The Elementalist

26. Close Encounters

Close EncountersVoi awoke to darkness, sweating beneath the sheets. Restless, she rolled over and peered foggily at a small clock on the nightstand, realizing it was only two o’clock in the morning. Dusky moonlight beamed through the window sheers. All but the rattling heater was silent.

She started to crawl out of bed then remembered where she was and stopped. Slowly, she looked over her shoulder; the half-dressed man from the hallway encounter lay next to her, nude and motionless. He hadn’t objected to Voi coming into his room. In fact, he’d been pleasantly surprised. His shock only grew as he witnessed Voi take over the night, demanding how he ought to behave in order to maximize her pleasure.

It’d been a selfish thing, she realized. She couldn’t direct her newfound fascination with air—or the lack thereof—at the man himself for fear of hurting him. So instead, she’d settled for mild breath play, asking him to smother her with his hand over her mouth, tapping him when she’d had enough. “Your eyes,” he kept saying in the dim light, though she ignored him, begging him to keep his hands on her neck as he thrusted her—all the while, for reasons she hadn’t had time to examine, imagining it was actually Agent Callahan whose hands were doing the choking.

The look she’d received from the stranger was more a thing of disturbance than enjoyment. In any case, he’d managed to satisfy.

Voi’s struggle to breathe had increased her pleasure, and her c****x came with the shattering of bulbs from the nightstand lamps—a phenomenon which left her puzzled until she realized that even light bulbs contained gasses. Equally stunned, Voi’s impromptu lover looked at her with horror. Hoping he would forget the strangeness of it all, she’d grabbed his face for a kiss, distracting him with several more rounds of lovemaking that left him exhausted.

Or breathless. She wasn’t sure which.

Assuming he’d fallen asleep with their last kiss, Voi had lain on her back and closed her eyes, allowing the heaviness of her last c****x to lull her into a short-lived slumber.

She hadn’t even asked the man what his name was.

Not waiting to find out, Voi blushed from her memory before snatching her nightgown from the floor and hastily pulling it on. Unsure what had come over her that night or what, exactly, took place near the end, she decided to conveniently put the matter aside.

She paused when she reached the door as a sickening feeling of dread seized her, accompanied by an all-encompassing chill. However, it wasn’t herself she was concerned for; no, she sensed that someone else was in danger.

Milia.

Voi thought of her new revolver and wondered whether it was loaded. Slowly, she cracked the door open then slipped out, leaving her passed-out lover alone.

* * *

Voi quietly found her way back to room 306 and went to the top drawer of her dresser, retrieving the revolver that had once belonged to Milia’s father. She checked its chambers; of course, it was fully loaded. “Always prepared.” Chamber secured, she closed the drawer then walked across the room to grab her blue robe. After shrugging it on, she went to the door with her revolver held ready.

Poking out her head, Voi didn’t see anyone in the hallway, so she slipped out of the room then crept down the hall in the opposite direction of the bathroom, searching for Milia’s room. With every step, Voi got the feeling that someone else was near, yet each time she looked over her shoulder, there was no one to be found. Paranoid, she clutched the grip of her revolver tighter.

Voi tiptoed to Milia’s door and noticed it had been left open. She held her g*n ready to fire, her hands shaking as she gave the door a nudge with her foot. Her view inside was limited, though a small table lamp was on, providing enough light to reveal the form of a man lying prostrate on the ground. He appeared to be dead.

“Milia?” Voi whispered, her eyes growing large.

“Shh! Get inside—and for heaven’s sake, close the door!”

When Voi came in, she realized there were not one but two men on the floor, their brown faces uncovered, their dark scarves hanging around their necks. Voi’s eyes bulged as she recognized one of their faces.

“Milia! These are the delivery men from the military checkpoint at—”

“I know. They were following me.”

“Why? Why would they come for you here, in Borellia?”

