The Five Elements

by Scott Marlowe

  Shanna expected it to go—poof!—just like the druids. But it did not. Neither did Aaron. She felt the earth's essence surround the alchemical engine, permeating between the metal braces and filigreed tubules, the alchemical vats and spinning, whirring gears. She even felt it brushing up against Aaron and while she tried to force the energy to collapse around the machine, to disintegrate it like she'd disintegrated the druids, its main course remained drawn to the bulging discs at the top of the device. Try as she might, she could neither influence the energy's direction nor break it free.

  Fine.

  Shanna reached deeper into the Reliquary, drawing forth more earth energy to strengthen the already pulsating flow. It encompassed the machine, but did nothing more than join the violent tides and eddies flowing around the engine even as more and more of it snaked upward to be absorbed by the discs. Shanna didn't stop. The power of the Fifth Element was the Four joined, becoming the ultimate power of creation, or destruction. Its power was eternal and without equal. It was the power of the gods, born anew and given life through her. It was—

  Something in the pit of Shanna's stomach stirred. At first, only a pang, nothing more than an ache. But it spread to her chest, her arms, legs, then into her neck and head. Still only an ache, Shanna shook her head, as if that might cast it off. It only made her head swim and her vision blur. Her violent display did not alleviate, though its steadiness diminished into jerking fits.

  Aaron stepped out from behind the machine. His person remained unharmed despite the dangerous flows surrounding him. Shanna glanced daggers at him even as she clutched her gut where she'd been stabbed. It hurt the worst of all. She staggered a step closer, wanting to ask him how he was still alive. Instead, she simply said, "What have you done?" Then there was suddenly not just one Aaron, but three, all dancing around one another.

  "You can't use the Fifth Element against the machine," they all said at once. There was more, but it became a cacophony of echoes from which she discerned only 'absorption' and 'reflection'.

  "I have more than just the Fifth," she said. She blinked her eyes, trying to pick out which of the Aarons was the real one. It didn't matter. She let go of the Fifth Element, expecting its power to dissipate away. Instead it kept flowing uninhibited from the Reliquary. Like a thing that had suctioned onto her, it would not release itself from her even though she focused herself on shaking it loose and bottling it away. Like a thing alive, it kept on, drawing its power from the combined Elements but also taking a bit of her strength as well with each passing second. Shanna shook her head again. This time it cleared enough for her to see just the one Aaron. There was nothing in the stare he returned. Not fear, nor loathing, nor even pity. From him, she needed the last least of all. She had more than just the Fifth. She reached into the skies, pulling down the winds and the hot, blazing rain. Beneath her feet, the earth rumbled and the distant ocean heaved as she commanded it to come to her. But the winds, though they howled, were not hers, and the fiery rain fell as a mist, warm but not burning. The earth shuddered, but did nothing more, and the ocean responded not at all. Shanna turned on Aaron with murder in her eyes.

  "What have you done?" she screamed.

  Aaron was calm, standing steady. When he spoke, he shouted, but it was only to be heard over the charge of energy being absorbed by the alchemical engine. "You did this, Shanna. You left me no choice."

  "What—What is this?" She strained her will, but nothing was as it should be. The Elements were there—she felt them—but they would not respond to her will.

  "It's a reflective wave. Locked into the periphery field of the engine. What you're feeling is the engine's energy emission. It's changing your attunement, Shanna." Aaron shook his head. "I'm sorry, Shanna. You can't stop it. Nothing can."

