The Tantalising Taste Of Water (Elemental Awakening, Book 4)

by Nicola Claire

  Soldiers barged in; Guards, I was guessing. Nero guards. They grabbed the wrist of the mother/wife; one punched the father/husband hard. He staggered. She screamed. The children cried. Struggling against her captors, she called out to her family, Air touching their tear-streaked faces one last time as the man tried in vain to reach his Thisavros. In moments she was gone, and he was left with his children, devastated, lost. Alone.

  Image after image, story after story, memory after memory; I felt it all. Their heartache. Their loss. Their devastation. As the branches were torn apart.

  I hadn’t realised I’d been crying until the Rigas reached up and touched my cheek. He could have used Nero, like the mother in the vision had, but he chose to use his finger, to touch, to draw my attention to his own grief.

  The last memory was his memory. Of a Queen who would not bow down to the law. In a show of defiance and strength of character, the Nero Basilissa chose to sacrifice herself instead of being cast out. Using Air, given to her by an absent god, she blessed each of her children with gifts. A dark magic. A desolate magic. An Elemental mother’s grief-filled magic. She gave herself up to Aetheros so they may not forget their history.

  Each child was given an alternate form to remind them of the other Elements. Hooves to run on land. Wings to fly through the sky. Rage to fuel their passion. Fins to swim in the sea.

  All four Elements represented in all twelve children she had birthed with her Nero King.

  My legs gave out. The Rigas crumpled to the ground beside me.

  Her sacrifice hadn’t worked.

  They’d forgotten.

  And now they only remembered the grief.

  Chapter Seventeen

  As If A Tangible Thing

  I was shattered. My heart cut out and completely torn asunder. Ripped apart. I felt raw and vulnerable and devastated.

  In short, I felt completely Nero.

  They felt. Deeply. Utterly. There were no half measures for these Ekmetalleftis. I’d always thought the Pyrkagia the most sensual. The Gi the most grounded. The Aeras the wisest and most self-aware. And the Nero batshit crazy.

  I understood now. The Nero were broken. Like I’d been broken. Adrift in the darkness, lost at sea.

  I was so tired, but I couldn’t sleep. Not now. Maybe never. How could I sleep when the Nero were broken?

  They didn’t need a siren call. Their loneliness lured mine. Like to like. I was Nero. We were Nero.

  Broken completely.

  “Casey,” Theo called. It might not have been the first time he’d said my name. I’m not sure. “Come back, Oraia. Come back to me.”

  Like rising out of swampy water, I felt myself emerge from frigid seas. The waves still battered my mind mercilessly. Grief still clung to my limbs like seaweed. I couldn’t escape, now that I had seen.

  “Now you know,” the Rigas said softly. “Please, leave us be.”

  So much pain. So much damage. Some of it inflicted by me. But not all of it. No. Their god was to blame. The Alchemists had played a part. And the Nero, like me, had succumbed to melancholy.

  Loneliness is a comforting place to be. We wallow in it. We embrace it. Because feeling empty is better than feeling the grief.

  “The world is a mirror,” I said. “It reflects what we feel. For too long we have ignored each other. For too long we’ve accepted something that should never have been.”

  The King watched me but did not speak.

  “The Elements are stronger together,” I said. “Apart they are weak. The world knows this.”

  I took a deep breath in and then released it.

  “And so do the Alchemists.”

  “What do you know of the Alchemists, Aether?” the Rigas demanded, eyes studying me.

  Either he suspected a double-crossing Alchemist trap, or he wasn’t in league with the Alchemists at all, and thought I was.

  Interesting.

  “How did you reach Wellington?” I asked instead of answering.

  “I told you. Lightning. Borrowed from your grandfather.”

  So he had. But I didn’t believe him.

  “And how do you know my grandfather exactly?”

  The Rigas looked uncomfortable. Pisces neared. Libra shadowed her brother. I wished they’d revert to their human aspects; the Basilissa’s children were creepy.