“I have some theories, but I imagine some of these men were mentalists. Somehow, they knew I’d come to Kippoli.” Milia sat on the bed, fixedly cleaning off her dagger. The cloth she was using, along with sections of her slip, were smeared and speckled with blood. Voi noticed a makeshift bandage on Milia’s arm: a torn strip of cloth seeping with red. The woman didn’t seem bothered by this, however. Instead, she was consumed with cleaning her precious dagger, her face contorted in annoyance.

The sight of blood made Voi reach for the wall to steady herself.

Milia looked up. “What are you doing up so early?” she asked, as if Voi’s presence was a nuisance.

“I… sensed you were in trouble and came to see if you were alright.”

“Yes, well you’re a little late in offering assistance. I have the situation under control.” Seeing Voi’s disbelieving expression, she added, “This isn’t the first time I’ve been pursued by assassins.”

Sinking to the ground with her back against the wall, Voi repeated the word feebly. “Assassins.” She looked at the men. Though they were dead, something still felt off to Voi. She searched the air for the traces of the elusive disturbance she’d detected before.

“What’s the matter?” asked Milia.

Voi’s gaze continued to wander the room. “I think there’s someone still out there… another assassin.”

“Yes, I sense it too.” Milia stood up, found her robe then slipped it on before pulling out an all-steel handgun from her briefcase.

It wasn’t like Voi’s, though it reminded her of one she’d found while exploring her father’s study once when she was girl: a semi-automatic g*n, her mother had called it when she caught Voi snooping then carefully took the weapon from her daughter. Voi shivered, distinctly recalling how cold the weapon had felt in her hands.

Milia caught Voi’s worried gaze as she went to the door. “Stay here, and lock the door when I leave.”

Voi frowned, disliking being commanded, though she watched the diplomat go before following her orders. With the door locked, Voi rested her ear against the wood, listening for unusual sounds—anything but that of her own heartbeat. She heard footsteps fade down the stairwell, leaving behind the relative silence of the sleeping inn.

Someone took in a deep, sharp breath behind her.

Voi gasped and whirled, pressing her back to the door. One of the bodies was moving, gesturing for her help. Curious, she sidestepped towards the foreigner then knelt at a safe distance, watching the man take in air with a haggard, moist noise.

She raised her revolver, gripping it with both hands, then shook the muzzle at him. “Who are you?” Her voice was shaky. “Why did you come here?”

He held up a hand as if to pacify her. “Please, no more violence; we came in peace.”

She blinked, surprised to hear him speak Windi, then stared at him momentarily before replying. “Are you of the Haran? One of the radicals?” She kept her g*n trained on him.

Wheezing heavily, he said, “A word you Westerners wouldn’t understand, but yes, I am Haran.” He grimaced at some hidden wound on his side.

Concerned, Voi lowered her weapon, sitting and folding her legs aside. “What do you mean?”

“She—” He took a sharp breath, cringing while aiming a trembling finger at the door then exhaling again. “The blonde daemon.” He took a moment to gather energy to speak. “We came to reason with her, to plea for peace, yet she refused to listen.”

“You came with the intention of killing her,” said Voi, eyeing the jagged bone knife lying near his hand, encrusted with blood. “Of course she refused.”

He hissed something in a foreign language, perhaps a curse, then clutched at his wound, wincing. A dark spot spread beneath his hand. “We came with weapons to protect ourselves because that daemon is more dangerous than fifteen of my men.” He spat blood off to the side before barring his teeth, which were stained. “We’re not elementalists, we four, only emissaries.”

“Four?” Voi wondered whether Milia was aware of this. She took another look at the foreigner. It was hard to tell what Milia had done to cause him so much pain yet still allowed him to hang onto his life for so long. Perhaps it was pure will on his part that kept him alive. Even then, Voi wasn’t sure why he felt it was necessary to prolong his suffering to speak with her.

Another thought occurred to her. “If Milia is capable of defeating fifteen of your men, as you claim, then why only come with four?”

