Stormrise

I turned away from the notice and shoved my way past people trying to move in closer. Willow’s voice floated on the periphery of my hearing, her words lost to me.

Storm.

It was enough that his intellect had been stolen. Would he now lose his life on the front lines of battle—and never know the injustice of his sacrifice?

“Rain, stop.” Willow’s fingers dug into my arm.

I dropped my armload of her things, remembering at the last moment to let the bathing pitcher land lightly. “You’ll have to take some of these.”

Willow picked up the nearest package. “Storm is a simpleton. Surely they don’t mean for him to go.”

“One male from every household. It’s Storm’s place to honor his family.”

“But that’s not fair. Why can’t—oh!” Her face contorted into something close to horror. “My betrothed. He’s an only son.”

“And he will go and fight, as an only son would.”

“No, Rain! No!” She hugged the package to her breast, pacing. “This can’t be happening.”

Before my eyes, Willow’s world began to fall apart. I draped my arm around her shoulders. “All brides must prepare for this sort of thing, yes?”

“I haven’t even met him! I’ve waited so long for this, and now I’m going to lose him before I ever see him.”

I wanted to point out that her concern should be for Storm, and not for some boy she might end up hating. But I pinched the words back and instead said, “Let’s go home.”

We divided the bundles more evenly, though I still took the bathing pitcher, figuring it was safer with me. I knew I was walking faster than Willow could handle—she spent most of her time sewing and painting, after all—but my need to see Papa and bring him this news grew more urgent with every step. When we came into view of our gate, I started off at a run, only to come up short when I saw Papa standing outside the low wall with a visitor. I slowed then, catching my breath and hoping to look at least somewhat presentable.

Papa turned to me, his face lighting. “Ah, Rain. May I present General Tamar?”

I curtsyed, my face pressing into my armload. “Sir.”

“Your father and I once fought together,” General Tamar said. “I was in the area, and I thought I would pay him a visit.”

My mouth felt dry, as though I might choke if I kept talking. I could detect no hint on Papa’s face that he had already received the news I’d rushed home to bring him myself.

At the last moment, I remembered my manners. “Will you stay for lunch?”

“Thank you,” General Tamar said, “but I have many miles to travel before nightfall.” He gestured to the black steed tethered to our fence.

Willow finally caught up, breathless. “Papa!” she said in the midst of her curtsy to the general. “Papa, we’ve such news.”

Papa exchanged a glance with the general, but his face remained placid. Unreadable.

The perfect Neshu grandmaster.

“I will leave you to your family.” The general patted Papa’s shoulder. “It was good to see you again.”

“And you, Branch,” Papa said. “Thank you for your visit.”

We waited respectfully while the general mounted his horse and gave us a final wave. Then, as soon as he had passed beyond our property, I cut off Willow’s attempt to speak.

“He’s already told you, hasn’t he?” I said.

“It was kind of him to come,” Papa said.

“What did he say?” Willow asked. “What did he tell you?”

We had reached the door to our house. Papa turned to face us, his eyes gentle. “Clearly the high king’s notices have already gone up in town. It spares me the sorrow of telling you about it.”

Willow stifled a soblike sound. “But, Papa…”

He held up his hand. “Your mother is inside waiting to serve our meal. Calm yourselves, and allow me to tell her myself.”

We followed him silently into the quiet warmth of our home, its low ceilings and exposed beams hugging me with a welcome I didn’t feel. Everything was tidy as always—clean-swept floors, cinderless hearth, freshly plumped pillows on every seat. The family table, round and worn and filled with memories, sat laden with a meal fit for an underking.

Mama’s face was wreathed in steam from a large bowl of quail cakes as she placed it on the table. She smiled at us, her eyes fixed on Papa. As always.

“I’m sorry for the delay,” Papa said, sitting at his place and dipping his hands in the water bowl to wash them.

“Who was that?” Mama asked.

“Branch Tamar. An old army friend.” Papa passed the water bowl to me.

I dipped my hands into the warm water without taking my eyes from him. He dried his hands as though nothing were the matter.

“And?” Mama’s normally calm voice had an edge to it.

