The Five Elements

by Scott Marlowe

  While the mob whooped and hollered, Corrin set his Jackals into action. Two manned the firing lever while a pair—Elof and Cliff, no less, whose faces were still red from scratching—moved to stand just close enough to Aaron to make sure he didn't go anywhere. They must have thought he'd given up when he didn't make one last attempt at escape. Elof shrugged, and then Corrin gave the order to 'fire!'.

  The firing lever was pulled. The catapult lurched as the coiled rope was released. The great throwing arm jolted forward, but it was only a short jolt. It lifted two feet, then slowed across two more before finally stopping altogether. In all, it had not even risen half the distance to the center cross. Though jarred, Aaron remained safely ensconced in the basket.

  He stayed there for just a moment before he slid out, avoiding the outstretched arms of his guards to run lightly down the throwing arm. Landing at the base, he took in the confused, surprised, and outright annoyed expressions of his tormentors first. The mob, so eager to see him 'fly', fell into murmurs and then silence. Knowing the moment was his, Aaron swept an arm across the ensemble.

  "And now, for my next trick," he said, loud enough for all to hear, "I will make myself disappear!" He couldn't really, but it seemed like the right thing to say under the circumstances.

  Corrin was not amused.

  "I'll make you disappear, Squeak!"

  With hands made into fists and the nostrils of his bull nose flared, the ogre lunged forward. He wasn't close enough to grab Aaron. Nor was he close enough to knock him from his perch. But the sight of those massive fists made Aaron fall from the engine all the same. He landed flat on his back in the muddy grass.

  "Ha!" Anger turned to mirth as Corrin stopped, slapped a knee, and laughed. "Now that's a good trick, Squeak!"

  The others—first the Jackals and then the crowd—added their laughter to his. Some amongst them pointed. Others doubled over. They all enjoyed watching as Aaron struggled to rise. He slipped once on the slick grass—an action which set off the onlookers all the more—but managed to keep his feet and stand. Shaking mud from his hands, Aaron looked at the faces of those who mocked him. He should be angry. He thought he almost felt a sensation—a burning—that struggled to flare deep within his chest. But the spark only glowed and then went out as clear thought prevailed. There was fantasy, where he leaped at each of the Jackals and laid them low, and then there was reality, with Aaron knowing he was too small to do anything to Corrin and too alone to take on any of the others. He had a hard time working up any ire against the crowd. They were only there because he'd opened his big mouth. He could get angry, but what would he do with it? Better to count his blessings and hope the Jackals just let him go. He might even—

  "Hey, Clubfoot!"

  The words, or rather the girl who had spoken them, brought an instant end to the heckling. From the opposite side of the crowd, a murmur, accompanied by an occasional cheer, swept like a wave through the gathering. Then a lane began to form through the center of the mob's ranks. Down the widening avenue came Shanna. Not too fast, but not too slow, she was a powerful wind cleaving a path before her. Every step was methodical, every swish of her arms a subtle signal to Aaron's captors that the hammer was about to fall. The message was written in the hard line of her jaw and in the fiery blue of her eyes. Her concentration—her fury, if Aaron was reading her expression correctly—was so focused that she did not spare Aaron a single glance. She was all business now, come to confront a bully. Such niceties would not do.

  Shanna stopped a stone's throw from the ogre and his cronies. Planting her feet, she crossed her arms across her chest. "You should know by now what happens to people who pick on my friends, Clubfoot," she said.

  Corrin winced, either at the sound of his own hated moniker or from the memories of their last encounter. Either way, it was reaction enough to cause Shanna's lips to turn in the faintest of smirks.

  Corrin looked from his cronies, who were slipping away from him now, to the crowd, which had changed sides with characteristic fickleness. Shanna had thrown down a gauntlet and Corrin knew it. It was on him to respond in like fashion, else surrender more than just this battle. Corrin took a visible breath and squared his shoulders.

  "I know what's going to happen this time, girly."

  Shanna's demeanor changed. Not everyone saw it, but they all felt it. Corrin most of all. Small hands fell to her sides and balled into fists. The smirk faded. A shiver of tension visibly coursed through her body. As if sensing the change in mood, the gray sky turned darker and the coastal winds gusted hard enough to cause some in the crowd to lose their balance. Not Shanna. The wind blew at her from every direction at once, whipping the length of her dark, dark hair into a dance about her face. But it did not move her. It never did.

