Master of Elements

by Sonya Bateman

  Balain threw both arms over his face. “I yield!” he cried. “Rayan, please! I … submit.”

  A gasp went up from the Alqani. Ian’s face twisted in disgust, and he stepped forward to plunge Balain’s sword into the dirt, leaving it trembling between the other djinn’s legs. Ian snorted and spat on the ground in front of him, face painted with blood and dust. “Coward,” he said flatly. “I barely touched you. A true leader would fight to the death. His pride would not allow such weakness.” Turning away from the Annukhai ‘warrior,’ he found Meriwa and pinned her with an icy glare. “As ray’is, I demand an audience with your council,” he said. “Will you recognize my right?”

  Ignored and dismissed, Balain flushed deep red. He clambered to his feet, and then turned and walked away toward the village without a word.

  Someone grabbed my arm. I flinched briefly, preparing to fight a polar bear, but it was Malak. “Did he … did he actually yield?” the young man half-whispered.

  “That’s what I heard,” I said as a relieved smile tugged at my mouth.

  But the feeling that we might’ve finally caught a break died when Meriwa stepped in front of the crowd and pointed at Ian. “He has broken the rules of combat,” she said in icy tones. “Clearly, he used magic to coerce Balain into yielding. I want him executed immediately.”

  “Stay back!” a deeper, more commanding female voice rang out. “Any who attempt to harm him will answer to me.”

  The voice came from Shadahni, the wizened old djinn lady. And in response every one of the Alqani, with the exception of Meriwa, winced guiltily like a bunch of kids caught with their hands in the cookie jar.

  Shadahni shoved her way to the front of the crowd, knocking a few of them to the ground as she went. When she reached Meriwa, she drew herself up and shook a finger in her face. “You will stop this nonsense immediately,” she said. “Gahiji-an has won the title of ray’is, and the council will hear him. You will not break with tradition.”

  Meriwa’s features contorted, and for a second I thought she’d attack the old woman. But then her expression smoothed like she’d flipped a switch and a self-satisfied smile spread across her face.

  I didn’t like that smile one bit.

  “Very well, then,” she said. “I will, of course, honor the traditions. Come, ray’is.”

  Ian didn’t budge, standing with his arms crossed in a growing puddle of blood. “First, you will grant my escorts safe leave in your village.” Despite his commanding tone, my link with him told me the only thing keeping Ian on his feet was his own stubbornness and rage. He probably had more of that in him than blood at this point.

  Meriwa curled her lip briefly, and her gaze traveled across us like bugs. “Your escorts will not be harmed,” she said. “Tariq will bring them to the hospitality lodge to await you. Gahdi, Naiji — you will accompany us to the lodge.”

  Apparently, Gahdi and Naiji were the gate guards, because they broke away from the edge of the crowd and headed to join Meriwa.

  I shook my head and walked up to Ian, who was still bleeding from the holes in him. “This doesn’t smell right,” I said. “Don’t go with them.”

  “I must. This is why we came.” He tried to smile, but it morphed into a pained grimace. “Whatever it takes, I will make them listen.”

  “Yeah. That’s what I’m worried about … the ‘whatever it takes’ part.”

  “Are you coming, ray’is?” Meriwa said curtly. “I do not appreciate having my time wasted.”

  Ian rolled his eyes. “Of course, your majesty,” he muttered under his breath. “Go on,” he said to me. “You will need to watch over Malak and Pahna, to make sure they come to no harm. I do not trust these Alqani to keep their word.”

  He had a point, but his own actions were missing it. He was trusting one of them — the last one he should. “Fine. Just be careful,” I said.

  “And you as well.”

  I watched him walk away behind the council members with the still-armed guards bringing up the rear, and knew without a doubt that things were about to go from bloody and bad to even worse. Unfortunately, I had no idea what I’d do when it did.

  But I sure as hell wouldn’t stand by and do nothing.

  Chapter 21

  The ‘hospitality lodge’ was apparently a cross between a storehouse and a bar.