“He’s been called out of retirement to return to his post as a general in the high king’s army,” Papa said. “There is a conscription.”

Mama’s hand went to her mouth, pressing against it with such force that I thought her teeth might break. She said nothing, holding back her words with the strength of her will. Her eyes were large, waiting.

“Branch tells me the threat is greater than any we have known. They’re asking for one able-bodied male from every household.”

“Me,” Storm said. “I’m a able boy. I can fight.”

Papa met Storm’s gaze. “You are an able boy. And I will go with you to Grigsbane.”

Storm’s eyes widened, his expression like a sunrise. “Together?”

“Yes, together,” Papa said.

“But, Papa,” I said. “The battlefield is no place for Storm.”

“Branch assured me there’ll be noncombat work for him. Honorable work.”

Like digging latrines and disposing of severed limbs. “It’s too much for him.”

Storm frowned. “It’s not too much. I’m a Neshu fighter.”

“Yes, you are,” Papa said. “But the high king may need you for other things.”

“He’s my little boy.” Mama had found her voice. “My forever-child.”

“And yet we must send him,” Papa said gently. “If it’s not enough, I will be there to take his place.”

“You can’t go,” I said, though I was out of turn. “We need you here.”

“Rain.” Mama shaped my name into a sharp hiss. A slap. “Do not dishonor your father.”

Papa reached across the table and laid his hand on Mama’s. “She means no dishonor.”

“It’s bad enough they would take Storm.” Mama’s bottom lip quivered. “You would let them take you, too?”

“He cannot go alone.”

“Surely there’s no way for them to know that he exists.”

Papa’s words were calm, like warm tea. “His name is on the census.”

“Yes. Of course.” Mama squeezed her eyes shut and swallowed hard. When she opened them, they were bright. “They might turn you away, though.”

“Branch assured me they won’t. Stonewall has been breached—they will take every man they can get.”

Fear swam through my stomach. “How is that even possible?”

Stonewall was our greatest defense—a hefty wall that had proven impenetrable for generations. Its sheer height and breadth were deterrent enough, but Ylanda warriors stood guard on its broad walkways as well. The nomads of the barren northern plains, though covetous of our fertile provinces—and especially Tenema’s prized avila crops—had always fought among themselves more often than they attempted to breach our wall. No more than two or three tribes had ever been known to unite against us, such as during the skirmishes on the seaward border. Where Papa had been wounded.

“General Tamar says one of the chieftains—Tan Vey—has conquered all the other chieftains and united the nomads into a single people. A single army.”

“Bigger than ours?” I asked.

“Bigger by far,” Papa said. “That’s why the conscription has been called.”

“And they’re marching for Ylanda City?”

“Most likely.” Papa wrapped his hands around his tankard of ale. “We must protect our high king at all costs. If he falls, so falls the kingdom.”

I knew the ancient law, set in place long before Stonewall existed. In the land stretching from the western mountains to the eastern sea, a kingdom with no ruler belonged to whoever claimed it. Ylanda sat within these boundaries, fair and prosperous since the first high king took the throne centuries ago.

This was why our high kings throughout history were never seen on the field of battle. The death of our ruler and his heirs would mean the loss of everything we held dear—our traditions, our safety. So the royal family lived ensconced in the castle in Ylanda City, ensuring that not even the greatest invasion would put us in jeopardy of losing everything.

Surely the nomads, the only ones who ever sought to claim us, would never reach the capital. Perhaps they were great in number, but this was our land, and they couldn’t know it as we did. The avila they coveted might’ve been theirs through fair trade, but always the various tribes had tried to take what they wanted through raids and border skirmishes that they almost never won. It was about more than the medicinal plant, I was certain. But I had no idea what.

“I’m a grandmaster, like you, Papa.” Storm looked at me. “I’m your favorite grandmaster, right, Rain?”

My heart twisted. “Yes. You’re my favorite.”

“So, then,” Papa said. “It’s settled.”

Oh, Papa.

