Stormseer (Storms in Amethir Book 3)

by Stephanie A. Cain

  God of peace, grant me your serenity, she thought. Give me patience and grace for this boy. She had to remember, he'd been raised in a family that appeared to be largely without love or friendship, and he was a very different sort of person than those people. If Orya had been the most loving person in his life, he must have wanted for affection a great deal.

  Before she'd finished her cup of tea, she heard his footsteps crunching on the sandy ground. She opened her eyes as he stopped about ten feet away, the fire between them.

  "I think I'll give you a chance," he said. "I'm not telling you where I'm going."

  Azmei rested her cup on her thigh. "That's quite all right."

  "And I don't think you should touch Firefoot. He doesn't like it. He might bite you."

  She grinned at that. "I'm perfectly happy to leave Firefoot to you. Does that mean you want me to build the fire and cook this evening?"

  He turned his head to one side, looking at her from the corner of his eye. "Maybe. First you'll have to prove you're okay to trust."

  "How am I going to do that?"

  He shrugged. "Don't be untrustworthy."

  "I suppose that's the best way to go about it," Azmei agreed. He was a strange boy, but perhaps they could get along well enough. "Have you had breakfast?"

  He appeared to think about that for a moment. "You know I haven't. You woke me up."

  "You might have eaten while I was praying," she said. "Here, I have dried meat. I didn't bother with meal or porridge since it was just me, but tomorrow morning I could make a real breakfast. If you cook the meat in the porridge it tastes pretty good."

  He shrugged and crouched where he was. "You don't have to give me food. I have food."

  "I don't mind sharing," she said. "And maybe that way you'll also share with me in return."

  "Maybe." He was silent for a minute, then moved close enough to take the meat she had offered. "Your name is Aevver."

  She nodded. "And yours is Yarro."

  "My sister named me that. She was eight when I was born. She was my favorite person in the whole world."

  Sleeping gods, how sad that was. Azmei sipped her tea to give herself a moment to steady her composure. She hadn't killed Orya, though she had damn well tried. It had been Orya's cohort, the second assassin, who had killed Orya when she failed to kill Azmei. All the same, Azmei felt somehow ridiculously responsible for Yarro's sister being dead.

  She tried to kill me, she reminded herself. And she all but succeeded.

  "She isn't your favorite person anymore?" she asked, trying to keep her voice casual.

  "She died." Yarro thought about that. "She might have died. Grandfather said she died. But then Ri—someone thought she might still be alive, but hiding. I don't know. If she left me alone on purpose, then she's not my favorite person."

  "That," Azmei said, "is perfectly understandable."

  ***

  Yarro wasn't sure what he thought of the woman Aevver Balearic.

  He flicked a glance at her. She was riding to his right, a comfortable distance away when the trail was wide, and falling behind him when it narrowed. She sat on her horse like the day of riding yesterday didn't trouble her at all. Perhaps it didn't. Yar had groaned aloud when he swung into the saddle. He was sore in places he hadn't even known he had.

  Aevver saw his glance and smiled at him. Yar cut his gaze away again, feeling his cheeks get hot. On the one hand, she had been kind to him several times now. When they met at the horse trader's in Meekin, she had tried to protect him from what she thought was a mean horse. It wasn't her fault that she didn't know about Yar's vision of Firefoot. And last night she had woken him from a terrible nightmare wherein Orya's face was a mask of blood as she told him she was protecting him by staying dead and that the Voices were leading him to doom. And even this morning, she had fed and brushed Firefoot and then offered Yar breakfast.

  On the other hand, the Voices were certain, and Yar believed them, that Aevver was lying about not following him. She was definitely following him. But why? Even the Voices weren't sure about that, and when Yar asked if they were in Rivarden, they only told him to follow. So Aevver must not be searching for them, unless she was lying about where Rivarden was.

  Maybe she was. Yar had heard of a city called Rivarden, but he had never paid much attention to maps before. He'd never expected to need to. If he was going somewhere, Orya knew it already. Once Orya left, once Orya was dead, Yar never went anywhere, so it didn't matter where places were.

  He'd bought a map in Meekin, but he hadn't bothered to look at it so far. He was following the Voices, and they were leading him with teasing and cajoling. Firefoot seemed almost to know where they were going, as well. He certainly didn't seem to require much guidance from Yar.