  “We have not always remained under the sea,” the King finally admitted.

  I arched my brow but waited patiently. This was his story to tell.

  The Rigas looked at his children and then said something abruptly in Greek. I glanced at Theo, but his attention was riveted on Pisces; the current odds-on favourite for attacking.

  But in the next breath, he and his siblings were human-looking. Nero like their father. Auburn hair, deep blue eyes, the occasional spark of frost showing.

  It had been seamless. Instant. So smooth, I almost missed it completely. But stars had burst briefly in the air, in the split second before they had changed forms. Sea creature to Ekmetalleftis.

  Aetheros’ influence, mixed in with the Basilissa’s grief. I wondered just what she had bargained with, other than her life. What had she given away for the magic to be?

  The Athanatos had long abandoned their god when the branches were torn apart. Did he answer one of their calls before leaving? A last ditch effort to reach them?

  Or an attempt to make them remember long after he was gone?

  All four Elements are needed for balance. All four Elements need each other to exist in harmony. Just as Aetheros needed his children to believe.

  My grandfather’s words flitted through my mind. Belief is a tangible thing.

  “Occasionally,” the Rigas announced, once everyone was in human form, “one of my children will surface. We may have hidden, Aether, but we did it with one eye on the horizon. Warily. We are not unaware of the world’s plight.”

  But did they care? Or were they too consumed with their own grief?

  “On one of those occasions,” the King said, “my son was cornered on Athens’ streets. An Alchemist chancing by who desired a Nero subject for nefarious reasons. Without your grandfather’s timely interference, he would not have escaped the madman’s clutches. I gave your grandfather a boon.”

  A favour for saving his son’s life.

  “I blessed his grandson with Nero.”

  One of Mark’s two Stoicheio. Borrowed. On loan from a King. No wonder his control of Water was remarkable; he wasn’t just an Alchemist stealing an Element. He was an Alchemist wielding an Element gifted willingly by the Nero King.

  I wondered if Gramps had managed another blessing, in order for Mark to wield Air as well. Mark was a secret Alchemist. Trained outside of CERN. Is that how Gramps had done it? Nero and Aeras naturally attracted to one another.

  “When I realised your Nero had not Awakened,” the Rigas went on, “I contacted him. He loaned me his lightning. Mutually beneficial. Without Nero, you are not Aether. Even an Alchemist agreed.”

  I frowned at the stone beneath my feet. Something was missing.

  My eyes lifted to the King’s. He didn’t appear duplicitous. He was being quite forthcoming, actually. Another question to answer later: Why?

  I brushed that concern aside and homed in on the bigger issue.

  “Did you meet directly with my grandfather?”

  The King tilted his head to the side, as Theo stiffened next to me. He understood my reasoning. How had Gramps, who was supposedly imprisoned in CERN for killing a Seer to protect me, met with the Nero King?

  “I did not meet with him directly,” the Rigas replied, which had me swiftly standing. Expecting an attack any minute.

  I swayed with the sudden change of position, blood pooling in my feet, my head light.

  “Casey!” Theo called, wrapping an arm around my body.

  “You have been tricked,” I said, making the King’s children bristle, and spark-like stars to shine. They didn’t change forms again, but I was thinking it was a close thing. I
watched them warily, as the Rigas pulled himself to his feet. Not quite as unsteady as me, or perhaps hiding it better. I wasn’t sure. He held up a hand to his children, and simply watched me.

  “Tricked?”

  “Gramps is being held prisoner by the Alchemists. I doubt they’d allow him to interact with a King.”

  “Unless they wanted you to have that power and trust in its origin,” Theo offered. “How did you converse?”

  “Satellite phone. A secured number he had given me many years ago, but I had never needed before now.”

  A satellite phone would have still been functioning after Genesis. And Alchemists, who apparently had avoided the fallout from the End of Days, would have been able to answer the call.

