Elemental Hunger

by Elana Johnson

  MAP OF THE UNITED TERRITORIES

  Gold sparks twirled in the air, putting on a show. They blinked and escaped the oven, shooting high above my head. I envied them. See, in Crylon, my life consisted of cooking, cooking, and more cooking.

  Unless I could get chosen for a Council. Of course, to do that I’d have to masquerade as an Unmanifested, but that would be better than—

  “Gabriella.”

  At the sound of the cook’s voice, I pulled my attention from the flames and said, “You can go ahead. I can finish here.” The chime had sounded ten minutes ago; the selection ceremony would begin soon. If the cook left, I could use my Element to get this job done blazing fast. He watched me; I stared steadily back.

  “Just make sure you bank the fires well.” His sausage-like fingers worked at the knot of his apron. He removed it, revealing pristine jeans underneath. Mine were similarly protected; at least I wouldn’t have to change before the ceremony.

  If the cook would just go already. He seemed to take forever to turn and step into the night. When the darkness swallowed him, and his footsteps faded outside, I allowed myself a quick breath before turning to the task at hand.

  Hunger gnawed at my stomach as I hurried to add wood to the long row of ovens in the kitchen.

  The rest of the kitchen staff had already gone, which made my trips to the woodpile and back easier. If darting fifty feet out into wintery air, grabbing two logs that weighed more than I did, and sprinting back could be considered easy.

  I oscillated from holy hot to holy cold and back again. The other oven workers complained about the unbearable heat. I didn’t mind it so much. I even paused to inhale the savory smoke and admire the bark-crackling and sap-popping.

  Such a friendly sound. I almost smiled—the loud banging of footsteps brought me to my senses. The cook stood in the doorway, watching me with an edge in his eyes I couldn’t decipher and holding an armful of wood. I gave him a grateful half-smile, ducked my head, and continued my work. No sense in attracting more attention to myself—especially since I’d never interacted with the head cook more than necessary, and I never showed any interest in the fires beyond making sure they stayed lit.

  But I was.

  My little secret: I adored everything about fire. That was actually a big secret—one I had to keep no matter what.

  In the second to last oven, a roll had fallen from the bakeware sometime during dinner service. Small and mostly black, the bread should’ve been thrown away. My mouth watered, desperate for anything besides air and saliva. I stuffed the roll in my apron pocket.

  Please don’t start yet, please don’t start yet. I’d promised myself I’d attend the ceremony, because this mid-winter Council selection signaled the end of my eligibility.

  After tonight, I’d have to pick an educational track—if I didn’t get selected for a Council. My breath came faster as I ran to the woodpile one more time, imagining what it would be like if I were the one up on the stage. The one choosing a Council. The way Firemakers did.

  I should’ve been eating with the Elementals, not serving them. I should’ve been up there with Jarvis and the rest of the Firemakers.

  Instead, I was here, tossing the last log into the end oven and watching the cook disappear into the night.

  I swallowed back the taste of bitterness and counted. 1, 2, 3…. The cook didn’t return. All lay still.

  Satisfied I was alone in the kitchen, I urged my power into smoke and then flame. I started at the first oven and poured, poured fire from my hands. Ten seconds later, a job that took others twenty minutes was finished.

  What’s more, I knew the flames wouldn’t die by morning—which was exactly why I worked the dinner shift every blazing night.

  If I sprinted, I might make it to the ceremony before it began. I stuffed the mostly burnt lump of bread in my mouth and tossed my soiled apron in the direction of the laundry chute before racing outside.

  As I ran toward the southern barracks, I wouldn’t allow myself to want a Council position. See, if I didn’t expect it, then I couldn’t be let down when it didn’t happen.

  Another dirty little secret: I wanted a Council position. Almost as much as I yearned to spark and dance and fly, I ached to belong to a group of Elementals. Because then others would know I was Elemental.

