Walk on Water

by September Thomas

  September Thomas

  Walk on Water

  The Elemental Gods #1

  Copyright © 2019 by September Thomas

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

  This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

  First edition

  Cover art by Mindy Leahy

  Cover art by Ryan Callinan

  Editing by Fiona McLaren

  This book was professionally typeset on Reedsy

  Find out more at reedsy.com

  To Mom & Dad

  For believing in me, no matter what

  Contents

  Acknowledgement

  Introduction

  Geoffrey

  Zara

  Zara

  Zara

  Geoffrey

  Zara

  Zara

  Zara

  Geoffrey

  Zara

  Geoffrey

  Zara

  Zara

  Zara

  Geoffrey

  Zara

  Zara

  Zara

  Zara

  Geoffrey

  Zara

  Zara

  Geoffrey

  Zara

  Geoffrey

  Zara

  Zara

  Geoffrey

  Zara

  Zara

  Geoffrey

  Zara

  Zara

  Geoffrey

  Zara

  Geoffrey

  Zara

  Zara

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Acknowledgement

  Writing this series has been an incredibly humbling experience.

  I’ve always found writing to be a very solitary task… but publishing isn’t. And I’ve come to adore and appreciate everyone that’s helped make this dream a reality.

  Seriously, you’re the best.

  To begin - mom and dad. Without you teaching me to read, encouraging me to pursue a career in journalism, and pushing me to write whatever I wanted to write, I wouldn’t be here today. Your unwavering support mean so, incredibly much to me. Thank you for never saying no to things that truly mattered to me, and for always telling me to pursue what I love.

  Fiona - I couldn’t ask for a better editor. You saw this book for what it was, in that “looks-like-carbon-but-will-be-a-diamond” sort of way, and pushed me to make it that much better. Thank you for calling me out on things that didn’t work, while building up the things that did. The final product is the best debut anyone could ask for.

  Mindy & Ryan… that cover. That’s all I need to say. I was struck speechless the first time I saw it on my computer screen (while simultaneously thinking of all the ways I wanted to share it with the world). Thank you for taking this random idea thrown out in the middle of a dark bar at the end of the summer, and for not only thinking I wasn’t crazy… but jumped on board with everything you had. It’s a true work of art.

  David, thank you for bearing through extensive email chains, and enduring revisions upon revisions upon revisions for the website. Your quiet support through this whole process has helped keep me sane.

  To my first-ever beta, Amsley. For reading this book about five versions before the final print and not launching it across the room in horror. To Josh, for enduring my constant jabbering about a complicated mental universe that only seemed to keep getting more complex.

  And to Sydney, for providing that moral support only a best furry friend can do.

  “Do you believe that you can walk on water

  Do you believe that you can win this fight tonight”

  — 30 Seconds to Mars

  Introduction

  In the beginning, there were only fey.

  Wild people with wild magic roaming a wild Earth they called their own.

  For a while, they were content. For a while, there was peace. But like all things, that came to an end. For there were those discontent with the status quo, those who thirsted for glory and power, and those who took it by force and sheer brutal will.

  Of those who thirsted for greatness, rose four friends who became the four leaders of the four worldly regions. They called upon the Earth to gift them with her bounties, for there is no stronger magic than Earth itself. For years, they prayed and sweated and sacrificed and bled until at last Earth was satisfied with their offering and gifted them control over the four earthly elements.

  And the fey hailed these four as Gods.

  For some time, these Gods reigned supreme. They drank and danced and feasted, they ruled with mighty yet just fists; they hunted the traitors and killers and monsters, and they rewarded the heroes and survivors and supporters. But like all things, their reign came to an end. For their might, and the cruelty they couldn’t contain, threatened the existence of all living things.

  As one, the fey rose up against the Gods and called upon Earth to retake their powers. But the Earth could not, for a gift once given cannot be reclaimed. Instead, Earth urged the fey to set things right. If they bested the four Gods, Earth would correct the balance.

  A long and great war followed; the longest and bloodiest of wars. The immense Gods crumbled and surrendered, drained from the fighting. They realized in a fight against millions, the millions would win. As promised, the Earth shackled their magic and stripped them of their vast immortality. For never again would the Gods be all-powerful.

  Those loyal to the Gods revolted. Those followers, too, stripped away their magic, and created a religion devoted to their names. And so became the first humans.

  But the Gods were now necessary to Earth, their untold powers too vast and mighty to be extinguished. And that, the fey understood. For the fey found balance in everything. They called upon Great Creatures the Gods dared deem as pets and loaned them the abilities of the Gods, commanding them to rebirth four new spirits with the four Earthly elements when the Earth was most in need.

  And for a while, the cycle worked as it should. For a while, the Gods were reborn again and again, trained by those still loyal to their cause; those who still recorded the Old Stories, the Old Magics, the Old Days. But like all things, that too passed. When the last God breathed her last breath, magic faded, humanity advanced, and it appeared the Earth no longer required Godly saving.

  Two thousand years followed, the mighty Gods vaporizing into mere myths.

