Elemental Hunger (5 page)

The sentries turned, and the sound of their footsteps faded. I waited, still as stone, barely breathing. Hours might have passed. My legs grew stiff and tight, but still I didn’t dare move. I felt a pressing sense of hopelessness.
Two sentries are hunting me.

“She’s not here,” a harsh voice said, interrupting my hyperventilating thoughts.

“Yes, she is. You heard the door,” a younger man replied, coming closer.

“Yes, but she could’ve opened that door with a blast of smoke and gone out the front while we’ve been piddling around back here.”

Blazes, I wish I’d been able to attend Firemaker training. See, I didn’t know I could control smoke.

“Let’s split up,” the younger sentry said. Something in his voice nagged at my memory.

“Right. So you can kill her as soon as you spot her? Don’t think so.”

“My orders are to bring her back to Crylon. Councilman Ferguson didn’t specify dead or alive.”

“The Supreme Elemental wants her alive—and in Tarpulin. If she dies, so do you.”

My blood ran cold. What did the Supremist want with me? And in Tarpulin? See, people didn’t return from “visiting” the Supreme Elemental.

He made sure of that. And if he wanted me, my survival rate plummeted. He always got what he wanted.

I remembered what my favorite teacher, Educator Graham, had said. “Supremist Pederson keeps all Elemental records.” Her voice had sounded as old as she looked. “Every Elemental must send documentation of their Manifestation to Tarpulin. This is how the Supremist keeps track of the talent in the United Territories. He watches for the most talented Elementals to train at his personal academy. He assigns cities to Councils he deems worthy. He is an extremely powerful man. Dangerous, but essential to our survival.”

At the time, I hadn’t yet Manifested my Element, and already I hoped for a Council. Because Councils had servants. Friends. Each other.

They belonged.

“Take care to serve your Councilman well, Gabriella.” Educator Graham had said, looking deep into my eyes. “You do not want to deal with the Supremist if you can avoid it.”

I’d believed my teacher. The urgent way her eyes sparkled, the breathless trepidation in her voice, said more than her words.

That intense terror settled in the silence now surrounding me, because I wasn’t obeying my Councilman very well.

“I think she’s here,” the younger sentry said, jerking me out of the fear-filled cloud in my head. “I want my knife back. I say we wait.”

“You’re the
Unmanifested
who missed when you had the chance. Wait if you want, boy. I’m done here. She’s long gone—and we’re wasting time. The only thing we’ve got on our side is this infernal weather.”

“What does that mean?”
“Come on, boy. Don’t they teach you anything at that school? Firemakers need heat. It’s a good thing this winter has been so cold—and so long. Now let’s go. This freak is fast, and my boss is impatient.” The Tarpulin sentry’s voice faded as he moved away.

After a moment, the Crylon sentry followed, whacking the plastic door as he went.

I waited until I was sure they’d gone, thinking about how the temperature affected me. I’d never noticed it before, but I could summon and control my fire more easily when it was warm.

I couldn’t shake the fact that two sentries were hunting me. And just thinking about Tarpulin made my hands shake as I pushed myself up, waiting for the feeling to come back into my legs. They felt like they’d never forgive me for pushing them to run all night. Each step proved painful, as the blisters on my feet rubbed against my shoes.

I discovered I’d been hiding behind a long coat hanging in the corner of the closet. I pulled it down and found gloves in one pocket. And in the other, something crinkled when I touched it.

I paused at the noise. Minutes passed, and no one showed up.

I pulled out the object, ignited one finger, and looked at the slim bar. The brown wrapper had writing I couldn’t read and made a lot of noise when I ripped it off. The bar inside was brown, crisscrossed with grayish lines.

I sniffed it, but smelled nothing. When I bit into it, the insides broke into little pieces. I found it disgusting—and gritty—but, hey, food was food.

I searched the closet for more to eat but came away empty. After slipping my arms into the too-big coat, I hobbled out into the room. The floorboards creaked. I froze with one foot hanging in midair. But no one came back.