  My breath steamed before me in the absolute cold. Yet I didn’t really feel it. Elemental benefit—one of many. Elementals lived on the top tier of society. They didn’t perform physical labor, didn’t serve others, didn’t do anything but hone their powers and study politics. See, Elementals kept our cities peaceful and protected; they didn’t have time to clean, or cook, or wash their robes.

  Once in my dorm room, I hurried to wash my face. I twisted the hot water faucet, cringed at the icy liquid that shot out, and smoothed my wet hands over my hair in a desperate attempt to get it to magically transform into someone else’s. It didn’t.

  I scrubbed the ash out of my teeth and seriously reconsidered my outfit. Everyone else at the ceremony would be dressed according to their rank—meaning they’d have had fittings, and scrubbed skin against which their expensive fabrics would be resting. Even the Unmanifested would be wearing their finest suits. The chosen Elementals would leave the ceremony wearing brightly colored silk robes over their tuxes and dresses.

  Another bell rang, and I whispered, “Blazes,” before leaving my dorm room. Outside, snow drifted down, the flakes adding to the enormous piles already covering campus.

  Cheery yellow light spilled from the gaping doorways in the fortress. With the doors still open and the reverberation of the chime still hanging in the air, I knew the ceremony hadn’t started yet. All the same, I increased my speed, hoping to have a few minutes to scope out the scene and take my place in the Unmanifested row.

  My hopes were dashed when Jarvis stepped out of the shadows lining the entrance. I slowed my pace and ran my hands over my hair again. See, Jarvis Manning possessed some wicked firemaking ability.

  “Running late again, Gabby?” he asked, slow and easy. His hands rested deep in the pockets of his suit pants. He wore a starched white shirt, complete with silver cufflinks. His necktie—yellow, probably the color of his future Council—hung loosely around his neck.

  I shifted uncomfortably next to him in those clothes, so different from his usual black school uniform. I felt every inch of his Elemental high ranking, even though we were best friends. “Yes, no thanks to you.”

  “Hey, I ate as fast as I could.” He brushed his dark hair off his forehead, half a smile on his face.

  I swept up the last of the steps and into his personal space. As a Firemaker, he gave off a lot of heat. And I needed to pretend like I was seriously cold.

  “Sure, sure,” I said, rubbing my hands together like they needed the friction. “Why are you out here?” I tried to look past him into the chamber where the ceremony would take place.

  “Waiting for you. For a minute there, I thought you weren’t going to show.”

  I exhaled, feeling the weight of my life settle on my shoulders. I didn’t have to continue attending these ceremonies. I didn’t have to put my name in as a potential Councilmember—again. Candidates could enter their name as many times as they wished to be considered for a Council. The selection ceremonies happened four times a year, and a person was eligible until the winter semester of their junior year. If they weren’t chosen by then, well, students needed to gain a skill so they could contribute to society in another way.

  I’d entered as often as possible, and the ceremonies had grown stale over the course of the last two years. Yet every time I’d considered skipping the event I found I couldn’t. If I didn’t get chosen tonight, I could work in the kitchens of Crylon forever, a task that
held little hope and even less glory. I thought of the head cook, how he could take a hot pan right from the fire without protective gloves, how he noticed everything in the kitchen. I didn’t want to end up like him. I supposed I could find a baking apprenticeship beyond the school, in the greater common of Crylon, but I just didn’t feel right about cooking for my entire life.

  Aside from that, I had the option of enrolling in the Educator track. I’d tested onto the track, because I had an excellent memory. Those who weren’t as fortunate didn’t get to attend classes; instead, they were assigned a vocational track like leatherworking, glass-blowing, cabinetry, or another useful trade.

  Those of us who’d tested into the Educator track stayed at school and took classes for half the day. I’d had a few math courses, some basic history, an astronomy class, art, government, and nature studies. I didn’t learn much about geography, reading, or writing. Those were coveted courses only those who’d declared their desire to become Educators got to take.

  Elementals were instructed in everything, but especially politics and government—and reading and writing.

