Chapter 1
THE DROWNED TEMPLE
Sinika’s tomb was as dark as it was wet. The small amount of air encased with him was so thin his head spun. Fingers raw from sliding along the rock walls, he knew every inch of the room where he was trapped. Even the wall that was not a wall. It was water.
The fear of it rose in his throat again, choking him until he coughed. The spasm racked his frame until he bent over, snot overflowing his nostrils and his eyes watering. If someone were to have designed a prison for Fire Elementals, they could have done no better than what Niri had accomplished.
His memories of the battle were tinged in red and unclear. But he was certain he was nowhere near the surface of what had been the Temple of Dust. He could tell that the same way he knew day from night, when a soft glow filtered down to his wall that was not a wall. It gave him the faintest light to see his prison, pulled him closer to the edge of the abyss, and taunted him with the hope of seeing how far freedom was above him or how far the bottom was below him in the dark. After four days, he still could not tell. And he still could not call fire.
He’d tried ever since he’d woken, chest in pain and veins throbbing. He wasn’t sure how Niri had defeated him. They had been fighting, he was trying to ignite her and burn her to oblivion. And then the world went dark. It still was. But this was a waking nightmare, or at least a semi-conscious one. Trapped there with little air, no food, but plenty of water. So much of it that it made him want to scream. So he did. The result had been a headache and swirling vision. Too little air, Sinika knew that. A cavern such as this was a death trap.
Sinika pulled his thoughts back. They wandered, skittering up and down the cage of his mind, looking for the light he should be able to call but could not. There was too much water, too little air, and too much rock. His hands trembled before him. He could not remember a time in his life when flames did not dance to his whim. His first memory was of a candle flame wavering.
Calmly, Sinika sat and turned his thoughts inward, clearing his mind. He sat on the damp floor, hearing the instructions he had given to hundreds of young initiates over the years. The realization enraged him.
“I am not some apprentice!”
Sinika’s voice echoed against the stone and caused the fragile membrane of air and water to tremble. A precious bubble broke off and raced toward the surface he could not reach. It was just too achingly much.
In desperation, he groped in the dimness for anything on which to vent his anger. There hadn’t been much in the beginning. There was even less now. He kicked at the wooden bed, hauling it toward the center of the room. His fist slammed the walls until the rage that ate at him burned itself out. Sinika fell to his knees before the curtain of water, the blood on his hands flowing to the damp floor.
He could throw himself out, just as he had thrown the drawers to a dresser, a chair, and a small table. Throw himself into the weightless wetness beyond his cell, knowing he could never reach the surface. Even if it got him nowhere, it would feel so good to try. So much better than sitting defeated in the dark, entombed by water and rock.
“Ci’erra.”
Sinika’s voice spat the name, even while it lingered on the syllables reverently. She had deserted him while he fought Niri. Had she escaped? Could she be above seeking help for him? Or was she trapped somewhere below in a cell like his?
“If she is alive and free, she would think I’ve drowned.”
The realization settled in him with the cold weight of stone. Niri had left him below to die. Ci’erra, if she weren’t dead herself, would never expect he had survived the sea filling up the Temple of Dust. No one was going to come for him. Sinika drew a shaking hand across his eyes. He settled back on the floor, sitting with far less grace than a youthful acolyte. Sinika closed his eyes and tried again.
A deep breath in. He wasn’t drowning. He could breathe. And out, like he wanted so badly. Even the desert, for all its emptiness, would be a beautiful sight to behold. Sinika opened his eyes and held out a steady hand. He kept the desert in his mind, its heat and brightness. It burned inside of him, a part of what he was.
Wavering red light, just the faintest splotch, hovered above the floor. Sinika almost took it for desperate illusion. Then, with desire fueling his need for it to be real, the faint light congealed. A tiny flame hissed against the wet stone floor. A weak moment of relief nearly extinguished it. Sinika fed energy to it and was surprised at how little he had in him to give. It was almost painful to pull the flames back and let the fire before him fall to a fragile light. He wanted the warmth and brightness so badly, but the manifestation ate his strength too quickly. He needed time more than he needed fire.
Quickly, he reached into the flames with his mind. Now that he was master of his element again, it was not so difficult to remember his training and power. He had spent days planning what he would do as soon as he managed to create a flame.
Within the High Council chambers of the Temple of Solaire, a fire was always kept burning. An apprentice would be there, keeping watch. Sinika felt the connection with a surge of energy. The flame before him burned hotter. The flames in Solaire would be dancing, he knew.
His small fire changed before him, diffusing and elongating into a form. To Sinika’s surprise, it wasn’t that of an initiate. Instead, a woman, old but with sharp eyes, stared at him.
“High Priestess Timpada. I did not expect you.”
“High Priest Sinika. Where are you? We’ve been trying to speak to you for days. There are rumors of the sea leaving its banks near Tabook and Priest Rannell is missing in Rah Hahsessah. Then, we did not hear from you or High Priestess Ci’erra. What has happened?"
Sinika leaned forward, a thin smile on his lips. “You need to call the High Council and then you need to send a Water and Air Elemental to Karakastad as fast as possible.”