Ventus by Karl Schroeder

Karl Schroeder / Ventus / Page 55
puzzle of Ventus, why the Winds did not acknowledge the
presence of the humans who had created them. It seemed to
have become a small hobby of Axel's to discover why, but
Calandria was merely grateful she could pass unseen.
She checked once more to make sure the morph was
really heading the other way. Then she lay down on the damp
earth next to Jordan, and compelled herself to sleep.
Jordan awoke in another place, and his hands were on
fire.
He was screaming. For a moment he thought he was in
the sky again, because he was surrounded by flame--orange
leaping sheets of it to all sides, a smouldering carpet underfoot,
and blue licking tongues above his head. But he stumbled
against a post, and the fires around him shook and long tears
ripped through them. The flaming walls of the tent he was in
began to collapse.
For some reason Jordan didn't feel the pain, though he
saw flame licking up from his hands, the backs of which were
black and bubbling. And he could hear himself scream, only it
wasn't his voice. It was the worst sound he had ever heard.
The tent pole snapped, and the broken bottom half
scraped up his side. He stumbled, flailing his arms wildly as,
in a strange spiral fall, the heavy burning fabric of the tent
came down on him. The impact, as if he were enfolded in an
elemental's arms, brought him to his knees. He breathed smoke
and could no longer scream. His throat spasmed.
From somewhere he heard voices shouting. Men. He
was pulled to and fro violently, and he heard the ring of swords
being unsheathed. Blows all about. And the arms and chest of
the elemental branded him, burned away his hair, stripped his
skin, pressed against his raw muscles in a hideous, intimate