  On the Educator track, I’d learn how to read and write, which appealed to me. But the thought of teaching didn’t settle well in my stomach. Some people were made for teaching—but I wasn’t one of them. I’d be under constant scrutiny during my training and an even tighter microscope afterward. The Councilman oversaw all education in Crylon, and the last thing I needed was the highest authority in our government breathing down my neck. My secrets would become impossible to keep if he had his attention focused on me for too long.

  Becoming part of a Council offered the most promise. Councilmembers held power, and not just their own. A magical bond accompanied a chartering ceremony, one that linked the powers of all four Elementals in a Council. Of course I’d never experienced it, had never even witnessed a Council chartering. But everyone knew of the enhanced abilities of chartered Councilmembers. They enjoyed increased protection and increased powers. I’d have neither of those without a Council, Educator track or not.

  I shivered, though far from cold. I swallowed another wave of disappointment and silenced another string of I should be’s.

  “Let’s go.” When I tried to step past Jarvis, he put his hand on my elbow. Not in a grab. Not a clutch.

  Just a touch, with a hint of heat even I could feel.

  “Gabby, I—”

  The darkness prevented me from truly seeing his expression. But it didn’t matter. I heard the sorrow between the syllables. So much had already been said. I couldn’t rehash it again. He didn’t want to hear it anyway.

  I clung to the hope that he’d pick me for his Council. The possibility seemed unreachable, yet painfully within my grasp at the same time.

  So I reached out and tied his necktie, adjusting it under his collar and fiddling needlessly with the buttons on his shirt. Something strange clogged my throat. I ground it away and said, “It’s fine. Let’s go.”

  I entered the chamber first, Jarvis’s silence trailing behind me like an unwelcome friend.

  I sat alone, brooding over the forthcoming loss of my best friend. Jarvis scanned the crowd, unable or unwilling to let his gaze settle on me.

  The chamber chattered with voices, bounced with laughter. I smoothed my hair again, very aware that I was the most underdressed for this event.

  The Watermaiden row consisted of girls of the drop-dead gorgeous variety with their hair all tea tree’ed up, satin dresses, and minty white teeth. I couldn’t compete with them, and I didn’t want to.

  My feet itched to be outside, to be running through the forest with nothing but wind and silence as companions. With Jarvis at my side, as we’d done so many times before.

  But we might never do that again. See, he and his newly-selected Council would be too busy for anyone or anything but learning about the powers they each possessed, and how those had been enhanced through the chartering. In four months, they’d travel south to Tarpulin—the capital city of the United Territories—for diplomacy training. Four measly months, and he’d leave me the same way Cat and Isaiah had.

  Would Jarvis write? I had thought Cat would, but no. I hadn’t heard from her or Isaiah in a very long time. I definitely wouldn’t get a letter from Jarvis.

  Unless he picks you as his Unmanifested.

  My pulse quickened at the thought. The exquisitely tuxedoed guys in the Earthmover and Airmaster rows joked as if they didn’t have a care in the world. They probably didn’t. If they didn’t get chosen tonight, there was always next term, another selection ceremony. And if they never got chosen, they were still treated as royalty. They’d join the training center staff and groom future Earthmovers and Airmasters.

  I swallowed hard. If I didn’t get chosen tonight, I would return to my confined life of say this, don’t say that, do this, don’t do that, serve him, move faster, fetch more wood, get out of the way.

  I’d felt this level of nervousness at several of the previous selection ceremonies. I’d seen the desperate Unmanifested candidates go unnoticed in ceremony after ceremony. I’d heard their muffled sobs no matter how they tried to hide them. With every ceremony where I got passed over, my anxiety grew and pulsed upward, choking me.

  After each ceremony, my friend Cat had waited for me in my dorm. She’d comfort me and braid my hair, weaving magical stories of the Council I’d be a part of with the threads of hair.

  She’d taught me a few tricks to get my hair to ripple smoothly down my back. “Gabby, honey, put tea tree oil in your bathwater,” she’d always said. With a friend like Cat, I never wanted for a hot, scented bath after a hard night in the kitchens.

