Stormrise

The sun’s first light was barely kissing the sky when I tethered Sweetpea to the low branch of a tree and found a deep, smooth hollow between two protruding roots where I could catch a few hours of sleep. I’d made good time through the night—Sweetpea seemed eager to be out and about without a saddle, and there had been just enough moonlight to help us both see where we were going.

Now, though, I was feeling the effects of being awake all night, the heightened sense of excitement having long since worn off. It would take the rest of today and the best part of tomorrow to arrive at Grigsbane. A few hours of sleep were mandatory.

I emptied my bladder a few trees over, struck by yet another thing I’d have to hide and suddenly wondering how difficult it might be to find the privacy I’d need to take care of my personal business.

“One thing at a time, Rain,” I said.

Then I settled between the roots while Sweetpea quietly munched on the tender undergrowth. It took a while to get comfortable—I couldn’t remember the last time I’d slept on anything hard and bumpy—but soon exhaustion claimed me, and not even the strident calls of early birds could keep me from falling soundly asleep.

I woke suddenly to a sharp crack and the sound of Sweetpea braying. I sat up, heart ramming into my chest, eyes scanning my surroundings.

Less than a cat’s throw away, a boy stood peeing by a tree.

Every bone in my body froze, as though I couldn’t have moved if I tried. I averted my eyes and debated whether I should pretend to be asleep. Sweetpea was still braying, though, and nobody could sleep through that.

I had the thought, sharp as a knife’s edge, that this was the perfect time for me to start being the boy I claimed to be. No boy would avert his eyes. No boy would pretend to be asleep simply to avoid being confronted by another boy in the woods.

So I stood up, stretched broadly, and walked over to Sweetpea as noisily as I could, my back to the boy.

“Hush, Sw—” I cleared my throat and began again, forcing my voice a bit lower. “Hush, Sweetpea. Let’s move along now.”

I was trying to remember if boys actually said “hush” when I heard the distinct swish-crunch of boots in the undergrowth behind me. It was easier to pretend not to hear, rather than turn around and show my not-exactly-male face to whoever was approaching.

“You on your way to Grigsbane?”

Clearly a boy’s voice—deep, but young. I squared my shoulders and turned around, my heart pattering so fast I could scarcely draw breath.

“Yes,” I said.

The boy surveyed me. He was tall, but not too much, so that he only had to peer down at me a little bit. His face was pleasant, and he wore his wavy-brown hair in a low, loose tail. I held my breath, wondering if my entire ruse would end with his next words.

He placed his right hand, fingers splayed, over his heart. “I’m Forest. I’m heading there, too.”

I returned the gesture, feeling awkwardly female. If Forest had noticed anything amiss, though, he didn’t show it. I flashed what I hoped was a boyish grin.

Forest raised an eyebrow. “You have a name?”

“Storm.”

He nodded. “Where do you come from?”

“Nandel,” I said.

“We’re neighbors, then,” Forest said. “I’m from Thorn Village.”

Of course. Anyone traveling this way to Grigsbane would be coming from one of the inner villages. Probably the only reason I hadn’t met anyone yet was because I’d traveled at night.

“You must have left before sunup.” My voice sounded squeaky in my ears. Did it sound that way to Forest?

“You must’ve, too.”

“I—” No. I couldn’t tell him that I’d left in the middle of the night. That would require some sort of explanation. “Yes.”

“Well, I’d be happy to travel with you,” Forest said. “It’s a long journey to take alone.”

I wasn’t ready for this. I’d been dressed as a boy for less than half a day, and I had no idea if the powder was going to work. Truly, I had been looking forward to the solitary ride, to allow myself time to gradually get used to my disguise.

But to say no to Forest would be rude.

“A pleasure,” I said.

He didn’t ask questions as I untethered Sweetpea and led her back to the road, where Forest’s donkey stood calmly chewing on some weeds. It was the shaggiest, most haphazard beast I’d ever seen, and I stifled a laugh.

“Appalling, isn’t he?” Forest said.

“No, I—” Stop being apologetic. Act like a boy. “He’s a nightmare.”

Forest laughed. “If I told you how old he is, you wouldn’t believe me.” He mounted. “I have an uncle just outside Grigsbane; I’ll drop him off there. If he lasts the journey.”

