Stormrise

Oraclava, the first day of the week, dawned fair and clear. After breakfast, Jasper gave us time to take our dirty clothing to the stream that meandered behind the tree line. “Once we’ve broken camp, we’ll live rough,” he said, “but for now, I want disciplined soldiers.” I hung back, kneeling in the tent with yesterday’s soiled shirt balled in my hands, thinking.

“You coming, Storm?” Forest called from outside.

“Go on,” I called back. “I’ll meet you there.”

I had to figure something out—fast. The other men would strip to their undergarments, and sometimes further, in order to wash all their clothes at once. At breakfast, Dalen and Flint had joked about naked Neshu, and it was hard not to take them seriously, though Flint was already well known for his dry humor.

Quickly, I peeled off my second, almost equally dirty shirt and rolled it with the first one. I lifted the tent flap and peeked out to make sure Forest had walked away before hastily unwrapping my bindings. They could have used a washing, too, but that was a luxury I couldn’t risk. I rebound them as quickly as I could. Then I pulled out the shirt I’d arrived in—Storm’s shirt—and put it on. I wrapped myself, and the shirt, in a brief hug.

I remembered the time Storm and I had to wait out a sudden hailstorm in the barn. He had squeezed me into a lung-crushing embrace and told me, over and over, that he would keep me safe, as though the hailstones meant certain death.

I miss you, twin.

I caught up with Forest and River near the tree line. Dalen was a few paces in front of them, talking with—or rather, listening to—Sedge. I lengthened my stride to keep up.

“Upstream’s best,” River said. “We won’t get the runoff from everyone else’s dirt.”

He was right, but apparently most of the others had already thought the same thing. We meandered along the bank for a while until we found an open clearing. Sedge pushed ahead, and Dalen slowed his pace to join us—gratefully, I thought.

As soon as we’d claimed our spot, the others peeled off their shirts and, after pulling off their boots and socks, stepped out of their pants as well. I pulled off my own boots and socks and stepped out of my pants. Luckily, men’s undergarments were thickly padded in the front, creating an illusion of maleness. The shirt hung almost to my knees, giving me enough coverage to feel safe.

Almost safe. As soon as my legs were exposed, they felt slender and vulnerable. Girls’ legs.

Not for the first time, I scanned the tree line for any sign of a dragon—a glimpse of long neck wreathed in dun-colored fur or hulking, scaled body—but saw nothing. Then I grabbed the bucket of soft oil soap that River had carried from the camp and brought it near the water’s edge. Without making eye contact with anyone, I carried my muddiest shirt—the one I was wearing when I fell numerous times off the rope—into the water until I was in up to my knees, and plunged it in.

“You going to wash that shirt while you’re wearing it?” Dalen asked.

“No, this is my extra.” I trailed the soaking shirt behind me in the water as I walked back to the bucket and scooped up a squishy handful of soap.

“You afraid someone will notice your lack of chest hair?” Dalen teased.

“Something like that.”

“We’re all in this together, Storm,” Forest said, scrubbing his own shirt not far from me. “It doesn’t matter.”

I shrugged, trying desperately to act like I wasn’t fazed. “It matters to me.”

“Looks like the water’s too cold for the midget,” Sedge called from his spot slightly upstream. “Maybe he needs a good dunking to help him get used to it.”

He laughed, and Coast and Flint, who were near him, laughed, too. I ignored them, scrubbing the mud from my shirt and rinsing it well before bringing it up to the bank. After finding a clean place for it, I reached for the second shirt.

I had just returned to the knee-deep water with another handful of soap when someone shoved me hard from behind, knocking me off-balance. I fell sideways into the water and went under. When I came up, Sedge’s laughter was the first thing to greet me.

The water streaming into my eyes did nothing to cool my rage. I rose slowly, forcing myself to look Sedge in the eye. My face was as still and expressionless as I could make it.

“That shirt keep you warm in the water?” he said.

“Go wash your clothes,” Forest said behind him.

