The Elemental

Fate and destiny do not always align...

Raised within the Temple walls, Baldric has dedicated his life to a single cause: to kill the Elementals and the radical cults that seek to summon them. When the foretold omens begin to reveal themselves, his hunt begins. On his journey, he will face powers far greater than he could have ever imagined.

Svanhild comes from a humble background, and when the opportunity comes, she follows the hunter in search of her own destiny. Her visions lead them north, but even her gift of foresight does not prepare her for what they encounter. Before the end, her decisions will prove to be the most crucial of all.

The Svalkin can see the hands of the gods in many ways. When Bjorn predicts an omen of war, his king must make a decision. This threat is not as straight-forward as it seems, however. The Svalkin are in grave danger, and so are their kingdoms.

Amidst the power struggles of the nation-states, warring racial factions, and the dying will of the Old Gods, these characters will come face-to-face with trials of faith, courage, and betrayal. The world as they know it is about to change; all that’s left to decide, is what they are willing to fight for.

The Elemental

Book One of the Breath of Eternity Series

J. M. Simmons

Copyright © 2019 by J. M. Simmons

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

IBSN:13: 978-0-578-55631-4

Credits:

Cover Artist: Teresa Guido

Editor: Michele Hoffman of Michelle’s Edits

Formatter: First Table on the Left Book Services

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Acknowledgements

About the Author

This book is dedicated to:

My childhood friend, Lauren E.

Our world is as big as we can imagine it.

Prologue

Though the sky above was filled with burning stars, they brought no relief to the dark world below. A solitary figure stood on a balcony high above the glassy waves, looking silently upwards. The moon had lifted itself from the horizon and flown up to the crest of the sky. It towered over the world, looking serene and distant, and so far from the turmoil below. The sphere was hardly a sliver; but of course, it was. It was the end of a cycle.

The old woman on the balcony laughed quietly to herself, and the sound was immediately swept away by a rush of icy wind. She didn’t mind the cold; it didn’t bite her.

The smile that lingered after the laughter had faded was hollow. Something was constricting within her chest, though the feeling wasn’t entirely foreign. It was the smile of one who could no longer cry, or the laugh of one who could no longer scream. The feeling of embracing something terrible, but altogether unavoidable.

Countless others had done it before tonight, and even for herself, this would not be the first time. It was simply the way things had to be. It was as inescapable as the rising of a new sun on a day she would not live to see.

Tonight, was the night she would die.

A full cycle had passed, but this one was by far the longest. They were not always the same, but each cycle was marked by the death and rebirth of her kind. She was four hundred and seventy years old now; it was time for a new age to begin.

Her head tipped forward as her hair, pale and dulled with age, fell gently around her face. It was time for her to die, and she was afraid. She didn’t want to go. And despite the cloudless, peaceful sky above, her end was hardly peaceful.

Chaos sounded from far below.

The sound of fighting reached her ears, and she closed her eyes against it. Since her beginning, there had always been fighting and war. Her body was scared and ached as it held her, and the cries below created a painful sense of failure in her heart. She had failed to end the conflict in this lifetime.

Someone appeared in the doorway, speaking breathlessly. My Queen, all is ready. We must go quickly; the barricades won’t hold for long.

She turned, knowing who she would find. Her faithful general was waiting, reaching out his hand to her. His hair was also grey now, but his eyes were still bright with the flame of duty. The lady said nothing, but stepped away from the balcony for the last time. She took his hand, accepting her destiny.

No casket was prepared for her; no glass coffin for her followers to mourn over. There was no glittering funeral ship, nor a great pyre prepared with oil. She would die, but only as anything true to nature dies. She would be reborn from her own demise and rise like a bird of fire from its own, cold ashes.

This was how she bore the curse of immortality.

From her death, her physical body would be demolished, and she would reincarnate somewhere else in some new form. She could not influence what this form would be, so she went forth into the unknown, trusting the hands of the gods to deliver her soul. This would mark the beginning of a new cycle for her kind, but now, it also meant she would escape their attackers.

The small, simple room was prepared with magical symbols hastily scratched into the walls and little else. She would die here, on the cold stone floor. Her heart constricted in her chest, but it was time. Her body ached to rest; it was only her mind that could feel fear. A simple, primal fear, which threatened to halt her step, but she pressed forward, regardless.