  "What did you just call me?" she asked, spitting out the words like acid.

  Just like that, Corrin's resolve melted.

  The wind abated, leaving the field bathed in near silence but for the methodical swish of Shanna's pant legs as she strode towards Corrin. The bully held his ground, but it was with a visible lean that grew more noticeable the closer Shanna drew. Then she stood before him. Corrin was half a head taller than she was and much larger, but size made no difference. Shanna had only to raise a single fist to set Corrin blathering.

  "Aw, c'mon," he said. "I was just kiddin'. I didn't mean nothin' by sayin' that."

  Shanna's lips remained tightly pursed, and Aaron saw something he didn't like in his friend's face. In the next instant, her fist sprang at Corrin like a striking serpent. Corrin threw up his arms, but it was for naught. The blow never landed. Unbalanced, with head turned and eyes scrunched shut, Shanna barely had to push Corrin to topple him. The bully's bulbous body smacked the wet ground with a sound heard by all. Shanna stood over him then, all five feet of her, a look of triumph played out across her features as if she were a warrior and Corrin a fallen giant. Satisfaction illuminated her eyes and the smirk returned.

  "Now," Shanna said, one hand caressing the hilt of a small knife belted at her waist, "isn't this exactly what happened last time?"

  Not waiting for an answer, she faced the crowd once more and lifted her arms in victory. Cheers greeted her. Triumph sounded even from Corrin's Jackals, whose loyalty was thin indeed.

  From his place on the ground, Corrin glared at all of them, but he didn't dare get up.

  While Aaron was imminently glad for Shanna's presence, he thought it would have been best if she'd not come at all. She had, though, and she'd saved him, if not from the catapult then at least from the punches that were sure to have come next. As Aaron moved to stand next to his friend, he muttered a quick thank you.

  Shanna smiled. "Of course, Aaron."

  "We should probably go," he added.

  "Not yet." She returned her attention to Corrin. "Clubby here needs to apologize for putting you into that contraption."

  Aaron looked at Corrin. He saw anger in the boy's face, but he also saw wounded pride and, though Corrin did his best to hide it, shame. There wasn't anything Aaron could say to Corrin that he wouldn't pay for later and so he said only, "No, it’s okay. Let's just go." Aaron took Shanna by one arm and started to pull her away. She didn't resist, though she did turn to level one final jab at her fallen opponent.

  "Your arse may be as big as a dragon's, Clubby," she said, loud enough for all to hear, "but I'll still kick it halfway across the Barrens if you bother any of my friends again!"

  Then she spun out of Aaron's grasp and skipped ahead into the crowd. She went amongst them as if a conquering hero, smiling and slapping any outstretched hand held her way. Aaron followed in her wake, his steps not nearly as enthusiastic. No one looked at or paid any particular attention to him, which was perfectly alright with him. He'd had enough of their attention for one day. Now, he wanted nothing more than to go home, put on some dry clothes, and spend the remainder of the evening reading from the odd assortment of scrolls and tomes that comprised his current reading pile. He
told Shanna as much the moment she'd turned around to see what was taking him so long.

  "I'm wet, cold, and besides," Aaron said, gripping one end of his tunic and wringing water from it, "it's getting late."

  Around them, the crowd began to disperse. Corrin had finally risen, but he was more occupied now with knocking his gang members around for not coming to his aid than seeking any sort of retribution.

  "Is not," Shanna said. "It's only five o'clock."

  Aaron glanced at the gray sky. "More like six."

  "So, six." Shanna took Aaron's hand. "We'll find you some dry clothes and something hot to eat. You'll be as good as new!"

  Aaron shook his head. "I can't, Shanna. I still have work to do before—"

  "Work, work, work. You're so boring sometimes, Aaron."

