Between Tides Thunder(118)

Rocks scrape together nearby. It’s pitch black.

“Stand back, Mayah.” Tumaas’s muffled voice calls through the stone. Loud thuds, more scraping, and then he pulls free.

“Come on, love,” he says, climbing through the remains of his room, Mona’s arms slung around his neck. “I’ve got you.”

“Are you hurt?” I rasp, coughing through the dust coating my throat as I crawl closer. My knees and palms are shredded.

“I think my leg is broken.” Her voice is steady. A good sign.

My hands glow, the light glinting off the faint sheen of sweat coating Mona’s forehead. I set my palms to her leg, and swiftly heal the break.

“Better?”

She nods, breathless. “You’re awfully handy in a crisis, Mayah.”

I don’t respond. My stomach is twisted in knots.

“Did you see anyone else?” I ask Tumaas.

“No. I’m sorry,” is his soft reply.

My heart twists in my chest. No, no, no.

“Zev!” I shout into the crumbling darkness.

There’s no answer.

“ZEV!” Again and again, I call out his name.

“Enough, Mayah,” Tumaas says, his voice hoarse from the dust that’s likely invaded his lungs. “He might already be digging his way out. We need to do the same.”

I repeat his words in my mind, holding onto them like a promise as Tumaas digs out a path through broken stone.

I lose sense of how long it takes. Just a mindless loop of climbing, hefting, shoving. My hands are scraped raw, knees aching and bloody, every step sending pain lancing up my calves. When we stop at brief intervals to rest, I alternate healing myself, Mona, and Tumaas, but not extensively. I need to save my reserves—we don’t know what awaits us at the surface.

We finally emerge, atop a mountain of rubble, the camp sprawled below.

Or what remains of it.

It’s pure, utter chaos. We’re under attack.

Buildings leveled, screaming people, thick coils of smoke.

Roots clawing through the ground, electricity crackling in the air.

The stench of burned bodies.

The sky tears open. Rain pelts my face, turns pink as it mixes with the blood weeping from my open cuts.

I swivel my head, searching every horizon.

Thunder rumbles across the sky, but for once, I ignore it.

“Zev!” I shout, cupping my hands around my mouth. “ZEV!”

Tides, is he still under the rubble?

I don’t see him anywhere. Tides damn me, I don’t see him.

“We need to find Zev.” I don’t recognize my voice.

Tumaas’s face is grim as he exchanges a brief glance with Mona. “We need to find Sura,” he says gently. “And we need to defend the camp. He’ll make it out, Mayah. Maybe he already has. Please.”

I don’t have time to cry. I don’t have time to hope. Tides, he’s right. Zev is a strong, capable wielder. He doesn’t need me to save him.

Focus. Focus, Mayah.

Sura needs you. These people need you.

Tumaas and Mona climb down the mountain of stone. I spare one more glance around me, waiting for Zev’s hand to push through the stone.

“Mayah!” Tumaas shouts from below, and I startle. With a deep breath, I follow them.


“I need food,” I say at the bottom. My hands and feet are scraped raw, but I don’t waste my reserves.

“The armory is closer. We’ll hit that first. Then the kitchens, yeah?”

I nod. Mud squelches beneath our bare feet as we dart through the rain. Everywhere around us, people are running, taking cover, helping dig out leveled buildings. We turn a corner—an earthwielder stands wedged between two buildings, summoning thick roots through the splintering stone.

I don’t think. Just react.

Around me, everything blurs. But my arms are steady.

My hands rise into the air. Raindrops converge into a glistening spear, then freeze into lethal ice. With a wave of my hand, it plunges into his heart. A sickening squelch. He falls to the ground.

We keep going.

Lightning flashes across the sky. Tumaas’s gaze flicks to me, but for once I’m not afraid—I’m desperate.

Every boom of thunder, every bolt of lightning, gives me hope that maybe Zev is alive. Maybe that it’s his wrath raining down around us.

That, maybe, he’s searching for me, too.


Mayhem reigns at the armory.

Rebels scramble to grab weapons, shields, anything that might give them an advantage in battle. But the attackers seem to have deduced the armory is a prime spot to find converged rebels.

Through the sluicing rain, my eyes narrow on the glinting chestplate of one of the attackers—a tree with a lightning bolt cut through it.

Tides. The attackers are Arbinji soldiers.

They form a line, launching a concerted attack. Earthwielders tear mounds of dirt from the ground, catapulting it toward our heads. There’s one stormwielder among them. He raises both hands. A flash of lightning shoots down, incinerating two rebels toward the front of the throng.

I cage my yelp inside my chest and join the fighters while Tumaas and Mona rush into the armory. Another boom of thunder rumbles through the night air. My eyes alight on the stormwielder. I focus on the rainwater clinging to his body, coaxing it into his nostrils.