by A. L. Knorr
I looked up at Georjie, my jaw slack. "To TNC's dome properties. Petra's friend must have dug these up."
Georjie was nodding. "Look at the names. Recognize any of them?"
I scanned over several before running into one I recognized, then another, and another. "They're all famous people. Rich people, politicians, movie stars."
"You might not know all of those names,” said Georjie, “but I can guarantee you that if you start looking them up, you'll find they're all affluent and powerful. Elite families with old money. Relations of world leaders, including presidential families."
"So they never had any intention of offering property inside the domes to middle-class or poor people? They never earmarked anything for charity?"
"Nope. Petra's brilliant computer guy pulled up blueprints and zoning documents. There is nothing to support that they ever planned to give anything to poorer people, or even regular people. It was all offered only to rich and powerful people. And it gets worse."
"There is so much here," I said, sifting through the pages, "it'll take forever to make sense of it."
"Worse?" Targa asked, pushing her coffee aside and spreading out some of the documents. "How does it get worse?"
"The domes were never conceived as permanent places to live, the way TNC wanted us to think. They were conceived as more like the world's fanciest bomb shelters." Georjie nodded at the stack of paper. "There's a letter from Petra at the back. It's messy, looks like she wrote it in a hurry, but she explains what's inside and said that we need to destroy all of these copies when we're done with them.”
"I'll say," I muttered.
"That thing, the creature, it wasn't the only one. It was just the closest one. TNC was planning a huge catastrophe for every major continent, and it was all to feed the Archons. She said that about every seventy-five years or so, the Archons need to feast. The small-time stuff that happens isn't enough for them. The last one was World War II and the Holocaust."
"It's been seventy-three years since World War II," Targa said. "So, what? It was time? And this was their plan?” She shuddered visibly. “It's beyond ghastly, it's incomprehensible."
"A plague for North America, a nuke for Asia, poisonous rain for Europe," Georjie listed them off on her fingers. "But they wanted to offer rich and important people a way to be protected while the outside world imploded. If their plan went so far as to decimate the planet, they'd have people to rebuild the population with. Hence, the domes."
"I can't even believe the plot was this big," I sputtered. "This is insane. This is a level of evil there are no words for."
"That's what Petra and Akiko stopped from happening," Georjie added, quietly.
"Where is Petra now?"
"Read for yourself." Georjie slid a handwritten page toward Targa and me.
I read aloud.
Dear Elementals,
I said I would try and explain the domes better, well, this is the best we can do at the moment. What I've sent you is a jumbled mess of documents, and I'm sorry I'm not there to make better sense of it. But I have faith you'll see the full picture and I know you'll agree that the most urgent thing right now is to kill this monster while it’s crippled. Devin Nakesh is gone, so it's possible TNC's deal with the Archons is off, but we don't know for sure. We don't know if TNC is still trying to manufacture domes on other continents right now or not, but it doesn't matter. They won't succeed. TNC will not survive to execute another project, not as long as I have wind in my lungs. I promise you that.
Petra Kara
"That's it?" I turned it over, looking for more.
"It's all she had time for, I guess."
"It's enough." Targa shuddered. "I don't know about you guys but I've had enough of sinister plots and freak demonic storms and big corporations with lots of money and power. I'm about ready to run and hide in the ocean."
"Or Poland," Georjie said with a smile. She began gathering the documents and shoving them back in the envelope. "If you guys don't object, I'm going to burn these.”
We didn't.
Georjie went to a cupboard and got a large metal bowl. She beckoned us outside on the second level porch and set the bowl on the stone table. She put the papers in the bowl and looked at me.
I reached out a finger and touched the nearest page, igniting the whole thing. We each took a seat and watched the papers burn and the smoke drift up into a clean evening sky.
"Why us?" Targa murmured, her eyes on the flame as it began to die down.
"Why us what?" I crossed my arms and leaned my elbows on the table.
