Alon’s mother, Dalisay Inanialon, the true Lakan of Aynila, was alive.
When Hilaga had turned in her sleep four years after Lunurin came to Aynila, the earthquake leveled every stone building within the Palisade and toppled one of the church’s belltowers. After the quake, Alon’s mother had tried to pull in a tsunami.
She’d nearly accomplished the vengeance the old gods demanded. Was it not a just repayment for the Codicíans burning the vast complex of temples and training halls on Aynila’s central delta? The Codicíans’ cruelty that day had been beyond belief—so few gods-blessed had the strength to do more than guide small watercraft.
But Alon’s mother had failed. The Codicíans rebuilt, more entrenched. They’d handed her in chains to her husband, who’d announced she’d bled to death days later. The very next Sunday, he was publicly baptized at Mass and exiled his eldest son, Jeian, who wouldn’t repudiate his own tide-touched bayok wife.
Lunurin had feared Alon would lose himself to the grief. They’d grown much closer after he lost his mother and became his father’s liaison to the Palisade. They’d both needed someone to lean on.
Lunurin half turned to him. The moonlight gleamed blue off the sleek blackness of his hair. On the water, he was at ease and utterly in command of their bangka, even as she drew down and then released a mist to conceal them as they slipped through the single gap remaining in the Puente de Hilaga.
Its completion would make living free from the Palisade’s control impossible. Without a single additional soldier, the Codicíans would have the lifeblood of Aynila in a stranglehold. Lunurin’s afterhours activities would become much more dangerous.
But for now, Alon’s power kept their double outrigger canoe cradled by favorable currents. He didn’t need sightlines to guide them. He was all sharp angles, from the square cut of his jaw to cheekbones so sharp that in the hazy moonlight, his cheeks seemed hollowed. When had the last of boyhood melted from his features? No, that wasn’t right. It had been scraped away against the black teeth of the Palisade. They’d grown up hard, but Alon at least hadn’t grown twisted as she had, like a sapling starved of light. He had, somehow, held on to his gentleness, even when it cost him. Lunurin had lost that somewhere along the way.
He caught her gaze and smiled, the years and severity melting away until he was once more a boy of thirteen in her memory. He’d been so unexpectedly gentle when she was in the process of losing everything she’d ever known. Leaving Calilan, she’d been half suffocating under the unfamiliar weight of her dugong bone amulet as just out of sight, Calilan’s Stormfleet burned, perfuming the air with smoke like some terrible ritual sacrifice.
She sometimes wondered why he did not hate her for naming him to Aman Sinaya. Her role in his magic, injury, and the host of casualties on his brother’s ship still plagued her. She’d never dared ask him if the trade was worth all the sorrow and heartache that followed.
It hadn’t even saved her from ending up right where the goddess wanted her, in Aynila.
“This time of year isn’t the same without a proper wet season festival to look forward to,” she said. “The Festival of Our Lady María of the Drowned happens at the same time, but…”
“I’ve never seen a wet season festival sung in the old way.” Alon’s voice was wistful and low, not carrying to the prow of the boat where Inez and Catalina lay sleeping.
Lunurin pulled a thread of breeze into a cocoon that would keep their words between them, as they left the Saliwain delta and the shadow of the Palisade for the bay’s open waters.
“Why?” Lunurin asked. “The healing school didn’t burn until you were what, ten?”
“But the Codicíans had a trading presence, and no liking for anything that smelled of witchery. My inay decided it was best if my father and I remained separate from what she and my kuya did. If she hadn’t, I probably would’ve ended up exiled like Jeian. I can’t fault her decision. Especially after…” He trailed off, and Lunurin knew he could smell the smoke of tide-touched pyres the way she did the shattering of the Stormfleet.
“Do you ever see him?”
“When his trading brings him past Lusong, we find ways. Though not as often as I’d like.” Alon shrugged. “Will you tell me about the festival on Calilan? What was your favorite part?”
Lunurin’s heart ached for him. She’d had to bind her power after the incident, but at least her family had never held her away from being a part of the community.
