Legend of the Elementals: The Complete Series

Reintroduction

Devidis’ Foreword

There was a young man, and I was that young man.

There was a mistake that I made on purpose.

There was a power, and I took that power.

I became the god of my own world.

There was a great struggle, and I wanted that struggle.

I made my own adversary, my own heroes.

There was a universe and I was that universe.

And so I knew everyone, but mostly that man.

I learned my lesson and left my legacy.

I lived my fiction in between.

I am the legend of the Elementals

These words that survive here are mere incidentals.

Here I forget myself again…

Chapter 1

Jason:

He had slammed on his brakes, and I didn’t have enough time to stop. It should have been just that simple: a fender-bender, nothing to lose sleep over. This was LA, after all. It could have been almost normal, less than news, a by the way around the dinner table. But he wasn’t going to let it play out like that. He was a bottomless pit, a black hole, and he was going to drag everything to himself, swallow it, and leave nothing behind. It shouldn’t have been that way. It wasn’t normal, it wasn’t right, and it wasn’t my fault. But that’s the way it happened. He was the beginning of the end of everything.

My head rocked back stiffly. I opened my eyes and peered anxiously through the evening haze into the vehicle ahead. I made out long hair, a face in profile, a shadow framed against the black car’s interior light. I was suddenly aware of the tightness in my neck and forced the muscles to relax. Looking lower, I noticed the black car’s quarter panel newly decorated with a scar, a deep dent. Oh, no.

You! The shout from the driver ahead was muffled through the glass.

His stringy white hair and thin nose framed two intense, dark eyes. I winced and drew back. The eyes were predatory, vicious. It seemed almost silly at first, but I felt like prey... like it was only a matter of time.

You! Look at me! said the man in the car I had just rear-ended.

I swallowed hard. The insurance card in the glove box crossed my mind. What would I say?

Reluctantly, I cranked down my driver side window, and realized that my music was still blaring when it began to compete with rushing cars and furious honks. The electric guitar vanished with a click, and left behind the breath of traffic. The flow of vehicles was still able to make a wide pass using the lanes on the left. I tentatively stuck my head out into the cool night air.

The man was there, staring back at me. His black eyes were hungry. I broke away from their gaze. Breathing hard, I found myself hoping against reason that the wild-eyed driver ahead would leave me, and find some other animal to stalk. I mustered my courage and looked back up, trying my best to meet those dark eyes. A few seconds passed with nothing said.

Finally, my mouth slacked open, and I asked, dumbly, Should we pull over to the side? If we can?

The man gave a careful nod, along with an insidious not-quite-smile that highlighted the wrinkles in his face. Yes... you should follow me.

His face vanished into his car, and his emergency lights began to flash, yellow on black and chrome. I grimaced; it was a very expensive car, with a very creepy driver. While no one was passing on the shoulder, the old man pulled the car to the far right.

My own cruddy car was still in gear, still drivable. And the shoulder was comfortably wide, since we were at the peak of an on-ramp. Small favors in a bad situation.

As I carefully pulled in behind the old man, I reminded myself that I shouldn’t let him leave without getting his car insurance information and giving him mine. My dad had that well-drilled into me.

Dad! He was still on duty. I grabbed my phone from the central console and forced my shaking hands to dial 9-1-1.

9-1-1. What’s your emergency? a calm woman’s voice answered.

This is Jason Trudeau, son of Officer Trudeau. I’ve been involved in an accident near…

I looked behind me for the nearest exit sign and took note of the long ramp winding down from the overpass into the streets of Los Angeles. I gave our location and information, said no to the ambulance, and ended the call with a stutter and a beep. My phone dropped to the dirty seat cushion as I popped open the glove box. My chest heaved slowly as I sorted through the trash, searching for the insurance papers and a pen. I had to substitute two largely unused napkins, one to offer the old man, and the other to record his information. With the paperwork, pen, and napkins in hand, I clunked open my door and stepped onto the rough pavement.

A swift, cold gust ruffled my hair as I turned toward the old man’s dark vehicle. I picked the black machine out from among the night’s shadows ahead of me. The driver side window displayed a light gray, leather-bound interior, but no driver.

The old man was leaning over the edge of the guard rail, arms folded, clutching a long tan coat against his body. With his pale-whiskered chin thrust into the open air, he seemed to be scanning the intermittent life in streets and buildings beyond. The closer I got to him, the more uneasy I felt. Perched on the edge of the overpass, eyes downcast, he seemed every inch a predator, a hawk ready to launch.

The lights of the city burned warmly below. I wished that I were anywhere else out there, but thoughts of a jacked-up insurance premium and a grounding from my dad smashed those daydreams with what then felt like heavy consequences. I flexed my shoulders, already too tense, as I focused on the tan coat. Just get it over with, Jason, I told myself. Stay cool. After all, he’s just an old man... a weird, black-eyed, old man with a really nice car... a car he stopped in the middle of the highway for no apparent reason.

Then the frown crossed my face. No attitude, not this time. It was my dad’s voice in my mind. This guy deserves the same respect as any senior citizen… any rich, weird senior citizen who had come to a screeching halt in the middle of the freeway for no apparent reason. The voice had become my own again. I shook my head and sealed my lips, letting my feet do their work, trying not to think about those strange eyes.

The paperwork, the pen, and a napkin appeared at the driver’s elbow, but he didn’t look down.

…Sir? I asked politely. Fortunately, his eyes were still focused with great interest on the city.

You can put those things away, the old man finally said. We won’t be needing them. His voice was clear and firm, shaken neither by age nor by the wreck.

Oh, great. A certifiable old eccentric. I coughed to interrupt the unhelpful thought.

Well, actually... I started to say, leaning against the guard rail, trying to sort through the old man’s cryptic words.

