War of storms, p.32
War of Storms, page 32
“I knew I wanted to see how far I could push you,” I murmur against his throat one night when we’re both sweat-soaked, wrung-out messes. All Tessen does is groan and laugh as he presses closer.
Eventually, I turn in his arms. He rumbles contentedly, sliding one arm in to pillow my head and draping the other over my waist. His hand presses flat on my stomach with enough pressure that it seems like he’s trying to hold me in place. I almost laugh. I’m certainly not going anywhere tonight. Possibly ever, if I can help it.
Comfortable and secure in his hold, I let my mind wander. When his fingers begin tracing the lines of my muscles, a question rises through my thoughts.
“Will you regret it, do you think?” I place my hand over his on my abdomen.
Years ago, Varan’s healers had changed all of us to make it difficult, though not impossible, for any of us to have children. The susuji changed us back. When Zonna told me that, I spoke to the others. We decided to ask Zonna to replace the changes that had been made. The clan can make their own choice. With us, the chances are too high more immortals would be born. There are already more than forty living in one city, and I have no idea how that will impact the clan. We can’t stop more being born from whatever magic is in our bloodlines already, but there’s no reason for us to make the chances of it happening any higher.
Tessen shakes his head and presses a kiss to the base of my neck. “I remember what Tsua said. Watching someone I love die is too painful, and there’s no guarantee our children would be andofume. It’s not worth the risk. Especially not when we’ll be raising the clan for generations.”
“I hadn’t thought of it like that.” I smile; it doesn’t last. What else haven’t I thought of?
“Whatever you’re thinking about, don’t,” Tessen murmurs against my skin.
“Can’t help it,” I whisper back.
He sighs and pushes himself up on his elbow. The lamps on the walls cast a warm glow on his brown skin and make his eyes look like embers. “You have done everything in your power for everyone who’s placed themselves in your care, and that’s all anyone can ask.”
“Stop reading my mind,” I grumble, tapping the end of his nose.
“No.” He captures my hand and kisses the tips of my fingers. “You have to figure out how to accept it all, Khya. You’re powerful, arguably one of the most powerful mages this clan has ever seen, and you’re immortal, but you can’t see the future. You’re barely past your eighteenth year, and you—all of us—have a lot to learn. Are there still problems we’re going to have to deal with from the past year? Of course. We don’t know what they are yet, though, so stop.” He kisses my lips. “Worrying.” He kisses me again.
“It doesn’t seem like it should be that easy.”
“Nothing you’ve done is easy, and I don’t think much of what we’ll have to do in the next few decades will be easy, either, but that doesn’t mean you can’t do it.”
“We.” I grip his hand and use my hold to pull his arm around me tighter.
The smile he gives me is as bright as a sunrise, and more beautiful. “Always, Khya.”
He kisses me again, a long and lingering caress, and then he settles back down behind me, pulling me closer until my head is resting on his shoulder and my leg is slung over his. Then he leans his head against mine and murmurs, “Now, sleep, okhaio. You’ve done everything you can do tonight.”
It takes a while longer, feeling his heartbeat against my back and listening to his even breaths, but eventually, I do.
…
The tornadoes stopped appearing the day Varan died. Two days later, the wind calmed. After a week, although the rain hadn’t broken yet, the lightning was less frequent. By the time the ships are finally ready to sail, the rain is lighter. It’s still constant, but the fall isn’t so thick it distorts our vision. Good. I’d been worried about being able to protect the ship as we sail. I can build a ward without a wardstone again, but I don’t trust my own strength. Wardstones on the ships—Shytari’s and the three Varan arrived on—should be enough to protect us against the stormy seas.
Yorri is grinning when we board the ship. “I can’t believe I get to see proof.”
“Of what?” I ask.
“Of somewhere other than Shiara. And that I was right.”
“You’re never going to let that go, are you? Besides, I showed you the map,” I remind him.
He scoffs. “Anyone can draw lines on paper. I want to see those statues on the coast, and the cities, and trees.”