  Snarling, Shanna lunged at him. But it was a staggering gesture that caused her to trip and fall to the ground. She managed to stand, but almost immediately fell into a swooning motion that sent her back down. The world was spinning and though she dug her fingers into the earth, seeking its stability, it would not stop. The Four Elements, nor their combined essence, would answer her. Yet the unsettling—the changes she'd wrought—did not diminish or revert. They stayed, held by her interaction with the alchemical attuning engine. Then she realized what was happening. The engine and the Elements were locked into an exchange from which neither had a mind or a will to break. Between them, binding them, keeping them Joined, was her. On one side, she felt the Elements drawing from her. On the other, she was being remade. They were in lockstep with one another, one draining her, the other changing her, robbing her of her true identity. She tried to stand, to rail against what was happening, but she could not rise above her knees. She screamed, though it was with such shortness of breath that the sound was barely discernible even to her own ears. She tried to find Aaron, but her vision had gone blurry and she saw only a crimson blur where she imagined the horizon must lie. Her eyes might have failed her, but her ears had not. She heard the howling wind, the crack of the earth shifting beneath her, and, above everything else, the spinning and grinding of gears and cogs and the electric release of energy emitted by the reattunement machine. She was already on her knees, so it was nothing to fall further, to crawl on all fours. She was so close already, it should have been nothing to reach it, to extend her hand, lift herself just enough so that she could reach the lever and turn the machine off. Aaron said it couldn't be stopped. She'd show him. Nothing could stop her. Nothing. Except that her crawl slowed, then ground to a halt, for she'd no strength left. She fell to her side, wheezing. Just drawing breath became a feat of intense concentration and effort. Aaron had beaten her. None of the others—not Nora, who would trap her in the dark forevermore stirring hot oils, or Erlek, who she'd known would have killed her the moment he'd gained control of the Elements, or Mirna, who'd stabbed her, nor even the druids—had stopped her. Yet Aaron, who was possessed of nothing but a keen mind, had undone her. Shanna raised her head, just to look on him one more time. She'd neither rage nor animosity left now. She just wanted to see him because, despite everything, he was still, to her, the best of friends. Her only true friend. Through the haze of her vision she managed to see the engine and, now, Aaron standing next to it. It was the last thing she saw before the world exploded and she felt herself falling.

  * * *

  Though it pained him, Aaron watched the debilitating interaction between the engine and Shanna. He wanted to turn away. He wanted to stop it, but he knew that he could not. But when the energy tore a rent in the ground and Aaron saw his friend slipping away, he knew he had to do something. Diving for her, Aaron just managed to grab hold of her hands. Right away, he felt that there was no life left in her. It didn't matter. "I'm not letting you go this time," he whispered.

  Beneath him, he felt a rumble. Then the entire platform where the engine and the Reliquary lie bucked and began sinking back into the mountain from which it had sprung. As it sank, Aaron himself slipped into the crack that now had become a great maw.

  "Aaron!" Serena shouted from behind him. He felt her hand on his ankle. "Let her go!"

  No!

  "I can't hold on, Aaron!"

  He slid some more. Serena, who held him as tightly as he held Shanna, slid with him. If she didn't let go, she'd die with him.

  "Aaron," Serena said, more softly this time, "you have to let her go. She's gone."

  Aaron knew it, too. But he couldn't let go of her. Not again.

  "Aaron," said a voice that was not Serena's, but deeper and more familiar. "Aaron, you have to let her go."

  Again, the earth shuddered, and the platform lurched. The motion sent Shanna deeper and pulled Aaron, Serena, and now Ensel Rhe with her.

  Aaron glanced up at the two of them, come to save him. He saw the sadness in their eyes—even in Ensel Rhe's—for they knew what he had done. Then he looked at Shanna. If he let her go, she'd be gone. But then he saw that she was already gone and that holding onto her now would not b
e what she wanted. She had wanted to become one with the earth. If he let her go, she would at least fulfill that destiny. It was the only gift he could give her now. With his free hand, Aaron reached out to smooth the burned hair from her face. Her skin had blackened. For the first time, he saw the smoke drifting from the charred remnants of her robe. Her eyes were closed, her lips just parted, ready to form the half-smile he knew so well. As his hand drifted across the skin of her cheek, he choked back a sob. Then, slowly, he relaxed his grip on her, letting their fingers touch one last time. Then she was gone.

  Ensel Rhe and Serena pulled him up. He was scarce on his feet when they took hold of him from either side. Together, they slid down the mountain's rapidly deteriorating slope. Then they ran. The noise of the earth splitting overrode all else. Cracks and vents opened all around them, making their path a circuitous one. The rain, at last, had stopped and the winds ceased to blow. Even the sky was, for once, littered with stars and little else. But such normalcy did not extend to the shaking ground beneath their feet. Only when they'd left Norwynne behind and run for a league, then two, were they finally brought to a halt by one final wrenching of the earth so powerful it knocked them from their feet. Heaving in breaths, they looked at Norwynne and saw nothing. The earth had taken the keep and more. The entire shelf was gone, broken off and sunk into the ocean. Wary of what might come next, they picked themselves up and continued their flight. Aaron only looked back once, just long enough to whisper a final farewell to his friend. He did not look back again.