The commotion down the hall grew louder, and her general urged her to hurry.

They were coming for her. If they killed her before she performed her ritual, she would die in earnest; one of the world’s few Immortals would lie slain in a pool of their own blood. The last of her stronghold would protect her for as long as they could. Her general would see to that. He had given his life to her long ago, and so she moved calmly.

She was not afraid of their enemies at the gates. She was afraid because she knew that this was the last time she would see the one who had been by her side for so long. Her heart weighed heavily in her chest, and knew she was leaving all of them to their deaths. In their hunt to kill her, her enemies would not spare a single one of her followers.

With one last whispered goodbye, the door shut. 

By the time their attackers tore the door off its hinges, there was nothing left in the room but smoldering symbols and empty clothes upon the floor.

Chapter 1

The elders were gathering; it was the fourth time that week.

Endless muttering and rushed conversations were causing his hairs to stand on end. Now, it interrupted his meditation. Baldric was sitting cross-legged on a small, rectangular mat along with several other students. The meditation room they were in was lit with natural light from the large, open windows. The architecture of the temple was ancient, but the building was meticulously cared for. His eyes were closed now, but he had memorized the complex designs that covered the walls and ceiling of the room; they elegantly depicted the alchemical elements and their relationships. The Temple at Shanga was dedicated to the study of science and to the protection of the people.

The younger and more daring students had crept to the door to try to listen. The older hunters stayed in place, but he doubted that they were able to resume their meditations so easily. After all, there were only a few things these meetings could be about, and it was what they had been trained for their entire lives.

Do you think they’ve found more cultists? someone whispered by the door.

They wouldn’t have this many meetings for that; they would just send someone out.

The two young hunters by the door suddenly scurried back to their places as someone passed by, resuming their positions on their mats.

Baldric had peeked an eye open, but quickly shut it and tried to refocus.

All of the students, teachers, and elders were part of the Temple’s order; they had all been trained from birth to serve as the Temple’s hunters. They were the shadowy assassins, trained tirelessly over generations, waiting until the council summoned them to hunt the Immortals. 

It had been over one-hundred and ninety years since the Immortals had fled the world. They had abandoned their ancient forms to release their spirits, and they now awaited the time when they could be reincarnated.

Their cults had been hunted to the brink of extinction, eradicated in the eyes of the rest of the world, but the great Temple at Shanga knew they still awaited their spirit masters. Hidden pockets of a once-great society lurked in cursed places now, performing their dark rituals and trying to call their Immortal leaders back into the mundane world.

If they succeeded, the Temple would know. The hunters watched, ever vigilant, for the omens that would indicate the Immortals had returned. There were four of these creatures in total, the first and last of their kind. They were relics of a more ancient and chaotic time. Of a time when the old gods appointed powerful guardians to fight on their behalf. The cults that worshiped them were convinced that the Immortals were protectors. But the Temple, through its enlightenment and study of science, knew what they truly were. They were the incarnate of the destructive forces of nature; they would kill and destroy mercilessly and without discretion.

Baldric had trained for years. He had studied how to read the omens, and he was trained in lethal combat, disciplining his body and mastering his mind. All of this with the ultimate goal of exterminating a power far greater than himself for the sake of preserving the peace and safety of their nation. Each of the hunters were assigned to one creature in particular, and so their training was specialized. If the creatures had returned, they would only have a small window of opportunity to strike before they grew to full power once again. 

They were immortal, but they required a mortal host to house their reincarnated spirit. If the host was killed before the spirit completely bonded to it, then the Immortal’s spirit would truly die. They would have to track their assigned Immortal down and destroy it before it could be allowed to rise, or the wars would begin all over again, and thousands upon thousands would die in their wake.

Several sets of feet moved towards them from down the hallway. To anyone else who was not raised within the Temple, they would have been silent. But, hunters knew these stealth techniques. They could not hide from each other.

The group paused at the door; no words were spoken, yet he knew they were being summoned. The students within the room all simultaneously abandoned their meditations and obediently joined the group in silence.

The able-bodied hunters ranged in age and specialty, but they moved as one when together. They were being summoned to see the Masters, who would tell them if the omens were beginning to appear and what their orders would be. More than likely, they would be disbursed to all corners of the map, following omens as far as they took them as they hunted the ancient spirits who were reborn into new bodies. 