Sedge gave him a sideways glance. “He deserved it. Besides, if he can’t take a little dunking, how’s he going to carry his weight on the mission?”

“That’s not for you to say.”

“You’re right.” Sedge returned his attention to me. “The midget should speak for himself.”

With my toes curled into the rocks on the bottom of the stream, I assumed the second stance—legs spread, knees bent. I moved subtly, letting my arms hang free and relaxed. “Back off.”

“You’re the one who threw the prune at my face in front of Commander Jasper.”

Slow breaths. Stay centered. “You questioned my aim.”

“Your aim cost me twenty laps.” He took a step toward me. “Have another bath, midget.”

His arm shot out to push me, but I was faster, blocking his arm and sending the heel of my knife hand into his forehead. He staggered, and I twisted onto my left leg and kicked him in the chest, just hard enough to send him sprawling backward, his arms flailing as he hit the water.

Sedge didn’t share the laughter that assaulted him. He rose, his eyes hard coals that bored into me as he waded toward me, each step deliberate. I returned to the second stance, ready for whatever Sedge would try next.

He crossed his arms over his chest and offered a stiff bow. “As the sun rises.” The words felt like coiled springs squeezing past his jaw.

“So it sets.” I stayed ready, unwilling to believe that he would be so quick to honor a Neshu defeat.

He glared at me for too many breaths. Then he grabbed his floating shirt from the water, his gaze still pulling on mine.

“I’ll give you this one, midget.” He turned away and waded back to his spot upstream.

“Good move, Storm,” River said.

I tried to brush it off. “He’s an oaf.”

“You caught him unaware,” Forest said. “I was watching you the whole time, and I didn’t see it coming, either.”

“Why does he call you ‘midget,’ anyway?” Dalen asked. “He’s shorter than all the rest of us.”

I rolled my eyes. “But taller than I am.”

“You move like a grandmaster,” Dalen said. “Even in the water.”

Their praise warmed me, and for a moment I stopped worrying about my shirt and the very real girl parts underneath it. “Thanks.”

I glanced at Forest, who nodded. Admiration shone from his eyes, and a wave of delicious warmth crept through my middle, despite the weight that always tugged at me—the undeniable truth that, if he knew I was a girl, the admiration would turn to scorn.

“We’re going to push ourselves to the edge of endurance until the order comes for us to march north,” Jasper said.

We stood, the twelve of us, in a ring around him—a barely dressed, shirtless unit, save for me, in my too-long shirt. He turned slowly as he spoke, addressing us around the circle, making eye contact with each of us.

“First order of business, rebuilding the rope climb,” Jasper said. “When it’s done, we’ll start our drills, including knife-throwing for hunting. There’s limited food in the wagon, which means we’ll soon get used to living off the land. Now’s the time to prepare your bodies and minds for what lies ahead.”

True to his word, Jasper pushed us hard all day. For the first hour, surrounded by shirtless men in their undergarments, I felt I would melt from embarrassment, but I soon grew accustomed to their near-nakedness. Which was rather disconcerting.

It was nearing dusk by the time we were able to return for our now-dry clothing, spread in the grass near the creek bank. It felt good to gather up my sun-warmed shirts and pants and socks, though it was a reminder that a young soldier’s modesty would only last so long. Probably Forest and the others expected that I’d soon be tossing my clothes off with the rest of them.

But I wouldn’t be. And at that point, I didn’t know how I would keep their suspicions at bay.

We cooked salted pork and beetroot on skewers over the fire while Jasper told us everything he knew about Tan Vey and his army of united nomads.

“As soon as we get our orders, we’ll head to the military outpost at Chancory, south of Ylanda City. You should recognize it from the maps I gave you.”

“Wasn’t the outpost abandoned generations ago?” Cedar asked.

“Once Stonewall was completed, yes,” Jasper said. “But since Tan Vey’s invasion, the army’s first priority was to establish the outpost as a command base. It’s from there that our intelligence will come.”

“Aren’t we wasting time here?” Flint was our best swordsman and the only one in the unit who still intimidated me.