  COME, LITTLE BROTHER, chuckled one of the Voices. YOU SHOULD BELIEVE MORE IN YOUR OWN SKILL. YOU KNOW WHERE YOU ARE GOING, AND YOU ARE COMMUNICATING THAT TO HIM.

  How? Yar thought back at the Voice. Does he understand me like you do?

  The Voice laughed outright, the sound booming painfully in Yar's ears and bouncing around inside his skull. He winced. NOTHING UNDERSTANDS YOU LIKE WE DO. NO ONE UNDERSTANDS YOU LIKE WE DO. BUT FIREFOOT WAS DESTINED TO BE WITH YOU, AND YOU WERE DESTINED TO COME TO US. IF HE IS TO BE YOUR COMPANION, HE MUST BE SPECIAL. Yar got the impression of the Voice licking his lips. EVEN IF HE WOULD BE TASTY TO EAT, WE WILL NOT LET THE HUNGRY ONE EAT HIM, SINCE HE IS YOUR COMPANION.

  Thank you very much, Yar thought, hoping he didn't sound as annoyed as he felt. How generous of the Voices to promise they wouldn't eat his horse!

  He realized Aevver's idle stream of conversation had faltered. How long ago, he wondered. She liked to talk more than Orya did, though not as much as Tish. Had he missed something she'd said to him?

  He glanced over at her. She wasn't looking at him. She was shielding her eyes against the rays of the sun, which was not quite directly overhead yet. Her golden eyes were intent upon whatever she saw in the distance. Yar turned to look that way, but he couldn't make out whatever had attracted her attention. He didn't want to ask, so he just rode in silence, straining his eyes for anything that might seem interesting or threatening to a woman who carried so many blades.

  A flash of light sparkled in his vision. Yar squinted and looked up, and then white light flooded the whole world.

  Thunder rumbled in his head and he saw the woman Aevver drawing her swords. A dove swooped down from the sky to seize Aevver in its talons—no, to land on her shoulder—no, to fall bleeding under her blades. Firefoot neighed a defiant or fearful challenge. A great, dark bulk rose into the sky, so tall it blocked out everything else, and so wide Yar couldn't see around it.

  Something howled—was it the wind? Was it the dark bulk? Was it Yar?

  A white city rose from the middle of the ocean, water splashing around the base of its walls. The sun shone on it, but dark clouds were gathering all around until a single ray of light was all that touched the white stone at the very tip of the topmost tower. Then the darkness swallowed all of it.

  A great wind rose, pushing at him, buffeting him from all directions. He saw the flash of lightning and heard someone screaming. Keening. Crying.

  A man with eyes like coal embers stared at him from a grief-shadowed face. His dark hair fell into his eyes and evening shadow darkened his jaw. There were deep purple streaks under his eyes and his cheeks were hollow. The man's sharp nose made him look dangerous despite his sad eyes.

  That dark bulk slammed into him, carrying off his balance as it flew past him and disappeared in the blackness of the storm.

  Someone repeating his name. His name. His name.

  "Yarro?"

  He jerked, realizing that voice was real, not in his head.

  WE ARE REAL, LITTLE BROTHER, said what he thought of as the Wise Uncle Voice. WE ARE VERY REAL. AS ARE THESE TRUTHS WE SHARE WITH YOU.

  "Yarro," Aevver said again, her voice very close to him. He swung around to face her and lost his
balance, tipping and sliding despite a desperate last-minute clutch at Firefoot's mane. He landed flat on his back, the world graying out as the impact drove the breath from his lungs. He tried to suck in air and failed. Tried again. Again. And finally he managed to draw breath, filling his lungs with a gasping, groaning sound.

  "Siren's teeth! Are you all right?" He heard her feet thud to the ground. He closed his eyes, waving a hand feebly to ward her off. He didn't have the breath to speak yet.

  It was a good thing she didn't know what he'd seen. She might have her swords drawn. Yarro shivered.

  "Are you hurt?" she demanded.

  "No," he croaked. He opened his eyes and found her bending over him, her eyes wide, brows drawn together.

  "What happened? Did you feel ill?" She pressed a hand to his forehead.

