The Sylph Hunter (19 page)

Yahe ignored him. One of the children was a girl, so he shifted to the human form he’d adopted for Kiala when he gained his freedom. The girl, who couldn’t have been more than five years old, gaped at him along with her brothers as Yahe stepped forward and knelt down.

“Hello, beautiful,” he said to her and she gulped, her eyes huge.

“You’re a battle sylph,” one of her brothers said. Yahe ignored him, other than giving a glare to remind the boy what battlers thought of males. The two little boys shrank back against their father, who looked equally as terrified. That suited Yahe fine.

The sand still blowing in through the cracks in the slum didn’t. The little girl was in danger here so long as the storm lasted. No, he thought as he looked into her innocent brown eyes. She was in danger as long as the Hunter was alive.

“Come here, sweetheart,” he said as he slipped his hands under her arms and lifted her up. “I’m going to take you somewhere safe.”

“No!” her father cried, reaching a hand toward him. Yahe glared at him and hit the man with a concentrated burst of hate, tightly focused so the girl wouldn’t feel it. The man gasped in terror, cowering back against the wall and clutching his boys.

Yahe cradled the girl against his chest and turned away, sweeping the edge of his mantle up to protect her from the sand as he kicked the door open and went out into the storm. Shifting around her, he took her inside of himself and rose up, cooing to comfort her whimpers as he flew toward the dome of the hive. She’d be safest there. All of the women would be safest there.

Tooie,
he called.
Can you hear me?

I hear you,
he heard after a long minute.
What’s wrong?

I have a girl I’m bringing to the hive.
Yahe paused to dart across a square where the winds were doubled in strength, with nothing to slow them down.
I’ve been thinking. We have to bring all of the women to the hive. If the storm doesn’t get them, the Hunter will.

True enough,
Tooie agreed.
We’ll have to gather them.

Yahe fought his way through the storm to the hive, tired and wanting to go see Kiala, whose growing anger was strengthening in the back of his mind; but he knew he had other work to do. First he had to get his precious cargo to safety; then he had to go back out to save the rest of her sisters.

Tooie stood on top of the highest peak of the palace, balanced on the tip while he looked down at the storm that raged below them.

The air sylphs had lifted the floating palace as high as they could while the storm rolled in, leaving them drifting above a roiling ocean of sand covering the city. The sand wasn’t touching the palace, but they’d had to go up so high that frost was forming on the outside of the building and even he felt a touch chilled by it. The air was thinner as well, though nothing yet to be worried about.

Despite the cold, the women had gathered on one of the balconies, wrapped in warm lace shawls while they peered over the railing at the storm beneath them and giggled. Tooie gazed down at them all, though his attention was focused mostly on a single woman standing to one side, not in the center as she deserved to be.

He loved Eapha so much, loved her with a bond between their spirits that would last for eternity. She was everything to him, his purpose, his life, his soul, and his hope.

He just wished she’d live up to what she
could
be.

He closed his eyes, not wanting to even think it for fear she would know, but he couldn’t stop. He loved Eapha and she’d given all of them their freedom, but she was letting them down now and she didn’t even know it. Nor did he know how to tell her.

Tooie turned away, not wanting to see her since he still loved her so much and he couldn’t tell her how terrible a queen she was. The hive could die and she’d still be sitting with her friends, afraid to defy them and as separated from her sylphs by her attitude as this storm now made her from the hive below.

He’d tried to make up the difference and lead the hive himself. He understood what was going through her mind after all, and how difficult her past made all of this for her. She wasn’t born for this kind of destiny. She’d been birthed into the worst kind of poverty, sold by her parents into slavery, used as a whore. In the entirety of her life, she’d never been able to make any of her own choices, and now she was supposed to make them for everyone else? It was no wonder she was frozen, too terrified to act, and using her friends’ apathy as her excuse. Maybe she’d come out of it and be what they needed, maybe she wouldn’t. Until she did, he’d do his best without her.

It was just so hard to resist instinct, to make himself think of the repercussions to everything they did. That wasn’t what a battle sylph was made to do. Tooie was exhausted and growing more so as the threat of the Hunter continued. He desperately needed Eapha, but he couldn’t ask her to help more than she was willing, not when he loved her so. He wanted to protect her and care for her; keep her from facing all the dangers of the world. If she wanted to leave everything up to him, then he’d carry the weight for her and not complain.

Most of the women had gone back inside, not liking the cold and bored now by the swirling, impenetrable storm. Tooie continued looking down. Eapha still stood there, looking not at the storm but up at him with tremendous love in her eyes.

She’d been through so much already, so much that she hadn’t asked for. Tooie smiled down at her, sending her his emotions of contentment and love, even as he held back his worry and doubt. He could deal with this; he had to.

