The Elementalists

Chapter 2

'I'm not saying I am!' Musa and I glower at each other, all family comradery vanishing abruptly. 'But getting mad won't solve anything. It's no one's fault Nu got sick. And it's not like it's your birthday being forgotten, is it.'

'Well, forgive me for caring.'

I put my head in my hands. What am I doing? Musa isn't just my cousin, he's my best friend. Born just eighteen-months apart, we've always looked out for each other. He's only upset on my behalf, and here I am, judging him for it. He looks so . . . I peek at him through my fingers. His mocha skin all flushed around his cheeks, eyes shining with something bright and furious, but not tears. Never tears.

Everything about Musa is tense. From his clenched jaw, that stretches his skin taught over bones, to the hairs from his glossy black bun straining to escape at the nape of his neck. I've been told we look alike, almost too alike, Musa and I. I look far more like him than I do my own sister. Nura's the complete opposite of me, all wispy light hair and delicate complexion. The only difference between Musa and I is that no one is scared of Musa.

Everyone is scared of me.

'Oh, forget it. Come on then, let's go celebrate. Just you and me.' Exactly the way it should be. I hold my hand out to Musa, smiling suddenly; I can never stay angry with Musa for long. He frowns, the fierce gleam in his eyes fading. 'How about we make a rule: no mourning on birthdays. Okay?'

His face splits into the cheeky, wide grin I know and love so much. 'I'm glad you said that, 'cause I've got a little something planned. C'mon.' Scrambling to his feet, he takes my hand and yanks me down the street, away from the shroud of misery that looms over our pod. And in our wake, the grey curl of mist that is always lurking, waiting, draws like a curtain over the town.

*

Al-Abhor, my home, used to be spectacular. High up in the Sǝhrazon hills beyond the Eternal Desert, it used to border a national park, full of wild birds of every colour and animals like monkeys—tiny, chittering macaques to giant, lumbering baboons. But the park and its creatures are long gone now, leaving our home deep in the dark, dank solitude of the hillside. Several narrow tunnels lead through the hills to our local wormholes, but first you have to wade through thick marshland. We usually use the northern tunnel to Wormhole 23, but this morning, Musa drags me down the southern tunnel. There can only be one possible destination.

'Why are we going to the baths?' I hold up the folds of my baggy trousers and squelch through the mud, trying hard to keep up with him. It slurps through the straps of my sandals, right in-between my toes. I scrunch up my nose. 'It's not Sunday.' Everyone hates bathing day. The water around here stings like crazy from the sulphurous rain. It makes the water burn to the touch and too acidic to drink. We suffer baths once a week out of necessity, but it's not exactly somewhere I'd volunteer to go more often.

'You'll see,' Musa grins. He's acting very strange. Extra fidgety; he does this dance from foot to foot when he's nervous, but this time there's an almost mischievous spring to his step. I glance up at the sky and bite the inside of my cheek; purplish-grey clouds roll over our heads, preparing to settle over the town and get cosy. I pause to watch the drizzle start from our vantage point on the hillside.

'Don't worry about the rain,' Musa says. But I can't tear my eyes away.

'The weather's always worse when I'm around.'

'Don't be silly. Compared to yesterday, this is beach weather.' Musa nudges me in the ribs, trying to get a smile. It's not working.

'It always rains when I'm around. . .' My words peter out as the rain grows heavier by the minute.