The Last Stormlord

CHAPTER TWELVE

Gibber Quarter Wash Drybone Settle and the Gibber Plains In the one-roomed shanty of Galen the sot, Shale was sitting with his sister, Citrine, on his lap. Her black eyes, so full of sharp intelligence and wonderment, regarded him with joy. Just over a year old, she was thin, this baby he had taken under his wing. His mother had little milk for her, and there was precious little food to spare. Nonetheless, her face was bright with life, and she liked nothing better than to play with her favourite brother, Shale.

Their mother was stirring dinner in the pot on the fire outside the hut, Mica was carving some bab-wood hairpins he hoped to sell to a caravan some time, and Galen had not yet returned from the settle, where he had gone to spend tokens on his usual jug of amber.

"Leastwise he won't be too slurped tonight," Mica said. "He only had a tinny-token to spend."

"There was a caravan in this evening," Shale warned. "Who knows what he's got from them."

"Yeah, I know. Real rich folk. Skin as light as milk opal. Never seen the like, meself."

"One of 'em said he was a highlord."

Mica laughed. "Is that sort of like a stormlord? He was scoffing you!"

Shale shrugged. "Maybe. But he's different all right."

"Your pa's comin'," his mother hissed from the doorway. "Watch yourselves."

Mica and Shale fell silent, although even silence might provoke Galen into unreasoning anger if he was drunk enough.

A moment later, he pushed past Marisal on his way inside. Once there, he fixed an angry gaze on Shale. "I want t'speak t'you, lad."

Shale hurriedly handed Citrine to his brother and stood up.

"There's rainlords in the settle."

Outside, Marisal dropped her stirring paddle into the pot and bit off an exclamation of surprise. Mica gaped and then attempted to draw attention away from Shale. "But aren't rainlords gods?" he asked.

"Just folk, seems like. Fancy folk from a place called Scarpen. Seems they are the ones who make sure we get water. Or don't get water, see? So we got t'keep in good with that lot." He turned his attention back to Shale. Reaching out with one hand, he pinned the boy against the back wall of the hut by his throat. "We don't want them t'think anyone here messes with their business, unnerstand me? We don't know a sand-flea's piddle 'bout water or when it comes, you get me, boy?"

Shale, choking, attempted to nod.

"We don't know anythin', never. I don't want you going nowhere near those Scarpen fancy-clothes with their pretty words and their stinkin' perfumes. Unnerstand?"

Shale spluttered and attempted another nod. He was choking, gasping for air, sure he was going to die. He clutched Galen's wrist and attempted to wrench his hand away. He tried to call Mica's name but his brother was rocking Citrine, his gaze deliberately averted. Citrine, however, stared at him, wide-eyed with distress. Her mouth turned down and she started to bellow.

Galen ignored her and went on, "I'll kill you if you bring trouble on us, see? And if I don't, then them fancy lords will. And if they don't, then the settlefolk will. So just shut your teeth down tight and keep your tongue at the back of 'em."

He loosened his hand from around his son's throat and Shale dropped to the floor, gasping. Losing interest, Galen turned to his wife. "Well, woman, where's my meal? Get me somethin' t'eat, or I'll take that stirring paddle to yer."

Mica helped Shale up and the two of them went to sit on the bedding in one corner of the room, taking the baby with them. They both knew there were times when it was better to be inconspicuous. Happy again, Citrine quietened.

"Sorry," Mica mumbled.

"It's all right," Shale said hoarsely, trying to smile at Citrine. "You couldn't have done nothin' anyways." But in the darkness he knew Mica was grieving-for all the things he could not do. Nealrith stood watching and listening in the deep of a desert night. As always at this time, the Gibber Plains were alive with sound: faint scrabbling and soft slithers, clicks and chirps, booming songs and thin reedy warbling, emitted by the creatures that emerged from their burrows in the earth or their crannies under stones, creatures as diverse as pebblemice, mole-crickets and night-parrots. All the life that was hidden during the heat of the day came into action at night: hunting one another, seeking the life-giving dew, sniffing out mates. Nealrith wondered if those creatures would go on living if there was no rain, and came to the conclusion that they probably would. They did not depend on the water that came down the wash.