  "I am not. I just have—"

  "Oh, c'mon, Aaron." She batted her eyes at him, flashing that mesmerizing smile of hers. Shanna knew all too well the hypnotic effect it had over him. He knew it, too, though such knowledge never seemed to help free him from its influence. Once, he'd tried to measure the energy produced by his reaction to it. Every emission had an associated frequency. Knowing that frequency opened the possibility of manipulating the reaction, though determining such a measurement was really only the first step as the process was ultimately much more complex than just that. Which is not to say that Aaron necessarily wanted to free himself from what he felt when he was around Shanna, but curiosity got the better of him and he knew he had to at least explore the possibilities. Of course, Shanna had asked him what in the world he was doing that one time they'd met up when, without a single word, he'd turned his encorder on himself. She'd tolerated that much with an odd stare. But when he'd started to take readings from her own person, she'd lost patience and batted the device away. When she had insisted on an explanation, he'd had a hard time formulating one that didn't reveal his feelings for her. Ultimately, he had managed some vague mutterings that he was quite sure Shanna had seen right through. Now, unable to help himself, Aaron nodded in acquiescence.

  "There'll still be plenty of time to read your dusty old books," Shanna said.

  They re-entered the city through a postern gate. Others walking along with them continued to congratulate Shanna on her victory. No one acknowledged Aaron's presence; it was all too easy to just ignore him. The two guards stationed beneath the portcullis, who had watched with amusement as Aaron had been carried out, looked on with bored expressions now as scamp after scamp passed through their gate. Within the city walls, the group thinned until Aaron and Shanna walked alone. They smacked their feet as they went, sloughing mud from their shoes as they passed shops just closing and balconied apartments just coming to life. They turned at an alley. Mid-way down its length, Shanna stopped Aaron in his tracks with a finger to her lips.

  Her voice was a whisper. "Wait here."

  "Shanna, what—"

  But she was already gone, melting away into the growing darkness. She returned minutes later with a cloak the color of burlap draped over one arm. With a smile, she tossed it at him. Aaron caught and unfurled it.

  "What is this for?" Aaron asked.

  "To keep you warm, of course."

  Aaron groaned. "I don't need a stolen cloak to keep me warm."

  "I didn't steal it! I borrowed it. There's a laundry line and—you said you were cold, right?" When Aaron didn't answer, she said, "Look, don't worry. I'll return it… someday."

  "Someday?" Aaron looked the cloak over. It was good wool and only slightly too long by the look of it. "I have my own, you know."

  "Not here you don't."

  True, he'd left his in his room. Even as he fought to suppress a shiver, he asked, "You will return it, won't you? First chance you get?"

  "Of course."

  Aaron was not convinced.

  Shanna rolled her eyes. She drew a line across her stomach, enacting the age old pact to see something through, else face evisceration. "Promise."

  "You better." Draping the cloak around his shoulders, Aaron was immediately grateful for its presence. He could have done with a dry shirt and pants too, but he wasn't about to encourage Shanna.

  "Now," Shanna said, "let's go find something to eat."

  They navigated back-alleys, holding to the shadows like thieves in the gathering dusk. It was a game of theirs that they hadn't quite outgrown. They saw few people. Once, a group of draymen loading draft and cart behind a shop. Another time, a scamp emerging from a doorway with a sack of trash in hand. Only when, unavoidably, they emerged out onto one of the main thoroughfares did they see a greater variety of people. Shopkeepers swept porches and shuttered stores. A thin line emerged from a butcher shop with packaged meats for dinner. Children much younger than either Aaron or Shanna played at chasing games. Above, from open windows or small balconies, they heard the sounds of adults chatting, of crockery being put to use and, as they reentered the solitude of the next alley, the sweet melody of a pipe playing. Such serenity carried them until it was replaced by an aroma they both recognized instantly: the succulent dumplings and sweet dinner rolls of Lena's Bakery.

  "Beat you there!"

  Shanna was off before the last word escaped her lips. Aaron bounded after her, but Shanna was too fast. She emerged from the alley half a dozen paces ahead of him, out onto the cobbles of Sandy Shore Lane where she promptly disappeared around the corner. Aaron didn't miss a beat. By the time he realized Shanna had come to a full and complete stop, it was too late to keep from crashing into her. He drove them both forward, crashing them into a figure garbed in the midnight satin robes of a keep sorcerer. Unable to keep their balance, they all went down in a tangled mass.

  "Gods damn it!"

  Aaron winced. Not at the curse, which he'd heard many times before, but at the voice which uttered it. Master Rion was pleasant enough most of the time, but when that curse sprang from his mouth, his mood was neither pleasant nor forgiving.

