Ecotone

By Michel Lee King

This book is an anthropomorphic take on climate change. Many of the characters are natural phenomena we are well acquainted with. Readers from my neck of the woods will recognize Mount Rainier, Mount Saint Helens, and the Puget Sound. Readers everywhere will know Dover (yes, those white cliffs), Mount Everest, and Mount Fuji. Also making appearances are the River Kama in Russia, the north wind, the great redwood forest of Northern California and Southern Oregon, and a few lost civilizations whose mysterious demises may not be that mysterious after all. Readers will learn the natural politics behind Super Storm Sandy, and why Hillary Step on Mount Everest actually fell away.

Packed with science, fantasy, and a touch of literary humor, this book follows the career of Doctor Ferma, a climate scientist with the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration. With a knack for finding connections where others see only jumbled data, and the ability to see through the veil of magic splitting two distinct but inseparable worlds, she is tasked with negotiating peace. One side is oblivious to the war they are entrenched in. The other is fractured into opposing factions. Neither is willing to concede a point. And the fragile balance between magical world and human world is ever tipping toward the total destruction of both. Will humanity learn to see before it is too late? Will Mother Earth finally reveal herself? Will all the spirits of the world find a common ground?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Michel Lee King
• Release date: Jul 1, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463616444

Michel Lee King

I drink copious amounts of coffee while writing light and dark fiction. It is an obsession of mine (both coffee and writing). I love to create different worlds people can delve into. Whether set in our world, or a fantasy I love to push my characters through experiences that most of us can relate to. We've all been embarrassed by our own actions. We've all had those moments you wish you could take back. We've all had the naked-on-the-first-day-of-school dream. Our idiosyncrasies are what make us human. I love to force those traits on my characters and see how they cope with them. My fiction tends to have elements of both light and dark in them. However, some are more dark or more light than others. If you are unsure, please look closely at the covers. They will always match the feel of the story.

Book preview

Chapter 1: The Dream

Dry brown grass waves in a lurid breeze across the hillside. A large barn stands halfway between the road and a manor commanding the high ground. Long slats of brown wood hold up the towering structure as I walk toward it.

Pushing a small side door open, I stride into the musky building. Tack and tools line clean walls in orderly rows. A workshop set on one half of the building features a large countertop and a myriad of tools I can’t identify.

The single, expansive stall dominating the other half of the barn is clean with fresh hay thrown upon a dirt floor. Hung on the brown wall is a weathered oil painting of Paul Bunyan and Babe the blue ox. A silly sort of thing to adorn an otherwise ordinary livestock barn.

I turn away from the diversion and proceed up the hill. White dominates the landscape where the manor stands. Like the snow cap of a mountain, the house sits in a bed of swaying white daisies. Pristine, sterile, yet homey and inviting.

The steps remain silent as I glide up the four planks to the wide porch. The door looms before me, nearly sighing when I grasp the golden handle. With a soft click it swings open on well-oiled hinges.

A large foyer opens before me filled with the style of pioneer toys one finds in an antique shop. Porcelain dolls with cherubim faces smile from a large bay window seat. Other toys lie about in an orderly invitation to make myself at home. The only one that truly tempts is a rocking horse with a smiling face and a wild yellow mane. I run a hand over its glossy, shellacked wood grain with a smile.

Light glints off something gold in a high loft above. Venturing toward the marble staircase, I let my fingers drift over anything they can reach. Knowing, somehow, that nothing here will harm me. At the top of the stairs, I look down on the room below smiling at the perfect playroom. It is every child’s dream come true.

With a contented sigh I stride toward a doorknob glinting gold in the sunlight streaming from the large window below. Though impossible for any rays to reach the loft, every surface of the home is bathed in light, as though the very paint is luminous.

My hand reaches toward the knob as the overpowering scent of fresh linen washes over my senses. A presence larger than life materializes behind me. Safety, security, and protectiveness roll off him to settle like a warm blanket on my soul.

I feel his hand reach for me, the feeling of support nearly striking the breath from my lungs. My smile widens and my body relaxes into the knowledge that whoever he is, whatever his station in the world, I am important to him. I am valued and wanted. He knows nothing about me, but he will never let the world harm me.

Just as his massive hand settles on my slight shoulder, he takes a deep breath. It feels like fate and destiny click in place. Terry, his voice rumbles, deeper than any man can possibly speak and with more conviction and confidence than any man could ever show.

