Tempeste: Aubrey Rising Book 1

By Devlin Richards

After years of hardship, fifteen year old Aubrey finally feels like she has found a life that she can be happy with. But just when she’s starting to feel like a normal teenage girl, she discovers she has budding magical powers. And not only that, but she’s been thrust into the middle of a war, with a handful of people like her fighting three sisters, Tempeste, Zephyra, and Mercuriel, who want to protect the magical way of life by eliminating the entire human race. The only hope is to find the Daughter of the Wilderness, a mystical being who they hope holds the key to defeating the three sisters. Aubrey quickly needs to embrace her new life, because a battle is coming. Will she be strong enough to help find the Daughter of the Wilderness and fight in the war against Tempeste, the first of the three sisters?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Devlin Richards
• Release date: Nov 4, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311996909

Devlin Richards

Devlin began writing the Aubrey Rising series when she was 13 years old, and finished it just after she turned 15. She is currently 17 years old and is working on her seventh novel. Devlin enjoys writing, karate, and spending time with her friends. She lives in New Hampshire with her parents, brother and dog Cocoa Puff.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

I have woken from nightmares every other night this week, so tonight is no exception.

My eyes fly open. I’m almost too frightened to scream, just make little gasping noises in the back of my throat. I stare into the pitch blackness, trying to orient myself. I’m in my room. It was just a dream.

I should maybe be used to this by now. I have had nightmares every night since last Friday, and even before that I had them at least a couple times a month. Already this one is fading. I can’t remember what it was about, just the sense of darkness, the fear that I’ve never experienced anything close to in real life. It was just a dream. There’s nothing to worry about.

I breathe in, breathe out, try to calm my racing heartbeat. Try to relax enough to go back to sleep. It was just a dream, just a nightmare. I close my eyes, but the darkness of my lids is frightening, and I’m afraid of the dreams returning. I shiver, even though I’m not cold.

It takes a long time for sleep to find me.

It’s six-thirty on a Thursday morning.

My alarm clock goes off. I hit out with my arm, trying to press the snooze button, but I miss. My lamp and clock fall off the table and their cords tangle on the floor. By the time I’ve gotten out of bed and untangled them, the extra nine minutes aren’t even worth it anymore.

It’s unusually cold for October, the first really stormy day of the year. Rain is sheeting against the window and the trees are almost bent double. I shiver in my bare feet and pajama shorts. Autumns in New Hampshire can be pretty violent. I consider myself lucky that it’s not snowing.

I’m exhausted, so I pace the bathroom floor as I brush my teeth, trying to wake myself up. A boom of thunder startles me so badly that I drop my toothbrush in the toilet. I look down at it desperately, not really sure how to proceed. In the end, I just leave it and hope it can become someone else’s problem, even though there are only two other people in the house.

It seems like it could just be one of those days, the days where everything seems to go wrong no matter how hard you try to change it. But I know better. Today is going to be different. Something is going to happen today. Sometimes I get feelings like that, a feeling that today will be a good day or a bad day. I don’t know if today’s feeling is good or bad, but it is important. Something major will happen today. I am almost sure of it.

I pull my frizzy, dirty-blonde hair into a ponytail, stare at my green eyes, consider mascara, decide it’s too much work. I examine my pale arms and wish I was tan. Then I figure it doesn’t matter, it’s not like there’s anyone I’m trying to impress. I’m so shy and awkward I’ll probably never end up with a boyfriend, and this far into the school year everyone’s impressions of me are already set in stone.

I’m already running late, so I hurry down the stairs. Liz has made me breakfast. Liz is my adoptive mother as of almost five months, and probably also the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Before this I had lived in five different foster homes, with varying degrees of success. I had lived all over New Hampshire, moving around every few years and never really settling anywhere. Until unexpectedly, Liz adopted me at the beginning of this summer. I have been living with her ever since then.

Liz is pretty cool for a mom, in her mid-thirties, with blonde hair only slightly sandier than mine. She is kind and patient and funny, but with a surprising core of strength. I’ve always wondered what made her like that, but I don’t want to ask.

Lily, Liz’s daughter, bounces down the stairs looking more awake than I think I ever feel. Her elementary school starts later then my high school, but she wakes up extra early just to see me. I’ve only known her for a summer, but I already love her the way people love real little sisters.