  “It sounded like him,” the King offered, almost defensively.

  “It may well have been him,” Theo said, offering my shoulder a squeeze. “He might have been speaking under duress.”

  “Why would they want me to reach you in Wellington?” the King asked.

  “To bring me here,” I said. “Where they could reach me more easily.” I glanced around Atlantis nervously.

  “They have lightning, too,” The Rigas argued. “They could have reached you in New Zealand.”

  “Perhaps they thought we were still in Pyrkagia,” Theo offered. “Too strong to attack there.”

  “Are we not powerful?” the King snapped back.

  I lifted a hand to rest on his forearm, sorrow making my throat catch.

  “Rigas,” I said. “You are not my Thisavros.”

  I felt their shock and pain. I felt it. I swear. I felt it as if it were my own. So fresh and yet it had been centuries.

  “No,” he said softly. “I am not.” He looked at Theo, tears brimming in his eyes. “You are blessed, Prince of Pyrkagia. You are so very blessed. Do not forget.”

  “Your Majesty,” Theo said formally. “It is not too late for your subjects.” But it was too late for the King.

  His Thisavros was dead. How many others had survived?

  “The world is in chaos,” I said carefully. “Imbalanced. Broken. It needs to be fixed. Is not now the time to mend all broken things?”

  A sob emerged from the King’s throat, completely understandable but also so very unexpected. These beings had worn hard façades for millennia. I’d seen the impassive Athanatos mask too many times now to count. And yet the Rigas was near breaking. His family circled, pushing us out. Pushing us back, until we stood alone and watched them grieve.

  I had no idea if we could reach them, this depth of pain, this length of mourning was too strong.

  I sank back into Theo’s arms, grateful for my Thisavros. Guilty for the pleasure I received.

  It was long minutes before they broke apart, the King finally finding his mask of indifference. I was glad he’d found strength again. But conversely sad to see real emotion hidden behind a façade.

  If we were to fix what was imbalanced in our world, we needed honesty. And Athanatos masks were not in the least candid.

  “You ask too much,” the Rigas said, and I tasted failure. I blinked back tears and looked up into the sunlit sky.

  This was more than me not reaching these insular people. This was me failing the planet. And The Reckoning would start any second now.

  “Please,” I said, brokenly. “You don’t understand.”

  “No, Aether. You don’t understand. How old are you? A mere child. You cannot fathom centuries of heartache and loss. A loneliness that transcends time. It eats away at you. It devours your will. Leaves a cracked shell in its path. We are empty, Aether. We have no more to give.”

  I didn’t understand them, he was right. How could you give up when success was so close at hand? Their Thisavros may still be out there. Not his. No. But other Nero’s. The grandchild. The wife of the man with the toddler. I searched the Nero who stood around us, frantically looking for a familiar face. I’d seen their memories. I’d felt their pain.

  There. He was there. And beside him stood three adult children. I could see the toddler with the sleep-crust eyes in the youngest.

  I took a step toward them.

  “Do you feel the same?” I asked. The man’s eyes darted to his King’s. The Rigas shook his head forlornly.

  “Will you let them win?” I shouted to all of them. “The Alchemists have used you. They caused this. They took your Thisavros. They stole your Nero. They are coming back.” I thumped my chest. “They have not forgotten what I am. What I stand for. Will you let them better you again?”

  The Rigas stepped forward, facing off against the crazy Aether with nothing more than sadness.

  “We are broken, Aether,” he said. “Our Thisavros are dead.”

  Were they? Could they be sure? Would I know if Theo died and I wasn’t there to see it? I searched their faces, but the answer was unanimous. They all believed their Thisavros dead.

  It made sense. Why else reintroduce the Pallakae and Hataera? Unless all hope was lost.

  Couldn’t I catch a freaking break? Couldn’t there be, for once, a happy ending? Why did the world have to be so dark and unforgiving? Why! Why? I screamed at Aetheros.

