“You didn’t start the fight,” said the old man, “and you are not responsible for those who are killed because the Salamander has no respect for life. The Fire Elemental is to blame, although I do not think the spirits understand such terms.”

“Why do they have so much power without…”

“Without empathy? What we presume to call ‘humanity’? One of the One’s mysteries, I suppose. Although some say even the One did not create the Elementals. We must simply do our best, Storm. The Tortoise has spoken to me. You are to leave Bellum now, tonight.”

“But what about the civil war? Talon?”

“Change is coming. My sources tell me that Waffa is opening secret negotiations with the leaders of the rebellion tomorrow. Doubtless she will challenge Talon for leadership. I think she will win. Hard as she is, she is no fool and knows that the Fifteen’s days are numbered if they do not change. You have more work to do here, but now it is important that you survive. In order to do that, you must leave the island.”

“How?”

“From this cave. The lava wall that protects the harbour is not this island’s only mystery. Come, I will show you.”

29

The Earth-witch took her arm and guided her deeper into the ancient warehouse. When they reached the rear of the cave, the yellow light of the lantern showed a jagged crack in the wall.

“Through there?” Storm hoped he would say no. The fissure must have been made by an earthquake and the idea of squeezing into the narrow opening was seriously unpleasant.

The Earth-witch nodded. “I will go first. Take care, the ground will be uneven.”

He disappeared through the crack, taking the light with him. Storm sighed and squeezed through after the old man. Suddenly, she felt the oppressive weight of a mountain of clay and rock overhead. She was burrowing into the stone gut of Bellum Island.

It was too narrow to walk side by side so the old man led, lighting the way with his lantern. Storm paced behind him and last of all came Scoundrel, his tiny feet making soft pattering noises that were oddly comforting.

It was difficult going and they travelled slowly, crunching through rubble stone, pausing to climb waist-high blocks of rocks fallen from the ceiling of the crack. The walls of the fissure widened, grew moist, and then damp. The rocks they clambered over and around became treacherously slick with clay. Even the air she breathed changed: it tasted of deep, dark water. Of moss and slime. Of immense age.

So she was not surprised when they emerged from the crack in the earth on to a subterranean beach. Shingle crunched beneath her feet. Water lapped, restless, invisible, somewhere beyond the circle of lantern light. But it wasn’t the sound of the underground sea that took Storm’s breath away. It was what lay above them.