Under Earth

by Ellen Renner

  Cloud sighed. “Can I have a look at the boat?”

  She smiled, relieved. “Absolutely. It’s amazing so take care of it, please.”

  Storm left him unwrapping the parcel and hurried into the garden until she was out of sight. The fire had not been a coincidence. Not after that dream! Once more the Earth spirit had saved her. And where was Scoundrel? Worry wrinkled her brow, and Storm called for the cling-monkey as she walked. No scampering shape came running to her out of the moon-shadows. He made it out of the window, said her mind-voice. Scoundrel can look after himself.

  Storm walked deep into the garden, as far away from the smoking house and the stink of damp soot and charcoal as she could get. At last she stopped beside a small lake. Moonlight fell out of the sky into the water, and she saw a large carp circling peacefully, its body gleaming white in the moon’s beam. As she watched, entranced, the fish jigged sideways and its body spasmed. It stiffened and floated to the surface.

  Shocked, Storm fell to her knees to see if the beautiful fish was really dead. Something blazed overhead, searing the air where her head had been a breath ago. There was a blinding flash, the smell of burning, and a small tree on the far side of the lake burst into flame.

  The carp, suddenly very much alive, flipped over and dived towards the depths. Instinctively, Storm filled her lungs and plunged headlong into the water after it. She heard fire crack on the bank where she had been kneeling only a heartbeat before and kicked even harder towards the safety of deep water. Once she was well below the surface, she somersaulted until she was head skywards and peered up towards the world of air, trying to locate her attacker. She was aware of the white-gold carp swimming slowly round and round her.

  Thank you, Dolphin! Storm spared a moment to express gratitude to the Elemental, even though her heart was trying to beat a path out of her chest.

  As for her attacker, Storm had no doubt who was waiting up in the air to strike again the moment she surfaced. If she was going to survive she must do Water-magic more difficult and complex than any she had ever managed. Help me again, Dolphin, or I die, Storm pleaded.

  Still the carp circled round and round. Was that a sign? Storm’s lungs began to hurt. In a few more heartbeats she would be forced to surface. Far above, she thought she saw something move in the moonlit air: a reddish glimmer.

  Storm tried to clear her mind and let the music of water flow into her. Slowly at first, then more easily, Water-music filtered into her mind until she felt shining-full of its mysterious beauty. She had an image of herself, glowing white-gold like the carp.

  Storm submerged herself in the bitter-sweet beauty of Water’s slippery, tricksy nature. Almost, she felt she could grasp some meaning … understand a fragment of its elemental pattern. She took hold of the single thread of the pattern she had seen, and began carefully to weave a small waterspout around her. The water at the bottom of the pond began to rotate. The hardest part was keeping the surface of the little lake still. She must trick her enemy into thinking she was dead. That Fire had won…

  Now! Storm let the water take her. She rose inside the eye of the spout as it exploded to the surface, draining the lake. Storm stood motionless in the centre of the waterspout as it whirled around her. Her head was level with the tallest tree branches. She peered through the streaming wall of water full of weeds, small stones and hapless fish, looking for her enemy.

  A red-clothed figure writhed on the ground a dozen paces from shore. The woman pushed to her feet, shrieking curses. She was drenched with water, plastered with mud, her silk tunic ruined, her plaits dripping. The witch raised clenched fists towards the waterspout. A bolt of flame shot from the woman’s hands. Storm smelt heat and burning, felt the fire bolt strike the spout.

  The water wall around her shuddered and Storm lurched downwards, arms and legs clawing at nothing. Steam rose into the air along with a fierce hissing, as though of a giant serpent. Storm found enough breath to scream once, then the water caught hold once more and buoyed her up. Quickly, before the enemy could strike again, she lashed out with a whip of icy water. It hit the Fire-witch with a sound like a lightning strike, and the woman flew through the air and crashed into some bushes.

  The enemy was now too far away to be fought with water. Storm released the waterspout, leaping on to the ground as it sank back into the lake, and readied her Air-magic.

