Glenda Larke - Stormlord rising

"Mica!" Jasper cried. "It's me-Shale!" And to make sure he was heard, he shut out the battle. He enclosed them in their own little world: he ringed them with water, a wall of water, with just Mica and him and their pedes inside. Sounds muted, and the men outside drew back, fearful. Yet the wall was nothing more than water, easily breached.

Mica recovered from the pede's blow and, cursing, swung his scimitar up again for another murderous slash.

Jasper flung up his spear to parry the blow that was coming. "You used to protect me," he said.

The words were inane, yet they penetrated, and only then could he see the boy that had been Mica in this man, this Reduner. There, on his face, a brief look of worried uncertainty once so typical of Mica as his resolution wavered.

Yet when he spoke, his voice was firm, the words those of an adult. Jasper recognized the voice, heard the slur of the Gibber accent, although it was no longer so pronounced. "I know. And you have t'die. I'm sorry, young 'un. But that's the way it's got t'be. We have t'go back to random rain. And my name is Ravard now," he said. "Kher Ravard." He lowered his scimitar slightly and Jasper read a brief flash of compassion in those dark eyes, even though the line of his mouth and jaw told him there was no wavering of the determination.

Still, it was hard to believe he was in danger, so he ignored it. "I almost didn't know you," he replied. And it was true. Without the pede, would he have ever recognized this tall tribesman with the red face and hard eyes? The effect was accentuated by the newly broken nose, still bleeding, and the bruises on his cheekbone. "You've grown…"

Sand-brain. Can't you think of anything sensible to say? He blurted out what was uppermost in his mind. "How could you, Mica? How could you join Davim's marauders? After what he did to us?"

Mica stiffened. "Did to us? What did he do to us that hadn't already been done by our own? Beaten, starved, going to bed thirsty night after night, licking the dew off palm leaves just t'get enough water."

"Davim killed Citrine," Jasper snapped, outraged. "He threw her up into the air and caught her on his chala spear-"

"I remember. So what? One less snivelin' brat, what did it matter? She was a third child. She wasn't even s'posed t'have been birthed. She should never have been born!"

Jasper stared at him, appalled. "She was our sister!"

"She was thieving our water, when we didn't even have enough for ourselves. Soon enough she would've been sharing our food. A half-starved, snotnosed, half-wild animal like the other waterless brats of Wash Drybone. She would have growed up t'be another gormless bitch like Marisal, watching and simpering while her husband-pimp beat the hell out of his son. She was better off dead." He looked at Jasper in scorn. "And so you're the stormlord now. What have you done for the waterless of the Gibber, Shale? You going t'change it so bastards like Rishan the palmier don't steal the riches of the grove from those who work it?"

"Give me time-"

"Time. Ah, yes, time. The rainlords and stormlords ruled in Breccia City 'fore we stood up to piss, Shale, long before. And they did dry-boned nothing for the likes of us in the hundreds of years they had power." He leaned across from his pede to insert the point of his scimitar under Jasper's chin.

Jasper thought of lowering the water wall, of calling for help. But that would mean Mica would die…

Inside he ached.

Mica continued, apparently unworried about his own safety. "The poor of the Gibber won't get any richer while water-soaked priests and rainlords sit on their well-watered bottoms and sip their sweetened drinks. I've been to waterless hell and back since we were parted, you stupid tick. I've dragged myself up through the ranks to what I am now-the Master Son of Dune Watergatherer. I did that, not any water-sated bleeding stormlord."

They were interrupted briefly then. One of Jasper's guards and his Reduner attacker smashed through the water wall in a shower of droplets. They were so intent on their own fight they didn't even seem to see the two men and their pedes. A moment later they splashed back out, grunting and panting, with their scimitars still clashing.

Jasper hardly spared them a glance. "Mica, think! What about those innocents killed by Davim's men? The children? The women raped? Countless people died in Qanatend and Breccia City just because they were outside their houses! Ziggers don't choose…"

"Where were those innocents-or their parents-when us two were growing up half-naked and starving and thirsty in Wash Drybone? Shivering all night long 'cause we didn't have nothing but a sack t'cover us? Tell me that! They didn't give a pede's piss then." His hate spewed out, hot and angry and twisted, all the more potent for its basis of truth. "Scarpermen came and took our resin, but what did we ever get back for it, you and me? Marisal sold her 'broidery for a pittance in tokens and never made enough t'feed us. She sold her body for water, a whore used by the Reduner caravanners and 'Baster salt traders. They used her and all the while they mouthed their pious sayings t'us kids. And in the end the only time the rainlords came t'see how well we did under their benevolent rule was when they wanted t'rob us of our talented brats." The point of his scimitar forced Jasper's chin still higher. "I will never be at the mercy of rainlords again, Shale. They doled out just enough water t'keep the tribes of the villages from dying, but never enough for us t'be free."

"You think it's easy to bring the whole of the Quartern water? I'm only one man! The old Cloudmaster was only one man! How the-"

Mica scowled and dug the blade point a little deeper. Jasper jerked back and pushed the blade aside.

He opened his mouth to speak again, but Mica interrupted. "Sandmaster Davim has showed us how. If we can't control a stormlord ourselves, then we go back to a Time of Random Rain-and so will everyone else. We'll see who heads the meddle then, won't we? Will it be a Reduner, d'you think?-or a Scarperman, used t'living inside his walls, with a roof over his head and a fancy 'broidered pillow under it?"

"You're not a Reduner, Mica. You're a Gibberman."

"That's where you're wrong. I've earned the right t'be a Reduner. And I'm not giving it up."

"You'll have to kill me to go back to a Time of Random Rain."

"You could join us, urchin."

Was the offer made in all seriousness or did he do it to mock? Jasper didn't know. He felt an overwhelming despair. Where was his brother? Where was the child who had cared for him as best he could? Where was that person in this man with the hardened soul and scornful words? "Mica-"

"Mica's dead, Shale. This man here in front of you? He's Ravard. And he has no heart, no compassion, no place for affection for a long-lost brother. This-" he tapped his own chest, "-is what you got in Mica's place. This is all there is: Tribemaster Kher Ravard, Master Son of the Watergatherer. Reduner with his own tent and his own woman and his own tribe." He grinned, and there was nothing pleasant there.

Jasper knew then he ought to kill this man. He ought to pour his water on him and then stab him with his spear while he was blinded and startled. But he couldn't. For all his words, this was Mica. He had Mica's mouth, Mica's voice, Mica's memory of their shared childhood.

He didn't know what to do, and his indecision twisted his guts with nausea.

"Who's the fastest, d'you think, brother?" Mica asked softly. "Can I plunge this sword into your throat quicker than you can hit me with that water, d'you think? You can't take my water, y'know. I am water sensitive enough t'stop you."

He knows, Jasper thought. He knows I will never do it.

And then he was forcibly reminded again that he and Mica were not the only two people in the world. A pede came crashing through the water wall, its rider crouched on its back, bloodied scimitar in his hand, his robes almost torn from his reddened body. Jasper recognized the beaklike nose and close-set eyes: Davim the Drover. Instantly, while Jasper was distracted, Mica had the blade back at his brother's throat.