Legend of the Elementals, Book 1: Reintroduction

by Kyle Timmermeyer



  Legend of the Elementals

  Book 1: Reintroduction

  by

  Kyle Timmermeyer

  --

  Copyright Kyle Timmermeyer 2012

  Thank you for your interest in this e-book; its copyright is the property of its author. This book may not be reproduced, copied, or distributed for commercial or non-commercial purposes without the author’s official permission. See the author’s website for more information. Your support is greatly appreciated.

  Table of Contents

  Devidis’ Foreword

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Summon of the Elementals

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Elementals Onward

  To Be Continued

  Devidis’ Foreword

  There was a young man, and I was that young man.

  There was a mistake that I made on purpose.

  There was a power, and I took that power.

  I became the god of my own world.

  There was a great struggle, and I wanted that struggle.

  I made my own adversary, my own heroes.

  There was a universe and I was that universe.

  And so I knew everyone, but mostly that man.

  I learned my lesson and left my legacy.

  I lived my fiction in between.

  I am the legend of the Elementals

  These words that survive here are mere incidentals.

  Here I forget myself again…

  Chapter 1

  Jason:

  He had slammed on his brakes, and I didn’t have enough time to stop. It should have been just that simple: a fender-bender, nothing to lose sleep over. This was LA, after all. It could have been almost normal, less than news, a “by the way” around the dinner table. But he wasn’t going to let it play out like that. He was a bottomless pit, a black hole, and he was going to drag everything to himself, swallow it, and leave nothing behind. It shouldn’t have been that way. It wasn’t normal, it wasn’t right, and it wasn’t my fault. But that’s the way it happened. He was the beginning of the end of everything.

  My head rocked back stiffly. I opened my eyes and peered anxiously through the evening haze into the vehicle ahead. I made out long hair, a face in profile, a shadow framed against the black car’s interior light. I was suddenly aware of the tightness in my neck and forced the muscles to relax. Looking lower, I noticed the black car’s quarter panel newly decorated with a scar, a deep dent. Oh, no.

  “You!” The shout from the driver ahead was muffled through the glass.

  His stringy white hair and thin nose framed two intense, dark eyes. I winced and drew back. The eyes were predatory, vicious. It seemed almost silly at first, but I felt like prey... like it was only a matter of time.

  “You! Look at me!” said the man in the car I had just rear-ended.

  I swallowed hard. The insurance card in the glove box crossed my mind. What would I say?

  Reluctantly, I cranked down my driver side window, and realized that my music was still blaring when it began to compete with rushing cars and furious honks. The electric guitar vanished with a click, and left behind the breath of traffic. The flow of vehicles was still able to make a wide pass using the lanes on the left. I tentatively stuck my head out into the cool night air.

  The man was there, staring back at me. His black eyes were hungry. I broke away from their gaze. Breathing hard, I found myself hoping against reason that the wild-eyed driver ahead would leave me, and find some other animal to stalk. I mustered my courage and looked back up, trying my best to meet those dark eyes. A few seconds passed with nothing said.

  Finally, my mouth slacked open, and I asked, dumbly, “Should we pull over to the side? If we can?”

  The man gave a careful nod, along with an insidious not-quite-smile that highlighted the wrinkles in his face. “Yes... you should follow me.”

  His face vanished into his car, and his emergency lights began to flash, yellow on black and chrome. I grimaced; it was a very expensive car, with a very creepy driver. While no one was passing on the shoulder, the old man pulled the car to the far right.

  My own cruddy car was still in gear, still drivable. And the shoulder was comfortably wide, since we were at the peak of an on-ramp. Small favors in a bad situation.

  As I carefully pulled in behind the old man, I reminded myself that I shouldn’t let him leave without getting his car insurance information and giving him mine. My dad had that well-drilled into me.

  Dad! He was still on duty. I grabbed my phone from the central console and forced my shaking hands to dial 9-1-1.

  “9-1-1. What’s your emergency?” a calm woman’s voice answered.

  “This is Jason Trudeau, son of Officer Trudeau. I’ve been involved in an accident near…”

  I looked behind me for the nearest exit sign and took note of the long ramp winding down from the overpass into the streets of Los Angeles. I gave our location and information, said no to the ambulance, and ended the call with a stutter and a beep. My phone dropped to the dirty seat cushion as I popped open the glove box. My chest heaved slowly as I sorted through the trash, searching for the insurance papers and a pen. I had to substitute two largely unused napkins, one to offer the old man, and the other to record his information. With the paperwork, pen, and napkins in hand, I clunked open my door and stepped onto the rough pavement.