You don’t feel it, do you? He swiveled toward me, and pierced me with the full intensity of his dark-eyed stare.

The sudden motion, and the strange way he emphasized feel surprised me. My hands snapped to my sides. I found my feet scuttling backward two full steps.

Feel what? I shot the question back at him, more nervous than I should have been.

I remember what it was like to be so ignorant. It’s almost a shame… His sentence drifted, and so did his eyes, back toward the city.

Uh… I checked myself, wary of any blunt rudeness, though this old man seemed intent on hearing some.

Since I have little time to spare, then, I will make things very simple for you. I intended for that minor crash to happen, and its results are worth far more than some sports car. He dismissed his expensive vehicle with a flick of the wrist.

Results…? I repeated. My shoulders suddenly relaxed. The thought of a hidden-camera game show crossed my mind. It seemed, at the time, strange enough to be true.

What kind of results? I asked.

He crossed his arms, high and proud against his chest. His dark eyes burned as he slowly selected his words.

I have been looking for… people… like you, for a long time. A conspiratorial smirk twitched at the corner of his mouth.

Cars flew by beside me. No one else was stopped. There were no cameras, no camera people. I spread my feet and planted them against the asphalt. Where were the police? I began to regret leaving my phone in the car. Strange was something I could deal with, but this type of crazy was making me more than anxious.

I tore my eyes away from his dark gaze and rehashed his words in my mind.

Wait… I said. "You intended for the accident to happen? And—"

He gave a slight nod, his dark eyes wide. You will never know me to make a mistake.

And you intended for me, Jason Trudeau, to crash into you? I spread my hands in confusion. This guy was off his rocker.

Jason Trudeau… He seemed to consider the syllables. His black eyes turned upward in thought. He was committing the words to memory. I immediately regretted giving him my full name.

Yes, he finally said. I told you that I do not make mistakes.

Well, hey, tell that to the cops, that this whole thing was your idea, and you won’t hear any more complaints from me. I threw up my hands, then leaned back against the guard rail, wondering how I had been unfortunate enough to have crashed into a crazy man.

The old man’s heavy boot hammered against the pavement, the crack of the impact jerking me back to attention.

I have no patience for police, and no interest in the enforcement of fools’ laws. The old man’s angry words blasted forth. This is what will happen: I will tell you what I want you to hear, and then I will get back in my nearly undamaged car and carry out the rest of my plans for the evening.

I took a calming breath, avoiding his burning black eyes. Paranoid, moody... This guy was on some kind of drug... or three.

Alright, I said, taking another step back. that’s fine with me; just sign me a note saying that you won’t hold me liable for the accident, give me your insurance information, and you can tell me whatever you want. I looked down at my insurance papers, glad that copying my information onto the napkin was a great excuse to avoid the old man’s gaze.

I see that I do not have your full attention, Jason Trudeau, his rough hand suddenly grabbed me by my jacket collar and twisted me toward his deep black eyes.

Fear crept upon me. Those dark eyes... There was something else about them... It was as if they were sucking in the light. My fingers slipped. The napkins were whisked over the guard rail into the night sky.

I shoved his hand away and scraped several steps backward. My fist tightened protectively around my remaining insurance papers.

My father is a cop, a veteran on the force, I warned the old man. He’ll be here any time soon.

That’s very interesting… The old man rolled his hollow eyes upward in thought. His smirk broke into a smile across his thin-lipped mouth.

The senior citizen’s deceptively strong hand suddenly disappeared into the deep pocket of his tan coat.

Well, I’m sure that I will be able to get your full attention then, he said. It was an omen.

What are you tal—? I said. My eyes lowered. The hidden hands made me more nervous than the reaching one. I took another step away from the old man with the black eyes.

I’m talking about recruitment. I’m always looking for people with talent. He smiled, clearly contemplating some nasty secret.

I backed away, but he pressed on, dark eyes burning as he asked, Do you believe in the supernatural, reality beyond logic?

My pen clacked to the concrete, and my insurance papers followed with a flutter. A car’s horn blared into silence.

That’s it. It’s not funny anymore. I said, raising my voice, trying force away the shock.

He continued his advance. Backing away wasn’t working...

Supernatural, huh? I said. The adrenaline seemed to flow from my heart to my knuckles; I rolled back my long sleeves. "Well, if you’re going to try to predict my future, or guess my card, I’ll show you what’s up my sleeve, and have you read my palm while I’m at it. I don’t care how antique you are."

The old man stood there, stock straight, locking his knees. A strange breeze sent a chill across my back. Despite myself, I turned almost completely around.

You grossly underestimate me, but that is no surprise. Black eyes widening, he made me well and truly nervous.

It will be quite unfortunate for you, he continued, but the officer who comes to your assistance will also come to mine. Whoever it is, it will do. It’s been a long drive, and I’ve been hoping for an excuse for some exercise.

I watched silently, waiting for the slightest move of aggression, struggling to grasp, and then trying to dismiss his threats. He was just begging for an excuse to... No, I would have to be careful.

The wind pulled the man’s long coat toward the traffic, but he didn’t budge. There was nothing to do but wait and hope to keep my distance from the rich creep, and keep a lid on the anger rising in my throat.

Finally, there came a shrill whistle from the distance behind me, growing louder. Sure enough, it was a police siren. Thank God.

You’re going down, psycho. I growled at the old man, glad that someone was about to settle the situation. The cops aren’t slow on picking up crazies, especially the maaagic ones. I fluttered my fingers, imagining the pixie dust that the man with the absurdly wide pupils must have inhaled.

It’s talent, not magic, his voice was calm as he raised a finger, posing for a moment as the most disturbing teacher ever. And don’t forget it. We have much in common, Jason Trudeau, but there are lifetimes of experience separating us.

Experience? Oh, you’ve done time in the crazy house, I snapped at him.

