The Elements of Love

by S. D. Grady

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  Forbidden Publications

  www.forbiddenpublications.com

  Copyright ©2007 by S.D. Grady

  First published in 2007, 2007

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  NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

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  THE ELEMENTS OF LOVE

  S.D. GRADY

  Copyright © 2007

  Cover Art by DJ ALLING © 2007

  Edited by TRACI MARKOU—No copyright assigned.

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by an information storage and retrieval system-except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed in a magazine, newspaper, or on the Web without permission in writing from the publisher. For information, please contact the publisher via regular mail.

  All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

  ISBN: Not Assigned.

  Published by Forbidden Publications, OCTOBER 2007

  Forbidden Publications

  PO Box 153

  East Prairie, MO 63845

  www.forbiddenpublications.com

  The Elements of Love

  By

  S.D. Grady

  Book I: Fire and Water

  Myrric stood upon the stone ledge, overlooking the vast Swan Plain engulfed in battle. The cries of men and beasts clashing and dying drifted to his protected perch. He closed his eyes, sending out a seeking tendril of thought. How many mages wield the fire against me?

  He brushed a lock of black hair from his narrow face. The wind of war tugged at his loose shirt of maroon linen. The embroidered badge of flame held by a hand indicated his rank as a Fire Mage; one who could direct the heat of the earth to burn, blast or melt anything in his path.

  Determining that only three mages stood against him, and two of them nothing more than fire callers, he began to draw the Fire to him. Myrric muttered words of power, low and mysterious—the sound dancing amongst the storm of war. Sparks crackled about his head. Lightning shot across the plain. The fireball began to take shape between his hands, a seething mass of heat and destruction. His chest, wide and powerful with youth, heaved as he intoned the final forming words.

  He aimed the fireball at the rear of the enemy's line, where their archers continued to send raining death over the boys and men of The Army of the Moon. The power left his fingertips, still drawing more definition from the depths of Myrric's being as it flew. Myrric grinned, reveling in the release.

  The sensation of casting was the closest thing to the thunder of passion in his veins. His body hummed with anticipation. His rod thickened while the heat of a volcano grew about him. The battle plain below him became unfocused as the fog of fire enveloped his very being.

  The earth shuddered beneath him. The air shifted about him. Myrric's power faltered under a fresh onslaught from a new elemental quarter. His jaw firmed, and he drew a deep breath. The scent of charred wind blew across his face, the current shifting about him.

  Myrric opened his eyes. A girl stood before him, no older than his youngest sister, her hurt, anger, and purpose clear in her crystalline green gaze.

  "You will be no more,” she stated with a certainty that had Myrric scrambling to bring his shields into place.

  But nothing could have stopped her. The waif tilted her head back, summoned the powers and directed it at the mage before her.

  Myrric's knees collapsed when she reversed his fireball, sending it back to him and in him with the force of a shrieking, vicious tornado. His life faltered. Myrric cast one last spell, hoping to negate the untutored powers of the girl before her.

  The blast wiped the Plain of Swan clean.

  * * * *

  The man halted before the barred doors of the Hall. Tired and cold, he turned to the young woman perched atop the shaggy pony. “Is this it, ma'am?"

  She nodded, her eyes glued to the portal sealed against such mortals as her escort. “Come,” she gestured, “Help me down."

  She looked about her, the mixed emotions of coming home warring with the fear of judgment that was surely due her.

  The mountain peaks cloaked in winter's white climbed in all directions. Calm embraced the very air about them.

  A slot in the heavy, timbered gate opened. The porter asked, “What is your need?"

  "I am Arlynn, Healer of Illis. I must speak to Mother Salias.” She wrapped her voluminous cloak tightly about her.

  Only a moment passed before Arlynn was granted entrance into the only haven she knew. She followed a novice to the cloister walk where she was bid to await the arrival of the leader of their order.

  At the moment Arlynn spied the elderly healer, emotions carefully shielded during her long journey erupted into despair. Arlynn dropped to her knees and bent her head in supplication. “I am lost, Mother,” she murmured in a choked voice, tears streaming down her wind-blown cheeks.

  Mother Salias placed her gnarled hand on Arlynn's golden tresses. “It can never be as bad as it appears, my little one."

  "Little one,” Arlynn repeated then laughed gently as she stared at the azure robes of Mother Salias. “I am most certainly not a little one anymore.” She gestured to her swollen belly covered in a serviceable brown cloak, the child due within the month. She turned her head up to the head of her order. “I have done a monstrous thing that I cannot hide from. But I know not where it is I can go. No village would have me as their healer now. I have most assuredly corrupted my powers in my attempt to find peace and follow the pull of my magic.” She paused, her face falling into lines of grief. “I am sorely afraid for the child of the union. Its power has been sullied even before the light of the sun can bless it."

  A cloud gathered at Mother Salias’ wrinkled brow. “Whatever do you mean, little one? Your powers of healing would protect a potential child from any possibility of corruption..."

