The Fifth Elemental - Shepisode 4 - The Earth at Our Feet Read online

The Fifth Elemental

  Season 1

  Shepisode 4

  The Earth at Our Feet

  A. I. Nasser

  Copyright 2015 A. I. Nasser

  Thank you for downloading this ebook. This ebook remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be redistributed to others for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy from their favorite authorized retailer. Thank you for your support.

  Jennifer loved her job.

  It wasn't the hours, because God knew that she had seen better. There were days even her father had been sceptical about how little time she spent making money versus the amount of time she spent spending it. She wasn't growing up, he had said, and she attributed it to the fact that he had spent most of his life working fifty hour jobs just to make a living.

  She assumed he was happy now.

  Flipping through the most recent book she had picked out of her immense library of unread literature, she found herself quickly ignoring the sound of the morning commutes. The subway gave her time to catch up on a hobby she now had little time for. Not that there was a lack of reading material. Working for one of the biggest publishers in the country, she still had five manuscripts lying around her office waiting to be reviewed. It was just that sometimes she needed a break from the obscure and more time in what felt familiar.

  She looked up from her book as the subway slowed down and she watched people drift in and out through the sliding doors. That was another thing she loved about her commute to work: the ability to observe. On most days she had a little notebook tucked away in her purse, and when she felt especially inspired she would watch one or two of her fellow commuters, then write. She had recently taken up a creative writing class, and creating characters and their backstories interested her immensely.

  Today, though, she was content to just watch. Besides, the Stephen King novel in her hand was rich enough with characters to quench her thirst for at least a week. She had started on it a few nights before, at first reluctant to take on the immense volume, now unable to put it down. Sometimes she wished the manuscripts that got thrown on her desk were as interesting. She craved something new that didn't read like fan fiction.

  Half an hour more and she put the book away, wrapped her blazer over her arm and slid out of the subway car with a bustle of other commuters. She skipped up the stairs, all smiles, and walked the next two blocks to her office building. The day's heat was mixed with a light breeze that made the walk tolerable, and she began making plans of spending her coffee break in the small park around the corner from where she got her latte and sandwich.

  Jennifer made her way into the office lobby, quickly greeting the security guard as she swiped herself in. Adjusting her purse straps on her shoulder, she almost whistled her way down the halls to her small, shared office, holding herself back lest she awaken the dragon that was her boss. If she had learned one thing in her company, it was never show you were having a good day. It usually meant more manuscripts to read, and most likely those her boss had already decided were not worth publishing.

  "You got a call."

  "Good morning to you, too, Shannon."

  Shannon Carter was busy ripping a manuscript apart when Jennifer walked in, cursing under her breath as she threw the remains into the bin next to her. Her greying hair was tied back in a ponytail and her glasses were hanging around her neck like a noose. Despite having a reputation of being the only employee her boss was scared of, Shannon had a soft spot for Jennifer.

  "It's never a good morning when you spend the entire night trudging through another story about na?ve girls falling in love with enchanting vampires." Shannon put her glasses on, picked up another manuscript and sat back in her chair. "Whatever happened to the times when you had to drive a stake through a bloodsucker just to make sure life moved on?"

  "I hear zombies are on the rise," Jennifer joked, turning on the coffee machine as she shuffled through her morning get-in-the-mood routine.

  "Yes, yes," Shannon waved, "and they'll be friendly, good-doers who want to live a normal life in the midst of humans, have jobs and pay their taxes. Mary Shelley would be turning in her grave."

  "If she's not already out there among us," Jennifer joked, her smile quickly faded when Shannon gave her a disapproving look. "I got a call?"

  "Some idiot says he wants to discuss a manuscript."

  Jennifer frowned, pouring herself her drink and sitting down. "That's not how this works. How did he get through?"

  "Apparently our secretaries are paid even less than we are."

  Jennifer shook her head. She took a sip from the coffee she already knew would taste horrible, grabbed the last manuscript she had been reading and began her day.

  #

  "You're up early."

  William Fern folded the paper he had been reading and looked at his wife, Sheila, over the rim of his glasses. He had heard her wake up earlier, the sounds of the shower a refreshing companion to the sound of coffee dripping into a cup. He loved mornings when he was required to do nothing more than be a husband.

  "Thought I'd get a head start to the day," William said, smiling as he watched Sheila pour herself a cup of coffee. "You know how rare days off are."

  "Was it a head start you wanted, or did you want to make sure I wasn't the one making the coffee?" Sheila asked, pulling out a chair and sitting in front of him.

  William smiled at her and returned to reading his paper.

  Sheila sipped at her coffee, watching her husband, then asked, "So when are you going to tell me about the phone call?"

  "What phone call?"

  "Last night," Sheila said. "You know I'm a light sleeper."

  William folded his paper, placed it on the table in front of him and took off his glasses. He folded his legs and placed his hands on his knees, waiting for a confrontation he didn't want to have.

  "Don't give me that look," Sheila sighed.

  "What look?"

  "Stop it. You know I hate it when you hide things like this from me."