I mounted Sweetpea. “He seems sturdy enough.”

“You’re riding without a saddle?”

“I’ve preferred it, ever since I was a g—” I turned the unfortunate consonant into a cough. “Since I was a boy.”

“I’d probably fall off.”

I smiled. “It’s not so hard.”

For the first time, Forest looked at me more pointedly. An assessment. “How old are you?”

“Seventeen.”

“Ah. You look younger.”

Already I was stumbling my way through all the plans I’d made. I had meant to tell everyone I was sixteen, to make my smooth face and smaller stature more believable. Too late.

I shrugged as though his comment were no big deal. “Everyone says that.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Forest said. “I was almost seventeen before I had to shave.”

We lapsed into silence. The midmorning sun was warm and higher in the sky than I had wanted it to be. Clearly I’d slept too long. I sighed, wrestling between the elation of having successfully deceived the first person I’d met and the dread of making some sort of mistake. For now, it was easy—Forest seemed happy to ride without chatting much, and it was almost impossible to make a mistake while riding Sweetpea.

But when we stopped a few hours later to rest our beasts and take a bit of food, my bladder was full. I took an extra-long time to tether Sweetpea by a narrow stream while Forest relieved himself beside a nearby tree.

Beside. Not behind. Because he had no reason to hide from me. No need for modesty.

Forest had already pulled some food from his saddlebag and was sitting in the grass by the time I stopped fiddling with the tether. If I didn’t relieve myself soon, I would soil the only pair of pants I owned.

“I’m, uh…” I glanced across the stream, where a small thicket basked in sunlight. “I’m going to go see if I can find some tinberries.”

Without waiting for Forest’s response, I hopped across the stream and made my way between the two nearest trees to the thicket beyond. A quick glance told me I wouldn’t find any tinberries there, but I’d deal with that in a moment.

When I was sure I’d moved far enough away, I slipped out of my pants and squatted behind a tree, terrified that at any moment Forest would come lumbering up. He didn’t, though, and I pulled myself together quickly and dove back into the thicket, desperate to find something to bring back.

It was past the season for wild berries, though—even the late ones, like tinberries. So I checked my belt once more and made my way back to Forest and the donkeys.

“Any luck?” Forest asked through a mouthful of something.

“No,” I said.

“It’s too late for tinberries, really.”

Right. And I would have to come up with a new excuse the next time I needed to pee.

The day was long, a constant unfolding of avila bushes in neat rows, well past their flowering but still bearing the leaves that would be dried and powdered for medicinal tea. Empty rows signified where plants had been dug up for their roots—these would lie fallow for a year before replanting. Sometimes, distillery workers passed us on their way to the steeping vats to check the temperature and perhaps add the right infusion of whatever ingredient distinguished their proprietor’s flavor from the next. To the west, the Fingerling Forest rose in the distance, a dark smudge against the horizon. In the warmth of the afternoon sun, I wished for its shade.

We rode until long past sunset, when there was just enough light in the sky to make out the tired, orderly outline of a small town. As we drew nearer, lanterns flickered to life, illuminating the daubed walls and worn wooden doors of shops and homes standing in pressed-together rows, like fish in a basket. Forest turned his donkey toward the main street at the same moment I led Sweetpea to the right. We both stopped, and Forest gestured toward the town with his head.

“I thought I’d stay at the local hostelry,” he said. “Want to share a room and split the cost?”

“Uh…” Suddenly my tongue was incompetent. “Thanks, but I won’t have money until I reach Grigsbane and sell my donkey.”

“Ah. Well, share the room, anyway. A gift.”

“N-no, thank you,” I said. “I don’t wish to be in anyone’s debt.”

I braced myself for insistence, but none came. Instead, Forest shrugged. “I’ll see you in the morning, then.”

Relieved, I gave him a short wave and made my way to the outskirts of the town and a thin stand of trees, where I soon discovered others, like myself, were settling in to camp for the night.

More recruits for the high king’s army. Suddenly, sharing a room with Forest seemed less daunting.

They were better prepared than I—bedding rolls, a tent or two, and food to cook over their fires. At least a dozen men milled around or sat near one of the fires. Most of them were older—husbands and fathers with no sons, or with sons too young to fight. One or two looked closer to my age. An easy sense of community seemed to have come to life among them, as though their common destiny drew them together.

