Rebel Elements (Seals of the Duelists)

by Giacomo, Jasmine

Bayan bristled at the threat, and the fuzzy black blobs appeared again.

  “Stop that.” Calder poked Bayan in the chest. “Talk or freeze. I mean it. We three can cart you anywhere we like.”

  “Don’t you dare.” Bayan tried to warn them off. “You’re not helping.”

  “Because you won’t let us! Are you so high and mighty, O Wise Balang, that you can lend aid to your hexmates, but you won’t deign to receive it in return?” Eward asked.

  “No, no, that’s not it,” Bayan stuttered. Blurry blobs of darkness thickened the air around all of them, and Bayan felt a cold sliver of fear. Usually fear chased the darkness away, but not this time.

  “You know you’re not supposed to be doing magic out of class,” came Calder’s voice, somewhere to Bayan’s right.

  “I can’t help it. Just leave me alone, and they’ll go away too.”

  Calder snorted. “Your magic is allergic to us?”

  Bayan stood and strode away from the barracks into the low, frosty grass. Why wouldn’t they just shut up and leave him alone? Couldn’t they see they were making the situation worse? If they’d just give him five minutes to calm—

  Bayan tripped on an unseen stone and tumbled messily into a forward roll, sprawling onto his back. His friends ran toward him, asking if he was hurt.

  “Bhattara,” Bayan begged, staring upward. He couldn’t see a single star, his vision was so bad. Rage, frustration, impatience, all tore at his mind. His fingers dug into the icy dirt, clawing, crushing. “Bhattara! Will you all just shut your tart holes and leave me alone!”

  The darkness rushed against his ears, but this time, it came from the outside. First, it surrounded him in a visible whirlwind, then launched toward his friends, still several strides away. In a single moment, they all vanished from his sight, swallowed by the rabid blackness.

  All rage fled, and a pure white spike of panic cleaved his soul. His magic had just eaten his hexmates.

  Bayan twisted onto his hands and knees and stared in disbelief at the black maelstrom swarming over Calder, Eward, and Odjin. “No! No, no, no, come back! Leave them alone!”

  But the darkness only whirled tighter, amorphous, ravenous.

  How can this be happening? It’s supposed to be a part of me!

  “Please, stop!” He ran over to the darkness, thrusting his hands into it. “Get off, you’re killing them!” The blackness felt like empty air. But no matter how far into it he reached, he couldn’t find anyone inside. Where had they gone?

  Forcing himself to feel anger again, he tried to drag the thing back into his own head. “Who are you to fly off without me? You’re my Void, and I’m telling you to get back here and let them go!”

  Nothing changed, and a worm of fear crept back in amongst Bayan’s anger. Nothing was working.

  Suddenly, the scent of honeysuckle surrounded him, sweet and rich.

  Focus.

  Tingles filled Bayan’s body. He finally understood what Sint Esme had been trying to teach him. He closed his eyes, concentrating on a single thought.

  You are a part of me. That means I own you. Not the other way around. You are my rage, and you are my power. I need you, but you will do as I command. That is the way it must be, for everyone’s sake. So that is the way I will make it be.

  He raised his arms, performing the Elemental Invocation. The darkness froze, trembling, waiting. With a swirl of his limbs, he performed the Windcast of Waterspout, and the very earth trembled from the roar of the twisting wind. The blackness flew up and away with the spell, revealing his hexmates crouched on the ground, panting for breath. For a moment, he thought he saw Kah silhouetted against the dark sky where his spell had flown.

  Bayan performed the Revocation, firmly sealing his magic away. Beneath his tingling skin, he felt the darkness return. But this time, it was quiescent, attentive.

  And it was his to control.

  “Bayan, what in sints happened? Are you all right?” Calder stumbled to his feet.

  Bayan looked at Calder to see if he’d been injured, and realized his eyes had regained their proper focus. He grinned and helped the others up. “I am now. I am now.”

  “Well then, maybe you could tell us what’s going on, if it wouldn’t be too much trouble,” Odjin said.

