The Story Raider

by Lindsay A. Franklin

  Braith sank back onto her throne. Could this be the perfect solution?

  Maybe, for once in her life, the answer really could be this easy.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  NAITH

  Naith pulled his hood further over his face, tilting his head so that he might see the boy up on the wooden platform Naith had ordered constructed. He might not wish to show his face in the streets of Urian just yet, but there were plenty of people at his disposal. At least enough to build a platform.

  Bo-Bradwir looked nervous. There was no denying that. But he also looked ready.

  The young man waited a moment, looking out among the gathered peasants. Then he spoke loudly. “Friends, I bring you a message of hope. The crown has failed us all.”

  Even this simple statement garnered cheers.

  “The number of Tirians isn’t getting smaller, is it? Each year, more are added to our population. Babes are born, and that means more mouths to feed. Has the monarchy responded? Does the monarchy answer when these babes cry for food? When our farms are strained to the point of absurdity? No. They demand taxes.”

  A loud chorus of boos and jeers. Just as Naith planned when he wrote it.

  “We must seize our power, friends. What powers exist in our world? Population? The nations of Haribi and Minasimet have as many people as we do. Meridione, though small, is not far behind. Tir no longer holds the power of population.

  “Then maybe size? But, no. Tir is not bigger than Haribi. The Bellithwyn continent is twice the size of Tir. What other source of power do we, the Tirian Empire, have?”

  The boy was fouling up some of the language Naith had carefully crafted. But Naith had done what he was able to do with the time he was given, considering this boy had sounded every bit the Pembroni farmer when he had first come to Naith at the temple. The results weren’t bad.

  “The third kind of power relies on the strength of its people,” Bo-Bradwir continued. “That we could have, friends. We did have once. But we let it die. We let it go to waste. As we scramble to meet the demands of the crown, we forget who we are.

  “So what is our strength? Our Tirian race. Our Tirian heritage.” Bo-Bradwir paused and looked at Naith.

  The boy hadn’t liked this part. In the end, the Master had needed to produce the most difficult of all strands, draining but effective. Ones that manipulated sentiment. The Master had showered Bo-Bradwir in them—wrapped them all around him like a coiled snake so that the words might come out the way the Master and Naith desired. Even so, Bo-Bradwir paused.

  His will could be strong at times.

  But after a moment’s hesitation, the speech continued. “We need to remember the strength of our Tirian blood. The purity of it. The power of it. We must remember the purity of our race and the glory of the Tirian minds who conceived the great city of Urian, the Tirian hands that built it. Aren’t we willing to fight for these things?”

  A roar of approval from the crowd.

  “Those who are not willing to fight will let our country—our pride and our glory—be stolen from us. Are you willing to fight, my friends?”

  A louder roar than the first.

  “Do you not want a leader you can believe in? Someone who is one of you? Someone who knows what matters?”

  Naith’s watchful look intensified. Bo-Bradwir held his hands out, and orbs of fire glowed in his palms. The crowd gasped.

  “I am the one you can believe in. I will challenge the crown and restore Tir to its glory!” The fire turned to bread, and the peasants erupted.

  The sound was delicious—the approval and rabid enthusiasm of those who didn’t know any better and who couldn’t see past their own stomachs.

  Bo-Bradwir was passing out the large quantities of bread they had made in advance. Now was the time to slip away. Naith rounded a corner into an alleyway, pulled his hood lower, and spoke in low tones.

  “Master?”

  The misty strands appeared almost immediately. “Yes?”

  “The boy is ready. And so are the peasants.”

  “Well done, Naith.”

  Relief. “A dozen more speeches like this, and the whole kingdom will be prepared. Tir is ready. It is time for you to collect your weapon, Master.”

  “Indeed. And this time, I will not fail.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  TANWEN

  Before any of us had a chance to say anything, Diggy disappeared inside her dwelling.

  I could see it now, among the tree trunks, sprawled along the edges of the clearing, cleverly concealed by fronds and branches and the tangled underbrush.

