In Her Element

Now Almyra was being led through a long dark corridor, shadows dancing on the walls, elongated on the curves, and a soft, steady dripping could be heard if one was expecting to hear it and strained the ears hard enough. Behind her, she knew, were all the boys who had not already been sent down this corridor to whatever fate lay beyond, their torches the ones casting the shadows. Ahead promenaded the Master—as he bade her call him as the others did—and he was flanked by two of the older boys, also holding torches, leading the way.

The Master was smug, and Almyra was terrified, more than she had ever been. Even more afraid than when her home had been swarming with these very boys and her brother had been killed, the thought of which made her shudder. She pulled in the sides of the cloak she was wearing even tighter, both to warm her and to give her what she knew was a false sense of security. The cloak she wore was like the others’, although hers a deep purple and theirs, a nondescript brown. Her hood was pulled over her head and hung below her eyes, forcing her to look down or risk stumbling over her own feet. Her hands were clasped together in front of her, the long, hanging sleeves keeping them hidden from sight, although underneath they were gloved in purple lace. The pretty dress that the maids had put on her had lost a bit of its shine and beauty in the melee between the Fire and Water, and it reeked of smoke, much to the Master’s disappointment since there was no time or dress for her to change.

A ruined dress—the problem of the century, Almyra thought bitterly. In fact, the soiled dress was the only thing that still fed her a hint of smugness at having foiled the Master’s plot—even if only slightly and not with any devastating effects. Unfortunately for her, Almyra was quite certain that whatever devious plan the Master and his acolytes had in mind did not depend on her having a spotless, immaculate gown.

So along the corridor they walked, all but Almyra enthusiastically. They took several turns along the way, each one confusing Almyra all the more and making her lose whatever train of thought she was in middle of. They walked until they reached a dead end, a wall of bricks, straight ahead of them.

Almyra watched, somewhat intrigued, as the Master glided his hands over the wall and then stopping by one brick, which he proceeded to pull out with a delicacy that seemed out of place. Almyra found herself holding her breath as he stuck his hand inside the cavity he had revealed, and she exhaled sharply as a panel in the wall suddenly slid open. Almyra couldn’t see what was inside the hole that was exposed, but she knew when the Master touched it because she saw his back suddenly stiffen, then relax a moment later, as though someone had stuck a knife in his back and then quickly pulled it out. Almyra saw a sudden flash of violet behind her eyes, the after-image of a bright, purple light that seemed to have been shined into her eyes.

Almyra shook the color from behind her eyes, watching the panel close and the wall slide open with a low hiss. Almyra almost laughed at the similarity between this set-up and those of the adventure books she used to sneak out of Matthew’s room. Only, this was usually the part where the hero of the story would either triumph…or die. After a lot of bloody fighting, that is.

Almyra was in no way prepared for the fighting and definitely not the dying. Too many people had already died for this—whatever this was.

Almyra was not going to let herself be added on to the list.

Frederick held his cloak tight to his sides, grateful that the Master deemed it necessary to conceal themselves and their identities for the ritual. This would hopefully make it easier to get closer to Almyra, to help her escape. He had a feeling that the Master was already suspicious of him spending time with Almyra, although that could be nothing—lately the Master was suspicious of everyone and everything, but for good reason. Frederick so badly wanted to take a peek into the Master’s mind to see what he really thought, but he was not willing to take the risk of the Master realizing. Even though he had been practicing getting in and out of minds without being detected, he might not be as good as he thought he was. Even Almyra hadn’t felt him, though; or maybe she had chosen to ignore him.

He could not be sure and it irked him. She was like a doe being led to the slaughterhouse that would sacrifice her within seconds to give food to those who were completely undeserving of it. They would let the precious meat rot, the hide shrivel and dry, neglecting to give the majestic, beautiful forest animal the proper respect it deserved. They were the lions hunting the deer, he—the lone one to see her beauty as a living creature and not just as the next meal. He had to save her before the claws and teeth hit her, before they stripped her of all that made her Almyra.

As the group proceeded deeper into the cavern, toward the dais that would begin it all, Frederick began easing off to the side where he would have a better overall view of what was happening. He kept his head down; making sure the hood obscured his face, he tried not to draw attention to himself. He glanced back to the center of the room and felt his heart being squeezed into a vise as he watched the Master reach the platform with Almyra trailing behind him. Frederick made himself turn back and he quickened his pace, trying to reach the wall, when someone took hold of his hand and spun him around. Startled, he grabbed at the person with his other hand, but someone else took hold of that one too. He looked around, trying to figure out what was happening and realized that all around him boys were joining hands. He tried to break free, tugging his hands out from the others’, and they lifted their hoods a drop to give him weird looks. The second boy stared at him and pushed through his mind, telling him he had better find a place in any of the circles; the Master was starting. Frederick stared back before reluctantly taking hold of their hands again, and he felt their mental smirks—and barely concealed suspicion—thrown in his direction.

They were right though. The Master was by the dais, and, as clearly as Frederick could see over the heads of the other boys, was beginning the procedure. The Master held his pendant in his hands and was already placing it in the same-shaped cavity: Frederick’s time was running out. His plan was already cracking along its refined edges and he needed to make sure everything else went smoothly before it went completely to shambles. He was getting Almyra out of here, even if it killed him and every other boy here.

Rupert had a more difficult time figuring out where he could hide among the boys. Many of them were well built but none had the same height and figure as a full grown, fully-trained bodyguard. He could not seem to find a reason for the Master to want him to witness the ritual; to him it only seemed like Fate’s cruel hand. Here he would stand to observe whatever he had brought upon one innocent young girl who only wished to keep her abilities a secret, and a large group of boys who knew nothing better than what they were brought up to know—which was all of nothing except what they would stand to gain upon the proceedings of this sacrifice.

A sacrifice; how quaint. Had Rupert had the time, he might have laughed in the faces of these youths for reverting back to the ways of the Ancient. The notion of spilling blood when unnecessary never sat comfortably in Rupert’s mind, and now was no different.

It is for the best, Rupert. Leave it be; we do what we must.

A sense of peace filled Rupert to his very core. The Voice knew best. Rupert shook his doubts free from his mind, but not a second later they resurfaced, along with the instinct to protect as he watched his young charge being led to the Master in the center of the room. Her cloak removed, he was now able to see that her wrists were loosely bound. Rupert surged forward, in mind and in body, his only goal to shield his little girl, his little Almyra.

Not yet.

This Voice was different than the other, just as domineering yet with an underlying thread of gentleness. It filled Rupert’s mind with a sense of euphoria—similar, yet unlike the peace of the other Voice that had felt like a drunken haze—that only strengthened when he listened to the Voice and pulled back to bide his time.

Good man. Stay there. She must be bound to the energy source first so it can be fed, and so releasing to a greater effect.

Frederick would have loved to let Rupert just barge through the boys to the middle of the room and pull Almyra out of there, right then and there. In fact, he was having the most difficult time convincing himself not to do it himself; the sight of Almyra’s hands bound by rope shocked him too. But this was more than just about saving Almyra, as much as he wished there was no other agenda to distract him. Frederick knew that to destroy any power, one had to go directly to the source. He sincerely hoped his plan would not backfire on Almyra, but he was counting on her being the only one with connection to the four Elements other than Spirit to pull the energy into her, thus putting her in control of all the five Elements and making her the most powerful person in the room. With more than just a bit of luck, she would remain uncorrupted and would put things right.