Treasure of the Fire Kingdom (The Elemental Phases Book 4) (40 page)

Original
Timeline: 2536 AD

The
remaining Elementals said, “Oh no, Daphne, you’re crazy.  It will never work. 
You’ll just end up dying.”

But, I’d
rather die trying than live wondering if I could’ve saved him.

Daphne,
of the Time House- “After the Fall: A History of the Dark War”

“If
you could stop the barriers from ever falling… would you do it?”

Zakkery,
of the Smoke House glanced at her appraisingly.  “Probably not.”  The sharp,
perfect angles of his face were illuminated in the flickering flames from the
fireplace.  He was playing it cool, but the gears in his head were turning,
now.  Trying to figure out her game and how he could win it.

She’d
definitely
picked the right conspirator.

Daphne,
of the Time House leaned back in her uncomfortable chair and kept pressing. 
“Probably not” wasn’t a “no,” after all.  Zakkery just needed some convincing.

“Why
would you even hesitate to stop the first salvo in the Dark War?”  She made her
voice sound surprised.  “Half a millennia later, the Elementals still haven’t
fully recovered from what happened after the barriers fell.  The Dark War
killed the best of our people.”

“I
know.”  Zakkery smirked.  “But, it didn’t kill
me
.”

Which
was exactly why Daphne was paying him this little visit.  She’d searched for
Zakkery for decades, because she needed his memories more than anyone’s. 
Zakkery had
been
there, on that first day.  He was the only one who
could tell her what she needed to know.

It
had been damn hard to find the guy, too.  She finally tracked him down in the
deserted and mostly forgotten human realm, where he’d declared himself “Emperor
of Earth.”

Not
that anyone else noticed, since the humans had died out five centuries before.

She’d
pounded on his door every day for over year until, at long last, he relented. 
Today, he’d finally let her in and she planned to take full advantage of his
sudden willingness to say something more than “piss off.”  If this was going to
work, Daphne needed someone with nothing to lose in this reality and who shared
her own special brand of moral laxity.  Zakkery’s answer just made her more
determined to get him on board Team Fuck-Up History.

Outside
his stone cottage, the wind howled like a dying animal and a whiteout blizzard
was raging.  The thatched roof and lack electricity lend to the atmosphere of
cold, bleak, “why the cats would anyone live here?” ickyness.  The sooner he
just gave in and did what she wanted, the sooner Daphne could never, ever see
this dump, again.  Gaia forsaken rocks in the Himalayas weren’t her favorite
places to travel.

“Maybe
you
survived the Dark War, but what of all the people who were lost?”

“What
about them?”  He settled back in his own seat and regarded her with an
encouraging lack of compassion for all the Phases and humans who’d been
slaughtered in the endless war.

“If
they’d all been spared, don’t you ever wonder how different the world would be?”

“More
crowded?”  He exhaled another stream of smoke.

“I
take it you didn’t lose anyone?”  Daphne had been researching the events
surrounding the Dark War for decades, so she was already fairly sure of the
answer.  Still, if Zakkery had lost some heretofore unknown best friend or favorite
teacher or Chihuahua to the fighting it would be an awesome card to play.

Her
usual cover story for her little recon missions was her great historical tome
After
the Fall: A History of the Dark War
.  Most of what she’d written wasn’t
exactly scholarly --more like a suicide note-- but no ever asked to see any
drafts so it didn’t really matter.  Most survivors were willing to share their
memories simply because they wanted someone to listen to their recollections. 
Five centuries after the barriers feel, the effects of the Dark War still
haunted most Phases.

Zakkery
was different, though.  Maybe he was haunted by something else.

“No,
I didn’t lose anyone.”  The corner of his mouth tilted up at a humorless
angle.  “I’ve never had anyone
to
lose.”

Cats.

She’d
thought as much.  Well, she luckily still had Zakkery’s own self-interest to
use as motivation.  “Still, you sure didn’t thrive after the war, did you? 
Now, you’re living in the human realm.  In the snow.  Forgotten and alone.  Is
that how you pictured your future?”

