The Elders
an excerpt

The Elders [Prologue]

“Aileen, you need to hurry.”

Kneeling on the moist earth, one hand buried in the soil while the other plucked the rapidly-growing saplings and shoved them into the bag, Aileen glared up at her friend. “This is hard enough without you talking,” she snapped. “So if you could stop, that’d be great.”

The next few moments passed in silence, save for Aileen’s labored breathing as she coaxed the plants from the ground. Her dark-haired friend watched her anxiously, rolling a ball of pure fire between his palms.

Finally Aileen sat back on her heels, sweat drenching her long hair as she lifted one dirt-stained hand to wipe her brow. “I’m done,” she murmured. Her hands trembling, she tied the bag shut and handed it up to him. “Take it, and get it to Armand. He needs them quickly.

The man took the bag, but didn’t move. “I’m not leaving you. Harii said—”

“I’ll follow in a minute. Go.” Her voice was almost harsh, but her eyes softened. “There’s no time for chivalry, Lior.”

Lior hesitated a moment more, then closed his eyes. His form blurred and then he was gone, moving so quickly that only a few blades of burning grass remained where he had stood. Standing, Aileen stamped them out with one foot, running her fingers through her hair. The tremors in her hands had subsided, but they still shook. Even at her age and experience level, six straight hours of plant-growing took a lot out of her.

At least this would likely be the last time.

Forcing her protesting legs to move, she started walking through the forest, following the sound of rushing water. The trees seemed to part before her, roots flattening themselves into the earth so as to clear her path from obstacles. Her body screamed with every step but she willed herself to keep going. It had to be done. It had to be done. It had to be done.

The stream seemed miles away, even though she’d known it was barely half of one mile. She reached it in minutes, despite her halting pace, stumbling to her knees at its banks. She dipped her fingers into the cool water, splashing it onto her face and neck.

Wiping her eyes, she peered into the water. It rushed past its banks, clear and clean—hardly deep enough for anything dangerous to be hiding in it. She chastised herself for being so paranoid, but at the same time reminding herself that she had every reason to be paranoid at this point.

She reached beneath the collar of her shirt, withdrawing the amulet that Harii had given her. The stone itself, hanging on a thin piece of string, winked innocently at her, the sunlight bouncing off its polished surface. “Come on, Harii,” she whispered. “Don’t let me down. She lowered the stone down into the water, eyeing the surface warily.

As soon as the stone touched the water the spring stopped flowing. A sheet of what seemed almost like mirrored ice spread from the stone, covering the surface of the stream. Aileen smiled. Perfect. She leaned out over the now-solid stream, peering down at her reflection. A tired-looking woman with tousled red-brown hair stared back at her through weary eyes. Aileen furrowed her brow and the woman did the same, worry lines appearing on her forehead. She frowned, trying to smooth the lines with her fingers. I really am getting old.

Something tugged on the amulet from below the mirror’s surface. Caught off-guard, Aileen gasped, feeling herself falling forward—

—Landing, in an undignified heap, in a bathtub. She sputtered, spitting water out of her mouth. “I wasn’t ready, Harii.”

Harii, dark-skinned and bald, chuckled as he helped her from the tub. “The mirror went both ways, my friend. You were indulging your vain side again.” His voice was deep, soothing away Aileen’s ever-present anxiety. Time—more than a thousand years of time—had weathered away any trace of an accent from his voice, though Aileen knew that his first language was some long-forgotten North African dialect. He still slipped into it, when angry enough.

Now, he let one hand hover over her head. The water from the tub seemed to leave her skin, clothes, and hair; the droplets drifting up and vanishing into his fingertips. Harii smiled, letting his hand fall. “There. Better?”

She reached up a hand, smoothing back the now dry tendrils of red hair. “Much. Did Lior get back?”

Harii snorted. “Of course he did. Long before you, I might add.”

“We’ve already established the fact that I took longer because I’m vain,” she said dryly. “Where’s Armand?”