  It was the Corsyth, island style.

  “Diggy?” a stunned Mor called after her.

  Her head reappeared. “Why are you here?”

  “I came for you.”

  The rest of her body emerged. She had set down the basket somewhere. “Let me rephrase,” she said, every word sharp as a blade. “Why are you here now?”

  “I . . .”

  “Exactly.” She shook her head and stormed past him, sparing me a glance. “You’re pretty,” she said. Then she kept walking.

  Kawan and Diggy fell into step together, heading toward the beach, speaking in the island tongue.

  Mor stared after her, flabbergasted and dripping wet. “Diggy, wait!”

  She stopped so suddenly, Mor and I both almost crashed into her. “You’re late.”

  Mor’s voice faltered. “Aye, I know.”

  “Four years too late.”

  “Yes, that’s true. Diggy, I want to apologize.”

  “You . . .” She laughed, mirthless and full of disbelief. “You want to . . . apologize? Well. Thanks. I’ll take your apology and turn back time with it.”

  “Diggy, please let me—”

  Diggy whirled, drew a knife from one of the straps around her legs, and hurled it end-over-end toward us. It thunked into the tree just to the left of Mor’s head. I supposed she missed on purpose.

  At least, I hoped.

  “No, Mor, I will not let you do anything. You have nerve showing up here.”

  “I thought you were dead.”

  “Oh, that must be it, then. You waited until you thought I was dead, then you came for me.”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “No! You’re done speaking now.” She pulled another knife and threw it. It, too, narrowly missed Mor and thunked into the tree right next to the other.

  She had definitely missed on purpose. This girl could split huskbeetle eyelashes with her blades.

  “You have to let me explain,” Mor said, and a note of desperation crept into his voice. “These last four years have been full of hardship, I’m sure. But I’m here now. We’re both alive, and that has to be a miracle.”

  Diggy was still for a long moment, regarding Mor. She grabbed another knife and threw it with a flourish. “You don’t know what happened.”

  Mor took a deep breath. “I know it must have been bad if you left a headstone on the other island.”

  “Aye. You could say that.”

  Mor took a tentative step toward her. “You’re right. I don’t know. I only know everything I’ve feared. But you’re here, and it’s like a gift.”

  “A gift,” Diggy repeated. She threw another knife.

  “Diggy, I don’t know what’s happened to you. And I won’t until you tell me.”

  She turned to face him, that strange, unhappy look on her face again. “Yes,” she said finally. “I shall tell you now.”

  Mor waited.

  “They made me a slave in the palace. You know that part?” she asked.

  Mor nodded. “Yes. In the palace kitchens.”

  “Ah, you did know where I was. I wondered.” She glared at him. “Because you never came!”

  “I know. I’m sorry. I have no excuse. I was afraid.”

  “Yes. Poor Mor. I was a child. And my big brother never came.”

  “I’m sorry, Diggy.”

  Diggy shrugged off his wor
ds. “She beat me—the kitchen maid in charge of us all. She had a terrible temper. But I waited for you anyway. A whole year, I waited. But then I realized you weren’t coming, and it was time to leave. I had help escaping. The others in the kitchens saw how she beat me. Ginia the chef wanted to help. Everyone knew who my father was, so they helped me escape to the sea. To one of Gareth’s merchant vessels. It’s what our family does, isn’t it?”

  She didn’t wait for an answer. “I was such a valuable slave. I was only fourteen years old, but I knew how to cook and sail. And that’s not all.” Diggy threw another knife.

  Mor’s face stiffened.

  “Do you know why they bring girls on ships, brother? Father never did that, so maybe you don’t know.” She threw her last knife. She had made a perfect circle of them on the trunk.

  She strode to her knives and wrested them from the tree.

  “Diggy.” Mor approached her. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Are you? I am too. Sorry for my life, sorry I ever trusted anyone, sorry I was so happy to escape the palace kitchens at first. Aye, they beat me there, but that was better—better than the visitors to my cabin each night on the ship.”

