Under Earth

by Ellen Renner

  “Time is up, Storm. You must make a commitment to the Pact.”

  “But I haven’t been able to contact all the Elementals!”

  “The excuse wears thin. Decision time. Make sure you choose wisely.”

  Storm had run out of excuses and plans. All that was left was the truth. “I will not help you,” she said. “It’s wrong.”

  There was a silken stir from the fifteen councillors who sat at a long table in front of her.

  “Come.” Talon raised his eyebrows. Still smiling.

  He thought she was bargaining! She fought a strange desire to giggle.

  “We have established that you are not stupid. You cannot turn your back on the wealth we offer – riches beyond anything you can have dreamed of on your little island! You have seen how the Fifteen live. Don’t you want a grand house with servants to wait on your every wish?”

  He was so certain. His faith in wealth was unshakeable. She saw that he would think she was lying when she spoke the simple truth, but she said it anyway: “I don’t want to live in a home big enough to house a village. My answer is no.”

  “If it is a question of better terms … a bigger cut—”

  “It is not. You must see that no witch, however powerful, can mend what you have broken. The Fifteen have been robbing their own people for generations! The people of Bellum were bound to rebel in time. Greed such as yours is not just wrong, it’s stupid! If civil war comes to your island, the Pact will lose everything. Worse, Bellum itself may be lost to the enemy! When you have nearly done fighting and killing each other, the Drowned Ones will invade and put those who survive to the sword! I have the word of the great Tortoise itself!”

  For a moment, seeing consternation and doubt flash over Talon’s face, she thought she had got through to him. But then the councillor’s face paled until the painted circles on his cheeks stood out like red chrysanthemums.

  The other councillors muttered and shook their heads.

  “You are making a very bad mistake,” said Talon, and Storm’s heart sank. He did not – perhaps could not – believe her.

  “I am sad to find that you are not as clever as I thought,” Talon said. “Perhaps it is merely that you are young and unsophisticated. You haven’t had time to understand what you are throwing away. I think we have something to show you that will change your mind.”

  Talon watched her through narrowed eyes, letting his words settle. Then he barked at the guard standing beside the door. “Bring him in!”

  The guard left the room. A breath later, the door opened and two more guards strode into the room, dragging a bound and bedraggled figure between them. It was Cloud.

  His face was bruised, his arms tied behind his back, his tunic dirty and torn. Gripping him by the arm, holding him on his feet, was Tolbar. Her eyes flashed at Storm, as if to say, This time I win!

  Talon beckoned, and Tolbar shoved Cloud forward, pushing him on to his knees in front of the chief councillor. She stood over the kneeling boy, her hand gripping the hilt of her sword, as the head of the Fifteen rose to his feet and locked eyes with Storm.

  “Mistress Storm. You and this boy are accused of unlawful use of magic within the precincts of Bellum Town. The penalties are severe. Do you have anything to say in your defence?”

  “Unlawful magic?” He could not mean the attack by the Fire-witch?

  “You used Air-magic to vandalise a gaming master’s stall. You broke his table and injured two visitors to our island.”

  So that was it! How long had Talon had this ploy planned? “My friend and I were attacked by drunkards. I was defending myself and him in the only way I could.”

  “With magic.”

  “Magic given to me by the Elementals. Do you persist in picking a quarrel with them? And is it not the responsibility of the town and its councillors to ensure that honest folk may visit your town in peace without being attacked?”

  “Vandalism is always illegal. And then there was the damage caused by a certain Fire-witch.”

  “We did no damage! You say yourself it was the Fire-witch.”

  “Witnesses report that she was attacking you. You obviously have a quarrel with her. That makes you equally responsible for that damage – extensive and expensive damage to the pavement of the square in the resulting earthquake. The Tortoise, I imagine.”

  “If so,” said Storm, “I should consider your own position very carefully before you proceed against me. The Tortoise protects his own. As do the Albatross and Dolphin.”

  “Perhaps. But this boy is another matter. He is no witch, I think.”

  “You know he isn’t.” Storm cast a sideways glance at Cloud. Someone had beaten him, but he stood stoically, chin raised. As Storm saw the extent of his bruises, anger made her heart thud.

