In the center of the circular room’s marbled floor, an altar stood, the top flat and unadorned, though even from where they stood, they could see the surface was black from dried blood. Most sylphs were drawn through the gate by offerings of skill, but hundreds of women had been sacrificed on that altar to trap the battlers. Devon stood in the entrance, staring at the altar and the great circle imbedded in the floor around it, and felt as though the deaths of all those people were soaked into the place, reaching out to draw him in. The room even reeked of it, the acrid smell of copper strong in his nose. Airi pressed against Devon’s back, cold.
“This place is horrible,” Xehm whispered. “It’s nothing but death.”
This was where the sylphs were supposed to be gathered to celebrate their victory? In this place? Devon didn’t see any sylphs. He saw the same large pockmarks on the floor and walls as in the corridor, and something else that he didn’t recognize until he forced himself to walk forward and take a closer look.
What he saw made him jump back in horror. The blood wasn’t just on the altar. There were pools of it scattered everywhere on the floor, so thick in spots that it still looked to be tacky, and when he moved close, his stomach roiled at the stench of it. Devon stared at the blood and felt his gorge rise, even as Xehm stepped up beside him and gasped. Suddenly, he wished he still had his boots on, so that his bare toes wouldn’t be so close to it.
“What did this?” Xehm gasped. “The battlers?”
Not the battle sylphs, Devon thought. They could destroy things, but they blew up their target and everything around it. If they’d done this, the blood would have been splattered, not pooled, and there would have been a lot more damage to the room itself than the odd hole. Something inside of him screamed that this was done by something else entirely and he had a suddenly incongruous wish that Zalia was there with him, just so he could assure himself that she was all right.
“Airi?” he whispered. “Are there any sylphs here?”
The little sylph pressed against his back, easily as terrified as her master. She didn’t flee though. Not even though she could have grabbed him and raced back the way they’d come, out into the fresh air of the city. Neither of them knew if it was any safer up there anymore, not after what they’d seen only the night before last at the harbor.
“Airi?” he repeated.
Yes, she said at last, shivering against his back. I can feel one. She’s hurt and so frightened. She’s hiding. I wouldn’t have felt her at all if I weren’t so close.
Devon frowned. Why would an elemental sylph hide? Back home, any of them who were in danger screamed for the battlers. They certainly hadn’t seemed too concerned outside. Perhaps they’d already dealt with the problem, though if they had, why was she still hiding? Why would she hide at all if the battle sylphs were the cause of all this blood?
“There’s a sylph here,” Devon told Xehm. “Airi says she’s hurt somehow. Maybe she can tell us what happened.”
“I don’t think I want to know,” Xehm whimpered. The old man was pale, his brown skin tinged with gray, and he shivered where he stood. Devon didn’t blame him. He also didn’t agree.
“I don’t want to have whatever did this do it again,” Devon argued and turned completely to face his sylph. He couldn’t see her, but he could feel little kisses of air on his face. “Can you talk to the sylph?” he asked her.
Yes, she said and flitted away.
“Make sure we can see you,” Devon called after her. He didn’t want any more surprises.
Sand on the floor, blown even to these depths from the surface, suddenly lifted, caught in a tiny whirlwind, and formed the outline of a skinny human girl. It was easier for Airi to make those kinds of shapes than to actually become solid, and right now, probably felt safer for the little creature as well, even if that safety was an illusion. She crossed the floor to a corner far from the corridor they’d come in by, to where a gouge in the floor was nearly five feet deep, though only two feet across. Airi hovered on the edge of the pit, looking down. She’s down there.
“Did she do this?” Devon asked, indicating the pit as he walked up to the edge.
No. I think something tried to dig her out. Oh, Devon, I’m scared.
“So am I,” he murmured.
“What is it?” Xehm asked, stopping beside him.
“I don’t know yet. Airi, do you?”
