Текст книги "Water & Storm Country"

Автор книги: David Estes

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Chapter Twenty-Five

Huck

We talk until the sun sets, and I pretend to motion to the sails, as if I’m teaching her about the finer art of sail repair. I’m conscious of the occasional stares from below and very aware when Hobbs pays us an inordinate amount of attention for longer than normal. But today I don’t care.

She teaches me about fire country, about strange spiky plants called pricklers that are filled with juice and that have skin that’s tough until you cook it. She tells me stories of the Hunters, of the enormous beasts they would bring back, of wild animals called Killers, with razor-sharp teeth and monstrous claws. I could listen to her stories all day.

But eventually she tires of talking and begins asking me questions about life on The Merman’s Daughter. How it’s different than the Mayhem. What it was like growing up as the admiral’s son. About my mother. I tell her about the pride I used to feel marching around with my father, like I was somebody. How listening to him barking orders to the men, laying down appropriate punishment and dealing out deserved praise, would stir my heart in such a way that I wanted nothing more than to be just like him, to follow in his footsteps.

“And now?” Jade asks.

Now? “I am following in his footsteps,” I say. “I’m a lieutenant. I’m running a ship.”

“And me?” she asks, and I finally realize where she’s going with it. Would he approve of me talking to a bilge rat as I would speak to a friend?

“I don’t know,” I say honestly. “I just don’t know anymore.”

She nods. “Thank you for not lying.”

Her arm’s so close I can feel the hairs on her skin touching mine. I shiver as the last rays of sun flash red and then orange and then purple before disappearing below the horizon.

“Why does your father send children here?” I ask, before I can stop myself. And in my mind: Why did he send you here?

She swallows hard and I see I’ve upset her. Her fingers squeeze the wooden railing. “It has something to do with seaweed,” she says.

Ready to laugh, I look for the joke on her face, but her expression’s as flat as the deck planks below. “Seaweed?” I say. “You mean the stuff we’re forced to eat almost every day?”

“Yeah, but not the weeds we pull from the ocean, the stuff that washes up on shore and gets all dried out in the sun.”

“They make tea from that, don’t they?”

“Some of it,” she says. “But the rest they put in huge bags. There’s a lot more than what they need for tea.”

I scratch my head. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand what that has to do with bilge rats.”

“Why do you call us that?” she asks sharply, pain apparent in her eyes. “We’re humans, you know. Not searin’ rats.”

I feel a flush on my cheeks. “I’m sorry, I didn’t—”

“You didn’t think, did you?” she snaps, and the old Jade is back, the one who throws scrub brushes as well as she throws glares.

“I didn’t. It’s just what we’ve always called…”—I pause, struggling to find a way of saying what I mean without being offensive—“your kind of brown-skinned people from fire country,” I spew out in an avalanche of verbal diarrhea. I freeze, hold my breath, watching her glare from the corner of my eye.

Then, to my absolute shock, she laughs. “You can just call us Heaters from now on. But you better not do so in front of your father or he’ll know you know the truth. And if I ever find out who came up with the name bilge rats, watch out.” I picture a hailstorm of brushes raining down from above.

“So back to the seaweed…” I say. “How is it linked to…the Heaters?”

She squints, although there’s no sun left to be in her eyes. “I’m not sure exactly. All I know is that sometimes when we’re anchored, a few men leave with the big bags of dried seaweed and then come back with a new lot of children.”

“And the seaweed?”