  She clenched the knives.

  “They come alone if they’re sober. But in twos and threes and fives when they’re drunk.”

  The horror of Diggy’s words hung in the air. A strand of black silk curled from my palm unbidden. It looped toward Mor—a strand of grief and pain. I waved it away before it reached him.

  Diggy stared at her knives. “For a while, I still hoped. Still waited for someone to come fight for me. But really, it was too late. I became less than human. Less than nothing.”

  “But that’s not true,” Mor protested.

  “Isn’t it, though? What am I?” She looked toward the tree. “Do you see, Mor? There’s not enough soul left inside me to forgive anyone.”

  “Diggy . . .” Mor’s face was ashen. “Digwyn, please don’t say that.” He reached a hand toward her. “I need you.”

  “We all need things we’ll never get.” She threw a knife.

  And then she laughed. A hollow, joyless sound that dissolved into sobs. She turned to Mor, and the children of Lidere looked at each other, tears streaming down both their faces.

  The sky darkened, and thunder rumbled. A moment later, a flash storm dumped warm, tropical water on us.

  Diggy tilted her head back, and rain splashed her face. She laughed hollowly again. “And now you’ve come. Welcome to my island, brother. Welcome at long, dreadful last.”

  I looked helplessly at the broken shards of Mor’s long-lost sister, and I wondered. Could she be put back together again?

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  TANWEN

  The driving rain slowed to a sprinkle, and Diggy took a deep breath.

  Words poured from her again, quieter. Calmer. “I was on that ship a year. When we docked in the Islands, I ran away. I hid in a cargo crate and was delivered to the Kanaci dock. But as soon as they missed me, they sent out search parties. They rallied the islanders and offered a large reward. I mattered so very much to them, you see,” she added bitterly.

  “I’d made friends with Kawan already,” she went on. “He said the islanders would hunt me to my end, because the offered ransom was so big. So we decided to fake my death. The captain was furious. He had made sure to let the islanders know I was to be kept alive. Because I mattered. But Kawan is a good actor. His mother was in on our secret, and her testimony convinced the captain and crew their valuable plaything was gone.” Her gaze dropped. “Once their business was done, they left.”

  She turned over one of the knives in her hand. “But I couldn’t stay on Kanac after that, of course. The ransom would still be delivered if I was returned to the captain alive, so I had to go somewhere else. I came here. It’s been uninhabited for centuries because it floods terribly during the rainy season. Kawan visits me sometimes, but mostly it’s me here alone.” She looked directly at Mor, eyes dark. “This is all I want.”

  Mor again reached out toward her. “Diggy . . . come with me. We’ve already made arrangements to acquire another ship. As soon as we get what we came for, we’ll head back to Tir with you. There is so much more for you than this.”

  Diggy laughed. “I sincerely doubt that.”

  “Please,” he begged. “We could be a family again.”

  “I have no need of family.” She turned and headed for the trees. “Go home, brother. Enjoy your ship and your pirating and whatever else you do these days.” She looked over her shoulder and smiled faintly at him. “Yes, I noticed the gold in your ear and those shark-leather boots. What would Father say about you turning pirate?”

  “I’m legitimate now. Sailing under the queen’s banner.”

  “The queen?” She stopped walking and turned. “There is a queen on the throne?”

  “Braith En-Gareth.”

  Diggy’s eyes narrowed. “The daughter of Gareth? You sail under her banner?” She snorted and turned back to the trees. “Why am I surprised? Go back to your queen, Mor Bo-Lidere.”

  “Diggy!”

  “No, we’re finished.”

  A bolt of lightning shot from Mor’s hand in frustration. It snapped against a tree trunk at the edge of the jungle. But even at that, Diggy didn’t turn back.

  I paused a moment, then hurried after her. “Digwyn, please wait!”

  The trees had swallowed her completely. I turned in a circle but saw no sign of her. “Diggy?”

