by Ellen Renner
Bile rose in her throat. A Drowned One’s slave? Never!
No wings overshadowed them from the sky. No giant dolphin rose from the cove’s waters. The Tortoise was silent. The Elementals were not here. Why? Always, in the past, when great danger had threatened, the spirits had appeared to her. Several times they had used their power to fight off the Salamander, saving her life. Now, when she faced her most hated enemy, they were absent.
The niggling thought returned: something Nim had just said was important. She told us you would be here, reminded her mind-voice.
“How did she know?” Storm asked him.
He frowned, puzzled, for a moment. Then realisation made him nod. “That you would be here?” He glanced at the Fire-witch, who smiled. Storm shuddered. The woman’s smile was like the grin of a jackal, her teeth white, sharp and pointed.
The witch stepped forward, fingers twining, untwining, never still. “I found them! Your conspirators. The other witches.” Her voice was melodic, beautiful. It made Storm blink with surprise.
“I knew of the traitor, the one who used to be a Fire-witch,” continued the witch. “The Salamander told me about her treachery. I followed her, made her tell me everything. Then it was easy to track down the Air-witch, the Water-witch. I let them set the peasant boy on his journey here, thinking himself safe. Then I told the pirate clan, and we followed your shipmate’s little boat. I came to meet you, Storm. You and I, we have a score to settle!”
“What did you do to them?” A chill was spreading from her heart. Her words puffed frost into the air.
“The traitress is dead: I owed that death to my master. The other two? Perhaps they live. Perhaps not. If you meet them in the land of the Ancestors, then you will know.” She smiled.
Linnet was safe at least. Scoundrel’s arms were clinging tighter and tighter. She tugged at one, trying to loosen it, impatient. Why were the Elementals keeping away when the Fire-witch had attacked their Children?
The chill inside her grew. She still had her magic. Perhaps the Elementals knew she no longer needed their assistance. A moment before, she hadn’t been sure, but Storm knew now that she could win this battle. The Drowned Ones had arrows and a Fire-witch. But she had her hatred.
Storm made herself think of Dain, let the knife of loss cut deep. Wind rose, bending the trees, scattering the top layer of shingle. The water of the cove began to churn. Sleet, like tiny darts, rained out the sky.
“Kill her!” screamed the Fire-witch. “She is too powerful – she will bring the ice! Shoot her!”
“No!” roared Nim. “You gave your word, Witch! If you attack Storm, I’ll have you shot. We want her alive!”
Her enemy had just determined his own destruction! As Storm gathered her magic for the killing blow, she began to choke. Scoundrel had twisted around to cling to her chest. His arms were snaky vines around her neck, squeezing the breath from her. She tugged at a hairy arm, but the monkey was too strong – impossibly strong! Storm looked into the cling-monkey’s eyes and saw, reflected in their brown irises, something ancient and unknowable yet instantly familiar. She flinched, but could not escape the gaze.
Scoundrel’s mouth moved, and the Tortoise spoke: You hold the Balance in your hand. The eternal war between fear and understanding, hatred and love, destruction and creation. Lose the Balance and hope dies.
We Three took you as our child because you have the gift and curse of the story-teller: imagination. Because your parents loved and taught you well. But the choice is yours; it was always yours. Think of your mother’s gifts, and choose!
The slow, gravelly voice faded from her head. Once more, Scoundrel was a tiny cling-monkey, shivering and crying plaintively. She cradled him to her chest.
Storm looked at Nim and thought of Dain. The answer was as warm and real as the monkey in her arms: Dain’s talent had been for loving. For giving. For celebrating Life.
Storm hugged Scoundrel to her, needing his warmth. The wind died. The cove calmed. And when she spoke, her words no longer emerged on puffs of frost. “Cloud goes free. But I want to speak to him.”
“Of course.” Nim was breathing too fast, his face pale. But his eyes shone with relief and … gratitude? She must have imagined it.
Now that she had made her choice, the reality of what she had done made her feel nauseous. How could she bear to go with the pirates? To live as their slave? Only for a little while, soothed her mind-voice. You will soon escape. Or something.
Something, she thought, glancing at the Fire-witch. The woman returned her gaze with pure enmity. This one would not rest until Storm was dead. Did Nim really imagine he could control the Salamander?
A pirate untied Cloud, and Storm squatted beside him on the shingle. They talked in low voices, aware that the enemy was listening to everything.
“Don’t try anything heroic, Cloud. Find Lake and the Wayfarer, tell them what has happened, and get back to Yanlin. I can look after myself.”
“Why didn’t you blast them?” He glared at her, furious, baffled … guilty. “Why did you back down? Why are you always such a coward? I didn’t ask you to save me! Fight them. They are our mortal enemies – that’s the only thing that matters! You can win. I know you can. Kill the Drowned Ones! For Thorn!”
She stared at him, her heart dry, and tried to find words he could understand. The look of betrayal in his eyes cut deep. He would never be able to forgive her for failing to be the sort of hero he believed in. She had not just lost a friend, she had made an enemy. Still she tried: “Sometimes, losing is how you win.”
“Riddles!” He spat the word. “I thought you hated them.”
“I do.” She sighed. “Take Thorn’s boat to Yanlin for me. Put it in his grave.”
“You offer his spirit a toy instead of the vengeance he deserves.” Contempt in his voice, his face.
Storm closed her eyes, feeling tired to the point of sickness. “Just take him the boat, please. Promise?”
“Yes.” Sullen, but Cloud would take Thorn’s boat to Yanlin.
In a few heartbeats, he was gone, bundled into the canoe and shoved out to sea. Storm watched the small red sail flick out of the cove and disappear behind a headland. When it had gone, she turned to face the Drowned Ones.
All her life, she had heard the stories her people told about the sea pirates. Had learned to tell them herself. Drowned Ones were not fully human. They lacked all virtue. Their islands had sunk beneath the sea because the people who lived on them deserved their ill luck.
The stories had taught her that the Drowned Ones were her enemy; that the only path for her people was that of war and vengeance. Against all that – the tales of her Ancestors’ Ancestors’ Ancestors, against the hate that still smouldered in her heart – she had only the words of the Tortoise and the memory of her mother. Storm saw the Fire-witch standing, waiting, fingers twitching, and wondered if it would be enough.
“I’m ready,” she said.
Acknowledgements
Once again, a huge Thank You! to my amazing editor, Kirsty Stansfield, who nudged, guided and kept me on the right path throughout.
Thanks as well to the great team at Nosy Crow.
Continued appreciation goes to my agent, Jenny Savill of Andrew Nurnberg Associates.
My family and friends are old hands at writer-support now: I couldn’t do it without you.
Copyright
First published in the UK in 2019 by Nosy Crow Ltd
The Crow’s Nest, 14 Baden Place
Crosby Row, London, SE1 1YW, UK
www.nosycrow.com
ISBN: 978 1 78800 360 5
eISBN: 978 1 78800 361 2
Nosy Crow and associated logos are trademarks and/or registered
trademarks of Nosy Crow Ltd
Text copyright © Ellen Renner, 2019
Cover and inside illustration copyright © Jedit, 2019
The right of Ellen Renner to be identified as the author of this work
has been asserted.<
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