I stayed in the shadows and observed. This was a perfect opportunity to study the men’s behavior and adopt whatever would help me appear more masculine. I slipped from Sweetpea’s back and rubbed the side of her face so that she would stay calm. The scent of roasting meat moistened my tongue and drew protest from my stomach. If I were brave enough, I could saunter into the men’s midst and end up with a portion of whatever was cooking.

But I wasn’t quite ready. Especially since I was certain that ale was beginning to flow. I stayed a while longer, listening to the inflections of their words and watching the way they moved. Then I gave Sweetpea’s rein a tug and led her deeper into the trees, away from the welcoming light and the warmth of laughter. After tethering her to a branch, I dug into my satchel and fished out the dried apricots and quail cake I’d saved for tonight’s supper. Then, stomach full, I flopped beside Sweetpea, flat on the ground.

“I don’t know if I can do this, Sweetpea.”

She made a soft donkey-sound in her throat, as though she knew exactly what I meant.

I lay for some time while she rolled languidly in the grass, thinking of Storm and how hard a trip like this would’ve been for him. Then I sat up, reached into my satchel, and pulled out the pouch of powder.

It sat warm in my palm, and when I dipped my fingers inside, the powder felt light and gritty, a cross between salt and sand. Not like something I wanted to eat.

I swallowed the dank bitterness as it dissolved beneath my tongue and washed it away with a mouthful of water. The tingling in my mouth gave way to a warmth that spread down my neck, across my shoulders, and into my chest. I pressed my hand to my heart.

The sensation faded. In its wake, I felt an incredible sense of calm—a connectedness to the earth that made me feel almost invincible. As though nothing could touch me. It flowed through my limbs and nestled deep in my belly, lingering long after my eyes grew heavy with sleep.

I awoke in the paleness of dawn with a crick in my neck and a hungry stomach. Sweetpea was grazing nearby, and my heartbeat hitched when I remembered that today I would be selling her.

I smoothed the blanket onto Sweetpea’s back and led her in a wide arc around the dispersing camp, toward town. I hadn’t made specific plans to meet Forest in the morning, but it would have been rude to simply leave without him. So I munched on my last dried apricot and dallied at the town entrance, where we had parted. Already the streets were alive with the early business of the townspeople—sweeping front stoops, opening shop windows, heading toward the well with buckets and jugs. Among them, Grigsbane-bound men and boys walked, the final leg of their journey already begun.

“Storm!”

I didn’t respond at first—the name didn’t yet feel like my own. But when Forest called me a second time, I snapped to attention, scanning the street until I saw him waving.

“Join me for breakfast!” he called.

Shouting that I had no money wasn’t a good idea—I was having enough trouble keeping my speaking voice low enough to be believable—so I crossed the street to meet him.

“I already told you I don’t—”

“I want to buy it for you, s’da? It’s been nice having someone to travel with.”

My stomach begged me not to argue. “Thank you.”

I followed Forest to a tiny eatery sandwiched between the hostelry and a public house. He held the door with his foot, and I walked in.

“I smelled the cooking as soon as I woke up this morning,” Forest said.

My hunger doubled as I breathed in the warm aroma of sugar-eggs and t’gallah—fried biscuits filled with meat and vegetables. I squeezed among crowded tables to the only remaining one.

Forest sat across from me. “Order whatever you’d like.”

I opted for two duck-and-eggplant t’gallahs with potatoes and warm fruit salad. While we waited for our food, the serving girl, who looked younger than me, brought us white tea in an earthenware pot. I poured myself a cup and laced it with a dollop of goat cream and a swirl of spiced honey.

“You drink your tea like a girl,” Forest said, sipping his own plain tea.

Ugh. Was I going to get every little thing wrong? I regrouped and pretended his comment didn’t bother me.

“My sister drinks it this way,” I said. “I like it.”

He grinned. “Drink it however you like. I don’t think they’ll give us cream and honey in the army, though.”

I smiled back. “Guess I’d better have a few cups now, then.”