  “Is my brother your beau?” The sound came from the canopy of tropical trees above me.

  I looked up, and there she was, perched in the trees like a little puff-prowler. “What?”

  “Does he fancy you? Is he your beau?”

  “Those are two separate questions.”

  “True enough,” she said. “So?”

  For some reason, I answered her plainly. “We fancy each other, but your brother is not free. Truthfully, I’m not either.” I didn’t suppose shoving my engagement band back into Brac’s hands was an official-enough break. I certainly owed him an explanation when I returned.

  “Interesting.”

  “Complicated, more like.” I paused. “Mor has suffered, too, you know.”

  “Just when I was beginning to like you . . .” She pulled up her legs, preparing to jump to another tree.

  “Wait.”

  She paused.

  “I just meant . . .” I couldn’t bring myself to speak specifically. “Diggy, you have been horribly hurt. I can’t imagine what you’ve gone through. It must have been . . .” My mind couldn’t find the words.

  She tilted her head to the side and looked ever more like a wild critter.

  I began again. “It would be easy to think that while those terrible, evil things were happening to you, Mor was off having a grand adventure on his stolen ship. That he abandoned you and lived in comfort because of it. But that’s not true. He’s been on the run as many years as you’ve been gone.”

  She sat, still listening.

  “A lass he cares for very deeply is dying. We all care about her. That’s why we’re here in the Islands. We’re trying to find the cure for her. It was important to Mor to stay with her and do everything he could to help her”—I hesitated—“because of his guilt over you. He knows he should have fought for you, and the regret and shame eat at him every moment. Everything he does for Gryfelle is what he so desperately wishes he’d done for you.”

  Nothing about her expression changed. “He abandoned me.”

  “But he’s found you now. He had heard you were dead. But he searched anyway. He came, hoping for a miracle. He wants to make right what went wrong four years ago.”

  “Nothing can make that right.”

  What else could I say to help her see? “Hope is not lost, Diggy.”

  “It’s not?”

  “No. At least I don’t think so.”

  “Why?” She looked genuinely curious.

  “Hope is nev
er lost as long as you’re willing to fight for it. And I do think there is hope for you.”

  Diggy paused like she might be considering it, really and truly. But then she shook her head. “Some ships are best left at the bottom of the ocean.”

  Before I could stop her again, she swung up and away, out of my sight.

  I took in a big breath. I had failed too. She would live like this the rest of her days, hating the world, hating Mor, and I almost couldn’t blame her. What she had endured was unfathomable.

  But that was why she needed to be surrounded by people who loved her. Mor was right. We could be a new family for her.

  As I stood there, feeling defeated and useless, Diggy’s shriek pierced the air. “What have you done?”

  She appeared in the canopy, swinging from branches and vines, and dropped before me with an accusatory glare. “What have you brought here?”

  “I don’t know what you mean.” I took a step back. “Our ship was wrecked. We’ve barely brought anything.”

  “Wrecked by who?” Her gaze ripped through me.

  “I . . . I don’t know. It was some kind of magic.” I hadn’t given enough thought to who was behind the dark strands, for all those roads seemed to be dead ends. It was an unusual sort of magic no one understood. “They were strands,” I told Diggy. “Like story strands, but warped, somehow.”

  Diggy turned and sprinted toward the beach where Kawan and Mor still stood.

  “Mor!” she yelled. “What have you done?”

  He looked too startled to respond.

  “Look!” She pointed.

  Mor turned. Off in the distance, a giant thunderhead rolled along the ocean toward us. As I watched it, I realized it wasn’t a thunderhead. It was a colossal mass of strands, and they weren’t headed toward us. They were headed toward Kanac.

  “What have you brought here?” Diggy stared at the roiling strands growing ever closer.

  Mor’s face tightened. “We didn’t bring them, Diggy. Not on purpose, anyway.” He looked at me. “What do they want? They already sank the Cethorelle. Is it the cure they’re after?”