  William sighed. "Ali says we have to start building on the site. Something about how not doing so would raise suspicion."

  "I thought you were paying people to look the other way?"

  "Well," William shrugged, "apparently things have changed."

  "Do we have the money for it?"

  "Don't you worry about that," William assured her.

  Sheila shook her head slowly. "I am always going to worry about you," she said softly. "You carry too much weight on your shoulders. Isn't Sommerst enough?"

  William raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Do you think I want to extra trouble?"

  "No," Sheila replied. "It's just, you're in the middle of two groups tearing at each other's throats, and for what? A tomb?"

  "The tomb, Sheila," William raised a finger. "Not any tomb. You know how important this is."

  Sheila nodded slowly, her eyes on her husband, then got up and kissed his cheek. "Just make sure we don't end up fighting another war. We've lost enough Ferns to the last one."

  William watched his wife leave. He knew that she was right, but couldn't admit it. He couldn't turn his back on a family obligation, the protection of the tomb a sacred oath both his and Ali's families had sworn to uphold. He knew what compromising something like that meant, and as long as his kind was at war with each other, as long as the Ancients had their agendas and Lam was still out in the world, the tomb had to remain hidden.

  He tossed the rest of his coffee down the drain and made his way upstairs, thinking when the
best time would be to call Ali and get an update. The man was the only person he had ever trusted fully, and despite having only met him once, he never doubted his loyalty.

  William walked into his room, stripped off his robe and made his way into the bathroom. He turned on the shower and stepped under the water. Closing his eyes, he leaned forward against the wall and enjoyed the feel of the water running over his body. He felt the energy inside him grow, pushing at him from within, begging to escape, but he pushed it down.

  He had promised Sheila that he wouldn't use his powers, had promised to grow old with her, but the years hadn't been kind to him. He could feel the beginnings of arthritis in his joints, and his eyes were slowly giving up on him. He was even starting to have problems urinating properly. He had never thought about death before marrying Sheila, knowing that he could heal whenever he wanted, live for centuries as many before him had.

  William felt warmth behind his eyes, and started to scrub himself quickly. As the years passed, he had found it harder to quench the need to heal. Even now, he could feel the stirrings inside him, fighting back against the walls he was throwing up against them. He rinsed out the shampoo from his hair, turned off the tap and quickly grabbed a towel.

  Standing in front of the mirror, he dried himself quickly, doing a double take when he glanced up at his reflection. Apparently, he hadn't been too careful. He took a closer look at himself, cursing the fact that he could see clearly without his glasses, and saw that some of the white in his hair replaced by black strands, a memory of its former colour. The wrinkles around his eyes, that he had come to accept as a natural part of growing old, were gone. He looked ten years younger.

  Sheila was going to kill him.

  #

  Jennifer was counting down the minutes to her break. After almost four hours going over her current manuscript, she realized that not only did her eyes start to itch, but her mind was already throwing rocks at the inside of her skull. Sometimes the submissions her boss handed down to her to review seemed more like punishment than actual editorial work. Already marking the manuscript in front of her as 'unfit for publishing' and pulling up the draft reply normally sent to authors who didn't make it past her or Shannon, she decided to spend the last twenty minutes before her break planning her weekend.

  That was why, when Shannon interrupted her thoughts saying that the same man who had called earlier was on the line for her, she felt a bit of irritation. Answering her phone, she started working out which of the incompetent secretaries outside was letting unnecessary calls through and what she would do to them once she had found the culprit.

  "Jennifer Gear," she said, cradling the phone between her cheek and shoulder.

  "Hello," the man on the other end answered excitedly. "This is Luke."

  Jennifer waited, wondering if the name was supposed to mean anything, and when nothing registered, she simply coughed a reply. Experience had taught her that if one of these calls did make it through the first line of defence, she was supposed to keep it as short and impersonal as possible.

  "Luke Delume?"

  "I'm sorry, Mr. Delume," Jennifer said quickly, coldly. "The name doesn't ring any bells."

  "That's a real shame," Luke replied. "I would have thought my novel would leave a lasting memory."

  "Mr. Delume, I apologize, but you should have been informed that we reply to submissions within six to eight months," Jennifer said. "Before that, calling us is unnecessary."

  She heard the man laugh. "Wow, your memory really is awful," he said between chuckles. "You already replied. I was asked to make revisions to the text I sent, and I was just making sure you got those since I didn't receive any confirmation."

  Jennifer frowned and covered the mouthpiece of her phone, waving at Shannon to get her attention. When the other woman looked up at her, irritated at being interrupted, Jennifer asked, "Do you know a Luke Delume?"

  Shannon just shook her head.

  "Hello?"

  "Yes, Mr. Delume," Jennifer answered, shaking her head at Shannon in confusion. "I'm going to transfer you back to accounts. Please give them your number and I'll get back to you in a few minutes."

  Jennifer hung up and threw her hands up in the air.

  "Who the hell is Luke Delume?" Shannon asked, Jennifer's call apparently more intriguing than the manuscript she was reading.

