The Bond (Book 2) (2 page)

Maybe half an hour later, she splashed through ankle-deep water. It didn’t concern her too much, however, because she had almost reached her destination, the sloping bank leading out of the no-longer-dry riverbed. The break in the ravine’s high walls was just past the next bend, a mere stone’s throw farther along. Her cave and its warm fire were close.

From ahead of her, around the corner of the bend, came a flood, a wall of churning froth. There was only time to brace for its impact.

Water, gravel, and things unseen pelted her body, sweeping her legs from under her. Hands grasping for purchase found none. As she tumbled through the raging torrent, the thundering storm and flood were muted when her head was forced under. In the relative quiet, the clicks of pebbles and stones colliding and rolling over each other were oddly sharp and distinct.

Brought back to the surface, Renata took a quick, desperate breath, bringing air into her lungs, and water. A coughing fit wracked her body, and she fought desperately against the flood.

Something brushed her palm, and she instinctively grabbed it. It was a large rock, a boulder jutting a foot above the water, unmoving. She clung to it with both hands as the river tugged and tore at her. With coughs subsiding, she worked her way up top.

Alandra’s merciful heart, she thought. Perhaps I can ride it out on this.

Lightning wove through the sky, branches splitting off. The multiple flashes of light turned everything into brief, frozen images and created shadows that loomed on the ravine wall in front of her: a dark expanse cast by the opposite ravine wall, and a shape atop that dark stretch, an enormous shadow, moving. She turned to see what had cast the shadow, but an uprooted tree slammed into her, tossing her into the flood waters.

The relentless current pulled her along. She bobbed at the surface, sank under it, and struggled back up. It took all she had just to try to keep afloat—fighting the powerful flow, trying to keep from being dragged along, was impossible.

Gods, she thought, am I going to die?

Through water-filled eyes, she glimpsed a tall outcrop in the river ahead.

The impact with it forced air from her lungs. Water washed over her from behind, pinned her to the tower of rock. With grasping fingers like claws, she pulled and dragged herself up, eventually lifting head and shoulders free of the rushing torrent. Breathing heavily and blinking to clear her eyes, she took a moment to rest.

The water pressing her to the outcrop actually helped. It pinned her to it, made it easier to stay where she was. As she rested, she had to work herself up the side a bit to keep her head above the river. Then she had to move up a little more. The water was rising.

An arm from a large cactus, a saguaro, tumbled past in the current. How was she going to get out of this mess?

The outcrop, which towered maybe six feet over her, had no reachable handholds large enough to pull herself from the river, though there was some kind of cleft three feet above. The side of the ravine, a few feet to the right, was too high to help. It rose above her nearly as high as the outcrop, and attempting to scale it in the rushing river was out of the question. It was a sheer wall of unbroken earth all the way to the top.

The river lapped her chin again. It seemed as if the water was rising faster. She looked at the side of the ravine and back at the cleft above. She might be able to use that lip of stone to pull herself up and get on top of the outcrop, perhaps. But it was too high, at least for now. She waited in the cold, clawing river.

When the water finally rose enough, she used the tips of her fingers to grip the cleft. She was able to get her feet planted and gain a better handhold. The slow, careful climb took all of her attention.

After reaching the top, her muscles trembled from exhaustion, and she took a moment to rest. The wall of the ravine, a riverbank now, was about a foot below her and only a few feet away. She eyed the gap between her and the safety of the ground.

I can do this, she thought. I can do this.

With a couple of preparatory deep breaths, she leapt from the outcrop.

Feet hit sodden earth and slipped. Falling to her butt, then her back, she slid to a stop in the mud. Gray skies above spilled heavy rain, pelting her face. Rolling on her side, Renata took short, panting breaths, clutching the muddy ground. A tracery of light darted across the sky, brilliant veins, followed by staccato crackles and grumbles.

Pressure under her hip meant something was under there.

Exploratory fingers found the ayllu, still snugged to the belt. She tugged the leather-covered rock from under her, shoved it next to the other two. On her right hip, there was nothing. No strap, no bird, no meal. Water filled her eyes, overflowed. Warm tears in cold rain.

Renata got to her feet. Clothes tattered, covered in mud, and soaking wet, she slowly trudged through the storm. She was alive, at least. And soon enough, she’d be warm.

All traces of mud had been washed away by the time she reached the caves. Shivering, she tossed a few branches onto the embers and poked them listlessly with a stick. When flames licked over them a few minutes later, they gave off welcome warmth.

After placing a thick wedge of agave root into the fire-pit, tucked amongst the coals, she stripped off everything. She wrapped herself in a blanket, sat by the fire, and stared at the flames, dazed.

A cough from lungs still protesting the intrusion of water made her wince.

A cracked rib would be the ideal ending to such an ideal day, wouldn’t it?

Renata opened the blanket and looked over her abdomen. Gentle probing found no broken ribs. But scratches and scrapes were everywhere, and from about an inch below her breasts down to her belly button, there was the beginning of what was likely to be an enormous and spectacular bruise.

“Perfect. Just
 . . . perfect.” Tears blurred her vision.

Damn the woman for taking so long. Damn the rain for the flood. And damn the river for stealing my turkey and nearly drowning me!

Wrapping the blanket closed again, she wiped her eyes and stared at the fire.

Nearly half an hour later, she removed the baked root from the coals and gingerly split it open. After a few pinches from the salt pouch, she dug in.

Never had roasted agave root tasted so good. It warmed her and made for a filling meal. Afterward, however, aches felt more pronounced, sore muscles made moving painful, and her eyes would not stay open. She made her way to the rough bed and was asleep within minutes.

