The Tortoise! It had condemned her mother to death. How could she trust the spirit ever again? But her terror of the Salamander left her little choice. The Fire-witch would follow, would not rest until she was dead.

The old man smiled with a warmth that made the knot of fear in Storm’s chest loosen, a bit. The cling-monkey muttered in Storm’s ear as she followed her rescuer into an unknown part of town.

The brick-paved street became a dirt path. The last house came and went and still they walked on, following a high wall covered in peeling plaster. The old man paused beside a tangle of vines cascading down the wall, and Storm saw a small door, half hidden beneath the foliage. Her rescuer pushed the door open, took her hand and led her into a shady garden.

Vines twisted up trees and shrubs to form a green tent over her head. Storm breathed in the scent of honeysuckle and orange blossom. Unseen birds warbled. Bees muttered. Butterflies and dragon flies swooped and darted.

Sensing a presence, Storm looked up into the wistful eyes of a three-toed sloth, hanging motionless from a tree branch just above her head. It seemed to be smiling … but then, sloths always looked like they were smiling. Beside it, the heavy coils of a snake looped over the same branch. The creature’s flat head pointed at her, bead-eyes watching, tongue tasting the air.

“Tortoise?”

I am here.

A confusion of feelings bruised her mind. The Earth spirit had just saved her life. But…

“You let Dain die!” Storm wondered at her bravery. How dare she rebuke an Elemental spirit?

When the ancient voice spoke again it was as unhurried as ever: I mourn with you. Dain was one of my most beloved Children. But if you had not saved Nim, Death would have come to Yanlin with monstrous force. A great catastrophe threatens, not just for Yanlin, but for every creature of the earth, sea or air.

A sickly chill settled in Storm’s belly.

Remember the tale your father told you – the story of how life was created. Fire was begat by the sun. It cares nothing for Life.

“What does the Fire spirit want? Why is it trying to kill me?”

She waited, but the voice was silent. When she looked up again, the sloth and snake had vanished.

“I hate riddles!” Storm muttered.

“I will ask you none, then,” said the old man, “but I cannot vouch for Scoundrel, who is a very disobedient soul.”

The cling-monkey gave a chittering cry and leapt up to disappear into the maze of vines and branches overhead.

“Touchy!” commented the old man.

Storm gazed after the monkey, missing the warm weight of the creature on her shoulder. She asked the old man, “Why have you brought me here?”