Under Earth

by Ellen Renner

  “I will try, but after today it will be more difficult to escape the guards.”

  “We will come to Talon’s house if necessary, though we cannot speak freely there. A five-day, at the same time, if you can! Take care, Storm. Be wary. I have a bad feeling in my bones.”

  “That’s just your rheumatism!” Foam attempted one of his jokes. But Storm noticed he looked as worried as his captain as he left with Lake.

  Storm watched them vanish into the dim, smoky light of the tavern. She sat, thinking, barely aware of the noise of the other customers, eating, drinking, joking, arguing.

  If there really was a Fire-witch on Bellum intent on killing her, then the sooner she left the island the better. But was she ready to return to her life as Yanlin’s Weather-witch, to life as a non-sex?

  She missed Thorn more than ever. Visiting Bellum Island had been his life’s dream. Instead of returning immediately to the tea shop, she would find a gift to lay at his grave in the cave of the Ancestors. Storm bowed her thanks to the proprietress and walked out into the heat, noise and bustle. She pushed the thought of a Fire-witch firmly from her mind. She was on a mission!

  Storm visited stall after stall, looking for something special enough for Thorn’s ghost. Something to give him pleasure in the afterlife. At last she found it in a small stall in a tiny square. The stallholder was an ancient woman, bent as a fishing hook, who carved toy boats from driftwood and painted them in unexpected colours. Thorn had been Chosen by Water and had loved sailing above all things. The moment Storm saw the boat, she knew.

  It was a twin-masted ship: a seagoing vessel that could be sailed single-handed if the sailor was skilled enough. Its sails were golden as the sun, made of fine linen and sewn with thread so delicate she could hardly see the stitches. The mast, keel and rudder were dark blue-grey, and the rest of the boat was painted in pale green, like a heron’s egg. Storm picked the toy up in a careful hand, saw the tiny cast-iron anchor lying on coiled rope, ready for use; marvelled at rope rigging so finely twined she could not see how human fingers could have made it.

  Storm held the boat out to the old woman, who was watching her, her head twisted up sideways because of her bent back. The woman’s eyes were as sharp as splinters.

  Storm bowed politely. “May I purchase this, please?”

  “You have not asked the price,” said the old woman.

  Storm’s heart sank. She had not thought the boat might be beyond her means to purchase. Of course, something so fine would cost much more than four silver pieces and a few coppers, which was all she had. “Please, Madam,” she said haltingly. “Tell me your best price. I want it for a grave gift.”

  “Ah,” said the woman. “That might make a difference. Tell me, was the dead one a good sailor?”

  Storm nodded. “The best of us all.”

  “In that case, how much money have you?”

  Storm fumbled at her neck, drew forth her money pouch and held it out to the woman with shaking fingers. “It is not nearly enough,” she said in a sad voice. “You are an artist without equal.”

  “Ha.” Nimble fingers snatched the pouch from her. “Stop bowing, girl. You are a witch and should not bow to the likes of me. The Weather-witch of Yanlin, in fact.”

  Storm realised her mouth was open and quickly shut it.

  “Gossip is what Bellum trades in most of all.” The old woman raised a sarcastic eyebrow. “And my art comes from a lifetime learning through hard work and mistakes.” She poured out the contents of the money pouch on to the table, counted out the pieces of metal with a thin, crooked finger. “As it happens, this is exactly the price of the boat. I will wrap it in rice paper for you. Mind you look after it until you get it back to Yanlin.”

  “Thank you! And I will, I promise! You are kind.”

  “Nonsense!” The woman busied herself, grumbling as she wrapped the stiff paper around the boat and tied it up with string. Storm had to stop herself bowing again in thanks.

  “This boat was made with love and will be given with love,” said the woman, tying the last knot. “That is more important to me than how many silver coins you pay. How much is my soul worth?” She pushed the parcel into Storm’s hands. “I believe that when you make something good and true, you put a part of yourself inside it that stays there forever.”

  Storm gasped.

  “Now what is the matter?”

  “Nothing. Only … someone else said that to me.”

  “And they are dead.”

