Hassina felt no fear. I could tell not just by looking at her, but by the job she was doing: she wasn’t hiding her terror at the presence of the storm lord… it just wasn’t there.

Now that her planned ordeal was done, she conducted with perfect confidence. Her attention was entirely on the players before her and the movement of her hands was precise. I relaxed, slowly accepting that despite her stunt, the concert was now going as planned.

I began to watch the elementals above and around us. They whirled with extraordinary speed, stirring up an encircling wall of glittering snowflakes but using their magic to keep us from being buffeted by the winds that would have roared with their enthusiasm, had they not protected us from that as well.

Ribbons of air danced and wove around them. Every so often I would see half-dozen of them suddenly begin to move in perfect synchronicity, a tandem dance that was unique to those air elementals with intelligence.

Near the center of that chaotic gyre, I guarded the orchestra and watched them, wondering.

We acted as if air elementals had such a special predilection for music, and seemingly they did. But if I had never heard an orchestra play in my life, how much blood and toil would I be willing to give to hear one play again? Perhaps it wasn’t any special quirk of their nature that made them love music, but rather those qualities which made them unable to record and develop a deep musical tradition that made them so greedy for it.

I remembered the first time Sabina had played the glitter strings for us: how each of us had begged her to play again and again, over and over. At first she’d done nothing, enjoying—as my mother-creator often did—the power of denying us. But then she’d done something better: she’d given us instruments of our own.

Perhaps there was a way, I thought, watching the elementals spin and whirl in the air. After all, there were instruments that could only be played by those with [Air Magick], even if they were rarer than those that could be learned by anyone.

Perhaps with kites and scaffolds, it could be done—bells and pipes placed high in the sky, perhaps even ordered to create certain melodies when rushed through in sequence….

As the concert went on, these thoughts occupied me for a while, distracting me from the magnificent show before me. I shouldn’t have been distracted—it wasn’t normally like me to grow lost in thought at an event such as this. But things had changed, and they’d changed for the worse.

The lament that Hassina had played earlier was of the like those which had followed every war I’d ever fought. Yes, it had moved me—but I’d long grown accustomed to being moved by laments, letting grief and loss flow through me unimpeded with the knowledge that they would pass.

It was the absence of joy that I struggled with more than anything. As I watched creatures made from ripples of wind and currents of mana dance across the sky, my ears were filled with music that was fused from ancient elvish compositions and Hassina’s own creations. I should have been flooded with joy and wonder, overwhelmed as I so often was with gratitude at the blessed life that I’d been granted within our vast cosmos.

But the trials of the past and my fears for the future kept me from falling into the wonder that I knew I should have felt. I was tired.

“Alcuon,” I whispered. “It’s you who I need to pull me from worrying, planning, and endless foresight into one glorious, effortless now.”

Tears stung my face as they fell from my cheeks. Before me, Hassina cued the choir to begin—and two dozen elves let out a strange series of notes, called out with sounds that were as much like bells as they were voices, each a loud burst of sound that quieted quickly and melted into the endless, rapid melody that they all made in concert.

“And once we’re there… just let that constant, instant present last forever….”

I sighed, allowing my tears to fall. A little weeping and I’d feel better, I knew.

Besides, it wasn’t all about the here and now. Memory could perfect a moment, could smooth away all its small discomforts and inadequacies with the polish of time. If hollow grief kept me from feeling the full breadth of this concert, then hollow grief was my lot for now. I’d have this night in time.

Until then I let the music fill the air around me, committed the sight of the dancing elementals to memory, and quietly wept for my lost husband.

In an impressive act of endurance, our musicians played ceaselessly for hours. They hadn’t stopped the music when Akkakesh had arrived, and they didn’t stop for anything else—instead the music simply segued into new melodies, Hassina directing these transitions with precision and skill. The true concert concluded with an energetic symphony, and Hassina psychically announced that it was over.

The elementals continued to stir above us for almost a half-hour more, continuing in their dance even without music, perhaps communicating to one another excitedly about what they had just heard. Then, as if by some signal sent by Akkakesh, they dispersed all at once, leaving us alone on the mountaintop.

Again the storm lord descended as a turquoise bolt of lightning, then became a vaguely elf-shaped cloud of steam topped by a constellation of eyes.

Now, music-maker, they said. Play me your lament so that I might consider your people.