He had served his time, fighting faithfully in the border skirmishes when I still had my baby teeth. I remembered the papa that left us—strong, quick, ready to toss me into the air or race me along the hedgerow. And I remembered the papa that came back—broken, barely making it down the lane on a rough-hewn crutch, his chest and shoulder heavily bandaged.

He hadn’t given his life for the high king, but he might as well have, because, for several years, he couldn’t work at all. We almost starved. When he had healed enough to resume teaching Neshu students, it took a while for word to spread. Finally, last year, he had achieved the position of grandmaster, and our fortunes turned. Papa had regained the life and the honor he once had.

And now the high king was taking him again—all because his only son wasn’t able to do it alone.

I’m sorry, Storm. Things would be different if I hadn’t been born.

Willow sighed. “It’s not fair.”

“We live to serve our high king, voice of the Great God,” Papa said. “It’s not ours to say whether or not something is fair.”

“But, Papa—” A sharp sound from Mama’s throat arrested me.

“My son and I will serve the high king,” Papa said. “There’s nothing more to discuss.”

I saw the pride in Papa’s jaw and heard it in his voice. But I saw the sorrow in his eyes, too. And the shame. It shouldn’t have been necessary for him to accompany his son to the army camp. If Storm had recovered from the fever, we would all have been proudly sending him off. Then Papa could have stayed home, where he belonged, and provided for his wife and daughters. My eyes filled with angry tears that I brushed away.

“We will manage until you return.” Mama’s words shook like petals in the wind.

Papa took a great breath. “And if we do not—”

“Don’t say that, Papa!” I couldn’t restrain myself. “Of course you’ll come home.”

Papa glanced at Mama and said nothing.

“Besides,” I said, “you’re the greatest grandmaster in Tenema. Your students need you as much as we do.”

“Most of my students will go and fight, Rain,” Papa said softly.

I pressed my lips together and lowered my eyes. Saying more would only make Papa’s shame greater.

“Me and Papa are brave soldiers,” Storm said through a mouthful of quail cake. “Don’t worry, Rain.”

“Papa.” Willow’s voice was not quite a whisper. “How will this affect … my dowry?”

“The Chance family will hold it in good faith until their son returns,” Papa said.

“But what if … what if…” Her words crumbled into a silent sob.

“There is no what if, Willow L’nahn,” Mama said gently. “A woman knows that her place is to wait quietly and trust the Great God to take care of things.” She must’ve missed my grimace, because she continued without reproving me. “When your time comes to marry, nothing will hinder it.”

“I know,” Willow said. “It’s just that I’ve waited so long.”

“You’re nineteen,” Mama said. “You do not yet know what it means to wait long.”

I took Mama’s meaning, and Willow’s expression told me that she did, too. Papa and Mama had been married for fourteen years before Willow was born. A huge disgrace, those years of childlessness. Willow had been welcomed with as much joy as if she had been a son. When Storm and I had come along two years later, they would have been content with only my brother.

They would never have admitted that. But any second daughter in Ylanda knew it to be true.

“Remember, too, that you had an additional suitor,” Papa said. “To my knowledge, he has still not found a wife.”

Willow’s mouth opened, a huge O. “But he’s old. And widowed.”

“He’s not that old,” Papa said dryly.

“He walks with a cane. Surely you wouldn’t turn my dowry over to him, Papa.”

“If Storm and I do not come back, there will be three mouths in this house that need feeding. Do you think, perhaps, it might be better to marry an old widower so that he could take care of you—and your mother?”

I chewed my quail cake while Willow retreated into silence. Papa hadn’t mentioned who would take care of me if he didn’t come back. I would rather live on the riverbank and hand-catch my daily meals than marry an old man with money.

“Rain.”

Papa’s voice filtered through the layers of my thoughts as I scribbled words I knew I’d only have to discard later. I looked up from my bed to see him framed in my doorway, his features soft in the lamplight.

“Yes?” I stuck my pen behind my ear.

He raised an eyebrow at my stained fingers. “Am I interrupting your poetry?”

“It’s not going well, anyway,” I said. “Do you need something?”

“Since we’ll be leaving the day after tomorrow, I thought this might be a good time to give this to you.” He walked to my bedside and handed me a thin wooden box.

