The Beginning: A Natura Elementals Novella Duology

by Sloane Calder

  “Give me the vessel.” His dad held out a hand.

  Aleron pulled the necklace over his head and handed over the leather cord with his mom’s sapphire-and-diamond band.

  His dad shut his eyes and closed his hand around the ring. “Et accipe munusculum de minibus meis sic ut salvus.” Meeting Aleron’s gaze, he said, “I asked the Goddess to keep my power safe. But I have no worries, since it’s in your care.”

  Aleron took back the vessel and hung it gently around his neck, tucking the ring beneath his clothes. “That’s it? There’s no bright light, thunder, nothing mystical about shedding your power?”

  “No. No fanfare, which is good, since traditionally power’s been shed in danger. Still, I can’t go without it for long, or I’ll get headaches and shortness of breath.”

  Aleron stilled. His dad had downplayed the power-removal process. “Are you sure about this?”

  “Absolutely. The Foussé and Lennox alliance goes back generations. Seanair will take my counsel. He knows what needs to be done, and I’m the only person he’d trust to take on the job.”

  Aleron admired his dad’s confidence, but those rumors of Seanair swirled anew. His dad spoke of their leader as a complicated but fair man. Aleron’s friends whispered of a man no one would dare cross. He couldn’t think about Seanair now or that his dad killed—nope. He needed time to process that revelation. He shoved those thoughts down, dead last in priority until he could sort them. His incessant gut gave him yet another poke. The thing hadn’t let up since last week, but he’d chalked up his prickly instincts to being tossed from a sweet family dinner into a shitstorm.

  The aircraft landed, and a black Suburban met them on the tarmac. Silence filled the hour-long ride, with Aleron holding the box in his lap. Their driver exited the interstate and, after several minutes, turned onto a dirt road and dropped them off. The SUV then sped away, leaving them surrounded by trees, sky, and dusk.

  His dad reached in his jacket, pulled out a small electronic device, and put it in Aleron’s chest pocket. “Once the relic’s on the door, press the button on the transmitter and retreat to the drop point. I’ve had another pre-powered man confirm this morning that the energy fence is up, and Seanair’s sequestered himself in the temple.” He eyed the box. “Ready?”

  No.

  “Yes.” Aleron tucked the box like a football against his body.

  “Let’s do this.”

  They took off at a steady jog and headed west.

  “Once we’re a mile out, we’ll run the plan as practiced.” His dad turned his head toward Aleron. “Piece of cake. My favorite thing your mother makes. You like lemon. I like carrot.”

  Aleron’s mouth watered as he jogged beside his dad, the man showing no evidence of the cakes, cookies, or pies his family devoured on the regular. They wove through the trees and deeper into the woods. Before Aleron knew it, they’d gone a couple of miles, and his dad had barely broken a sweat.

  “Hold up.” His dad stopped and put a hand on Aleron’s chest over the ring. “The longer you wear my mantle, the more you’ll start to feel pressure where it touches your skin. Don’t worry for even a second that you’re in danger. The energy will be confused and want to activate inside you because it’ll sense half of you came from me.”

  Aleron met his father’s gaze, and his heartbeat edged toward a complete freak-out. His father stood at his full height, shoulders back, his gaze dull. No light. No power. The lack of energy hung in the air like the trees’ browning leaves, lifeless and awaiting their fall to the ground. The woods continued to darken as sunlight struggled at the horizon. A heavy silence loomed, the insects quiet. Even the trees seemed to lean in as if they were nosy neighbors sensing a squabble.

  A prickling sense of foreboding raked up the back of his neck.

  “I’m doing what I should have twenty years ago. Love you, boy.” His dad pulled him close, the box wedged between them, and kissed the top of his head.

  “Love you too,” Aleron replied, wishing he could go in for a full hug and hang on for dear life, like he and his brothers had done as kids. “Once we’re back on that plane, I’m drinking my first six-pack.”