Eapha continued to look up at him, smiling now, and his pattern surged. Just so long as she loved him, he could do anything. Beat anything. Be anything. They both continued to stand there, smiling at each other while the world roiled in mad chaos below them.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

D
evon knew something was wrong with Airi the moment he woke up. He could feel how unhappy and stressed she was, and see the knickknacks and toiletries she was tossing unthinkingly into the air as she thrashed above the surface of a dressing table. He rather suspected she had intended to wake him, even though there was light coming in through the windows as the fire sylphs mimicked the rising sun. Looking out through the tall arch, he could see the inner wall of the hive, beige-colored and close enough that he could tell how rough it still was.

Airi threw a set of hairbrushes he never intended to use into the air, lashing them back and forth in a tantrum. Her emotions were as close to furious as he’d ever felt them, and filled with despair as well. He had no idea why she felt that way. He couldn’t read her mind any more than she could read his.

“Airi?” he called, running a hand through his hair while he sat up. It felt greasy and gritty. He’d been too tired the night before to try and bathe, instead going to bed as soon as he found his room. He’d thought about asking Zalia to join him, but even if her father hadn’t been right there, he’d felt nervous about it, afraid she’d say no. Probably she would have said no. It was better to take things slow and let both of them get used to each other.

Devon shook his head, trying to clear it of sleep, and looked at his air sylph again. He could actually see her, though more as a distortion of the air than an actual shape.

“What’s wrong, Airi?”

The plethora of items in the air, from brushes to emery boards to powder puffs for makeup, all abruptly stopped spinning and dropped. Devon blinked as they crashed with a tremendous mess all over the dressing table and floor. It really was a good thing he had no use for them, he thought.

Nothing,
she sent.

In all his life, Devon had never had his air sylph lie so blatantly to him. He’d never had her even try to lie and for a moment he didn’t have the faintest idea of what to do about it. Oddly, the first thing that popped into his mind was his father’s instructions when he took Airi and Devon to the priests to have Airi’s bond transferred to his son. He’d said to always be firm, always in control. Even then, Devon thought that was unkind. Airi had no choice but to obey and even though she preferred it that way, there was no point to reminding her of it.

He also remembered a sylph in the Valley who’d started acting nervously and lying, though it was to people other than her master. The chancellor and the queen both noticed it and forced the sylph to admit that her master had been abusing her.

A sylph who acts upset must have a reason, Leon had said. Don’t leave them alone any more than a decent man would leave a suffering friend alone.

“Tell me what’s wrong, Airi,” he ordered.

The air stilled, Airi’s emotions swirling toward panic for a second and then crashing down into a sudden resignation that actually felt relieved. No matter what she’d said, this wasn’t a secret Airi wanted to keep.

Zalia has been seduced by a battle sylph,
she admitted.
She was crying in her room.

Devon stared at her, not even blinking while the air shimmered and Airi became visible, forming into the young girl she sometimes became. Standing there, she wrung her hands together, a change from her usual nervous gesture of juggling things in the air.

“Devon?” she asked aloud. “Are you okay?”

Devon realized that his mouth was hanging open and closed it. He felt absolutely nothing, he realized. That seemed strange, though he supposed it must mean he was in shock. That was normal. Really, how else was he supposed to react to learning the woman he loved had been crying because she’d been seduced by the one creature he was most terrified of in the entire world?

Airi moved closer, still somewhat visible, though she was fading again already.
Are you all right?

No, he wasn’t all right. Devon stared down at his hands and noticed they were trembling. He was starting to feel something as well, he thought, as his mind churned to a slow conclusion.

If he did the sensible, reasonable thing and backed away, following his usual trend of never getting between a battle sylph and what they wanted, he would lose any chance of being with Zalia forever. An entire life he’d just barely started to see for them would be
gone
. Was the battle sylph who’d seduced her the one who gave them these rooms? The one who made Zalia so nervous, though Devon had been so terrified himself that he didn’t think it odd? Was this his price for such generosity?

He was outraged, Devon realized, absolutely furious, and he clung to that anger with the desperation of a man who knew he’d drown if he didn’t. Zalia had no more choice but to feel desire from a battler’s lust aura than Devon did fear from their hate. Sure, there were women who deeply loved battle sylphs in the Valley, but if that were true in this case, why had she been crying?

His hands were starting to hurt. Devon refocused his distracted gaze on them and saw he’d clenched them so tightly that his fingernails dug into the skin. Airi cooed, swirling up toward him with her gentle winds. He felt her concern, as well as her renewed hope.

You and Zalia are made for each other,
she told him.

They were, weren’t they? Devon had never felt so comfortable with another woman, never fallen in love so quickly. He’d never fallen in love at all, actually, which made perfect sense now. He’d just been waiting for Zalia.

He wanted to go up there right away, dry her tears, and tell her he didn’t care what that creature had done. He wanted to take One-Eleven and beat him into a righteous heap, leave bruises on his perfect face and make him cower in fear of more pain.

He wanted to do all of the things he knew were impossible to do.