We are the weak ones, he thought. The ones who never belonged here in the first place.

"Mist-gathering yet again?" Kaneth emerged out of the darkness, coming from the direction of the tents.

"More or less."

"Taquar is getting to you, isn't he? His poison is insidious-corrosive, nibbling at the edges."

"I thought you agreed with him."

"Oh, I do. Doesn't mean I love him, though. Or that we have the same goals. I just want to live, that's all. I want the Scarpen to survive. Taquar wants something more."

"Power."

"I suspect so. He puzzles me, though. Why is being a highlord not enough? I sometimes think there is something unnatural about him, Rith. As if all we see is the person acting a part-farsighted leader, future warrior, indefatigable lover. Never the real man. Sometimes I think he will be the salvation of us all-and sometimes I think he will destroy not just us but everything we stand for and everything we hold in trust."

"I thought you liked him."

Kaneth snorted. "Taquar is not a man one 'likes.' " Admire? Yes, often. But like? Never. The intricacies of his labyrinthine mind are beyond me. Don't underestimate him, my friend."

"I never have."

"And remember that just because you dislike him, that doesn't mean he is wrong and you are right. We are near the end of our journey, and we haven't found anyone that has the potential to be a stormlord. You are going to have to think more seriously about-"

"We have found hope, Kaneth. Those twelve minor water sensitives we sent back to Breccia for training, for a start."

Kaneth was dismissive. "Potential reeves at most."

"You can't say that about the other six we have with us still." He had hope for them. The most talented he had placed under his protection, closely guarded by his own personal guards at all times.

"Hmm, they have responded well to our training, I will admit," Kaneth said. "Possible rainlords, yes, but a stormlord among them? I think not, Rith. And in the meantime, your father could be on his deathbed."

"Blast you to a waterless damnation, Kaneth! Can't you keep your sand-rasp of a tongue still?"

"You'll hear only the truth from me. Whatever you think of me now, I am still a friend. The best friend you'll ever have."

"Watergiver help me."

"Now, that is not nice." Kaneth sounded hurt. "Oh, and one thing more," he added as Nealrith walked off. "Watch your back. As my old granny used to say, what use is a kiss on your lips if your back is clawed?"

Nealrith faltered, but he didn't turn around. He knew exactly who Kaneth was warning him against, and it wasn't Taquar. He headed for his tent. "You have a funny way of treating your friends, Kaneth Carnelian."

Kaneth spun around to face the speaker: Ryka, on her way to the main tent from her own.

"Would you rather I sounded like a mealy-mouthed woman?" he asked. "Speaking sugary-sweet platitudes to her friends until they believe everyone loves them?"

Her eyes glittered in the dark. "There you go again, denigrating women. For someone who professes to know so much about us, you're an expert at reducing us to ciphers."

"I haven't the faintest idea what you mean."

"You rarely have. What makes you think women are mealy-mouthed? Look at us female rainlords for a start. Laisa? She delights in nasty insinuation. Highlord Moiqa is as blunt as a miner's pick and prefers hammering out honesty to compliments. And I have a reputation for preferring fact over fancy. Then there's Anqia, over in-"

"By all that's wet, I was hardly saying all women are mealy-mouthed!"

"You implied it."

"Don't put words in my mouth that I didn't say."

"I don't have to. You can sound like an idiot without any help from me."

He gritted his teeth. "Blighted eyes, Ry, what do I have to do to show you I am not as rotten as you would have me smell? Have I been visiting every whore between Breccia City and here, or even flirting with settle girls? Have I once sneaked out of my tent at night to be pleasured by some matron who likes the idea of a rainlord in her bed? You're not blind-you've seen the number of opportunities I could have seized. I can even tell you the name of the settle whore right here in Wash Drybone. Her husband, the settle's drunk, just offered me his wife."

"Are you trying to tell me you haven't bedded a single girl since we left the Scarpen Quarter?"