I turn my head to gaze upon his face. A face I am certain contains a pair of sparkling, happy eyes. Instead of a smiling face and noble features, I behold the swaying limbs of an oak towering above me. The dancing leaves let slivers of sunlight through to kiss my pale skin. I take a deep breath, reveling in the clean breeze, and smile at the old dream. The same one I’ve had since childhood.

The opening strains of The Times They Are A-Changin’ announces the abrupt end of my lunch break siesta. With slight chagrin, I liberate my lunchbox from an enterprising stampede of bugs, mostly ants, brush off my clothes, and shake out my picnic blanket to rid it of the same interlopers. Double-checking the security card is still on my person, I make the short trek up the path from the stone monument on the shore of Lake Washington in Seattle to the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration Western Regional campus.

I walk past the picnic area outside the cafeteria in Building 2. The motion sensor doors to Building 3 open with soft whispers. The foyer, lobby, hallways, and breakrooms I pass have the few stragglers of the lunch hour rushing to get back to work. I stroll to the stairway and hop up them two at a time.

Reaching the landing of the second floor, I proceed to my office. Not so much an enclosed space with doors and windows, but a glorified cubicle with enough air to lose myself in a sea of papers and oceanic charts. Personal effects stowed in the bottom drawer of my desk, I don a lab coat and wake up my computer.

A few quick keystrokes flash the screen from forest to ocean scape. The collapsed collage of opened documents lays waiting for me to pick up where I left off. My smile fades. The whole reason I ventured to the stone garden was to clear my mind and ease away the emotional tumult of my research. As hard as I try to quell feelings of panic, science doesn’t lie.

From wind patterns to ocean currents to salmon populations, the world is sending a vivid message. And it is, most definitely, not a thank you card.

Chapter 2: Nymphs and Kokoro

She is so young. Still a child in so many ways. Just a little girl from a broken home playing scientist. Pretending to be older than humans can grow. And yet, there is something about her that is mature, sophisticated. She holds an intelligence that far exceeds humans twice her years.

Sitting before a roaring fire, the mountain of a man smiles into a glass of brandy. Her imagery is fitting in a way. He watches her walk through the barn very similar to his own, though his shelters horses instead of an infantile mythical ox.

Her dainty feet carry her to the porch. In this dream world she created she is about twenty-two human years, thin and beautiful in a human sort of way. Her brown hair flows about her shoulders and drapes over the white sundress fluttering about her legs in the breeze.

The mind he is connected to has grown into this image of herself as a woman. He wishes he could speak with her, could contact her, but contact with humanity has been strictly forbidden. So have the dream visits, but there is no way to monitor those, so the council doesn’t need to know.

She glides up the stairs just as she has every time before. Her slight form moves toward a door at the end of the loft.

He strides up behind her, his heart filling with hope. She smells like fresh linen and fine wine. He reaches out a large, weathered hand. Her head tilts and he can almost see a smile blooming on her face. The moment his fingers brush the soft skin and fabric of her shoulder, he feels like he has found the answer, like everything in the world suddenly makes perfect sense and there is nothing more to worry about. No more cryptic messages to send humanity. No more destruction to get their attention. Just this woman and the message she must deliver.

With a large smile splitting his beard, he whispers her name. Terry. His voice, though impossibly deep and rich in the dream, is still mild compared to the real thing.

Her head turns and that smile lights up her face. The one eye he can see sparkles blue like the ocean in sunlight. Before he can see any more of her, or she can finally glimpse him, the dream ends in a flash of lightning.

He is left sitting in his family’s lounge gazing into a fire and missing the feel of calm confidence and hope. A heavy sigh rattles out of his chest.

You visit her dream again? His scrawny brother leans against the doorjamb with a knowing smirk tipping his wiry beard.

Yeah, he rumbles.

His brother takes the seat next to him. You know the council will flay you alive if this keeps up. His voice, while still deep, sounds more like the whisper of a creek through the woods than the tumbling boulders of other mountains and cliffs.

Yeah, Roy. I know. Sadness pulls his shoulders forward. He feels lost and bereft without her in his mind.

Look, Donnegul. I know what it’s like, trust me, but you can’t keep defying the council and expect them not to react. He places a strong hand on his brother’s shoulder.

I know, he sighs. And don’t call me Donnegul. You know I hate that.

Roy shoots him a sarcastic smirk, his pale skin splitting like a crack in his cliff face. Hey, it’s the only way to get your attention. Stone knuckles rap against a cloth wrapped stone shoulder in a muffled clack. Come on, we need to entertain our parents’ friends.

Gods I hate these parties. He stands with stiff movements, the fabric of his expensive suit straightening itself over chiseled joints.