No, his voice rose. His dark eyes bulged as he stepped toward me. This world is crazy, and the wise find themselves prisoners here... because the wise know the universe beyond. Beyond, there is truth... far from insanity, clear of foolishness, outside natural reason.

His black eyes then suddenly shut away. His head dropped crookedly toward the ground.

The siren had cut out, and the sound of a door slam drew my gaze behind me, toward the calm aura of my father’s partner, James, and the reassuring gleam of his badge. Good. My dad, though still in the car, wouldn’t be so hard on me after he met this lunatic.

Huh… I’ll bite… what truth is that? I decided to demonstrate for Uncle James’ sake, pointing with an open hand, to let the old man’s insanity speak for itself.

There was a pause. I glanced from the officer back toward the madman.

The truth is that.... beyond reason, there is endless possibility, the old man’s voice rose higher, his black eyes huge. And ultimate power!

My reaction was interrupted by a surge of wind that threw me to the side with a roar. I banged against the old man’s black car and fell to the ground. The air had become thick, heavy enough to taste, almost thick enough to see where it weaved in and out of itself. When my focus returned to the old man, I measured a full foot separating him from the asphalt below.

His coat ruffled over faded brown leather boots. He swung through the air—I guessed he was on a cable... one I was unable to find. He moved above and past me, slowly advancing on my father’s partner.

Uncle James, watch out! He’s insane! I shouted. Insanity: it was the only thing that made sense about the situation.

A gust forced my head back against the side of the car.

What the… my father’s faint voice barely broke above the tempest.

Stop right there! G-get back on the ground; lay face-down on the pavement! James shouted against the storm. His pistol was drawn and raised against the flying old man.

I think not, replied the twisted man with the black eyes. He swept his hand across his chest. The sidearm flew from the Uncle James’ fingertips, flipping beyond the edge of the overpass, gunmetal glinting in the moonlight just before dropping out of view.

The gust had followed the old man’s hand…

The villain must have heard me gasp. Black eyes pivoted to absorb my gaping stare with a malevolent grin. I turned away. I could just barely see the shape of my father, banging against his car’s passenger-side door, struggling to get out of the police cruiser that had been shoved up against the guard rail by the gusting wind.

The old man, too, turned back... and settled his gaze on my father’s partner… who had begun to rise into the air, his hand slipping away from his radio, his body rotating clumsily, following his gun’s path toward the edge of the elevated highway.

Andy! Jason! Uncle James called for my father and me. His eyes met mine for an instant that I knew—I knew—would be final.

No, no, no, NO! I screamed. I tried to get to my feet, but a wall of wind held me back.

The gusts shoved my arms back, against my face, and when the moment was over, James was gone. Despite the raging winds, I thought I heard the sound of brakes squealing, a hundred feet below.

I choked, struggling to keep my emotions down, to figure out what to do. Dad! He… the lunatic… he killed…

A gunshot cracked through the churning air. I saw my father’s shining blue cap hunkered down beside the railing, with the—finally!—open door of the police cruiser set firmly between the officer and the criminal. The old man laughed from his stance in the sky, extending his arms toward my father, my last defense.

A loud squeak sounded behind my car. In spite of my fear, and the force of the wind, I leaned away from the car to see what was happening. My father hadn’t moved; he seemed to be squished, now, between his police car and the guard rail!

The old man raised his hand. There was another bang, and my dad’s smoking pistol clattered to the ground. I lost sight of my father, as he cut around behind his police car, and suddenly the entire vehicle tipped toward the abyss, all its weight resting on the passenger-side tires. It skidded against the guard rail, the sturdy metal groaning.

The vehicle was now angled high enough that I could see my dad getting back to his feet some distance behind the cruiser. When the railing didn’t give, the winds howled even louder, lifting the metal tonnage, in a slow second, above the hurdle. The old man was still floating, his arms raised, as if he was holding the car up himself.

The undercarriage was flecked with oil and mud. I watched the front tires spin as the vehicle rolled, tipped over the side of the elevated road. My father’s fallen sidearm seemed to jump after the police car. Then the winds faded into silence with a slight whoosh. The thick sky cleared. The sound of twisted metal and crushed glass broke what, for just a moment, was a silent night. Some car rushed past, all too quick to leave the matter to the police.

The old man had returned to earth with a thump of his boots, boots that disappeared once more in the shadows of his long tan coat. A key ring jingled from the villain’s pocket as he walked past me.

Repeat! Man down! Man down! Suspect is extremely dangerous… my father called into his radio.

I stood up and backed away slowly from the old man’s car. The lunatic seemed to forget completely about my father and I for a moment, as he calmly unlocked the door of the lightly dented vehicle. Before I could turn and run, though, the old man’s eyes were on me. I didn’t dare to move.

If you want answers, meet me in Japan, at the top of Tokyo Tower, within the week. The old man presented his demands slowly, precisely, his black eyes burning into me. They will send a large police force, and it will make international news, but unless you come yourself, you’ll never see me again. And that, I promise you, would be the more regrettable thing.

The car spit exhaust in my face as he sped away, and then my father, at last, was at my side.

Chapter 2

Jason:

The flow of events turned to dark molasses, and my mind seemed to grow sluggish... as if I were going through withdrawal, away from the power of those black eyes.

I was numb, dumbstruck as another cruiser transported us to police HQ, as we watched the fruitless helicopter chase, as the evacuation of Santa Monica beach gave way to the old man’s complete disappearance. I vaguely remember describing the fateful encounter to a friendly-looking policewoman... and finally crawling into bed sometime after midnight.

And then the loss hit me, hard and fast. For every birthday, holiday, any day, whenever we needed him, Uncle James had been proof positive that the brotherhood of the police force was a bond of strength unlike any other. My father wouldn’t let me get away with saying it, but I felt it. I felt it then, and over and over... every day, every sleepless night: Uncle James died protecting and serving, for the public good, for the force, for his brother in blue, but, in particular he had died for my sake.

