Elemental Hunger (6 page)

Life wasn’t much better for Unmanifested boys. If they couldn’t hack it in the brutal sentry courses, they lived in agricultural communities, separate from the Communal Mothers.

Since I’d vetoed the communes, my remaining choices became Educator or servant. But I didn’t choose. I drifted, somehow hoping something else would happen.

Like getting selected for a Council.

That prospect dominated my thoughts—until I Manifested my Element.

I worried my life would end if my firemaking ability was revealed, and I felt I’d die if it wasn’t. I didn’t want to personally experience the same fate as that female Firemaker who was executed, but living without being a Firemaker felt too caging, too unfair. See, Unmanifested girls were only good for repopulating the world or serving Elementals.

Elementals didn’t serve other Elementals. Watermaidens couldn’t sustain a pregnancy—their offspring drown in the womb—and therefore had to be selected for a Council. If they weren’t, they could become mentors, and that was all.

I remembered Cat’s anguish from last year. At the time, the Watermaiden courses offered at the school had been sparse, and no new mentors were being taken. If Cat didn’t get chosen for a Council, her only remaining option was exile. I’d spent the time before the selection ceremony trying to convince her that Isaiah would never leave her to wander the wilderness alone.

“You guys will always be together,” I had soothed, tucking a stray lock of Cat’s black hair behind her ear. “You’ll get chosen together.”

Tears had filled her wide eyes and rolled down her porcelain cheeks. “You think so?”

I didn’t get a chance to answer, because Isaiah had knocked on the door. I opened it while Cat composed herself.

Isaiah glanced at me briefly. “Gabbers,” he murmured.

I threw my arms around him, suddenly very aware that this might be the last time I saw him. He’d held me in his strong arms, and I’d leaned against his cocoa-colored skin, inhaling the scent of moss and earth.

“How is she?” he murmured.

I pulled away and watched him smooth his large hands over his bald head. “She’s okay.”

When Cat turned, I could tell she’d been crying. Isaiah could too. He strode over to her and took her in his arms. When they started kissing, I left.

And then they’d left me.

Exhaustion seeped into my bones and cramped in my calves as I shuffled down the hall. I leaned against the wall for support. In the first bedroom, I settled on the bare mattress and wrapped my arms around myself, trying to find my core warmth. Trying to get the sight of Patches falling to the ground out of my head. Trying to find a way to simply take one more breath.

I peeled off my shoes and socks using only my fingertips. My feet bore cracked and bleeding blisters. I hobbled into the bathroom and rinsed the blood from my socks with spurting orange water, leaving them to dry on the side of the sink.

I found nothing with which to cover my feet in the bathroom, so I limped back to the bedroom. I rifled through the closet, finding two T-shirts wadded up behind an old stringed instrument, a set of speakers, and a couple of empty plastic tubs. On a high shelf behind a rusty birdcage, I found a stocking cap, which I pulled over my head.

I used one of the T-shirts to clean away the ooze on my feet, and then I wrapped them in the cool cloth. I sighed as I lay back, pulling the hat lower over my eyes. I was tired enough to fall asleep despite the pain.

When I woke up, my stomach was clawing itself inside out. I popped the lid on a can of soup, infused it with heat, and slurped it down.

A window sat near the ceiling and sent fading light into the room. It reminded me of my dorm, of school. A pang of loneliness welled in my heart, along with a memory of Liz. But I couldn’t go there. I hadn’t been able to think about her in three months, and now wasn’t a good time to start.

I stood, testing my weight on my feet and legs. My knee didn’t hurt, and my muscles unknotted as I moved. I went into the bathroom and put on my socks and shoes with minimal pain. I looked at myself in a dirty mirror. With the hat, the weathered T-shirts, the hoodie, and the long coat, no one would mistake me for Gabriella Kilpatrick.

Yet my hair still streamed over my shoulders—a dead give-away that I wasn’t a boy.

Somehow, I wanted to find a way to live as both a Firemaker and a girl. And be unashamed of it. “You want a different reality,” I said to my reflection.

A crushing fist punched, punched against my chest. My lungs couldn’t expand properly. The walls of the house created a temporary prison. I squeezed my eyes shut against the blazing memories of my life in Crylon, trying to erase the hurt, the longing, the solitude I’d endured.

Resentment filled the empty places inside, rising and overflowing until my throat constricted. I didn’t need Jarvis to save me, to select me for his Council. I would find the Elementals I needed and charter my own. I would experience the magic that would bind me to other Elementals. I would ensure my own survival and protection.

To do all that, I had to lose the hair. I had to become someone else.

After yanking off the knitted cap, I hacked at my hair with a stolen knife. The evidence of my transformation fell into the sink. When I finished, only half an inch of dirty-blonde fuzz remained on my head.

I poured rusty water over my scalp, washing any stray hairs off my neck so it wouldn’t itch. Then I tucked the knife in the waistband of my jeans and pulled the hat and then my hood over my new masculine hairdo. I’d never been very feminine, but losing my hair seemed so final. Like I wasn’t really
me
anymore.

Come to think of it, though, I hadn’t been me for a long time. Manifesting my firemaking Element had changed me, yet I’d continued pretending I was the Unmanifested Gabriella Kilpatrick who worked in the kitchens, serving dinner to Elementals.

At least that burden had been lifted. But a new one had descended in its place.

I had to learn to survive in an unknown world, beyond the security of Crylon’s walls. I had to learn how to act like I knew exactly what to do in any situation. See, Firemakers always did. Men always did.