I don’t want to know. I’m scared. She dived down, fading back to invisibility as the grains of sand that made her up splattered against the ground beside the dark circle of what looked like a much smaller hole, right in the center of the pit. Left on the rim, Devon had the sudden feeling that Airi did know what was going on.
Airi did indeed have a suspicion of what was happening, though the thought of it made her want to grab her master and fly for home, fly until her pattern gave out on her. It wasn’t anything she’d ever encountered herself, but her home hive had stories. Stories of disappearances and deaths, and the scars of outright attacks still marred the outer layers of her birth hive itself, even after centuries, left as a reminder of what could happen to even the most prosperous of hives.
Airi shuddered and made her way down the narrow airhole that the earth sylph had left. If she was right in her suspicions, then an earth sylph was the only type of elemental with any hope of surviving it. It was only their walls that could hold the monsters out and she’d taken an incredible risk leaving even such a tiny way in.
The reason why she’d done it became apparent a moment later, as Airi flowed into a hollow in solid stone, bored nearly fifty feet below the chamber. The edges were rough, the entire thing obviously formed in a few bare instants of strength and panic, leaving the sylph herself too weak to get back out. Or rather, too weak to get her master back out.
A man lay insensate on his side in the hollow, the marbled form of his sylph lying embraced with him, though the stone of her couldn’t have been warm for him and the hollow itself was very cold. Airi cautiously fluttered down, afraid of what the older sylph would do, but her pattern was hurt as well as exhausted. She’d been just fast enough to live, but not to keep from injury.
Go away, the earth sylph breathed, unmoving.
I can’t, Airi told her. I have to help.
She drifted closer, studying the earth sylph’s pattern. She was from a different hive, but unlike Ocean Breeze, she wasn’t even an air sylph. Airi didn’t feel as though she had any way to relate to the other sylph except for in the one similarity they both shared.
My master is above, she told the sylph. He wants me to help you. My name is Airi. My master is Devon. What’s your name? The earth sylph was silent. What’s your master’s name?
There was a long pause. Gel, the sylph said at last. I’m Shasha. I…can’t get him out.
Encouraged by the answer but still nervous, Airi moved closer, seeing how Shasha was injured. She’d lost part of her pattern and was leaking energy even as she lay there. She didn’t have the strength to tell if there was still danger outside her hiding place, let alone to get out of it.
Except for the masters they were bound to, the energy of this world was poisonous to them; to try to consume it was to die. The energy within themselves was natural to them though, no matter its source.
Airi eased up to Shasha’s side, afraid the older sylph would interpret her actions as a threat and lash out. Shasha just lay there and Airi stretched out beside her, delicately linking her pattern to the injured sylph so that she could feed her some of her own energy.
It felt strange. Shasha wasn’t from her hive and was an earth sylph. Even back home, air sylphs and earth sylphs didn’t interact much. Their jobs were very different and they didn’t have much need to actively work together. Besides, what Airi was doing now was a very rare thing. Usually, a healer would be sent for a wounded sylph or the queen would order them abandoned if they couldn’t make it
back to the hive themselves. For two elementals to share their energy was almost never done, but it wasn’t unheard of.
Airi fed Shasha some of the energy that she’d taken from Devon that morning, now changed within her to something edible for all sylphs. It wasn’t the most nourishing—Airi wasn’t a food sylph and wasn’t designed to produce energy for others to eat—but it was enough for Shasha to regain some small amount of her strength, if not to heal herself. Airi didn’t have enough power in her entire pattern for that.
It was intimate though. Airi felt her pattern blend up against the earth sylph’s, and felt some of Shasha’s pain and desperate fear for her master, even as Shasha experienced Airi’s terror and uncertainty at being in the heart of an alien hive. That need for someone else to be there for them echoed through both sylphs and Airi felt her energy pour into Shasha’s damaged pattern, the flow controlled by the other sylph.
I won’t take too much, Shasha promised.
I know, Airi answered, knowing that was the truth.