"As a matter of fact, yes, I am."

"I don't believe you. I saw that hussy with the curls sneaking under the back wall of your tent back in Quartzgrain Settle-"

"I tossed her out. She didn't come at my invitation."

"And then there were those identical twins in Dopstik. They were boasting all over the settle that they'd shared your bed."

"I doubt it, because it didn't happen. If you heard a rumour, I suspect it referred to Taquar. I know he was eyeing them."

"I don't trust you, Kaneth. And anyway, if you haven't bedded anyone at all this trip, it's probably because you don't fancy Gibber women with their dark skins."

"Don't be ridiculous. The shade of her skin has nothing to do with a woman's bed skills or her desirability!"

She rolled her eyes.

Inwardly he cursed himself. Was he totally incapable of saying the right thing? Or even the sensible thing? He wanted to call after her as she walked away, but he wasn't sure what to say. That he had not bedded another woman out of respect for her? That as the days passed, he found her more and more desirable?

He suspected that if he did, she would throw it back at him, saying that abstinence had made him desperate. That any tent would do in a sandstorm. Or she would say that he wanted her because she was unattainable, that what he wanted was the victory, not the person.

Sighing, he wondered if any of that was true. All he knew for certain was that as he watched her now, her neat hips swaying beneath the loose weave of her traveller's trousers, he desired her with a longing he had rarely felt for any woman anywhere. Shale did his best to obey his father.

He did not go near the main settle the next day, and he stayed away from the rainlord tents erected in the bab groves. When Rishan sent his son Chert to the shanty huts outside the settle to tell them all they were to come to the rainlords' main tent for testing, Shale felt his stomach turn to palm mash-and stayed at home.

When Mica came back, he questioned him closely about what had happened.

"Nothin' much really," Mica said. "We all went into the tent one at a time. There was all these bowls. One of them rainlords asked me to put my finger on the lid of each, then say if it got water inside."

"What did yer do?"

"Told the truth, of course! Said I didn't know. I mean, there was water all right, I knowed that, but which of them bowls had it? I dunno. So they said I could go. Hey, Shale, there's one woman who's-who's-salted wells, she's as beautiful as-" Lacking words to describe her, he traced curves in the air. "She's the best thing I ever laid eyes on. Better than ten full dayjars in a row."

Shale wasn't interested. "Come on, Mica, have sense! Did they say why they was doin' this test? Are they, um, are they lookin' for me? Did I do somethin' awful bad just 'cause I knew the rush was comin' down that day?" And 'cause I know things 'bout water other folk don't know-like where to find it?

"I dunno. They wasn't goin' t'tell me what they's doin' here, was they? Just said it was a test, and there was nothin' to be afraid of. They seemed all right."

Shale sat down on the bedding and put his head down on his arms. "I'm frit, Mica. One of those men saw me. He'll remember and know that I didn't come for the testin'."

"Then go. Go down there an' tell 'em you don't know what bowls have water in 'em." He looked curiously at Shale. "After all, you wouldn't know, would you?"

Shale was silent.

Mica clapped a hand to his forehead. "Oh, pedeshit. You would know."

Shale nodded miserably. "Yeah. Don't know how, but I'd know."

Mica floundered, unable to give advice because neither of them had any way of guessing what the reaction of the strangers would be. "I-I've gotta go," he said at last. "I'm supposed to be helpin' to gather feed for their pedes. If I'm not there, Pa'll be mad."

"That fellow on the pede that I met-you don't mess with the likes of him, not if you want t'keep a zigger out of your ear. Mica, I'm scared."

Mica bit his lip, hesitating. "Then you'd better hide. Get off into the Gibber. Take my water skin, an' y'own. Come back in a day or two when them lords have scarpered." He dug into the pocket of his smock. "Here, I got some palm fruit. That'll stop you gettin' too hungry. And I'll explain to Pa."

"Yeah, I think that's best." He took the food and Mica's water skin and went to fill it at the family jar Rishan the palmier had given them to replace the one they had lost in the flood. Now that he had made a decision, he was already feeling better.