  Her heart belonged to Isaiah, but I liked to think she’d carved a place for me too. Even with her Elemental status, she never looked down at me, never sought friends with more power or rank.

  “You’ll have to learn to read,” she said a few weeks before she left for diplomacy training. “Because I’m going to write to you every day.”

  I’d stood behind her, brushing out her hair into ribbons of black silk. “You won’t have time to write every day,” I said, but inside I was secretly pleased. Maybe she’d miss me as much as I was going to miss her. I wasn’t sure how I’d endure the selection ceremonies without her to help me afterward. I hadn’t coped well, that much I knew.

  “Every chance I get,” she’d insisted. “Promise me you’ll learn to read.” She turned, and I found an odd sense of urgency in her face.

  “As soon as I get the approval,” I said.

  Her full lips curved up, and she stood. “Your turn.”

  I took her place in the chair and let her comb through my hair. She hadn’t done four strokes before she said, “Gabby, honey, I have an oil you should try,” just like she always did.

  I wrenched my thoughts away from Cat. I hadn’t received a single letter in the year since she’d left for Tarpulin and her Council training. I swallowed back my disappointment, still lost in my memories of the numerous selection ceremonies I’d witnessed.

  I’d seen one Unmanifested break down, first crying and then screaming for another chance. She’d worked on the grounds crew, and I used to see her on the way to my first class every day.

  After that ceremony—her last chance—I never saw her again. Her section of the south quadrant was reassigned to an Unmanifested boy who’d never been selected either. He wore the green tunic of a groundskeeper, keeping the sidewalks clear of snow in the winter and hedging the bushes in the summer.

  He seemed fine with his assignment. He didn’t seem caged, like if he didn’t get beyond these walls he’d combust. Of course, he never looked anyone in the eye, the way I’d been trained to avert my gaze as I served the Elementals in the mess hall. So maybe the groundskeeper did feel trapped, enclosed by the towering bushes and walls of snow that edged his life.

  Sometimes my fingers twitched and my feet bounced, all in anticipation of getting outside the gates and running free. With a Council position
, I could feel that freedom. I could find a place in this world, I could belong without worrying that one wrong step would lead to my disappearance.

  I ran through the unsettling thoughts of vanishing in the night, never to be seen in the kitchens again. Would the person who tended the fires next to me notice my absence? Would she mourn my loss, wondering where I’d gone and what had become of me?

  No one knew exactly where those who disappeared went, but I’d heard rumors. Stories that included mass graves, or worse, exile. Without the protection of a city or a Councilman, survival was rare. I didn’t know how many more cities existed beyond the forests of Crylon, but I understood that an isolated life on the endless plains could kill me. Children in Crylon were taught that lesson first.

  I couldn’t even leave the school grounds without repercussions. The gate kept us contained, away from the citizens the forest hedged in.

  I shoved thoughts of exile and death to the back of my mind, focusing instead on the small crowd that had gathered in the Unmanifested section for tonight’s ceremony. Only a handful of girls had shown up—including me—for the last and lowest Council position. My best girl friend, Elizabeth Nox, slid into the seat next to me. I didn’t think it possible to be any later than me, but Liz worked the late shift in the Laundromat. Maybe it had been a rough night, getting the Council robes ready for the ceremony and pressing so many seams into straight, neat rows.

  “Gabby,” she said, out of breath and straightening her shirt. “Your hair looks great.”

  “Thanks, so does yours,” I muttered, still trying to pin Jarvis with my gaze. He wouldn’t look at me. A minute later, the ceremony started.

  The senior Firemakers chose in turns. I should be up there. The thought came unbidden, yet coated my throat with sourness. I coughed to clear it away as the Airmasters stood.

  I didn’t know Jarvis’s choice for Airmaster, and I squirmed in my seat, wishing time would move already. He predictably chose his best male friend for his Earthmover. A smile slipped across my lips. I could see myself working with the crew Jarvis was slowly assembling.