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The rain was coming down hard.
Karmo could hear fat droplets splattering against the window. If he watched them long enough, they would separate into long streaks down the glass, chasing each other and racing to the window ledge. Whenever he snuck a glance at the world outside from his perch atop his bed, he would stare idly at the dismal grey clouds sweeping over the Euran coast. The occasional flash of something dangerous lit up his room in the Torch, and, as if beating in time with it, the restless energy underneath his skin began to pulse, itching him to move.
The strangest thing about storms, Karmo had noticed, was that when the air was hot and heavy with the threat of a sharp zap, the lightning storm trapped inside his own rib cage yearned to escape and join it.
His room was dark. He hadn’t lit a candle; hadn’t really felt a reason to. He liked the flickering purple-ish glow. He liked the rumble of the thunder in his veins.
He held a hand up above his face. Unlike some of the less fortunate Redcloaks, his hands had remained untouched by the strange animalistic transformations they’d all suffered. His reality was a different beast, though, and the lightning outside the window illuminated the silhouette of his fingers as if in agreement.
“Am I dangerous?” he’d once asked Shane, a long time ago now. It had been a rare moment of insecurity, spoken into the frigid air of the Place of Desolation, the farthest he’d ever been from home in measure of distance, but also familiarity. He’d never wanted to be a massive threat to anybody—he was actually rather diplomatic.
“Very,” Shane had responded with an almost humoured smile on his face. “But you’re loyal. I’m putting my trust in you.”
Karmo had stayed silent. He’d just nodded, and hadn’t protested when he’d eventually heard the quiet crunch of snow under boots as Shane trodded away wordlessly.
Looking back, he wished he’d said more. Spoken to his friend just a little longer. Told him how much his trust had actually meant to him.
Karmo had a lot of regrets, and that was a pretty big one.
A clap of thunder startled him out of his thoughts. He groaned quietly and slapped his hands over his face, rubbing his eyes vigorously for a moment or two. The storm was messing with his head. That fine balance in his body was screwed up. He needed to get up and do something.
Do what? came the pestering thought as he swung his legs over the side of the bed, rising with little grace. He stumbled over a loose floorboard and caught his balance on the nightstand. He’d been meaning to fix that, hadn’t he? He shook his head, clearing the slate.
He slipped into his shoes. The door creaked softly, almost curiously, as he departed on ghostlike feet. He drifted down the echoey corridor, subconsciously making note of each door and archway he passed by. This was the hall to the training room; that was the door to Howl’s. As he whisked by the common room, sandstone and dark oak blurring in his vision, he caught sight of a few stragglers huddled by the fireplace, seeking comfort away from the storm amongst golden light and fluffy fur blankets and velvety pillows that smelled like smoke.
Karmo knew on some level that his subconscious mind was pulling him towards the rugged outside world, but he didn’t make any effort to turn himself around. It was just him, the twisting halls of the Torch, the thunder in his ears, and then his personal favourite exit out of the tower—the unassuming wooden door under the main staircase. It was shut and bolted against the torrent of rain, but he didn’t have much trouble getting through it.
There were a couple of “emergency exits” scattered around, but this particular one opened right next to the stream that gently trickled down to the ocean waiting in the south, at the foot of their headquarters. Karmo found peace sitting by it and watching the water ripple and slither like a snake, but today, it reminded him more of a writhing dragon.
The raindrops seemed to sting his skin as they landed. Karmo shook them off with a slight wrinkle of his brow, then nearly laughed at his own audacity.
If he were at home in the driest part of Nilo, he would murmur his gratitude for the rain. He would turn his face to the sky, feel the drops on his cheek glide down his jaw. He would stand there for minutes at a time, letting the water wash away the dust and the sweat and the sorrows of the day, and he would stick his tongue out to taste it and that alone would be enough. He would feel satisfied. It was better than running, than punching sandbags, than the stuttering cry of the hamerkop. Someone would call his name from the safety of a hut, and Karmo would linger for a moment before jogging home again, the ground too damp to kick up dust.
He blinked emptily at the Euran coast. There was a certain chill in the air that the rain seemed to worsen. Devin said he’d catch a cold if he kept disregarding a jacket. Karmo said he was full of it.
He took in a deep breath, felt the air bite the inside of his lungs, then tilted his head back and shut his eyes. He wasn’t home, but he could pretend. Rainwater caught in his eyelashes, pattered against his lips. A great flash of lightning lit up the world behind his eyelids, followed by a thunderous boom that echoed in his chest and ricocheted all the way throughout his body.
An image flashed across his mind—there and then gone. The knowing dark eye of a bird, the soft brush of brown wings on his skin. Talons with the power to stun even the strongest man wrapping around his arm. The smell of sun-warmed, dust-coated feathers filling his nose, achingly familiar.
Karmo’s eyes fluttered open briefly.
Impundulu. Lightning bird. His bird.
He missed him sorely.
The hamerkop had been a funny sight. He’d had powers beyond Karmo’s comprehension at the time. And he’d saved his boy in a pinch more than once.