"I'm off then," Mica said awkwardly. "See you in a day or two."

"Yeah. Thanks, Mica." He lifted a hand in farewell and Mica grinned and was gone.

Shale took a deep breath and looked around. He would need something warm for the nights, so he rolled up his sleeping sack and stuffed the full water skins into the middle of the bundle. He grabbed an empty sack; he might as well look for some more resin while he was out on the plains. That night he lay awake for several turns of a sandglass, watching the stars. Even with the sleeping sack and the hollow he had made in some sandy soil, the cold of the sunless plains chilled him to the bone. His nose felt as cold as the dew riming on the plants around him. He listened to the sounds of the night: the soft scrabbling of scorpions and centipedes, the squeak of a pebblemouse, the far-off booming of a night-parrot. Nearby, an ant sipper trundled past, snuffling its long nose under the pebbles in search of food.

He drowsed, then slipped into a deeper sleep.

And woke when something sharp dug into his side, not once but several times.

He sat up in a hurry, shocked to realise someone was standing at his side, poking him with a foot.

"Going somewhere?"

Although the figure that addressed him was no more than a silhouette, he knew the shape of the water. He knew the voice. His mouth dried up and he couldn't have answered even if he had tried. Highlord Taquar.

The man squatted down, dumping a large basket beside him. Behind, a pede settled down to wait, its antennae scenting the air. Ziggers hummed in their cage tied to one of the saddle handles.

"I'm curious about you, Shale," the highlord said. "I'm wondering why you are so frightened of us. I am wondering if it is because you sense water, and you think that might make us angry."

Shale stared at him, mesmerised. His heart was pounding in his chest hard enough to hurt. "How-how did you know I were here?" he asked. How could the man have found him in the dark in the middle of the Gibber?

"I can feel you. I can feel your water. Just as I felt you the evening we arrived, hunkered down among the rocks of the drywash. Just as I knew there was someone up there alone in those huts when everyone else came down to the tent to be tested. And I wondered why that would be. Especially when I never saw the resin-hunter Shale down there at our tent. So maybe you wouldn't mind telling me why you didn't come?"

Shale wished he could see the man's face properly. Darkness obscured his features and blurred his outline, so it was hard to be sure if he was threatening or not.

Lies raced through his head: he'd been out resin collecting, he hadn't known he was supposed to go to the tent-but every single untruth died on his lips. Something told him that not one of them would be believed. "I was frit," he said at last.

"Frightened? Of us?"

He nodded. In fact, he was beyond terror, just wanting it all to be over, whatever "it" might be. There could be nothing worse than the fear he already knew. "Pa said that you lords'd be angry if anyone meddles in water business. That you'd kill me."

The highlord looked at him in disbelief. Then he shook his head in wonderment. A chuckle started in his throat and grew to a full-bodied laugh. Shale's unease increased. What was so funny?

When he finally had control of himself once more, Taquar said, "Lad, lad, if only you knew. A water-sensitive youth of your age is worth more than all the precious stones in the Quartern. Even your piece of bloodstone jasper is nothing to us. Nothing. No one in this caravan would harm a hair of such a boy's head. Kill you? You would be treated better than the Cloudmaster's granddaughter."

He was suddenly serious again. He put his hands on Shale's shoulders, holding tight as he tried to flinch away. "Now, you listen to me. Someone who can sense water, who can tell when people are coming because he senses the water within them, that person is called a water sensitive. There are differing degrees of water sensitivity. Some people have a lot, like me. Some have none at all, like the others in this settle, including your idiot reeve, who should never carry that title at all. And some have even more than me, enough to be a stormlord. We are here to find new rainlords, and perhaps even a new stormlord. Do you understand so far?"

"I-I think so. But them other rainlords-they didn't know I was hidin' in the wash. They rode on by."

Taquar gave a dismissive grunt of contempt. "They don't listen to their senses. Not the way I do. They weren't paying attention, so the feel of water from your settle overwhelmed that of one small lad in the drywash. What about you, Shale? I bet you do the same thing sometimes. Do you sometimes feel too much water-like in the settle? So you try not to feel any of it?"