“When the stormcallers sing in the ambon, a sun shower, so the goddess of storms can see her people. While the goddess watches, the katalonan of all three orders will anoint the Datu of the island in rainwater, seawater, and ash, renewing their blessing to rule for another year. It is an auspicious time for agreements and treaties to be sealed with the goddesses’ approval. Then the children old enough to be named will dive for the oysters that become their mutya,” she said.
“I’d like to see that one day.”
Lunurin tapped her chin. “She made a political decision, keeping you away from her magic. My mother made one like it. When my father discovered she was pregnant, he offered to give up his God and marry her. My mother refused him. She couldn’t risk putting a Codicían priest that close to chieftainship of the island.”
Alon cocked his head. “Does he know you are his? He doesn’t act like it.”
A short bitter laugh leaped to her lips. “He won’t acknowledge it, but he knows. Abbess Magdalena knows. She includes messages to my mother when I write home. I sometimes think she insists on my staying in the convent as a reminder to him of his past sins, no matter how high he climbs in the eyes of the Church. But I will never be Codicían enough for him to acknowledge.”
Alon nodded, pensive. “Family can be complicated. What would you be doing now to prepare for the festival?”
Lunurin was relieved to leave the subject of her father behind. “Tending Calilan’s oyster beds, removing all the biggest diving dangers, and keeping kids away, to prevent accidental namings.”
“Like you?” Alon asked with a grin.
“Like me,” Lunurin acknowledged. “Maybe I’d put money down in my tiyas’ yearly betting pool on if more children would be chosen tide-touched, stormcaller, or firetender.”
Alon laughed. “What kept them from rigging the odds? I’ve seen you create some very uniquely shaped pearls based on the seed you start them from.”
“Finding a natural pearl marks one as gods-blessed. The pearls I make don’t convey any blessings at all.”
Alon leaned forward suddenly, pointing with his chin over her shoulder. “There, can you see the smoke?” His voice was warm in her ear as she looked, seeking out smoke in the moonlight against the dark bulk of Hilaga. “On the seaward side of the volcano, where the lava flows, just there.”
She glanced at him, and his warm gaze caught her in the chest, nagging her with guilt. She relied on him so heavily. What did he get in return, except a share in her problems?
“I see it.”
“There is a hidden village in the jungle. Small eruptions conceal the smoke of their cook fires, and it’s impossible to approach from the seaward side unless you craft your own currents.”
They slipped into the shadow of the volcano, guided effortlessly around outcrops of black lava rock that would have shredded the hull of any ship with a deeper draft than theirs and eaten oars like toothpicks. Alon instructed Lunurin to pull her oar from the water. They let the current carry them. Lunurin hadn’t known it would be so close.
“What will happen when the Puente de Hilaga is completed?”
“We have smugglers’ routes to the harbor.”
“And the village?”
“There are plans. Hilaga has a dozen hidden valleys, only accessible via the old lava tube caves.”
“The volcano has been so active, is that safe?”
“Safer than being caught. They can’t leave. In a storm surge, it takes at least twelve trained tide-touched to protect the harbor. We have a duty to Aynila.” Alon paused. “I’m relieved you know now. My mother will be glad to see you.”
“Her safety is important. Thank you for trusting me now, and for helping with…”
“I’ve always trusted you, and you can always come to me.”
Lunurin didn’t know what to say to such wholehearted generosity, so she said nothing.
Alon guided them in past the jagged teeth of the volcano and finally to a black sand beach almost too narrow to pull the bangka onto.
Once Lunurin and Alon had dragged the craft onto the sand, Lunurin bent to Catalina and Inez, sound asleep in the prow. She urged them to their feet, and they followed Alon across the uneven black surface of the lava flow. The ground shivered under her feet. Lunurin hoped somewhere in the metalworkers’ conclave there were trained firetenders soothing Hilaga back to sleep.
As they stepped into the jungle, which grew thick and green out of rich volcanic soil, a grey-haired woman armed with a wickedly barbed fishing spear appeared from the foliage, blocking their way.
Alon bowed. “Pasamba, I bring a patient in dire need of my mother’s expertise.”