They would slay these creatures when they found them, or die trying.

Baldric entered a darkened room with the others. This was the inner sanctum of the Temple, and they all bowed before facing their Masters. All of the Temple’s Masters were humans. Hunters could become elders, but not Masters. The human’s skin and hair varied in color, but the group that was steadily gathering before them had no variation. They had dark, inky black skin and black hair. Their teeth were fanged and their eyes flashed metallic colors, even in the dim light. They were made for a single purpose, and it was about to be revealed if their generation was the one who would get the chance to hunt.

The old, robed figures scanned them critically while the entire population was gathered. Then the eldest Master, a man with an incredibly long, white beard, stood and addressed them.

The signs are beginning to reveal themselves, he said slowly, his voice heavy with prophecy. The time is near. As we pass the ninetieth day of the one-hundred and ninetieth year, we send out those who have dedicated their lives to the Temple, who seek to protect our people from an ancient chaos. Our faith will be placed in you.

The weight of his words was matched by the swelling of pride in Baldric’s chest. 

It was finally time.

Follow the signs and kill the roots of the tree. Do this, and you will protect the lives of thousands. The oldest man turned his head, his long, tapering beard moving with him. Accept these charges. Pledge yourself to this cause for the good of all.

As he spoke, several of the Masters moved forward, handing out scrolls and ceremonial daggers to the elders. The elders then turned and began to distribute the orders to the hunters. The hunters eagerly sheathed the knives into their leather holders, which had been empty until this day. The black daggers were ceremonial symbols of an assignment, but they would also be used to cut out the Immortals’ hearts when they found them. The scrolls assigned them to a region where some kind of omen had been sighted. They would travel to each area and investigate, returning either with a heart, or to report fully on a false sighting and be reassigned.

He bowed and accepted these items from his old teacher, recently retired to elder, who looked at him with pride glistening in his old eyes. His teacher had lived his entire life in the Temple, but had never had the opportunity to hunt. Instead, he was placing his faith in his student. 

This solemn honor encouraged him to bow lower before departing.

They eagerly opened their scrolls as soon as they were out of the sanctum and spoke excitedly about their assignments. Some were assigned as far as the Rinashin Mountains in the east, and some were going to be heading south to the islands of Mirum. For his part, Baldric was assigned to head north and follow the omens seen on the shores of the Northern Ocean, even if it took him off the continent. This was not a possibility he had considered.

They didn’t have long to discuss or contemplate, however. Instead, they were immediately taken by the elders and directed to assemble their effects. They were then to be taken to meet their assigned partners. Some grumbled at this, but a few of the older hunters immediately warned them not to overestimate their own abilities. They had never left the Temple, after all, not in any meaningful way. So, as skilled as they were as hunters, they were naive to much of the world that waited beyond the walls. 

Their partner, known as a guide, would serve as their emissary and would help them navigate the civilized world. After all, though the Temple held much power over this region, bad manners could prove to be the most dangerous threat of all. They couldn’t fight the Immortals if they were stuck in prison in some rural township or died in a bar fight.

Their guides were assigned quickly, leaving little time for introductions or ceremony. The human shoved in front of him appeared to be about his same age, with wild blond hair and burning, blue eyes.

He introduced himself with a foolishly exaggerated bow, perhaps trying to lighten the solemn mood, and presented himself as Mathias. 

Baldric frowned, not particularly caring for his attempt to make light of this monumental event, but introduced himself in return. 

His partner grinned in a way Baldric immediately felt was obnoxious.

Well then, my dear hunter, where are we headed? His guide arched a dark eyebrow at him.

Baldric sourly tucked the scroll into his coat and did not let him see it. North.

Good thing they are sending out two of us together, he said, causing Baldric to frown deeper in confusion before he winked. It’ll only take a couple of lifetimes to search the entire northern region.

This is not–

But Baldric’s angry reply was interrupted as they were pushed out of the building and towards the stables. 

You will have time to get to know each other on the way, one of the elders berated them.

Within only minutes of receiving their charges, they were prepared to leave. Baldric had trained his whole life for this moment, and it was all passing in a chaotic blur. He had always lived within these great walls, sheltered in the great womb of the mountains, and now his departure was like a birth; sudden, tumultuous, and completely regardless of his own will.