  Aaron managed to rise halfway before Shanna's own attempt at disentangling herself dragged him back down. The act elicited a giggle from Shanna and something akin to a growl from the sorcerer. Another effort, and first Aaron and then Shanna stood.

  "I-I'm sorry, Master Rion," Aaron said. "We didn't see you. We…" There were few words to explain such clumsiness. "We're both very sorry, sir. May I help you up?"

  Master Rion shooed Aaron's hand away as he pushed himself up with his staff. The wizard was tall and lean, his ordinarily pristine robes now streaked with the road's grime. He made an effort to brush it away, but soon realized the futility and gave up. He turned a look completely lacking in amusement upon Aaron and Shanna.

  Twelve sorcerers—three of them masters—called Norwynne home. While every one of them held sway over Aaron and the other apprentices, only the three were held in nearly as high of regard as the lord of Norwynne himself. Their mere presence demanded respect, to say nothing of the reverence due them by one of their own. Aaron, as apprentice to the greatest of the three, was all too aware of this. Shanna, however, was not. While Aaron did his best to look the role of a soldier fallen into ranks, Shanna was bent at the waist, her long, dark hair cascading almost to the street as she inspected the mess their tumbling had made of her pants. Aaron cleared his throat while Master Rion, brow narrowed, looked on. Shanna, finally looking up, made a quick display as if to say, "Oh", before she straightened.

  Words spilled from Aaron. "We weren't watching where we were going, sir. We—"

  "You weren't watching where you were going!" Shanna said. "I, on the other hand—"

  Aaron jabbed her with an elbow. "Really, Master Rion, we weren't watching where we were going. We're very sorry to have, ah, knocked you over… sir. It will never happen again."

  "Never?" One brow arched. "If I had a dram for every time I've heard that…" Master Rion wiped a hand across the stubble of his cheek. "There comes a time when such behavior will simply not do. Both of you—how old are you?" Rion looked from one to the other. "Thirteen
, fourteen?"

  "Fifteen," Shanna said.

  Master Rion waited until the clop and rattle of a passing carriage had finished rolling past. "Fifteen, then. Old enough to have grown out of such childish antics. Running through the streets as if your very arses were on fire! Aaron!" Aaron didn't think he could straighten any further, though he tried. "You are an apprentice to Master Elsanar! Surely it is time you acted according to your station. As a member of the keep's coterie, your peers sit in elevated positions, not down amongst—"

  Realizing the direction of his lecture did not apply to everyone in their present company, Master Rion's voice trailed off. There followed a moment's awkward silence which extended into a few more seconds before the sorcerer made a show of clearing his throat. "The both of you simply need to take more care." Then, he addressed only Aaron as he said, "I'll be taking over tomorrow morning's lesson from Master Elsanar. Do not be late." Without another word, the sorcerer strode past them and moments later melted into the street's activity.

  Aaron looked at his friend, trying to gauge her mood. From the moment Master Rion had made his inference her face had become a mask of stone that still had not dissolved. "You still hungry?" No response. "How about we go to Graggly's? Bet we'll still have time to see the sunset." The gray above showed no signs of breaking up, but that didn't matter right now.

  "What?" she said, as if she'd just risen from a stupor and heard none of his words. "Yes. Yes, let's go."

  They stopped at Lena's as planned where Aaron paid a keenar for a small assortment of confections that he stowed away in his satchel next to the soldier, which he realized once more had done him no good. They happened upon fewer and fewer keep-folk as they entered the old Soldiers' Quartering where Graggly's Tower—its proper name was Wynngard Tower—stood tall and proud. Once, the district had housed a good number of the keep's soldiery. But a score of years with no enemies had forced consolidation and the abandonment of surplus housing and training facilities. The Quartering's barracks and towers stood deserted, fallen into disrepair from simple disuse and neglect. Nowadays, few people saw any reason to come this way. Those who did—vagrants, mostly—took up residence in quiet corners where they remained indiscreet. For Aaron and Shanna, the Quartering, and Graggly's Tower specifically, had always been the perfect place to get away from everything. But for the two of them, few ever set foot in the tower. Graggly, or rather his ghost, saw to that.