Jasper’s face grew hard. “I will not send you untested.”

He drilled us on our map study as we ate, though exhaustion made it seem impossible to think. After, I drew lines and circles in the dirt with my empty stick, trying without success to create a map.

Forest made an exasperated sound. When I looked up, his expression was dark, his mouth clenched. He threw a stone at the fire.

“Forest?”

He glanced at me before lowering his gaze to the map half-crumpled in his hand. “I can’t keep it straight.”

“It’ll come.” I smiled, but he shook his head, and my smile melted. “Are you always this hard on yourself?”

He shrugged and said nothing. I stared at the play of light and shadow on his face, wishing I could rub my palm against his cheek and feel the strength of his jaw, the scratch of day-old stubble against my skin.

Then, appalled, I looked away, determined to wrench those thoughts from my brain.

From my heart.

Conversation was sparse as the fire crackled low. Cedar carved a chunk of wood into the shape of a chipmunk, the wood curls falling onto his lap like snow. Dalen stretched out his legs and lowered himself onto his side, as though he might fall asleep right there.

“We’re just east of the commune, eh, Kendel?” he said, eyes closed.

“Several miles east.” Kendel was from Province Ytel, like Dalen.

“What commune?” I asked.

“The Commune of Mennek the Lesser,” Kendel said.

Something around his neck caught the light of the fire, and I frowned, thinking at first I’d imagined it. “What’s that?” I asked, gesturing with my chin.

“Oh. An amulet from home.” He seemed embarrassed as he tucked it hastily inside his shirt.

I caught a glimpse of it as it disappeared beneath the fabric; it reminded me of the amulets I had seen in Madam S’dora’s shop.

“Dragon’s blood,” Dalen said, his eyes still closed. “That’s what’s inside it.”

“Inside what?” Apparently I was missing something.

“The amulet,” he said. “It’s good luck.”

“Leave it, Dalen, s’da?” Kendel folded his arms across his chest.

“So, where’s the commune, exactly?” I asked, hoping to ease Kendel’s embarrassment.

“In the finger of Ytel that cuts through Tenema from the west,” he said. “Just a few miles, and we’d be in our own province, Dalen.”

“Still far from home,” Dalen said.

Home wasn’t something I allowed myself to dwell on. I tossed my stick into the fire and decided I would catch Dalen alone as soon as possible and ask him to tell me everything he knew about the Lament. And dragons in general.

I caught up with Dalen after our morning warm-ups. We were both out of breath, so I walked alongside him for several paces, until speaking became easier.

“Can I talk with you?”

“I need to piss.”

I was so used to boy talk that I didn’t even blush. “I’ll walk with you.”

We headed toward the latrine, and I tried to think of a way to bring up the dragons without making myself sound insane. A bit of casual chatter might be a better way to start the conversation, but I couldn’t think of any.

“What do you want to talk about?” Dalen asked.

“Remember when we were talking about dragons? The Lament of Nuaga and all that?”

“Yes.”

“I was wondering if you could teach it to me. The Lament.”

Dalen narrowed his eyes. “Why?”

“I’m not ridiculing you,” I said quickly. “It’s just … I’ve been having some bad dreams.”

“About dragons?”

Time to choose my words carefully. “Sometimes. I’m sure they’re just nightmares, but…”

“Just nightmares.” Mild disbelief danced in his eyes.

“Yes. Maybe if I learn a little more about the dragons, the nightmares will stop.”

Dalen stopped by a tree behind the latrine; I averted my eyes. “Or maybe you’ve had a taste of dragon magic. Otherwise you wouldn’t be so worried about bad dreams.”

His words brushed too close to the truth. With great effort, I gave a sort of half-laugh, hoping I sounded casual. I scrambled for something to say while he finished peeing, but words stumbled against each other, afraid to come out. I couldn’t let him know about the dragon powder.

“I’m not worried,” I said at last. “I’d just rather sleep well.”

Dalen finished his business, then dug deep into his pocket and pulled out a small, tightly wound scroll. He held it out to me.