He
looked like a fallen angel and had a mind like Iago.  Why had someone with so
much potential wasted his life?  Really she was doing him a favor.

“Hey,
I’m emperor of a planet.”  He waved an all-encompassing hand.  “I can think of
worse fates.  You seen the Water Kingdom lately?”  Zakkery arched a brow, still
trying to get a bead on her.  “Being here is like paradise by comparison. 
Besides, I like the cold and quiet.  Sometimes tahr wander by.  Very zen.”

“Who
the hell is Tahr?”

“They’re
not a ‘who.’  They’re a type of goat.”

Jesus. 
Daphne didn’t have time for this.  Subtly wasn’t going to work.  Time for more
direct means of persuasion.  “So, your life goal is be a goat herder? 
That
was your big dream as a kid?”

“What
can I say?  I love animals.”

He
was so full of cat shit.

“Uh-huh. 
Everything you could ever have hoped for has happened and I’m beholding your
ideal future, then?  Nothing you’d want to change.”

Zakkery
smile gleamed, a taunting glint of teeth and lies.  “Exactly.”

“Great. 
So, how’s your Match?”

His
smug “what else ya got?” grin faded, anger and bitterness taking its place.  He
was suddenly paying attention to her.  “What the fuck are really you doing
here?”

“I
want you to tell me everything you remember the day the fighting began.  What
led up to it… Where you were… What you were doing…”

“The
day Job died, I was at Gion’s birthday party.  Ty threw it for him in the Water
Palace.  Job was there.  So were Cross, Nia, Thar, Brokk, Isaacs, and maybe a
few others.  They were attacked and people died.  What
else
do you
want?”

“I
want to stop the war.”

“Good
news.  Most of them have been dead for centuries.  It’s pretty fucking
stopped.”

Daphne
shook her head.  “I want to go
back
and stop the war before it even
begins.  I want to time jump to before Gion’s party and change history.”

Silence.

“Great.” 
He finally sighed.  “You’re a lunatic.”

She
ignored that.  “You just said you were there on the very first day of the War. 
At the very first battle.  I can go back and change things, so you have the
life you
should’ve
had, this whole time.”

And
so would Daphne.

“Time
Phases have tried going back to stop the Fall and the Dark War before.  They
only wind-up dead.  Fifty-two seconds isn’t enough time to change anything so
big…”

Daphne
cut him off.  “My powers are different.  I can change things.”

“You
sure about that?”

“Even
if I’m wrong, what do you have to lose?”

He
squinted at her.  “What’s in this for you?  Were you even alive for back then? 
You don’t seem old enough.”

“I
was a child.”

“Then,
you don’t really
remember
it.”

She
remembered enough.  “I’ve done research on the war.  I know…”

“Research? 
Can you
research
the smell bodies, rotting on crosses in the sun?”

“No,
but…”

“It’s
more
than a smell.  An unholy fucking stench.  An acrid, organic, yellow
burn in your sinuses.”  He gestured towards his temple.  “In your
brain
. 
During the first months, there were so many executions of humans and Phases
that the fog of reeking decay reached
everywhere
.  It was on your
clothes.  In your hair.  You couldn’t escape it.  It seeped into your skin.  If
I close my eyes, I can still smell the vicious, wild stink of it.  Anyone who
lived through that war can do the same, I promise you.”

He
was right.  In so many interviews the smell was the first thing the survivors
mentioned.  That and the fear that they would be the next one accused of
treason and strung up.

Daphne
frowned.  “Well, that’s the kind of horror I’m trying to avoid.”

“And
if you were someone who lived
through
all that horror  --Who saw people
you’d known all your life pulled from their homes and executed for
nothing
--
Then, I could
maybe
see why you’d want to do this.”  He jabbed a finger
at her.  “But, since you’re just goddamn kid, with no clue what you’re even
talking about, I don’t think you have the
right
to try and change what
we survived.”

Daphne’s
jaw clenched.  “Oh, I
will
change it.”  She vowed.  “Right or wrong, I’m
going back and rewriting the whole script.  With or without you, it’ll
happen.”  She pulled out the big guns.  “But if you help me, can make sure you
come out on top this time.”