If those statues are still standing, and the cities haven’t all been destroyed, and the trees haven’t all been blown over or burned to charcoal. He heard our stories, but he hasn’t felt that bone-biting cold or watched a city engulfed in flames and terror. He doesn’t seem to understand that, unless we hit a stroke of Kaisubeh-blessed luck, our next trial will be as hard as the one we just finished.
One more time—maybe one last time—I leave Shiara. At least I have Yorri. He leans into the wind, giddier than I’ve ever seen him. This time, I know where we’re headed and what my mission will be—even if I’m not entirely sure how I’m going to accomplish it.
This time, I also know I have a way home, and that, apparently, changes everything.
We’re only a few hours into the journey when Tessen’s focus shifts from a roving scan to a sharp focus on the northwest. I’m about to ask what he sees when the garakyu in my pocket vibrates. It nearly startles me into jumping. Oh, no. Something must have gone wrong on one of the other ships. Either that, or someone on Shiara is calling us back.
I wave to catch Tessen’s attention and point toward the lower decks when he glances my way. He nods, his focus instantly shifting northwest again. The storm is less, but the ship still tilts dangerously at times, so I grip ropes and rails until I’m safely behind closed doors. I pull the garakyu out and answer the call.
“She’s here!” The face is unfamiliar. The words are Ryogan. Their shock at seeing me is the strangest of all.
Then, the image shakes and shifts, like the globe is being passed to another, and a new face appears. “Hello, Khya.”
“Ryzo?” My eyes go wide. This doesn’t make sense. “Where—”
“Where are you?” he asks before I can.
“Less than a day out from Shiara. We’re heading back to Ryogo. To find you.”
“Turn around.” A smile spreads across his strong face. “We’ll meet you at home.”
“Home? We?” My own smile answers. “You’re heading to Shiara?”
“Better. If this ball is able to reach you, we must be almost there.”
The door behind me slams open. Wind and rain blasts through, pushing Tessen in with it. His eyes are filled with a near panic as he shoves the door closed. “There are ships, Khya. Ryogan ships.”
“Is that Tessen?”
Tessen’s head tilts. His expression drops into blank shock. “Ryzo?”
I have so many questions buzzing in the back of my mind like insects, but I hold them back. It can wait until we’re home.
Forty-seven ships, including my four, anchor along the coast in coves and bays. From there, everyone makes their own way across the land, slowly converging on our home.
We’re approaching the city gates when Tessen laughs. “This can’t be happening.”
“It had better be happening,” I grumble. Timing and coincidence have worked against me for too long. It would be nice if this is coincidence twisting in our favor. Or maybe this luck truly is Kaisubeh blessed.
It takes hours for shipload after shipload of nyshin to return to the city. None of them seem wounded—no bandages and no blood—but each walks like their next step might be the last they’re able to take. They look around as they enter the city, tired eyes tracing the lines of the streets and the buildings. Most of them look at Sagen sy Itagami as though they never expected to see it again, and as though they’ve forgotten the feel of the city they once knew so well.
I recognize the look. I was in their place not long ago.
Ryzo is among the last to arrive, and he comes with two people I never expected to see again—Kaibo’Ma-po Yonishi Tsukadesu and Jintisu Gotintenno. Tyatsu surround them, eyeing their surroundings with wary, weary awe.
“We were coming to help, but it seems we’re too late,” Jintisu says with a smile. “The construction of this place is…”
“Impressive doesn’t seem enough to describe it, does it?” Yonishi is studying the buildings around us. “It’s practically seamless.”
“It is. According to the stories, Varan carved Itagami out of the mesa.” I used to be proud of that, and I suppose I still am, but the feeling has been irreparably tainted.
But I don’t want to think about the past. There’s way too much happening now that I need to figure out first.
“What happened after I left?” I ask as soon as everyone is gathered around the large table in my room. “And do you know where Elyini is?”
“I killed her,” Ryzo flatly states. “You were right about the army—watching her death made it incredibly easy to convince the army to surrender.”