I made myself a promise as I dropped a shovelful of dirt onto his casket. The country had a duty to its protectors, the police had a duty to one of their own, my dad had a responsibility to his partner... and I had a responsibility to my uncle. There would be justice for James.

Most people might have experienced those following days as a slow crawl. For me, it was more of a blur, a dark haze. I felt grief, guilt, hugs, and squeezes on my shoulder from friends and family lending me their strength. But it was like a river, rushing around me; I felt like a boulder plunked in the middle of it, like I was rough, dull, and useless. Still numb.

And so I made a choice: I decided that I wouldn’t be worn down by the torrent of tragedies that was too much for me to control. I decided that I was being carved, sharpened, shaped by the flow of the big events, those done, and those yet to come. And then, more than anything, I started to feel that I had been set apart, that, maybe, if I simply weathered the flood... then, just maybe, some greater purpose was waiting to wash over me. With that, the black waters took on some clarity. There would be justice for James.

The LAPD had sent its own men to Japan, of course, and the police who could be spared in Tokyo were willing to help. The leaders of the investigation were kind enough—or at least smart enough—not to insist that my father stay at home and recuperate. Dad hadn’t even tried to make the case for me staying back in LA. He heard me when I said I had to go, and somehow he negotiated me into his part of the international investigation. I realized I was grateful.

We’ll be among good men. We’ll be prepared, dad had repeated, again and again, to my mother.

No one mentioned that getting me out of the country meant that our family and friends wouldn’t be in harm’s way if the old man got restless and decided that I hadn’t taken him seriously enough. I was glad to accept the responsibility and risk, wordlessly, the way that, for Uncle James and my father, risking their lives had always been a simple daily routine of putting on a uniform and a badge.

Strength is whatever remains, he told me toward the end of the eleven-hour flight to Tokyo. The beauty of a mountain is that it holds together, no matter what happens.

It’s a little over-the-top, my dad had continued, but it makes me feel better at times like this. That’s what we’re here to do, Jason… for James’ sake, for the sake of those people the murderer crushed with my car, and a little for our sake, too.

We landed in Narita International Airport. We slept restlessly as ever. And then finally, backed up by a Japanese SWAT team, we came to the twisted remains of Tokyo Tower.

Strangeness upon strangeness. When the old man had made his demands, Tokyo Tower had already been rusting in a heap of twisted metal for months. In a way, it was easier now to get to the top of it, in the wake of the horrific earthquake.

As we scanned the metal corpse in the all-too-quiet neighborhood, predictably enough, there was no sign of the villain.

It was a joke, a trick, I knew. We stayed there for hours, but I knew it after only a few minutes as I walked the length of the wrecked tower. The old man wouldn’t show himself.

Maybe we should check the Skytree... one of the officers suggested in a thick accent. It’s still standing, after all.

I was the only one who laughed. I cut it short, though, when I caught a glance from my dad.

You should go home now, the Japanese officer finally said. It’s not safe, especially if that killer is around here.

I remembered my father’s poker face. My dad had nodded to appease the officer, but I knew his plan. He called in his favors. We stayed in Tokyo, as part of a smaller, less official investigation unit.

And a few days later, after I had given up, and our guard was down, the old man grabbed me, pulled me away from my father in the dark, neon-spotted streets of ruined Tokyo...

Damaged bulbs spat erratic, angry shadows into the dark streets. The glowing tubes of the Japanese store sign would not reach back to illuminate my face against the dividing night. My father squinted, shielding himself from the inconstant flicker. He searched desperately across the four directions of the intersection, only a single story and a hundred feet from me.

Jason! my dad cried out.

The unmistakably dark voice of a black-eyed old man whispered a warning into my ear. Quiet, Jason Trudeau. You don’t want him hurt, do you?

With the old man’s hand clamped over my mouth, I was in no position to argue. I forced myself to remain stone-still as I struggled to decide my next move.

Let him go, Jason. If he interferes, I will cut him down more quickly than I killed the other officer, the old man continued the warning. All the more frightening how my internal struggle was clear to him.

I twisted, but the villain’s grip only tightened.

Silence. He hissed.

My father’s feet swished in the street, following the noise. He waited several moments, but was unable to pinpoint its source. Apparently, he heard or saw something else, because he suddenly turned and dashed out of the intersection, disappearing behind a building, into the teasing catacombs of a collapsed metropolis, Tokyo that had fallen when the earth shook.

And there the realization struck. My dad was out of the line of fire for now, and the murderer was standing right behind me. My elbow hurled backward toward the old man’s stomach.

Turning back to grab his falling shoulder, though, I instead found the old man’s deep black eyes unmoved, staring at me without a trace of a flinch. The smooth leather of a glove resisted the increased pressure of my elbow, and, as I reached my leg back for his ankle, to trip him, he let me topple myself against a crumbling plaster wall. I brushed the chalky dust from my face and gritted my teeth. My feet were anchored for a fight. But the old man was already three steps down the staircase.

I’m glad to see you haven’t changed your feelings about me, he said, disappearing into the inky shadows of the stairwell.

I dashed after him, leaping down the steps to the ground floor. Scanning the first floor of the looted convenience store, I hopped over an upended magazine rack and dashed into the intersection where I had last seen my dad. Breathing heavily, I turned to search as much as the faint moonlight would allow. This bad guy was quick.

The black-eyed old man detached himself from the shadows under the sparking neon sign. Your instincts were right, you know. The bad thing about not changing your feelings, though, he stepped toward me, the tips of his ghostly hair twitching in the wind, is that it suggests that you haven’t changed your mind, either.