Lily is adopted too, but most people wouldn’t know it. She doesn’t look much like Liz, but she doesn’t really look that different either. She’s lived with Liz since she was a baby, so she’s extremely well-adjusted. She’s smart too, almost a genius in terms of other seven-year-olds.

Aubrey! she yells. Good morning!

Good morning! I say back enthusiastically. It's hard not to be enthusiastic around Lily. She acts like everything is the best thing she can imagine. She’s full of so much vitality that it seems to almost leak out of her, infusing me with her energy too.

I packed you a lunch, Liz says, holding it up.

Thank you. Liz always seems to know what I need, and she works to make it happen for me. I love her too.

Liz has to leave earlier than me. She works as a teacher at a school for gifted children in a nearby town. Her hours aren’t as long as they could be, but she does have to start very early. Lily and I wave at her out the window. A pocket of happiness inflates inside me.

But almost as soon as I walk outside, my happiness melts in the rain. I have to walk to the bus stop. I forgot to bring an umbrella, and soon I’m soaked to the skin. Water splashes into my shoes. The wind threatens to tear my hair out of its careful ponytail. I wait, shivering, for the bus. There are a few other kids at my bus stop, but they are all driven down on a morning like this. I think wistfully of my sixteenth birthday in May.

On the bus I sit by myself. It’s hard for me to make friends, for several reasons. First, obviously, because I have lived practically my whole life in foster care. Every time I moved I would have to leave all my old friends behind. Eventually I just kind of gave up. But it’s more than just that. I’ve always seemed sort of out of place with other kids my age. I have a different way of looking at life.

The bus ride is about a half-hour. I put earbuds in and listen to music, watching the world go by outside of the window. Even though rain splatters against the window and I can barely see past a few feet, I still think it’s beautiful.

It’s funny how different some parts of New Hampshire are from others. I’ve spent mostly my whole life here, but it was almost completely in the sort of small cities that are the biggest you can find in New Hampshire. Liz lives in the northern part of New Hampshire. We live in a small, spread-out town, one of those places that’s just kind of sprawled out, with no pattern and no center, where each person has more yard than they know how to deal with and you can’t walk to anything. It couldn’t be called a city, not by any stretch of the word, but we’re definitely not in the middle of nowhere either.

I’m not sure exactly why, but I absolutely love it here. The city is nice, I guess, but it’s here in a small town, surrounded by trees and rivers and mountains, that I really belong. I love the way the land has been tamed just enough that it’s still wild. The way I can see a deer crossing the road on the way to school, the way there’s a small river that runs almost right by my house. The way the woods are full of secrets, the way the sun bleeds into the rest of the sky when it sets. I love the way the wind sometimes bites against me, the way the air always smells like either pine trees or snow.

Most of the people at my school are indifferent toward New Hampshire, or even don’t like it. People say it's boring. There’s not that much to do here, but there’s enough. There’s enough coast, enough mountains, enough cities. It’s maybe a little boring, but in the end, that’s how I like it. I don’t think of it as boring so much as peaceful. I like knowing exactly what’s supposed to happen every day. I’m not a big fan of surprises. New Hampshire has no secrets, nothing big ever happens there. And that’s exactly how I like it.

Once I get to school, the first thing I do is go to homeroom. If I’m being completely honest, I don’t even know what my homeroom teacher's name is. I don’t particularly care either. I don’t think she’s ever spoken a word to me, or really anyone, for that matter. I think she teaches some very advanced math class, or possibly art history. She understands that homeroom is a waste of our time, mostly because it’s a waste of her time too. She and her students peacefully coexist in silence.

The only good thing about homeroom is that Mackenna is in it. For the five weeks since school’s started, and part of the summer, Mackenna Williams has been my best friend. I wouldn’t count her as my only friend, but just because I’m friends with some of her friends too. She’s the only one I actually, you know, like.

I walk into the classroom and sit down in my usual seat next to her. She turns to me smiling, her eyes laughing. I’m not surprised. Mackenna is one of the most optimistic people I know. She’s also surprisingly realistic and clear-headed, which is an unusual combination I’m not quite sure I understand. It seems to work for her though, and it makes her interesting to be around.