One of the Masters spoke a blessing over them as they mounted their assigned horses.

Baldric and Mathias waited together side-by-side somewhere near the front, but there must have been hundreds of them. All of the hunters who had lived their lives within the Temple’s walls were now being called to action.

Go forth and carry out your sacred duty! someone shouted from high up on the battlements, and then the great gates were thrown open.

They rode out in a thunderous mass, riding four abreast until, pair by pair, they all broke off from each other and scattered to the four winds. The hunters were released; it was now a race to see who could get to the Immortals first.

Broar leaned heavily on his staff as he paused in his climb. He was already exhausted, knee-deep in snow as the storm continued to rage around him. He had climbed these perilous mountains after chasing reports of a beast that had been terrorizing the villages below. A dragon, probably older than any of the towns that were nestled at the bottom of the valley. It had burned a farm house and shed and slaughtered almost an entire flock of sheep. Most people mistook lesser monster attacks for dragons, but after seeing the wreckage, he believed the villagers’ tale.

But so far, this had been nothing but a damn waste of time.

He lifted his head, cursing to himself for thinking of heavy armor and weapons rather than thicker boots and a warmer cloak. It was more likely that he would die lost out here than be able to make it back down. Or, by an even slimmer chance, find and slay his dragon. There was nothing to see but the swirling snow, the wind stinging his eyes and cheeks. Before he could decide to try to turn around, however, he spotted something unbelievable.

A light.

A warm, golden light shone out from within a slanted cave. Broar would have missed the opening otherwise. He didn’t doubt there would be trouble, or even a trap, but there were no better options. So, he changed his course and moved towards the inviting glow.

As he walked, he felt as though he were stepping deeper and deeper into a dream. His head grew fuzzy, and it was becoming harder to remember the way he came or why he was here.

Broar feared he was losing his mind to hypothermia, and tried to get himself to focus on getting to shelter within the walls of a cave. He would immediately light a fire once inside.

The light grew brighter, and the raging of the storm began to quiet behind him. He reached the cave and when he cleared the snow from his eyes, he looked up in wonder at the complex symbols carved into its stone walls. Ancient symbols of magic and power, the meanings of which had long since been lost to time. They shone softly with their own faint glow, illuminating intricate spirals and lines that seemed to pulse and thrum with the heart of the mountain. This pale, silvery light, however, was not the source of the golden light that had beckoned him.

Having forgotten his plan to save himself with a fire, he walked deeper into the cave, his head flooded with a sensation of weightlessness as though he were under water. The light grew warmer as he moved, its golden color touching his heart, but not his body. However, he was still unable to identify its origin. There were more symbols and designs carved all over the walls and the high roof of the cave, and he became aware of a noise of some kind, like a steady hum. It was filling his ears and disorienting him further.

Then, he saw movement. 

For a brief moment he was so stunned that he remembered exactly why he came and dropped his walking stick, drawing his sword instead. He dropped his stance lower, ready to face the dragon-beast of the mountain. But, no dragon appeared. Instead he saw horns, great antlers in a complex spread that reached out like entwining branches.

The creature that appeared was still far larger than any mundane stag he had ever seen, but he immediately fell to his knees when he beheld it fully. He was no longer afraid, simply in awe. It shone like the sun on smooth ice, its white fur shimmering as it walked forward. The soft click of its hooves on the stone floor pierced through the hum that was filling the cave. It carried itself incredibly lightly despite it being larger than a building. Broar was pinned down by dark, glossy eyes that filled him with a terrible wonderment. Upon its forehead he saw the creature bore a symbol that appeared similar to those inscribed upon the walls.

It walked forward, raising its head so that its massive set of antlers nearly scraped the high ceiling. Broar then scrambled out of the way, flattening his back to the wall as it passed by, apparently uninterested in him. The creature stepped out of the cave and into the storm, shining bright enough to illuminate the entire mountainside.

It stood perfectly still for a moment, as if it was simply watching the storm. And then, it gave a mighty shove, its muscles visibly working under its shimmering fur. It pushed away from the ground with its front hooves, tossing its horned head, and rose up in a terrifying display. There was some kind of cry, like thunder screaming into the night, but Broar never