“We
don’t know what will happen without the war.  Your plan will change
everything
. 
That future could be worse for a lot of people.”

“It
won’t be worse for me.”  Daphne retorted.  “And really, I don’t see you giving
up much beyond your precious hut, so what’s the downside for you?  No matter
how you look at it, we’ll be helping to stop genocide and death.  How could
that be a bad thing?  It’s
heroic
.”

Zakkery
puffed on his cigarette and thought about that.

“Honestly,
even if things did change, change could be
good
.  Especially for you. 
We can change whatever you want,
how
ever you want.  You can become High
Seat of the Council, for all I care.  I’ll
help
you.  Just help me.” 
She leaned forward.  “Come on.  Yes or No:  If I could get back to the day Job
dies, would it be possible to change things?”

Smoke
colored eyes met hers for an endless moment, weighing her.

Daphne
held her breath.

“Yes.” 
He said simply.

She
smiled.  “Then let’s talk about Chason, of the Magnet House and his Match.”

…And
just like that Daphne changed history.

Here’s
a preview of the next book in the Elemental Phases’ series:

Queen
of the Magnetland

Prologue

Believe
that you have died today and that your life's story is over,

And
henceforth regard what future time you are given as an unpromised gift.

Marcus
Aurelius- “Meditations”

Mara
died on a bright sunny day, surrounded by the ugliest wallpaper in the
universe.

She’d
always hated the subtle vertical stripes that encircled her bedroom.  The
former queen had selected it, no doubt inspired by the perpetual gloom of the
Magnet Kingdom.  Grey on grey, the wallpaper was tasteful, and elegant, and
about as warm as a jail cell.  It was like being in a cage.

A
badly decorated cage.

For
sixty-seven years, Mara had been Matched to Chason, first the prince and then
the King of the Magnet House.  For sixty-seven years, she’d either been
preparing to become the queen or wearing the crown.  And for sixty-seven years
she’d hated looking at that wallpaper.

Every
decade or so, someone would replace the old grey stripes with new grey
stripes.  Each time, Mara would make a face at the hideous bars and not rock
the boat.  She’d allowed her domineering father-in-law and the stifling Magnet
House traditions to rule her life.

That
had been a huge mistake.

She
should have rocked the boat
more
, not less.

For
sixty-seven years, Mara had tried hard to be a perfect queen.  To be what
everyone wanted.  She should have painted her bedroom amethyst or orchid.  She
should have burned all the massive, uncomfortable furniture in a bonfire and
gotten a cushy chaise to read on.  With pillows.  Purple pillows.  Purple was
her favorite color.  She should have concentrated on being happy.  She should
have just been
Mara
.

Maybe
then, Chason would have smiled more.

Maybe
then, they would have had a better relationship.

Maybe
then, she wouldn’t have to die surrounded by the most hideous wallpaper in
creation.

Maybe,
maybe, maybe.

At
the end of her life, Mara realized that “maybes” just plain sucked.

It
took a tremendous effort to lift the notepad off the bed beside her.  She
wasn’t even sure why she bothered.  It was pointless to keep a “To Do” list,
since she only had a few hours left to live.  But, she still felt the bizarre
compunction to keep track of all the things that she wanted to accomplish. 
Deep down, Mara had always been an optimist.

For
one of the few times in the one hundred and sixty years she’d been alive, she
was experiencing total clarity and she wanted to record it.

Mara
picked up the lavender colored pen and added another “should have” to her
inventory of regrets.

Number
thirty-one:  Redecorate bedroom.

She
squinted down at the jagged letters for a beat and then added an exclamation
mark.  Her handwriting grew worse and worse as the list grew longer.

Fever
ravaged her insides even as chills shook her body.  The notepad fell against
her chest, as another round of racking coughs overtook her.  The deathly rattle
nearly cracked her ribs and her lungs burned like they were on fire.  She
almost didn’t mind the pain, though, because it proved she was still alive. 
Far scarier was the blankness she felt waiting on the other side of the
physical misery.

Mara
closed her eyes.