  A swift, cold gust ruffled my hair as I turned toward the old man’s dark vehicle. I picked the black machine out from among the night’s shadows ahead of me. The driver side window displayed a light gray, leather-bound interior, but no driver.

  The old man was leaning over the edge of the guard rail, arms folded, clutching a long tan coat against his body. With his pale-whiskered chin thrust into the open air, he seemed to be scanning the intermittent life in streets and buildings beyond. The closer I got to him, the more uneasy I felt. Perched on the edge of the overpass, eyes downcast, he seemed every inch a predator, a hawk ready to launch.

  The lights of the city burned warmly below. I wished that I were anywhere else out there, but thoughts of a jacked-up insurance premium and a grounding from my dad smashed those daydreams with what then felt like heavy consequences. I flexed my shoulders, already too tense, as I focused on the tan coat. Just get it over with, Jason, I told myself. Stay cool. After all, he’s just an old man... a weird, black-eyed, old man with a really nice car... a car he stopped in the middle of the highway for no apparent reason.

  Then the frown crossed my face. No attitude, not this time. It was my dad’s voice in my mind. This guy deserves the same respect as any senior citizen… any rich, weird senior citizen who had come to a screeching halt in the middle of the freeway for no apparent reason. The voice had become my own again. I shook my head and sealed my lips, letting my feet do their work, trying not to think about those strange eyes.

  The paperwork, the pen, and a napkin appeared at the driver’s elbow, but he didn’t look down.

  “…Sir?” I asked politely. Fortunately, his eyes were still focused with great interest on the city.

  “You can put those things away,” the old man finally said. “We won’t be needing them.” His voice was clear and firm, shaken neither by age nor by the wreck.

  Oh, great. A certifiable old eccentric. I coughed to interrupt the unh
elpful thought.

  “Well, actually...” I started to say, leaning against the guard rail, trying to sort through the old man’s cryptic words.

  “You don’t feel it, do you?” He swiveled toward me, and pierced me with the full intensity of his dark-eyed stare.

  The sudden motion, and the strange way he emphasized “feel” surprised me. My hands snapped to my sides. I found my feet scuttling backward two full steps.

  “Feel what?” I shot the question back at him, more nervous than I should have been.

  “I remember what it was like to be so ignorant. It’s almost a shame…” His sentence drifted, and so did his eyes, back toward the city.

  “Uh…” I checked myself, wary of any blunt rudeness, though this old man seemed intent on hearing some.

  “Since I have little time to spare, then, I will make things very simple for you. I intended for that minor crash to happen, and its results are worth far more than some sports car.” He dismissed his expensive vehicle with a flick of the wrist.

  “Results…?” I repeated. My shoulders suddenly relaxed. The thought of a hidden-camera game show crossed my mind. It seemed, at the time, strange enough to be true.

  “What kind of results?” I asked.

  He crossed his arms, high and proud against his chest. His dark eyes burned as he slowly selected his words.

  “I have been looking for… people… like you, for a long time.” A conspiratorial smirk twitched at the corner of his mouth.

  Cars flew by beside me. No one else was stopped. There were no cameras, no camera people. I spread my feet and planted them against the asphalt. Where were the police? I began to regret leaving my phone in the car. Strange was something I could deal with, but this type of crazy was making me more than anxious.

  I tore my eyes away from his dark gaze and rehashed his words in my mind.

  “Wait…” I said. “You intended for the accident to happen? And—”

  He gave a slight nod, his dark eyes wide. “You will never know me to make a mistake.”

  “And you intended for me, Jason Trudeau, to crash into you?” I spread my hands in confusion. This guy was off his rocker.

  “Jason Trudeau…” He seemed to consider the syllables. His black eyes turned upward in thought. He was committing the words to memory. I immediately regretted giving him my full name.

  “Yes,” he finally said. “I told you that I do not make mistakes.”

  “Well, hey, tell that to the cops, that this whole thing was your idea, and you won’t hear any more complaints from me.” I threw up my hands, then leaned back against the guard rail, wondering how I had been unfortunate enough to have crashed into a crazy man.

  The old man’s heavy boot hammered against the pavement, the crack of the impact jerking me back to attention.

  “I have no patience for police, and no interest in the enforcement of fools’ laws.” The old man’s angry words blasted forth. “This is what will happen: I will tell you what I want you to hear, and then I will get back in my nearly undamaged car and carry out the rest of my plans for the evening.”

