Read Elemental Hunger for Free Online Page A

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