  Storm, staring into the past, saw her mother’s face.

  “Live for them then, child. And for me. For all of us.” And she held out the boat. Storm took it, turned and walked away down the narrow twisting street, carrying a piece of the old woman’s dreams with her.

  She slipped and slid over the pavement, clutching her boat. The street grew even more crowded. Strangers pushed close, blocked her path. Carts trundled; street sweepers darted, swinging brooms like weapons; stallholders shouted; buyers scolded. Storm realised she had lost her way.

  She didn’t know this small, dirty square or even which wrong turn had led her here. The houses wore peeling paint and holes in their tiled roofs. The townsfolk were equally patched and stained. She saw beggars crouching in doorways, men and women loitering in alleyways. Crew on shore leave crowded the streets, some obviously drunk. The townsfolk stared at her in surprise – her face paint and silken robes marking her as a daughter of the Pact – before looking quickly away, but a few sailors called to her with words that made her blush and hurry on.

  Storm was about to turn back and try to retrace her path when she spotted her shipmate Cloud with a group of young men. They were bent over a gaming table in a corner of the square. Here was a bit of luck! Cloud would know the way to the main square. She drew near and stood watching as Cloud took his turn playing at roll bones, laughing and gossiping with the others. When his turn ended, she called, “Cloud! Hello. May I speak with you?”

  “Storm?” He turned and stared at her. “Is that really you? You look … different. A real Bellum Town belle.”

  Storm winced. She should never have let Betaan paint her face. “I’m lost. Can you show me the way back to the centre of town?”

  “Well, sure … in a moment. I’m winning, you see. Why don’t you join us? I was just talking about you.” The others were staring. She saw disbelief, bemusement, excitement, curiosity and – most worrying of all – hostility. Curse Cloud! He had told these strangers that she was a Weather-witch. Yanlin’s good fortune was ill luck for other islands. Best to leave, and quickly.

  Storm turned on her heel, but before she had gone more than a few paces, she heard Cloud calling after her. He caught up and darted in front of her.

  “What’s wrong? They just want to meet a Weather-witch.”

  “Hold on, Yanliner! You been telling a pack of lies?” A big sailor, a head taller than either of them, advanced. The other gamers left the table and encircled them.

  “Ancestors!” muttered Cloud. “See what you’ve done?”

  “Me?” Storm snapped. “This is your fault!”

  One of the men pushed Cloud, who sprawled forward on his hands and knees. He scrambled to his feet, swearing and lunged at his attacker. Two men grabbed him and twisted his arms behind his back.

  “Cowards!” shouted Cloud. “Fight fair!” But his captors just laughed.

  The first man advanced until he was nose to nose with Storm. “What are you, girl? A stuck-up Bellum belle or a Yanlin witch?” He grabbed her arm and squeezed hard. His breath stank of alcohol.

  “Let go of me or you’ll find out!”

  The man just grinned and held on. He was hurting her arm.

  Patience lost, Storm gathered her Air-magic. The music that lived in the Air shrilled in her ears. Ready! She focused a blast of wind towards the gaming table. Pressure built in her mind; the shrill became a painful shriek. Now!

  A slender but fierce gust whistled through the square. It struck the table sq
uarely, spinning it on one leg, dancing it across the square. Tokens and roll bones sprayed in all directions. Not bad! By luck or increasing skill, she had controlled her magic nicely this time.

  The table-master, who had been watching the confrontation with lazy amusement, began to shout and curse. The sailor still held Storm’s arm, so she drew in a deep breath, breathed it out in a twisting curling sigh, and watched with satisfaction as a tiny whirlwind lifted the table high into the air. Storm sucked the whirlwind away. The table crashed to earth in an explosion of wood that knocked three sailors to the ground.

  The man holding her let go at once, his face pale. Storm stepped back, rubbing her arm. “That answers your question: I’m a witch. And if you don’t want me to blow you into the next life, I suggest you go away and leave us alone!”

  The drunk looked at the broken table … looked back at her … took a step backwards.

  “Let go of him!” she shouted at the men holding Cloud, and they dropped his arms and backed away.