  She ran towards the figure she could see pushing itself upright. As she ran, Storm sent a wind swirling low and fierce. The wind caught the Fire-witch just as the woman turned and raised her fists again. Storm felt a moment’s respect for her enemy’s toughness, and considerable fear. If her Air-magic failed her, she would die.

  The wind hit the witch, and the woman was lifted off her feet. Storm watched, appalled at the power she had unleashed, as a small tornado sucked the woman up into the sky – into its whirling heart – and tore through the garden, digging a deep channel into the ground as it went.

  “Stop!” shrieked Storm. “Don’t kill her!” But the whirlwind swept on. This magic was none of hers; the Elementals had taken over. The tornado burst through the garden wall with an explosion of stone that showered fragments of rock and dirt high into the air. On it went, until it disappeared in the direction of the sea.

  Storm stood staring after, left alone with the trail of devastation. Something made her glance upwards, and she saw the Albatross flying overhead, its wingspan nearly as wide as the sky.

  Later, Storm couldn’t remember how she got back to the pond, or how long she had stood there, staring down at the carp slowly circling in the moonlight. At last, she heard the sound of people running towards her. Heard gasps of shock; commands and arguments. Finally, someone approached slowly.

  “You will come with us, please, Weather-witch. The chief councillor wishes to speak to you most urgently. Make no sudden moves, if you please.”

  Wearily, Storm turned to face the speaker. It was a silver-haired official. The woman’s face was creased with shock. Two archers stood either side of her, arrows notched and bows drawn. Storm sighed. She had lost this roll of the dice. It was clear that Talon now knew the secret she had been trying to keep from him – that the Salamander was trying to kill her.

  “So this attack, which has destroyed half my house and devastated an ancient garden planted by our honoured ancestors, has nothing to do with you? Is that what you expect me to believe?”

  Talon was not looking as elegant as usual. He still wore his damp, sooty nightclothes beneath a robe tugged on and belted haphazardly. His forehead needed shaving and his hair was straggling down his back. Every word and gesture spoke of outrage that he should be pulled so rudely from his bed. That seemed to offend him almost as much as the fact that his ancestral house was damaged. “Well? Do you still claim not to know the witch who attacked you?”

  “I didn’t see them closely,” Storm lied again.

  “You don’t deny that the fire started in the wing where you were sleeping.”

  “Of course not. But I wasn’t the only guest there.”

  “Or that you put out the fire?”

  “Given your hospitality, Councillor, how could I do less?” Storm made him a small, formal bow to take away the sting of irony in her words. She was so tired! When would this endless questioning finish?

  Talon ran his hands through his hair and asked, for the hundredth time, “Why did you go into the garden?”

  “I was looking for my monkey. When I reached the pond, I spotted someone on a nearby path. It was clear by the way they moved that they wanted to keep their presence hidden. Until that moment, I had thought the guest-house fire had been an accident.” Lying had become uncomfortably easy. “Foolishly, I called out for the intruder to stop. And … they attacked me with fire.”

  “So you say.” Talon rubbed a weary hand over his head, tangling his hair even more. “Indeed, so you say.”

  “Does any other explanation make sense?”

  Talon frowned. “Except that this is no
t the first time the woman has tried to kill you. Come, Storm. You must grant that I’m no fool. Who is this enemy of yours? Be warned: she may have survived. We have searched the harbour, even dragged it with nets, but we have not found a body.”

  Storm shuddered. She didn’t know if she was relieved or terrified by the news that the Fire-witch might still be alive.

  Talon smiled triumphantly. “As I thought. You have somehow made a mortal enemy of the Salamander! Or, at least, one of his most powerful servants. So …what does that fact mean to me? To the Pact?”

  He drummed his fingernails on the table, and Storm saw a greedy look enter his eyes. “Your arguments with the Elementals are your own affair. I think it best if the Pact stays well out of that. But damage has been done, and that is your responsibility. You brought your magical warfare into my house, and now you must repay me for the devastation it wrought – both to my house and to the Pact’s historical and priceless garden! That is only fair.”

  “But…” Storm stared, appalled.