It was heavy in my hands, and something inside it shifted. “What’s this?”

“Half of your dowry.”

I stared at him for a moment before opening the box. More tak than I had ever seen at once lay piled inside.

“Papa.”

“Fifty tak isn’t enough to secure you a husband, but when I come home, I will provide the rest.”

The weight on my heart came from words unspoken. If he didn’t come home, I would at least have half a dowry to build upon. After a few years of laboring in the fields, I could, perhaps, make up the difference.

“Why give this to me now?” I asked. “Why not leave it in Mama’s care?”

His smile was sad. “Somehow, I think you will do just fine, Rain L’nahn. Even if you marry at thirty, I don’t fear for you.”

Something half laugh, half sob came out of my throat. “Thank you, Papa.”

He kissed the top of my head. “We will weather this storm, my daughter.”

But I had no intention of weathering the storm. I would face it head-on—and take it down. Like the Neshu fighter Papa had trained me to be.

I hugged the coin chest for a long time after he’d left. And for even longer, I sat in the dark, unable to sleep.

“Rain.” Storm’s whisper was husky at my door.

I pulled my blanket over the money box. “Come in.”

“I had a bad dream.”

“Tell me about it.”

He sat on the bed and rubbed his eyes. “I can’t remember. But there were soldiers. And monsters.”

“Did you kill the monsters?”

“I don’t remember.”

I took his hand. “Are you afraid to go to war?”

“No. I’m a brave soldier.”

“Being brave doesn’t mean you’re never afraid.”

He sighed, long and deep. “Can I sleep in here?”

“No, Storm. Papa and Mama want you to sleep in your own bed.” I kissed his hand. “I love you.”

He stayed a while longer, sitting quietly, probably hoping I’d change my mind. Finally I gave him a gentle nudge, and he rose and shuffled out, already half asleep.

It should have been me, waking in the dark with the dreams of a child. When Storm and I were sick, the healer had only enough medicine for one of us and said he’d come back the next day with more. Of course my parents had told him to give the medicine to their son, but he had given it to me instead. Overnight, I improved, and Storm grew worse. And never fully recovered.

I couldn’t let him go to war. The likelihood that he and Papa would return was lower than I could bear to admit. But the only alternative would be for someone else to step up in his place.

A nephew or cousin, second male in their own families. A second son, sound in mind and body.

We had none of those options. There were only Papa and Storm and Mama and Willow.

And me.

I should have been a son.

I could be a son.

At first, the idea terrified me. True, I was quick on my feet and not curvy—and I looked so much like Storm. With a military hairstyle and armor, maybe I could create the illusion. But how long would it take for me to be discovered? Would the first words out of my mouth betray my true sex?

And what would I do during my monthly bleed?

Discovery would mean death. If I were caught, my punishment would be swift and sure.

But.

What if there were some way to strengthen my disguise?

Madam S’dora’s shelves were filled with mixtures and powders and potions beyond my imaginings. And she had sold Willow a tea that would make her bleeding stop for her wedding night. Surely she had something similar that I could use to stop my bleed indefinitely?

My heart battered my chest, forcing my breaths to come fast and shallow. If my disguise were good enough, no one would know. The possibility of meeting someone who would recognize me was small; I spent most of my time at home and had no friends from town. And because we’d kept Storm quietly hidden away since he was six or seven, there was little chance anyone would recognize him by sight, either.

If I left at night, while everyone else slept, I could make my escape without worry.

A hundred things could go wrong, but in my heart it was settled.

I would go in the morning to Madam S’dora’s. If she had what I needed, then nothing would stop me.

I would become the son my father needed.

My hands curled around the money box, guilt prickling the edges of my heart. This was dowry money, entrusted to me in good faith. Even if I only spent a quarter of it at Madam S’dora’s, that was a lot.

But if I went in Storm’s place, then Papa could stay home, too. He wouldn’t have to worry about never returning. And if I died, I wouldn’t need a dowry, anyway.

“I’m doing this for you and Storm, Papa,” I whispered. Then I slid the box beneath my pillow and willed myself to sleep.