  Talon continued: “The charges are serious. His life might be forfeit. But not, of course, if you change your mind and cooperate with the minor tasks we request of you!” He smiled, certain that he had won.

  Anger rose, cold as the north wind. Storm turned icy eyes on Talon. “This is how you bargain? With the life of a defenceless boy?”

  Her fury burned cold. Chill music circled in her head. The oil lamps flickered. Talon’s moustaches began to flap to and fro. The air in the room grew wintry.

  She saw the fourteen Pact councillors sitting either side of Talon look at each other in consternation. “I told you it wouldn’t work!” Sharp-eyed Waffa, Mer’s mother, rose to her feet.

  Storm knew that her Air-magic was only waiting for her anger to set it free on a path of destruction. But the other witches had warned her. She remembered what the former Fire-witch had said: “The Salamander grows fat on hate!” She must take care … fight the desire to destroy!

  Still the wind whipped around the chamber, which grew colder with each breath Storm took. The Fifteen were shivering, faces contorted with fear. One by one they abandoned their chairs, ran for the door and vanished. All but two. Waffa clung to the table, bracing herself against the wind, her hair whipping around her face, her robes flapping, and berated Talon. “Your entire strategy – concerning not only Yanlin’s Weather-witch but your refusal, despite the warnings from several of us, to open negotiations with the rebels – has been a mistake from beginning to end. You are losing your grip, Talon!”

  “I don’t want to attack you!” Storm spoke with difficulty. Her voice sounded strange: deep and heavy. Frost crystals formed a shining ladder in the air as she spoke, then crackled and fell to the ground with the tinkle of breaking glass. Out of the corner of her eye, Storm noticed Cloud staring at her, eyes huge with terror.

  Cloud was afraid of her. Of her, Storm. At the thought, her anger splintered. The icy wind vanished. Storm found she was shaking. Her knees softened and she staggered. When her breath returned to her, she saw a shocked Talon staring at her as though he had never seen her before.

  “I … I have misjudged … um … a few details.” His voice was choked with disbelief. Disbelief that he, great Talon, could have been wrong, said her mind-voice. “The boy will not be harmed! But he will remain under guard until we negotiate terms.”

  A freezing wind skirled around the floor; Talon’s robes flapped wildly.

  “I mistake! The boy need not be imprisoned! And I will consult with my fellow councillors about the rebellion.” Talon bowed to Waffa. “We will…” The words issued reluctantly from his lips. “The Pact will begin negotiations with the traitors. And in return…” A flash of the old Talon reappeared.

  “In return?” The words came out with a puff of frost.

  Talon’s face sagged beneath the paint. “In return…” He drew breath, reached deep into his stubbornness. “In return, you must promise not to use your powers against us.”

  “Cloud goes back to the Wayfarer.”

  “He cannot! Your uncle sailed with the Yanlin fleet the day we took this boy into custody.”

  So that was why Lake had sailed: fear of further arrests! Storm rubbed her nose. It was s
urprisingly chilly. She sighed aloud, and this time no frost etched the air from her breath. “Then he stays here, with me.”

  “Here? In my home?” Talon gazed at Cloud, bruised and barefoot, his coarse sailor’s tunic and trousers dirty and torn, and his eyes grew wide with dismay.

  “Where else?” asked Storm. “And give him the best guest room in the house!”

  “This is almost worth getting beat up for!” Cloud was stretched out on a bed even bigger and softer than Storm’s. “Hey! Stop that!” He waved a vague hand in the direction of Scoundrel, who was perched on one of the bedposts, tossing peanut hulls at him. “Remind me why you have a cling-monkey?”

  “He’s not mine. Just visiting.” Storm was leaning against the wall, watching Cloud while pretending not to, just in case he was more hurt than he let on. “Did you know the fleet had sailed?”

  “No. But I’m not surprised.”

  “They didn’t even try to rescue you.”

