Under Earth

by Ellen Renner

  Storm realised she was being punished for running off. “Suspect? What are you talking about?”

  “What do you know about the incidents in the market tent earlier today?”

  “Nothing.”

  “I find that hard to believe. Is she telling the truth, boy?” Tolbar took a menacing step towards Cloud. He darted a glance at Storm, then shrugged.

  “Are you calling me a liar?” Storm challenged the guard.

  Tolbar turned away from Cloud and stood with her hands on her hips, eyes narrowed.

  She’s afraid of me, Storm thought. And also afraid of offending me. Storm almost felt sorry for the woman – who had certainly not had a good day.

  “Other witnesses report that the Fire-witch attacked the crowd where you and this boy were standing.”

  “Did anyone get hurt?”

  Tolbar shrugged. “A few minor injuries. Fortunate that the mini-quake happened. It scared the witch off, it seems. We’re looking for her.”

  “I don’t know anything about it, and Cloud certainly doesn’t, so you can let him go back to his ship. My uncle will be wondering where he is.” Still the guard made no move to untie her shipmate. Storm took a gamble: “Let him go or fetch Talon! Does your master know you’ve detained my friend? Shall I ask him?”

  Tolbar scowled. Storm could see what giving in cost her. “Untie the boy,” she barked at her companion.

  Once untied, Cloud rubbed his wrists, eyes wary. His face was carefully impassive as he turned to Tolbar. “Am I free to go?”

  “Go on. Get out! And stay out of trouble in future.”

  Cloud’s only reply was a polite bow. Then, with a wink at Storm, he strode from the room. Storm heaved a sigh of relief as he disappeared. Cloud had said nothing about the Fire-witch. Maybe he hadn’t noticed whom she was trying to kill.

  Storm put her precious grave gift and wire monkey on the table before collapsing on to her bed. Dinner was brought to her room on a tray. Tolbar had had plenty of time to make her report, which would not have been friendly.

  There was no food for Scoundrel so Storm shared bits of her supper. She showed him the soil bucket and hoped he was as intelligent as his master had claimed. Then, too tired even to attempt to draw the events of the day in her journal, Storm drifted off into uneasy dreams of hidden gardens and women dancing in columns of fire. She tossed and turned for a long time, unable to get comfortable on the too-soft mattress. Finally, she fell into a sound sleep.

  Shrick-gna-umm-shrick-ggrawm. The sound of gnawing and nibbling pulled Storm from fitful dreams. A rat must have crawled up from the hold of the Wayfarer and was eating her chalk and chewing the oiled leather of her journal! Light pressed against her eyelids, swaying with the motion of the ship.

  Storm opened her eyes and didn’t know if she was glad or sorry to find she was still in Talon’s house. The trees in the garden were being lashed by an easterly. The leafy arms of the willow outside her window waved to and fro in front of the window, casting shadows on the ceiling. Still something gnawed.

  Storm pushed herself up in bed. Betaan sat on the floor a few paces away. Talon’s daughter reached a casual hand to the tray beside her, picked up a fat hazel nut and gave it to Scoundrel. She stroked his silky fur with her free hand. The cling-monkey sat in Betaan’s lap, gnawing greedily.

  Traitor! thought Storm.

  “How did you acquire this little scamp?” Betaan’s fingers caressed. Scoundrel chewed, his eyes darting from the tray of biscuits and nuts to Storm’s face and back. “He’s adorable!” trilled Talon’s daughter. There was no mistaking the light of battle flickering in her eyes.

  Punishment for yesterday’s escape was about to be delivered. The monkey wrinkled his nose at Storm, showing his teeth in a cheeky grin. The Earth-witch’s messenger was enjoying the situation far too much.

  “That flea-bitten little rogue?”

  Scoundrel squeaked in outrage. His expression made Storm want to laugh.

  “I bought him from a horrible man who was making him perform tricks. He was beating the animal.”

  “Aren’t you the virtuous one! But in Bellum Town there are hundreds of animals – and humans, for that matter – forced to do unsavoury work. You can’t save them all, you know.”