  Tariq, the female Alqani who’d been assigned our watchdog, led us to a dome building covered with bark shingles that was near the edge of the village, but within sight of the lodge. Inside was a single large room furnished with counters, tables and chairs, with several small stacks of wooden barrels placed around the room. The longest counter at the back was apparently a serving area. Barrels with spouts at the bottom lined the surface, and there were rows of tankards made from pottery or bone at either end.

  A handful of djinn occupied the place when we walked in. One of them was Balain, who sat hunched over a tankard at one of the back tables. He looked up briefly as we entered, turned on his stool to face away from us, and went back to scowling into his drink.

  Tariq stayed by the door and didn’t say a word to anyone, so I led Malak and Pahna to the closest empty table and sat down. I didn’t want to be too far from the exit — or any closer to Balain. The pain in my forearm and side had stopped, so it seemed like they’d at least let Ian heal, but I wasn’t convinced they were done hurting him yet.

  I kept thinking about those violent, humiliating customs Pahna had mentioned, and the malicious glee in Meriwa’s eyes when she said she’d honor the traditions.

  “Just look at this,” Pahna said in disgust as she took a seat and panned a gaze across the room. “They have more than they can use, while we try to feed growing children with next to nothing.”

  “What’s in all those barrels?” I said.

  Her lip curled. “Food. Probably smoked fish, dried meat, ocean greens.” She glared briefly at Tariq, who was actively not paying attention to us. “I notice they’re not offering any of it, either.”

  “You know they won’t.” Malak, who was still holding Ian’s coat, draped the duster carefully on the back of another chair and sat down. “Meriwa only told them not to harm us,” he said. “She didn’t mention being civil.”

  I had an idea that probably wasn’t going to go over too well with the Alqani, but I didn’t give a damn. “This is a hospitality lodge, right?” I said as I shrugged my jacket off, glad that Jazz made me bring extra shirts. I’d worn one of the thermals over my t-shirt this morning. “So we’re going to help ourselves to some hospitality.”

  Malak frowned as I stripped off the thermal shirt. “What are you doing?”

  “We need a couple of bags.” I tossed the shirt on the table, put my jacket back on, and grabbed the knife from my boot, aware that most of the Alqani in here were staring at me. I used the knife to cut the shirt down the middle, front and back. “Don’t worry. It’s just like taking those little shampoo bottles from hotel rooms.”

  Actually, it was like stuffing the towels, the bathrobe, and a couple of pillows in your luggage, but my ethical give-a-shit was broken when it came to the polar bear clan. Those kids back at the village shared every scrap of food they had with Ian and I, and they needed this a lot more than these jerks did.

  “What’s a hotel room?” Malak said, at the same time Pahna asked, “What is shampoo?”

  I laughed. “Just human stuff. It doesn’t matter, really.” I laid one of the shirt halves out flat on the table and slowly passed both hands over it, turning the fabric into a backpack. It wasn’t quite what I wanted — too small and flimsy, just a nylon sack with a drawstring. Another pass, and I had a rugged, oversized camping pack.

  “There we go,” I said. “Alakazaam.”

  Pahna’s brow furrowed. “Why did you invoke this Aliq’ Azaam? Is he your mentor for transformation?”

  “Uh. No,” I said, and left it at that. If they didn’t understand hotel shampoo bottles, there was no way they’d get ‘basketball player who was
in this movie playing a genie.’

  Malak stared at the big, stiff square of material covered with buckles and straps. “That shirt doesn’t look very comfortable.”

  “Yeah, it probably wouldn’t be, if you tried to wear it as a shirt.” I did the same with the other half and managed to get it right with one pass. “Here you go,” I said, picking up one of the backpacks and lifting the top flap so they could see the roomy compartment inside. “You guys go ahead and stuff these with as much food as they’ll hold. I’ll make sure these bums leave you alone while you do.”

  They both grinned and grabbed a bag. “You’re brilliant,” Pahna said. “Thank you.”