Mackenna is prettier in every possible sense of the word. She’s been growing her auburn hair for years, and now it reaches the middle of her back. She doesn’t wear make-up, but she doesn’t need to. Her skin is smooth and flawless except for a sprinkling of freckles on her nose, and her eyes are big and bright. Today she is wearing her usual combination of girly and tough, a ruffly top, a leather jacket, and combat boots. It’s a style that works for her, even though she’s all of five foot three.

Hey, she says as soon as I slide into my seat. How’d your bio test go?

I groan. Don’t remind me. I’m being melodramatic though. I’m pretty sure, but not positive, it went fine. How was your presentation?

I crushed it.

We talk until we’re cut off by the announcements, and a few minutes later, the bell. Then we’re both swept apart by the rush of binders, lockers, laughing, gossiping, sweat and lip gloss and tired eyes that is high school. I sigh. Here we go. Another day.

My first class is drawing. I’m not a good artist, the only reason I’m taking it is because I signed up for my classes late and it was the only thing left. It’s made up mostly of juniors and seniors who need an art credit to graduate. The teacher is young and innocent and has no idea how to keep control of a class like this. I’ve been here for over a month and I still haven’t done any drawing at all.

I actually try to do homework. I try for a long time. But it’s a distracting environment. A paper airplane hits me in the head. Someone is bouncing a ball, and it skids across the table and hits my work. Fearing for its safety, I put it all away. Then I just sit as still as I can, trying not to be injured.

My next class is much better. It’s math, and even though math is not my favorite, it’s my only class with Mackenna. She laughs when I tell her about the paper airplane. I smile as she talks about a hot new boy in her science class. We listen together as the teacher drones on and on about graphs and square roots and parabolas.

I have first lunch. I sit with some kids in my biology class and peacefully eat my sandwich. I listen to their conversation, but I don’t really understand it enough to participate. They are using so many references to pop culture and people I’ve never heard of that it sounds like they’re talking in another language. I don’t even bother trying to understand whatever story they’re trying to tell. After lunch we all walk to science together.

We were going to go outside and study some real plant life, but it’s still raining too hard. Instead, we have to stay inside and learn about their cells. I’m disappointed. I’ve always liked plants, and I’m good at taking care of them, too.

My last class is a combination of language arts and social studies. Right now we’re reading a play by Shakespeare. Every day the teacher calls on a few kids to act out the section we’re working on so we can understand it better. I haven’t been called on yet, but today is just one of those days.

I’m almost shaking as I stand in front of the class. I’m holding the paper with my lines on it so tightly that it's crumpling. I hate, hate, talking in front of people.

I only have two lines, but my voice cracks on one, and I mess up the other one so badly that the class laughs at me. To make it worse, the other female role is played by a girl who actually acts for fun, and the difference between us makes me look worse. The class seems to take forever and by the time I’m done I feel like crying.

Liz told me last night that she could pick me up after school, but as I stand in the parking lot bracing myself against the rain, I get a text from her saying she’s going to be about a half-hour late. I splash back up to the school, only to find that they’ve already locked the doors. I find a little sheltered alcove and sit down, waiting for Liz. I’m literally in an inch of water. I resign myself to becoming wet.

The storm clouds are blocking out most of the sun, so it almost looks like it’s night. When Liz finally pulls up, she has her headlights on.

Even with the car’s lights on, the heavy rain makes it hard to see. It’s so cold that in some places the damp road has frozen into a thin layer of ice. I can see that Liz is worried about keeping control of the car. I don’t say anything. I don’t want to distract her.

The car’s tires aren’t gripping the road anymore. The car is slipping down a straight hill. We slide down it only slightly too fast for comfort. Liz keeps the car on the road fairly easily. Even so, all my muscles are tensed up against the seat belt. My heart pounds. I have so much nervous energy I feel like I’m going to explode. Something is going to happen. Somehow, I can feel it.

At the bottom of the hill, there’s a turn. Liz manages to get control of the car enough to make it. But only about twenty yards in, lying fully across the road is a tree.

Liz slams on the brakes, but we have too much momentum. We’re not stopping. A scream tears itself from my throat. My hands are out to brace myself, my eyes are closed. I don’t want to see the tree. I want to picture something beautiful. But I can’t. We’re going to crash. I’m going to die. And there’s nothing I can do.

