Elemental Origins: The Complete Series

by A. L. Knorr

  When the boys were gone, Elda turned to me. "You're probably exhausted."

  "A little." In fact, I wanted nothing more than to lie down on the carpet under our feet.

  "I'll show you to your apartment."

  Their guest apartment was tiny but charming and included my own little kitchen and a view over the canal. Elda and I agreed to go over the schedule and the boys’ needs later that evening. She said goodbye and left me to myself.

  I fished my phone out of my purse and collapsed on the bed. I pounded out a text to my three best friends; Akiko Susumu, Targa MacAuley, and Georjayna Sutherland.

  Landed! Met the fam. I've already learned that streets are called calle, and Venice is supposed to be hot as a deuce this summer. How're you guys?

  I closed my phone and set it on the bedside table. Their responses would come in scattered on the wind. My besties and I were spread across 8 times zones for the summer.

  I closed my eyes and sighed with exhaustion and happiness. I tried to nap but it was a long time coming. Isaia's eyes, those obsidian orbs, refused to fade from my mind.

  Chapter 3

  "I think you must be some kind of wizard," said Elda early one morning later into my first week when she saw that the living room, kitchen, and dining area were clean. "I forgot what my floors looked like."

  "Thank you, but the real trick will be to teach Cristiano to put his things away for himself," I said as I put her espresso cup under the nozzle of their machine and set it to make her a shot.

  Elda and I often had a few minutes where we passed company in the kitchen before she left and before the boys were up and dressed.

  "Yes, if you can accomplish that you are a magician for sure," she said, bending to fasten the buckles on her red leather shoes.

  "You always have such amazing shoes," I said. "Where do you get them?"

  "Ah, welcome to Italy, that land of beautiful footwear. I will have to show you my favorite shops sometime. Of course, the best ones are in Milan, but we have some nice ones here in Venezia, too."

  Elda and I chatted until she had to leave, and then I began to make lunch for Cristiano. Today, Isaia had no classes or camps and so we were to spend the day together. It was my last working day before the weekend. I was debating what to do with Isaia, since it would be just the two of us. I could think of a million things, but I didn't know if they'd be interesting to a kid, or if he'd have the energy for much.

  "Buongiorno," I smiled as Pietro entered the kitchen carrying Isaia. I put his espresso on the island where he could reach it.

  He took the cup and thanked me.

  "Good morning, Isaia," I said. I still wasn't used to the grip he made on me with his eyes. Even though he couldn't or wouldn't speak, I assumed that he understood most of what I said. In the few days that I had passed as the boy's au pair, I came to think that Isaia understood a lot more of the English language than his older brother did.

  Isaia reached for me. Pietro handed the boy over, now accustomed to our morning routine. Isaia's warm body settled against me. I kissed the top of his head, feeling the heat radiating from him with my lips. I didn't think he had a fever, but somehow he always seemed right on the edge. Elda had explained that his normal was actually a touch high, and he'd been like that since birth.

  "I meant to ask Elda before she left, is it okay if I take Isaia to see a glass-blowing demonstration on Murano later today? Elda passed on a gift card for a private demo that she doesn't have time to use. It will expire next week. I thought he might enjoy it. I know I would, too."

  "That's a beautiful idea," Pietro said. "Please do." He fished in his wallet and pulled out a business card. "Call Giovanni for a ride," he said, handing it to me. "Don't bother with the water busses. And don't pay him," he added, raising a finger. "I have an agreement with him."

  "Grazie! How kind."

  Pietro and Cristiano said goodbye and I turned to Isaia. "It's just you and me, little man. Are you hungry?"

  He shook his head.

  "Would you like to go to Murano today?" I asked.

  He gave a small shrug, and then seemed to think better of it and nodded.

  "Okay, but we have some hours to spend before. I'll clean up the kitchen, and you can go play."

  He nodded and meandered slowly down the hallway toward his room. I frowned after him. The boy seemed to have no energy whatsoever. Cristiano was unstoppable from morning until night when he crashed hard in a skinny, sweaty mess. I had never once seen Isaia run or kick a ball or do anything more strenuous than play with Lego or color. I wondered for the millionth time why he was so lethargic and what had made him stop speaking.