  “Really?” He laughed and sat up, wincing. “Fight the Pact for me? I don’t think so. Come on, Lake could have lost his entire fleet if the Pact decided to play rough. You reckon that Pact boss-man is telling the truth when he says he’s ready to negotiate with the rebels?”

  “I think so. He’s scared of losing everything. And of me, I guess.” She thought about this. I don’t like being scary, she told her mind-voice. After a while, she noticed the silence and looked up from her thoughts to see Cloud staring at her, his eyes uncertain.

  “That was a pretty amazing trick you did back there. You should have seen yourself…” His voice trailed off. “Or maybe not.”

  Her smile was bitter; Cloud was scared of her too. “Still want to be an Air-witch?”

  “Well … you’re a bit more than that, Storm. I don’t know what you are, but I wouldn’t want to get on the wrong side of you.” He attempted a laugh, trying to turn it into a joke. Then his face grew serious. “Why not just finish them off though? If the Pact is the trouble, why not get rid of them? You always back off at the last moment. Anyone else would think you were scared.”

  She stared at Cloud. This boy wasn’t who she had always assumed he was. He wasn’t like Thorn. And, she realised, she was scared. But not the way he meant.

  Storm turned away. “I’m going to my room now. I need some rest.” She hadn’t slept properly for ages, she realised, and suddenly she was almost too tired to stand on her feet.

  “Sure.” Cloud’s voice was careful.

  “Come on, Scoundrel.” She left without a backward look. She didn’t want Cloud to see how deeply his words had shocked her. The monkey followed her without a sound.

  “Fine lot of help you were!” Storm said as she shut her bedroom door behind Scoundrel. “Running off as soon as the guards came to take me to Talon!” She wasn’t quite sure what she thought the monkey should have done about it, but it made her feel a tiny bit better to have someone to scold. She tumbled into bed and only had time to wonder if she had imagined seeing the cling-monkey shrug in reply before she was soundly asleep.

  The old man with the monkey was leaning over her. “Wake up, Storm! Wake up, and I’ll let you hold Scoundrel.”

  Storm struggled to open her eyes. She pushed herself upright at last, and saw that the old man was holding out his cling-monkey. Eagerly she took it in her arms and felt a stab of pure happiness as the tiny creature snuggled beneath her chin.

  “His fur is so soft,” she said to the old man, unable to express how she was feeling.

  “Yes,” he said, “but listen to what Scoundrel is telling you. Quickly now!”

  She didn’t want anything to disturb the rare happiness filling her. But the old man’s voice was urgent.

  Reluctantly, Storm bent her head until her ear was near the monkey’s face.

  The creature reached up, pulled her head closer with its tiny hands and whispered, in the gravelly voice of the Tortoise, “Wake up, Storm! Get out! The Salamander is here!”

  The dream shattered. Storm lurched up in her bed and began to cough. Scoundrel was standing on her pillow, screaming at her. Smoke pressed down, a choking blanket. She heard the hissing crack of greedy flames and looked up to see an inferno. Sparks showered from the ceiling. The house was on fire!

  Storm froze for several heartbeats, then her body sprang into action almost without her willing it. She rolled off the bed, keeping low to the ground, away from the choking smoke.

  “Get out, Scoundrel! Run!” She saw the monkey race to the open window and leap towards the nearest tree. He was safe. She crawled to the table, grabbed her possessions and made her way towards the door. The air was still breathable near the floor. The Salamander hadn’t won yet!

  She had nearly reached the door when something groaned overhead, and, with an explosion of sparks, part of the ceiling crashed down into the room behind her. Storm looked over her shoulder and saw that the bed had disappeared in a column of fire.

  She shot out of the room, scrabbled to her feet, ran to Cloud’s door, and flung it open. “Fire! Fire! Cloud, wake up!” The fire seemed to be centred over her bedroom, but flames were even now leaping across the ceiling of the corridor, spreading with every moment. Could the fire be tracking her like a hound?

  The lump in the bed groaned. Raised a reluctant head.

  “The house is on fire! Get out!”

  Cloud shouted in alarm and jumped out of bed. Seeing he was properly awake, Storm turned and ran from the room in case the fire really was chasing her. She must get out of the building at once.