A moment later, it was done. Shasha rose from beside her unconscious master, a slim creature of marble and gems. Beautiful, she raised her arms and Airi felt the stone around them move, shifting around the earth sylph as easily as the air did around Airi. Gently, the chamber she’d made rose, lifting up through the ground.
What happened? Airi asked her finally, though she knew the only reason Shasha would have run the way she did was from a predator, and that there was only one predator in existence where calling the battlers wouldn’t make a difference.
Gleaming ruby eyes turned toward her, glistening in the sparse light coming through the airhole Shasha had left to give her master a way to breathe, despite what must have been a very real terror that the thing which drove her into the ground to begin with would be able to find it and use it to reach them.
A Hunter, Shasha told Airi, to her unsurprised horror. A Hunter has come through the gate.
CHAPTER SIX
On the same morning that Devon and Xehm went to the gate and found Gel and Shasha—and for the first time since she had started working at the restaurant, landing a job that saved her and her father from starvation and probable slavery—Zalia woke after dawn.
For a moment, she just stared up at the cracks in the roof of her hovel in confusion, not understanding what she was seeing. She hadn’t seen the sun shining down on her and her blankets in almost five years. Every morning, she’d already been at work by the time the sun rose.
Suddenly, Zalia realized where she was and rolled out of her blankets, scrambling to her feet in a panic. Unaware of how his own morning would fare, her father was still sleeping in his bed, snoring, and he didn’t wake as Zalia bolted out of the hut, running toward the city. She passed Devon’s hut with only a miserable glance. She’d stayed awake until long into the night, thinking about him. Even the realization that she might lose her job because of it couldn’t cool her warm thoughts toward the man and she hoped that he’d have a better day than she looked to as she ran to the restaurant. She didn’t stop to bathe first. She would only be later and there would be too many people around the stables to risk it now. As she ran, she worked her fingers through her hair, getting the knots out as she tamed it into something that wouldn’t get her fired on the spot. Her clothes she could do nothing about, but at least her apron would mostly hide how worn and old they were.
Ilaja saw her coming up the street, panting as she ran, and the other woman’s eyes widened as Zalia hurried to the edge of the patio. There were already customers in the restaurant, drinking and eating in the cool air of early morning.
“Where have you been?” Ilaja demanded. “You’ll be fired for this!”
Zalia ran up and stopped before her, panting desperately. Ilaja looked at her in disgust. “I’m sorry,” she gasped. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t tell me,” Ilaja sniffed. “The cook’s already sent word to the owner. He’s not going to care why you were whoring around.”
Zalia stared at her in shock. She and Ilaja had never been friends, but she’d never expected this kind of response from the woman. “I wasn’t whoring!”
“I saw you leave with a man,” Ilaja snapped. “This is supposed to be a wholesome place.”
Zalia’s world reeled. “I wasn’t whoring!” was all she could manage to repeat. The customers were starting to look in their direction with what seemed to Zalia to be delight. “What did you say to them?”
“I just told them what I saw,” Ilaja said and turned away, returning to her customers with a smile.
Zalia felt sick. Ilaja hadn’t been joking when she said Orlil would fire her, and from the way she was smiling, Ilaja didn’t care. There wasn’t nearly the business there had been in past years and being the only waitress would mean more tips for her. Trying not to cry, Zalia went to get her apron and work her tables. If he stayed true to past history, the owner wouldn’t be around until midmorning. Perhaps if she made a good enough impression on her customers before then, she wouldn’t lose her job.
It wasn’t easy. Zalia was so stressed, she messed up several orders and even flubbed a pitcher of water, almost dousing a customer who mercilessly berated her for her mistake. Ilaja’s smirks didn’t help either as the woman passed her several times, beaming at her own customers. All of them seemed to take a perverse pleasure in Zalia’s misery. Zalia tried to tell herself she was just imaging things and no one was against her, but her fear was too great. She couldn’t afford to lose this job. There wasn’t much left for a woman of her station in Meridal, save to become the whore Ilaja had already called her.