“Read it for yourself.”

My heart caught. “You carry it with you?”

He nodded. “Keep it as long as you want, s’da? Just don’t lose it.”

“Thank you.” I curled the scroll into my palm, strands of excitement weaving through my stomach.

“It’s just a copy, of course,” he went on. “One of hundreds, I’m sure.”

“Where’s the original?” Or perhaps it no longer existed.

“In the Commune of Mennek.” Dalen’s words became more animated. Passionate, even. “Kendel and I were talking about it last night.”

“Yes. I remember.”

“They’re faithful to the dragons, and they keep a library of dragon lore,” Dalen went on. “The Archives, it’s called.”

“They believe in Nuaga’s return?”

“Yes. Same as Kendel and I do. They’re said to be very protective of their Archives.” He gazed in the direction of the commune. “I wish I could see it. The original Lament.”

His reverence wrapped around me, warm and real. “This is important to you.”

“It’s important to everyone in Ylanda,” he said. “But most folks don’t realize it.”

“I think I’m starting to.”

Dalen looked, for a moment, as though he didn’t quite believe me. But then his expression relaxed, and a slight nod of his head told me, in a way I had no words for, that he had accepted me as an ally.

“It’s no small thing, dreaming about dragons,” he said.

“I’m sure it’s nothing. But … don’t tell anyone just the same, s’da?”

“S’da.” He turned to walk back toward camp. “I’ll give you my ale ration if you think an extra mug would help you sleep.”

I smiled—Dalen had keenly felt the tightening of our ale supply. “I’ll be fine.”

It wasn’t until almost dusk that I had a private moment to read the scroll. I slipped away from the others and sat behind my tent, shielded from view. Pulse fluttering, I unrolled the parchment and read The Lament of Nuaga, my lips moving silently as I savored each word.

From the Great God, ever breathing,

Came the Dragons.

Heat of sun and strength of thousands,

Came the Mighty Dragons.

Fiery red, the pride of heaven,

Fierce T’Gonnen.

Bowing to her lord and master,

Loyal, brave Nuaga.

By his side and never failing,

Never shirking.

She-king to the Clan of Dragons,

Lovely, strong Nuaga.

Long their vigilant protection,

Through the ages.

Faithful to their charge and calling—

Faithful to the faithless.

From the north, in tribes disjointed,

Came the nomads

Lusting for the strength and magic

Of the mighty Dragons.

“Build no walls; create no borders!”

Cried the Dragons.

“Ours, this land, and yours, our power,

Ever to protect you.”

Foolish people of Ylanda,

Self-important.

“By our might and with your blessing,

We shall build defenses.”

Clan of Dragons, ever faithful,

Gave no blessing.

Seeds of enmity thus planted,

Tearing them asunder.

By the sweat of brows and bosoms

Over decades,

Miles of stone, the wall assembled,

Solid, vast, defiant.

Soft, the Dragons crept, retreating

To their caverns.

Thus betrayed by those they honored,

Sent to endless slumber.

“Join them in their resting places,

Dear Nuaga.

“Flesh and bone I now must offer,”

Spoke the bold T’Gonnen.

Grave of heart and torn in spirit,

Wailed Nuaga,

“Sleep with us in rest eternal—

Suffer not this torture!”

Yet despite impassioned pleading,

Fierce T’Gonnen

Gave himself for all Ylanda

And the Clan of Dragons.

Took he neither food nor water,

So to languish.

On the eighteenth day, his spirit

Finally departed.

Tears of Nuaga flowing, pouring,

Grief unending,

As she watched his body plundered,

Bone and flesh together.

Now dispersed, the great one’s power,

To the peoples.

Satisfied, the mourning she-king

Joined the sleeping Dragons.

By his sacrifice, the power

Of the Dragons,

Wends its way through dale and village

Calling to his people.

Fair Nuaga waits in slumber

Intermittent.

When T’Gonnen’s magic wakes her,

She will speak and beckon.

Where is Onen?