“In the kitchen, with Richard and Lior, adding your herbs to our little poison.” A grim smile played on his lips as he took her by the shoulders, nudging her out into the hallway.

Aileen shuddered, letting him steer her. “I wish you wouldn’t call it that.”

“What—poison?” He chuckled. “It is a poison, my dear, whether you call it that or not.”

The other three Elders took no notice of them as they entered the kitchen, so involved were they in their work. Richard’s chestnut curls spilled over his shoulders as he perused a book of incantations, occasionally scribbling down a word or phrase; while Armand’s watchful blue eyes remained fixed on the covered pot that sat on the stove, trails of multicolored steam trailing from under the lid. Only Lior glanced over at them, his dark eyes lighting up. “Ai, you’re back!”

She smiled as he came around the counter to embrace her. “It’s barely been ten minutes, Lior.”

“People can be killed in ten minutes,” he defended, his hands falling to settle on her hips. Nearly five centuries of practice had perfected his ability to calm the fire that burned in the core of his body, yet a comforting warmth still seemed to spread from his hands. “I was worried.”

“You wouldn’t have had to be,” Harii said pointedly, “if you’d stayed together.”

“I told him to go ahead,” Aileen said quickly. “I knew the…” she swallowed “poison needed to be finished as soon as possible—”

“We would have waited for you,” Richard interrupted, looking up from his book. “If he had gotten even one of us, all of this would be meaningless.”

Aileen bit her lip. “I know. I’m sorry. But I’m here and he didn’t kill me, so there’s no point dwelling on the ‘what-ifs’, right?”

Richard opened his mouth to reply, but Armand cut him off.

“It’s done.”

The pot on the stove had stopped whistling, stopped steaming. Not bothering with a potholder, Lior reached over and picked up the lid. The room filled with the smell of crushed pine and vanilla mixed with salt. Aileen grimaced. “We have to drink that?”

“It’s probably not so bad,” Armand assured her. He crossed to a cabinet and pulled down a large mixing bowl and five glasses. Handing the bowl to Harii, he began ladling the pot’s contents—a thick liquid the color of fresh blood—into the glasses. “Richard, did you figure out a spell?”

“Of course I did,” Richard scoffed. “You doubt me?” He took the glass Armand handed him, setting it gingerly down on the tabletop. “Alright. So here’s the plan. We drink this…ah…” he made a face “…delectable beverage. Then we use the scrying pool” he gestured to the bowl Harii had placed on the table, which was currently being filled with water from Harii’s fingertips “to look for the heirs.”

“Incantation?” Harii queried, leaning over.

“The search spell is easy enough.
‘Spirits of Heaven, Spirits of Earth
From my death let come a birth
Send my soul now through the air
And find the one who’ll be my heir’
I wrote it down, but try to remember it.”

“It’s not half bad,” Armand commented. “You think of that?”

“Yes,” Richard said smugly.

“Huh,” Armand shrugged. “Good job.”

Richard beamed, and Lior cleared his throat. “Alright, so after we scry, what’s the power-transfer spell?”

“I was getting there,” Richard muttered. “And besides, what’s wrong with getting a bit of ego stroking before I’m going to die?”

Armand muttered something in French that sounded decidedly unfriendly, and Richard sighed.

“Right. Power transfer.
‘Powers that have hence been mine
Be now released from former ties
Find the one I hold in mind
And to his soul I bid thee bind’.”

“‘Mine’ doesn’t rhyme with ‘ties’,” Armand said.

Richard glared at him. “I’ve been coming up with these spells for six hundred years; I think I know how to use partial rhyme.” He looked annoyed, hints of electricity beginning to crackle around his fingers.

Armand stuck his tongue out at him, a hint of wind picking up and lifting his blond bangs off his forehead.

Harii rolled his eyes. “Juvenile.”

Lior laughed softly. “You can’t blame them for trying to make light of the situation. I’d rather not go out with a funeral march playing in my head.”

Aileen raised a hand. “Agreed.”