He grinned, exposing a target of unnervingly white teeth. Hoping that they weren’t dentures, my fist exploded toward his mouth, and bounced away with a pulsating crack of pain. When I forced my eyes out of their wince, I saw the cement block settle gently to the ground. The man’s flying tan coat darted around the corner across from the crumbled department store. A trailing chuckle died away. Shaking the pain from my knuckles, I tore after him, adrenaline drowning my questions, my better judgment.

He had paused around the corner, a long block away.

Remember: it’s not magic. It’s better than magic, he called, black eyes burning as I rushed after him. Without wires or mirrors or cards or hats. Without wands or pots or tongues or spells. Just talent, and the will to use it.

I skidded to a stop just in front of him, the crazy old man. He was a murderer, insane, not to be listened to. The wind whistled harshly between us, and, remembering how he had used it before, it might as well have been a concrete wall. I hardened my fist once more, pretending that more punishment would numb it. But, he wasn’t moving, and I had to remain.

Why are you doing this? I said, remembering my question and the knife in my pocket, trying to meet his black eyes in front of my wavering fist. I would need to find the right moment.

We should get better acquainted. But not here, he said, and now his dark eyes were glancing down another street.

When he moved, the tan coat blended into the shadows. Keep going until you’re in the intersection with a blinking stoplight. From that intersection, turn right and continue on until the building blocks your way. Or, try to find your father, get lost in an unknown, destroyed city, and never see me again, never get any answers, no justice. The old man smirked.

He wore the same heavy boots as before, and, despite their weight, they made only the lightest click-click-click as he sprinted ahead of me. I leaned forward, but held my ground for another moment. Ahead, over his shoulder, I picked out a blinking red light from among the neon splashes that wrapped the buildings.

This is wrong I told myself. I’m on my own, with no plan!

I shouldn’t even be here at all...

The flood of support was cut off, but someone had to do something. There was no one else...

Powers aside, though, he was manipulating me too easily. He was crazy, but he was smart.

The old man seemed to read my mind as he continued on. A piece of advice for the troubles to come: question your purpose on your own time, he said over his shoulder. When action is necessary, doubt is failure.

I clenched my reddened knuckles, certain that I was playing into his hands, into his fortune-cookie suggestion. But he was a talker, I reasoned. He seemed to want my attention more than my blood. The more I followed him, the more I would learn, and assuming I survived this encounter, any information I gleaned would be useful to the police. And how far away was my father? No. I shook away the thought. If the super-powered old man did intend to kill me, well, not even the police could help me or my family anymore, and so it might be just as well that my father wasn’t around. I released my clenched fist and looked ahead. As I should have expected, he was gone.

If the crazy man didn’t have magic, he had something close enough: mad skills. Talent, he had said. I frowned. Was I already prepared to buy so much into his words?

With a growl of resignation, I broke into a run. Fighting my conflicting thoughts the entire way, I quickly reached the designated building... blocked by rubble. A dead end. Another trick? My legs ached, so I fell to my knees. Above my head, the heap of ruined building stretched four stories, and the walls were even higher on the right and left.

My head drooped and I opened my mouth to scream, to cry, but, when I did, I found myself wanting to laugh. It didn’t make any sense, so, of course, I had to try it aloud, Why am I here? Why is all this happening to me?

I flinched as one of the surrounding piles of debris crumbled away, revealing a huge, dented drain pipe. A reply emanated from within. Using your head, Jason Trudeau? the old man’s haunting voice drifted from the darkness inside. Indeed, why would anyone go to all this trouble if he didn’t have a point?

I didn’t allow myself to hesitate. You promised answers, I challenged, crouching into the pipe. "What is your point?"

The air inside was dry and hot. I fell to my hands and knees, crawling after the waving light that bounced around the old man’s bent arms and legs. I promised nothing, but the answers I implied are just ahead. His voice was low.

The light became bright and clear before me. I scrambled forward, scraping my jeans and T-shirt against the tight metal. The air tasted clear and fresh as I broke into the expanse outside. The hum of distant conversations reached my ears. Other people! Help!

The old man grabbed my shirt and pulled me to my feet beside a strangely stable corrugated steel wall. We were standing just outside the pipe, at the end of an alleyway between a ruined building to the right and the surprisingly clean metal structure to the left. With a slight creak, the old man pulled a section of the metal away from the corner where it met the ground. The knife in my pocket came to mind again, and I wondered how much good it would do against one bending metal like it was nothing.

What are— the slap of the old man’s heavy glove over my face crushed my question.

It would behoove you to shut up. Pressed up against him, the old man’s pupils seemed almost as wide as eyeballs, the dark consuming the light. His voice was just above a whisper. There is a man with a gun here, guarding this place. I have plans for secrecy, and I assume you have plans to stay alive. Although… I’m more than happy to give up my plans if you are willing to throw away your life.

He pulled his hand away and watched me expectantly.

I balled my fist—he would kill me to avoid getting captured here, but maybe this was my best chance to...

No, I had blinked, and he had already moved inside, beneath the peeled steel, into what turned out to be a large, dimly lit room. My focus shifted toward taking in the new surroundings. The ground went from dust to uneven sidewalk and cracked asphalt. The entire room seemed to be square, maybe half a city block. The walls of the makeshift storage area were lined with boxes and bags, numbered and labeled in mysterious Japanese characters.

I turned to the old man’s gleaming white smile and followed his finger toward the far wall. My gaze centered on a crystal that shone clear and bright from inside its plastic bag, reflecting the light from the fluorescent lamps. Tugging on my arm, the old man approached the crystal slowly, weaving between metal racks and shelves. Stopping in front of the glowing crystal—a cube, I realized—he let go of my shirt, and I pulled away. His brow furrowed, shaping a sinister frown. Black eyes burning, the old man gestured for me to come closer.