  She had no idea how many people were asleep in the house. Storm shrieked “Fire!” as she ran, banging on each door she passed. She whirled out of the main entrance just as a guard came running. “Fire!” she cried unnecessarily. In the distance, an alarm bell began to ring.

  “Get away,” the guard ordered. “Away from the house. All of you!”

  Guests and servants were straggling out now, looking bewildered and terrified. She saw Talon leading a tearful Betaan by the hand.

  A dozen other guards and officials had come running and were busy forming a human chain, dipping buckets in the nearest pond.

  “Everyone is out,” an official told Talon. “The fire is only in the guest wing. But it’s caught hold. I don’t think we can put it out.”

  The moonlight dimmed. Storm looked up to see the shadow of a giant bird cross in front of the moon. She was a fool! She tried to collect her wits, to calm herself enough to find the music of Air and Water. Here she was – a Weather-witch – letting the house burn to the ground!

  She edged away from the weeping, complaining people who had poured out of the house and put her belongings on a garden seat. It would be best if she could make this appear a natural thunderstorm.

  The Albatross was waiting. As soon as she listened properly, Air-music filled her mind and ran through her blood. She thought about the wooden flute, but she had never tried to use one. Then it was too late: she was inside the music and it was inside her.

  Storm felt the air thicken, grow restless. She felt the electricity gather high overhead. She felt water being sucked out of the sea in sheets to thicken the clouds. The night sky congealed, grew black as mud. Now! thought Storm.

  The heavens opened and a deluge descended upon the burning house, the guards and officials, on Talon, Cloud and Betaan, on the raging fire.

  Rain beat down. Fire hissed and spat. Water soaked the wooden roof and drove the flames back until they dwindled and disappeared, leaving only the stink of half-burnt wood and wet ash.

  Almost at once, the clouds thinned, the stars and moon shone down in a puddle of light. Storm wished she had tried the flute; there had been nothing subtle about that magic!

  “Thank the Ancestors!” exclaimed Betaan. She was shivering. Everyone was drenched to the skin.

  “I think it is the Weather-witch we should thank,” said Talon. “Is that not right, Mistress Storm?”

  “I did what I could,” she said, with a polite bow. Talon stu
died her with a calculating look. He won’t stop trying to control you. He’ll wriggle out of negotiating with the rebels at the first opportunity, her mind-voice warned.

  The stares and awed exclamations of the other guests and servants began to make her feel awkward. Storm gathered her things and began to walk away into the garden.

  “Do not wander far, Weather-witch!” Talon had noticed. “The damage is limited to one wing. We will have another room prepared for you before long.”

  Storm gave a quick bow as answer and hurried away.

  “Storm! Wait up!” It was Cloud.

  Ancestors! She pretended not to hear and hurried away. She wanted to be alone to think. The Salamander had struck out at her even here – where the Earth-witch had thought she would be safe. If Scoundrel hadn’t woken her… Storm shivered. Nowhere on Bellum was safe.

  Cloud caught up with her. “Hey! Didn’t you hear me?” He was soaked through, his nightclothes dripping and his hair plastered to his head. And he was buzzing with excitement. “That was an amazing bit of magic! What’s up, Storm? Are you all right? You’re shivering.” His eyes narrowed with disbelief. “Are you scared?”

  Unconscious scorn laced his words. Storm saw his thoughts as though he had spoken them aloud: Why did the Elementals give her the magic? She’s weak and cowardly. I should have been the Weather-witch!

  “Are you all right?” he asked again.

  “I’m fine. Have you seen Scoundrel?”

  “The monkey?” Cloud wrinkled his nose in amazement. “Talon’s house nearly burns down and you’re worried about a dumb cling-monkey?”

  She clenched her jaw. Shouting wouldn’t help. “Could you keep these for me?” She held out her journal and the parcel. “I bought a toy boat as a grave present for Thorn, and I don’t want it to get broken. Can you keep it safe, please?”

  “Storm, come on…” His expression told her that looking after a toy boat didn’t seem terribly heroic.

  “Just for a little while. I won’t be long.”