Her
strength was fading to the point so she couldn’t even hold a pen without
extreme effort.  She could see her skin shrinking against the bones of her
hand.  The coughing and the pain in her head.  The shivering and her aching
body.  Optimist or not, Mara saw the stark truth barreling down at her.

Darkness
was closing in.

Very
soon she’d die from this plague.  Over the past five days, she’d seen so many
others succumb.  Her cousins, her subjects, her friends, and even total
strangers.  So many Phases that the universe could never recover.  More people
than Mara could even count.

For
a woman who’d never had an enemy --who’d spent her life trying to be what
everyone wanted-- it was hard for Mara to comprehend that she was dying in a
war.

Released
by Parald, of the Air House as revenge against the Council and the Water House,
the plague had slipped beyond anyone’s control.  It was careening through the
Elemental ranks, pushing them to the brink of extinction.  And if the
Elementals fell, the rest of the universe would go down with them.

This
illness would wipe out everything before it was done.

The
Fall.

One
tiny germ could erase the entire world.

Since
the beginning of time, the Phases held together the interconnected processes of
nature.  The Elemental Houses supported everything from Gravity to Fire to
Time.  Nothing could survive without them.  If the Fall wiped out the
Elementals, it would wipe out all of existence.  Everyone and everything would
go out like a light.

Mara’s
ebony colored eyes slid over to the overwrought armchair on the other side of
the room.

Her
cousin Kahn slouched in its hideous depths, his huge boots stretched out in
front of him, his blond head slumped at an awkward angle.  His large body barely
fit on the seat and his handsome faced stayed creased with strain even in
sleep.  It was the first time he’d closed his eyes since the beginning of the
Fall.  He’d nodded off while watching over her, pushed to the limits of his
endurance.

Love
and sorrow filled her.

Kahn,
of the Light House.

The
only cousin she had left.

Just
a few days before, she’d had seven.  Kahn and his six sisters.  Kahn had raised
Mara and the girls by himself, after their parents had all died in various
pointless ways.  Now, the girls were gone, victims of the plague.  Victims of
the war.

Kahn
and Mara had been at the bedside of each of the girls when they died.  Livinia
succumbed first, on the second day of the Fall.  Syllia and Aggie followed on
the third day.  Then, Roma, Tonia and Prinny all perished within the next
twelve hours.  Their deaths happened so fast, one on top of another, so that
Mara hadn’t been able to process one girl leaving before the next one faded
away.

Prinny
had held on the longest.  She was the youngest sister and had always been so
full of life.  Of
course
, she’d want to stay as long as she could.  The
horrible stillness after her breathing stopped was deafening.  By that point,
Mara had fallen into a numb shock.  All she could do was hold her cousin’s small
hand and listen to the silence where Prinny had once been. 

But
Kahn had… shattered.  Watching his baby sisters fade away destroyed something
inside of him.  Something Mara feared would change him forever.

Kahn
seemed immune to the disease, but the Fall was killing him just as surely as it
had wiped out the girls.  He’d given everything he had to sisters. 
Everything
. 
Kahn could never recover from this heartache.  And Mara’s death would only make
it worse.

Mara
was so worried about what would happen to Kahn after she was gone.

Even
if the Fall didn’t erase the entire universe, who would look after a man like
Kahn?  He pissed off everyone he met.  No one but his sisters and Mara ever saw
the softness beneath his grouchy exterior.  Who would Kahn even let close to
him, now?  How could he survive if he was left completely alone?

Mara
picked up the notebook again and added number thirty-two to her list.

Find
Kahn a Match
.

Her
hold on the pen was so weak that the ink barely made an impression on the
page.  It was only a matter of time, now.  Soon she’d slip into the coma that
came before death.  Soon she’d go to sleep and never wake up.

It
wasn’t fair.

There
was so much that Mara still wanted to accomplish.  So much that she hadn’t
done, yet.  Mara gathered her strength and pressed forward.

Number
thirty-three:  Visit the Color Kingdom.  It was so beautiful there.  At least,
it was in photos and she’d always meant to go see it for herself.  Why hadn’t
she found the time?