  Wow. ‘Brilliant’ wasn’t a word most people used to describe me — okay, zero people had called me that — but I’d take the compliment.

  I pushed my chair back slightly from the table so I could watch the entire room and move quickly if I had to. No one tried to interfere with the young djinn as they pried a lid from one of the barrels and started dumping whole, small silvery fish into a bag. But when they moved to the next barrel, movement from the back of the room caught my eye. I turned to see Balain standing with his mug in hand. He sent a dull stare at Malak, who didn’t even glance in his direction.

  And then Balain stalked toward me.

  I started to get up, preparing to take him down. But he held out a calming hand and slowed his pace to a less threatening speed. “I only wish to talk, young champion,” he said, infusing ‘champion’ with a sour note. “And I hope you will listen.”

  “I doubt I want to hear anything you have to say.” I lowered myself back into the chair, but the tension didn’t leave my body. “So, what do you want to talk about? Global warming, the housing crisis … oh, wait, I know. Starving children in Africa.”

  Balain hovered behind the chair next to me, his mouth puckered in distaste. “You and your master are going to cause serious problems here,” he said, ignoring my lame attempt at innuendo.

  “First of all, Ian’s not my master. We’re partners,” I said. “And second, if you think losing a fight by crying Uncle is a serious problem, then I’ll be happy to show you what ‘serious’ really means. We can start with another sword through your gut.”

  “I am not referring to the combat,” he said harshly. “You are interfering in matters you do not understand. This situation is my clan’s fault, and if you do not leave it alone …” His hand tightened around his tankard. “You risk the positions, and the very lives, of the remaining Annukhai.”

  An ocean of rage washed through me, and I shot to my feet. “I’m risking their lives?” I shouted, and it was all I could do not to conjure up one of those stone discs and cut him down with it. “You and the other so-called ‘elders’ sit here safe and sound, protected and fed, while your children live in shacks and scrounge for food, and hide in the ground so they don’t get eaten by a giant monster!”

  “What are you talking about?” Balain sputtered. “They have the forest, and the mountains. Plenty of food and materials.”

  I stared at him. “You can’t really believe that, can you?” I said, beginning to suspect that he actually did. “Have you even been to their village in the past … I don’t know, hundred years or so? And even if they did have enough food and shelter, which they don’t, there’s still the massive fucking monster that eats people.”

  “No. The Wihtiko is contained.” Balain stared at something behind me and backed up a step. “Meriwa and Ujura trapped the beast themselves.”

  “Is that what they told you, Uncle?”

  I barely recognized Malak in that cold, furious voice. He and Pahna had come back with full packs, and they were both glaring daggers at the older djinn.

  Balain took another step back. “They contained it,” he said. “On the mountain. Meriwa showed us proof …”

  “She lies!” Malak roared. “You know that. You’ve always known that. All of you!” He turned in a slow circle, staring down the rest of the Alqani along with his uncle. “We lost Jiana to the creature just two moons ago, and Halan the cycle before that. It comes faster now, and its power grows. The aid’ha nearly killed Toklai in the woods just this morning, in broad daylight!” He bared his teeth in a snarl. “How long do you think it will be before the Wihtiko breaks through your defenses, and starts carrying off your people?”

  If Balain had an answer to that, I didn’t hear it. The hospitality lodge vanished, and I was suddenly with Ian. Seeing through his eyes, feeling what he felt.

  And what he felt was a metric shitload of pain.

  When it happened like this, I knew it was beyond bad. I was Ian — vest off, hands tied above my head to a rafter, back split open and bleeding in multiple places. I tried to catch a breath, and a loud crack filled my ears as what felt like a red-hot, flexible poker whacked across my shoulders, tearing a fresh gash. I gasped as stinging bitter cold flooded into the wound where the flesh parted.

  I saw, and I felt, and I heard Ian’s thoughts. His one thought, repeating over and over.

  I will not scream. Will not scream. Will not scream …

  The scream Ian refused to release tore from my own throat as I crashed back into myself at the hospitality hut. I was on my hands and knees, gasping and sweating with tears streaming down my face. And I was killing mad.