Devon let his hands fall by his sides, filled with a still certainty. He’d failed in his mission in Meridal. He hadn’t brought assistance to Eapha. He hadn’t forwarded the importance of the treaty with Sylph Valley. He hadn’t been able to help Kadmiel and Ocean Breeze. He hadn’t been able to do anything about the Hunter. He’d done nothing by coming here except make it easier for a battler back home to play daddy without any competition.

He’d told Zalia about that, he mused. Told her how Heyou took his seed for Solie and essentially banished him. He’d told her about Yanda, and how the mad battler terrified him so badly that he’d never stopped being afraid of them. He’d have to tell her even more. He’d have to tell her about his childhood in Eferem City, tossing balls for Airi to catch and throw back when his father wasn’t working with her, learning to play the flute and letting her pick the music he’d learn, just so he’d be ready when she became his. How his father had wanted him to play the fiddle instead, the way he had, but how Devon’s fingers were useless on the strings. He wanted to tell Zalia how Airi would squeal and run in a rush of silent giggles every time he tried, until Devon’s father relented and let him switch to the flute instead. He’d spent hours practicing with it, readying himself to be everything Airi would need to ensure she never regretted being with him. He wanted to tell Zalia about the day his father handed her over to him, and how sad Airi had felt to him, how tossed away, and how full of wonder she’d been when his first command to her had been that she speak to him and not be his slave.

He looked at his air sylph, not able to see her now but knowing where she was and that she was looking straight back at him. “I’m not afraid,” he said, though he was. Oh, he was so terribly afraid, but the anger bolstered him, and the determination. And, most of all, the love did, for he did love Zalia. He reached out for Airi and felt her winds swirling around his fingers and arms, reaching up to tousle his hair. It was dawn, if those fire sylphs were paying any attention at all to the sun outside the dome, and surely Zalia would be hungry. He knew he was, despite it all.

“Let’s go see if she wants some breakfast.”

The storm was dying, barely an echo of the horror it had been when the sun first went down, but One-Eleven still tumbled gleefully in it, enjoying the feel of the winds as they threw him around without direction. It was how he felt after all. Excited and swept away. Soon he’d get to go back to Zalia. He’d be able to take her to the queen and have her made into his master. Then they’d be together forever, even when he was away from her, and he’d have a name, something perfect that she’d pick just for him.

Yahe passed below him, heading for the hive with a frightened cargo of five women. One-Eleven swept down toward him, flanking him excitedly.
Did you hear?
he crowed.
I’m going to have a master!

Yahe flashed anger at him.
What are you doing? We have to get these women to safety.

One-Eleven rolled indifferently over the smaller battler.
So? The storm is dying. Once it’s over it’ll be easier to move them without anyone getting hurt.

Yahe growled, lashing a tentacle toward him that slapped painfully against the edge of One-Eleven’s mantle. One-Eleven yelped, surprised by the attack.
What did you do that for?

The Hunter will be back once the storm dies! They’ll be in more danger then!

One-Eleven went quiet, realizing his stupidity. Of course, the storm was protection from it. Back in the hive world, storms were welcomed because they kept the predators away. Embarrassed, he flew off, looking for the energy patterns of women. He still wanted to go to Zalia’s side, he really did, but duty had to come first.

Soon,
he promised her, though he knew she couldn’t hear him. She wouldn’t until she was his master for real, just as he wouldn’t be able to sense her from this far away until that moment.

He could feel women though. Ignoring any other fears or desperation he felt, he darted down past a large stable toward a small house where he sensed three female souls. There were half a dozen men there as well, but they didn’t matter. It was only the women who were worth saving.

In the hive world, storms would come down out of the huge peaks from time to time. They would rush toward the lowland jungles and fill the canyons with winds that would batter any sylph to nothingness against the sharp rocks. Built on the flat mountain plateaus between the peaks and the lowlands, the hives did better, the winds there not quite as lethal as in the canyons, and their fields didn’t grow high enough to be more than flattened by the winds and rains, though sometimes massive boulders were knocked loose and thrown down onto them. The sylphs themselves just holed up until it was over, which sometimes took even longer than this sandstorm promised.

While they’d still been slaves, they’d done much the same thing in Meridal when the sandstorms hit. At least, the battlers had, crowding into the harems and resisting the urge to rage at each other and frighten the women. Tooie had never stopped to think what the elemental sylphs used to do during storms, or what they would be doing now if they weren’t in the hive, afraid to come out. They might have been able to stop the storm. They certainly would have been able to protect the crops.

Tooie stood on the edge of a vast field, one of many that framed the northern side of the city. Only there wasn’t much left to the field at all. Where there had once been seemingly endless rows of crops, now there were just the torn remnants of plants nearly buried by sand. None of the elemental sylphs had been out during the storm; he hadn’t even thought of sending them. When there was a Hunter around, elementals stayed in the hive to keep them safe.