  I get to live, Bayan thought. I get to live! Sheer joy, the thrill of accomplishment, even appreciation for the bright, crisp pinpricks of the stars overhead—it all whirled in his mind, filling him with a long-dormant ecstasy. Memories tumbled over themselves as they thrust into his recall: the hot rush of first laying eyes on Imee, the agony of finding his pet rabbit dead and hearing his father tell him to feed it to Gamay, the giddy joy of sneaking down to a favorite Mambajao swimming hole with his sisters when they were supposed to be painting a rice shed. This was what he’d been missing ever since he began to suppress his emotions back in Pangusay. He’d been missing himself.

  Bayan sat down on the frost-lined grass and let his tears of relief flow.

  The Sway of a Potioneer

  Kiwani grimaced as she faced off against Bayan in the Water Arena. He’d rarely been any good at any of the elements, but she didn’t particularly want an erratic soaking due to his incompetence, not when last night’s thin snowfall had yet to melt from where it lay in the shadows of the campus buildings and shrubbery. She had to admit that he’d been successful in getting Calder to face his fear of fire, but he still couldn’t do anything about his own poor ability. She wished he’d just hurry up and wash out; a hex of five strong students was better than a hex of six with one always lagging behind.

  She readied herself to block his Crystalgrip with Heavenstream’s blast of warm water. He began his spell, and the deep blue haze of magic built around him. Kiwani’s own blue magic swirled around her. As he released his spell’s power, she released hers, fully expecting to tear his magic to shreds.

  Instead, she felt the frozen bite of thick icy manacles wrap around her forearms. Thick pillars of ice anchored her arms to the ground. The frozen manacles were so dense, she couldn’t see through them. Overcome with shock, she struggled futilely.

  Calder, about to cast a spell toward Tarin, jogged over and gave Bayan a congratulatory punch on the shoulder. Bayan grinned like a barmy old geezer and nodded to himself.

  “Might you find a moment,” Kiwani called, “to come assist me? Whenever it is convenient, of course.”

  Bayan jogged over, invoking Wood, and kicked toward the ice pillars beneath her arms, shattering her support out from under her with blows from two lengths of leafy bamboo. The weight of the remaining ice around her forearms overbalanced her, and Kiwani toppled forward.

  Humiliated not once but twice, she had to wait for Bayan to perform Heavenstream and melt the ice himself, since the ice prevented her from performing accurate invocations. She spent a few moments in a panic that he’d burn her arms with scalding water, considering his usual success with magic. Then his spell activated, releasing her from the ice just as easily as he’d encapsulated her in it.

  “Well done, Bayan,” she managed, reluctantly accepting his hand in getting to her feet. “What are the odds that you’d do two spells properly in the same day?”

  He grinned, seemingly unaware of her delicate sarcasm. “Pretty favorable from now on, I suspect. Your turn.”

  Kiwani frowned at his persistent good mood. He returned to his dueling position, and Kiwani prepared to release her own Crystalgrip.

  She struck out with all her strength, determined to pin Bayan as firmly as he’d pinned her. But his Heavenstream spilled from his hands and even sprayed in front of his head and chest, which prevented her ice from forming around him at all.

  She dropped her hands and stared at Bayan through a half-pillar of pure ice that froze loomingly over his head but did not touch him. Even his defensive spells are on par today! What did he eat for breakfast that I didn’t?

  Staasen approached and admired Kiwani’s ice barrier. “Kiwani, you have a lot of raw strength in y
our Crystalgrip, but Bayan, you blocked it anyway! That’s an amazing Heavenstream you have! Not many students have enough Water power to block from the head and torso as well as the arms. Well done! It looks like you’ve finally found the current you want to ride.”

  “Yes sir, I have.”

  Bayan was grinning madly again. Why was he so happy? Just because he’s beaten me? How rude! I’ll show him. He wants a real duel, he’ll get one.

  Kiwani readied her Heavenstream. Just before Bayan launched Crystalgrip, she released her defensive spell. It tunneled through Bayan’s forming ice and left airholes around her arms. She pulled her arms through the space and raised her fists in triumph.

  “So that’s how you do it.” Bayan came over to study the slick ice. He peered through the ripply holes her water had carved. “Look at that. Just a little bit of space.” He nodded.