  “If you had not carelessly wandered off, if you had not engaged in a magic fight with the Fire-witch, the garden would still be intact. As it is…” He waved his hands and shook his head with mock sorrow. “Conservatively, I estimate that repairing the damage would cost all the goods the Yanlin fleet could send for at least, oh, ten years. Which would, of course be a disaster for your island.”

  “Ten years!”

  “Dozens of rare and irreplaceable trees – some hundreds of years old – have been ripped from the earth. At least one ancient bridge has been destroyed. It will take a generation before the garden is restored to its former glory, if it ever is! We may even have to send an expedition to the Outer Sea in search of replacement seedlings.”

  Despite his dramatic words, Talon did not seem upset. Indeed, the councillor’s moustaches spread in a merry smile. “I think we have no choice but to keep you working for us for a period of three years, as an indentured servant. Oh, do not worry: your duties will not involve policing rebels. I and my colleagues have taken your words to heart. We shall open negotiations with the trait— With those who petition the Pact in an appropriate manner.

  “You, however, will work without pay, guarding the fleets that come to trade on Bellum and protecting us all from the Drowned Ones.

  “We will give you comfortable lodgings – not, ahem, in my house – and servants, as befits your status. If, after three years working for the Pact, you wish to continue as our partner, well … that would be most acceptable.” Talon smoothed his wayward hair back from his forehead and his eyebrows rose in hoops of happiness.

  She could freeze him into an ice statue where he sat. But only if the Albatross wanted her to, which she doubted. Talon’s death would not solve the problem of Bellum Island.

  She tried to salvage something: “Cloud is free to leave? And my uncle free to return with the fleet to Bellum? To finish trading? You will not punish Yanlin with even more taxes because of my … misfortune?”

  “But of course!” Talon smiled broadly, waggled his crimson-nailed hands to show his disinterest. Having acquired his Weather-witch, he could afford small gestures of magnanimity.

  Two days later, at dawn, the messenger boat sailed into Bellum harbour, followed by the Wayfarer. Storm met with her uncle and his second master in her new quarters, in the official Pact guest house. Which, she noted, was on the opposite side of the square from Talon’s house.

  “I think he arranged the attack himself!” Lake raged, pacing round and round her somewhat smaller, plainer room. “I wouldn’t put it past these pampered civil servants! The man wouldn’t know a bowsprit from a yardarm! Never did an honest day’s work in his life!”

  “Well, well.” Foam squatted with his back against the wall, watching his captain pace back and forth, as Lake had been doing ever since they had arrived. “What can’t be helped must be endured.” The second master cast an agonised look at Storm, who sat nearby, waiting for her uncle’s anger to wear itself out. She wished he would hurry up about it. Each word was an arrow in her heart. Her people must leave her behind.

  The Wayfarer had finished trading. It would now begin the homeward journey. She would be left alone in this strange place full of danger. And there was no help for it: none at all.

  “It’s only three years, Uncle,” Storm said, when Lake paused to draw breath. “It will pass quickly enough.” The three years stretched out before her like a lifetime. She wouldn’t see Minnow, or Auntie Briathe, or Teanu. She wouldn’t be able to set foot on Yanlin. Or visit her mother’s grave. And at the thought of Dain, Storm’s resolve broke, and she hid her face in her hands.

  Someone shuffled near and a hand patted her awkwardly on the shoulders. “There, there, Storm. Don’t cry, child. Please.” Uncle Lake sounded so miserable that Storm found the strength to stifle her tears. She took a deep gulping breath.

  “I am sorry, Uncle. I do not mean to distress you.”

  “I’m not going.” Cloud, who had been standing silently all this time, spoke at last.

  “What do you mean, boy?” Lake frowned at his apprentice. “Of course you’re sailing with the fleet.”

  “I’m going to stay here with Storm.”

  “You’re my apprentice. Your time is mine! Besides, what use would you be?” Lake’s words were scathing. “You’ve no magic. No skills at all, except eating and sleeping and getting into trouble!”

  “Perhaps.” Cloud’s face was red with embarrassment. “But I can be company, if nothing else. Someone from home. A friend.”