Our banter felt natural. Normal. Whether it was the cleverness of my disguise or the fact that Forest would never have expected me to be a girl in the first place, he seemed to accept me at face value. Storm, a boy on his way to serve the high king. Nothing more.

The sweetness of the warm fruit was still on my tongue as we mounted our donkeys and joined the throng headed north. This was the final stretch to Grigsbane from the south, and tomorrow was the last day to show up. I’d done well enough as a boy so far, riding and talking and eating. But living and training with the other soldiers was nothing short of terrifying. For me, the final stretch couldn’t be long enough.

The day was warm, one of the final hurrahs of late summer as it melted into the falling season. At first, Forest talked now and again about things that didn’t matter much—the crowd, the migrating butterflies, the dead dog by the side of the road. But soon he lapsed into silence, and I did nothing to break it.

The mood on the road in general was somber. Dogged. Men and boys on their way to fight for the high king had little to keep them lighthearted. Or perhaps it was the not knowing that was worst. Papa had told us about the breach of Stonewall because General Tamar had told him first. It was unlikely that many others knew the details behind the sudden and urgent call for men-at-arms.

I tried to imagine killing a nomad. Then I realized I didn’t know what a nomad looked like.

By noon, Grigsbane was visible in the distance, a smear of low buildings that stretched across the horizon like a sleeping beast. My stomach dropped over and over as we drew nearer, until I was certain it would fall right through me.

“I hear the food’s bad,” Forest said.

“I’m sure it is.” I didn’t plan on eating anytime soon. Maybe never.

“But the ale is supposed to be good,” he went on. “They say that’s how they keep the soldiers happy.”

I grunted agreement, which felt like the right thing to do. But girls weren’t supposed to drink ale, and so I never had. Well, I’d stolen a sip from Papa’s tankard once when he’d left it sitting on the table. It had gone up my nose and burned my throat, and I’d coughed so long and loudly that Mama came running.

“I thought it would taste like oats,” I’d said, because Papa had told me that was what it was made from.

“Ale is a man’s drink,” Mama had said. “It’s bad luck for women to drink it.”

I couldn’t afford to believe that anymore. Storm was a boy, and he would have to drink ale with the others.

Sweetpea fetched the fair price of four and a half tak from a trader making his way toward town. A smattering of merchants’ stalls dotted the road to the left and right; I found the message courier in the shade of a twisted tree. Three horses stood tethered behind it, their saddlebags already bulging.

An old man slapped a small wooden box, a piece of parchment, and a pen onto a rickety table. “Fifteen coin for the box, seven coin to send.”

I placed four tak into the box and wrote my father’s name and “Nandel” on the parchment. No letter would be necessary—I had already let him know that I would send the money. I slid the remaining half-tak onto the table and waited while the man counted three fifths and eighteen coin into my hand.

I tucked the money into my satchel while I waited by a stone marker for Forest to return from his uncle’s farm. It seemed a long time before he arrived, and his smile warmed me. Already he felt familiar. Safe. My gaze lingered for a moment on the deep crescent on one side of his mouth, until I caught myself and looked away.

What did it matter that he had a dimple? No boy would notice something so insignificant.

With each heartbeat, I’d have to remind myself not only to act like a boy, but also to think like one. Regardless of dimples.

Grigsbane was a military town. As soon as we reached the entrance, I felt the difference—a gate that locked at night, tall watchtowers, and a large open market that already tickled my nose with its tantalizing scents of fried and roasted foods. A perfect lure for a soldier’s meager pay, considering the rumors of bad army food.

A large sign was posted just past the gate: Experienced soldiers to Station A at the west gate. New recruits to Station B at the east gate. An arrow indicated that Station B was to the right.

My insides in a thousand knots, I shifted the satchel on my shoulder and headed to the right along with Forest. Immediately, someone cut in front of me as though I weren’t there, pushing his way through the crowd heading to Station B.

“This way, River,” he said.

Something in his voice arrested me—a vague familiarity that loosed unease in my stomach. A tall boy joined him, and they began play-sparring as they made their way to the line. The first boy grabbed his friend’s water skin and threw it; I raised my hand with the speed of my Neshu training, catching the skin before it hit me in the face. The boy turned toward me, his eyes meeting mine as I offered the skin.

It was the rude boy from Madam S’dora’s shop.