Each breath was loud in my ears as I reread the final verse, its meaning unmistakable. T’Gonnen’s magic would wake Nuaga, and she would beckon.

But why? And who was Onen?

Nuaga had said the Lament contained the words I would need to wake the dragons. Did she mean that I needed to know the entire thing? Be able to recite it? I could certainly do that. But I still didn’t understand how that would help me wake any dragons.

Not that I wanted to.

I read the Lament several more times, and the conviction that every word was true burned deep in my belly. There was no plausible reason for feeling this way—I simply felt it. Knew it.

Perhaps it was the dragon powder, coursing through my veins. Or the simple fact that I had spoken with Nuaga before I had ever read the Lament.

There wasn’t anything about having to spill my blood so she could find me, though. It only said that she would speak and beckon.

I ran my fingertip over the final line: Where is Onen? I’d studied and written poetry almost since I could hold a pen. The more I thought about it, the more it sounded incomplete.

But why would Dalen have an incomplete version? It made no sense.

If only I could slip away to the Archives, to see if the original Lament really did reside there. Or perhaps I was thinking too hard about this—perhaps the Lament ended exactly the way it was intended.

I rerolled the scroll and tucked it deep inside my pocket, the words still tingling on my lips. “Help me understand,” I whispered to Nuaga.

She didn’t answer.

I rolled gratefully onto my side that night, exhausted from the day’s training. Forest’s good-night faded into the distance as I fell quickly into dream-vivid sleep. Throughout the dreams, my name, clear and strident, rang in my ears, until I sat upright, fully awake, sweat dampening my face.

Release me, Rain.

I pressed my fist against my mouth and closed my eyes, reminding myself that Nuaga only came in dreams.

I’m waiting.

Though my eyes were closed, she loomed before me, as though I had been transported into someone else’s dream—and in the dream, my eyes were wide open. I felt the heat of her breath and smelled her musky scent as she dipped her head toward me. Her eyes were luminous, and she held me in her gaze until I felt I would explode.

She was terrible. And beautiful.

Release me. You can then receive my mark and wake the dragons.

Nuaga’s eyes, shades of vibrant blue mixed with honey and topaz, regarded me with such intensity that, for a moment, I closed my own eyes.

I feared she would consume me, though she wasn’t really there.

“Why do you want me to wake the dragons?” I asked, my words scratching their way out.

Because the dragons are Ylanda’s only hope. Look into my eyes, Rain L’nahn.

I looked, and her eyes grew large and transparent, drawing me into them as though I were mere breath. I cried out as darkness closed around me. Immediately, light and a thousand colors sliced into my eyes, and I sank to my knees and pressed my hands over my face.

Behold. A single word, whispered into my soul.

Birdsong and the warmth of sunlight on my neck both calmed and confused me. Had she taken me somewhere else? I lowered my hands and gasped—I knelt in the shade of a sprawling tree, my knees sunk into the dirt. Not far away, the grass sloped gradually downward, and a strange keening wafted on the breeze.

“Where is this place?” I asked.

But I was alone.

I rose and followed the sound of the keening, the ground’s dip becoming steeper until it widened into a hollow. By the time I neared the bottom, the keening had stopped. In the middle of the hollow lay a freshly born dragon, the slime of birth still glistening upon its neck and back. Nearby, its mother rolled toward it and lowered her head, nuzzling it with affection so great that my heart ached.

The cries of men pierced the air. Startled, I looked up to see them hurtling down the hollow on the opposite side—fifteen, twenty men in braided armor, swords aloft. Panic tore through me as I realized I had nowhere to escape their advance.

But they seemed not to see me. I stood rooted to the grass as their weapons bore down upon the mother dragon, swords slashing. Blood arced from the dragon’s neck and breast, and I screamed as three of the soldiers descended on the baby, throwing a thick-roped net over it and cinching a cord around its neck until it could barely breathe.

I backed away, stumbling over myself on the way up, unable to tear my eyes from the horror before me. Cold wind rushed at my skin as darkness once more swept over me, and then all was still. Nuaga stood before me in the shadows of the waking dream.