Stalling for time, I scanned the space around me, stopping briefly to eye a large red switch, an alarm. My intentions all too obvious, the old man growled, and reached for me. There the impulse struck me, primal instinct. He was trapped, confused. It was time to surprise him. Instead of going for the alarm, I pulled my knife and thrust it toward his neck.

The blade stopped, though, just before biting the skin. The old man gave me a pitying look. My hand was paralyzed in his, the knife-edge a hair’s breadth from his throat. He certainly did have talent. His reflexes were superhuman, and his grip on my wrist was as inflexible as stone.

He pulled me a step away from the alarm. You’ve shown strength, Jason. For that, I’ll let you see me bleed.

The evil old man squeezed my aching knuckles and jerked the knife slightly upward. A drop of blood ran down the side of his neck. He squeezed my hand again, and the knife clattered to the concrete floor, accompanied by a tiny whimper: mine.

I had completely lost control of the situation. My knuckles, so recently tenderized against a concrete brick, were now pulsating with fiery pain. With my wrist still in his hand, the old man thrust my fingers toward the glowing crystal cube. The bag was open.

Take it, he ordered, emphasizing the words with a vicious squeeze of my broken hand.

As I touched the glassy surface of the gemstone-like cube, the reflections of the fluorescent lights flared and reached out to me, white, red, blue, and green. The colors changed and split apart.

Confused, afraid, and overwhelmed, I fell to my knees. The colors became images, pictures of tortured souls slicing back and forth in my head. I saw wide-eyed children in chains, men pinned to the ground with swords, and women tossed to the side of a desert road. Through it all, the old man was watching, his dark eyes flaring with an evil joy.

Suddenly, the crystal was cool and dark in my fingers, and harsh reality returned to cut through the terrible visions. The old man pulled the supernatural vessel away protectively... but it was no longer a clear cube. It was black, smaller, a pyramid.

Devidis… I said. The syllables were new to my lips.

The evil old man dropped to a low crouch to meet my eyes. My fists were clenched helplessly on the floor near his ankles. He leaned in closer and then closer still, his eyes looming wide, staring into me. It wasn’t just shadows playing tricks: the lunatic had black eyes—broad black circles on white orbs with no irises, no other color. They were hungry black holes, consuming my focus, my thoughts, my mind.

He put his palm to my forehead and grabbed my hair. You saw it too, didn’t you? Yes. Those visions are true, or, at least, they will be.

The old man’s breath was hot and harsh on my face. But the cube has split again. Where have the four gone? Have you done something with them? I wonder…

His hungry eyes scanned the room briefly, before returning their piercing focus to me.

It’s a cruel world, boy, and getting crueler by the moment, he said.

He put his mouth up next to my ear. Dark eyes wide and wild, he continued. "Much, much crueler. Now that you know my name, your choices are simple: see how far you get by fighting for me, or… He chuckled, deep in his throat, and shoved me away, see how far you get by fighting against me."

OK, OK, I said, stalling for time, scrambling desperately to my feet. This man Devidis was just about done talking. Let me just—

He followed my eyes toward the panel on the wall, and guessed my strategy once again. Desperately, I moved, crashing against the shelves, pushing away from the falling boxes to reach the red switch, the alarm. I pulled away the cover and slammed the illuminated lever. The old man had my answer. It was bright, and red, and shrieking.

Angry, my adversary threw his weight against a nearby desk. The metal bulk hurtled with supernatural speed, tripped with a crunch on the uneven ground, and crashed against my legs. Before I was able to react, I found myself pinned against the doorway.

Well, well, that’s the most intelligent thing you’ve done all evening, he offered the twisted compliment, dashing back toward the way we had entered, with the black pyramid clasped tightly in his hand. You might make yourself an Elemental after all.

As he vanished behind the metal wall, I pushed with all my strength against the metal desk. Jammed, it held me tight between the shelves, while the alarm filled the room with panicked red light and sound.

Chapter 3

Ryan:

I caught myself again staring. I looked out across the collapsed metropolis that was almost real enough. Why it was still so surreal to me? I had formed a faint idea about the greater purpose behind why the Japanese capital had fallen. I had seen the hope and shared humanity shining in the eyes of the survivors. I heard ambitious stories of building bigger, better, and cleaner. But why was it me there, really? Anyone else could have smiled when faced with the barrage of foreign syllables, and most people would have taken the sight and stench of dead bodies better. Looking at the broken buildings, I wondered why I had been accepted to the volunteer program. Was she part of the answer?

Turning shyly as we walked through a street that now snaked back and forth at broken angles, I watched her again. Erin’s long, dark hair had a little brown in it. When the sun hit it right, it looked red on the fringes. Her shining eyes had flecks of green in them. She was taller than me, thin but strong, and... just.. beyond words. My opinion of her had only grown from the moment I had seen her first wipe away the black asphalt dust from her face, giving nothing but positive signs after living through one of the worst natural disasters in human history. She amazed me, but at the time, I didn’t have words eloquent enough to tell her so.

Instead, I asked her, So, how much further are we going?

Just two more blocks. You aren’t tired already, are you? She chided me with only the smallest trace of her native accent. I had been convinced that she was from the States when she first answered me in English. She could have easily passed as one of my classmates in high school back home.

You’re asking me if I’m tired? I just finished serving your dinner, I said. You and everyone else. Working the chow line for a thousand people isn’t exactly a vacation. I have a right to be a bit tired.

She gave me a mischievous smile in return.

We moved quickly, practically sliding down the side of one of the steeper hills of debris, and looked toward to the obstacles ahead. It was all downhill from there, not as steeply, but just enough to make walking easier. Though not particularly high, the hill might have afforded a good view of Japan’s capital city before the earthquake. I might have been able to see the emperor’s palace, or the Skytree. Where was that, anyway? But now, in the dust and darkness, it was all the same flattened mess.