  His dad gave him an attaboy smile. “Fine by me. Pelicans play at eight. We’ll watch the game and get into the Frito pie I saw on the plane’s manifest.” He pointed toward a small collection of boulders. “Go about a half mile, straight past those rocks. Once you place the relic and activate the transmitter, I’ll head in. The hole in the fence will remain open for thirty minutes, then the relic will disintegrate.”

  More questions turned over in his mind, but there wasn’t time.

  They shared a conspiring smile, then Aleron took off, establishing a pace he’d maintain until he got into position. His dad would be five minutes behind him, waiting in the trees near Seanair’s chapel in the woods.

  As he jogged with the box tucked tight at his side, the leather cord grew heavy around his neck, the string growing taut like the ring had taken on weight. He ignored his nagging doubt and crested a hill. The ground crunched beneath his feet. Air laced with pine and dirt and nature saturated his senses.

  Up ahead, he spied a dark shadow, the building taking shape as he drew closer.

  Seanair’s sacred chapel.

  About fifty yards out, Aleron stopped and listened for anything out of place. The crunch of twigs. The scatter of birds. Deer. Bears. Cougars. Forests this dense had critters.

  He pulled out the binoculars. In the distance, through the trees, the gray stone structure loomed, its moss-covered roof the one touch of color in the evening’s dying light.

  His throat tightened at the knowledge of who worshipped inside. The memory of Seanair’s creepy handshake sent a rash of skitters down his arms. He closed his eyes, squeezed the box tight, and took in a deep breath of pine and dirt freshness.

  Goddess, please make Seanair listen to my dad.

  A cold breeze hushed through the leaves. A tree trunk popped under the strain of the wind, and the darkest day of the year crept over the remaining daylight.

  Winter’s Hail was a day of silence and atonement. He didn’t know all the rituals, but much like human pagans, Naturas worshipped either within natural structures or outdoors, seeking connection with their creator.

  A fresh slither of fear snaked across Aleron’s shoulders.

  No birds chirped. No insects buzzed. The air didn’t move, everything dark and quiet and still, like he was in his bedroom with nothing but a night-light, his fired-up imagination, and looming shadows.

  He shook off his weird vibes, looked to the box, and hauled ass the last thirty yards. He slowed at the entryway and slipped around the wall, catching his breath and taking shelter behind the stone. Moss and musk and tradition hung in the chilled air. He took a knee in front of the massive door. A dark patina covered the metal lock casing and hinges. The weathered wood, the surrounding stone, even the forbidding forest seemed untouched by everything but the elements and time.

  He set the box on the ground, slowly, as if it were a basket with a snake inside. As he opened the lid, light streaked through the opening, and—shit. The saucer-sized disk glowed. The brightest silver. The goldest gold. The copper…fiery.

  Like the thing hungered to be freed from its velvet hold.

  His breath quickened and his heart kicked, pulse pumping to get it over with.

  He snatched the relic from the box, pressed it to the door, and fell to his ass. Beams of light shot from the three metals and pushed a straight path out into the night.

  Something snapped. He jerked to look behind him. Nothing was there but trees standing their ground like armed soldiers. A blast of wind tore through the stillness and into the small alcove.

  He turned back. His heart dived straight for his feet.

  The door opened. The stream of light shifted. The door would hit the wall. His dad’s mission would fail.

  He didn’t think. He leaped. Caught the door.

  His foot landed wrong
. He stumbled, took several steps, struggling to be quiet. So, so quiet.

  He blinked. Looked.

  Shit.

  He was inside the chapel. Inside with Seanair. He couldn’t stay, but if he opened the door that had closed behind him, would the fence reseal itself? He clenched his fists, his jaw. What should he do?

  He put a fist to his chest, mainly to keep his heart inside his ribs. He needed to chill. Think.

  Seanair couldn’t sense him, so he would hide. Hiding would work. He would not ruin his dad’s best chance to fix Fire. Good Goddess, no way would he be responsible for wasting a relic and fucking up the plan to restore his element.

  His eyes darted across the windowless narthex.