A ripple spread across the bowl of water, and all traces of humor vanished from Harii’s face. “He’s getting closer. We need to start, now.”

Richard looked at Aileen. “Well?”

She reached for her glass, but paused. She flicked her fingers and a tiny seed materialized from seemingly nowhere. At a thought it began to grow, until a thornless red rose lay in her palm. A small sigh slipped past her lips as she stared at it sadly, wishing that this era of power didn’t have to end.

Lior reached out, laying a hand on her arm. “Ai?”

She started, turning to him with a sheepish smile. “I’m sorry.” She looked wistfully down at the rose, then handed it to him. “I just wanted to feel it. One more time.”

He squeezed her shoulder as of to say ‘I understand’, his hand lingering there and spreading warmth over her skin.

The water rippled again, and Harii bit his lower lip. “We need to do this now, or there’s no point in it.”

Aileen nodded, picking up her glass. The four men followed suit, and for a moment they simply stared at each other.

“Well,” Armand said, “Here’s to us.” He gave a wry grin. “Our lives. However short they’re about to become.”

Richard smiled. “Cheers.”

They clinked their glasses together, and drank.

Despite its smell and appearance, the liquid had almost no taste—it was very much like drinking hot, thick water. It felt horrible—Aileen nearly choked, feeling it slide down her throat and burn with icy fire through her veins. She gasped, trying to get the burning feeling out of her throat. She met Lior’s eyes, seeing the pain in them, and her heart went out to him.

She felt Harii’s hand grab her left, and Richard’s fingers curled around her right. “Now,” Harii gasped, and they chanted the spell together.

“Spirits of Heaven, Spirits of Earth
From my death let come a birth
Send my soul now through the air
And find the one who’ll be my heir.”

The water’s surface took on a mirrored sheen; their reflections clear as if they were peering through a looking-glass as they gazed down into the bowl.

Armand looked at Aileen, lips curling into a dry smile. “Ladies first.”

Aileen forced herself to smile back, untwined her fingers from Richard’s, and dipped her hand into the water.

Instantly the ripples went still, but within the depths images began to flicker into view. The pictures flashed and changed until finally one settled into view. Aileen leaned forward, peering in for a closer look.

It was a bedroom, simple and modestly decorated. Clearly a student’s room—the desk was covered with books, the floor littered with notebooks.

But Aileen didn’t care about the books—she was far more interested in the room’s occupant.

Lying on the bed, a book held in his hands, was a young boy, probably no more than seventeen or eighteen years old. His hair—pale blond—fell into his eyes, brushing the rims of his glasses.

“My God,” Armand whispered, “Ai, his eyes are just like yours.”

She squinted to see them and saw that, indeed, the eyes behind the thin-rimmed glasses were a bright, intelligent green.

Her own eyes watering, she stared at the boy’s eyes as she spoke the words of the power-transfer spell.
“Powers that have hence been mine
Be now released from former ties
Find the one I hold in mind
And to his soul I bid thee bind.”

Her vision went dark.

Pure power rushed through her veins, the power of the earth that she had held inside her body for almost a millennium. She seemed to burn and freeze at once, images of green forests and dark soil and bright flowers flashing before her eyes.

And then, suddenly, the power left her. She fell to her knees, feeling weak, dizzy, and utterly empty. Strong hands closed around her arms and helped her into a chair.

Dimly she became aware of Armand’s voice whispering the power spell. She opened her eyes and looked into the water. The picture showed another young boy, with curly dark hair and brown eyes, who appeared to be running from another group of boys.

“…and to his soul I bid thee bind.”

The image vanished as Armand’s body jerked. Spasms rocked his entire frame and Richard caught him as he swayed. Finally the tremors stopped and he simply clung to Richard, gasping for breath until he could stand on his own. Richard loosened his grip and then let go, waiting until Armand was able to stand without swaying before he reached out to slide his hand into the water.

Another boy—a brown-eyed redhead working at a fry grill. Richard murmured the spell and staggered, grabbing onto the table for support. The lights above them flickered and went out.