  “Come on,” Storm said to Cloud. “Or stay with your friends. I don’t care.”

  “The main square is the other way.” Cloud had been following her at a safe distance for at least three hundred heartbeats. Storm marched down one street, then another, paying no attention to where she was going, too angry to speak.

  “I’m sorry! I screwed up.” Cloud sighed loudly. “Will you talk to me, please? And the main square is the other way. If you really want to go there. I don’t mind. We can go somewhere else.”

  “Don’t ever brag about me to strangers again!”

  “I won’t. Sorry.”

  “I don’t belong to you. I don’t belong to anyone!” Storm knew it was a lie. She seemed to belong to almost everyone – except herself.

  “Sorry. Really. It’s just…” Cloud sighed. “No. No excuses. I was an idiot. I was trying to get attention. It made me feel more important, which is… Well, it’s pathetic. It won’t happen again.”

  Storm lurched to a stop, whirled round. The expression on his face made her want to laugh and cry at once. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to blast you. That was a handsome apology. I accept.”

  The tension went out of Cloud’s face. “Friends?”

  Storm nodded. “I could use a good friend right now.”

  “You’ve got one.” He examined her. “You showed those idiots. Now, that is how to use Air-magic! Ancestors! I’m jealous.” He grinned, as if to make it a joke. Only Storm knew it wasn’t.

  “You want to talk about what’s bothering you?” Cloud asked.

  Storm rubbed her nose in frustration. She couldn’t tell him about the Fire-witch. Teanu had been clear: the Salamander’s attacks must remain secret. She examined her parcel, knowing she was delaying: the boat was fine.

  Storm knew she should return to the Pact until Lake finished trading, but her heart sank at the thought. Until now, she hadn’t realised how oppressive the constant surveillance had become. Besides, perhaps today was the day she would meet an old man with a monkey. He must be in town somewhere – there had been something about the old goldsmith that made Storm trust her. She came to a decision. “I don’t want to go back to the main square after all. Not yet. Let’s go see if we can find some witches performing.”

  “That’s more like it!” Cloud’s face lit up. “Let’s go find some magic. This way, I think.” He pointed back the way they had come.

  They walked side by side. After a few more twisting alleys, the streets grew wider, the houses more prosperous looking, and Storm found herself in a square crowded with market stalls and sightseers. She scanned the crowd, looking for the elusive old man, and spotted a group of guards pouring into the square. The leader was Tolbar. The guard’s eyes met Storm’s.

  Overwhelming as a tsunami, determination flooded through her. She had an old man and a monkey to find. Besides, she was cursed if she would allow herself to be harried and followed, kept virtual prisoner by the Pact and their servants!

  “Follow me,” she hissed to Cloud. “And keep up!” Cloud stared in amazement, and Storm laughed. Recklessness flooded through her veins. “Follow, or go back to the Wayfarer now and keep out of trouble! Choose!” She wrinkled her nose at him, wheeled around and darted for the nearest alley, feeling ridiculously cheerful.

  She didn’t know where she was going and didn’t care. But she would lose Tolbar and the other guards if it was the last thing she ever did! As Storm began to run in earnest, she heard shouts behind them. Talon’s guards were giving chase.

  Storm trotted from one alley into another, and another. Cloud caught up and ran beside her. She gave him a cheeky grin, then slid without warning into a cut-through and took to her heels, praying she hadn’t chosen a dead end. She heard Cloud swearing and panting behind her as he sprinted to catch up.

  Storm was one of Yanlin’s best runners. Now she stretched her legs as the alley opened up into a proper street. She hadn’t been able to run for weeks and weeks. Despite the heat of the afternoon, it felt glorious!

  She dodged through the crowd as fast as she could; darted down a likely-looking side street, took a left, a right, another right, and found herself sprinting up a narrow winding street of tall, thin houses. The houses gave welcome shade. Sweat was pouring off her. It was too hot to run like this much further.