That is the legacy of the northern tribes, she said. They must be stopped.

The horror of what I’d seen stole my words. I folded my arms across my chest to try to stop the shivering.

“H … how?”

She blinked. Only the dragons can stop Tan Vey and his army from destroying your people. Release me and receive my mark so you can wake the dragons.

I stared, words failing me.

The mark of my breath, she said. Only the worthy survive it—but T’Gonnen is strong within you. I believe you are worthy.

Fear crept through my body. “Why me?”

Because you have awakened me, Rain. And the other will not listen.

The other?

Will you release me?

“You’ve asked me to spill my blood.”

Yes. The scent of faithful blood will show me where to find you.

I couldn’t reconcile it. My heart was drawn to Nuaga, but what of the men in my unit? Could I willingly invite such a creature into their midst?

“I’m not ready,” I whispered.

Her face reflected a thousand sorrows before she faded into black. I opened my eyes in the darkness of my tent, my breathing loud and ragged. Forest lay sleeping; I was careful not to wake him as I lay down, bathed in sweat, my heart banging against my ribs. The throaty warmth of Nuaga’s voice echoed in my mind.

The mark of my breath. Only the worthy survive it.

Dear Great God, did she think I was mad?

And who was “the other”?

The Lament said nothing about dragonbreath or receiving Nuaga’s mark. What else was missing? For the first time, I wished I had grown up believing in dragons. Surely this would be easier if it weren’t all so terrifyingly new.

I slept little for what remained of the night, which was long. My sporadic dozing deepened into actual sleep some time before dawn, and when Jasper yelled us from our tents, I could barely raise my head from the ground.

“Are you alive?” Forest hovered like a rain cloud.

I groaned and rolled onto my back. “Barely.”

“You’d better get moving.” His boots were already on; he ducked out of the tent.

I jammed my feet into my boots and started running toward the latrine, twisting my hair back as I went. Several boys were relieving themselves along the outskirts of the tree line that hugged the stream. I hoped that meant the latrine itself might not be full, but as soon as I ducked inside, I saw that all three holes were taken up.

I groaned inwardly, then made my way to the private place I’d found just behind the latrine, in a not-quite-big-enough cluster of holly bushes. I considered skipping it altogether, but my bladder was full, and I knew I wouldn’t make it through warm-ups without relieving myself.

I stood for a few moments in the holly bushes, pantomiming. Moments later, Cedar squatted behind a tree, obviously having forgone the latrine for other business. It seemed reasonable that I might get away with it, too.

I had just finished when someone squatted on the other side of the bush. I froze, feeling too exposed to pull myself together. I continued to squat until my legs began to fall asleep, and then I summoned the nerve to stand up. When I did, I got a clear view of the boy on the other side. It was Sedge.

He didn’t see me, and as soon as my pants were up, I cut a wide arc around the bush, hoping he was too intent on his business to notice me. I was a few steps away from moving outside his range of vision when I saw him shake something from a small bottle into the palm of one hand. He rubbed whatever it was into his neck, first on one side, then on the other.

I should have kept moving, but I knew in the pit of my stomach that whatever he was rubbing on his neck was his purchase from Madam S’dora’s shop. In the next instant, he looked up, as though he had sensed me watching him.

He narrowed his eyes, like the time we’d first met and he thought he’d recognized me. Was he thinking the same thing now? Straining through layers of memory to figure out why my face looked familiar?

“What are you staring at?” he said.

I frowned and walked away, embarrassment coursing through me like a boiling river. I hated to think how this would incite further abuse from him. I was supposed to be working to make things better, not worse.

And then it struck me, like a blow to the skull—Sedge could be “the other.” Whatever he rubbed into his skin was surely imbued with dragon magic, similar to the powder I swallowed. Perhaps it wasn’t as strong, or Sedge wasn’t having dreams.

Nuaga may have been drawn to the magic in Sedge’s oil, but I was the one she reached out to.

Asked to wake dragons.

I headed toward the open field, hoping I’d find the courage to say yes.