Number
thirty-four:  See
Singin’ in the Rain
.  Why had she never seen
Singin’
in the Rain? 
She’d always meant to.  She loved musicals so much.  All the
stupid films she’d watched over the past decades and she’d never seen
Singin’
in the Rain
.  It was insane.

Number
thirty-five:  Have child.

Tears
welled at that one.  She’d
more
than just “meant to” have a baby.  She’d
wanted one desperately.  A little version of Chason and herself to love.

And
now it was too late.

Mara
blew out a long breath.  She didn’t want to spend her last few moments of life
being miserable, but anyone on their deathbed had the right to be a
little
maudlin.

Number
thirty-six:  Dance with Chason.

They’d
danced on their Phazing Day.  The Andrew Sisters sung
I’ll Be With You in
Apple Blossom Time
as Mara and Chason danced into the night.  She’d been so
happy.  Why hadn’t they danced more?  Why hadn’t she fought harder to get
through to him?  To free him from his shell?

Number
thirty-seven:  Convince Chason to fall in love.

Why
hadn’t she made him really love her?  She’d tried little things, but she’d been
so scared to rock the boat and push him passed his comfort zone of tepid
propriety.  Too scared to fight.  She’d settled for too little.  She’d let
him
settle for too little.

They
could have been so much…
better
.

Mara
could hear Chason in the hallway, arguing with the latest doctor he’d scrounged
up.  Her Match wasn’t a quitter.  He was obsessed with finding a way to cure
her.  Mara was touched by that.  It sort of surprised her that Chason was so
attached to having her around.

He
paid no attention to the scores of medical professionals telling him that it
was hopeless.  Every time a doctor insisted that there was no cure for the
Fall, Chason would just throw them out and find another one to interrogate.

Only
all the doctors were dying off, along with the rest of the Phases.

Chason
was down to the last one.  And Salamis, of the Weather House wasn’t even a real
doctor.  He hadn’t graduated from med school, yet.  The kid was inexperienced
and terrified.  Not just of the Fall, but of Chason.

“But…
But… There’s nothing that I can do, sire.  There’s nothing that
anyone
can do.”

“If
you can’t help, then get the hell out!”  Chason roared in a completely
un-Chason like way.

Mara
tucked the notepad under her pillow and struggled to sit up.  Chason was always
so… perfect.  So generous and proper and good.  Yelling at some poor medical
student, probably dying of the Fall himself…?  It wasn’t like her Match.  But,
Chason was so upset.

Of
course, he was.

They
were connected.  If she died, she could hypothetically pull him down with her.

Mara
was one of the lucky Phases who’d found her Match early in life.  For
Elementals, there was only one special person whose energy could combine with
their own, forming one symbiotic whole.  Their Phase-Match was their other
half.  Mara had met Chason when she was very young.  When they’d finally
Phazed, she’d believed that the rest of their lives would be one long
happily-ever-after.

Only
things hadn’t turned out that way.

Most
days that made Mara terribly lonely, but it was turning out for the best.  If
Mara died –
When
she died-- Chason would go on.  He seemed immune to the
Fall.  Provided that the universe didn’t crash like the Hindenburg, Chason
would survive.  So often, when one Match died, the other one followed.  That’s
what had happened to her parents.  But, Mara and Chason had never been that…
intertwined.  Even when they Phazed, there was always that little bit of
distance between them.

Besides,
in human terms, they were still newly-weds.  They lived very separate lives. 
He would be okay without her.  Mara was sure of it.

And
that meant more to her than anything.

Mara
wouldn’t want live without Chason.  Better that he be the one to survive.  He
could endure and go on.  He could still have a life.  Hopefully, he’d make the
most of it and try to be happy.  He deserved that.

Chason
slammed back into the room loud enough to jolt Kahn awake.

Her
normally immaculate Match looked even worse than Mara did.  He was usually such
a handsome man.  Not preoccupied with his appearance, but always spick and span
just because of his studious personality.  Now, his purple eyes were bloodshot,
his dark hair sticking up as if he’d been running his hands through it
repeatedly.  He hadn’t even shaved.  Chason
always
shaved.  He was
incredibly neat and tidy.