  “If you’d been on top of your magic earlier, you would have seen this by now. I’ve always made these arm holes in Crystalgrip against Odjin and Eward. Your spells have been too weak to stand up to Heavenstream at all, until today.”

  “I know,” he replied, with that same irritating smile. “Isn’t it great? I finally get to see how things are supposed to go. I feel like a whole new person.”

  She raised a delicate eyebrow.

  “I know, I know. Too bad I still look like the same old muckling on the outside. Let’s go again!”

  As he darted back to his spot, Kiwani frowned after him, confused. He’s insulting himself now? But she didn’t like where that thought led her, as far as her own behavior.

  When Bayan did a reasonable copy of her Heavenstream arm holes through the Crystalgrip she flung at him, she was forced to admit that perhaps a reevaluation was indeed in order.

  As soon as I wrap him in so much ice he doesn’t thaw until summer.

  ~~~

  “I’m not overworking you, am I, dear?”

  “No, my lady—” huff huff “—you’re light as a feather—” huff huff “—my word upon it.”

  “Fabulous.” Philo grinned as Frits tried to cover the strain of bearing Philo down the street in Lady Caolan’s palanquin. Fabian, Joord, and Konrad weren’t having any easier a time at their corners of the palanquin. He glanced down at Caolan’s assistant, Marilag, a sweet vision of Balanganese beauty, who walked next to the silk-draped opening in the palanquin’s right side, and wondered what she thought of the last-minute substitution of some fat eunuch, who knew next to nothing about potions, for her heavily curvy mistress. What he tried to avoid thinking about was how Lady Caolan would demand repayment of his presumptive favor. She’d undoubtedly demand repayment for the slaughter of one of her most famous gowns by half a dozen harried seamstresses as they rushed to take in its seams in time to fit Philo for the party.

  Soon, they reached the gates to the Eshkin estate. Through the gauzy curtain, Philo saw a finely dressed guard step forward. Behind him, paper lanterns and perfumed braziers lit and warmed the Eshkin manor gardens, and nobility strolled amongst the bobbing lanterns and trilling flute players.

  “Your invitation please, Lady Caolan.”

  Philo reached out a powdered and perfumed hand, his lack of long fingernails concealed by a set of glittering knurled-brass fingertips, and handed Lady Caolan’s invitation to the guard.

  “Welcome, my lady. I bid you a pleasant evening.”

  Inside the gate, Philo’s guards crouched so he could dismount the palanquin. He made sure his bejeweled face veil was in place and smoothed his hastily retailored gown over the oil-filled bladders in his bodice, then he swanned forward to mingle with the crowd, letting Marilag trail a step behind him.

  Soon, several people had gathered around him in the gardens, either to compliment him on a potion that had worked wonders, or to not-so-subtly hint that they wanted their own potion during the party. Marilag continually supplied small vials to her mistress’ customers, each stamped with Lady Caolan’s vial-and-heart logo. Caolan had told Philo earlier that Marilag memorized whom to charge for what; the invoices were sent out after the party, so as not to interfere with the fun.

  Philo, for his part, experienced a rush of surreality; not only was he fully impersonating a female, bosom and all, but he was impersonating a potioneer—and being adored as such. He had no idea how Lady Caolan had managed to make herself both indispensable and inoffensive to the highest circle of nobility in the empire. And her business was booming.

  When the first rush of customers faded, Philo glided toward the outdoor buffet table, intent on snagging a snack.

  “Sorry, my lady,” Marilag said in a voice a hair too sweet for pure honesty. “You know your own rules about eating at parties.”

  “I—don’t eat at parties?” Philo said in a numb voice. “I have the most evil rules I’ve ever heard of. After this party, I shall give myself a good talking to.”

  “Yes, my lady. Shall we tour the parlors?”

  They passed beneath the swaying, glittering portico chandelier and made their way through the visiting clusters of nobles, Kheerzaal employees, and their entourages.

  “That’s her,” Philo heard a woman in a shell headdress murmur. “A potioneer with all four limbs. Doesn’t that make you wonder, darling, which one of the duelists in her class she gave her affections to?”

  Surely the real Lady Caolan would not let such a comment pass. Philo paused and turned toward the speaker, drawing attention to himself. “Why, my dear, you insult my capacity for passion. One duelist, indeed.” With a courtly titter, Philo glided away, leaving subtle laughter in his wake.

  On the second floor, Philo still hadn’t located Lord Eshkin or Lady K’mokamo; no one he asked had seen them recently. He passed a rather short Shawnash man headed in the opposite direction, then he rounded a corner of the hallway and came within earshot of an argument emanating from behind a closed door.

  Marilag tugged at his sleeve at the sound of a woman’s shrill voice within. “Lady K’mokamo.”

  Philo nodded and eased closer to the door, leaning as close to it as he dared.

  “I cannot take much further exposure to that little weasel,” said Lady Iyanu K’mokamo.

  “Unfortunately, we do not get to dictate the terms of our association.” Lord Eshkin’s voice sounded tired even through the door.

  “I mean it, Wateyo. I shall strangle him with my own hands.”

  “Would you like me to meet with him alone?”

  “I would prefer you not meet with him at all!”

  “I have no choice. We are bound to him even more tightly than he realizes. What that may bode for—”

  Lord Eshkin broke off. Philo bared his teeth in dismay; one of his oil-breasts had shifted from the pressure of his arm and thudded against the door. He quickly shoved it back into its silken pouch and stepped back from the door.

  A half breath later, the door opened with such speed that the rush of air sucked at Philo’s gauzy veil. Eshkin glared in consternation.

  “My lord.” Philo affected the trilling tones of Lady Caolan as best he could. “I could not help but overhear. Marital distress is a common complaint among my customers. Perhaps I can offer you a liquid cure?” He reached over to the satchel at Marilag’s hip and plucked out a small vial stamped with a heart on the side.

  Eshkin’s brow furrowed further as he read the label. Philo glanced at his randomly selected vial as well. Forbidden Desires.

  Marilag smiled winningly. Philo began to sweat.

  Eshkin laughed helplessly. “My dear Lady Caolan, your humor is, as always, delightfully naughty. Do you happen to have something to turn me into a carefree, gracious party host for the next few hours?”

  “Of course, my lord,” Philo cooed, as Marilag slipped a vial into his hand.

