Master of Elements

by Sonya Bateman

  I threw a glare over my shoulder at her, and then gestured to the three of them. “Come on. It’ll be all right,” I said. “Just go up to the table. Trust me, you don’t want to stay back here.”

  They went slowly, reluctantly. When I was sure they’d keep going and not try anything to screw up this clusterfuck any further, I walked back to Ian.

  Meriwa gave a petulant sigh. “Are you going to allow the ritual to continue, champion, or will you force Gahiji-an to forfeit his title?”

  “You can wait a damned minute,” I snapped at her, and attempted to pull myself together as I switched to English again. “For the record, I don’t approve of this,” I said to Ian. “What are you supposed to prove here, anyway?”

  “It is a test of endurance,” he said. “The goal is to break me — at least, that is Meriwa’s goal. To show that I lack the strength to lead.”

  I will not scream. “So what, this is some primitive, amped-up version of ‘two for flinching’?” I said, and then shook my head when confusion filled his eyes. “What I mean is, if you scream, she wins.”

  “Yes.” He closed his eyes, and his throat worked briefly. “I am aware that you must endure this as well. And for that, I am sorry.”

  “Don’t be. You’re the one who’s taking the actual damage here.” If I wasn’t so pissed off, I might’ve laughed. Meriwa didn’t have a chance at winning this little game of hers. Hell, there was a picture of Ian next to ‘stoic’ in the dictionary. “Okay, look. If you really have to do this, I’m right here with you,” I said. “Just promise me that when it’s over, if she still won’t listen, you’ll let me kill her.”

  He croaked a laugh. “I will not only allow it. I will help you.”

  “All right. It’s a deal, then.”

  Walking away and leaving him there was one of the hardest things I’d ever done.

  I made my way to the long table, to where Balain and the young couple sat apart from the council, and stared evenly at Meriwa as I passed her. “You know this is nothing to him, right?” I said in a casual tone I didn’t feel. “Ian’s survived nests of Morai vipers who lived for nothing but his death. He’s been burned, impaled, ripped apart, and soul-scourged more times than you could count, and that barely slowed him down. He’s worth about a hundred of you overgrown, furry chew-toys. You wouldn’t even be able to look at him if he didn’t allow it.” I took a seat slowly next to Balain, between him and the Alqani council. “This is one tantrum that’s not going to pay off for you, princess.”

  At least I’d gotten to her this time. Her composure shattered, and she flumped down in her chair and waved a hand at Ian. “Finish it.”

  The big guard actually hesitated as he brought the whip up and looked at Meriwa, like he was waiting for her to change her mind. When she didn’t, he shook his head sadly and stepped into position, plunging the whip and his arm into the barrel of slush.

  He lashed Ian six more times, dunking the leather into the icy water between each stroke. I felt every one, a separate burning brand laid across a field of agony, and my fingers dug into my thighs under the table hard enough to leave bruises. Biting my tongue until it bled almost wasn’t enough to keep my mouth shut. But it was a thousand times worse for Ian, and he didn’t make a sound. Didn’t even flinch.

  When the whipping stopped and my tear-blurred vision started to clear, I realized that a few dozen Alqani had filed into the lodge and stood watching silently from the back. Unlike Meriwa, there wasn’t a trace of smugness or sneering glee among them. Their faces were filled with awed respect.

  The big guard walked away, but no one moved to cut Ian down. That’s when I saw the second guard circle behind Ian to lift the barrel, rearing back slightly as bloody water splashed on the floor at his feet.

  “What the hell are they doing now?” I whispered hoarsely, unable to raise my voice. Everything still hurt too much.

  Balain shuddered. “Sea water, loaded with ritual salts,” he said, quiet and shaken. “It is the final step of the trial. To ‘cleanse’ the wounds.”

  Fucking hell. This was really going to hurt.

  I tried to brace myself for the pain. But there was no way to prepare for the consuming anguish that exploded through me when the guard tossed the contents of the barrel on Ian’s back. My vision was a blurred collage tinted with red, because for a moment I saw through Ian’s eyes and my own at the same time. A gut-wrenching, agonized scream filled my head, piercing me like needles, and my heart stopped as I realized it was Ian. He’d lost.