  “But you could. The Pact runs the island. Why don’t they do something about it?”

  The other girl’s eyes widened in surprise. “It isn’t our responsibility to tell people how to live. The Pact was created to support trade and to make a profit for our families.”

  “You’re talking about your own people! Bellum Islanders.”

  A look of revulsion crossed Betaan’s face. “My people are the Pact. A flea-ridden thief is nothing to do with me!” She gave a sharp laugh, dismissing the subject. “I just hope you were joking and this little fellow is free of vermin.”

  Scoundrel sat still, watching Storm.

  “Where did you get the money to pay for him?” asked Betaan, far too casually.

  Storm saw the trap. That smooth, doll-like face hid a mind as sharp and devious as her father’s. “A shipmate loaned me some money.”

  “How very generous! Cling-monkeys are ridiculously fashionable. A young one like this costs much silver, especially in such prime condition. Those beatings must have been gentle, for he hasn’t got a mark on him.” She smiled, point scored.

  “Yes,” said Storm. “Isn’t it lucky?”

  Betaan changed tack. “Mer and I were very worried!” Her large, kohl-lined eyes took on an injured expression.

  “How unfortunate.” Storm’s own expression grew deeply sorrowful. “I got separated from the guard on the way to the latrine.”

  Betaan’s eyebrows rose in a disbelieving arch. “Tolbar says you ran from her. Like a dirty little thief.” The last three words were spaced for emphasis.

  Storm’s eyes narrowed. Betaan, she realised, didn’t much like her. She was vaguely surprised to find she didn’t care.

  “Is Tolbar a liar?” asked Talon’s daughter.

  Storm shrugged, attempting the world-weariness Betaan often cultivated. “I wanted to explore – on my own – without being constantly followed by guards. I suppose I should apologise.”

  “You must never do it again!” Betaan pushed the monkey from her lap and rose to her feet. Scoundrel leapt up a bedpost and perched on top. Talon’s daughter held the tray out to Storm. “Here. I’ve brought you breakfast.”

  “That’s kind of you.” Storm gave the other girl a genuine smile and took a biscuit. She was very hungry. The crunchy pastry tasted of nuts and cinnamon. She ate, and Betaan continued to scold: “Father was very upset indeed. I don’t like seeing him so distressed. It was unkind, after all we have done for you!”

  Storm nodded, her mouth too full for speech.

  “You must promise me never again to go into town without the guards!”

  Storm popped the rest of the biscuit in her mouth and chewed slowly, choosing her words with care. “While I remain your guest, I will do everything I can not to worry you or your father. And do ask Mer to forgive me.”

  “Mer will forgive you, of course.” Betaan had been successfully distracted. “But you cannot imagine her distress! At first, she thought you’d been taken ill. You must know, Mer dotes on you. And then, when the guard returned to say that you’d run off, she was convinced that you had been kidnapped and was distracted with worry!”

  “I’m sorry.” Storm meant it this time. She doubted Mer had become ill over her, but she had never had a girl friend. Still, unless she stayed on Bellum Island, the possible friendship could never be more than a glimpse of something that might have been.

  That evening Talon held a formal dinner. Storm sat opposite her host. Betaan sat beside her and kept up a stream of amusing chat in her right ear. The other guests were robed in dragonfly green, rich purple, melting amber. Painted faces smiled on every side; the air was heavy with perfume. Storm felt like she had wandered into a gathering of glittering ghosts.


  Storm laughed obediently at one of Betaan’s jokes, doing her best to imitate Mer, sitting opposite, who always managed to look amused yet somehow apart.

  Talon smiled, painted eyebrows forming perfect hoops. He rang the silver bell that sat on the table in front of him. At once, servants appeared to whisk away platters of uneaten food and refill cups with tamarind brandy.

  “Let us drink to our most honoured guest, friends!” called Talon. “Join us, Storm. We drink to you!” He lifted his cup.

  Mer drank, then smiled warmly at her. The Pact leader drained his cup and deposited it on the table, fingers stroking the thin porcelain. Storm thought of the bowl her mother had made for her Choosing gift. It was simpler, less showy, but she preferred it to anything here.

