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"Of course," I say.

"Yeah. Look, don't touch, Airos," needles Jackson. "We're here for intel, remember?"

Azin and Onar step together across the boundary and walk a few paces forward. Jackson and I wait tensely for some reaction to their advance, but nothing happens save for a startled insect flitting out from its hiding place beneath the creaking branches of a dried-up bush.

The two then start moving rocks and other debris away from the area in a silent, practiced cohesion that reminds me of the way two craftsmen go about their work in perfect unison, each performing their actions without getting in each other's way. Theritual continues until a half-moon space has been cleared and is completely free of any obstructions. Every piece moved has been placed carefully along the perimeter of this space.

"What's with the housekeeping?" Jackson whispers to me.

"A spell circle," I tell him. "See how they've placed the bones and branches pointing outward? They act as a conduit of power. Now, they will call to the elementals."

I've seen a similar type of ritual performed by Palossian farmers calling for relief from a long drought. Next will be an offering, then the summoning, which typically is done with a set of a verse, song, or spoken prayer.

Onar uncorks the water bladder and gives it to Azin, who draws in a mouthful.

"They'll both drink," I predict. "And then offer some to the soil."

But instead of passing the bladder back to Onar, Azin re-corks it, sets it down between them. Onar lowers onto both knees and tilts his head to the sky and opens his mouth wide, like he's hoping to catch falling rain on his tongue. Azin bends over and takes his omega's face in his hands.

Jackson leans forward. "Is he gonna?—"

Azin releases a stream of water from his lips into Onar's mouth, as measured and steady as though he were pouring it from asacred pitcher. The water splashes across Onar's tongue and drips down his neck, darkening the hem of his cloak. They hold each other's gaze with such intensity that it gives this strange ritual a heightened intimacy. I feel like it's something I shouldn't be watching. I glance over at Jackson. His face is flushed pink, and I can see he wants to look away, but can't.

It's oddly cute.

Onar turns from Azin and sprays the water from his mouth across the boundary in one quick motion. He rises up to stand side by side with Azin, and the two look out across the wasted valley and clasp their hands. They wait silently, as if listening for some signal to come to them. Then, in sudden unison they slam their right feet into the dirt with a heavy thud, sending up a puff of dust.

Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.

They begin to move about the half-moon clearing in synchronized step, stomping and carving the earth to form a complex beat, rising like a quickening pulse. They stay connected at all times, a part of their body always touching the other's. They twirl around each other, clasping hands and reversing their direction with such intensity and speed that I'm certain they are about to collide and crumple into a pile in the rising dust cloud. But they don't. Each movement is complimented and matched in an incredible give and take, so precise it's as though they share the same mind.

Their music is then joined by an almost imperceptible reply. It's the energy in the valley. I can feel it trembling beneath my feet, like a deep, groaning yawn.

"Oh," Jackson says, looking around in alarm. "Alright, I think I get what you mean by something being here."

"You feel it?"

"Uh-huh. It ain't happy."

A dark shimmer forms across the distant sand, like the ripples on a sun-soaked rock. It begins to look like a low-lying black smoke pooling up from different places in the ground, and it spreads across the valley in thick, billowing puddles. Azin and Onar slow their movements, and Azin drops to his knees in the center of the half-moon boundary and thrusts his hands into the soil. Onar circles around him with precise footwork, occasionally reaching out to touch Azin's body.

"I think Azin is acting as a medium to the Shimat," I say. "He's allowing Onar to communicate with them."

"Communicate what?" Jackson asks.

Suddenly, the ground jolts with enough force to throw me forward a step, and the distant smoke erupts like a geyser. Bits of rubble and stray bones fly into the sky, and black liquid spurts out from the crater like blood from a wound. Jackson and I recoil in alarm as more of the fountains spew out across the valleyand meld together in a great syrupy mass that shimmers like a rainbow along its black surface. The aura that emanates from the Shimat is oppressive, and the effect on my spirit is immediate. I can sense its source. It's somewhere deep under the ground, deep in the heart of the elemental. Like a rotting corpse at the bottom of the well, this dark seed has poisoned the Shimat and is spreading through everything it touches.

It slithers over the earth and thrusts a tendril high into the air. It does this again and again, like water bouncing when being hit by rocks. It's seeking the source of its disruption.

"Fuckin' hell, I don't like that," Jackson says.

Neither do I.

The Shimat's arms swivel suddenly, and the blob surges in our direction. Azin and Onar quickly begin their dance again, this time with more force behind their moves, and the Shimat stops. It quivers slowly, as though dazed.

There's a strain in their movements, and sweat drips from both their faces. They add complexity to the dance, stomping forward towards the edge of the boundary, as though trying to drive the Shimat backward. It retreats for a moment, flattening into a docile puddle, but then seems to break free from their pacifying hold. It erupts into chaos again and then bursts towards us in leaps and dives that make it look like some kind of horrible black fish.

Azin and Onar dance with a new ferocity, but nothing they're doing is slowing it down.