A smile creased Pasamba’s face. “Gat Alon. I recognized you tugging on the currents and the draft of your bangka. The Dayang will be pleased you came.”
Then they were in the heart of a small fishing village. Lunurin blinked. She could have been in any of the fishing villages of Calilan. Her heart twisted, nostalgic for the place of her birth and terribly ashamed of the peril she’d placed her people in. It had seemed such a simple thing, letting down her hair.
Alon ascended the steps of the largest nipa hut at the center of the village and knocked.
The door opened. An older Aynilan woman with Alon’s exact smile and sculpted cheekbones gave a wordless exclamation of joy, dragging him into her arms.
Dayang Dalisay Inanialon pressed her face to each side of her son’s, sniffing his cheeks thoroughly, before she stepped back, greeting him in rapid hand sign. “My son, what brings you at this hour?”
Alon’s mother had no tongue. When the Codicíans captured her, they’d cut it out, silencing her prayer and collapsing her tsunami. Her mutya, a beautiful mother-of-pearl necklace modeled after the full moon hung in two parts, shattered, the partly smashed pearl cradled in a gold cage to hold the brittle remainder safe.
Without her tongue, she could never again sing the prayers that could command great waves to Aman Sinaya’s ear. Luckily, unlike calling the ocean, healing did not require voice.
“Inay, I have a complicated case. I can’t help her alone,” Alon replied.
Rapid explanations were made and Dayang Dalisay took Inez in hand.
Lunurin and Catalina settled to wait while the healers took Inez behind a screen.
Eventually, Alon called out. “Lunurin, could you come here? My mother would like to show you something.”
Catalina shot her a nervous look. Lunurin patted Cat’s hand, then went, not entirely sure why. Stormcallers did not heal.
Behind the screen, Inez floated in a large tub of saltwater.
Alon’s mother took Lunurin’s hands, inspecting them.
“Do you understand trader sign?” Dalisay signed.
“Yes,” Lunurin responded. “Though it’s been some time.”
The rapid motions of Dalisay’s hands slowed. “Alon can translate if you need. Can you call lightning? I know some stormcallers can’t, but even a small amount will do.”
Lunurin nodded. “Yes, but why? Stormcallers on Calilan never helped with healing.”
Dalisay signed, “Calilan is still rich in magic. None of your tide-touched healers must work alone. In Aynila, there hasn’t been a stormcaller chosen for more than a generation. When I was a girl, Aynila’s last stormcaller still worked in the healing school. She used lightning not to heal, but to affect the body. You will see. You will help us.”
“Show me,” Lunurin said. Could there be some way to use the power in her blood that wasn’t storms, and regret?
Alon’s mother guided Lunurin’s hands to Inez’s back. Lunurin gave Inez a reassuring smile and waited for further instructions.
Dalisay’s hands flashed complicated signs Lunurin had never been taught, though she caught “storm,” “grasping,” and “holding.”
She shook her head. “Forgive me, I don’t—” She looked to Alon whose brow was also furrowed.
He and his mother had a rapid discussion in sign. It impressed Lunurin how at ease Alon was speaking to his mother this way. He signed left-hand dominant to account for his old injury.
Alon tried to explain. “My mother says you must find the lightning that runs down her spine. Where your hands are you must create a loop, so the storm of her mind cannot detect anything below your hands. You must take great care with this technique. You cannot let the lightning arc into her body and interfere with her heart.”
Alon’s mother held up a pin and lifted Inez’s foot from the water. Lunurin hoped her skepticism wasn’t evident. Alon shrugged helplessly.
Bracing herself, Lunurin focused on Inez. “Alright. This may sting.”
Inez had been doused with a calming brew. She floated, eyes half-lidded, her face serene.
She patted Lunurin’s cheek. “I don’t care how much it hurts. Just promise you’ll get it out.” She bit her lip. “Don’t tell Catalina… tell her it was already dead.”
A hard aching lump formed in Lunurin’s throat. She nodded.
