Autumn Storm (The Witchling #2)(22)

“You don’t eat kids do you?” she asked.

The smile that spread across the yeti’s face made it even uglier.

“Your name is Sam.”

Do you know me? he asked in her head.

“No. But I know your name,” she replied, frustrated. “Are you a nice … monster?”

The smile faded, and the song in the air turned mournful.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “Don’t be sad.”

You have no reason to be sorry, he replied. I am not always a nice monster.

She shivered. Cold, she pushed herself off the log to lean more of her body against it without losing sight of the creature.

You are hurt. The yeti looked her over.

“No, I’m better,” she said.

Your elements have helped you recover very fast, but your body isn’t healed yet.

She sighed. “I know. But compared to how I was, I’m a lot better.”

You are more than your cane and scars.

“Exactly,” she said firmly. “It’s tiring to be treated different because of how you look.”

Sam’s laugh was a strange sound, like a cross between a yawn and a chortle. Autumn’s face grew hot as she realized what she’d said to the creature who’d never known what it was to be normal.

At least no one tries to hunt you, he said.

“Yeah,” she murmured. “Sorry.”

The elements are happy. You make them happy.

“I don’t understand them.”

They do not speak in words. They speak in memories and emotion.

“Why do they talk at all?” she asked, puzzled.

Because you listen. He laughed again.

She didn’t understand his humor but smiled anyway at the horrifying expressions of amusement that crossed his face. The air played with him, too, pushing his hair around the way it did the curls that escaped her bun.

Sit. The earth will talk to us. He motioned to the ground.

Autumn hesitated then lowered herself into a sit, her right leg straight in front of her. It was achy and throbbing in the cold air after her workout, and she was relieved to take the weight off of it. She’d need the brace soon.

Push your leg against the earth, the yeti urged her.

“It doesn’t really move right yet,” she said self-consciously. Was he wondering why? She shifted and bent her good leg until her right leg was stretched on its side against the ground.

At once, the same soothing warmth she felt from Beck traveled through her leg. The achiness and pain dissipated.

“Ooohhh,” she breathed. “Earth magick?”

Sam nodded. You have two elements. Air and earth. Earth is the physical protector, the healer, calm and gentle. Air is the creative, thoughtful element that links the heart and mind. He sounded amused. They are opposites.

“So they were fighting earlier,” she assessed. “I needed this.” She sagged against the log. Earth magick filled her, warming her.

What does it tell you?

She pressed her hands to the ground. Tingling warmth drifted through her. She didn’t hear it say anything. Images were at the back of her mind, like a television playing in the distance. She couldn’t quite make it out.

Draw it into you until it meets the magick in your blood. Earth is the weaker of your two elements. It will only answer you when you are in direct contact with it. It should be easier for you to learn to control it. Air is more high-strung.

Realizing she’d been resisting, Autumn relaxed and let the earth’s magick roam her body, like Beck’s did. It felt weird to let the foreign power have full access to her. The earth pushed at her, and she pushed back. It pulled, and so did she. They played tug of war for a moment, until it became easy to draw and expel the earth magick at will.

The image began to clear. Memories, as Sam said, but not her memories. The earth’s. A time when a river ran through this spot and earth, air and water elements were joined. A tiny tree sprouted in the river bank. The river ran dry as she watched, and the tree grew tall and strong for many years, surviving fires, droughts, avalanches and storms, until it was the oldest in the forest. And then it fell in a violent thunderstorm, landing in the dried up riverbed. The next winter, it was covered by snow. After a few years, a new kind of life sprouted from the tree: bluebells in spring.

“What does this stuff mean?” she asked.

The elements remember everything at all times. You are viewing what memories it wishes to share with you.

“But why?”

Only it knows for sure.

The images stopped, and the magick settled within her. Autumn opened her eyes, dwelling on the memories. The earth’s grumble was calm and quiet, content. She tested the magick and pulled it into her again. The past few weeks gave her a deeper appreciation for her body. She’d learned to listen to herself, to identify what muscle ached or which pain was serious and which was her body complaining. She was able to isolate muscles for workouts and recognize when she favored an injury before she began hurting.

The magick was exploring her wounds with a curiosity that made her uneasy. It moved through her blood like many of the intravenous drugs the doctors had forced into her. It tested her replaced knee and the scar in her neck, traveled along her spine and the tender muscles of her shoulder and arm. It pooled in her chest around the source of her own magick.

“What’s it doing?” she asked at last.