  ~~~

  The rage monster had been tamed, but it was far from dead. Bayan’s arena performances had experienced a sudden improvement, but every day, every spell, he had to remind himself and his darkness who was in control.

 
Semester midterm performance tests arrived just after Low Solstice. All other classes were canceled, and all six hexes performed in each arena every day for six days, rotating through until every student had completed testing in all elements.

  Bayan had easily passed Earth, Fire, and Wood over the last three days. The next test was Shock. Bayan and his hexmates pulled on their heavy workout uniforms and headed down the hallway toward the barracks stairs. At the stairwell, Taban, Cormaac, and Braam gathered at the communal water fountain, dipping their cups into the waist-high pool against the side of the wall.

  “Off to zap each other today, aye?” Taban asked, as Bayan’s group also paused for a refreshing drink.

  “Aye,” Calder replied. “Sure to be a hair-raising experience.”

  “Tegen, I call it for Bayan.” Odjin dipped his cup in with the others.

  “Not fair,” Calder complained.

  “What are you saying? You think I’ll fry you if you tegen for me?” Eward looked over at him in suspicion.

  “No, no. I just—” Calder took a deep drink from his cup, gurgling his reply.

  Eward huffed. “All right then. Maybe Bayan will tegen for me.”

  “I can do that—do you mind? That’s my cup.” Bayan tapped the elemental tattoo on the back of Braam’s hand as the other boy picked up a full cup from the lip of the fountain.

  “Is not.”

  Bayan slid the cup from Braam’s grip and downed its contents. Putting it back into Braam’s fingers, he said, “You’re right. My mistake.”

  Braam stared at the cup with a strange, intent look.“Come on,” Bayan told his friends. “We need to get across campus.”

  Braam laughed, a high, helpless giggle. When the others looked at him, he said, “You do that, muckling. You go right ahead. Don’t want you to miss out on that test.”

  Taban and Cormaac looked uncomfortable. But Bayan had been riding his darkness since he’d returned from breakfast to dress for the arena, and the insult slid past him, leaving no mark on his consciousness.