  I had done a few hours of research one evening, finding medical websites that talked about children losing their speech after a traumatic event. Many had recovered their powers of speech after therapy. But Pietro and Elda both said that Isaia had never been through a traumatic event, not even so much as a painful visit to the dentist. He'd lived a sheltered and protected life. He'd never been an energetic kid, even in the womb.

  My phone dinged as I was tidying the kitchen.

  Targa: Finally arrived in Poland! Remind me never to let my mother on a plane. Like ever.

  Me: Whyzat? She okay?

  It surprised me that Targa's mom, Mira, might have airsickness. She seemed like the strongest, most impervious woman I'd ever met. She intimidated the hell out of me.

  Targa: Can't handle the altitude, I guess. Check it out...

  She sent through a photo of a huge mansion with a bazillion windows and crawling with ivy. My eyes bugged.

  Me: That's where you're living for the summer!?

  Targa: Crazy, right? It's crammed full of mermaid and seascape artwork from top to bottom, too. This rich Polish dude is some kind of collector.

  Me: Have you met him yet? What's he like?

  Targa: Not yet. Tonight at dinner. Gonna nap now. Latr Gatr.

  Me: Have you heard from Akiko or Georjayna?

  Targa: Negatory. Don't expect to hear much from Akiko, remember? Georjie is probably in the air right now.

  Me: K.

  I frowned. My best friend Akiko had warned us at our goodbye dinner that she was going to be mostly MIA. Her grandfather was sending her to a remote mountain village in Japan for the summer. I still hadn't met her grandfather. She had somehow always dodged introducing us and I had finally stopped asking. It was obvious she didn't want us to meet. Either way, I didn't like the guy on principle. When he says 'jump,' Akiko answers 'how high?' Besides, who sends a seventeen-year-old girl into a foreign wilderness to spend a whole summer with people she doesn't know? I shook off my annoyance and finished cleaning up the kitchen.

  I went to Isaia's room and peeked in. He was sitting on the floor in his bedroom, his back propped against his dresser. He had a book open on his lap. He looked up and held the book out to me.

  "You want to read together?" I asked, coming into his room.

  He moved to the child sized sofa under his window. I sat down next to him and he crawled under my arm and curled up against my side. My entire body was instantly warmer.

  "You want me to read out loud?"

  He nodded.

  I looked at the cover to see it was called 'La Fenice', The Phoenix. On the cover was an illustration of a beautiful bird of red flames, rising from gray ashes.

  "This is a cool story, kiddo, but I can't read it to you. It's in Italian, and I promised your parents that I would speak to you only in English. Do you have any English stories?"

  He looked thoughtful, then he left the room and I heard him push Cristiano's door open. A moment later he reappeared with another book. It was a collection of fairytales from all over the world. I opened it to the first story, but Isaia shook his head and took the book back.

  "What, you don't like that one?"

  He flipped through and handed it back to me, open to the story he wanted.

  "The Firebird, a Slavic Fairytale," I began. "Boy, you sure like your fiery
bird stories, don't you?"

  He sighed and settled under my arm.

  I began to read slowly, enunciating each word. By the time the young Prince Ivan saw the glowing bird in the orchard, Isaia was asleep. I closed the book and debated waking him but I was loath to move him. I looked down at his pale head, the thin blue veins threading down the sides of his face, his wispy blond lashes delicate against his cheeks. My heart swelled.

  His breathing was slow, and seemed just a little bit labored. His warm, boneless body lulled me into a thoughtless stupor. I barely registered my cheek touching the top of his head as my eyelids, suddenly as heavy as wet canvas, drifted shut.

  Chapter 4

  After our nap, I prepared a bag for our afternoon outing. I put two apples, a small bottle of water, and sunscreen into my purse. Isaia watched all of this silently. I caught his curious gaze as I was putting a travel-sized bottle of aloe vera lotion into my purse. "Pale girls like me know all the tricks," I winked at him and dangled the little bottle. "Aloe is fabulous on sunburn, and ghosts like us can't be too careful."

  His bottom lip hung open, bemused.