All the air rushes from my lungs, and I let my head drop forward, pressing my clasped hands to the center of my forehead. She’s dead, and the army’s out of Ryogo. It really is over.
I take a breath, place my hands on the table, and ask them to start at the beginning.
The conversation moves slowly, especially since it’s broken by constant pauses for translations. There are four languages spoken by the people in this room, and few here are fluent in more than two, but everyone needs to understand what’s being said.
Ryzo, Yarzi, Donya, and Remashi seeded doubt through the army with whispers and stories and—in a stroke of brilliance—by leading a squad into Uraita, Varan’s home village, so they saw Varan’s legacy for themselves.
“We saw that the army was beginning to break.” A tyatsu picks up the story. “Squads left the main army, and we thought it was for missions, but they never rejoined the force.”
Ryzo nods, but adds, “The worst damage was already done, though.”
Their descriptions turn my stomach, reminding me too much of walking into the saishigi core and seeing nothing but waste and loss. So much of Ryogo has become a hollow shell, streets empty and buildings crumbling. People have nowhere to go. Fire cut swaths across the land.
Jintisu looks immeasurably sad, but smiles when she says, “Thankfully, the rain made the trees exceptionally hard to burn. None of the fires spread as far as they could’ve.”
I tell myself I did the best I could with the skills and information I had; I couldn’t have prevented any of this. It’s hard to believe. Ryogo and Shiara haven’t survived this war whole. Both lands are broken and reeling. Going back to what we were isn’t possible, and I don’t know how we’ll figure out where to go from here.
Tessen places his hand over mine, his fingers tracing gentle patterns on my skin. I let his touch settle me.
“The splintering of the army made sneaking back in easier,” Ryzo says. “Once I was sure Varan and the others were gone, we grabbed Elyini and dragged her to the middle of the camp.”
“No one knew what to do,” Yarzi says when Ryzo doesn’t continue. “Training said to protect the Miriseh. Logic told them to wait and see.”
“We didn’t give them time to think about it,” Ryzo admits. “I said something—I don’t remember what, honestly—then I sliced Elyini’s throat with one of the stones you left with me.”
Yarzi looks at Ryzo, frowning and placing eir hand on the table between them. Ey relaxes a bit when he sighs and links his fingers with eirs. Then ey shrugs. “They gave up the fight. After, we found Gentoni again and worked on getting back here.”
“He wanted to come himself, but he was needed at home,” Jintisu says. “He sends his greetings, though.”
“And he looks forward to hearing your story when we get back,” Yonishi hints.
Even though I haven’t told this story before, the scenario feels intensely familiar. I fall into the pattern I’ve learned so well in my moon cycles on Ryogo.
When I finish, the conversation slows down and becomes a lot harder to navigate. Shiara is already on the brink of starvation, Ryogo has years of rebuilding ahead, and the hanaeuu we’la maninaio are being given a voice for the first time. We talk about peace, trade, and the future for hours, and it feels like we get nowhere. There’s so much anger in Ryogo and a deep desire for everything to be the way it was before. I doubt it’ll be an easy time as they come to terms with the reality that no one but the Kaisubeh has such power.
Eventually, once everyone has sworn there will be no reprisals against any other for the damage Varan caused, plans begin to unfold. Trades are tentatively offered. Soanashalo’a agrees hanaeuu we’la maninaio ships will take on the risk of journeying between Shiara and Ryogo in exchange for a part in all future trade negotiations.
When the others break for a meal—the immortals limit ourselves to one small meal a day—I get up and walk to the window, watching the city below. I left my wardstones on the outer wall, and they’re keeping the light but persistent rain and wind at bay to give the city a chance to dry. What’s better is the life inside these walls again. Dozens of people are in the courtyard, some talking and others simply passing through, and the sight helps erase memories of an empty, abandoned Itagami.
“Do you think we can stay here and make it work?” I ask when Tessen joins me.
“It won’t be easy,” Tessen hedges. “But it’s far less impossible than our last mission.”