"Why are we Elementals? In all the craziness that has taken place since the night of our sleepover, we haven’t had two seconds of peace to talk about it."
Georjie chuckled. "It's true. I was about to speculate when Petra knocked on the door and interrupted us. Remember?"
I did. "You said you had a theory about it."
"Feels wrong to share it without Akiko here,” Targa said.
“I had a kind of vision of the future when I was in Ireland,” Georjie said. “I didn’t tell you guys about it before because…” She paused. “Because I could see you,” she looked at me and her eyes cut to Targa, “and you. But…”
“You couldn’t see Akiko.” The hairs on my forearms stood at attention.
Georjie nodded and looked miserable.
“It’s not your fault. No one knew what was coming.” I said these comforting words to Georjie, but my stomach felt like stone. It was confirmation that Akiko really was gone.
"Akiko said herself that she didn't think she was one of us," Targa said, her voice soft.
"She'll always be one of us.” My throat tightened.
"Of course," Georjie said, "Akiko is family. But she's not an Elemental, she's something else, something not so earthly."
“What's your theory then?" Targa's eyes looked almost black in the dying light. They shone as they looked at Georjie, expectant.
"When I got home from Ireland, I went out into my backyard and took off my shoes."
"If anyone had ever told me I'd see you walk barefoot through dirt I would have laughed in their face.” I smirked. "Oh, how things change."
"Yeah." Targa chuckled.
Georjie smiled. "Have you guys ever heard of ley lines?"
I shook my head and Targa said she hadn't either.
"My Aunt Faith first told me about them. She said they are energetically rich lines running through the earth like a grid. Ley lines connect places with supernatural significance. The places in the grid where the ley lines meet are, as you can imagine, very rich with supernatural energy. And the ley lines move; they're not always in the same place. When I stand with my feet in the dirt, I can see them."
Targa and I shared an impressed glance. "Really?" I leaned forward. "What do they look like?"
"Like a stripe of bright light."
"The way your eyes look when you're the Wise," Targa added.
Georjie nodded. "Saltford sits at the intersection of three of these lines. In fact, our high school sits right where they cross."
I dropped my chin with surprise. "Three?"
We went silent and listened to the crickets chirp.
"So, what do you think that means?" I prompted.
"With no one to explain it to me, I have to guess," Georjie said. "But I think it means Gaia, if you want to use the term, has chosen us to be a benevolent force against forces like this." She jerked her chin at the cinders in the bowl. "Maybe this is nature's way of fighting back?"
"Sat," Targa said.
"What?" Georjie and I looked at her, confused.
"You said sits at the intersection of three ley lines. But our high school doesn't exist anymore."
"Maybe that's a good thing," I said holding up my hands. "Don't shoot me, but my little brother has some funky powers too, and maybe Gaia wasn't sure where to stop. I don't fancy someone like Nick Hiller or Pat Ulley getting supernatural powers, do you?"
Georjie and Targ
a laughed at the idea of two of the biggest bullies in school becoming supernaturals.
Georjie leaned forward. "They say that after high school, friends grow apart and real life begins." She looked at me. "You're going to go to Arcturus and who knows who you'll meet and what you'll learn." She shifted her gaze to Targa. "If I can read you right, I'm guessing you're going to be on a plane to Poland pretty soon."
Targa didn't deny it.
Georjie reached out a hand and clasped one of mine and one of Targa's, bringing them together and putting her other hand over the top.
"I promise, that no matter where life takes us, no matter how far apart we might travel, that if you ever need me, I'll come running. You don't have to promise me the same, I would never put that kind of pressure on you, but I want you to know that everything I am loves everything you are, and always will."
It surprised me to discover I had tears pouring down my face, and neither Targa's nor Georjie's cheeks were dry either. I squeezed my friends’ hands.
"Me too," I sniffed. "I can't say it as eloquently as that. But I love you both. When you need me, you call me. I'll move heaven and earth to be there."