  But what I’d heard, that awful scream, came from his thoughts. Not a single sound emerged from his mouth.

  In fact, the only sound in the room was my own muffled grunt as I swallowed the cry building in my throat.

  A long moment of silence blanketed the space. Finally, Meriwa rose at approximately the speed of a melting glacier, staring at Ian with her mouth hanging open like a fly trap. “Gahiji-an has passed the ritual,” she said woodenly, as if someone was holding a gun to her head. “The council recognizes the new ray’is of the Annukhai, and will hear what he has come to say.”

  The gathering Alqani actually cheered. It made me want to beat the shit out of every last one of them, even though I knew they were cheering for Ian.

  And I was done waiting. I stood and jumped across the table, ignoring the surprised sounds from the few paying attention to me, and headed straight for Ian as I pulled the dagger from my jacket. “If they won’t get you down from there, I will,” I said. “Go ahead. Try to argue with me about it.”

  Ian made a wheezing sound that was supposed to be a laugh. “I believe I will let you this time.”

  “Good call.”

  I stood directly in front of him, so I could brace him if he collapsed. But since he was a foot taller than me and his arms were longer, I couldn’t reach high enough. I floated up, grabbed the rope just above his hands and sawed through it quickly, then let myself drop the few feet to the floor.

  Ian wavered and slumped against me, his arms falling to the side. His entire body shook like he was being electrocuted, but he tensed and gained his own balance somehow. “Thank you,” he grated, and then nodded at his bound wrists. “If you would, please …”

  As I cut through the rest of the ropes, Meriwa spoke behind me. “Remember, transformation healing is not permitted following the ritual.”

  Angry murmurs traveled across the room, and I whirled to face her with white-hot rage. “You’ve never had to lose before, have you, princess?” I spat. “Well, let me introduce a concept that probably isn’t new to your corrupt, power-hungry ass. It’s called a loophole. If he’s not allowed to transform, then I’ll heal him.” I took a step toward her, gratified to see her flinch back. “I dare you to try and stop me.”

  She didn’t try.

  When Ian was fully healed, the big guard who’d whipped him approached cautiously, holding his vest out toward him like a flag of surrender. “Gahiji-an, I … I am sorry, rayan,” he stammered, and bowed at the waist. “Please forgive me.”

  Any other day, Ian would’ve snatched the vest and kicked the shit out of the guy. Instead he took it with as much care as it was offered and slipped it on. “There is no need for forgiveness, Gahdi,” he said. “You have served your leaders as expected.”

  Damn. Diplomacy looked pretty bad-ass when Ian wore it.

  “Now, then.” Ian faced the Alqani council with an expression that could only be described as regal — and absolute. “We have business to attend to.”

  Okay, so Ian had been right. This was the fastest way.

  They were definitely in a listening mood now.

  Chapter 23

  The elders might have been listening, but there wasn’t nearly as much understanding going on as I wanted. It wasn’t just the council, either, since most of the villagers who’d come in the middle of the horrific ‘ceremony’ had stuck around for the discussion. At first they refused to believe that the Annukhai village was in trouble at all, or that the Wihtik
o was really loose. They actually believed everything was fine over there.

  And when we finally started to get through to them, when the adults standing around behind the table started to talk in alarmed whispers, Meriwa refused to help.

  “If they are struggling, it is through no fault but their own laziness,” she said when someone in the audience suggested sending supplies to the other village. “Why should we sacrifice our own hard-earned resources to help those who cannot help themselves? They must learn to survive, or they will be forever dependent on us.”

  “They are children, Meriwa.” Ian was seated across from her, his duster reclaimed from Malak, and the look on his face suggested he was rapidly losing an internal battle to keep from strangling her. “Dependence on adults is the very definition of childhood.”

  Malak flung a disgusted gesture across the table. “We don’t need their help,” he spat.

  “There, you see?” Meriwa thrust a finger at him. “Unruly, disrespectful children are not welcome among us. They can return when they have grown up.”