“As I said, our intent was not to harm. The diplomat may be a descendant of our enemy’s daemons, but she’s also a woman of influence. Mohmud recognized this, so he sent us to make a peace offering. But she’s not interested in peace, only her version of ‘justice.’ We were given orders to detain her if she wouldn’t see reason, to protect our interests, but perhaps… perhaps you may be willing to listen.”

Voi arched her eyebrows. “Me?”

“We want—” He sucked in air painfully. “We want to make a pact with you. It’s… the Shak a’Hara’s wish.”

“Mohmud… is he your leader? Your sha-ka-ha-ra?”

He nodded, his face becoming increasingly pale.

Voi realize then how important this man’s dying words might be to the League. She sat straighter and continued to listen.

“He knows you’re looking for us,” said the man. “He wants a diplomatic solution to avoid bloodshed.” He groaned and grimaced, holding his side. “Our immediate grievance is not with your people. If you keep your distance, you will be left alone.”

Yes, but for how long? Voi peered at him. “Is that a threat?”

“Our goals are political, not personal. However,” the emissary’s tone darkened, “if you intervene, we will take necessary precautions to protect ourselves.” He sniffed in air then exhaled slowly, though the act took an inordinate amount of effort. He held his hand over his lung.

Voi had questions about the Haran, and she hoped maybe the emissary could provide some answers. “Why do you send raiding parties to stalk our airships and thieve our cargo? Why are you stealing our technology?” She was gambling, basing these accusations on her inklings about current events.

The emissary glowered. “Your League, your so-called peacemakers,” he spat, “would see our kind enslaved through bribery and extortion rather than giving hara, true liberation to my brothers and sisters. We need tools to protect ourselves, which are difficult to come by.” He narrowed his eyes. “Tell me, what justice lies in our suppression—in your suppression?”

Voi leaned back. “What makes you think I’m being suppressed?”

“The Shak a’Hara sees many things. He is understanding, but this so-called ‘peace’ between our people is only temporary. Mohmud is forging a new alliance apart from the League. A new age is coming for the gifted and the people of South Darmoil. Mafallah har—!” Suddenly, a ruthless coughing fit seized the man. When the struggle was over, he fell to the floor.

If his words were true—if he and the others had come to make peace with Milia, who turned around and killed them in cold blood…

No, there had to be more to the situation.

Voi stared numbly at the dead man, wondering why she’d been the last to speak with him. How could he tell that she was, in fact, one of the ‘gifted’? After all, she’d sensed nothing unusual about his presence nor felt she’d done anything to give her own secret abilities away. She looked aside, considering the possibility that perhaps the man was a psychic capable of masking his aetheric signature the same way Milia had at Mayfield Park during archery practice.

The full realization that this was Voi’s first face-to-face experience with a Haran operative came as an unexpected blow. She leaned back on her hands, finding herself short of breath. What was especially chilling, however, was the way the emissary had spoken of Milia: “She is more dangerous than fifteen of my men.” The thought sent chills through Voi, making her shiver.

A sudden noise made her whip her head in the direction of the door.

Four, he said. That means there are two left. What if the emissary’s words were true? Could peace still be negotiated? It seemed worth a try, though certainly it was Milia’s intention to kill the remaining operatives.

Voi had to intervene.

Quietly, she rose from the floor, gripping her revolver. She undid the lock to reach the hallway then stepped out, leaving the door open slightly. Swallowing her last reservations, Voi tip-toed through the inn. If there was anything abnormal happening on the lower levels, she couldn’t detect it. Convinced there wasn’t any danger on the third floor, she carefully ventured downstairs then peeked beyond the guardrail to the second floor.

She saw no one.

Deeming it safe, Voi stepped down, peering past her shadow through the hallway and the bluish-white light coming from the window behind. She tiptoed then stopped when she saw a dark form looming in the distance, the moon highlighting his silhouette.

He froze.

Before Voi could figure out what to do, the man lifted his hands then cupped them around his mouth with a hollow pffft, projecting an object towards her.

Voi instinctively dodged, throwing herself against the wall. Something struck the surface behind her, and she looked to see what it was; a feathered dart stuck out, just beside the window frame. When she relaxed, another projectile came at her, which she barely managed to duck.