“You say that now.” We haven’t even begun, though, and we’re going into this inexperienced and overloaded. We’ll be interacting with a world Varan taught to fear and revile us, yet we’ll have to rely on them for essentials. Like food. The rains destroyed Shiara’s crops, and until the sun returns, all we can gather is mushrooms and fish.
“I say it, and I believe it.” Tessen wraps his arm around my shoulders and tugs me to lean against him. “And you may be leading, but you’re not alone. You never have been. We’ll fight to save Shiara, and if we one day realize we can’t win, you’ll make a new decision and the rest of us will help you figure out how to make it work.”
Maybe it is that simple. We’ve gotten this far because I’ve made decisions, and my friends have figured out how to make those choices work. A few moons ago, I would’ve balked at the implication of such deep reliance, that I couldn’t succeed without help, but I’ve never been alone in this.
Together is what saved us in the end. Together is going to be what keeps us going, too.
Epilogue
I wake to the sound of drums.
The beats are quick and rhythmic, like the pulses of a dancing heart, one nearly running into the next. It’s so loud it seeps into the stone of the city and vibrates through my body. A year ago, I might’ve mistaken it for thunder, but that was before I spent moon after moon with thunder constantly underlying everything else.
I dress quickly and run toward the stairs, frustrated that Tessen’s already gone. Without his help, I have to decipher the rhythm itself. The pattern isn’t right for trouble. It reminds me of a homecoming beat, the one we used to welcome back a squad after a long, successful hunt.
Oh. My breath catches. I can’t believe I didn’t notice it as soon as my eyes opened.
The sun is rising. The sun.
It stopped raining about two weeks after Ryzo returned, but the clouds remained. Weeks passed, and then moon cycles, and still the clouds were thick enough to block all but the faintest hints of light. Now, there isn’t even a wisp in the sky, and I see true daylight on the horizon for the first time in far too long.
I sprint toward the eastern wall, effervescent warmth rising in my chest. Hope, I realize. This is hope mixed with happiness, and it’s been ages since I felt it so pure and strong.
Throngs of people crowd the stairs and the wide wall, so many it slows me down trying to get through. Until they notice who’s nudging them aside. Everyone parts, all of them giving me the same salute they once gave Varan and Suzu, arms crossed to press their clenched fists against opposite shoulders. I’m not used to these displays—each time I fight off the instinct to peer around and see who they’re looking at—but I’ve taught myself to simply nod and move on. Especially since I’m never entirely sure how genuine the gesture is.
There’s been a rift in our society, albeit a small one, because not all of the clan is grateful. The truths my squad discovered and the actions we took changed everything the clan understood about where we came from and who we are. Although they’ve stayed in the city and haven’t disobeyed any of my orders, they talk. Tessen has taken up eavesdropping again like it’s his official responsibility, and the conversations he reports to me make it clear a portion of the clan would leave if there was anywhere else to go. Yorri and Etaro both believe things will settle in time, once we get the city back to some semblance of normal. I’m not so sure.
Most days, this problem is one of several dozen swirling through my head demanding attention. Today, I’m only peripherally aware of anything but the sky.
I aim for a less crowded section of wall and watch colors spread across the horizon. Warmth sinks into my skin like a blessing, and my eyes burn with tears. I missed that fiery orb.
“It’s beautiful.” Yorri joins me, his eyes on the sunrise. “I’d forgotten, somehow.”
I have as well, but no matter how long it’s been, this is exceptional. Deep red pools along the mountains, and the color fades through shades of orange and gold before bleeding into a bright, brilliant blue. I tear my eyes away and turn around to see how the light fills Sagen sy Itagami.
The sunrise spreads a fire-red glow over the mesa, enhancing the color of the sandstone, and the members of the clan not crowded on the wall stand on rooftops where gardens once grew to stare at the sky with delight. Even so, work continues. Forge fires have been lit, the miners are heading down to work, fishers are spread along the coast, and the first squads of hunters are leaving the city. Pride swells my chest. I wouldn’t have faulted anyone for being late today of all days, but those with duties are carrying them out. Because Itagami needs them to.