“They never come back with that.”

~~~

We make it down from the crow’s nest just before we lay anchor. Jade goes first, sliding all the way to the bottom in a show of remarkable grace and agility, striding off in search of food from the ship’s stores as if a day spent with me was nothing to her.

(Was it nothing?)

I climb down more carefully, using the ladder, happy when my feet are back on solid wood, relishing the gentle rock of the moored ship beneath me. We’re the second ship to arrive, and a plank has already been secured between us and The Merman’s Daughter. My father wastes no time crossing it. Hobbs is waiting for him, but to my surprise, he greets me first. “Lieutenant Jones. Son. What do you have to report?”

I’m taken aback by his sudden show of respect. Hobbs steps forward. “Sir, if I may, we’ve made significant prog—”

“Let me be clear, Hobbs, you’re here to observe. Any progress made is the result of the leadership of the captain and his lieutenant, my son. Understand?”

Hobbs nods, but then glares at me when my father turns away from him. I almost laugh. “Admiral, as you can see, the ship is performing better than it ever has before. The men and women are working hard, doing their duty, and should be rewarded accordingly. Under my supervision, the sail repair work is moving forward rapidly, which has greatly increased the ship’s speed.”

“You and the bilge rat seem to be getting on rather well,” Hobbs says.

“Bilge rat?” my father says, raising an eyebrow.

“I’ve trained one of the…a girl…to repair the sails. She’s a good climber and a quick learner. Much of the credit goes to her.”

“There seems to be more talking than repairing going on up there,” Hobbs sneers.

Ignoring his comment, my father says, “Credit? To a rat? Surely the credit is yours, Son. The…girl you speak of wouldn’t know a patch from her ass if it wasn’t for your leadership.”

Something flashes in my chest. I’ve got several less diplomatic responses available, but all I say is, “Thank you, sir. We’ll continue with the effort until every sail is in pristine condition.”

“Very good. Hobbs,” he says, turning to the fuming lieutenant. “Are you still needed here? Do you have more to report or can I safely assume that the transition of Lieutenant Jones to the Mayhem has been an outright success?”

His words are the ones I’ve been waiting for my whole life. I should be proud. I should be swelling with happiness and confidence right now. But instead I feel sick, as if his words are sour, full of bitterness, because…well, because, as Jade said, “…your father brought us here against our will from fire country.”

“I should give you my full report in private,” Hobbs says. “Then you can decide whether I should stay on.” There’s a glint in his eye.

“No,” I say, balling my fists. “You can say whatever you need to in front of me, Lieutenant. I’m here to learn.”

“I don’t think—” Hobbs starts to say, but my father raises an arm to stop him.

“No, my son’s right. Say what you will,” the admiral says.

Hobbs closes one eye, his other never leaving mine, as if calculating something. What is he going to say? How can he possibly shed a negative light on what I’ve accomplished on the Mayhem?

“I fear your son is falling in love with a bilge rat,” he says.

~~~

The fallout ain’t pretty. “Follow us,” my father says to Hobbs. Then he grabs my arm, drags me up the steps to the quarterdeck, and shoves me down the steps to the officers’ cabins. We nearly crash into Captain Montgomery, who has just exited his own cabin, looking exceedingly groggy.

“Admiral, I wasn’t aware you were here. I was just getting some shut eye after a long, hard day.” Of sleeping and drinking and smoking, I think.

“Come with us,” my father orders.

He jostles me into my cabin, where a very surprised Barney is just finishing making up my bed. “Hullo, Admiral,” he says.

“Out,” is all my father replies. Barney scurries on out of there, leaving me in a very crowded cabin with my father (red-faced and rock-jawed), Hobbs (smiling cruelly), and Captain Montgomery (still blinking away a long nap).

“Speak, Hobbs,” my father commands when the door is shut.

Hobbs cracks his knuckles, as if he’d rather punch me than talk about me. “Well, Admiral, your son”—he points at me as if no one in the room knows who I am—“has been spending a significant portion of his time with a bloody bilge rat girl.”

“And?” my father says.

“And…I think that shows there’s something going on between them,” Hobbs adds.

“That’s it? That’s all you’ve got? Huck…Lieutenant Jones admitted himself that he’s training her to repair the sails. That would require time, would it not, Lieutenant?”

Hobbs shifts from foot to foot, his toothy smile wiped away by the strength of my father’s words. “Well, aye, but—”

“So you have no further evidence?”

“Well, no, but surely Captain Montgomery has noticed too,” Hobbs says, trying to direct my father’s heavy stare to the captain, who looks like he’d much rather be in his hammock than here.

“Captain?” my father says.

“Aye, sir?”

“What do you have to say?”