How was the food, by the way? I asked.

She chuckled. I’ve had better, but, you know, under these circumstances, it was pretty good. She tightened her ponytail, adding. You might be tired, but I hope you’re glad to be doing something more with your night than watching the city collect its own dust.

My smile stretched a little wider. Though I had encouraged her to go on to the evacuation centers with the others who were being rescued, she had begged to join the relief effort herself and serve as a useful English-Japanese interpreter. Fortunately for me, she hadn’t been assigned elsewhere; the site coordinators made arrangements for her to stay near her parents and her Minato Ward neighborhood. And, as a further bonus, she was quick to introduce me to her friends.

Remind me about this girl, I said. She’s a geologist’s daughter? Where’s she from?

Yeah, don’t worry; we’ll be able to, you know, communicate easily, she said. Kris’s parents are originally from Peru, I think, but she was born in the States. She’s anxious to show me, show us, some of the cool things that her mother found. Her mom is, yes, a geologist, one who’s been in the rift a number of times.

Great. And which building is hers? I asked, realizing that we were close.

This one on the corner. Erin pointed. Wait here.

I obediently stopped, leaning on one of the larger chunks of cement as my friend made her way over the next rubble heap. Against my hand, the concrete was cold and grainy, not fit for a casual lean. I put my weight back on my feet and looked at a cardboard box pinned to the ground nearby, trying to make sense of the Japanese characters. For a moment, I wondered what it felt like for Erin, climbing over the ruins of so many places that must have been so recently full of life, and so familiar for her. I had to stop myself, though. The thought was just too sad. Anyway, this was only one part of a big city. Better not to think on it; I’m sure she’d agree.

A loose knot of people passed by with a few courteous nods. I returned one of my own before returning my attention to the slightly downhill view. From where I stood, it was all scrap and darkness, except for where a few stoplights blinked. I scratched my head. Despite the vastness of the destruction, for some reason, some lights still had enough power to flicker. Overhead, the stars were mostly invisible in the dust cloud that never seemed to settle. I grabbed my nose to stifle a sneeze, and listened for the murmur of voices in the nearest building.

Erin returned after a few minutes with the geologist’s daughter in tow. The petite girl brushed off her jeans and greeted me with an energetic Hi!. Her face was defined by a warm smile that started with her light hazel eyes. I had to make an active effort not to, rudely, check her out from head to toe. Fortunately for me, the cute girls seemed to gravitate toward each other.

Ryan, this is Kris. Kris, meet Ryan. She gestured quickly between us.

It’s nice to meet you, Kris said in a soft, sweet voice that put me instantly at ease.

You too, I nodded, shaking her hand. So, which way are we headed?

This way, Kris answered, taking us in the direction of the rift, the canyon that had opened without warning in the middle of the city as a result of the horrendous earthquake. The buildings that looked to have fallen almost sideways pointed out the way.

Have you gone down into the rift yet? Erin asked as we made our way over the decreasingly bumpy ground. Though going down was easier, paying attention to both girls while keeping my footing was tricky.

No. My mom wouldn’t let me, anyway, Kris answered. None of the geologists trust this quake. And it’s not just that the aftershocks haven’t stopped. The fact that some things randomly stayed standing, the weird way that most of the buildings fell… and that so much of the city still has electricity, even with a busted power grid... It’s not exactly natural. The strange melty silver rocks that are coming out of the rift are even better proof that traditional geology has no good way to describe this disaster. So many apparently impossible things...

Times like these make me really think that anything’s possible, bad or good. I said, with a glance at Erin as she tucked one of her bangs behind her ear. Her face showed no reaction to my lame attempt at positivity. So I gave changing the topic a try. Kris, you’re going to show us some of these melted rocks?

Well, there’s one in particular I like. It’s just a really beautiful gemstone. There are others you might like, too—

The wail of a siren interrupted her.

What the…? I imagined a crushed bank alarm springing to life.

No way. Kris’s voice rose in the direction of the screech. That sounds like it’s coming from the protected storage area.

The what? Erin asked, looking with annoyance in the direction of the sound.

The place we were planning to go, Kris clarified.

‘Were’? I hit upon Kris’s use of the past tense reflexively, and both girls gave me looks. They had picked up my implication just before I recognized it myself.

The frown on our geological guide told me that going forward was not at the top of her list of options, but I sensed a little excitement in Erin’s expression.

As foreign volunteers trying to help Tokyo’s desperate victims, my team leader had emphasized that a good first impression could be very powerful. I decided to make use of that rule now.

Maybe… someone needs help, I suggested.

The girls, together, gave me another weird look. Too vague? With a shrug, I cut to the point. Go big or go home. Maybe we could go see what’s happened, I said more decisively.

Taking a short step in the alarm’s direction, I turned to see how they would react. The decision of our geological guide pushed me forward: Well, I suppose I could go. Sometimes the alarm can be a little too sensitive, Kris said.

In the lead, I broke into a trot. So did the girls.

The question finally flashed across my mind: Do you know what you’re doing? It could be dangerous! But, with two capable and pretty girls quick on my heels, there was little room in my head for thoughts of slowing down. I was already committed, so I set my jaw and stepped a little faster, to give them more room behind me, as we moved across the treacherous ground. Traversing around and through the tiny piles of broken cement, the siren grew louder a bit faster than I expected: we were close.

This is the place. Kris grabbed my shoulder and pointed to a large, newly constructed building nearby. Slowing a bit more, I let our geological guide take the lead,.

The storage facility was a small, sturdy metal structure, one of many that had been put up for hospital rooms, communications offices, and to serve other essential purposes. I began to wonder how the geologic researchers could justify needing an alarm for a tiny building in a city without reliably running water.