  “Oh, you bitch,” I spat, already lunging to my feet. I paid no attention to the other occupants of the hut as I made my way past Tariq and sprinted toward the lodge on wobbly legs. Part of me realized that I’d stopped thinking almost completely. If I didn’t start again, someone was probably going to die. And that someone could be me.

  The rest of me didn’t give a fuck, and hoped I could at least take Meriwa with me when I went down.

  Chapter 22

  Everyone in the lodge seemed surprised to see me when I blasted the doors apart and strode inside. I couldn’t imagine why. After what they’d done to Ian, they should’ve known they would have to deal with me.

  These bastards were about to learn the error of their ways.

  Ian was tied in the middle of the great room with his ravaged back to the entrance, facing the long table where the council sat. The bigger of the two guards stood behind him with a long, blood-soaked whip in one hand, next to a barrel of what looked like wet slush. The other guard was off to the side, about halfway between Ian and the table.

  I was still trying to decide which one I wanted to kill first when Ian said, “Donatti, stop.” His voice was strained, but loud and clear. “I have agreed to this.”

  He hadn’t moved or turned his head, so he must’ve sensed my fury. Hearing that he was letting them torture him failed to improve my mood. “Well, whatever you agreed to, this is the end of it,” I said. “Because I’m not feeling very agreeable.”

  Meriwa stood with a smug expression. “The ceremony is not yet finished,” she said. “If Gahiji-an does not complete the ritual, his title will not be recognized by this council.”

  “Lady, I’ve had enough of your bullshit!” I shouted, stalking past the asshole with the whip. I had to exercise considerable restraint to keep from murdering him with a thousand razor-sharp splinters, or possibly a large boulder. “This isn’t a ritual. It’s torture, plain and simple.”

  “The shah-jae ceremony is a long-standing custom among our people.” Meriwa started out strong, but she faltered a little when I got close enough for her to see my face. “Every leader must undergo the ritual —”

  “Oh, really. Every leader?” I said in frigid tones. “So when did the three of you submit to this little ritual of yours?”

  At least Ujura and Shadahni had the grace to look ashamed.

  Meriwa opened her mouth again, but this time Ian cut her off. “Donatti, you must allow them to complete the ceremony,” he said.

  “There, you see?” Meriwa recovered her smug expression. “Your sechet is aware of the importance of tradition.”

  “You need to shut the hell up, before I decide to crack your head open and use
your skull for a soup bowl,” I snarled at her.

  She actually shut the hell up.

  I turned to Ian, feeling every bit of pain that coursed through his body. At least I couldn’t see his back anymore — but I still felt like throwing up, because I had seen it. No one should look like that and be conscious enough to feel it. “Screw their goddamn ritual,” I said in English. “You don’t have to do this, Ian. We’ll find another way to make them listen.”

  Ian drew a pained smirk. “This may not be the best way, but it is the fastest way,” he said. “Meriwa must be made to cooperate. The rest will follow her.”

  “Yeah, fine. But … Jesus, not like this.”

  Just then a horrified scream filled the room, followed by a wrenching sob. I looked past Ian to see Malak, Pahna, and Balain standing just inside the destroyed entrance. The scream had come from Pahna, who’d pressed her face against Malak to muffle her cries. The other two wore identical expressions of shock.

  “Do not let them interfere,” Ian rasped.

  “Fuck. All right,” I said, shaking my head as I walked toward them. “I guess we can’t stop them,” I called as I approached, unable to keep the anger and disgust from my voice. “Ian agreed to let them do this, so now they have to finish it.”

  I was surprised to see that Balain looked almost as furious as me. “Meriwa, the shah-jae ceremony has not been a requirement for centuries,” he half-shouted. “You have no grounds to resurrect such a practice!”

  “The ritual has begun, and it will be finished,” Meriwa responded, this time sounding more like a scolded child than an arrogant pseudo-princess. “You are all, of course, welcome to witness the remainder of the ceremony,” she added nastily.