  The street narrowed, looped on itself and opened out into a wider space. With a jolt of recognition, Storm slid to a stop. She had somehow circled back to the centre of town: the main square lay dead ahead. She leaned against a shaded wall to catch her breath and placed the boat carefully on the ground. Cloud arrived, and Storm jerked her parcel out of harm’s way as he thudded into the wall and slid to the ground where he sat gasping like a stranded fish. A sweaty fish.

  “Are you done then?” he asked, when he could talk.

  “We lost them.”

  “I nearly lost my stomach as well! And who are ‘them’?”

  She just smiled at him. She had Thorn’s boat, a golden monkey and, for a little while, freedom.

  “You aren’t going to tell me, are you?”

  “No.” She tugged the wire monkey from her waist pouch and held it in her hand.

  “What’s that?”

  “A gift. I think the old woman must have been an Earth-witch. She made it with magic.

  “For you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  Storm stared at the tiny statue. It could not tell her, no matter how lifelike it looked. “I’m not sure yet.” She stowed the toy away. “Come on, let’s explore.” She would search every street in Bellum Town until she found an old man with a monkey.

  They wandered among the crowd of shoppers and sightseers, which grew thicker as they got nearer the centre of the square, until they could barely push a way through.

  Cloud suddenly stopped. “What’s that?” He pointed. Over the bobbing heads of the crowd, Storm saw the red canvas of an enormous tent.

  “Let’s take a look.” She was still worried about a Fire-witch, but it was safer to be part of a crowd, and there was less chance of being spotted by Talon’s guards. “At least we’ll be out of the sun in there.”

  They squeezed through the noisy crowd and plunged beneath the stretch of red canvas. Storm sighed with relief as the worst of the sun heat was blocked.

  “Wow,” said Cloud. “And that’s an understatement.”

  The tent was crammed with stalls. Performers and food sellers had set up shop everywhere.

  “Bellum Town is amazing!” said Cloud. “I’d give my teeth to live here always. How does she do that without ripping her gullet?” He pointed to a woman swallowing long iron skewers. “Is it another sort of magic?”

  “Don’t know.” Storm watched the skewer-eater but couldn’t get Cloud’s words out of her head. Would I rather live here than Yanlin? Now that she was away from Talon’s guards, she found herself agreeing with Cloud. Bellum Town was the most exciting place in the world. How could she return to Yanlin after th
is?

  They strolled deeper into the enormous tent, winding through the crowd. Every face was stained red by the sunlight filtering through the sun-scorched canvas.

  “Over there!” Cloud pointed to their right. “Air-magic! You can watch another Air-witch in action.” He grabbed her hand and tugged her towards the performer.

  A man was standing on a shoulder-height platform, facing his audience. He had a begging bowl at his feet, half full of coins. He was thin and stooped, his grey topknot perfectly combed and tied; his hands, face and feet clean; his elegant tunic made of bright-blue silk. Storm stared at him, fascinated. Despite the bowl, he wasn’t a beggar in any sense she recognised.

  The witch had a row of brightly coloured paper whirligigs arranged beside him on his platform. Storm watched as a young girl pointed to a red toy. The man with her put a copper in the bowl and the witch picked the toy up and tossed it high into the air. Then he whipped out a bamboo flute and began to pipe. Storm felt the music pulse through her: Air-music!

  As the witch played, the toy spun higher and higher, its four stiff arms catching the magicked wind. Storm stared, awed by the skill required to make such delicate, controlled magic. The flute seemed to concentrate the flow of magic, make it easier to direct. It had never occurred to her that she might be able to use a musical instrument to control her power. Longing tore through her. What must it be like to be so at one with the Elemental power?

  She glanced at Cloud and saw a rapt expression on his face. She remembered that he had dreamed of becoming an Air-witch, but though he had been Chosen by the Albatross, Cloud had no magic.

  Toy after toy was tossed into the air, dancing like coloured fireflies for a while until the witch sent each toy spinning into the hands of its new owner.

  “He’s raking it in!” breathed Cloud. “No wonder there’s so many witches in town. A witch would live rich here!”

  “So the councillors said,” Storm replied drily.

  “Not that you would…” Cloud frowned at her. “You wouldn’t, would you?”