  Talon leaned towards her. “I have an offer to make you, Mistress, one which will be of great benefit to both of us. Ladies and gentlemen! Attend me!”

  Every eye in the room fastened upon them.

  “Mistress Storm,” Talon said in the same official voice. “You are a powerful Weather-witch. The Pact is always on the lookout for opportunity, and we see ways to harness your magic to our mutual benefit. Therefore, we have gathered tonight to offer you a rare – nay, a singular – opportunity.” He paused, glancing around the room.

  Talon was making his bid to win her from Yanlin. How could she turn this situation into a means of preventing civil war on the island and stop the Salamander breaking the Balance? The task felt impossible!

  Her host waited, but when she said nothing he raised one eyebrow and continued. “As you may know, the Fifteen – the original families – have controlled world trade for countless generations. Never before, in the illustrious history of the Pact, has the opportunity I am about to offer you been granted to an outsider!”

  He paused again to watch the effect of his words, but Storm kept her face carefully blank.

  “We offer you the chance to become one of us! Full membership in the Pact, for you and your descendants, forever! You will also,” Talon added in a smugly confident voice, “be allowed to have descendants! You would live with us as a girl and woman, not a non-sex. In time, we will find you a suitable life partner.” His eyes flicked to someone in the watching group. Involuntarily, Storm glanced in the same direction.

  Almond stood between Mer and Betaan, his arms crossed, an amused expression on his face. But beneath the practised sophistication, Storm saw a need for more power, more wealth – more of everything. So that was it. She repressed a shiver of revulsion. Of course, there were other men and boys on Bellum. Perhaps someone who was kind and funny, like Thorn, although, glancing around the room, she saw little evidence of kindness in the painted faces.

  Talon had targeted her weak spot. She still mourned the family she could never have. But family meant Ma and Minnow, and her memories of Da. It meant Elders like Teanu. Storm remembered the ragged girl who had been caught thieving. Family meant something different here.

  “You do not speak.” Talon’s voice was still confident.

  Sweat gathered in her armpits, turning them prickly. She saw Mer gazing at her across the table. The other girl’s eyes were fierce with anxiety. Storm felt a surge of gratitude: Mer was worried for her!

  “I await your reply.” Patience was ebbing from Talon’s voice.

  “My apology. Your generosity stunned me into silence.”

  “And does our offer interest you?”

  “How could it not interest me? But I cannot make such an important decision without knowing what you want in return. I do not think it is merely the pleasure of my company at dinner.”

  Talon’s smile widened. Chuckles of approval circled the room. This was the language they understood. Verbal fencing, bargaining!

  “Your presence is a charming addition to our gatherings, of course, but yes. We would expect you to be our Weather-witch and use your magic as we direct.”

  “But you don’t have a trading fleet.” Storm stated the obvious. “And your harbour is impervious to attack. Why does Bellum need a Weather-witch?”

  “Defence is never to be taken lightly. Even with the lava wall, we can use a powerful witch. Call it insurance.”

  Storm just stopped herself rubbing her nose in frustration. “Pretty expensive insurance. What else?”

  “There might be other jobs. But those can be discussed as they arise. No need to bother you with details now. Basically, we would expect you to fight for us against enemies of the Pact.”

  “Can you be a bit more specific?” Storm asked. “‘Enemies of the Pact’ is a pretty flexible description. Who would I have to fight?”

  He shrugged, too casually. “Anyone who threatens us. Like the Drowned Ones, for instance. Their rafts have been spotted in the Inner Sea for the first time in living memory. Or … others.”

  Storm’s heart lurched. If the old Earth-witch was right – if the Drowned Ones were already here – then civil war must be imminent. But how would the pirates know that? She thought of Nim, and hatred flared afresh. The Drowned Ones were no strangers to using spies.

  “What ‘others’? I won’t agree to anything until I know what I’m up against.”

  Grudging respect flared in Talon’s eyes. “You’re right, of course. But you needn’t worry. We simply want a hand dealing with a bit of domestic unrest.”