“About what, sir?”

Admiral Jones lets out a seething breath. “Has water country gone half crazy?” he asks the room. I stay silent. So far it’s worked pretty well for me.

“Sir?” the captain says.

“Have you, or have you not noticed any inappropriate behavior from my son?” my father asks.

I hold my breath.

The captain looks from my father to me to Hobbs, and then says, “No, sir. As far as I can tell, your son’s done an exemplary job since his arrival. One that should be commended.”

My father fires a dagger-filled look at Hobbs, who says, “Sir, if I may, give me one more week. This is a crucial time for the Mayhem, and I want to stay on, if only to help maintain its performance.”

“You’ve falsely accused my son and now you want to stay on the Mayhem?” my father says.

“One week,” Hobbs says. “That’s all I ask.”

My father sighs, looks at me. “Do you object?”

Aye! I want to scream. But to do so would be to admit guilt. And I have nothing to hide, right? Just because Jade and I have formed a friendship doesn’t mean I’ve done anything wrong. I shake my head.

“Very well, Hobbs. You stay,” the admiral says.

“Thank you, sir, you won’t be sor—”

“But if you throw any more wild accusations at my son, I will not be so forgiving.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” Hobbs says weakly.

“As for you…”—he turns to me—“is the bilge rat girl trained in sail repair?”

“Aye, but—”

“Good. Stay away from her. Let her do her job, so you can do yours.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” I say.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Sadie

I have no one but me and my horse.

When I fetch Gard, Remy is there and I can tell he knows. He gives me a nod, but not a smile.

Gard carries my father back to the camp, sets him atop the funeral pyre, makes the arrangements. I just sit there, arms wrapped around my knees, numb. Paw’s death was because of me. Only one of us could be saved, and Mother Earth chose me. But why? Father said there’s an important choice I’ll have to make, but how can one newly proclaimed Rider change anything? And how can I live with myself knowing I blamed Father all these years when it was really my fault? Paw died so I could live. A life for a life. Father let me believe he was weak, a coward, so he could protect me from blaming myself.

I’m broken with shame, with wasted years and misplaced anger.

Although the rain has long passed, my cheeks are still wet from running through it, leaving my father’s body in that bare circle of dryness. None of the wetness is from tears. Not another shall fall. Not one single tear.

“Hi,” Remy says, snapping me out of my stupor and flopping down beside me.

I have the urge to look at him, but can’t because I’m afraid I’ll see myself in his eyes. Instead, eyes forward, I say, “How’s your horse? How’s Bolt?” A normal conversation, twisting and wrenching in my gut.

“Sadie…” he says softly.

“Please,” I say. “Please.” A favor for a promise. Don’t talk about my father and I’ll never be unkind to you again.

Remy kicks my foot and I’m glad for it, glad he does something that takes me back to when we first met, how many times we’ve fought and argued since. I kick him back.

“Bolt’s amazing,” he says. “Although he prefers to run straight ahead with his head down, as if he thinks he can charge through most anything. I’m trying to get him to turn now and again. So far I can get him to go right, but not left just yet.”

The laughter springs to my lips before I can stop it. I raise a hand to my mouth to silence it, but then it just comes out muffled. I’m looking at Remy before I can remember I’m not supposed to. When I look at him, somehow I don’t feel so alone.

“It’s not funny,” Remy says, but he’s smiling. “Do you know how hard it will be to fight the Soakers if my steed will only charge forward and to the right?”

Straight-faced, I say, “You know, turning right three times in a row will get you going left just fine.”

Now it’s Remy’s turn to laugh. “Rare wisdom from a young Rider,” he says. “I can see it now. My leftward enemy holds up his sword, dripping in Rider-blood, ready to cut me down. ‘Wait one minute, Bloodthirsty-Soaker, while I force my horse to turn three times to the right so I can look you in the eye before we do battle.”

A crowd is gathering, but I pretend they’re not there and that they’re not watching me talk and laugh, like it’s any other day, any other funeral. Like their whispers of “Isn’t it sad?” and “Both parents so close together…” are about someone else.