Alon dropped his mouth to her ear. “There will be no pain. My mother is concentrating the sedative in the fetus’s blood. Soon she’ll stop the flow of blood between them. It will be stillborn. While you hold her, my mother will deliver it. I’m here to stop the bleeding when the afterbirth separates.”
Numbly, Lunurin nodded. She focused, trying to find the storm Alon’s mother claimed was in Inez. But there was nothing save the lapping of the cool saltwater on her arms and Inez’s warm breath against her neck.
“Healing isn’t reaching for the tide coming in, it’s like becoming the wave on the shore,” Alon said in a low voice.
Everything a stormcaller did was huge and external, winds and rain far outside of the body. Lunurin made her focus smaller, within the room, and smaller yet, within the circle of her arms. She gave herself to the storm in the girl.
And then Lunurin wasn’t trying to call phantom body lightning to herself. She sank into Inez’s flesh, and there it was, a river of lightning running down Inez’s spine and branching through her body. Inez’s heart was a thunderhead pulsing with lightning and the lub-dub of thunder rolling through her blood. Lunurin focused on the column of lightning that lay between her hands. She plucked at the threads until they didn’t branch and lay instead like a rope in her palm. She folded the rope back on itself, a closed loop.
Lunurin opened her eyes, holding her concentration through gritted teeth. “T-try now.”
Dalisay stuck Inez’s toe with her pin. Inez didn’t make a sound.
Alon leaned over Lunurin to peer at Inez. “Could you feel that?”
“Mmm, no. Lunurin’s hands tingle.”
“I can’t ask for better than that,” he said.
The healers went to work in earnest.
Lunurin tuned them out, convincing the column of lightning she held to lie still. She slipped up once. Threads of lightning spread. Lunurin wrenched them back into her hand. Inez cried out, as the rhythm of her heart stuttered. Alon pressed a hand over Inez’s chest, calming the rushing tide of her blood.
Dalisay signed, “You must take great care. The body’s storm is still lightning.”
Soon Inez floated in a pool more blood than water. Worse, both Alon and Dalisay were quietly, professionally frantic.
Alon’s mother pulled a small bloody form from between the girl’s legs and lowered it into a basin at the end of the tub. Alon kept his hands on either side of Inez’s belly, his breathing deep and slow as he tried to stem the bleeding.
Dalisay came and took Lunurin’s right hand from Inez’s back, pressing it to the top of her abdomen between Alon’s large hands.
She signed, “Call lightning, a small seed…” and a long series of other instructions Lunurin couldn’t follow.
Through gritted teeth, Alon interpreted. “Call true lightning, the smallest seed. Find the places where Inez is losing the most blood. Cauterize the wound. The afterbirth detached badly.”
Lunurin shook her head and tried to pull away. “No, I can’t. I’ll burn the hut down. I could kill her,” she protested. “Catalina would never forgive me.”
“She’s dying,” Alon admitted. “Lunurin, I can’t—” His voice broke. “I’m just barely keeping her from bleeding out. She’s not clotting like she should. If I lift my hands, she dies.”
Alon’s mother knelt opposite Alon. She wrapped her hands around his wrists, joining his silent war with the tide of Inez’s blood, holding it back. But even two tide-touched couldn’t hold back the sea forever.
Lunurin called lightning, her usual command a fearful whisper.
But lightning came. Like a swarm of fireflies twirled up out of the air, they lit on the tips of her fingers. Lunurin lowered her hand onto Inez’s belly.
She reached for where Alon and his mother’s magic gathered most thickly, urging the little fireflies of lightning to land and flit back to her fingertips before they burned too deep. Maybe she could do this. Maybe everything would be okay.
Lunurin heard a hiss and froze. Had she lost her grip on Inez’s spine? Done permanent damage? She dragged the real lightning into the air, away from Inez.
“Don’t stop,” Alon ground out. “It’s working.”
Lunurin stared at him, trying to understand what she’d done wrong.
Then, Catalina walked around the screen. She saw them all bent over her sister, Inez floating in a tub of blood, and the poor red mess in the bowl.
Before Lunurin could come up with something to say that would make this all look less awful, Catalina screamed, made the sign of the cross, and fainted.