The third dart came too fast, hitting her in the right bicep.

She gasped at her arm. Gathering her wits, she plucked the dart out. Her mind and body slowly took on a closed, congested sensation as her senses dulled to the aether.

“Oh no.” As she looked up, she saw the figure rushing towards her, only paces away.

She raised her revolver, but the man knocked it out of her hands. He delivered a flat-palmed blow to her chest and sent her stumbling into the window; the panes rattled and cracked, the impact knocking the wind from her lungs. Before she could catch her breath, he grabbed her by the shoulders and threw her aside.

Voi cried out as her head hit the wall. She dropped her revolver and slumped to the ground, disorientation clouding her mind. Eventually, she shook her head, spotting his receding form. With a grunt, she roused her legs into action, launching herself while reaching for his ankles. She caught him by the pant leg with both hands, which caused him to trip onto his stomach with an oomph!

Voi looked back and saw her g*n nearby. She grimaced as she reached for it, but the man kicked her other hand off then scrambled to his feet.

As soon as Voi grabbed the revolver, she rolled onto her back and aimed for his chest. He stopped with raised hands, inching away. She shook the g*n at him. “Stop! I don’t want to hurt you. Just… just tell me why you’re here, where you came from.”

Someone was cursing in their room now. The emissary looked to his left as a door opened. A man in his pajamas came out, asking in Borellian, “What’s all this racket about?”

The emissary pulled the man towards him, wrapping his arm around the civilian’s neck. The Borellian’s eyes widened, though he didn’t speak. “Leave me,” said the emissary in Windi. He revealed a jagged knife and raised it to his captive’s neck. “Or I kill him.” He began dragging the stunned guest towards the stairs.

Voi pinched her eyes shut. Why won’t you just take the shot? With the potential for a bystander casualty… no, she couldn’t take the chance.

Another g*n went off down the hallway.

Voi opened her eyes. The Haran man stared at her with an equally alarmed expression, a dark spot oozing between his eyes. He fell down.

Horrified, the Borellian guest wailed and threw himself against the nearest wall. He looked at the other end of the hallway where Milia stood, aiming her pistol. She lowered it a few seconds later then marched towards them, her slip fluttering behind her.

Voi relaxed her firing stance, her arms faltering beneath the weight of her cowardice.

By now, there were several guests around all gawking at the scene in their nightwear, wondering what had taken place. Milia came to Voi, hissing, “Damn you, Voi! I told you to stay in the room.”

Milia’s words barely registered as Voi stared vacantly ahead. Her grip loosened on her revolver, but Milia foresaw this and took the weapon with a sigh.

“Never mind,” said the woman, sympathetic. “If it weren’t for you, I might not have caught him unawares.” When Voi said nothing, she added, “Well, don’t look so unhappy! The sly jinghul had it coming.”

As Milia continued rambling, all Voi could think about was her overwhelming sense of guilt. Was it wrong to believe she could have convinced the emissary that there was a peaceful solution to their problem, even after Milia had attacked them?

A hand rested on Voi’s shoulder and startled her.

“Come on,” said Milia. “Let’s get you back into your room.”

“He said there were four,” Voi said faintly.

“I know. I got the others. All of them. Everything’s alright now.” Milia led her to the stairwell dodging inquiring faces and their demands. Guests continued staring at the women until they disappeared upstairs.

Once Milia got Voi back to her room, she sat her on the bed then looked her in the eye. “Now, don’t go anywhere, Voi—and I mean it this time. I need to make sure the inn’s owner is aware of the situation. She’ll report this to authorities, so I need to handle our side of the story.”

Voi stared at the floor.

Milia shook her. “Voi! Did you hear me?”

“Yes, yes! I heard you!” Her nose flared as she forced herself not to cry.

Giving her a skeptical glance, Milia leaned back then left the room.

Voi sat there numbly, ruminating on the effectiveness of her choices.