the lake. She called to the water, directing, spinning. Asking it to gather and swirl. The lake began to churn, to gather the poison. But she was not strong enough.

  The churning slowed to a stop and the cries of the water grew loud once again.

  Illista fell to her knees in the mud, the lightning from her fingers singing the ground around her, her heart pounding and her head throbbing from the noise of the water.

  “Let Mulavi go, Illista. Go to the water.” It was Zuke, who had skirted the duel between Joral and Rafil to kneel at Quarie’s side. A pale blue fire burned from the tip of Zuke’s walking staff.

  Quarie struggled to her feet. Unsteadily, she took the medicine man's hand. The fire around Zuke burned brighter.

  ***

  As suddenly as the storm had brewed, it stilled. It just ceased. The absence of thunder stole Joral’s breath and the oncoming attack from the Xan Segra fell into blackness, lit only by the green lake behind him.

  Joral steeled himself and adjusted his grip on the sword. He watched them come, counting the steps until they were within bow range. If he had only a few breaths left to live, he would use them to buy Illista time.

  Mulavi was shouting again, his voice wild. Then Joral saw them.

  The Ken Segra, led by his mother, at full sprint from the flank. Weapons drawn. Just a few more feet until bow range. A few of the Xan Segra already slowing to notch their arrows.

  The light shifted, shortening his shadow and the charging Xan Segra slowed just a touch. Something behind him surprised them. Joral didn't dare turn his back to find out what.

  The Ken Segra split. Half charged into the rear of the Xan Segra, surprising the archers. The rest, led by his mother, raced ahead of the Xan Segra.

  They threw themselves between Joral and the attack. With a primal roar, his mother charged the leader of the Xan Segra and knocked him aside with her staff. She hopped from warrior to warrior, aiming for their legs, for their weapons. Knocking them down before leaping on.

  One of the men dodged Vituri's staff and raced past, straight for Joral wielding a hooked spear. The curving edge arrived three strides before its carrier. Joral parried it and rushed the man in close, forcing the man to change attack tactics. They locked weapons and the stared each other hard in the eye, their faces inches apart. The man was close in age to Joral himself and his eyes lit with determination.

  “This isn't your fight,” said Joral through gritted teeth.

  “My people. My land. My fight,” replied the warrior. He jerked hard on the staff and the bottom end cracked into Joral's shin.

  His sword was close to the other man's face. One fast swipe would end this battle. Joral growled and loosened his grip on the sword. The sudden change surprised the warrior and he stumbled closer into Joral as the sword clattered to the ground. Before he could recover and swing the pole arm again, Joral pulled back his elbow and punched the man in the face, dropping him to the ground.

  His chest heaved as he scrambled for his sword and checked the other man. Still breathing. Joral turned him over face up so that the mud would not choke him. “This is our fight,” he whispered to the unconscious form. “Our land. Our people. Our fight.”

  Mulavi and his men were now ringed by fire that seemed to come from Zuke's staff, though his friend was
beginning to falter with the strain.

  “Ken Segra! Hold Mulavi. He must not escape.” Joral yelled.

  The rear split of Ken Segra warriors had caught up to the thick of the fighting, leaving a trail of what Joral dearly hoped were incapacitated—and not dead—Xan Segra behind. His mother broke away and raced towards Zuke and his fire-ring.

  “Protect the girl,” she shouted.

  Joral sprang to his feet and spun around.

  Illista's feet were buried in the mud, her gaze focused far away into the lake. The water was a giant vortex, spinning with a ferocious power that sent waves leaping high into the air. From the center of the lake, a ball of glowing green easily twice as big as a horse rose slowly.

  And Shikan crept up behind Illista, the point of a knife visible in her hand.

  Joral charged, but he was too far away. He ran as hard as he could on a path to intercept the princess with his lungs on fire and his feet sliding down the mud-slicked banks.

  Shikan closed on Illista, knife raised.

  “No!” The sound tore from Joral's throat and he threw his sword in a last desperate attempt to stop her. The sword landed point-first in the mud more than a man's length behind the two women.

  Then, another shadow emerged behind Shikan. Rafil approached on lumbering steps. Joral threw himself forward, wishing he could fly. “Illista!”

  The iridescent glob of green ooze rising out of the water threw confusing shadows across the sand and mud. Joral sprinted for all he was worth, but it was Rafil who tackled Shikan to the ground just inches from Illista. They rolled together down the embankment toward the water's edge. When they stopped, Rafil straddled Shikan, holding her hands down.

  Joral stopped for his weapon. It made a sucking noise as he drew it from the mud and then he ran. He placed himself at Illista's back, watching the Xan Segra pair.

  “Where is your loyalty, Rafil? You would defend the changeling witch?” Shikan said.

  “My loyalty to you is beyond question, Shikan.” Rafil's voice was dangerously low. “That changeling witch is trying to save us all. Even I can see that.”

  “But Mulavi--”

  “What has Mulavi done for the Xan Segra besides eat our food? He made us both empty promises, Shikan. The changeling is healing our water. And she brings rain.”