“We should stand,” I say, but Remy shakes his head.

“Not yet,” he says. “How’s Passion? Any problems turning her to the left?”

“She’s…” A dozen words spring to mind—perfect, incredible, majestic, and on and on—but none of them do her justice. None of them sum up what I really think of her. “She’s everything,” I finally say, and it’s true on so many different levels, especially now that father is...

He smiles. “I’d feel the same about Bolt if not for the no-left-turn thing. So for now he’ll have to be almost everything.”

I smile but this time it’s not a real smile, because I know…

It’s time.

I stand, hating funerals. Hating this funeral.

My knees are weak, trembling, so I squeeze my leg muscles tight to keep them still.

Gard stands at the front of the crowd, partially obscuring my father’s body, which lies behind him on the pyre. He will likely call many of the Men of Wisdom to speak of my father’s talents, of his visions, of his wisdom. Of his life.

“I could speak for hours of the goodness of the man we’ve lost today, but what I would have to say would be but a tip of the spear of what another can say. Sadie, will you come forward?”

My heart races. Me? Even at my mother’s funeral I wasn’t asked to speak. How can he expect me to say anything when the pain is still so near, hiding just below the surface of my skin, ready to pour out like beads of sweat. The damn tears well up again and I grit my teeth to keep them from spilling. Never again.

A hand on my back pushes me forward. “It’s okay,” Remy says.

I almost turn on him, tell him it’s not okay, will never be okay, but instead I just flash him a glare and walk stiffly toward the front. When I reach him, Gard leans down to whisper in my ear. “Your father was a great man,” he says.

I nod. Take a deep breath. Let my eyes linger on my father for a long moment. Turn around to face the people.

“I—I…” Good start. Words have never been my thing. Fists and feet and action and speed: those are my things. I start again, feeling the words line up in my head like they never have before, as if my father—a man who always had the right words—is guiding me. “I know my father was a great man,” I say. “No one has to tell me that. Not ever again. So when you offer me your condolences, please tell me stories of him as he was, of the things he did that will hold fast in your memories for years and years to come.” I pause, search my soul for what’s been there all along, how I feel. Not the obvious feelings, like sadness and anger and fear, but for something more—the feelings behind the feelings.

“I feel…no…I am lucky to have been born to my parents,” I say, holding back an entire ocean of tears, pausing after each sentence to compose myself. “They were the perfect combination of wisdom and strength.” Pause. “Only what I never knew until just today, was that I was wrong about that.” Swallow. “They were both full of wisdom, both full of strength. More so than I’ll ever be. Mourn not for me, but for the loss of my father, for today the world has given back someone who cannot be replaced. I love you, Father,” I finish, and it’s all I can do to get the last word out before it’s all too much.

I step down quickly, avoiding eye contact with everyone until I return to Remy’s side. Gard moves forward, torch in hand. “We send your soul to Mother Earth!” he says, lighting the wood at the base of the pyre.

