Tide | Tide Book One (Free Sample)

Two

Maybe it wasn't. The tightness in my chest wouldn't let me go until I knew.

"I can't tell her," Tobin said. I could almost see the firm shake of his head. There was defiance in his tone. "It will break her heart, you know that."

"It breaks my heart, but it's the best thing. Horses are expensive, Tobin, and Inka won't work. Not since your mother..." He trailed off, and I closed my eyes. I didn't need to hear the rest of that sentence, and neither did Tobin.

Horses are expensive, and Inka won't work.

Inka hadn't pulled a plow or cart since our mother died. She let us ride her sometimes, but when she did, she was temperamental about it. She had been my mother's horse through and through, we all knew it.

"Yes, but sell her? She was Mama's. She loved that horse. Hania loves that horse."

"When winter comes it may be between keeping Inka fed or you and Hania fed. They said it will be a bitter winter this year, and these storms are already beginning to spell danger for the crops."

"And who will you sell her to?"

"The best home I can. I don't want her to go, either, but I think we need to do this. She's a fine horse; I'm sure if I take her to the next town somebody will be interested."

"And you expect me to tell Hania?"

Papa's voice softened, gentler. "I thought she might be less upset to hear it from you. You two have always had a way with each other."

My hands were shaking, curled into fists around the laundry. I forced myself to open them and the clothes dropped to the floor in a haphazard pile, where they would only get dirty again, but I didn't care. I stepped through the doorway to face my father and brother. Papa looked up when I did, startled, but Tobin kept his gaze fixed on the floor, fingers laced through his hair.

"Hania," Papa sighed without moving.

I looked between the two of them for such a long moment it felt like my voice had left me. The worry that had crept into my chest and throat was gone, replaced by stinging shock and betrayal. "You're going to sell Inka?" I asked them, and even to me my voice sounded flat and far away.

Inka. Mama's beloved horse, my beloved horse. The last piece of my mother remaining on this farm but for an old portrait Papa kept shut away in the closet. We had sold her things to get by the first winter after she had died, but Inka had been safe. I hadn't wanted to let anybody else near her. For three years I had believed they understood what she'd been to Mama, that they felt the same pain at the thought of her being anywhere else. But no.

They exchanged a look, deciding how to respond, and then Papa started, "Not just yet, Hania, but if we have to—"

"We don't have to! We can get by, we always get by!"

He stood, watching me like a spooked animal. Cautious and gentle. He took both of my hands in his and met my eyes before he spoke. I knew he was trying to be kind, but I bristled. "In this life sometimes sacrifices have to be made. We aren't doing anything until we need to."

I yanked away. "Find something else to sacrifice, then!"

I saw his response in his face—what else was there? A piece of our land? The clothes on our backs?—but I also knew that he saw in mine that I didn't care. There was something we could do. There was always something. Inka wasn't going anywhere. I'd fight for her, even if they'd given up. He didn't speak and I looked to Tobin, who cut his gaze away.

He wasn't going to side with me. My heart pounded in my ears, my stomach dropped to the ground, and without letting myself think, I turned and walked out the door. The house was too small, too close, and I wanted to get away. I wanted the open air of the pastures and fields, the sun on my face. My feet led me as if they had a mind of their own. I heard Tobin call my name but ignored him.

"Hania! Hania!" He reached me halfway to the fields where the horses grazed, catching my arm. "Hania, stop!"

I pulled away and turned to face him, but for an instant my voice wouldn't work. My throat closed. "Don't, Tobin."

"I'm sorry. I love Inka, we all do, but if we have to do it, we have to. It's not even set in stone yet."

"But you're willing to!" I shouted. A bird took off from us, startled. "You don't even care that she wanted her to stay here! You don't care that I need her here!"

"Of course I care!" His voice rose to meet mine, but he caught it better than me, taking a deep breath and lowering it. "You're not the only one who lost your mother, Hania."

"But I'm the only one keeping her from disappearing!"

"It's been three years. She's gone. We're not. And she would want us to keep the farm alive, to take care of ourselves."

"She'd want us to take care of everybody relying on us. That means Inka. All of them. She loved the animals more than anything, and she told me to take care of them if she ever couldn't, and you know that." I knew she'd never meant so soon, I knew she'd meant when I was grown and with my own family, but nevertheless, she couldn't care for them anymore. I'd made a promise. The details didn't matter.

"There are people in the village relying on us, too."

"So find another way! We'll hunt more to sell, or...or..."

"What if there isn't another way?" he demanded. "What if we lose our crops? What if there's not enough to hunt? What if we run out of money? What will we do then?" I didn't have an answer for him. My tongue turned bitter at the realization, and I stared at him, searching for something. Anything. "Would you rather have Inka cared for somewhere else or starving here?"

"I made her a promise," I said, my voice was quiet and meek. "Both of them, Mama and Inka."

"Mama isn't here and Inka doesn't understand your promises! She's a horse!"

Tears pushed at my eyes, aching to get out. I turned away before Tobin could see them. I wanted to say something scathing, something that would cut through him like that had cut through me, but there were no words in me. There was only a fear that squeezed my heart and made every breath I took feel too thin. A shaking kind of emptiness. So I kept walking.

He didn't try to stop me.

I passed the fields without seeing them. Our crops swayed in the breeze, the air smelled of wildflowers and earth and summer rain, Kotar sunbathed in his favorite spot, all was as it had been less than an hour ago. But it felt much colder now.

I stopped when the sound of the tide reached me. The ocean glittered under the sun like it was made of crystal, rolling in and out from the beach in a hypnotizing rhythm. The sand was smooth, and even without taking another step closer I could feel the velvety warmth of it beneath my bare feet. The rocks scattered about the shore jutted here and there, some sleek and polished and others jagged. Some of the larger ones rose out of the water, and I closed my eyes, remembering the times Tobin and I had climbed them or jumped between them as children. The beach was a painfully beautiful sight, a second home once upon a time.

When I opened my eyes, though, the storm clouds were creeping closer and blotting out the sun. My mind supplied the rest in pure, excruciating detail: the rain battering the beach, the waves reaching higher and higher, crashing to the ground with an echoing force. The sand and air freezing around me as I stood dripping wet and shivering, eyes glued to the ocean. My mother's hoarse shout, that I'd never deciphered the words to, burst out of her and was whipped away by the wind just before a fresh wave pushed her out of view. Tobin hauling himself out of the water, coughing. Papa about falling in his hurry over the wet rocks across the beach, racing to the water's edge. Too late.

The sky opened up above me and the rain began. I let it hit my bare skin, stinging. I didn't move to find shelter. I stood and stared at the ocean as it grew darker, like it planned to lash out at the sky.

I didn't go near the water. Whether it had been storming or not I wouldn't have. But the waves were like a song, whispering of something missing from this place. From our farm, our village, me. Each movement punctuated it, stabbing through me. I wanted for it to end.

Love, anger, fear, grief—they swirled in me like the winds of the storm swirled with the water and the water with the rocks. I couldn't keep them apart, and I knew they made for a dangerous combination. But this was what I had been left with. This was what I had. And there was nothing more I could do about it.