  An angry outburst over parents leaving their children to die devolved into a shouting match between the onlookers from the village, dragging several people at the table into the argument and leaving Shadahni, Ian and I as the only ones trying to be reasonable. But my patience was growing very thin, very fast.

  “Hey, listen up!” I shouted, standing to make sure everyone knew who’d said it. “All of this crap is beside the very large, flying, deadly point. Did you miss the part about the Wihtiko, and how it’s still out there killing everything it can get its claws on?”

  “The creature was contained in the mountain,” someone in the peanut gallery said.

  “You know, I’m getting really tired of hearing that.” I turned back to the council across the table and stared at Meriwa until she squirmed. “I don’t know what you told them, but it wasn’t the truth,” I said. “So either you come clean, or I’m going to borrow Gahdi’s whip and find out how long you can keep your mouth shut.”

  Meriwa blanched. “You would not dare. I am a sitting council member.”

  “Try me, princess. I’m betting you never had your own shah-jae ceremony.” Ian placed a hand on my arm to try and restrain me, but I was tired of tiptoeing around this bitch’s ego.

  For a minute I thought I’d have to follow through on the threat. Finally, she blurted, “The containment may not have been as permanent as I initially claimed.”

  “What?” The stunned shout came from quiet, simpering Ujura, who shot from his chair like his ass was on fire and turned a blazing stare on Meriwa. “You told me that you cast the seal of eq’aba on the beast, and that the cave-in would ensure its continued slumber. It is the only reason I agreed to help you collapse the cavern.”

  “I did. It should have held. But …” Meriwa seemed to shrivel a bit, and her voice grew small. “The original Great Seal was made with earth magic and multiple casters. My own water magic … may not have been sufficient to preserve the seal.” She flashed a defiant pout. “Earth magic is more permanent than water. It is not my fault.”

  “Not your fault?” Ujura rasped as the color drained from his face. He slumped back into his seat, shaking his head in disbelief as the reality of the situation began to wash over him.

  Stricken as he was, it was nothing next to the waves of fury wafting from Balain, who sat next to me with steam practically coming out of his ears. “That creature slaughtered an entire army of seasoned Annukhai warriors — and you left it unguarded to prey upon a handful of children!” he roared. “How could you?”

  Meriwa curled her lip in disdain, returning to full smugness. “Seasoned warriors? Your clan limped away in disgrace after your failed war with the Anapi, and came to us begging for help. Besides, is it not the way of the wolf to leave the weak to fend for themselves?” She waved a slender hand dismissively. “We have only done as your custom dictates.”

  Balain’s green eyes narrowed to gleaming slits as he growled through clenched teeth. “No, Meriwa — we do not. We are a pack, a family. Each of our children is treasured. As are every cub and pup that has been cast out because you could not bear children of your own.”

  I heard half the room draw in a shocked gasp, and the Alqani elder gave Balain a look that should have incinerated him on the spot.

  “The beast would not have been loosed in the first place, if it had not been for your brother’s foolish pride,” she snapped back. “Your people brought this destruction down upon us all, and this is the price they must endure for their recklessness.”

  Balain flinched and went limp with shame, and I realized we were still missing pretty important parts of the story. After all, we’d only heard the Annukhai’s side. But before I could point that out, Ian took charge of the meeting.

  “Throwing blame at one another will not solve this problem,” he thundered, standing to push his chair back and step away from the table. “Nor will dragging centuries-old grievances to this table. I have come with a message from Khanaq. Your border spell is failing, and if you do not take action now, the Wihtiko will have far more victims to choose from than the Annukhai village, when the storm finally collapses.”

  “Lies! These are all lies,” Meriwa screamed suddenly as she got to her feet, pointing a trembling finger at Ian. “I see now what you are attempting to do. You are not content with claiming rulership of these mongrels,” she hissed, gesturing to the general assembly. “You would use the legend of the Wihtiko to lay claim to our lands as well, by forcing your will upon this council.” She cast a sidelong glance into the crowd, looking for support, but wasn’t finding too many friendly faces. Calling her village’s children expendable and the tribe of warrior wolves ‘mongrels’ might have had something to do with that.