  “And who’s going to feed you?” asked Foam. “Don’t expect the Pact to pay for your keep, for they won’t.”

  “And nor will I!” growled Lake.

  “I’ll work for my food!” Cloud said. “I can carry and tote as well as anyone else.”

  “Well…” Uncle Lake turned to Storm. “I’m properly confounded. It’s up to you, Storm. Do you want the boy? If he’ll be a bother, I’ll take him with me, willing or no! Just say what you want.”

  What she wanted. The idea made her feel like laughing … or crying. Everything she’d ever treasured or yearned for, everything she had ever needed – her father, her mother, Thorn, to be normal – she had lost all of them, one by one.

  She gazed at Cloud, feeling as confounded as her uncle. This was the act of a true friend. He must have forgiven her for being, in his eyes, weak and cowardly. Part of her rejoiced. She was weak. The frightened part of her wanted his company, to keep away loneliness and fear of what the future held. But too many of her friends and loved ones had died already.

  It was on the tip of her tongue to tell Lake to take Cloud with him when she saw unshed tears shining in her shipmate’s eyes. And suddenly she was imagining herself as Cloud – a boy desperate to do this one thing: this simple, ordinary thing that would make him, for a brief time, extraordinary – more than just a cabin boy from a tiny island few had ever heard of.

  “I…” Storm hesitated, waiting for her mother’s spirit to guide her. The message came at once. She could almost hear Dain’s voice telling her that such gifts – given from the heart, gifts of self-sacrifice – must always be accepted, even if the cost was high.

  “Yes, please. I would like Cloud to stay.”

  When Talon was informed that Cloud would be Storm’s companion, he waved both hands in dismissal. “Nothing to do with the Pact.”

  In the end, Storm was able to persuade him to let Cloud work as a guest-house servant in return for food and lodging. He would sleep in the attics with the other servants. An official marched him off to his new lodgings.

  Storm watched them go with relief then retreated to her room. Days after the Fire-witch’s attack, her body still felt as if someone had beaten her with a rope. She was sore from an excess of magic and heartache. She lay down on another too-big, too-soft bed and knew no more until a knock on her door announced the arrival of her lunch.

  Storm pushed away the light quilt; she was hot and dizzy with
sleep. “Come in!”

  The door swung wide, too wide. It bashed into the wall and rebounded on the figure entering the room. “Blast it!” Cloud grabbed the covered plate which was sliding off the tray he carried. He closed the door behind him with more care and turned to face Storm, looking as awkward as she felt. “Um. Your lunch, St—Mistress.”

  “Don’t call me that! And put that down before you drop it.”

  “Sorry.” Cloud scurried to set the tray on the low table below the window. It clattered down, the bowl slopping a brownish liquid. Storm sighed.

  “You will never make a servant.”

  “I’m rubbish, aren’t I?”

  “Yes. And if you call me ‘Mistress’ again I’ll…”

  Cloud grinned.

  “Have you had lunch?” Storm asked.

  “Not yet. We servants eat after you guest folk.”

  “Well, have that. I’m not hungry.”

  “I don’t believe it. You must have used up masses of energy fighting off that Fire-witch. Eat!”

  Once she had taken the first spoonful of soup, Storm found she was, after all, very hungry, and soon scraped the bowl clean. She put the spoon down reluctantly and frowned at Cloud. “Are you sure about all this? The fleet sails tomorrow for home. You can still change your mind.”

  Cloud shook his head. “You may be the witch – although I still don’t know why the Elementals chose you over me…” He smiled broadly, as if it was a joke. “But you can’t keep all the fun to yourself!”

  Storm shrugged, keeping things casual. She and Cloud would never agree about what it meant to be brave, and his jealousy of her magic seemed worse than ever. Had she made a mistake, agreeing to let him stay? “Have you seen Scoundrel?”

  “The monkey hasn’t come back?”

  “I haven’t seen him since the fire.”

  “Um. Do you think…”

  “No!” She was surprised at how upset she felt at the suggestion. “He’s alive. I saw him climb out of the window.”