Targa's eyes were shining and water was streaming from her eyes unbidden. "I also promise this."
Epilogue
AKIKO
A long sword lit with blue flames stood point down in a block of white marble. The landscape was a white backdrop of nothingness. I was in the Æther, but I couldn't remember getting here. I looked down at myself, my hands. I was whole, and dressed in jeans and a white and blue plaid shirt. It was an outfit I knew well and in fact it was the last outfit I could remember wearing. I looked up at the flaming sword again, then looked behind myself for someone or something that might clue me in to what was happening.
"Yuudai?" My voice echoed into infinity.
Slowly, my friend materialized from the white.
"Akiko," he began, but stopped when he saw the flaming sword. His face became still. "So, you won then."
"Won?"
"You defeated the Archon."
I gasped and staggered backward as the memory hit me. It came flooding out of the white and all around me, filling my memory suddenly like a brilliant liquid.
I'm dead. I should be dead. Is this death?
"Why are you here?" was the question that came out of my mouth.
"You called me, Akiko," Yuudai answered with a smile, his black hair swayed gently against his shoulders, moving from the heat of the sword.
"Why am I here?" Yes, that was a better question.
"To take this up, I presume." Yuudai gestured to the sword. "After all, it's got your name on it."
I stared at the sword, seeing no name anywhere. I walked forward, and the blazing blue fire from the sword was both hot and cold against my face. I had sensation. It was the only thing I could feel, in fact. My eyes dropped the length of it to the white marble where glyphs were engraved into the stone. I squinted at them and they seemed to swim and change and form a word I could read. My own name.
"I don't understand, Yuudai. Help me make sense of this, please." My fingers curled in and out and I found myself positively yearning to take the sword in my hand.
He chuckled softly. "I should think it self-explanatory, but if you need it spelled out, I can do that. Little Hanta willingly gave up her life in the ultimate act of love."
"So I did die then?"
"It's what you thought was going to happen," he went on, "otherwise you would not see this beautiful flaming weapon in front of you. But Hanta don't die. They ascend."
"Asc-" I stopped. "What am I now then? An archangel or something?"
Yuudai put a finger to his lips and smiled. "Drop the arch, I think, but I'm no expert."
I let out a long breath and the blue flames leapt and danced toward me, calling to me. "What happens when I touch it?"
"We'll say goodbye, I should think. You'll be going where I can't follow." He spread his hands. "The rest is a mystery."
"Can I ever be human again?" I looked at him. "Will I ever see my friends again?"
I was already grasping for their names, which seemed to be fading from my memory the way water evaporates from cloth.
"You were never human to begin with, Akiko."
"Wait!" There were faces swimming in my mind, faces I loved but faces that were already fading. "I don't want to forget!"
I sucked in a breath, clutching at the memories of my human experience. I was losing them. And fast.
Desperately, I called out to the man with the black hair who was also fading into the white. "Tell them I love them!" Tell them…"
He was gone. There was nothing but me and the blue sword and being drawn toward it like a magnet. The sword was irresistible.
I moved forward on a strong, confident stride with nothing else in my mind but the sword.
My sword.
I wrapped my hands around the flaming blue handle, pulling it free from the marble. The blue flames engulfed my hand, my arm, my body, filling me, changing me.
I am Malachi, the sword whispered to my mind. Welcome, Angel.
<<<<>>>>
What to read next…
When my mother died, I ran to the ocean like a coward. Its cradle of salt puckered my memories and withered my sorrow like a grape drying in the sun. I had cheated grief and was foolish enough to think I had gotten away with it.
When Nathan died, I couldn’t run away. No matter how much I flinched, bending toward the Atlantic the way ivy strains for rays of light, I could not leave. Grief was back to take what belonged to it for the time it was allotted.
I had everything I wanted a few short years ago. My mate. My daughter. A home, a family. It made my head spin to think how much could change so suddenly. I mused, wondering later if I was the only mermaid to ever walk fully through the five stages of grief. But I had my daughter.