If I wanted to live, I had to pretend to be both.

I pulled on the gloves as I left through the broken back door. Crouching at the corner of the house, I looked both ways into the dark silence.

Despite the thumping of my heart inside a too-tight chest, I strode into the street and headed south. I trudged down the middle of a long-forgotten highway with half-melted snow and weathered signs.

I wrapped one of the T-shirts around my neck to keep out the unrelenting wind. Even with the collar on the coat turned up, icy tendrils of air found their way down my back.

It rained on and off for most of the next day. Bonus: The water cleared the snow from the asphalt. Double bonus: My lessons had been correct. The wilderness between cities was desolate, with only dilapidated buildings and miles of horizon. I hadn’t been allowed to take geography yet, and therefore had no idea how far I needed to go to find another city. I trudged on, determined to do what Educator Ostrund said couldn’t be done in the wilderness. Survive.

When I felt like I couldn’t take another step, I ate one of the crunchy bars and melted a handful of snow to drink. I passed the occasional broken-down building every now and then. If they weren’t too far off the road, I searched them for food. I always came away empty-handed.

As the sun dipped lower, I scanned the horizon for a place to spend the night. Only the black highway snaked in front of me. Snow banked the sides.

Finally, a brown brick building came into view. It looked like it might stay standing for one more night. Maybe. The way the wind howled, maybe not.

As soon as I stepped off the highway, my leg sunk into the half-melted snow. A burst of cold infused my bones. The sun dipped below the horizon after only four agonizing steps. Shivering and wet, I stood in chilly shadows.

I cursed with every squelching step, vowing to burn the building to the ground if it was locked.

Then the door opened.

I hit the ground before blinking. My breath felt hot against my nose and cheek, shallow as it was. The snow was even wetter from all the rain, and icy water seeped into my clothes. I’d never felt so cold. I couldn’t even feel the spark of fire inside.

“…lost her? And you’re just now reporting it? …no, I haven’t seen her, but I doubt she could have caught up to me. I’m thirty miles south of Crylon.” The sentry’s harsh voice faded, and a faint clang trembled in the night sky as the door closed.

I crept back to the highway, got up, and ran. My clothes froze to my body, but I didn’t dare stop. After a while, I didn’t think I could suck in another breath without my lungs freezing together. My legs and feet were screaming their protests at the running.

I spotted a boulder a few yards off the road. The wind whipped around me. My Element lay curled inside my chest. I pulled on it and held my hand out, palm down.

Nothing happened.

Scared and freezing, I thought I might die. I inhaled sharply, the frigid air blossoming into barbs in my chest. I called on my fire again. This time, the flames dripped from my fingers, sizzling as they met the snow. I cleared a path to the rock and curved my body into a hollow spot. With chattering teeth, I pressed my palms to the stone beside me and willed my fire into flames.

The rock drank the warmth greedily, and soon enough, echoed it back to me. The ice melted from my clothes, and I swallowed a handful of melted snow. I ate another bar, noting that I only had three bars and two cans of soup left.

To distract myself, I thought of the last time I’d seen Cat. I’d stood, waiting, staring out the narrow window in my dorm room. She’d knocked—much lighter than Liz.

I didn’t answer, but she came in anyway. The scent of lilacs accompanied her. They grew next to the western barracks, where she lived. Cat loved purple lilacs.

“Gabby, honey, you can’t stay in your room forever.”

“I know.” But I wanted to. My room signified my life—closed in by four walls.

“Jarvis keeps asking about you.”

“I saw him yesterday,” I said. “Nice try.”

“At least you’re smiling now,” she said.

She was right. A smile had formed on my face. “I assume Isaiah’s waiting for you.”

A pained look crept through her eyes. “He’s in the hall. He can’t stand good-bye’s.”

“Cat—”

“We won’t be in diplomacy training forever. And who knows? Maybe you’ll come to Tarpulin next year—with Jarvis.” Her smile accentuated her natural beauty.

See, Cat knew what I longed for. She had wanted the same things, just in a different way. She loved Isaiah; she wanted to marry him.

I didn’t want to marry Jarvis. I just didn’t want him to desert me too. I didn’t want to be alone. But I didn’t really have any other choices.

When I’d Manifested, though, I had a fourth “opportunity.” Wife. By law, all Watermaidens must marry a Councilmember.
All female Councilmembers must marry,
I amended in my head.

The whirring fans of a hovercraft wiped away the last cobwebs of sleep. The sound vibrated in my senses, coating them with fear. See, only sentries used vehicles.

The buzzing faded, moving back toward the abandoned city. I watched until I couldn’t see the vehicle anymore. Then I turned and ran the other direction. At least I tried. Yesterday’s rain had frozen overnight, leaving the black pavement shiny with ice. I fell more than once, but refused to stop. On the plus side: No snow meant no trail for a sentry to follow.

I drank a handful of water every hour or so. By nightfall, pale yellow lamps winked in the distance.

A city.

I passed my hands over my boyish haircut. I needed more time to prepare my cover story, so I walked as close to the cheery light as I dared and stopped. With the assistance of the half-moon, the city wall glared down at me.

A grove of trees a hundred yards off the road provided decent shelter from the wind. I hunkered down next to a thick trunk and tried to sleep.

Problem #1: The cold seeped into my very soul.

Problem #2: My stomach wasn’t happy with my dietary choices.