  Ian clamped down on his fury, offering Meriwa a smile with far too many teeth showing to be comforting. “I have extended every possible courtesy to you, madam, and I have no intention of trying to intimidate these people to obey me. That council position appears to be occupied already.”

  It was my turn to restrain Ian, as the elderly Shadahni snorted in undisguised amusement at Meriwa’s outraged expression.

  “If the Wihtiko were hunting again, it would have come here as well. The creature must be imprisoned, just as I have said.” Meriwa took a calming breath and smoothed down her robes. “There has never been so much as a whisper of the beast in the skies overhead.”

  “It can’t get through your village barrier, you idiot,” Pahna shouted at her. “That’s why you haven’t seen it.”

  Meriwa narrowed her eyes. “Are you suggesting that the mighty, ancient Wihtiko is unable to penetrate an age barrier?”

  “Yes, that is exactly what she is suggesting. And she is right,” Ian said with chilling calm. “The barrier, and the border spell, must use blood magic. There is no other way to create such powerful spells. Correct?”

  “That is right,” Ujura said. “Only blood can carry enough power to keep them intact.”

  Ian nodded. “These spells have been crafted with djinn blood, specifically to allow or exclude djinn,” he said. “And since the Wihtiko is not djinn, it cannot pass through the barrier.” His gaze fell on Meriwa. “Congratulations, councilwoman. Your stubborn arrogance has ensured that the beast hunts your children, and spares you. A pity you were not willing to shed your own blood to seal it away when it was subdued in the mountains.”

  Meriwa sputtered and gasped as the crowd’s mood shifted from cool to outright hostile. She finally recovered somewhat, enough to stand straight and look him in the eye. “Very well, then, ray’is,” she said. “We will remake the Great Seal and capture the creature, and then cast a new border spell. All will be restored to the way it was.”

  “No. That’s not what we’re doing,” I said as I stood to join Ian. “It’s time to end this permanently. We’re going to kill the Wihtiko, and then take all of these ridiculous barriers down, so everyone can go home.”

  Several gasps
and angry mutters of agreement rose in the room, but Meriwa shook her head. “That is not possible,” she said. “The Wihtiko is a plague of the ancient world. It is immortal and cannot be killed — only contained.”

  “Really? That’s your excuse?” I shook my head. “On my world, the djinn are supposed to be immortal too, but Ian and I figured out lots of ways to kill them.”

  Her expression said she’d picked up on the veiled threat, and she went back into complaining mode. “Even if you did find a way to destroy the beast, the border spell cannot be unmade,” she said. “It would require the blood of the original casters. And one of them was Khanaq.”

  Shit. Okay, that might be a problem.

  “We will supply the blood,” Ian said, leaning calmly back against his chair.

  I looked at him like he’d lost his last marble. “We will?” I said in non-djinn. “That could be difficult, considering he’s kinda dead. So unless he hid a vial of blood in that scroll somewhere, I think we’re pretty screwed. Again.”

  Ian actually grinned. “Khanaq’s blood runs in the veins of his descendants,” he said. “And we happen to know where to find one. All we need is —”

  “A mirror,” I said, catching on fast for once. “Okay, somebody point us to a reflective surface,” I announced to the room.

  Meriwa scoffed. “There are none here. We destroyed all portals and mirrors long ago. They were of no use to us once the spell to capture the Wihtiko was completed.”

  I groaned and threw my hands into the air. “Oh, come on. There’s got to be something shiny around here.” I absently patted my pockets, wondering how far I could stretch one of my knives with magic before it broke apart.

  “We have an intact reflecting stone in our village,” Malak said haltingly. “But I don’t see how it will help you. Have you forgotten? All reflective spells are recursive within the borders of the great storm.”

  I thought about that for a second. “That just means they’re one-way, right? So the other side should still work. After all, Ian and I got in.” Some of us easier than others, I thought to myself as I rubbed at my shoulder absently.