  To the left, one lit candle sat on a long table with an embroidered white cloth draped over the wooden top. His pulse pounded in his ears, a noise he swore could be heard in the grave silence. A hum sounded, the tone weighted and low—then stopped. The note reverberated, the bass tone deep and melodic. The call came again. The sacred timbre poured into him, as if the prolonged note rode his inhalations, filled his chest, and traveled out his arms and down his legs.

  The song came in a language he didn’t know, but it cemented him in place, so he saw, smelled, felt nothing—but that voice. His gaze fixed on the doors to the nave, and he drank in the haunting, hypnotic sound.

  The mission, a woman whispered, the words gentle, like a mom’s reassurance.

  He jerked around and searched for the source of the voice shaking him from his stupor. The candle’s flame flickered and straightened. The only other presence in the room was his growing unease. He moved to the table and ducked beneath the cloth, crawling into the dark, tight place and curling onto his side. Another note sounded, and he realized what he was hearing.

  The imploration. The call to their creator. The Goddess. Mother Nature. He snuffed the flicker of belief in this divine woman. She wouldn’t show up. Not in the middle of backwoods South Georgia. Besides, the Goddess was a myth. What celestial mother would let a bunch of humans fuck up her creation and not return to set their asses straight?

  He thought of his own mother and the tornado in her eyes when his brothers forgot to take off their shoes and tracked mud throughout the house.

  Right. Mother Nature was as real as Father Time and chupacabras.

  As if slapped to his senses, he pulled the transmitter from his jacket, pressed the button, and prayed to a woman he didn’t believe in that the signal would breach the stone.

  Shame filled him. His father would be waiting in the trees, probably worried and wondering what the fuck was happening.

  The echoes of the hypnotic chant silenced. A strange sensation infused him. Warmth. Light. Presence. The stone’s cold pierced his clothes, and he peered through the space between the cloth and the floor. Dank, musty air filled his nose, a scent not old but ancient.

  The song, the spellbinding voice—which had to be Seanair’s—returned with a high-pitched reverence. Light whooshed to life at the other end of the narthex. The lit candles adorned a massive, tarnished candelabra with their flames standing tall.

  Pain speared sharp in his hand, as if he’d pressed a lit match to his palm. His mouth opened on a silent gasp. A flame. A flame danced in his palm. The light spread, a blinding, baby blue covering his hand like a ghost glove, then gone.

  A what-the-fuck shudder rippled down him.

  You have a role to play, the voice whispered again, tickling his ear.

  No more weed, he swore to himself. Or beer.

  The door opened, closed. Boots he recognized stepped into the narthex. For a second, he considered revealing himself, but he’d die before letting his dad see him huddled, fixin’ to bawl, and losing his damn mind beneath a table. He’d messed up enough for one night.

  If he stayed hidden, the plan would still work.

  He eyed the door, wondering if he could sneak out after his dad went inside the nave. No. He would wait. Once his father left, he’d reassess and leave when the opportunity presented itself.

  The singing began anew.

  His father knelt, pressed his hands to his mouth, and held his palms skyward. He then leaned forward, prone, his hands outstretched across the stone. His father uttered words Aleron couldn’t hear, then rose and pulled his left hand to his mouth, kissing his wedding band.

  The song silenced.

  “Who’s there?” a deep voice asked, the tone not welcoming. “Show yourself.”

  “It’s me, Ali. May I approach?”

  Ali? Right. Alisdair Lennox. Seanair.

  “Bill, you interrupt my repentance.”

  “You know why I’m here.”

  “I suppose I do. Come, kneel beside me.”

  Come. Kneel. Simple commands.

  But that deep voice was edged with something jagged that pierced Aleron’s chest. Seanair’s tone had held no surprise.

  Stark, cold terror possessed Aleron as he watched the doors open and his dad’s boots move into the chapel. Tears spilled down his cheeks like he was eight, not eighteen.

  Something was wrong. He’d missed something.

  Cupping a hand to his ear, he listened, but his heartbeat distorted the conversation.

  He crept from beneath the table and crawled to the chapel’s entrance. One of the doors was only halfway closed. Staying low, he peered into the gap. Eight, maybe ten rows of pews stood between him and the bench where they knelt, his father a full head taller than Seanair.