CHAPTER 2

The car comes to a gentle stop. I slowly open my eyes, expecting to be nose to nose with the tree, plucked from the hands of death. I was certainly plucked from death, but the tree is nowhere in sight. It’s like it has disappeared into thin air.

I shake my head a little bit. It feels thick and fuzzy, like it’s been packed full of cotton. I rub my eyes with my palms, but it doesn’t help. The tree is still nowhere in sight.

What just happened? I start to ask, but Liz is already unbuckling, getting out of the car. Without making a conscious decision I follow her, and we stand next to each other, looking out at the rainswept road.

The tree literally looks like it’s been knocked aside by a dinosaur. Branches and leaves litter the road. The tree has been shoved violently to the side, completely out of the road. The whole thing is in the forest now, almost pushing over other trees. As I involuntarily step forward, I see that there are burn marks on the tree’s trunk and the thicker branches have gouged chunks out of the road.

Liz stares at it. Her eyes grow wider and wider, full of fear and something else I can’t quite place. I’ve never really seen her afraid before, never seen her anything aside from perfectly calm and contained.

What’s happening? I ask.

She turns her head toward me, as if she’s in a dream. Than she seems to snap out of it, and her whole demeanor changes instantly. She is suddenly deadly calm and focused. It’s more frightening than the blind fear.

Get in the car. Now, she hisses, and I’m too stunned to disobey. I move mechanically as I get into the car, strap myself in, shut the door behind me. Liz doesn’t even glance at me, she drives like she’s in a trance, staring only at the road. I’m not exactly cold, but suddenly I realize I’m shivering. My head hurts now, right behind my eyes.

What’s happening? I repeat, but she ignores me.

We pull up to the house, all dark and cold and empty. The garage door looks eerily like a huge mouth, opening wide to swallow us. Normally I love the house, all exposed wood and brick. It’s a colonial house with a few extensions added on over the years, and it has tons of charm. But today, shrouded in storm clouds and rain, it creeps me out.

Go inside, she says as we pull into the garage.

No. Not until you tell me what’s going on.

I will. But not here. Inside. She sounds strangely broken, and I have to do what she says.

The house is silent, except for the rain beating against the window, and the sound of thunder echoing overhead. I realize it’s because Lily’s gone. Normally she gets home around the same time as me, maybe a little earlier. I’m distracted by the fact that she isn’t here yet.

Where’s Lily?

At a friend’s house, Liz says, not even looking at me.

I don’t say anything else, just perch gingerly on the edge of the couch, and she sinks down next to me, burying her head in her hands.

I am so sorry, she whispers.

I just look at her. Suddenly my head is pounding so hard I can’t think. Liz is scaring me. I don’t know what to say to her.

I never would have wished this upon you. But I did know it was coming. I mean, I was never sure. I could have been wrong. I wish I could have been wrong. I...that would have been better. I...I think. I’m not even sure if she’s talking to me anymore. It’s like she’s comforting herself, or convincing herself of something.

I can’t contain myself anymore. I have to say something. I have to find out what’s going on. Wished what on me? What are you talking about? What’s going on?

For some reason, I’m panicking. There’s something wrong here, and Liz is scaring me. I don’t know what’s going on. And whatever’s happening, I’m pretty sure I don’t want to be part of it. When Liz looks like she is about to start talking, I have to resist the urge to put my hands over my ears. I suddenly don’t want to hear what she has to say. I need more...time? Warning? Comfort? I don’t know. I feel like I don’t know anything anymore. Like I was standing on something, and it’s gone now. I’m falling, but I’m not sure why.

Liz starts out slowly, haltingly. Some people in this world are born different. Special. I was born like this. Lily was born like this. I was pretty sure you were born like this. And I was right.

I shake my head. What are you talking about?

My voice is shaking, raw with fear. I don’t know what’s going on. I don’t understand anything. Is Liz insane? Like, actually certifiable? Shouldn’t I have noticed by now if she was? But then what is she talking about?

Some people are born with powers. Special powers. One might even say...magical powers.

I just blink at her. Liz is going insane. Liz must be going insane. That is the only explanation. Because this cannot be happening. She reads the expression in my eyes.

You think I’m crazy, she says, and the hurt in her voice is evident. That’s why I waited so long to tell you. So I would have proof. I mean, I didn’t mean for this to happen, but....

What proof?

