Michelle Sagara - Cast in Flame

Bellusdeo caught him in her claws and lifted him. “Where,” she demanded, “is out?”

“We don’t get out without Evanton!” Kaylin shouted.

“Grethan can’t stay here; he’s half-drowned!”

“Can you land? Can he crawl up on your back?” She was already doing exactly that—but the ground here did not look promising; much of it was mud, and Dragons weighed enough she’d sink. Bellusdeo did, but she’d landed on her hind-legs and let them bear her weight while she set Grethan down.

Teela reached out and yanked Grethan out of the mud he’d barely had time to settle into. He was a bedraggled mess, but then again, so was Kaylin; Dragons and Barrani were exempt. Teela seated the apprentice in front of her.

“Grethan—where is Evanton? Can you reach him?”

Grethan swallowed air; his eyes were wide enough the whites seemed to have taken over half the space. “He’s not answering!”

“Fine—but can you tell Bellusdeo where he is?” Teela had that calm-down-or-I’ll-slap-you tone.

“He’s—he’s by the pond.” Pause. “He’s...in the pond.”

“What pond?” Bellusdeo roared.

“Turn right!” Kaylin shouted. “Turn right and head toward the ground. Avoid the fire.”

* * *

Right was a sheet of falling rain. Down was a sheet of falling rain. Kaylin was fairly certain there was no space in the Keeper’s Garden that wasn’t at the moment. “Teela—is Mandoran with Evanton? Teela?”

“Yes. And no.”

“Which one is it?”

“...No.”

Leontine and water didn’t mix well. Kaylin tried anyway. She gave up and gave Bellusdeo directions, because she could see the pond. She could see it as the heart of the monstrous form water now wore: it was deep, dark, clear; it was no longer still.

The small dragon warbled; as his head was beside her ear, she heard him anyway. “Just one normal day. Is that too much to bloody ask? One day?”

Squawk.

The pond was the heart of the water. It didn’t matter what shape it took, although Kaylin had very strong preferences at this point. It was anchored to one spot in the Garden. Storm aside, that anchor was still true. Kaylin had seen what happened when those moorings were broken, but by some miracle, they held.

Her arms were now aching, but she was used to that. When the marks began to glow, they often grew warm; warmth became uncomfortable heat.

“Grethan, can you be more specific?” Teela shouted.

But Kaylin said, “Never mind—I see him.”

It was true. Evanton was standing in the water that rose like a pillar. His eyes were closed, his arms folded across his chest; for a moment, Kaylin stopped breathing. But his eyes snapped open before she could panic. Or, to be honest, panic more.

“Remind me,” Teela shouted, “not to strangle Mandoran myself.”

“Get Bellusdeo to remind you,” Kaylin shouted back. “I’m thinking strangling sounds pretty damn good about now! I don’t see Mandoran,” she added. “Just Evanton.”

“Worry about Evanton. Mandoran isn’t dead. Yet.”

* * *

Worrying about Evanton was easy. Doing anything about the worry, not so much. Bellusdeo had more or less found the pillar of water at the heart of the storm, but the storm was busy trying to swat her out of the air. As it was hard to maneuver around a constant stream of water, the flight was rocky. Kaylin tried to speak to the water, but the water wasn’t listening.

And she knew that if she could call it by its name, she’d have its attention. Given what it was doing at the moment, that seemed like courting suicide. Given her very spotty record in Magical Studies, she wasn’t certain of success. But...Evanton clearly had the water’s name, and he was stuck in the middle of it, and the storm was still raging.

In spite of Teela’s advice, Kaylin looked for Mandoran. Evanton was in the Keeper’s Garden. Even if it looked like he was encased in water here, it wasn’t likely to kill him—and if it did, they’d have far more pressing problems, none of which they were likely to survive.

“I swear,” Teela said, “I’ll kill him myself if he—” She broke off.

Bellusdeo had come to rest—if struggling to remain in flight and in position could be called rest—in front of Evanton. Evanton’s eyes narrowed; he opened his mouth; no air escaped it. No words either. Frustrated, he spoke again. Slowly. Kaylin cursed as the movement of his lips resolved into three silent syllables.

“Teela—he wants us to find Mandoran!”

But Teela shook her head. “Speak to the water, Kaylin. Now!”

“Tried that. She’s not listening.”

“Idiot—make her listen!”

* * *

The name of fire always avoided Kaylin’s grasp. She could stare at candles for three hours and fail to find the damned thing, although she’d used it before. The name of water was something she’d never consciously tried to call. The water spoke to her when it found her, and Kaylin responded in kind. She’d never come calling on her own.

Evanton knew the water’s name. Evanton should have been able to calm the water down, if that was even possible. Offloading his responsibility onto the shoulders of a Hawk was low.

On the other hand it was just as possible that he was keeping the other three elementals in their peaceful, dozing state. The thought of dealing with angry earth, air and fire, on top of clearly pissed off water, killed all sense of grievance.

Bellusdeo, struggling in the storm, wasn’t steady enough that Kaylin could reach out and touch the water’s heart center. But Kaylin wasn’t certain it mattered—water was everywhere, at the moment. Breathing was distinctly wet.

She tried, in her mind’s eye, to see water’s story, to find its elements, the way she could find fire’s. Her arms ached with the heat of the marks that adorned her skin—and she wondered, briefly, if water’s name was writ there, among all the other words she had no hope of reading.

While she could enumerate all of the things water personally meant to her, they didn’t coalesce into a single name that defined those meanings. They were subjective words, not true ones—but mortals weren’t gifted with true words; it was why it was so damned hard to remember true names: they weren’t words.

They were the feelings and reactions you had to struggle to wedge into the words you did speak. They were subjective because they came from your life, not the life of the person you were trying to communicate with. You had to hope there was enough overlap in your lives that the words meant more or less what you thought they meant when you said them.

Only the Tha’alani seemed exempt from this constant stumble toward misunderstanding. The Tha’alani....

Kaylin closed her eyes. It changed almost nothing, but it allowed her to envision the water as she so often appeared: a young woman with an expression beyond her apparent years, who had clear, translucent hands. One of those perfect hands was extended toward Kaylin, as it so often was; Kaylin carefully reached out to grab it.

Her grip, as always, was that little bit too tight; she was grasping something she wanted—and had wanted—for her entire life. It wasn’t, and couldn’t be, hers. She was—at most—a welcome guest. But if the hand was water, it didn’t slide through her fingers at the strength of that grip.

Even if she couldn’t live here, she wanted to visit.

Kaylin.

She opened her eyes. The storm raged around the golden Dragon on which she sat so precariously; she felt, for a moment, that the whole of the water’s attention was focused on her; water flowed down her flat hair; the stick that kept it off her neck had been lost. The small dragon was not impressed.

Tha’alaan, Kaylin said. She didn’t need to shout, now; when she was connected with the water this way, she was certain to be heard.