Diffraction

Chapter Thirty-Two: A Dance in the Shadows

"The invaders serve our ends. Our gain in this is clear, and our profit sweet—all the more so in that it comes free of our own effort."

Under the sun's gentle caress, Ellers floated on his back in the pond on his farm. His fingers and toes wriggled in the cool waters, and he drifted in a lazy circle. A light breeze rippled the pond's surface, and his thin shirt and loose trousers bobbed in the water. The pungent odor of livestock filled his heart with joy, sweeping away the last vestiges of homesickness.

The Nimblefoot plot on the southern side of Lanaloth stretched out around him. Blood-drenched hillsides and cries of battle seemed like showman-fables and children's stories.

That's a silly thing. Why was I ever homesick to begin with? This is all I've known.

And it suited Ellers perfectly. In the murky pond, he could relish in his elemental heritage, releasing his essence from the bonds of a body. Mingling with a body of water felt refreshing, like one's first few breaths after release from a prison cell.

Odd analogy. I've never spent time in prison. How should I know what that feels like?

Sudden memories flashed to mind, of weeks locked up in the Bastion of Aulivar. He pictured a dank cell that smelled of mold and sweat, where fleas swarmed the bed. It seemed he'd been there, though the farm was all he knew.

Strange... how could I remember something that didn't happen?

A disembodied whisper flowed through his mind. "How could you forget that it did?" Memories flooded his thoughts like gold coins poured from a fat purse.

Days passed in that cell, hours filled with regret and frustration at being caught. There were no wards in that manor, or at least shouldn't have been. He'd checked using every device known to the Nightshadows.

After a new moon, the nobleman he'd tried to rob appeared with Ellers' belongings and an offer of freedom in exchange for service. The balding man smiled too much for Ellers' taste, especially since his mirth never reached his eyes.

"You're supposed to be resting right now," a voice much like his own scolded him. The cell wavered and vanished. He floated again in the pond. It did feel better in the pond, so he didn't mind the abrupt change.

Thin lines of clouds streaked the sky. Little wisps curled off them, almost but never quite making circles. The formations looked like fishhooks, and Ellers thought of his tacklebox. "Been too long since I cast a line into the Aronel," he said with a sigh.

Near the water's edge, his brother knelt and filled a bucket. "Caught that catfish the size a-yer arm you did, last half moon. Two'er three times a month ya been goin' as always."

"Oh, that's right." Ellers paddled toward his brother. "Funny accent you have, Trickles. Puttin' the words backwards, you are." Farm-folk of Lanaloth talked that way, but it sounded unfamiliar to Ellers' ears.

"Same as you, Puddlekin," Orran said, and splashed water at Ellers. "And that name I hate—an' you know it full well. Stop usin' it."

Ellers chuckled. Orran took longer during childhood than most Aquamentals to develop full control over the waters within him. To a human, young Orran would appear to suffer from profuse sweating. Ellers came up with the nickname to pick on his little brother's condition despite furious scolding from their Ba.