Hassina and her orchestra did as Akkakesh had requested. I listened, but my tears had run dry. I couldn’t tell what it was they were thinking as the air on the mountaintop was filled with an ancient song of sadness, but I could tell that our performers were giving their all: tears glittered on the cheeks of many of those in the choir.

Then I felt Hassina reach out and connect with me through my [Wild Bond].

Aziriel, she said.

I’m here.

When it comes time to negotiate, see if you can get them to commit to letting me play him more music, tell him stories—if you can make them commit to trying to understand us better.

I raised an eyebrow. I still had no idea what Hassina was planning—Akkakesh didn’t need to understand us to bargain with us. Air elementals were curious, but they sought delight in new experiences. Akkakesh would take no pleasure in our stories, and even if they did listen it was hard to see what we had to gain by it.

I will, I told Hassina.

Soon the music was done, and Akkakesh descended slowly to hover next to Hassina. Tell me, music-maker, they asked. Are you master of these elves?

“No,” said Hassina. “My place in our hierarchy is high, but it is Aziriel who is highest.”

I understand, they said, turning toward me. They probably found this so plausible because he knew that I had some skill with lightning—naturally, I’d be the dominant elf in their eyes.

Come with me, Aziriel, said Akkakesh. They began to rise into the air, and I followed, until we had risen high above even the peak of the Skytusk, halfway between the fourth mist layer and the fifth.

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I will carry you, they said. I relinquished my claim on the air around my body, and felt Akkakesh’s power enwrap me until a hard wall of air was pulling me across the sky at an extraordinary pace.

They said nothing as we sped through the air. This air was clear of the haze that blanketed the rest of the world, and I could see clearly in all directions—ahead of us, distantly, I saw a formation of cloud.

Rainclouds almost all occupied the air between the third and fourth mist layers, but I knew as we approached that this shape was no true raincloud.

We’d always called them cloud castles, but they looked so little like the fortifications built by any earthly race. For a few minutes, flying faster than I ever could have alone, I watched the shape grow larger and larger: a slowly-swirling pillar made of streaks of the luminous mist and voluminous quantities of stormcloud, a colossal structure the size of a mountain, black veined with red. Akkakesh’s home.

The storm lord brought me inside the dark castle, through a gap in the outer wall and into an inner chamber. The proportions of the chamber we occupied were those of a great hall built for giants: it was roughly square in shape, but a kilometer or more on each side.

Akkakesh appeared at the far side of the chamber… only now they were sized as if this were merely their sitting room—a billowing, many-eyed stormcloud that was at least five hundred meters in height, each sizzling eye big enough to wholly encompass me.

This pillar is my abode, said Akkakesh, towering over me. Built by my will with much [Air]. Below us is a great lake, deep-set into the world, and so the pillar rises over a great quantity of air and water. It is my forge of storms.

As Akkakesh spoke, light played across my face, emitted by the glowing streaks of red that would occasionally emerge from the surface of the roiling clouds that enclosed us on all sides before being swallowed again by darkness.

It is my wish that you play often on the tip of the Skytusk, said Akkakesh. And that those of us who attend, and listen, will pay you richly in [Air]. Half the [Air] you collect shall be given over to me. These skies are mine, and so it is fitting. Yet take heed.

His eyes surged with sudden light, and lightning danced between them before falling silent.

There are those among us who have keen minds and understanding eyes, said Akkakesh, and there are those among us who do not. Avoid dealings with those who do not. Play for them, but make no exchange with them. Do not train, trick, or motivate them to help you. They are simple creatures, and they belong wholly to those of us with understanding. If they attend your concerts, then those who shepherd them will pay you. Is this understood?

“It will be as you say, Lord Akkakesh,” I said, nodding my assent.

I will not always attend your concerts, said Akkakesh. But I will send a stormling in my stead. On some nights, my stormling will collect the keys, then pass them to you. On others, you will collect the keys and then pass them to my stormling. In this way we may form expectations: either party will notice if the other never collects as many keys as they do.

I smiled. It was my kind of deal—making trust as unnecessary as possible was a good sign that a trading partner was trustworthy.

Once a year, I wish that your finest music-makers come to this place to play a concert in my honor, said Akkakesh. My stormling will help guide you to that music which best suits me. I will pay you for this concert, though many of my kind will attend—yet I will pay well. This will begin near one year from now: you will need time to learn those sounds which best please me. Do you agree to this, elf Aziriel?