  Yarro jerked away from her touch. Even after that he could feel her fingers crawling against his skin. Why did she feel it was her right to touch him?

  "Tell me what's wrong," she pressed.

  "Nothing." He blinked at her.

  TELL HER YOU FELL ASLEEP. That was the Sly Voice. At least it wasn't advocating eating her like it had earlier.

  "Nothing? You don't fall off your horse because of nothing!"

  "Sometimes you do," he muttered. He pushed himself into a sitting position. "I must have fallen asleep. You woke me up and I fell."

  "Asleep?" Her voice was dubious, but she sat back on her heels, giving him more space. "I was afraid you were having some sort of fit."

  He shrugged. "I fell asleep." Having found that excuse, he stuck to it.

  Aevver rubbed a hand over her face. "I'm glad that's all it was. But we'll stop earlier tonight than last night, if you don't mind." When Yarro made no reply, she added, "It'll give us more time to set up camp and get a meal ready."

  She kept looking at him, so finally Yarro shrugged. He didn't feel like talking any more.

  Evidently that was answer enough. Aevver stood and walked back to her horse. "Feel like getting on the move again, or do you need a moment to rest?"

  Instead of speaking, Yarro pushed himself to his feet and held out a hand to Firefoot. The horse sidled over to him, sniffed his hand, and allowed Yarro to wind his fingers in his mane. Yarro climbed up to the bay horse's back and looked down at Aevver.

  The woman chuckled and mounted her own horse. "Very well. Let's get going."

  ***

  Yarro and Firefoot had been traveling with Aevver for three days. Yarro was still unsure of her. She was rather abrupt at times, but she laughed easily and treated her horse well. Her daggers and sword still made him nervous, but she hadn't drawn any of them in all the time they'd been together.

  That didn't mean the vision was wrong, though. Yarro was used to his visions not making sense. He didn't ever expect to actually see a dove and a serpent fighting. But in the past month his visions had been startlingly literal, and he knew it was starting to alter his perception. First there had been Firefoot and then Aevver. What had come next in the vision after the red horse and the copper-skinned warrior woman? He knew he would recognize the next thing when he saw it, but he wanted to remember it before he saw it.

  I should have written them down, he thought. But he had never been much for writing anything down. He could write. He'd been taught at an early age along with the rest of his family. But every time he got caught up in a vision, he would rouse from it to find his pen had dripped ink splotches all over his paper and eventually dried up. He would have to clean the pen before he could ink it again. It got to be so much trouble he just didn't bother.

  He glanced over at Aevver, who was riding a few paces ahead of him. Every once in a while she glanced over her shoulder to make sure she was still going the right direction, and if Yarro was looking, he would nod. But he didn't always notice. He figured she had decided if he was still going the same direction as she was, it must be right.

  She wasn't looking at him now. She was relaxed in the saddle, her head turning slowly as she watched the horizon. She was always watchful. It made Yarro tired. He wondered if she even noticed the pretty pink flowers that spread low to the ground along the path they were riding. Did she notice the deep blue of the sky? Did she enjoy the feel of the cool breeze in the heat of the sun?

  The vision hadn't started with Firefoot. What had it started with? The desert. Sweeping sand dunes and harsh cliffs casting shadows over the land. He closed his eyes, picturing it. To his surprise, it jumped with vivid clarity to his mind's eye. Then there had been a valley with an entrance hidden from all those who weren't worthy. And Firefoot, looking straight at him. Aevver Balearic, with her brown skin and the sword on her hip and her daggers hidden everywhere. And then—what?

  A magic user. He remembered her just as her face swam into focus with her moth-green eyes and dark hair streaked with white. Her skin was unlined, her expression unhappy. She was too young for that white hair, barely older than Yarro. He didn't know why he was sure she was a mage. But he could see the power in her somehow.

  He gulped and opened his eyes. Maybe he shouldn't have remembered her. He had never met anyone with magic. Orya had told him stories with magic in them. He had always wondered what it must feel like to have magic. But the actual idea of it was frightening.

  And what about the vision from a few days ago? He had been seeing that man in his dreams at night, and he didn't understand why. The man hadn't been in the first visions, but he kept coming back now. He must be important for some reason. Most of Yarro's visions weren't that persistent.