Shale's jaw dropped. That was it exactly. This man knew. Knew what it was like. "Uhuh," he whispered.

"I thought so. I will not lie to you. There are people who might try to harm a water sensitive, for their own reasons. Who have done so in the past, in fact. But if you have such abilities, you have nothing whatever to be afraid of from me. You understand, Shale?"

He nodded, unable to let the tension slide out of his muscles. Was the man lying?

"Right. Now I am going to give you a small test. Just tell the truth. And remember, you have nothing to fear."

"Yes, lord."

The rainlord began to unpack his basket. It contained the bowls Mica had described, and Shale realised the lids were screwed on. Carefully Taquar laid them out in a row. "I want you to touch each one on the lid. I want you to tell me which contain water."

Shale took a deep breath. The moment had come when he had to make a decision. What he said next could determine the course of his whole life. He glanced at the highlord. Was he telling the truth? Shale couldn't be sure, but he thought he was. And he knew what his own life was like now. He knew the hunger, the beatings, the yearning for something better. Better for himself, for Mica, for Citrine. He touched his throat where his father's fingers had left purple bruises that pained him still. He remembered that Taquar had returned his jasper to him. And the highlord understood what it was like to know water…

Taquar said softly, "I think you and I have a path to walk together, lad. Trust me and you will lead a life you could never dream of, not in your wildest fantasies. Touch the bowls."

"Don't need to touch 'em." He pointed to the three bowls at one end of the row. "Them don't have water. The others do."

For a long while, the highlord sat motionless. Then he asked, and his voice was steady and unemotional, "Can you tell me which one has the least water?"

Shale tapped one of the bowls. "This'un." He tapped the one next to it. "And this'un has the most."

"So," Taquar murmured, "old Granthon was right. Who would have thought?" He gave an amused grunt. "Lad, it seems you and I will come to know each other well." He reached over and cupped Shale's face gently in one hand. "One day I believe you might just be a stormlord of the Quartern-and the irony is that right now you do not even know what that means. I want you to listen very, very carefully to what I have to say, Shale, because your life may depend on your obedience."

Shale's fear returned and he tried to twist his face away; the highlord's hold tightened, firm but not cruel. "In the past, there were a number of lads like you, girls too, all water sensitives. Many died. We do not know why. The Cloudmaster himself, Granthon Almandine, sent me on this quest to make sure no more are harmed. If it becomes common knowledge that you passed this test, you could be the next. The best way for you to remain safe is for no one to know that you did indeed pass. No one. Not your father, nor your mother, nobody. Not even the other rainlords. Do you understand?"

Shale licked his dry lips. "Uhuh."

"Don't be frightened. As long as no one knows you are a water sensitive, you are as safe as a sand-leech in its hole. Safer. Tomorrow I will ride on with the others and you will go on with your life as if nothing happened. Sometime after the end of this star cycle I will be back to take you away from here for your training. Think on it, boy-no more thirst. Water will be yours whenever you want it, for the rest of your life. No more hunger; you can eat when you will. You will wear fine clothes, have whatever you wish for, whenever you wish." His hand still cupped Shale's face, forcing the boy to meet his eyes by the light of the stars.

Shale asked, "Ride a pede?"

"Ride one? Why, you will own one!"

"What-what about me brother and sister?"

"Would you like them to come, too?"

"Uhuh."

"Then they shall-but only if you swear not to tell anyone about all this. Not even them."

"Won't, I promise."

"Did they take the test?"

"Not me sister. She's only a baby. Mica did."

"Ah. And failed. Don't tell Mica about all this. Not yet."

Shale nodded.

Taquar released his face. "Then I think we understand one another." He piled the bowls into the basket and stood up. "We will meet again, Shale. And I, too, will make a promise. I will guard you with my life. There is nothing I will not do to keep you safe. Nothing."

He stood up and held out his hand. "Come, you can ride with me to the edge of the settle and walk back from there. I don't want anyone to see us together."

Shale hesitated, and then took the proffered clasp.