  22. Friendship

  AARON PICKED HIS WAY DOWN the rocky slope. The old cliffs—the Breakers—were gone, replaced now by new ones far more amicable to foot traffic. So many thin, rocky walkways crisscrossed the sheer cliff face it was as if a master trailsman had plied his trade here. The routes were not without fault—Aaron had bruises and scrapes on knees and palms to prove that much—and many of them ended in sheer drop-offs. But once he'd found a safe path, they served, allowing him access to shoals from which he fished or speared during low tide. If anyone had come to ask, he'd have told them he fished for spotted anglers or speared for crabs. The former were a good, hearty fish. A mature one might feed a family for a day. Aaron's own father caught them regularly. But no one came to ask. No one but Ensel Rhe and Serena, neither of whom Aaron was ready to speak with yet.

  Three days had passed since Shanna had died. After that first night and well into the next day, the survivors of Norwynne had returned. Many had broken down at the sight of the destruction which was absolute and complete now. Some had no reaction at all, simply looking on with empty-eyed stares and blank expressions. Many left. They organized into groups, stated their intended destination whether it be nearby Taloo or more distant Kirschnick, and departed. Even after the initial earthquake and flooding over a week ago, much of the keep had still remained. While a monumental task to restore and rebuild, it had given the survivors purpose. Now, there was nothing left, and no more reason to stay. Still, some did, though each day there was more talk of leaving as full realization of their predicament sank in. Soon, they'd all leave. Aaron wondered if he'd go with them.

  Folk were wary of him. Many had witnessed his return. All had seen the result. While he'd not brought with him the triumph they had expected, no one blamed him outright. But they kept their distance. No one looked him in the eye. It was just as well, Aaron thought. He didn’t want their company anyway.

  Most times, Ensel Rhe joined him. The eslar said nothing to him. He just sat and watched. Sometimes, his gaze followed Aaron's movement. More often, though, he spent his time peering off at the distant ocean. Aaron thought to ask him what he looked for, but the desire for silent thought seemed mutual, and Aaron kept his questions to himself. Besides, Serena talked enough for all three of them. The girl had spent far too long with only Ansanom for company, for once she'd warmed to some others and they to her, there was no quieting her. She talked to anyone who'd listen. She talked when first she woke. She talked through meals. She talked while she worked. She talked all the time until, finally, she went to bed. Even then, Aaron wondered if she talked in her sleep. He didn't begrudge her any of it. For Serena, tragedy had led to liberation. Though she'd not really been a prisoner, tutelage under Ansanom must have seemed so, and so Aaron indulged her newfound sense of freedom. He seldom offered much in reply. That bothered her not at all. In truth, Aaron found her voice soothing. He almost imagined it was Shanna speaking to him and that when he looked at her she was his friend, come back to life.

  This particular day, Aaron had come down early, rising before most to catch the tide at its lowest. The moon was still up and the sun a few hours away still. With the trail steeped in darkness, he made his way down to his usual shoal with careful steps. He held a rod in one hand, it being too dark for spearing. He'd never been very good at the latter, anyway. Fishing, on the other hand, was simply a matter of patience. Some skill, but mostly patience. That was what his father had taught him. It was a lesson Aaron now embraced. Most of his catch he gave to Serena to bring to the temporary camp of lean-to's and small, covered spaces. He kept the remainder for himself and Ensel Rhe. They ate together, neither saying more than a few words, passing the time by eating and staring into the small fire lit between them. Aaron saw Shanna in those flames, burning. He'd no idea what Ensel Rhe saw.

  At the shoal, Aaron was surprised to find Ensel Rhe already there. Stopping at the sight of him, Aaron said nothing. He was just about to go about his business of baiting his hook and stringing out his line when the first howls pierced the early morning darkness. They'd both first heard the sound while fleeing through the wilderness. As the second round of baying rose up, Aaron sighed and took a seat near Ensel Rhe. The hook and line lay dormant in his hands as he pulled his knees closer and dipped his head between them. That not working, he used his hands to cover his ears.