  Arlynn shook her head vehemently. “Nay. My powers cannot protect the child from its father."

  Mother Salias pulled at Arlynn's hands with her own gnarled ones, gesturing the young woman to rise. “Clearly you have much to tell me, Arlynn. Come break bread with me. Your travels have wearied you. Perhaps sharing the knowledge of your burdens will lighten them."

  The two women walked down the ancient cloister walk of the Healers Hall, one grey and large with age. The other golden in youth and heavy with a child conceived in joy and sorrow.

  * * * *

  Arlynn ripped the coarse bread and dipped it in the bowl of tea. The memories of the many simple meals taken with her sisters here at the Healers Hall gave her weary mind comfort. The cold mountain air blew through the small slit windows high in the hall, snowflakes drifting gently down to the stone floors. A roaring fire in the massive fireplace heated the white furs that covered the low, rough couches where the sisters gathered for their meals. Arlynn shivered. Surely the Earth was throwing its frozen fury at her disobedience.

  "So, little one, tell me...” Mother Salias invited Arlynn.

  Arlynn fought to find a steady voice as the emotions and memories of her treasonous acts taunted her. She took in a deep breath and began.

  "It wa
s several days after the Battle over Swan and I was working with the many wounded. I had been taken from my village, Illis, to help ease the burden of the Surgeons. So many mages and soldiers had been harmed in that final burst of fire and light. It was rumored in the village that the enemy's High Mage Myrric had been responsible for the horrid surge of power—the burst that laid low every man on the battlefield.

  I had no time to measure the power of each patient. There were so many needing surcease from the pain. Exhausted, I failed to shield myself from anybody. That must be how it started.

  There was this man whose arms were charred from his fingers to his elbows. He lay mute, not crying or writhing from the excruciating pain. I paid little heed to this but quickly lay my hands over his heart and sent him a surge of peace. But instead of the energy flowing into him, an odd thing happened...” Arlynn's voice faded as the memory washed over her.

  * * * *

  Arlynn jumped back from the low pallet, her fingers still singing from the burst of power that just leapt from the man lying there. “Sun and Mother!” she muttered under her breath. Only then did she feel it, a warming sensation of intent. She turned her eyes from her fingertips to the face of the stranger.

  Black, fathomless orbs containing the knowledge of the stars speared into her soul. Moments passed. Arlynn felt her entire being held to that spot. Unfamiliar longings deep in her stomach sent a heated blush to her cheeks. Her vision blurred at the edges. Nothing existed except for him.

  Even dulled by the pain, he was beautiful. Black hair, deep as ebony, fell to his broad shoulders. A chest of steel narrowed to ... the rough sheet concealed the rest of his intriguing body. His nose was thin and sharp, reminding Arlynn of a hawk's beak. Then the lush lips pursed to speak, even as agony blurred his words.

  She breathed. Her hands instinctively reaching for his, to provide the healing power needed for her to hear him. She had to hear him. Her heart slammed in her chest with the urgency of a crazed beast.

  She touched the charred skin and sent a tendril of healing light out to him. It happened again.

  A blinding bolt of power, black with force, shot back through her arms. Arlynn cried. Such agony! Her brow furrowed, as she realized it was not of the body.

  She slipped into a trance, seeking the source of the black power. His arms, while burnt, caused the man no pain. Some other healer had been there, and the pathways were repairing themselves quickly. He would begin to generate new skin and tissues in a matter of days.

  Her mind stopped and checked the major organs. They were all healthy. She could still hear muted cries in the distance. Locked in his mind, she thought. Perhaps the blast had frightened the poor man.

  She set to soothing the childlike reactions. Fire, loneliness, anger, and unstoppable power all vied for supremacy in his tormented mind.

  The fire she extinguished with a cooling touch. The anger she turned aside with a kind word of love, the loneliness—a kiss on his temple, the power...

  What could she do? The mage's power raged unabated. Yes, Arlynn realized. A mage. One of the many used in battle. He must've been ready to spend a spell when the Blast occurred. The unspent power still required an outlet, now that it had been called. That prevented this man from telling her of his hurts.

  Catching his tossing head between her hands, Arlynn begged him, “Give the power to me, my lord. I shall see it safely away, and then you can rest."

  Once again, she was caught in a vortex of dark brilliance. His eyes, distraught with pain, reflected a need for acknowledgement. Arlynn's breath hitched as those black eyes skated over her lithe figure.

  In all of her eighteen years, she had never known the desire of a man. As a healer, she remained untouchable to most of the population, held above them as a superior being. Now, in an instant, she knew what it was he wanted, what he needed.

  Arlynn smiled. “I can give you what you need, and you can give me your pain."

  Still unsure, the man with eyes of night agreed.

  She braced herself for the onslaught. She bent over his head and placed a kiss on his lips. Not a benison of healing as she had given him before, but a kiss of sharing.