The tree! She hesitates suddenly, her voice breaking, and when she speaks again, she sounds almost tentative. You made that happen. You saved both of our lives.

I did? I find myself getting sucked in despite myself. This can’t be real, it doesn’t make sense. But what if it...what if it is?

I wish Mackenna was here, so she could smack me and tell me to not be so stupid. I trust Liz, and because of that I’m giving too much weight to everything she says. I need to calm down. I need to think. I need to...I don’t know what I need to do.

Liz sighs. I knew I would just have to show you.

She closes her hand quickly, then opens it up revealing a small swirling ball of light. I actually tremble as I lean closer to get a better look at it. It’s milky yellow and misty- looking, and it’s casting a faint white glow on the palm of Liz’s hand.

Here, she whispers, take it.

She tilts her hand slightly and the ball rolls gently through the air and comes to rest in the center of my palm. Immediately, it changes from creamy white to grass green. I can feel that I am sustaining it, I can feel it sucking away my energy.

I cup the tiny orb in my hands, letting its light reflect onto my face. And I smile, because watching the glowing ball is making me happy. I feel like some sort of addictive drug is coursing through my veins. But then I remember that none of this is real, and my inexplicable happiness vanishes. The ball disappears.

Now I’m confused. Because Liz can’t be the crazy one. Or at least she can’t be the only crazy one anymore. Because how can I disregard something I have seen with my own eyes? This must be real. I’ve seen it, and if I don’t trust anything else I trust myself. There’s no other explanation.

I’m dreaming, I whisper, because that is what must be happening. That makes sense. Sort of. But I don’t want to wake up. I want to stay here in this place where I am special, this place where I am happy. All of a sudden I don’t want this strange story to be a dream.

My eyes meet Liz’s. I don’t think she would lie to me. If this was a dream she would tell me, right? I know I’m making excuses, I know I’m not making sense. But I can’t help it. I want this to be real. So I decide to pretend, to play along until something else happens. Because maybe it’s the dreams, the things you want desperately to be real but can’t be, that make the most difference.

I believe you, I say, so quietly it almost doesn’t exist. But it does. And for a glorious moment, I don’t care about the consequences of those three small words. I am going to revel in this fantastical, wonderful dream.

I realize I’m breathing hard like I just ran a race. Somehow I know I have just changed everything. At least in my dream. This is only a dream. Only a dream.

Liz smiles. I’m glad you believe me.

Will you show me more magic? I ask almost eagerly, a little scared. I’m trying to resist, but it’s like trying to resist rolling down a hill. I fit into the world like I was made for it and suddenly everything feels right.

Liz considers it for a few moments. Finally, she nods. Come outside with me.

Outside?

You’ll see.

As soon as I step outside, the rain soaks me. Again. And I start shivering. Again. But I actually don’t mind. Today this storm feels like a storm of destiny.

Liz is also standing in the rain, but she isn’t shivering. Instead she looks completely at peace. She closes her eyes, turns her face toward the sky, then suddenly extends her arms.

The rain stops in midair and remains, trembling above the ground. Some of it seems to rise upward until there’s a dry circle all around us. Liz brings her arms in, and gallons of water draws itself into the middle of our circle and splashes in a silver column to the ground. Then Liz spreads the water out along the ground so it is like a mirror, reflecting the sky. As I move closer I see there are pictures in the water, remaining only seconds before fading away.

With one movement Liz throws her arms outward. The water explodes, shattering up and out in a thousand bright glowing stars. The light is so bright that for a moment the after-image is super-imposed on the back of my eyelids.

When I can see again, Liz is standing in front of me, wet with rain and breathing hard. All I can say is Wow.

I forgot how tired something like that can make you, she says. There’s so much you have to learn.

I’m gonna learn how to do that?

Eventually.

Really? When can I start?

There’s a lot you need to know before you can start. Let’s go back inside.

I hesitate. Just for a second, but it’s there. And it’s real. Because somehow deep inside myself, I know that I’m not dreaming. This actually is real. And if I go inside, if I follow her, I can’t go back. I’m afraid. And for a second, I’m not sure if I can do this. It feels so right, but at the same time it feels wrong. It feels frightening. It feels dangerous.

But I go inside anyway. I follow Liz, even knowing this is real, even being afraid. I do it because of the deep feeling of...rightness, maybe? Not safety exactly, but belonging, an