  Until one day -

  When the pendulum completed its swing -

  And those who once rose up to save the Earth -

  Became its biggest threat.

  1

  Geoffrey

  Snap. Nine.

  Crack. Eleven.

  Molars ground together, the gritty noise sharp in my head. The unforgiving silver edges of the casing of The Word ground into my fingers. The hardened, scarred flesh of my back separated, peeling back with each lash. The metallic scent of blood hung heavy in the air.

  Crack. Twelve.

  Snap. Thirteen.

  Sweat poured from my face, my back, down my chest, mixing with blood and salting my wounds, pooling in the waistband of my cropped white pants. The wine-red stains darkened, proud evidence of my accomplishments. My shoulders had barely healed from my last Christening. I knew the pink and white scarred skin was now mottled again, ropey and red. The whip sunk into muscle, st
riking against my bone.

  But I wouldn’t cry out.

  It wasn’t the way of the Order.

  Snap. Fourteen.

  Snap. Fifteen.

  An X sharply ingrained in my back. The pattern familiar and painful.

  Two more to go. Two more. Sweat dripped into my eyes, the sweet and salty mixture stinging and biting, but I blinked it back, refusing to tear my gaze from the altar.

  Sixteen. The bottom of my left foot caught fire.

  Seventeen. My right foot soon followed.

  Seventeen lashes. Each lash for one year of servitude to the Order. Each year as necessary as breathing.

  For the Order was family. I, Geoffrey Marcuzzo, had been left at the gates to the Citadel at the tender age of three days, my mother seemingly unable to endure my existence a minute longer. Maybe she’d learned something during my time in her womb that I was destined for greatness. Maybe she’d planned to keep me up until the moment of my birth. Perhaps she’d looked at me in anticipation and love until the doctors had presented me to her, revealing the four dark symbols on my forehead that marked me as the next Hand of the Order.

  Marks that hadn’t been witnessed by human eyes for more than two thousand years.

  Even now I could imagine the fright of their expressions as they looked upon my face—my sweet, baby face swaddled in a yellow blanket, before they turned to my mother, and watched her go pale with realization.

  Maybe she’d even considered keeping me, raising me as her own.

  Well, she’d certainly kept me long enough to give me a name and make sure she had the documents to prove it.

  But she hadn’t kept me.

  Instead, she’d left me in the hands of the only ones who could properly prepare me for the future, for my path.

  “On your feet, boy.” Eris’ voice knocked my thoughts back into the moment. His normally deep and milky voice was sour. Despite the unusualness of the circumstance, for many had believed the time of Gods and their Hands to be a thing of the past, Eris had taken up the reigns as my master, my mentor, dedicating his life to guiding me on my mission and showing me my potential. He’d administered my final lashes. My lips curled and my back bowed, the pain too much to stand. It was time to embrace who I was to become, if the Gods would have me.

  Painfully, I forced my fingers to relax, the bone-white flesh of my knuckles fading as the tension eased and blood flowed through my hands once more. I pulled The Word to my chest, ignoring the stickiness of my blood against it. The metal box, gleaming and unremarkable in every way except for the title hammered into its surface with a careful, practiced hand, would protect it from any lasting damage. Stiffly, muscles groaning, I rolled to my feet, biting back a gasp as the raw flesh on the bottoms of my feet touched the cool, grey stones.

  “Take your place at the altar.”

  Fighting back swells of pain, I took the loose white robes from Eris’ extended hand and shrugged them on, slowly advancing on the dais as I did. Each step left a footprint-shaped smudge of blood on the ground. Grit and dirt worked into my wounds. As I approached, I moved The Word from my chest and held it over my head, ignoring the bite on my back and shoulders, muscles protesting.

  The silver words etched into the cover of the book glittered bright in the sunlight streaming from a large window expertly carved in the wall and ceiling above the altar. It was a clear, cold day outside, nothing to obstruct the view of the Gods.

  I rounded the dais and placed the holy copy of The Word in its rightful spot, surrounded by the four sacred tools: The Trident of Kaleal, Ash’s Cursed Sword, the Chakram of Lyre, and Davarius’ Sling. Four powerful symbols of the four Elemental Gods.

  Water. Fire. Air. Earth.

  The soft scent of lavender and incense teased my nose as I breathed in deeply, squaring my shoulders and looking out over the Faithful for the first time. The pain of my ordeal faded into the recesses of my mind as the magnitude of this moment overcame me. The room was overflowing. Every acolyte of importance was required to be in attendance. If all went according to plan, they would soon witness history.

  “Oh Great Ones, we gather before you today as humble servants, born to carry out your will.” Eris’ voice was clear and commanding. He raised his dark arms over his head and a soft clatter sounded as more than a thousand people rose from their benches. “You’ve gifted us with a disciple bearing Your holy mark. He is of age to take control as your Hand, as leader of the Order, Your Order. Your faithful servant everlasting. We implore you now to find him worthy of the honor.”