  "I have no idea. He says I contacted him, asking him for revisions."

  "Well that can't be right," Shannon frowned, taking off her glasses. "You'd remember that."

  "That's what I'm thinking," Jennifer said, strumming her fingers on her desk, wracking her brain for any memory of the man. "Did you send him a template reply and forget to change my name on it?"

  "Ok, now you're just insulting me," Shannon said. She put her glasses back on and looked back at what she was doing. "Check your logs and fix this before the dragon finds out."

  Jennifer bit her lower lip and nodded. "Lunch first?" she asked Shannon.

  Shannon just shook her head and waved the invite off.

  #

  "So how far is this Keep?"

  Ethan had sat in the passenger seat quietly for the first hour of the drive, content with listening to the radio play one classic rock song after the other. They had left the safe house in a hurry, Lucius sending them both off and wishing Ethan the best of luck in a way that was far from comforting.

  "A few more hours," Steven replied, speaking for the first time since they had gotten on the road. "More if we stop to rest somewhere."

  Ethan nodded and turned his attention to the world outside the car. He had wanted to talk to Rick and the others before leaving, maybe get any answers he could before being handed over to another caretaker. For the past two days, he felt and more and more like a package than a person, surprisingly without protest, more and more complacent. After the motel, he was starting to believe that these people really were his best chance for survival.

  Ethan's mind wandered back to Alicia. He missed her. He wanted to pick up his phone and dial her number, if not to just hear her voice tell him to leave a message. Scenes of the burning apartment building kept flashing before his eyes, and despite being told that the girl he had fallen in love with was gone, a little bit of him still held onto some absurd hope that everyone was wrong. A part of him wanted to believe that she had made it out somehow, that the body he was told they had found had belonged to someone else.

  "Do you want to stop somewhere?"

  "Excuse me?"

  "You've been awfully quiet," Steven remarked. "Maybe you'd like to stop and walk your feet."

  Ethan sighed. "I just need a few hours of sleep."

  "You'll get that at the Keep," Steven nodded. "No one's going to bother you there."

  "A little more low key?"

  "In a way," Steven smiled. "Too much excitement so far, huh?"

  "That's not why I was asking."

  "Then why were you asking?"

  "Let's just say that I've been through a hell of a few days with little explanation and more questions than answers," Ethan said. "No answers actually."

  "What do you want to know?"

  Ethan looked behind and around him, squinting at Steven. "Are you sure that if I ask you anything, a firing squad won't materialize in front of us?"

  Steven laughed. "After that little incident at the motel, I'm sure they'll be a lot more careful now."

  Ethan observed the man for a few seconds before asking, "Ok, so who are they?"

  "We call them the Renegades," Steven explained. "They started small, detached from the Order, grew over the years. Let's just say they're not very nice people."

  "Is that why you're fighting them?"

  "With what we can do, temptation is a major pain in the neck," Steven answered. "Some elementals use their powers for the wrong reasons."

  "Ele-what?"

  "Elementals."

  "What are elementals?"

  "The question is who, not what," Steven smiled. He slowed t
he car down and park at the edge of the highway. "Here, I'll show you."

  #

  Jennifer ate her lunch in silence. She had found a nice little spot at the end of the park, away from the hustle of the crowd, and had set up nicely. She had taken a manuscript with her, knowing well that she could push her break a little longer as long as she had work to show for it, and of course Shannon was able to keep the dragon away from her.

  Taking a sip out of her bottle and concentrating on the page in front of her, she paid little attention to the man who sat at the other end of the bench, until she noticed him staring. Looking up from her work, she returned his smile uncomfortably, hoping that maybe he would get up and leave.

  "You never called me back," the man said, startling her.

  "Excuse me?"

  The man slid a bit closer, holding out his hand. "Luke Delume," he introduced himself. "You said you'd call me back in a few minutes."

  Jennifer stared at his hand but didn't take it, feeling a shiver down her spine at the eeriness of the situation she now found herself in. "Are you stalking me?"

  Luke laughed. "God no," he said. "This must seem really odd, I'm so sorry. I was actually going to your office when I spotted you here."

  "Still seems like stalking."

  "You really don't remember me," Luke said, his smile unwavering. Jennifer began to wonder if his muscles hurt. "I sit three seats behind you in creative writing."

  Jennifer frowned. "You're from my class?"

  "Wait, you didn't think - " he stammered, "Oh, now that makes sense about the whole getting back to me in a few months thing. Wow, this is a misunderstanding."

  Jennifer said nothing, waiting for him to continue and rattling her brain on whether or not she had seen him before. The creative writing class took place twice a week, the second session a repetition to accommodate the number of students that had applied as well as give people flexibility. She preferred attending on Tuesdays, but often had found herself forced to take the Friday class because of work. She wasn't surprised that she didn't remember Luke Delume from the tens of faces she saw each time.

  "We met two weeks back, and you told me you worked in publishing," Luke was explaining. "That's why I asked you to take a look at my novel."