The Five Elements (2 page)

"Time to see if the mighty sorcerer's apprentice can fly!"

Whoops, hollers, and a raucous bedlam of laughter drowned out the sound of waves pounding the nearby cliffs.

Aaron was dumped on his back into something that felt very much like a large bowl that accommodated only his torso, leaving his legs dangling. Cold water sloshed at his arrival, soaking him through and causing him to gasp as its chill shot through him. Without warning the hood was yanked off. Right away, Aaron recognized his predicament. The thick timber crossbeams, a horizontal center cross, and a thick skein of rope tightly wound at the base between his bent knees confirmed that he'd been dumped into the basket of a catapult's throwing arm. Though relegated to ceremonial duty, Aaron knew the siege engine still functioned well enough. In a panic, Aaron tried to lift himself from the basket, but a meaty paw forced him back down.

"Where you goin', Squeak? Don't you wanna fly?"

Corrin leaned over Aaron and let loose a puff of breath so foul Aaron screwed up his face and sank as far as he could just to get away from the stench. Corrin was an ogre of a boy, a brute whose beady eyes, bull nose, stringy mop of hair, and club foot had to mark him as the saddest, ugliest scamp in all of Uhl. His appearance was not made any better by the rash and telltale signs of nails scratching across his cheeks where Aaron had splashed the reagent upon him. Plenty ridiculed Corrin over his appearance. Aaron never had, though. Such cruelty did not suit his disposition. That, and he also knew what it was like to be different. When he’d first met Corrin, Aaron had tried commiserating with him. That had not gone well, for Corrin had mistaken empathy for pity and hated him for it. Since then, Aaron had been marked as the bully's favorite target. The nickname Corrin had anointed him with, 'Squeak', had come about because, starting around two years ago, Aaron's voice had begun to change, often rising in pitch at the most inopportune times. Even though the embarrassing instances had decreased in frequency of late, Corrin continued to use the tired moniker instead of his proper one.

A crowd had gathered, obviously tipped off to what the Jackals had planned. Spread out across the misty field were many familiar, but not friendly, faces. Though Aaron liked to think none of them truly wished to see him harmed, they were all jeering and, possessed of a mob mentality, joined together in calling for Aaron to make good on his claim or else have Corrin do it for him. That claim had been made over a year ago. No doubt the recent reagent dousing had rekindled thoughts in Corrin's mind of making Aaron prove his assertion once and for all. Which meant in order for him to get out of this Aaron only needed to figure out how to fly.

Corrin dragged himself onto one of the catapult's horizontal crossbeams. Balancing there was no small feat given his misshapen lump of a foot, but he managed. With one hand holding himself firm, he swept his other across the crowd.

"We've gathered here today to see if a Squeak can fly!" Corrin soaked up the resounding outburst of laughter. Only when he'd had his fill did he stab a finger down at Aaron. "This one swore to all of us—"

"I never swore," Aaron said in a low voice, splashing at the water that had pooled at his stomach.

"–that he could fly. But did he?"

The crowd's response came as one.

"No!"

Aaron wanted to point out that most of them hadn't actually been there, so how would they have known what he'd said, but he was not given the opportunity.

"Has he?" Corrin continued.

"No!"

"Will he?" Corrin didn't wait this time. "Oh, one way or another, he will!"

The crowd erupted.

Corrin took his time basking in the shouts of encouragement and laughter before he lowered himself from his perch. He fixed his beady stare on Aaron, speaking low so that only those closest heard him. "I'd give you one more chance to show us all up, Squeak, but we both know you don't have it in you." Then he turned and chuckled at his Jackals. "I bet he goes right over the cliff!"

Oh, yes, the cliffs, Aaron thought. He raised himself a little on his elbows, enough to gauge his distance from the edge. Folk called the cliffs the Breakers, though Aaron had always thought the rocks scattered at their base deserved the name more than the cliffs themselves. In any case, the cliffs represented a hundred feet of sheer descent with shallows and ship-breaking reefs waiting for him at the bottom. If they really meant to fire the catapult with him in it—and Aaron had no doubts they did—then an already bad day was about to get much worse. Briefly, Aaron thought about the soldier figurine, still stowed away in the satchel, and its so-called 'protection'. The bullies knew better than to mess with Tower property, and so the soldier had remained undiscovered. Aaron didn't really care if they took it away from him, for he'd never really had any faith in its enchantment. It was up to him to think of some way out of this or find himself dashed across the rocks below. His options were few: escape by means undetermined, convince Corrin and his gang to not go through with it (fat chance of that), or find a way to disable the machine without getting out of the basket. None seemed feasible. Yet as the wheels in his mind continued to turn, he suddenly remembered something that might prove important. It had rained that afternoon. Moving his head slowly so as not to arouse suspicion, he looked more closely at the firing mechanism. The throwing arm, trigger, and tightly wound rope that provided the arm's spring were all soaked through. Especially the rope. Aaron chewed his lip for a moment before settling back down. Suddenly, he was no longer worried.

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.