A Quiet Crossroads (Lake Baikal, Siberia)

[Ashavari]

Asha made herself small in the boat, a tiny crouched figure all but drowned in a black coat. She could swim, but the terrifying lash of the waves gave her no hope of survival if she fell in. El had disappeared from her senses, but she knew it was him who caused it; a manifestation of anger she for once couldn’t feel, but which tore physically into the world around them instead. His absence left her no protection from the outside. Fear raced her heart like it might burst. Panic made her shake as though her body was no longer her own. And there was worse too.

It only came into sharper relief the closer he drove them relentlessly to shore. It’s not like they had been the only boat on the lake on such a calm day. Her breathing came in sharp sobs, trying desperately to convince her lungs they were not full of water, as her sentient gift was sure they were. And when they lurched to a sudden stop, she rolled with the motion, unable to stop herself. Her body remained curled into itself in the bottom of the boat. Trembling arms cocooned around her head, and she was soaked through to her icy core. The overload left her almost catatonic. Asha was not aware. Caught still in a storm of her own, she could only feel.

[Sören]

Elias Donovan vaulted from the boat and stormed up the shore like some ancient god dredged from the slimy sea and not the gangly adolescent boy he was, throwing a temper tantrum for a lost toy. Sören waited in kingly silence, but his face was grim. He did not savour confrontation, preferring subtler arts to achieve what he wanted. And while he did not quite feel compassion for the destruction wrought — in all honesty, should it bear fruit, he would upend the lake in a watery tempest himself to find what he needed – he did not approve of needless, violent rage. The boy appeared to be alone, which perhaps accounted for his stupidly emotional response. Should Sören actually possess the fucking shard, did Elias really think he could claim it by strength?

His lips pursed. He did not look down at Kemala, though he was aware of her regard for a name different from the one he had given to her. Alvis was business though. He felt no guilt for his revealed duplicity, only annoyance to have to explain it later.

“You employed me to find it,” he said, voice level. He spoke to Elias like a recalcitrant child, knowing it would probably spiral his temper into a deeper frenzy, but he would not do him the favour of meeting him as an equal. “And it is what I have been doing here – searching.”

He spoke not the details, having never planned to reveal his instinct that the creature would be lured by a woman’s power, nor his knowledge that Roopkund’s guardian had been triggered by a man’s. He thought he had discovered the key today, but it seemed the mystery still persisted. In the back of his mind, he puzzled over why the creature had not been drawn to Kemala’s gifts this second time, until a possessive twist considered that perhaps there was another element at play – a third hunter. And that it was possible Elias was correct that the shard had been claimed, just wrong about by whom.

His hands rested in his pockets, unruffled as he stared Elias down. Any ire was contained behind the calculation of his mild eyes. He wondered if there might be retaliation, and he was primed for the possibility, but he also trusted in the company by his side. Kemala once stood alone against a tsunami, and the winds heeded her call. If there was a storm to fear, it was wearing that shawl. “Stop acting like a child and look at the damage you are causing.”