  His lips were hot and hard as molten steel. She poured her cooling healing into his mouth, an ocean's wave to soften his attack. Even as her skin heated, his pain and power cooled, ebbed and drew away on the tide. Unaware of any other wounded soldier or hard working healer, the pair moaned. Steam began to curl and seep through their minds. Eagerly Arlynn licked at his mouth, desiring to find the source of such impatient heat. Seduced into a moment of trust, she did not feel it come.

  The fire of his un-cast spell swept through and over them, extinguishing their passion. The complete cessation of awareness and knowledge was of such ecstasy and agony, she knew she would seek out the master of the power for the rest of her life.

  Arlynn the healer, whose power came from the oceans, collapsed next to the war mage, whose fire power withered in the glory of their union.

  * * * *

  "So, you joined with a Fire Mage,” Mother Salias commented.

  Arlynn studied the older woman's face fearing to find condemnation there. “I know it is forbidden, Mother. I felt I had no choice. He required help."

  "Were there no other healers there? They would've provided a shield."

  Tears trickled down Arlynn's cheek, her well of sorrow bottomless in its depth. “There were many, Mother. But we all were working beyond our abilities. The devastation from the blast was unprecedented. The generals were unprepared to handle the damage. I did what I thought best..."

  A sharp shake of Mother Salias’ head silenced Arlynn's desperate justification. “You did not think."

  Arlynn studied her hands as she wrung them. “No, I only did what I had to."

  Mother Salias sucked in a deep breath. “So, I suspect your powers are now in remission."

  Arlynn nodded in shame.

  "And his?"

  Despair washed over Arlynn. “He is dead, Mother. I negated his powers, and now he is dead."

  "How, child?” The question held no hint of condolence.

  Arlynn looked deep within her soul and stared at the memories of her few moments of happiness she had found with the mage. They washed over her as she told the rest of the story.

  * * * *

  Arlynn awoke in the small Healers barracks, the cot creaking under her weight. As the fog of sleep left her, emptiness reverberated deep within herself. As a manner of habit, she reached out around her with her healer's magic to see if all was well with the world. There was nothing. Instead of the healthy throb of a living and breathing community, a vast, blank pit echoed in her heart. Panic stole over her.

  Sitting up, she recalled her last actions. Desire still licked at her nerves, anxious to be reignited. The mage ... what had happened to the mage? What had happened to her?

  Arlynn's hands shook as she donned the working garb of a village healer, a narrow, pale blue, full-length shift and a leather jerkin with a badge of the Healer's ocean on her shoulder. She paused before the small looking glass and plaited her thick, straight blonde mane, binding the end with a narrow leather strap.

  Hoping to maintain a façade of indifference and general well-being, she stopped briefly in the common hall to eat a bowl of porridge and chat with her friends before running to the thin pallet where she had left her last patient. It was empty.

  Arlynn stopped a young serving maid, “Where is the mage with the burnt hands?"

  "He's been taken, Healer."

  "Taken where?"

  The maid shrugged Arlynn's hand from her arm. “To the generals, Healer, for questioning."

  "You mean for debriefing after surviving the battle against the High Mage Myrric."

  The maid gave Arlynn an odd look. “Didn't you know? That was the High Mage hisself. The generals want the power of the enemy for their own use. I expect he is being questioned as we speak..."

  Arlynn pelted across the central square of the
town, heedless of the many people she knocked over. She couldn't understand the desperate pressure in her chest, but she knew she had to find the mage right now. Her breath came in gasps. She arrived at Headquarters in moments.

  "I need to see the prisoner immediately!” She panted.

  The guard eyed her closely, but kept his words civil when he noticed the blue badge of the Healer on her tunic. “Is there a reason why?"

  Arlynn paused. Why, indeed? She knew with a certainty that if she didn't see him right now, she might pass out. His danger licked at her like a whip lashing across a criminal's back. But what reason to give the guard ... “I wasn't done with my healing when he was taken. He won't be able to stand the interrogation without a complete healing."

  The guard raised an eyebrow. Arlynn gulped but answered the question in his eyes with a straight back and stubborn chin.

  She followed the guard through several corridors until they reached a door to an inner room with no windows. She was bade to enter by a gruff voice within.

  The dim chamber was lit only by a brace of candles on a table where a clerk recorded the questioning session. The mage sat on a stool, his charred hands bound behind his back, his head nodding listlessly. A thin trail of blood trickled down his chin.

  Heedless of the military men present, Arlynn approached the mage. She knelt before him, hoping to find some vestige of consciousness.

  "Myrric?” she called softly.

  He looked up.

  As Arlynn's pale blue gaze locked on Myrric's black glare a shock wave of power surged between them. Myrric looked stunned.

  "What have you done to me?” he asked, his gravelly voice weary and scornful.

  Arlynn looked up at the general present. “I need some time alone with the prisoner, general."

  The cynical, grizzled man with a short sword at his waist shook his head. “Your efforts to heal the High Mage would be wasted, Healer. Either Myrric will stand for us during the next battle or he will be executed for his crimes. Don't waste your powers on him."