  Isaia and I stepped out of the house just as the taxi was pulling up at their private dock. A tall, slender man in a striped shirt smiled at me from behind the wheel and doffed his captain's hat. "Ciao!" he said, a wide grin splitting his face. "I'm Giovanni. Benvenuti a Venezia, Saxony. Have you enjoyed your first week in Venice?" He moored the boat and held out a hand to Isaia. "Giorno, Isaia."

  "Very well, thanks," I said, "Although this is my first venture out as a tourist. I have been getting to know these little rascals."

  I stepped into the boat and put a hand on Isaia's head. I realized when my hand touched his blond hair that I'd forgotten to put a hat on him. I rifled in my bag and pulled out my cotton fedora. I placed it on Isaia's head as we pulled away from the dock. I kicked myself for forgetting and shaded my own face with my hand.

  We passed under a small arched bridge and into the sun. Tourists snapped photos of the pretty teak boat as we passed beneath them. Laundry hung outside many of the windows and wisteria and ivy crawled over wooden trellises. Algae covered steps disappeared into the murky water. Elda had explained that a long time ago, families used the canals for bathing, swimming, and doing laundry, but now it was illegal to swim in the canals.

  "So, you want to visit Murano today?" asked Giovanni.

  "Yes, we have tickets for a private glass blowing demo," I explained.

  Isaia moved closer to me on the seat and put his little hand in mine, leaning against my shoulder.

  Giovanni stared at the boy for a moment, his mouth slightly agape. "I've known the Baseggio family a long time," he said seriously. "I've never seen Isaia take to anyone like that. At least, not since he stopped talking."

  The Adriatic opened before us, the horizon was dotted with islands. We increased speed as we crossed the expanse of water toward Murano. I looked down at Isaia, and smiled to see him close his eyes as the breeze cooled him.

  "That's what Pietro and Elda say, too. Do you remember what Isaia was like when he could speak?" I raised my voice over the wind.

  "Certo, certo," he said, nodding. "I've known both the boys since they were born." He slowed the boat as we approached Murano. Colorful buildings rose up before us. "It happened like that." He snapped his fingers. "One day he was chattering away, and the next day..." He sliced his hand laterally through the air.

  "Was he always petite for his age?"

  "Oh, yes," Giovanni nodded. "He has always been small and weak, let’s say."

  I had the urge to clap my hands over Isaia's ears, realizing with regret that it wasn't good for him to hear us talk about him in this way. I looked down at him but he was looking out at the ocean.

  "Sorry buddy," I said under my breath and put an arm around his skinny shoulders.

  Giovanni steered us into a docking station at Murano. The dock itself was a dead end but it opened into a walkway filled with strolling tourists. A tall stone fountain in the shape of a lion's head graced the edge of the dock. Giovanni and I agreed on a time for him to pick us up, then he backed the taxi out of the dock and waved as he drove away.

  "How are you doing, buddy?" I put a hand to Isaia's cheek. He felt warm, and no wonder - the sun was intense. But though I was sweating, he felt warm and dry.

  "Here, take a drink." I twisted the cap off the water bottle and gave it to him. He gulped greedily and handed it back empty. "Whoa. Note to self. Bigger bottle next time."

  I adjusted his hat and took his hand. We walked by shops filled with every kind of colored glass creation imaginable. Chandeliers, vases, animals, wineglasses and tumblers, jewelry, picture frames, and dinnerware. The items that could be made out of glass seemed endless.

  We found the location of the demo. Their window display held the most elaborate pieces of glasswork that we'd seen so far. I pulled on the red glass door handle only to discover the entrance was locked. I frowned and pulled out the ticket, double checking the time. It was correct. I pressed the button on the small brass panel beside the door.

  "Prego," said a pleasant male voice, trilling the 'r'.

  "Buongiorno, I have tickets to a private glass blowing demonstration. Are we at the right place?"

  "Ah, si, si. Please, come in, I'll be with you in a moment," the voice answered.

  The buzzer sounded. I opened the door and held it for Isaia. A blast of air-conditioning swept over us and we both sighed. The front room was empty of people, so we contented ourselves by looking at the glasswork on display. The room was lined with mirrors. I made a silly face at Isaia when I caught him looking at me in the mirror and was rewarded with the tiniest smile.