Below, two Pesani girls walked slowly along a hallway in Bataan-Mok. One, a little shorter than the other, was making quick gestures as they talked. Renata knew who they were: It was Polandra and herself.

As other members of the Order passed by, Polandra said, “Why was she even reported? I’ve asked many people, and they have nothing more to add about her actions. All she did was talk about what she heard that villager say. And his story was very scary. The thing that killed his wife and son was
not
a dragon. Many saw its body. The way he described the thing . . . it has to be evil. A creature like no one has ever seen before.”

Renata’s heart sank. She knew what was going to happen, what path would be taken. She watched herself whisper the damning response.

“
I
reported her to the Nesch. But not because she was repeating the man’s story. No. She was saying that she thought those creatures must be what Yrdra created instead of dragons. A direct contradiction of the First Principle.”

Polandra drew her breath in sharply. Narrowing her eyes, she said, “I should have
known
it was you! This past year you’ve become manipulative and scheming and . . . and mean. But
this
? Do you know what will happen to her? Do you even care?”

People were slowing, staring, as they walked by.

Again the fierce tug, irresistible, pulled Renata to her younger self. With the same inevitability as her slamming into the outcrop, she flew toward, collided with, and sank into the girl she once was. Vision, sound, and emotion clashed and rebounded.

Suddenly dizzy, Renata stopped walking, hoping for it to pass.

Polandra stopped as well, staring. Face distorted with anger, she said, “Of course you don’t! You only care about your standing, your position. But you know what?” She looked at Renata’s chest. “You’ll be
done
when you start to show. Or maybe,” she continued, glancing down at Renata’s crotch, “maybe you’ll go dark first. After all,” her gaze locked with Renata’s, “you’re close to twelve now, right? I’ll be keeping a very close eye on you, especially in the baths. Your time will be over soon.”

“How dare you,” Renata hissed, face warm. Despite the uniform, she felt completely naked. That hadn’t happened in years. “I am Pesan to the Nesch! Of all the Pesani, only one stands higher than me, and it is not you.” She narrowed her eyes. “I am going to make you pay for this. You’ll be sorry you ever confronted me in public.”

“Do what you want,” Polandra said, anger still shining in her eyes. “I don’t care. Once your change comes, you’ll be sent down, a lowly Crusan. I will be beyond happy knowing you’ll actually be doing work, hard work. And your so-called friends, who are just as hurtful, won’t bother to help you.”

She turned and stalked down the hallway, bare feet stomping across the polished stone floor.

Staring after Polandra, Renata thought, I
will
make you pay. And dearly. No one confronts me like that! And in the open halls?

She glanced around, but people had moved on, and there were no other Pesani nearby. Fuming, she spun on her heel and, in a deliberately casual manner, headed off to her room.

What made Renata even more angry was that one moth ago she
had
gone dark. She’d been checking for over a year, looking for signs of the change with dread. And that night, the first, barely noticeable sign was found. Her hair had come first, surprisingly. Which, in a way, was good, as it gave her more time. But even though there wasn’t much of it yet, the loincloth would cover the scant trace, it was enough to condemn her in the communal bathing room used by all Pesani. So the night of her body’s betrayal, she stole a razor and a bar of soap and kept them hidden in her tiny room. And now, every morning, she very carefully shaved below before heading off to the bathing room. Her deception was working so far. It was like trying to hold back sand with a fence of sticks, though.

Damn Polandra. And damn my own body!

The horrible girl was right. Renata could keep shaving her crotch, but there would be no way to hide the other changes in her body when they happened. She was actually late, compared to most girls. The changes
would
come, however, and with them, the end of her time as Pesan. It infuriated her.

From within came a tiny thought. No! This is not who I want to be. This is not who I am!

Vision swimming, she placed her hand to her head.

Polandra is right. Those I assumed were my friends will abandon me,
did
abandon me.

She slowed and stopped.

I made Polandra pay, too. I humiliated her in front of everyone. It was terrible. I was terrible. How did I let myself become this person? Maybe . . . maybe I can fix it, at least here, in this place.

She turned to go to Polandra, to apologize.

Her vision tumbled and twirled. Everything spun, twisted, and rewove.

Renata almost missed the last steps down to the archive floor, rattling the two pewter cups on the tray she carried. If she wasn’t careful, the water could spill and soak their dinner.

For some reason, others disliked the task of taking Isandath his dinner. Not her. She delighted in his stories and the conversations they had about the Order, philosophy, and happenings around the villages. It reminded her a little of the talks her mother and father used to have during and after dinner.

As she passed a large mirror in the hallway, the reflection distracted her. She stared at herself in the eight-foot-tall looking glass. Her raven hair—even after three years it still felt odd to have hair again—was shiny and clean, but as was the custom for her position, did not reach her shoulders. There was no jewelry, no makeup or ornamentation of any kind. Crusani were not meant to be noticed. The uniform, too, was unremarkable: leather sandals and loose dun-colored pants and tunic.

It had taken a long time to let go of her anger, to get over the sense of loss at being sent down. It hadn’t been easy. Several Pesani, including former ‘friends,’ had taken pleasure in tormenting her when they could. And if those annoyances weren’t enough, she then crossed paths with Polandra.

Renata had been busy cleaning a suite of rooms, when the girl walked in on her. With hard eyes and a soft smile, Polandra ordered Renata to take off all her clothes. As a Crusan, Renata could not refuse. She finished cleaning the rooms wearing nothing but a grim expression. Polandra must have told other Pesani, because Renata lost count of how many rooms she had to clean that way. It had taken months before they tired of it all.

Things were looking up, however. She recently completed testing and performed well enough in magic to be allowed into the Manisi. Preliminary magic training had already started, and in a week, when her time as a Crusan was over, she would begin full training as a Manis, a fighter for the Order.