  Eris approached me now, rich brown eyes proud and steady as they found my bi-colored gaze. I tipped my head, and a hint of a smile touched his lips. His sinewy hands gripped my arms before lifting them to my forehead and wiping the sweat and blood from my Mark.

  It was really four brands, a series of symbols etched across my forehead right under my hairline: a mountain peak, a cresting wave, a lick of flame and a gust of wind. Each black as ink and far more permanent than any tattoo. Nothing could remove them from my body or from visible sight. They shimmered through blood and sweat, glittered through hats and hoods. You could probably cut the flesh from my forehead and they would shimmer through the gore and bone.

  A gift and a curse.

  Yin and yang.

  My breath was caged in my chest as I stood, waiting, hands folded before me in submission. The entire congregation remained still. Quiet. Nothing moved, no one made a sound, not a sneeze or a sigh. No one wanted to miss a moment of this wonderment. If the Gods deemed me truly worthy of my position, I would be the first official head of the Order, the first Hand of the Gods, in more than twenty centuries. Two-thousand years since the passing of the last Gods and their Hand.

  A glory no human still breathing had borne witness to before.

  It was the breeze that embraced me first. Barely noticeable from the onset it quickly strengthened, casually swiping at my hair and clothes. It blew warm, soft and comforting, wrapping tight around me. For a moment, it felt substantial enough to touch, firm as a person and just as tall. But when I reached for what might be its face, it vanished in a haze of dust motes.

  I didn’t have a moment to mourn its loss as the ground rumbled beneath my feet, rattling the walls of the chamber. The stones beneath me liquefied and I sank into quicksand. My stomach lurched. I struggled to not reach out and grab the altar like I knew it wanted me to, dared me to. It sucked me down to my knees before spitting me out. I landed hard on the newly solidified stones, knees grating.

  As suddenly as it started, the rumbling stopped.

  Leaving a deafening silence.

  Before me, disciples and guards glanced around at the white stone walls, the grey-washed floors, unsure what to expect next. A sharp crack echoed around the room, bouncing off the vaulted ceilings and many windows. A crevice, jagged and deep as a canyon, carved its way down the center of the congregation, splintering the stairs to the altar, stopping mere inches from where I knelt, body shaking from equal parts excitement and fear. Clear liquid bubbled up from the center, icy water slowly filling the room, pooling around me. It stopped when it reached my knees, pausing as if considering.

  I tried to lift a hand, to do what exactly I’m not sure, and a wave rose up, hovering high above my head for before toppling over, smashing me into the ground and sending my body rolling over the floor. I floundered, struggling to not breathe under the torrent of rushing water.

  The burn of fear blistered my veins.

  It was going to drown me.

  Not yet, a soft voice whispered in my ear.

  It was impossible to tell if it was male or female.

  And the water was gone.

  My nostrils cleared.

  I could breathe again.

  Blinking and choking on life, I scrubbed lingering beads of moisture from my face and looked up, only to find a towering beast of flames. Searing heat slammed into me, knocking me flat on my back. Orange and red and yellow flickered together dangerously
as the being approached, footprints of fire left in each step, its horned head lowered with aggression. I struggled to keep my eyes open; the heat burned my skin and something hot pressed under my chin, forcing my head up into the white-hot center of the mass to somewhere its face might naturally fall.

  And I saw.

  A girl, tall and light and slender, gripped the legendary trident, a scream twisting her face as a wave of water towered behind her. Three others flanked her, spun tight in their unique, individual gifts. A boy with deeply tanned skin and long, dark hair fanning around his face crouched on a tornado, a twisting ball of currents clutched in one hand. Flames licked the heels of a second, smaller girl with short, fiery hair. Her face pulled back in an ugly, animalistic snarl as she raised an arm to fend off an attack I couldn’t see, a blue inner-flame of fire bursting forth from her palm. Set farther back from the rest stood another, slighter boy with glowing, golden eyes. He stood stiffly, arms locked at his sides, palms horizontal to the ground as if he struggled with a massive weight. Behind him, a wall of rock rose into the skies, lava cascading down its many ridges and crevices.

  I saw a clash of titans, a mash of people, human and magical, locked in eternal war.

  The first girl yelled a command I couldn’t hear, lips twisted in anger and anguish as she slammed the ancient trident to the ground. A long fissure split the earth and rattled the stars in the skies. An acrid, chemical taste coated my throat.

  All went black. And then came the blast of a mushroom cloud, the impact shredding massive trees, blistering homes and buildings and vaporizing people where they stood, where they ran. The dark tower of dirt and chemical and haze rose high in the sky.

  More clouds arrived. Many, many more clouds. A horizon of mushrooms, the air thick with the tang of blood and ash and death.

  I saw disaster.

  I saw the end of the world.

  And I knew what I, Geoffrey Marcuzzo, must do.

  It took a few minutes for the vision to clear. As my sight returned, I realized the tower of flames still stood before me, flames flickering and snapping. It regarded me silently, its black pits of eyes staring at me hauntingly, before nodding and turning back. Something blisteringly hot burned across my forehead and spots of black dotted the edges of my vision.