  A few moments later, the owner of the voice appeared from behind the cash desk. He and I blinked at each other and our smiles stretched simultaneously. Cute. Very cute. His hazel eyes looked warmly down at me from the platform behind the till, and then at Isaia. He had short curly black hair which was receding slightly, even though I doubted he was much over twenty. His broad shoulders seem to fill the room and his dimples made my heart trip.

  "Buongiorno," I said, grinning stupidly.

  He smiled back even broader. A warm feeling seeped through my stomach.

  "You're American?"

  "Is my accent that bad?" I snapped my fingers in a 'gosh darn it' gesture. "I'm actually Canadian."

  "Ah, Canadian. Wonderful, and no your accent was perfect." We exchanged a firm, hot handshake. He must have been working in front of the oven because his hand was far warmer than it should be.

  "I'm Rafaele Dimaro. Welcome to our little shop. You must be..." he referred to a paper that had been taped to the counter, "Elda Bassegio?"

  "No, I'm Saxony, her au pair. She gave me her ticket since she wouldn't be able to use it in time. Is that okay?"

  "Of course. And who is this?" He looked down at Isaia, who'd been standing solemnly at my side.

  "This is Isaia." I took the hat off his head and frowned at the purple smudges beneath his eyes. I could have sworn they weren't there a minute ago.

  "Welcome Saxony and Isaia," said Rafaele, putting his hands together. "Are you ready for a private demonstration of the ancient art of glass blowing? A secret that was protected for thousands of years?" He waved his fingers mystically.

  Isaia stared.

  "We're ready, right?" I took Isaia's hand and he looked up at me and nodded. I noted with pleasure that there was some interest on his face. Finally, something that animated him, even if it was slight.

  "Then please follow me," said Rafaele. He swept an arm across his face like a magician behind a cape.

  Isaia's mouth lifted at the corners.

  I was not prepared for how stifling the workshop was. A blast of hot air blew my hair back. My eyes went dry and my upper lip felt suddenly damp. No wonder Rafaele's hands were so warm.

  A short hallway lined with shelves full of glasswork led to a workspace. Two ovens yawned from a stone wall. Tool
s littered a metal table and seats lined the workspace at a safe distance from the heat. A red glow emanated from one oven, while the other was dark and cold. Metal blowing rods leaned against the wall in a line.

  "Prego." Rafaele gestured to the seats.

  Isaia and I each took a chair in the front row.

  "Before we begin, I'll explain a little about the history of..." The door chimed, and Rafaele broke off. "Oh accidenti. Excuse me, I've forgotten to lock the front door. I will help the visitors quickly and then return. Forgive me."

  He left in a rush, and Isaia and I waited. I fanned myself with my hat. As the minutes passed, Isaia grew restless. He was staring into the fiery oven when I heard him inhale. It was a raspy, wheezing sound.

  "Isaia?"

  He turned and looked at me. His coal black eyes were filled with a pain that hadn't been there a few moments before. My heart skipped a beat.

  "What is it, honey?" I crouched in front of him. "Isaia?"

  He put his hands on my shoulders to brace himself. The same red glow I'd seen on the first day rose in his eyes. The hair on the back of my neck stood up. The glow was there and then gone, like a flicker, only this time there was no sunlight coming in from anywhere.

  I gasped. I had not imagined it. I put my hands to the sides of his face, fear curdling in my guts. He was burning up, and his breathing grew more labored. I put my lips against his forehead. He was beyond feverish. Elda had explained that he sometimes gets sudden fevers, but she'd never impressed upon me their ferocity. Or was this one extra bad?

  Peering into his eyes, I watched for the strange glow to reappear. I put my hands to the sides of his ribs. I almost snatched my hands back from his belly — he was nearly hot enough to burn me. His torso was even hotter than his forehead.

  He inhaled again, wheezing. He lifted up his t-shirt and displayed his skinny white belly. Our faces lit up from underneath, throwing strange shadows across us. A red glow lit his belly from the inside, as though he'd swallowed a piece of hot coal. The dark shadows of his ribs stood out through his skin. I thought I could even see his heart flicker darkly in his chest.