As red and orange flames climb the pile, Remy holds my hand and I hold back, wondering how I’ll ever let go.

~~~

Passion lets me rub her nose longer than usual. Normally she grows restless after a few passes of my hand, pawing and shaking her head, but today she allows me to stand for a long while, stroking the white butterfly between her ears.

“He’d want us to be happy,” I say to her. “They both would.”

She whinnies and I know what she says. Together, we are happy, and I know it’s true, because I’m a Rider and there’s no stronger bond on all of Mother Earth’s lands.

“Will you ride with me today?” I ask, because I’ve learned there’s no forcing Passion to do anything she doesn’t agree to upfront.

Her whinny makes me swell with emotion. Today I’d ride to the ends of the earth with you, Sadie, if that’s what you wanted. Is that really what she says, I wonder, or is my imagination out of control?

“Just across the plains,” I say, my voice huskier than usual.

After letting her munch on an apple, I lead Passion out of her stall and through the stables, enjoying watching Bolt whinny and nay and make a fool out of himself, pining for her affection. I almost feel sorry for the poor old boy when she completely ignores him. Learn to turn left and maybe you’ll have a shot with her, I think, unable to stop the smile that springs to my lips, not because of the joke, but because of who told it.

Outside, I easily spring onto Passion’s back, instantly warming as her sinewy muscles adjust beneath me. Despite all that’s died inside me, I’ve never felt so alive. Perhaps the connection between Rider and horse is more than simple familiarity—something mystical, preordained. Despite myself, I hope that it is.

Passion starts out at a trot but upgrades to a canter almost immediately. When she begins to gallop, my heart gallops with her. The wind whips my hair all around me as I clutch her black mane, letting her run at full speed, not trying to slow or turn her. For I am not her master; I never broke her. Riding her is a gift only she can give.

Miles stretch out before us but we gobble them up. The dark clouds are threatening rain again before we even consider turning around.

When we stop, I see them.

Shadows on the water, teeming with Soakers.

The fleet has laid anchor.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Huck

Hobbs isn’t staying on to ensure the continued performance of the ship—that much I know.

Now that I’ve become used to being near Jade, it will be hard to ignore her, but I will. For her sake and for mine. At least today it will be easy; the bilge rats—I mean, Heaters—are scarcer than sunshine in storm country whenever my father’s around, hiding below deck.

And around he is, refusing to leave the Mayhem, as if he’s determined to watch me even closer than Hobbs. I stand by his side, observing the first of the landing boats as they paddle toward shore. Once on land, they’ll move inland, filling barrels with fresh drinking water, picking berries and nuts, hunting for animals which will later be skinned, butchered, and salted, replenishing each ship’s stores.

“Is there any truth to what Hobb’s said?” my father asks suddenly, just when I think he’s forgotten I’m even here.

“No,” I say, shocked at how easily I lie to him. Perhaps because it’s not a lie—or at least not a full one. I’m not in love with a bilge rat, like he suggested. I’m simply friendly with one, interested in one. Aware of one, you might say. And she’s not a bilge rat—not to me. She’s Jade, a Heater from fire country. A person.

“Good,” he says. “I know he doesn’t like you, has never liked you. I think your success has made him…uncomfortable.”

To that I say nothing, just watch as one of the small boats angles away from the others, further down the shore.

“You know, it won’t be long before you’ll need to take a wife,” Father says.

I glance at him, but his eyes are fixed on the boat I’ve just noticed, the one apart from the others. The two men onboard have leapt out into the shallows and are dragging the vessel onto the beach.

“A wife?” I say, unable to hide the surprise in my question.

“I won’t be around forever,” he says. “You’ll need at least one heir.”

My face burns so red I’m thankful he doesn’t look at me.

The boatmen begin scouring the sand, picking up clumps of dried seaweed, stuffing them into bags. My eyes widen and for a moment I forget all about my father’s talk of taking a wife and producing an heir.

…men leave with the big bags of dried seaweed and then come back with a new lot of children.

“Father, why do they collect so much dried seaweed?” I ask, motioning unnecessarily to the two men. He’s already looking right at them. His head jerks toward me and I want to flinch back, but foolish pride prevents me. I’m so used to not showing weakness that it’s become a part of me.

The admiral’s eyes are fierce, but then soften in an instant. “For tea, of course.” A logical answer, but…

“But why so much? Surely there aren’t enough sailors in all the Deep Blue to require the amounts those men are gathering.”

His eyebrows lift ever so slightly. “Why are you suddenly so interested in tea leaves?” he asks. “Who have you been talking to?”

