6. Bargaining

6

Bargaining

Safira Chastain

I hadn't expected the water-horse to eat my weeds. Not really. He was an ancient elemental force, not a horse, no matter that he stood on four hooves and chose to graze along the shore. That sort of behavior didn't sustain him in any way; Tsirisma Lake likely only ate grass because he enjoyed it in some way. But the weeds were gone, and there were hoof-marks in the soft soil.

He hadn't left behind so much as a single leaf.

"Thorough," I murmured to myself, and looked down the slope of the island towards the water of the lake. It gleamed in the sunlight, small waves lapping at the shore and rolling across the surface from the breeze.

It was strange to think about the lake as a sentient creature, looking at the water. Not all lakes had water-horses, nor even most. As far as I knew, nobody knew what caused an elemental to wake up. It was a mystery between the plane and the gods, one of the purest connections between Ishkaia, the goddess of life, death, and transformation, and her other half, the creator-god Yeles. I'd never expected to encounter a water-horse in my life, and now one was breaking my pumps and eating my weeds.

I wondered what he wanted, and why he'd decided to pay attention to me, specifically. I certainly wasn't impressive magically, and while I knew I had good enough looks, I sincerely doubted that a water-horse would care about the appearance of a mayfly human. He was probably thousands of years old; the looks of a human would bloom and fade in the blink of an eye for him.

There wasn't really anything I could do about it, though, and neither Marin nor Bash would be able to do anything about Tsirisma Lake, either. We were only ordinary people, and he was, well. A big damn lake encircling us.

With a heavy sigh that bordered on annoyance, I started on my outdoor tasks for the day.

It wasn't really annoyance, though. I couldn't fool myself about that. It was unsettling and uncomfortable to be the focus of a powerful creature's attention, and it made my skin prickle to think that the lake was more interested in me than mild curiosity could account for. It had been fun to banter with him, the sort of playful exchange I didn't really have with Marin or Bash, but every time I remembered that I'd been acting as if the lake was some ordinary man, a rush of fear rolled down my spine.

He didn't seem like a horrible person. The way he'd reacted to me suggested that he didn't have a lot of experience talking to people, which could mean either that he was guileless and curious, or that he was an excellent actor.

The wary part of me fretted about the latter possibility. The wizard hadn't seemed like a horrible person, either. I would never have married him if that had been the case. I'd seen living proof that people could act kind and caring for a long time, just the friendliest, most loving person, and then turn on you like a rabid animal when you were under their power. The cost of falling for that facade had been almost too much to bear. I was still paying the price for it, and I knew I would be for the rest of my life.

But also... when would he have learned to be an actor? The way Marin had talked about him suggested that he never interacted with anyone on the island, and Barixeor was so remote that it seemed unlikely that he'd once had the type of human company that would have taught him how to deceive. Still, though. He'd been alive for probably thousands of years. That was a long time to interact with people, even if he didn't see them very often.

I ended up starting glumly at the pump in the early afternoon. I needed to water the plants, and I really, really didn't want to use the pump. Down the slope, the blue water of the lake glimmered so enticingly, sunlight reflecting off the small waves on its surface. All that water, the elemental body of a water-horse who had broken my pump, suggested he could help, and then eaten my weeds when I'd invited him to do so.

Maybe he was only... bored. Or lonely. Or both?

I knew I was mostly trying to convince myself that it was fine to do the thing I'd already decided to do, because I couldn't bring myself to face hand-pumping water for months when there was a different solution. Tsirisma Lake was powerful and dangerous, and I was scared of that, but as long as I didn't touch him or make any binding oaths, I didn't think there was anything he could actively do to me. He couldn't even trap me on the island – the portals in the Spire would let me escape, even if only to another Spire.

So it's fine , I told myself, looking down at the lake. With a sigh, I turned and marched down the slope to the rocky beach, considering the wavelets lapping against the stones. The water-horse was the lake, so I wasn't going to do something as foolish as touch him to get his attention, but I doubted he was sitting there focused on me. He'd looked at my face when he'd seen my reflection, and might again, but I didn't exactly have a convenient pier to dangle over.

At last I picked up a nice, flat rock about the size of my palm. I hefted it, feeling the balance, then skipped it across the waters of the lake. It jumped four times – not bad – and sank into the water.

A moment later Tsirisma Lake pushed himself up out of the water in the form of a man, sprawling in the shallow water. He turned the stone I'd skipped in one hand, rolling it over his fingers, and gave me a self-satisfied smirk. "You have my attention, as you desired," he said. "Ask."

His absolute confidence that I'd come to him for assistance rankled, especially paired with that look of satisfaction. It made me want to thumb my nose at him and go pump by hand to spite him, except that I had blisters and my arms hurt. I wasn't that petty, but it was a near thing.

I made a face at him. "You broke my pump, and you suggested I might like help. What's your solution?"

"I am a lake," he said, sounding amused. "I am far more water than your garden might ever drink. I allow the deer and wolves to drink their fill, as I have always allowed those on my shores to do. I could share with your plants, as well."

"Okay..." I said, in a leading tone.

He didn't elaborate, looking up at me with an expression of expectation, still turning the stone over in his hand. He had strong-looking hands, square and masculine, with neatly-trimmed nails that matched his clean-shaven stubble, looking as if he took care with his appearance. But he was an elemental, and I suspected his nails grew no more than his facial hair did.

"I'm guessing there's a price," I said after a moment. "Are you going to tell me what you want?"

The water-horse's gaze grew more intense, with a focus I didn't like. "Conversation," he said. "A century and more has passed since another has exchanged words with me. Speak with me as I water your garden, and I will give your plants their fill." When I didn't immediately answer, he held out the stone to me, water dripping off of it. "Is that not a kinder price than blisters?" he asked, his voice soft and alluring.

Lonely. He was lonely, and that made this bargain even stupider, because I was lonely, too. It gave me a pang of sympathy, even for the dangerous, unknowable creature lying half-sprawled in the lake.

Hesitance warring with compassion and a hatred of blisters, I reached out my hand, but didn't take the stone. "I'll still be able to say no later?" I asked, my voice smaller than I'd intended.

One corner of his mouth lifted. His tail moved beneath the gentle waves. "I will water your garden while you willingly speak to me," he said, his voice calm. "I do not seek anything else. If you are unwilling, you may use your broken pump, and I will not interfere."

"Okay," I said, gnawing on my lip, and leaned forward so my hand sat underneath the proffered stone, the cold lake-water dripping on me in slow, fat splashes. "Then I guess we have a bargain, Tsirisma Lake."

His smile spread a little more. With a lazy movement, he let the stone fall into my hand and withdrew his.

My fingers closed automatically around it, the cold of the lake water against my skin somehow more meaningful than merely a wet stone held in my hand. He didn't touch me , I realized. He'd dropped it because the water on the stone was still him while his fingers touched it, and became somehow less him when disconnected. The thought eased the knot of concern under my sternum. Maybe he really couldn't touch me. There was safety in that—a safety I knew not to break, now that I'd experienced at the wizard's hands what lay on the other side of such immutable laws.

"So, um," I said, looking down at the flat dark stone in my hand, the sun glinting off the wet. "How will you water my garden?"