No one would want her then, she thought desperately. Her father would be so ashamed; only what else could she do?
It was close to midmorning; more customers were taking seats in the restaurant. It looked as if she’d lose her job on one of the busiest days they’d had in months. Zalia put a pitcher on one table and turned to the next to set down their pita and hummus, the same dish she’d served to Devon the previous day. None of this was his fault. He’d done nothing but treat her with respect, and Ilaja had disliked him from the start.
Someone sat down at the table behind her, the chair scraping against the stone. Zalia finished setting out the meal and turned around.
“Hi,” One-Eleven said.
Zalia gaped at him, her heart hammering. He was as unbelievably handsome as before, his carriage utterly different from Devon’s as he sat there grinning. He was wearing simple clothes, but he was so beautiful that everyone looked at him. Even Ilaja was gaping. No one recognized him for what he was, Zalia realized. Then again, how could they? He wasn’t behaving like a battle sylph and there was no reason for one to come and sit at their restaurant. Well, there was, she thought after a moment, wasn’t there?
As if he could read her thoughts, and some of the stories said the battlers could, One-Eleven grinned even wider, lounging in the chair as if it were a throne. He didn’t seem to care at all that everyone was staring at him, or perhaps he felt in some fashion that it was his due. Either way, he was confident and strong, everything she didn’t feel she could be, standing there with her tray clutched to her breast and not knowing if she’d still have a job in the next hour.
“What are you doing here?” she whispered a little frantically. Ilaja was serving another of her tables nearby, glaring jealously at Zalia.
One-Eleven’s grin didn’t even flicker. “I finished the job I was assigned and I wanted to see you. So I came by. You don’t mind, do you?”
What was she supposed to say to that? Zalia didn’t know what to even think. She just knew there was a warmth puddling in her belly at the sight of him and suddenly the memory of Devon was far away. She felt guilt at that, but One-Eleven was just so suddenly and overwhelmingly there that she couldn’t think of anything else except him and how he was making her breasts tingle. At that thought, she remembered how he’d found her bathing
at the stable and the warmth of him against her back and buttocks as he cupped her breast and prepared to take her virginity.
She’d never keep her job acting this way, she realized frantically, suddenly angry at him for adding this stress on top of the fears she already had. “You can’t be here,” she hissed at him. He blinked. “You’ll ruin everything!”
“How?” he asked, sounding reasonably and, unfortunately, loud. “I just wanted to see you.”
Zalia’s voice had been quiet, only carrying to One-Eleven, but his still came out at a normal volume and Zalia flushed as she realized what it looked like—her snubbing a customer right in the restaurant. Ilaja sniffed and stepped up beside her, shouldering her aside. “Well, if you can’t at least be nice to a valued customer,” she said, “I’ll have to help him.” She turned her smile on One-Eleven. “How can I help you…”
Her voice trailed off. One-Eleven was glaring at her in silence, his body language suddenly tense and angry. The very way he held himself was both a threat and a promise. He looked straight into Ilaja’s eyes without blinking and she squeaked, suddenly backing away.
What did he make her feel? Zalia wondered in amazement and looked back at him. One-Eleven still glared at Ilaja, but when Zalia turned to him, he flickered his eyes at her for a moment and gave her a brief smile that started all the warmth up inside her again.
She sagged. “You have to order something to stay here,” she told him.
“Oh, okay. I can do that.”
A sudden thought occurred to her. “Do you have any money?” she asked.
“No.”
Zalia hugged her tray tighter, trying to think. Maybe she could convince him to meet her later, after her shift ended, if she still had a job. But if she did that, what was to prevent him from trying to seduce her? Did she even have the strength to stop him again? Just the thought of it had her throbbing with needs that didn’t care how ready for it all she might actually be. Part of her wanted him inside her and it didn’t care about anything else.
The Sylph Hunter Page 8