Not daring to light more than a single finger, I searched the room. The desk drawer held more gritty bars, and I shoved all five of them in the front pocket of my hoodie.

I crept away from the plastic door, listening for the sentries. I heard nothing. After igniting both palms, I looked around. I stood at the mouth of a warehouse. Cracks ran in weaving patterns over the cement. Towering steel shelves held weeping cardboard boxes.

Cautiously, I moved forward, snuffed out the fire in one hand and pulled the nearest box toward me. A scratching sound scraped through the silence.

Status: Empty.

All the boxes on the lower shelf had been emptied. Maybe the city hadn’t been abandoned as fast as I’d supposed. I extinguished my other hand and let my eyes adjust to the dark.

After a few minutes, I could see well enough to hoist myself onto the shelf in front of me. Boxes: Barren.

I climbed up another shelf. Status: Dusty.

Then another. The top shelf held boxes that hadn’t been opened. I slashed through the tape with the sentry knife and pulled out two cans.

They had pop-top lids that grated on my nerves when I peeled them off. The smell wafting from the cans made my mouth water. I drained them both, balking a little at the chunks of meat. At least I thought it was supposed to be meat. Either way, the stew would provide enough energy to keep me going.

I had to travel light, so I only took four cans of stew, shoving one in each of my pockets, glad my jeans were of the cargo variety. The last two cans went in my coat pockets.

I jumped down from the tower of shelves just as lights buzzed on overhead. I crouched, squinting in the bright light. I’d only heard stories about
electricity
, the man-made light people used before the Manifestation.

“I knew you weren’t gone. Stand up, I already see you.” The young voice, still so familiar, sliced through the emptiness in the warehouse.

I straightened slowly. The Crylon sentry stood just inside the plastic door, a knife in one hand, and the other positioned in front of his body for balance.

His attack stance.

My own hands hung limply at my sides, the stolen knife tucked in my waistband. Without moving my head, I glanced around. What I saw: Shelves and more shelves.

“Gabriella Kilpatrick, you’re under arrest. You killed seventeen Elemental students in the northern barracks at the training school in the city of Crylon.”

“I did not,” I murmured, though it sounded like a shout in the spacious warehouse.

The sentry’s eyes narrowed, and he stepped forward. Without warning, he launched the knife. I dodged to the left and raised my hand. The blade skimmed my coat before embedding in the door behind me.

The
ping!
of metal on metal registered in my brain as I threw a plume of fire down the aisle. A couple of empty boxes caught the flames, and the soothing smell of smoke filled my head.

“You killed Harriett,” he said, stamping his steaming boots to extinguish the fire.

“A Watermaiden ought to be able to quench the flames,” I shot back.

“So it’s her fault?”

I shrugged. I hated Harriet Thornton, but that didn’t mean I’d torched her barracks. “I’m not saying that. I didn’t set that blazing fire.”

“When did your Element Manifest?”

I didn’t see why he cared, but I couldn’t think of a reason not to tell him. “Last fall.”

“Why didn’t you report it?”

Hot infernos.
“I—”

“Do you know what the Supreme Elemental does to liars?”

“You don’t work for him.”

“Everyone works for him.” The scorn in his voice nagged at me again.

I hadn’t been paying attention, and the sentry had moved halfway down the aisle. “Don’t come any closer.” I raised my hands into my own attack stance, which was way less impressive than his.

“Why? You afraid you’ll recognize me? I’m surprised you haven’t yet.”

I studied his face. His square jaw sloped up into hollow cheeks. His brown eyes and brown hair weren’t extraordinary, except for a white spot of hair above his right ear.

“Patches,” I breathed out. I didn’t know which emotion ran hotter: Relief or rage.

Patches grinned, a gesture without happiness. “You do remember.”

“How could I forget? We lived together until you turned twelve. You—” I took a step forward, but he drew another knife. The motion was fluid, unrushed, and precise.