  "You'll have to deal with them sooner or later, you know," Ensel Rhe said. "For good or ill, you are their master now."

  Aaron didn't move. He almost said nothing. "I know. I don't know what to do with them, though." He'd tried sending them away. They always returned. He tried releasing them from whatever bond held them here, going so far as to consider hurling the blood-stained tooth into the ocean. The one time he'd come close to actually doing it, the hounds had appeared unbidden. One look at the hunger in their eyes convinced Aaron to hang the tooth back around his neck and leave it there.

  "Best to ask Ursool's advice," Ensel Rhe said. "She was the one who gave you the tooth, after all."

  The howling lasted only a little longer. Once it had faded, and the crash of the ocean's waves once more became the dominant sound, Aaron removed his hands from his ears. He did not return to his fishing, but rather sat still, soaking in Ensel Rhe's company. He thought they might return to their routine of silence, which was fine with Aaron, but then the eslar spoke.

  "The people of Norwynne used to whisper things about me. They used to say I collected scalps and that I stored them in my bag." He patted the satchel which still hung from one shoulder, as if Aaron did not know which bag he meant.

  "Yes, I heard the stories."

  "Did you believe them?"

  "Back then, I suppose. But not now. I know you would never—"

  "It's true. This bag has been filled near overflowing at times. Who the victims were, of what race… I've no idea, for I was never the one who took them from their owners." Ensel Rhe crossed his arms. His eyes—pure white, fathomless, twin reflections of the moon above—had a look of sadness about them. He said nothing. In fact, Aaron was just beginning to think he'd decided not to finish his explanation when he finally said, "I left my home behind seven years ago. Self-exiled, if you will, for should I ever return my wife and remaining child will be killed by a man named Balrabbek. Balrabbek is a man of many trades, chief amongst them: warlord, criminal, murderer. Suffice to say I ran afoul of him in the worst of ways. He spared my own life and offered me a choice. Leave Isia forever, or st
ay and watch him kill my loved ones one-by-one. In the end, it really was no choice at all."

  Aaron remained silent. He simply didn't know what to say. A full minute passed in which Ensel Rhe's gaze never left the distant ocean. Aaron was wondering if he expected him to say anything at all when a question came to mind.

  "You said your 'remaining' child. What happened to the others?"

  No sooner had the words left his lips than he wished he'd not spoken them, for in hearing them he thought he had already guessed at the answer.

  "Only one other. My son, Hannu Rhe. When I left Isia I was a broken man. It is a terrible thing to lose one's home. Even worse to lose one's family. Bereft of both of them and knowing all too well of Balrabbek's convictions, I sank into a listlessness that was very near my undoing. Back then, I was not the man you have come to know this past week. I knew nothing of discipline or of the center, nor did I know more than the most rudimentary of fighting techniques. I was brash, headstrong. Foolish." Ensel Rhe's tone changed with his next words. "The krill make their homes outside our borders. I entered their lands."

  Aaron swallowed.

  "They obviously did not kill me. I wanted them to, I suppose, for why else would I have trespassed? I mentioned Yuma before. The claw master took pity on me, taking me into his home as a sort of slave. In time, he made me his disciple. For four years I trained under him. I thought it was enough. I returned home, thinking to challenge Balrabbek, to either make him rescind his pledge of death or, failing that, to kill him. I'd barely crossed into eslar lands when he had my son, Hannu Rhe, killed. Scalped. The boy was only six.

  "His murder smacked of the sitheri's rite of initiation. Snakemen leave their pits at a young age, unable to return until they've collected a hundred scalps. They keep the scalps, as badges of honor and as proof of their kills. I also have been collecting scalps. But only because I've searched for the one they took from my son. Now, I have found it." Ensel Rhe related events that had occurred following the sitheri's waylaying of the wagon. He left nothing out, including Krosus's mysterious appearance and subsequent intervention. When Ensel Rhe was finished, he patted his satchel. "I'll bury what remains in the hills," Ensel Rhe said, "like I did the others. These past few days have been… . It is hard to let go."