I thought for a moment. “I do.”

Know that with those of my kind who have understanding, you may deal as you wish. They know my laws and will not break them, and they will warn you if you should seek to do anything that would anger me. And know also that my lightning’s hue cannot be used under my skies by any but me, for the storm lords are known by our hue, and to steal a hue is a grievous offense. Under another’s sky, my hue is free for all to use—but here, it is mine and mine alone.

This came as a surprise to me. Lightning magic was red, and some added skills could change this color to something else. But it was easy enough to learn to naturally cast a different color of lightning, and so elementals and mortal spellcasters alike both tended to affect a color that pleased them. But a storm lord demanding that one color be exclusively theirs in their territory wasn’t something I’d seen before.

There is yet one other hue that is forbidden, said Akkakesh. One that you must never use no matter where you are. Are you ready to witness it, elf Aziriel?

I blinked, anticipating a bright flash and wondering at why one color of lightning was forbidden to the whole world. “I am.”

I watched Akkakesh’s mana fill the air before us, stretching from their eyes down through the center of the colossal chamber. Then I surged my [Aegis] as I saw the bolt ignite, and my body shook with the power of the sound that filled the air as a jagged line of deep indigo was seared into my vision.

There, said Akkakesh. That is the hue most potent, for lightning of that hue belongs to Ivisikarakiss, most powerful of all my kind. To offend them is to die. You are warned.

“I am,” I said, my vision still rent by a luminous line of power.

Akkakesh carried on. As your people are now beholden to me, and you are the highest of their hierarchy, you must come and witness me should I contend with another of my kind. If you are needed among your own people, you may send another who is strong with lightning—perhaps the twin you fought with on the mountain’s peak. Is this understood, elf Aziriel?

“I understand,” I said. I doubted I’d need a messenger to come get me if Akkakesh fought another storm lord—something told me that particular event would be highly noticeable, even from a great distance.

Akkakesh waited a moment before speaking again. I have told all that I need to, they said. Now you will ask whatever you desire of me, and though I may refuse you, I will not be offended.

I nodded slowly. It was a hard thing to believe, that no matter what I asked a storm lord wouldn’t take any insult. But Akkakesh had been as friendly as I could have expected, up to this point—and they were giving me a chance to ask for Hassina.

“Hassina, the music-maker you spoke with tonight, wishes to know if you care to hear more of our more… different music,” I said. “Her role among us is also that of our grand storyteller, and she wants to know if your curiosity will extend as far as hearing her tell you our stories. She has no cost in mind; it is simply her calling to share with all who will listen. Our people, Lord Akkakesh, have come from another world and brought many centuries of knowledge and history with us. You said earlier that you were a deeply curious being; mayhaps we know things that will intrigue you, though it may take time to discover what these may be.”

Ah, said Akkakesh, filling my mind with a buzzing noise as they considered this. Indeed, I believe I should like this. She may have my attention on the nights I attend your mountaintop concerts—when the music is done.

“I am glad,” I said. “And I have another thing to ask.”

Ask.

“I know you have little cause to know much about the lives of the surfacers like us, Lord Akkakesh,” I said. “But I have a request, and it is twofold: first is that you give me news of any other intelligent surface life you know of, most especially any creatures that are plentiful and live together, like elves do. Second is that you hide our existence from any such life, never leading them to us even if they should ask.”

Akkakesh considered this, their feelings inscrutable through our psychic link. Finally a sizzling, crackling cascade of sound seemed to fill my mind—the storm lord was laughing. I agree to this, cunning master of elves. If I should learn of any surface-dwellers, you will know of them before they know of you.

“Then I have asked all I can of you, Lord Akkakesh,” I said, smiling. “You have offered us as much as we had ever hoped for.”

It is good, and I am glad, said Akkakesh. Now come to me—fly higher and I shall honor our deal with a gift.

I floated higher, and a tendril of cloud-fog reached out to me from Akkakesh’s midsection. I touched it, then felt the skill keys flood into me:

+ 6 [ Air 4], 30 [Air 3], 120 [Air 2], 360 [Air 1]

My face broke out into a grin. That was indeed a gift: we could put so many more elves in the sky with this alone.

“Thank you, Lord Akkakesh.”

Go now, the said. My stormling will attend to the more detailed arrangements. Go, and remember that it is my will that Aziriel’s elves should fly.