  The god remained silent. So did the Nero. I’d failed. I could barely breathe. I had no backup plan. I had nothing else to entice the Nero with. Nothing to lure them with, as they had lured me.

  “The Alchemists,” I said, desperately. “Won’t you fight them?”

  “We will prepare for their invasion,” the King replied levelly. “They will not use us again.”

  “Then join me. Fight with me,” I begged.

  “Thank you for the advanced warning, Aether. But our task here is done. You have Awakened Nero. You are indeed Aether.”

  So, he’d forgotten about Quintessence as well.

  So much forgotten. So much lost.

  “You could join us,” he said softly. “You would be welcome here.”

  “I can’t hide.”

  “You are more Nero than you realise. I saw inside your heart. Join us.”

  “And Theo?” I said out of curiosity. “My Thisavros?”

  The Rigas bristled. “To love so deeply is to hurt.”

  I smiled. “I’d rather feel the stabbing pain of a thousand knives than turn my back on my Thisavros.”

  The crowd gasped. Then stilled.

  And then lightning struck the marble at my side.

  Screams sounded out. Stars burst in the daylight. A dozen sea monsters loomed over where Theo, Nico and I crouched.

  And Hippolytos of Aeras stood tall and silent at our sides.

  “Greetings, Aether,” he announced. Then bowed to the Nero Rigas. “And to Nero.”

  In an instant, I had my hand around his throat. Again. I really needed to reassess my anger management techniques. I shook him. He didn’t offer up a fight. Again.

  “You betrayed us.”

  “How?” he asked reasonably, if not squeakily.

  “The Reckoning? Remember that?”

  His eyes blazed white briefly, then subsided.

  “It is coming,” he said quietly. “I did not lie.”

  “You knew it was coming and you led it to me,” I growled.

  “Aether,” he said, “it is your Reckoning, no matter where you are.”

  I abruptly let go of his neck and stepped back. My Reckoning. I’d thought it. I’d suspected. But hearing it confirmed left me feeling empty.

  “You didn’t think to warn us in a more civilised manner?” Theo demanded, hovering at my side.

  “I was not aware of it until I heard the whispers in the wind.”

  “The shaman?” Nico demanded.

  “Has never spoken of a Reckoning.”

  Well, that was unexpected. And alarming. Things were happening that hadn’t happened before? Why?

  “I am your guide, Aether,” Hip said simply. I searched his eyes. He meant it. I didn’t trust him. I didn’t like being blindsided. I’d never liked the shaman’s riddles, but I certainly did not like
Hip’s new prophetic skills either.

  No one said anything. Theo’s golden gaze met my eyes as Hip glanced around the clearing. Obviously believing the danger had passed. I envied him his trusting nature. His ability to believe.

  I watched him search the Nero. I watched them stare back at him with a different type of heartache in their eyes.

  And then he said, “Grandmother.”

  And the grief exploded. As if a tangible thing.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Well, This Would Be Interesting

  I don’t think I’ll ever forget the wailing. It was almost a song. Grief rose on the still Atlantis air, musical in its misery. Beautiful in its sadness. Heartbreaking in its longing and despair. I’d never considered heartache to be a heavenly thing, but when the Nero cried their loss and pain to the sunlit skies, it was divine in its nature.

  I stood still as the old woman from the vision I’d seen collapsed into Hip’s arms. He held her, tears running down his cheeks, words murmured into her greying hair. She was old. Ancient. I realised with a jolt of understanding that she had to be the shaman’s wife.

  His Thisavros.

  No wonder he was stark raving mad. He’d been torn apart from her. Which meant Hip’s father was also Aeras, otherwise he would never have appeared in that vision making his grandmother’s hair dance on Air.

  What a complicated and dreadful dilemma the Ekmetalleftis had created for themselves. Separating their branches. Forsaking their children. Losing their Thisavros. All in order to stop the wars that had consumed them when the Alchemists stole their powers.