So there’s definitely more than rocks inside, I told myself, a confident smile spreading as I counted off the bonuses: taking the chance to possibly impress Erin, meeting Kris, and seeing what this juicy excitement was about.

And then, just over the shrill alarm, the faint sound of something heavy grunting inside the storage shed caught my attention.

Ron? Is that you? Kris raised her voice. She was looking, not toward the sound of the grunt, but off down the street.

I gave her a confused look.

Erin said, I might have seen someone go around a corner, that way. She pointed down the street toward where Kris had called.

Before I had the chance to say anything to either of them, the grunting grew more insistent. It was quickly followed by a banging sound.

Hey, whoever you are, help me! I’m stuck, and— the speaker’s voice was muffled. With the alarm blaring from roughly the same location, I wasn’t able to understand anything else he was trying to say.

Erin and I looked to Kris. Rushing to the nearby door, the girl punched in a code. The lock clicked, the alarm died, and the way was open to us. Inside were shelves filled with boxes, many marked in English—with long geological-sounding words—but most were coded in Japanese. Half of the shelves along one wall had collapsed. A black guy, about our age, was half-covered by an overturned desk, one that had somehow trapped him between a shelf and the wall behind him. He gave Kris a look of desperation as he shoved against the heavy metal desk.

Oh, thank God!

Kris stepped closer to this new guy—another geologist?

Who are you? What are you doing here? she asked.

I got suckered into being here, by the same guy who killed my father’s partner, said the guy, American from the accent. Let me go; let me catch him!

Kris, Erin and I all traded uncertain looks. What should we do?

Listen, I guess you haven’t heard, but my name is Jason Trudeau, he explained, his words rapid-fire. My father’s a police officer; his partner was the one killed by the flying cop car. Your armbands… You’re all aid volunteers, aren’t you? You must’ve heard the story...

I nodded slowly, and Jason continued. "That same guy is the one who just stole the crystal cube, who pinned me here! Please, you’ve got to help me get out of here now so I—so someone can catch him!"

Erin’s eyes went wide. Yeah, it’s you! I saw your picture and your father’s… Andy Trudeau! Ryan, help me here.

We both grabbed the desk and started hauling at it. I took a second look at him; his face did match, and his eyes were honest: afraid but determined. Kris joined in. With us three pulling, and Jason pushing, we got the mangled piece of furniture to budge just enough. The desk was crooked, as if some gigantic hand had squeezed it, bent it out of shape.

I can move; I think I can climb over it, Jason said. The next moment, he was up and over the desk. His feet touched ground, and he winced. His pants were ripped. There looked to be deep cuts on his legs. His arm was bleeding, too.

You’re really hurt, Kris said, taking a handkerchief from her pocket.

Forget it, Jason said. Call the cops. …I don’t know why, but he stole some cube, too.

Cube? Kris turned her attention toward the far wall. She pointed toward one of the high shelves. You’re talking about the clear cube that was on the top shelf there?

Yeah… How did you know that? the guy asked Kris, slowing momentarily as he headed for the door.

This police stuff is just on the other side of the geological stuff, Kris gestured. It’s hard not to notice the cube after looking at so many other crystals and rocks. And they asked—

That’s the one, though I think he broke it. Our new injured friend cut her short as he reached the doorway.

Erin was outside first, jogging just ahead of him I did see someone go off down the street, that way, she said, pointing out into the darkened city.

Kris pressed me forward and I followed Erin and Jason.

The geologist’s daughter seemed to be talking mostly to herself. "Where’s Ron? This is too big of a coincidence. They asked my mom about the crystal cube just last week. It was giving off some weird radiation, they said. If they think my mom or I was involved… Where is that guard?"

A guard! I repeated, my eyes darting between Kris and Jason. If he can—

Outside, Jason was done listening. He was off like a shot, headed in the direction Erin had pointed, toward the mystery figure.

Kris interrupted, Ron has a radio, and he can... wait. She turned to Erin, The person you saw going off that way...

He was in uniform, white and blue, Erin answered.

Then he was chasing the thief! Kris said, her hand squeezing into a fist. I have to help Ron, help Jason.

With that, Kris took off, her footsteps echoed between the buildings. The city seemed even emptier than before, beneath the specks of starlight.

Kris, wait! Erin called, and then she was off, after her friend, the geologist’s daughter.

For just a moment, I had been left behind. But abandoning the girls was, of course, out of the question. Within seconds, I overtook Erin, and now we all were running after Ron, after Jason and the mystery criminal. No more hesitation, I told myself. I was responsible for bringing them here. Kris, our guide, had even been reluctant to come. And Jason was hurt already. We were in this together.

Looking ahead, I saw Kris vanish around the corner of a building. I suddenly realized how easy it would be to get lost. I looked back, though, and sure enough, there was Erin, not two steps behind me. Her eyes were focused ahead, and something about that was clearer than any road sign, pointing after Kris and Jason, and Ron.

The next block opened up onto a main street. There was movement in the distance: Jason had taken another turn. A blinking blue stoplight illuminated Kris kneeling over something. Erin and I quickly caught up to her. There was a burning stench in the air.

It’s Ron’s radio! Kris said, showing us the object of her attention. There was a big scratch down one side.

You don’t think he… Erin’s voice trailed off.

De-vi-dis! a strange cry broke through the night air. I recognized Jason’s voice in the distance, ripe with rage. What did it mean? Well, whatever it was, he needed help. I looked at the two girls, then snatched the radio from Kris’s hands, moving as fast as my legs would carry me toward the sound of Jason’s call.

Hello… hello? I squeezed the talk button between heaving breaths as I ran. There was no sound, no response from the device. Broken? I gave up trying to talk and run at the same time. Something banged along an intersecting street. I took the turn, noticing the girls behind me. There