  I took a calming breath, avoiding his burning black eyes. Paranoid, moody... This guy was on some kind of drug... or three.

  “Alright,” I said, taking another step back. “that’s fine with me; just sign me a note saying that you won’t hold me liable for the accident, give me your insurance information, and you can tell me whatever you want.” I looked down at my insurance papers, glad that copying my information onto the napkin was a great excuse to avoid the old man’s gaze.

  “I see that I do not have your full attention, Jason Trudeau,” his rough hand suddenly grabbed me by my jacket collar and twisted me toward his deep black eyes.

  Fear crept upon me. Those dark eyes... There was something else about them... It was as if they were sucking in the light. My fingers slipped. The napkins were whisked over the guard rail into the night sky.

  I shoved his hand away and scraped several steps backward. My fist tightened protectively around my remaining insurance papers.

  “My father is a cop, a veteran on the force,” I warned the old man. “He’ll be here any time soon.”

  “That’s very interesting…” The old man rolled his hollow eyes upward in thought. His smirk broke into a smile across his thin-lipped mouth.

  The senior citizen’s deceptively strong hand suddenly disappeared into the deep pocket of his tan coat.

  “Well, I’m sure that I will be able to get your full attention then,” he said. It was an omen.

  “What are you tal—?” I said. My eyes lowered. The hidden hands made me more nervous than the reaching one. I took another step away from the old man with the black eyes.

  “I’m talking about recruitment. I’m always looking for people with talent.” He smiled, clearly contemplating some nasty secret.

  I backed away, but he pressed on, dark eyes burning as he asked, “Do you believe in the supernatural, reality beyond logic?”

  My pen clacked to the concrete, and my insurance papers followed with a flutter. A car’s horn blared into silence.

  “That’s it. It’s not funny anymore.” I said, raising my voice, trying force away the shock.

  He continued his advance. Backing away wasn’t working...

  “Supernatural, huh?” I said. The adrenaline seemed to flow from my heart to my knuckles; I rolled back my long sleeves. “Well, if you’re going to try to predict my future, or guess my card, I’ll show you what’s up my sleeve, and have you read my palm while I’m at it. I don’t care how antique you are.”

  The old man stood there, stock straight, locking his knees. A strange breeze sent a chill across my back. Despite myself, I turned almost completely around.

  “You grossly underestimate me, but that is no surprise.” Black eyes widening, he made me well and truly nervous.

  “It will be quite unfortunate for you,” he continued, “but the officer who comes to your assistance will also come to mine. Whoever it is, it will do. It’s been a long drive, and I’ve been hoping for an excuse for some exercise.”

  I watched silently, waiting for the slightest move of aggression, struggling to grasp, and then trying to dismiss his threats. He was just begging for an excuse to... No, I would have to be careful.

  The wind pulled the man’s long coat toward the traffic, but he didn’t budge. There was nothing to do but wait and hope to keep my distance from the rich creep, and keep a lid on the anger rising in my throat.

  Finally, there came a shrill whistle from the distance behind me, growing louder. Sure enough, it was a police siren. Thank God.

  “You’re going down, psycho.” I growled at the old man, glad that someone was about to settle the situation. “The cops aren’t slow on picking up crazies, especially the maaagic ones.” I fluttered my fingers, imagining the pixie dust that the man with the absurdly wide pupils must have inhaled.

  “It’s talent, not magic,” his voice was calm as he raised a finger, posing for a moment as the most disturbing teacher ever. “And don’t forget it. We have much in common, Jason Trudeau, but there are lifetimes of experience separating us.”

  “Experience? Oh, you’ve done time in the crazy house,” I snapped at him.

  “No,” his voice rose. His dark eyes bulged as he stepped toward me. “This world is crazy, and the wise find themselves prisoners here... because the wise know the universe beyond. Beyond, there is truth... far from insanity, clear of foolishness, outside natural reason.”

  His black eyes then suddenly shut away. His head dropped crookedly toward the ground.

  The siren had cut out, and the sound of a door slam drew my gaze behind me, toward the calm aura of my father’s partner, James, and the reassuring gleam of his badge. Good. My dad, though still in the car, wouldn’t be so hard on me after he met this lunatic.

  “Huh… I’ll bite… what truth is that?” I decided to demonstrate for Uncle James’ sake, pointing with an open hand, to let the old
man’s insanity speak for itself.

  There was a pause. I glanced from the officer back toward the madman.

