Meadow was wide-eyed, still. "Why... why are you so quiet to us, normally?"

"Presumptuous child," hissed the spirits.

Arlen said, "It's a fair question."

The spirit voices shifted and split, speaking in chorus. "We do not wish to be the masters and rulers. To speak too loudly, too often, would do this."

"There's wisdom in that," said Arlen.

Meadow said, "Oh spirits, I want to help Arlen. He needs proof that you support him, and we were nearly killed by a shaman claiming to speak for you. How can we convince others?"

The internal bickering of the elemental lords was a contained storm. Finally they said, "Our man Juti was wrong to fight you. Meadow, if you would have proof of our support, leap."

She gasped. Arlen started to get in front of her. "I won't let you kill her just to --"

"She will live. Come forth, child."

Meadow breathed deeply with her eyes shut. "I wanted them to speak..." She screamed as she leaped off the crater's rim.

Arlen reached toward her, but a wind snatched her up and she floated in a vortex of mixed energies. It lifted her back to where she'd come from, with a new light glowing in her eyes and around her hands and feet. She stared, weeping, then thanked the spirits.

Arlen shouted into the crater, "Is this what you do to make people trust you?"

The spirits said, "This is a time of danger, outsider. More trust is needed."

"Then earn it! Help me end this!"

Meadow said, "Arlen, stop."

He tried to calm down, though he still felt the slashing wound of a fanatic's spear and he'd just seen a young woman risk death just to prove herself to unseen beings. "Fine. I will work to solve the islands' biggest threats. Since we're talking, I want to know your desires. I intend to give the people the tools they'll need to defend themselves. I don't plan to go back into the Catacomb anytime soon; so far as I know, it can wait. Do you have any objection to my giving the islanders what tools I can?"

The sullen spirits fumed in the volcanic depths. Finally they answered, "Do what you must, and tell our people this is our will. Now go. If you would begin to prove your worth, slay that which poisons this island."

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

#

Arlen and Meadow trudged downhill, tired and ragged. The sun was setting as they reached the town.

People came out of their homes to see them, though they had no fanfare, no spirit heralds. By the time they were in earshot, the chief had come and he had lantern-bearers. "I'm told that you attacked my shaman."

"There were eight or so plus Juti. What do you think happened up there?"

Meadow interrupted. "Listen, oh chief." She came close, and whispered something in his ear.

He went pale. "I see. You would not know that, without their blessing."

Arlen tilted his head to ask silently, but neither the chief nor Meadow shared the secret. Instead the chief said, "I have had Juti and his friends stay confined, on suspicion of something like this. I'll trust you on the spirits' behalf."

"Then tell me about this beast, the Foul Shell."

The chief explained in more detail, and made Arlen queasy. He'd imagined a tentacled turtle, but now he heard that it dripped with many writhing, greedy mouths of venom that destroyed any land the beast occupied. Now, he pictured Congress.

He asked Meadow, "What magic did you learn?"

In answer, she shut her eyes and cupped her hands, gradually creating a swirling wind that stirred her hair. She looked at it and smiled. "Finally! I always wanted this."

The chief said, "I happen to know a little of the art myself. I can teach you. Will you help him fight?"

Her grin faltered. "I ought to. I'll try."

Arlen decided to do this the smart way if he could. "I need to try some tricks out myself."

#

The next morning, Arlen began fighting like a farmer. He walked from the relatively fresh air of the village and into the miasma zone, where everything stank of lead and sulfur. Not good to live here or to grow anything. The soil in this sparse, stunted forest had a sickly blue tinge, and squished with each step.

So he changed it. Though his power gravitated around bare rock, he'd been able to turn dirt into stone and back again with limited transmutation. It felt like trying to grip multiple ingredients in a mixed bowl, or pulling just one color of candy out of a mix. More tiring than the simpler feats of conjuration. Where he worked, he left a nibbled-away perimeter of healthier-looking ground with chips of some unpleasant alloy vomited atop it. That could be swept away. He wasn't sure the fog was getting thinner, but then he kept pressing into it. He had someone fetch a broom and basket to sweep up the crud. The woman doing that for him was brave to get this close to the monster's lair, and kept glancing nervously into the tainted woods. Meadow kept nearby and practiced pushing the fog away.

He worked carefully and rested often. Around noon he felt he'd hardly pushed back the foulness but it was still progress.

Then, it came for him. The sodden, ugly ground ahead seemed to boil. Bruise-blue flesh flowed along the ground and showed a hard segmented shell and many armored, twisting limbs like snakes. The sight of its writhing and dripping body made Arlen gag on the foul air that thickened wherever it passed.

The sweeper fled, of course. Meadow whimpered but pushed herself and made the fog flow ahead of them. Arlen said, "Back!"

He and Meadow fled to their little fort. He'd prepared by setting up a platform five feet high and ringed with low walls. Two frightened spearmen were on duty there. From this perch, Arlen turned the cursed earth against the monster. Spikes erupted beneath it and drew dark blood. A discordant howl answered his attack. The beast yanked itself free while he tried to impale its main body again and again. The vine-like limbs helped tear it free so that it stood tall, dripping yellow pus.