  His mind spun, though he wasn’t sure what message to heed.

  Run? Hide?

  Go inside?

  His father put a hand on the rail in front of him, one foot now on the floor as if to stand. Decision made, Aleron snaked inside the nave and behind the left side of pews. The stone’s clammy chill pushed into his palms and knees. He put a hand over the vessel hanging at his neck and pressed until it dug into his skin. His dad might need his power back. How would he take it back? They hadn’t talked about how his dad would reclaim his energy.

  He looked left, right. He couldn’t stay put. He couldn’t say how he knew, but his dad needed his power. Right fucking now.

  He focused on the floor and the precise placement of his hands and knees. One slip or the crack and pop of a joint and he was done. His thoughts collided in a pileup of wondering what to do, thinking about how horrifically he’d screwed up by coming inside, and trying to figure out how to get Alpha Fire energy out of a Goddess-damned ring.

  “You need to appoint an emissary for the Fire cuff. It’s time,” his father said in a neutral tone.

  “Candor. It’s one of the things I’ve always appreciated about you.”

  “War is coming if you don’t.”

  “War is inevitable. It’s already been revealed to me.” Seanair’s voice echoed high into the rough-hewn wooden beams spanning the narrow chapel.

  “You can’t trust the Oracle. The relationship between relic and spirit is only reliable if the cuff’s on the rightful bearer. You are not the one, and our element suffers for it.”

  A chill rent the air. When pissed, Fires raised the temperature. Unless shielding their intent.

  “Don’t lecture me on relics when you expended one to get in here.” Seanair’s accusation echoed. “I will not give up my cuff.”

  “Ali, you can lead the way and show the other elements what can be achieved,” his father implored, the tone strange, tired. “We can be whole again. Keep temperatures from rising further. Slow the melting of the glaciers. Our heat affects the others. We’re not only hurting ourselves. I’ve come to you, free of energy. I’m your friend. You know what I say is true.”

  Aleron couldn’t just sit there and listen. He had to see them, do something if needed. Seanair didn’t seem swayed by his father’s pleas. The discussion continued with his dad still appealing to their leader to make a change, do the right thing.

  He moved tortoise slow away from the entry, reached the wall, and peered around the end of the pew and up the gloom
y aisle. Large metal sconces adhered to the stone pillars with thick, round candles burning inside the glass globes. Keeping low so his big-ass body wouldn’t cast a shadow, he continued forward, the cold sharpening in his chest.

  Wood creaked. Aleron stopped. They must have moved to a pew. His instincts screamed that the safest thing for his father was to keep Seanair talking.

  Aleron reached the second row and peered beneath, catching sight of two sets of shoes beneath the right front pew.

  The silence grew heavier. Aleron’s exhale grayed in front of him, and he realized why it was so damned cold. Air energy. Seanair was using his Air element to do something. The leather cord seemed to tighten around his neck as if tugging him toward the floor.

  “I suspected you’d come here tonight.” Seanair’s declaration splintered in the air like cracked ice. “You called in every favor you had. Your wife’s family will answer for their treason.”

  He drew a fist to his mouth. What could he do?

  “I’m only here as your confidant, your right hand.” Urgency infused his father’s tone. “You are the right ruler for North America. Your leadership and guidance to the Continental Congress are critical. But you are choking the life out of both Air and Fire.”

  A loud clap rang out.

  A door. Opened.

  Aleron scurried farther between the first and second rows. His throat constricted to damn near closed.

  “She is here,” Seanair said, reverence in his tone.

  “Who’s here?” his dad said, wood creaking like he’d stood.

  “The only person I trust.”

  Seanair didn’t trust his dad? Aleron reached inside the neck of his pullover, yanked out the vessel ring, and pressed it to his mouth.

  Please. Please, please, please. Go back, power. Go back to my dad.

  Aleron looked beneath the pews and found one set of shoes near the altar. Shiny. Seanair’s.

  One day, you will understand, the woman said.

  He closed his eyes and willed away that voice, that woman who wasn’t even in the freakin’ chapel.