“Gabby—”

“Don’t you dare,” I said, the sound floating across the space between us. I recalled my stocky twelve-year-old best friend who threw rotten apples into the kitchen wastebasket with exactness. The cook had spotted his talent and reported it. He’d gone to train with the sentries the next day. He’d missed twice with his knives—on purpose.

He wouldn’t miss a third time.

His eyes glittered in the artificial light, true sentry’s eyes. Friendless. Emotionless.

“You should do something about your hair.” He threw his blade at the same moment I ducked and sent flames sliding along the cement. Another metallic clang behind me confirmed the door there.

As I straightened, Patches jumped to the lowest shelf, his pant leg flaming. I pulled one can from my pocket and flung it at him. I’d had plenty of practice in the kitchens too.

The can struck him in the middle of his forehead. He groaned, a sad, strangled sound, and sagged to the floor. Blood crawled over his forehead, covered his ear, stained his white patch of hair.

Horror and disbelief tore at my stomach. Sickened at what I’d done to my childhood friend, I gathered both blades from the door and fled the warehouse.

Bright sunlight blinded me, but a deafening alarm shrieked from the gaping door. Wherever the Tarpulin sentry was, he’d hear that siren. I seriously doubted a can of beef stew would stop him. Nothing could stop the will of the Supreme Elemental—and he’d sent his sentry for me. Surely his
best
sentry.

I stumbled down an alley slick with melting snow, attempting to put as much distance between me and Patches as possible.

I made it to the street before vomiting.

I melted a
handful of snow to clean my face. The memory of Patches’s blood coating his white hair filled my mind. Remembering his words, I pulled up my hood to hide my incriminating hair and glanced behind me. Still no sentry. Now only the sickness knotting my stomach remained. Sure, I had the power to defend myself, but I’d never used it like that before. I’d thought about it—dreamed about it even—but never done it. And Patches was never the person on the receiving end.

I ran away from the alarm. I kept my eye on the sun and steered my course toward the southwest, no final destination in mind. Gradually, the high-rises became single-story homes with spots of yellow grass showing through the snow.

After a couple of hours, maybe more, I turned toward a house and scampered to the back door.

Drifting snow blocked the entryway, matting down organic debris and creating a sloppy, muddy mess. Upturned furniture littered the space, and all the cupboards had been thrown open. The air smelled of rotting leaves and wet wood.

A stove—I’d seen pictures in my classes—sat in one corner. This had to be a kitchen, but it wasn’t big enough. At school, we cooked for hundreds. I didn’t miss my work there, not a little bit. I’d just never considered that my future held a life somewhere else.

I searched the cupboards and came away with nothing. I explored the other rooms, finding a rusted toilet, bare mattresses, and what I thought was a
television
. Nothing happened when I pushed the buttons.

Even though the sun shone, the house felt cold and disturbingly empty. It reminded me of the communes, of myself.

I’d been born in the communes—like all children in Crylon—and moved to the school when I turned three. I’d returned to the communes only once—to see if I wanted to become a Communal Mother. My tour guide led me down a narrow path with tents on either side.

“Elemental men come to visit the Communal Mothers,” she said, a smile painted in place.

I heard the words that went unsaid. Men visited the communes with one goal: To produce more Elementals.

In front of us, a man with flushed cheeks and wearing a flowing emerald robe stepped out of a tent. A moment later, a beautiful girl, not much older than me, followed. “Sir. You forgot your gloves.”

She didn’t even know his name. He didn’t smile or thank her. He simply took his gloves and marched away. And she held her hands over her stomach like he’d just done her a huge favor.

I made my decision right then, though I finished my visit to the Communes. But the life of child-bearing, cooking, cleaning, and farming repulsed me. I’d rather die first, but I couldn’t blame the Unmanifested girls who chose Communal Motherhood over menial labor at the school or Councilman’s fortress. Death at a young age was hard to look straight in the face.