Sorry I couldn’t save you, too, Karmo thought emptily. He didn’t know if Impundulu’s mind had merged with his or if the bird had been lost forever, but he hoped he could hear the words nonetheless.
Despite his wishful thinking, there came no answer, just that familiar restlessness clawing at his fingertips. Karmo clenched and unclenched his fist, doubtful.
The sparks came easy to him when he was fighting. They flew when he threw a punch; answered his call when he needed to slow an opponent down. But, he’d never called on that power just because. He’d never looked for it outside of when he needed it.
Could he, though? Again—that phantom fluttering of wings against his back. The storm roared in encouragement above his head, much like a coach to their pupil.
Still, Karmo hesitated. The fire that had killed Ana and disfigured Tahlia hadn’t been natural. That had been power unchecked, wielded by a girl not much older than himself.
None of this is natural, Karmo found himself realizing, and it was almost funny. Who was he to debate the normalcy of anything when his best friends were part animal? When he himself had the thoughts and urges of a hamerkop? Maybe he’d sprout talons, or a beak, or wings. Then he really wouldn’t be “natural,” so there was no point in pondering it now.
Karmo held out a hand, palm up, and took a breath, then another. He tried to focus on that vibrating ball of energy trapped inside of him. It responded in kind, sending a shiver down his spine that he was certain wasn’t from the cold, and then shot to his hands in the form of sparking, sizzling, hot flashes of dancing purple-white light.
Karmo jumped, reeling back like a rider yanking the reins on an overzealous horse. The sparks flickered and died out, momentarily satiated.
He blew out a nervous laugh, shakily lowering his hand to his side again. He was uncomfortably aware of his clothes sticking to his skin, of water trying to drip into his eyes, of the sudden warm feeling in the air. He swallowed thickly.
“This village,” an Elder had crooned at him one day in the hottest part of summer, “has never had a Rain Dancer. Did you know that, Karmo?”
Karmo had merely glanced between the old woman’s wrinkled face and the cut on his knee she had insisted on applying ointment to. “No,” he’d answered awkwardly. “I don’t know what that is.”
“A bringer of rain. A good luck charm. The heart of every Niloan village,” she’d explained, her voice quiet and weary. “Except ours, of course.”
Karmo had frowned then, confused and perhaps even a little upset. “Why?” he’d inquired simply, foolishly.
She had shrugged her frail shoulders, the hint of a weak smile on her dry lips. “Who knows?” Her words were steady, but her bottom lip trembled. “Maybe you will be the first, Karmo.” Under her breath, she murmured, “Tellun knows we need it.”
If Karmo had never heard her mutter those words, would he still have elected to drink the Bile? Would he have still secretly lit a candle every night and wished on the flame for that beloved title—for that saviour’s ability?
He suddenly felt queasy and ill.
What would you consider me now? Karmo couldn’t help but wonder. Would he be considered the Rain Dancer they’d always wanted, or a monster of some sort?
Deliriously, he wondered if he should’ve worn a jacket like Devin had told him to. Maybe he should’ve had that second helping of stew Stead had offered him.
Get a grip , he angrily thought to himself.
“Karmo!” he heard someone shout from above. “Practice your magic tricks some other time! You’ll catch a sniffle.”
He looked up to his left just in time to see Talon leaning out a window hollering at him before a pale hand swatted her aside to close the shutters with a “move, it’s cold! ” and a “you’re getting water inside! ” pronounced with familiar irritation. It was nice that Devin trusted him to keep himself alive, at least.
Talon was right, though. It was time to go inside.
Karmo shuffled over the wet grass, unsure how to feel. Part of him felt giddy with the realization that he could call on the electricity that lived dormant under his skin at any time he wanted, but another part of him ached for the things he’d lost, for those things—and the people—he could never hold dear to him again. Part of him felt nostalgic for the impressionable, childish boy he’d been that he could never be again.
Karmo shoved open the oak door. It whined loudly, its hinges in serious need of some oil. He lingered on the threshold, though, and glanced back at the spot next to the gushing stream where he’d once been.
Something had changed in him at some point or another. Had it been the second he’d accepted the Bile from Zerif’s outstretched hand? Had it been when he’d stormed the lord’s garden and found out just how powerful the Great Beasts were? Had it been during those weeks he spent alone and cold in a prison cell in northern Eura?
Or maybe it was when he’d spent months fighting, thieving, trying to survive in the New Conquerors camp, waiting for a sign that he meant more than what he could do with his fists.
Perhaps the biggest change came just now, under a downpour on the southern coast of Eura, just outside the tower he was still trying to warm up to calling home.
You’ll catch a sniffle, he remembered, Talon’s voice echoing in his head.
He could worry about his past and his weird powers and his longing for Nilo later. First, he had to find a towel and stop dripping on the floor. Then, he would wrap himself in one of those fur blankets and curl up by the fire. It wasn’t a bad idea at all.
He shut the door, silencing the storm.