Although he keeps his voice level, I can sense a shift in his tone. Something dark lurks just behind his seemingly innocent questions. His questions seem to confirm Jade’s suspicions about the seaweed being important.

“No one,” I say, answering the second question first. “It just seems unproductive. Wasting two good men who could be out gathering necessary supplies when a child could scrounge up a few tea leaves to last us months.”

I’m glad when Father breaks into a smile, releasing the tension. “My boy, the lieutenant,” he says, clapping me on the back. “Always worried about improving performance. Let me put your mind at ease, Son. We’ve got more than enough men hunting and gathering, and the stores have never run dry. Now back to that bride of yours.”

“What bride?” I say sharply.

“Exactly. You’re a man now, more than old enough to marry and carry on the Jones’ family name.”

“But I’m still…” I don’t want to sound like a child, but…

“So young?” my father says. “Yes, you are, and I’m not suggesting you have to marry at age fourteen. But certainly by sixteen. It’s something you should be thinking about now.”

My mind spins. I’ve barely even spoken to any girls on the ship, and none for an extended period of time, Jade being the longest. And surely she doesn’t count, because…well, because my father can never know of her.

“But I don’t—”

“I know, I know, Son”—he lowers his voice, as if telling me a secret—“the Soaker women aren’t much to look at, and they’ve got far too much strength in their backs and minds. But I’m not suggesting you take one of them at all.”

“Then who?” I ask, getting more confused by the second.

“Have I ever told you about the foreigners?” he asks.

The men have filled the bags of seaweed and are loading them into the boat, two in each hand, four total.

“You mean the Stormers?” I say.

The admiral leans on the rail. “There’s them, but obviously I don’t mean them. There are others, too.”

Like the Heaters, I think, but I stay silent.

“You’re not surprised?” he says, piercing me with a sudden stare.

“Uh, no, I mean, yes…I mean, I guess not. I always assumed there were others out there somewhere.” I didn’t, at least not before Jade.

“Hmm,” Father muses. “I suppose you would. Have you heard of ice country?”

Jade only mentioned fire country, but she did say something about “Icers.” Something about them being involved in the trade of the Heater children and the bags of seaweed. Why is Father talking about them now?

“No,” I say.

“It’s a country that’s high up in the mountains, where it’s always cold. They have many beautiful white-skinned girls there. One of them would suit you just fine. And I’ve heard they’re obedient to their husbands. Or at least more so than Soaker women, especially when they have something to motivate them.”

“What are you talking about?” I blurt out before I can stop myself.

Father frowns. “Mind your tone, Son. I know this is a lot to take in, but I’m still your commander and father. If you must know, I’ve arranged everything. A perfectly suitable bride will be brought from ice country. The ice country King, his name is Goff, wrote a long letter telling me her name is Jolie and that she’s very pretty and moldable.” The way he says the last word makes me think of the clay that the men sometimes dig up in storm country for the children on the ships to play with.

“Jolie,” I say, trying out the name. It’s pretty, but… “Why would she marry me?” I ask, still not understanding where this is all coming from.

Father shakes his head. “Son, she’s a girl, it doesn’t matter what she wants, only that she will. Your mother…” He trails off, as if he’s thought better of what he was about to say.

“What about her?” I say, sharpness creeping back into my tone.

“Nothing,” Father says. “She was just a hard woman to live with sometimes.”

How dare he? How dare he speak of her like that? My fists clench and my teeth lock and I know I’m dangerously close to doing something stupid, but…

My mother was an angel.

And I couldn’t save her.

“There’s something you should know about her death,” he says, and that’s when the rains start falling from the dark clouds I didn’t even notice moving in overhead.

~~~

Our conversation ends at the worst possible moment, because Father’s off and making sure the men on all the ships are placed to capture the rainwater, which will save the men onshore a lot of effort of finding drinking water in creeks and streams.

And I’m left as alone and muddled as the puddles forming in depressions on the decks. I just let the water dampen my hair, stream down my face, soak through my clothes. Because my world’s been turned upside down. A bride from ice country? Something my father has to tell me about my mother’s death? When did the sky become the ocean and the ocean the sky? When did the sands from storm country pour onto our decks and the saltwater and fishes become the beach? When did I become so stupid?

And then she’s there, watching me, clinging to the mast, as drenched as I am. She motions to The Mermaid’s Daughter and I turn to look. The solitary boat is being hauled aboard, along with its contents: the bags of dried seaweed.

I nod and turn away from her, because I feel a presence nearby. Hobbs is behind me, looking at her, and then at me. “I’m all over you,” he says.

I push past him, back to my cabin.