Wild Tides: White Stone, #3

By M. B. Robbins

I am finally, finally, finally going home.

Kalima has been running for weeks. She's seen her family and friends fight and die to keep her out of the hands of the people who would see her dead, and she can't keep going on as she has been. She is determined to get back to the white stone palace before anyone else gets hurt because of her.

But her Hyte friends are not about to let her wander off without them. She won't be talked out of returning to the river, but she's not going alone.

Wild Tides by M. B. Robbins is the final book in the White Stone trilogy. If you've enjoyed the adventures of Kalima and her friends thusfar, you won't want to miss the conclusion of her story. Pick up your copy today!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Chestnut Bay Books
• Release date: Mar 1, 2019
• ISBN: 9781386966609

M. B. Robbins

It was her second grade teacher who first put the word "writer" in front of her name, and since then, M. B. Robbins has been working to make that label true. By day, she chases dogs and cleans kennels in rural Pennsylvania; by night, she likes to tell the stories of the voices in her head. She lives in DuBois, PA, with her cats, who are all named after tropical fruits. You can find her online at www.mbrobbins.com, like her on Facebook at www.facebook.com/mbrobbinsbooks, or Tweet her at @emmbeerobbins.

Book preview

A Decision

Serq jolted awake like something had stabbed her in her sleep. It was still dark—not the black of middle-night, but not yet dawn. The central fire was low, too burnt out for warmth and light to reach into the wagon where she lay. Max snored from his blanket.

There was a hand on her shoulder.

She sat up, dragging the blanket with her. Her hair was falling out of its braid, strands falling kinked and crooked over her face. She brushed them back but didn’t bother rebraiding her hair. Her fingers were cold; she stuffed her hands under her arms and tried to calm the shivering in her stomach.

It took a moment for her to blink her thoughts clear enough to see the shape at the wagon entrance.

Anix put a finger to her lips and motioned for Serq to follow her toward the fire. Serq slid out of the wagon, quietly—she didn’t need Max breathing down her neck, wondering why she was awake before dawn, demanding to know what was wrong and deciding how to handle it before even hearing what was wrong.

Anix? She kept her voice low; whatever Anix wanted, she obviously didn’t want to wake the entire camp for it. What’s wrong?

Anix was quiet for a moment, poking a few embers into the heart of the fire, then turned back to her with a frown. It’s Kalima.

The rest of her went as cold as her fingers. What happened?

She was acting strange, and now she’s not in the camp anymore.

No. She wasn’t sure she said the word out loud, if she did more than think it. She spun around and hurried for Ket’s wagon, parked on the other side of the fire.

The glow from the embers still shone behind her eyes as she peered into Ket’s wagon, and she had to blink a few times to make the shapes in the dark make sense. Jars and bottles, still in their half-chaotic disarray from the mad digging Kalima had done looking for poppi syrup and ladycoat to treat Ket’s injuries. The ribbons and bandages—that is, the things Serq had some familiarity with and so was comfortable trying to clean up—were in better order, wound neatly and stacked so they could be reached.

But Kalima wasn’t there. The blanket she slept on was ruffled as though she had laid down, but she wasn’t on it.

Serq scanned the camp, but it was pointless. Only Anix and the guards were up, and if Kalima was somewhere else in the camp, Anix would know it.

Oh, no. These words she did say out loud—Serq felt them vibrate against her throat, echo inside her head.

Anix was beside her now. You think those people in the green got her?

Serq shook her head. It wasn’t the men in green she was worried about—the last one alive wasn’t going to be snooping around the camp anytime soon. It was worse than that, far worse.

Kalima was trying to get back to the river.

She had been threatening to turn herself in to the green-shirted men, had been trying for two days to convince the camp they should take her back and claim the price on her head, and now she was gone. Of course she was headed back to the Hibany.

Serq rushed over to her own wagon. The thought of waking Max annoyed her, but now wasn’t the time to be selfish. Max would know what to do. He always knew what to do.

He groaned and opened one eye when she shook him awake. What? he demanded, his voice creaky with sleep.

Kalima left.

He rolled onto his other side, showing her his back. Good, he mumbled into his blanket.

She felt herself flushing with anger—anger at him for his dismissal, anger at Kalima for going behind her back, and, most of all, anger at herself for being so reliant on Max. She stood up sharply, making the wagon lurch under the shift in weight. It’s not good. She’ll die out there on her own. If mutts don’t get her, thirst and starvation will. She grabbed her head wrap, knife, and their biggest water skin, and jumped back out.

Max was there two heartbeats later. What are you doing? He grabbed her elbow and tried to pull her to a stop.

She ignored him and wrapped up her hair as she walked.

He whipped around so he was facing her. She stopped, too, rather than knock her nose against his chest. Serq, what are you doing? he repeated. His voice had lost the creaky half-asleep sound and gone back to his regular sharpness.

I’m going after her, she said.

Max opened his mouth, but nothing came out, and for one single glorious moment, she realized she’d shocked him into speechlessness.

The moment didn’t last. No. His jaw tightened into a scowl even as the word came out.

She crossed her arm and didn’t flinch. I wasn’t asking permission.

You’re not leaving this camp.

You can’t stop me.

He pulled the knife from his belt and squeezed it tight enough to push the blood from his knuckles. Oh yes I can.

She lifted one eyebrow in the expression she knew he hated most—probably because it was his own favorite way to mock her. Are you threatening to kill me?

Don’t be stupid.

Just as soon as you stop being stubborn.

He groaned and shoved the knife back into his belt. Look, I know you’re fond of her, he said, his voice a shade calmer than before. But if she’d rather get eaten by mutts, what’s it to us?