  “The truth is that.... beyond reason, there is endless possibility,” the old man’s voice rose higher, his black eyes huge. “And ultimate power!”

  My reaction was interrupted by a surge of wind that threw me to the side with a roar. I banged against the old man’s black car and fell to the ground. The air had become thick, heavy enough to taste, almost thick enough to see where it weaved in and out of itself. When my focus returned to the old man, I measured a full foot separating him from the asphalt below.

  His coat ruffled over faded brown leather boots. He swung through the air—I guessed he was on a cable... one I was unable to find. He moved above and past me, slowly advancing on my father’s partner.

  “Uncle James, watch out! He’s insane!” I shouted. Insanity: it was the only thing that made sense about the situation.

  A gust forced my head back against the side of the car.

  “What the…” my father’s faint voice barely broke above the tempest.

  “Stop right there! G-get back on the ground; lay face-down on the pavement!” James shouted against the storm. His pistol was drawn and raised against the flying old man.

  “I think not,” replied the twisted man with the black eyes. He swept his hand across his chest. The sidearm flew from the Uncle James’ fingertips, flipping beyond the edge of the overpass, gunmetal glinting in the moonlight just before dropping out of view.

  The gust had followed the old man’s hand…

  The villain must have heard me gasp. Black eyes pivoted to absorb my gaping stare with a malevolent grin. I turned away. I could just barely see the shape of my father, banging against his car’s passenger-side door, struggling to get out of the police cruiser that had been shoved up against the guard rail by the gusting wind.

  The old man, too, turned back... and settled his gaze on my father’s partner… who had begun to rise into the air, his hand slipping away from his radio, his body rotating clumsily, following his gun’s path toward the edge of the elevated highway.

  “Andy! Jason!” Uncle James called for my father and me. His eyes met mine for an instant that I knew—I knew—would be final.

  “No, no, no, NO!” I screamed. I tried to get to my feet, but a wall of wind held me back.

  The gusts shoved my arms back, against my face, and when the moment was over, James was gone. Despite the raging winds, I thought I heard the sound of brakes squealing, a hundred feet below.

  I choked, struggling to keep my emotions down, to figure out what to do. Dad! He… the lunatic… he killed…

  A gunshot cracked through the churning air. I saw my father’s shining blue cap hunkered down beside the railing, with the—finally!—open door of the police cruiser set firmly between the officer and the criminal. The old man laughed from his stance in the sky, extending his arms toward my father, my last defense.

  A loud squeak sounded behind my car. In spite of my fear, and the force of the wind, I leaned away from the car to see what was happening. My father hadn’t moved; he seemed to be squished, now, between his police car and the guard rail!

  The old man raised his hand. There was another bang, and my dad’s smoking pistol clattered to the ground. I lost sight of my father, as he cut around behind his police car, and suddenly the entire vehicle tipped toward the abyss, all its weight resting on the passenger-side tires. It skidded against the guard rail, the sturdy metal groaning.

  The vehicle was now angled high enough that I could see my dad getting back to his feet some distance behind the cruiser. When the railing didn’t give, the winds howled even louder, lifting the metal tonnage, in a slow second, above the hurdle. The old man was still floating, his arms raised, as if he was holding the car up himself.

  The undercarriage was flecked with oil and mud. I watched the front tires spin as the vehicle rolled, tipped over the side of the elevated road. My father’s fallen sidearm seemed to jump after the police car. Then the winds faded into silence with a slight whoosh. The thick sky cleared. The sound of twisted metal and crushed glass broke what, for just a moment, was a silent night. Some car rushed past, all too quick to leave the matter to the police.

  The old man had returned to earth with a thump of his boots, boots that disappeared once more in the shadows of his long tan coat. A key ring jingled from the villain’s pocket as he walked past me.

  “Repeat! Man down! Man down! Suspect is extremely dangerous…” my father called into his radio.

  I stood up and backed away slowly from the old man’s car. The lunatic seemed to forget completely about my father and I for a moment, as he calmly unlocked the door of the lightly dented vehicle. Before I could turn and run, though, the old man’s eyes were on me. I didn’t dare to move.

  “If you want answers, meet me in Japan, at the top of Tokyo Tower, within the week.” The old man presented his demands slowly, precisely, his black eyes burning into me. “They will send a large police force, and it will make international news, but unless you come yourself, you’ll never see me again. And that, I promise you, would be the more regrettable thing.”

  The car spit exhaust in my face as he sped away, and then my father, at last, was at my side.