“I always wondered why we never got an electric bill here,” Armand said, reaching through the darkness to guide Richard over to him, standing up and pushing the trembling man into a chair. Richard forced a breathless laugh that sounded almost like a sob, and Armand rested a hand on his shoulder.

Lior went next. His hands shook as he submerged them and the picture that came into view was that of a young Asian boy, tuning a guitar. Despite the tremors in his hands his voice was calm as he spoke the words, but as the last syllable fell from his lips his tanned skin went pale. He didn’t jerk or fall, but he did shiver, his body quivering as if a snake had crawled down his back. Aileen stood, nervously reaching out a hand to touch one of his. She stifled a gasp. For the first time in the five hundred years she had known him, his hands were cold.

His fingers closed around hers and he whispered “Harii.”

Harii plunged his hand in without hesitation, his smooth features set in grim resolve. The images in the scrying pool took nearly a minute to clear, until finally the picture of a dark-skinned boy with light hair and dark eyes settled into place. Harii’s lips moved with the words, his eyes closed, and when the power left him it took the scrying pool’s water with it. He slumped back into a chair, tiny veins visible in his closed eyelids as he struggled to control his haggard breathing.

He opened his eyes a moment later, his voice a breathy whisper as he said “Just in time.”

They didn’t ask what he meant. They didn’t need to.

A rush of cold, dark power filled the room, bringing with it the figure of a dark-clad man. His eyes were bound by a strip of dark cloth, but Aileen had no doubt that he could see them perfectly well.

“Elders,” he said, dipping at the waist in a bow. He straightened, lips twisting into an almost pleasant smile. “I don’t want to have to kill you.” His voice was deep and honey-smooth—not at all the evil, gravelly voice Aileen had expected. “You know what I offer. Your powers, in exchange for your lives.”

Richard gave a low laugh, rising shakily from his chair. “You’re too late,” he said. “Take your stupid blindfold off and see—our powers are gone.”

The good-natured smile vanished. “Gone, are they?” The man whispered, his voice deadly quiet. “Well, then.” He reached behind his head to the knot of his blindfold, undoing the knot. “In that case, I suppose my deal is void.” The blindfold fell away and he turned his closed eyes towards Richard. There was a flash of light as his eyes opened and Aileen shielded her eyes, only to open them an instant later when she heard Armand give a hoarse cry.

Richard lay crumpled on the floor, his face frozen in an expression of shock. His eyes stared straight up at the ceiling, lifeless and blank.

Armand knelt beside him, one hand against the pulse at Richard’s throat. “He’s dead,” he breathed, his voice choking. “You bastard, you’ve killed him—” he made a lunge for the dark man, who raised a hand, stopping Armand in mid-leap. He twitched one finger, sending Armand’s body flying up to smash into the ceiling. Aileen heard a sickening crack and Armand fell, hitting the floor with a limp, decisive thud. His head lolled onto Richard’s shoulder, his body shuddering once before going still.

Aileen heard a low moan and clapped a hand over Lior’s mouth. “Hush,” she whispered. “Don’t provoke—” her voice choked off, as icy fingers clenched around her throat. She brought her hands up only to find that there was nothing physical there, even as she felt herself being lifted off her feet as dark magic spun her around to look into the face of the man who had just murdered two of her friends and comrades in cold blood. She whimpered as the invisible fingers tightened, cutting off her air supply.

The man’s eyes were closed, his lips twisted in a wicked smile. The strings of dark magic pulled her closer to him until she could see the tiny stress lines around his eyes.

“When I’m finished here,” he whispered in her ear, “I will hunt down the unfortunate souls chosen as your heirs. I will take their powers and kill them—all of them. And they won’t even know why.”

He opened his eyes, and suddenly all Aileen could see was brilliant white light, all she could hear was a roar that erupted in her head.

Her last thought, as she felt her soul wrench away from her body, was a silent prayer that her young heir, the boy who had her eyes, would be able to handle the powers she had given him—and the horrors that came with them.