Targa had yet to turn, the color and shape of her fins were yet to be revealed, but she would. I had been so sure of it then. Siren genes are passed from mother to daughter, without fail. Young legs melded into a shimmering virgin tail in response to a salty sea. But Targa didn’t turn in response to ocean water, not the first time, not any time after that. Something was wrong. I shoved my fear down deep into some dark corner where Targa would not see it and said with a smile that we’d just have to keep trying. I had turned at the age of three, but if there could be late-bloomers in the human race, why not ours too?
Her fifth birthday came and went, still she hadn’t turned. Concern sent its barbs into me like a thistle, then it rooted and grew.
Targa and I had weekly late night secret swims in the Atlantic, which had once been fun but were now polluted with expectation and suspense. Coaching sessions (my idea), where I attempted human psychology exercises I’d found in outdated textbooks at the library; guided visualization, breathing techniques, and even a failed go at hypnosis. The memory of her skinny little frame sitting in a bathtub containing more salt than water (Targa’s idea) is still enough to fill my eyes with moisture.
I don’t know exactly when she lost hope, but she hid it expertly, patiently participating however I asked.
I ignored the creeping thoughts that whispered in my mind; she didn’t even like water, didn’t really want to go for swim, couldn’t hear the ocean calling her. I would shove the thoughts away violently, excusing them as nothing but my own anxiety. It was ridiculous. A daughter of a mermaid who disliked the ocean. Impossible. When I muzzled those fears, I became aware of others of a different kind. Not my own, but hers, for me.
She could see the want in my eyes. Whatever mechanism bees and dogs used to smell fear, Targa had it for despair. She could sense it on me, reeking like cheap perfume. Her eyes dipped in desperation, her obvious desire not to disappoint me sliced through me like a white-hot blade from heart to gut.
She thought she was my tormentor.
The realization struck like a hammer and gave me the strength to do what was needed:
Let it go.
The ocean could call. I’d let the smell of it crucify me, the sound of its waves crash against me, echo through me, call me, beg me.
Targa’s need and my love for her was greater. If she never turned and I was locked in a land-cycle for the rest of our lives, so be it.
So be it.
Surfacing ties together Returning and Born of Water and chronicles Mira’s struggles as a single mom and how she joined the all-male salvage team. Don’t miss it! Order your copy on Amazon!
Acknowledgments
A huge thank you to Teresa Hull and Nicola Aquino for their sharp eyes and even sharper questions. Thank you to Andy Palmer, Glenn Ricci, Andrea Gleason, Shandi Petersen, and Aaron Schneider for their help in making these stories as authentic as possible.
Thank you to my VIP Readers for their never ending support and encouragement (and defence against trolls). Thank you to my family and friends for having my back and standing with me when things are hard. Thank you to YOU, dear reader for having enough faith in me to pick this book up and make it to the end of the Elemental Origins Series!
Does this book signal the end of these characters’ stories? Not at all! Even now I am working on Surfacing, a story that links Returning to Born of Water. I also have more stories percolating for Saxony, Targa, and Georjayna. I hope you’ll join them on their adventures!
If you enjoyed this story, or any of my work, please take the time to pen a review on Amazon, they help authors like me even more than you know! Positive reviews make a title more visible so other readers who might like them can find them more easily.
Thank you again for spending some of your reading time with me. Now it’s back to the keyboard!
Warm hugs,
Abby
About the Author
A.L. Knorr is a rocketing Canadian author with more than 116,500 copies of her books downloaded in her first year of publishing. A nature enthusiast who loves shipwrecks, nautical history, and well-written fantasy, Abby dreamed of being a writer since she understood what a story was. She has plans to expand the Elemental stories. Join Abby and other readers in her private VIP Reader Lounge group on Facebook, or sign up for a free copy of Returning, Episode I on her website at www.alknorrbooks.com.