She’s not going to get eaten by mutts.

He lifted an eyebrow at her. Wandering desert devils, but she hated that expression.

Because I’m going after her, and I’ll bring her back.

No, you’re not.

Yes. I am.

She pushed past him toward the edge of camp; he caught her arm and pulled her around to face him. You’re not leaving, he said, his voice quiet.

She yanked her arm out of his grip. I’m sorry, Max, she said, her voice equally quiet. But you’re not the one making the decision this time.

Chapter 1

Ishove myself back onto my feet. The cold has finally caught up to me, and it sinks through my skin and raises little bumps on my arms. I shouldn’t have sat down at all—the movement has kept me warm through the icy dawn, and stopping has probably cost me several valuable minutes of whatever head start I have on anyone who might be following me.

I hope she won’t. I hope she’ll see this is what’s best for everyone. With me gone, the Hyte can get back to normal without me dragging my trouble into their lives again.

I shake my thoughts clear. Every other minute, I tell myself I can’t keep missing the Hyte, and every minute after that, I catch myself picturing a good fire at night, warm meals, friends to eat with.

Stop it. I say the words out loud, hoping hearing them with my ears will give them the force they don’t have otherwise. Looking back won’t get you home any faster.

Home. That’s what this is about. I let the word fill me, flooding my thoughts with the river lined with clumps of stubby grasses and thorny bushes and the village of mud-brick huts that had once been my entire world. The rain will be coming soon, and the bureel berries will ripen, which means jam. Mami and I always celebrate the start of the wet season with sweet leavened bread and the last of the previous season’s jam.

The imagining shifts, interrupting thoughts of Mami and sweet bread and jam with a flash of fire and stars and singing. Anix picks out the tune of the song on her yupper, and Hok beats on a handheld drum. To one side of the fire, Serq and Max dance, their long curved swords clashing against each other in time with the drum. Serq has taken off her head wrap, and her hair in its long, messy braid is as dark a mud against her light clothing.

Stop it! I say again, louder than before, and set my attention back on the dip in the mountains that marks the pass back into the desert. I put one foot in front of the other and keep my eyes on the pass.

Slowly, my muscles warm with motion, and the chill of night loosens in the heat of morning. The view is the same to both sides, flat ground covered in reedy yellowish grass, and the sharp peaks and valleys of mountains in front. I walk steadily for a long time, noticing time passing only because I can feel the changing angle of the suns. When the mostly-healed break in my right ankle starts to hurt more than I can ignore, I pause for a few minutes. I don’t eat or drink while walking—I have one large water skin and a handful of oneins to last me to the mountains, and I can’t finish them before even making it there—but when I sit down at midday, I let myself take two swallows of water and bite into an onein. My mouth stings with the flavor, but at least it’s green and will keep my teeth from falling out on the trip.

Though the nights are cold, the midday suns are blinding hot. I twist together some of the grass to make a bit of shade and lay down. I haven’t slept well since leaving Galveen, and my ears buzz along with the tired sounds of the insects in the grass. The heat is heavy, pressing hard on my body, and my eyelids slide shut.

I must’ve fallen asleep because the rustle of grass startles me awake. I ease the knife from my belt, being careful not to make any noise myself, and lay very still. Then, when the rustling is just above me, I jump up and jab my knife toward the sound.

A hand catches my wrist before the knife gets anywhere. Hey, don’t stab me.

I recognize the voice, the hand on my wrist, and though the initial burst of panic quiets, it’s replaced with another feeling, something hot and thick.

I yank my hand out of her grip. What are you doing here?

Serq takes a step toward me. Her mask is up, covering everything below the bridge of her nose. Her eyes are hard. I’ve come to bring you back.

I can’t hold her gaze for more than a second. My eyes fall to my bag, abandoned at my feet. The smell of onein cuts through the air. I’m not going.

More rustling. She’s right in front of me, the hems of her pants at the top of my vision, but I don’t look up. My stomach sloshes like water in a bucket.

Yes, you are.

No. I’m going home.

You can’t.

I have to.

No, you don’t.

I’m going home, I repeat, in as even a tone as I can manage.

I start to turn away from her, but she grabs my sleeve and stops me. You can’t go out there alone. You don’t know where you’re going.

Through the pass, then north to Kirkik.

Her voice goes hard again. And then?

I’ll figure it out. Someone in Kirkik must know how to get to the river.

And the first thing they’ll ask you is which river. Her every sound drips with scorn, and my face flushes. The anger gives me a little courage, and I can look her in the eyes again.

The Hibany, I snap back. I’m not stupid.

She crosses her arms. Her head wrap and mask cover everything but her eyes, but I think she might be lifting an eyebrow at me. You left camp in the middle of the night and thought you could cross the desert alone with nothing but a skin of water and a handful of oneins. If that doesn’t make you stupid, nothing will.

You can’t stop me.

She glares at me, then grabs my bag of supplies and marches off.

I rush after her and grab the bag, but she doesn’t let go. Give that back!

She ignores me.

Stop it! Give it back.

No.

I stop. She takes another few steps, but then stops, too, and turns to face me. We scowl at each other. The breeze tickles the tops of the grass around us, filling the silence with rustling like the sound of cloth against a marble floor.

After a moment, my shoulders sag a little, and hers do, too. I take a step toward her. Serq, please understand. I have to go.

You don’t. Her voice softens, matching my own change of tone. I know you’re upset, but what happened with Ket—it happened, and no one can change it. But it wasn’t your fault.

I look at her. The