  “And why do you need me? I am a Weather-witch, not a town guard!”

  “We have been gathering up troublemakers and n’er-do-wells. Thieves, of course. But also malcontents who stir up unrest. Scum from the lowest dregs of society. In our mercy, we have no wish to execute them. Exile is not … practical. That leaves imprisonment.”

  Cold fingers brushed her spine as she remembered the woman who had given her the knife. Execute? He had said the word so casually – as though killing his fellow islanders was a perfectly acceptable course of action.

  Talon hadn’t noticed her shock. “We have commissioned a brace of cargo hulks – sturdy, capacious ships. We intend to keep the traitors on these ships.”

  “For how long?”

  “Until they die, of course. It is exile, but safer, you see.”

  Safer for the Fifteen Families, he meant. There must be so many rebels that he feared those who survived exile to sea might find each other and form a second resistance – one that might gain sufficient numbers and strength and return to their island to fight. Might even collaborate with…

  “The Drowned Ones!” she hissed under her breath. Was someone in the rebel group collaborating with the pirates? But that was unthinkable…

  “What did you say?”

  “Nothing! Only … I still don’t see why you need me.”

  “Merely to keep the prison ships safe and … isolated. If the need arose, which is very unlikely, of course.”

  Isolated from the Drowned Ones. Storm saw Mer looking at her, jaw clenched with anxiety, and felt suddenly sick. The Pact were tyrants, each and every one of them, and they wanted her to help them stay in power. Crushing the rebellion would avert a civil war, but there must be another way – the Tortoise, the old man, they could not have meant this!

  And there was a more pressing problem. What would Talon and his Fifteen Families do when she declined their offer? Looking at the greed in the faces of the men and women surrounding her, Storm thought their reaction might not be entirely hospitable, and for the first time that night, she was afraid.

  Water could not aid her here, and she had faint hope of raising much of a wind inside this room. She was trapped, and totally on her own.

  “We await your answer.” Talon’s eyes burned with barely controlled frustration. Outside the closed door, if she guessed correctly, waited dozens of armed guards, including archers. If she said no to the Pact’s proposal, Talon might well try other means of persuasion, like keeping her prisoner until she agreed to his plans. And what if he realised her sympathy was with the rebels?

  It occurred to her that Talon had gambled hugely in disclosing his plans to her.
After all, an overthrow of the Pact might suit all the other islands, including Yanlin, who might broker better deals with the rebels.

  Storm’s nose itched with frustration; she clenched her fists to keep from rubbing it. The Albatross and Dolphin were powerless to help her here. What about the Tortoise? The Earth spirit? Elementals did not come when called, only when they chose. Besides, it would be best to outwit Talon. If she could…

  “You cannot expect me to have an answer at my fingertips, just like that! It’s a big decision. I need time to think it over.”

  It wasn’t the answer he wanted. His nostrils flapped as he took in a calming breath. “What is there to think over? Your life will be better with us than back on Yanlin. We offer power, wealth and the right to live as a female. We offer you a future family. Children! Can your old island offer so much?”

  “Indeed not. You offer me more than I dared hope for.”

  “Then what is there to think over?” Talon’s brows were a thick, flat line. No hoops of smugness to be seen.

  “I cannot consider myself only.”

  “Who else? Your uncle? I understood most of your family is dead. Or do you still hold some quaint ideas about loyalty to your Elders and the island?”

  “Not at all,” Storm said, as calmly as she could. “But I answer to the Elemental spirits who granted me magic. The Albatross and Dolphin have plans for me. I am sure you have no wish to offend the Elementals.”

  “Offend the…” Talon stared at her blankly, his face chalky beneath the layer of paint. The assembled guests muttered. Betaan’s black-rimmed eyes popped wide. None of them had thought about the beings who had bestowed her with magic, just what her power could do for them.

  “Do you think magic is given with no strings attached?” Storm asked.

  “But…” Talon was almost stammering. “Surely it could make no difference to the spirits! Other witches change allegiance from island to island all the time.”