  Was the man someone who knew Aevver? Maybe they were friends. Maybe it was a warning of something. The man and Aevver might be planning something together. He had looked dangerous. Yarro remembered the sadness in his eyes, though.

  He shivered suddenly and looked up. The sun had gone behind a cloud. That was unusual. It had been unrelentingly sunny ever since he left Meekin. Meekin got a lot of sunshine, but he knew there had been gloomy days earlier this year. But out in the dry scrub lands they were traveling through, the clouds seemed wrong.

  Yar looked down at Firefoot's mane. He kept waiting for the Voices to give him new directions, but so far they seemed pleased with his progress. One impatient Voice often urged him to hurry, but Yar thought he was traveling as fast as he could, so he mostly ignored that Voice.

  YOU ONLY IGNORE ME BECAUSE I ALLOW IT, the Voice said. IF I WANTED TO, I COULD SEIZE YOUR ENTIRE ATTENTION AND KEEP IT ON ME.

  You'd better not, Yar told it. If you do that, Aevver Balearic will notice something is wrong. She'll start asking questions. I don't want to tell her about you.

  SHE WOULDN'T BELIEVE YOU ANYWAY, the Voice agreed. NO ONE BELIEVES IN US ANYMORE. ONCE WE WERE REVERED AS THE ELDEST AND WISEST. NOW WE ARE FORGOTTEN, THOUGHT OF ONLY IN HERO TALES.

  I believe in you, Yarro assured it. Not that I have much choice. But I have always believed in you.

  The Voice didn't answer in words, but Yar felt a warm humming in his mind that told him it was pleased with him. The humming was a comforting sound, lifting up to surround him, almost like an embrace. He sank into it, feeling the sway of Firefoot's walking pace but relying on the Voice's humming to hold him up.

  Aevver's voice, when it broke in, was jangly and discordant. "Do you hear that?"

  Yar opened his eyes, only then realizing they had drifted closed. A moment later he realized he had heard what she was asking about. He frowned. "Thunder?"

  In answer, the sky rumbled at them. The sound sent a shiver of apprehension through him. Yar drew his cloak over his shoulders and around him.

  "I think we should start watching for shelter," Aevver said. "Have you been looking at the sky?"

  Yarro shook his head and looked up again. The sun was hidden by not one cloud, but several that were building in the west and had finally reached tall enough to cover the sun.

  "It looks like we're in for a storm," Aevver said. "We don't want to be caught out in the open if that's the case. We should be getting
close to that village marked on your map. I would think we'd start seeing houses here and there. I've noticed goats and sheep grazing in the distance."

  "People?" Yar asked, his gut tightening.

  "You don't like people? Meekin is full of them." She had fallen back to ride next to him. The trail they were following wasn't really wide enough for that, but she let her horse pick his way around obstacles, so it worked.

  "Most people don't seem to like me much. I'm too much of a freak." He bit down on the tip of his tongue as he realized what he'd just admitted to her. He shouldn't have said that! She would ask why he was a freak, and then he might end up blurting out something about the Voices, and—

  "I don't think you're a freak," Aevver said. She tilted her head, studying him. "You're different from me, but then I'm different from myself. I'm not the same person I was five years ago. And both mes are different from my brother or my parents. That's what makes this world so interesting. People are different from each other." She smiled at him.

  Tentatively, Yarro smiled back.

  Thunder crashed across the sky at them, interrupting the moment. Yar ducked. Aevver's sand-colored horse shied. She got it back under control almost at once, but their brief connection was broken. Aevver swore, looking up at the sky again.

  "We need to move faster," she said. "Let's trot for a while. Pay attention to the landscape around us. We'll need to find shelter somewhere. We can't sit in the middle of an open field like this while lightning strikes around us."

  Yar winced. Had she noticed the way he tended to let his attention wander? "You lead the way," he said. That way she could set the pace and he could just let Firefoot keep up with her. He would look around for shelter until the Voices distracted him again.

  Aevver nodded and took off in a ground-eating trot, the sand-colored horse proving his smaller size didn't mean he was slower than Firefoot. Yar squeezed his knees around Firefoot's sides, asking the bay horse to keep up, and Firefoot responded with a snort. He leapt into a gallop until he caught up to the other horse, but fell obligingly back into a trot once they did.