Me too. But, the sooner we get this over with, the better. Roy steals his brother’s brandy and quaffs it, spluttering. Gah! Why do you drink that crap?

Because it is sweet like you.

Bull, he snorts. Don, you might think about switching to scotch for tonight. An apologetic grimace overtakes his boyish features.

Why? The caution in his tone sounds dangerous and terrifying even to his own ears.

Because Evangeline is here.

Shit, he growls.

Yep. And Mother is doing her best to convince her that you two should marry and bear her many grandchildren. The mocking tone of his voice has Don almost smiling. Almost.

We might as well get this evening over with.

They stride through the thick door. The deafening sounds of a nymph party echo down the stone walls. How many territories are here?

Roy turns with another grimace. All of them. I’ll take the other cliffs if you can keep the mountains in line.

What’s wrong with them? When mountain kokoro feel the need to fight or cause a commotion, it usually spells trouble for the people they protect.

Roy sighs heavily. Fuji is about to erupt again.

Damn. He needs to find a wife. Not that having a partner in life will alter the flow of lava through his home, but at least it will make him happier about it.

So do you, Roy mumbles.

He groans as he rolls his eyes. To be honest, with all the tempers running so high, I don’t want to be accountable for anyone else right now. He rubs a hand over the still healing scars of a forest fire on his southern face.

Roy stops short with disappointment curling his lip. You do realize that sounds cowardly and selfish, right?

No, actually, he doesn’t. He just accepts it as a sign he needs to wait until that human scientist saves his people from hers. Shut up, Roilenniere.

He glares up at his towering brother. If I have to call you Don, you have to call me Roy.

With a mischievous smirk, he pulls his brother into a headlock and kicks open the ballroom door plunging them both into the deafening bustle of a political soiree.

Bright lights flash from the vaulted ceiling of the cavern. They strobe against obsidian walls illuminating an otherwise dim ballroom. Guttering torches send tendrils of smoke into those same reaches without infiltrating the source of the miniature stars.

One plummets toward the floor shrieking in laughter and zooms to hover directly in front of him. Blazing blue, and sparkling from head to foot, the faerie shakes her shoulders shyly. Good evening, Don. Save a dance for me?

He gives her a smile big enough to threaten biting her in half. Of course, Lady Esperanza.

She giggles through a backflip. Thank you. In a dizzying aerial display, she weaves her way back up to her clanmates buzzing around the ceiling.

A young woodland nymph runs screeching with delight across the room nearly naked. One of the fairies dives in front of her, blasts glittering gold sparks in front of the child, and levitates the unruly being back toward the nursery.

An involuntary smile creeps up Don’s cheeks as a similar memory from his childhood flashes through his mind. I was a handful as a nymph. So glad I grew out of that. He casts his glance back at the ceiling and catches the reproving finger wag of his own nanny. Letting Roy out of the headlock, he places a hand over his heart and bows with sincere respect to the red, glittering faerie who kept him in line all those centuries ago. Thank you, Clandestine.

You are most welcome, Lord Donnegul. Know that the faerie clans are with you and your family. Always. She dips into an airborne curtsy and turns back to her friends.

Roy slaps a hand on his back, sending the sound of clacking boulders through the room. Time to schmooze. He dashes across the room to a group of men and women all with similar builds. Their bodies are various heights, but all lean and wiry with muscular shoulders and calloused fingers. Their skin is varying shades of grey and white with a few extremes standing out. Dover being the most striking of these, glinting pearlescent white in the guttering torch light. While certainly not as impressive a group as the hulking mountains taking up the vast majority of the ballroom, nor as striking as the sleek waterfalls and woodlands elegantly swaying behind a magical sound barrier, they are handsome in their own right. They appear the most human at any rate.

Don chuckles to himself. Terry will never be a climber. He doesn’t know why he knows that, but there is something about her elegance and grace that speaks more toward a dancer or swimmer than a rock monkey.

The smile blooming across his face stalls and sours as the crowd of hulking mountain kokoro shifts. Between the bellies of Everest and McKinley he catches a glimpse of a tall, lean, beautiful woman in a sizzling red dress. Red hair circles her head in an ornate twist, letting coils purposefully stray to curl around the base of her neck or just alongside her throat. Voluptuous and as dangerous as her element, the fire kokoro is naturally popular among the mountains. Yet she remains the one person in, on, or under the earth he wishes to avoid.

Don makes a beeline for the bar hoping to remain obscure until he gets three shots down his hatch.

Oh, Donnegul! You are here. Darling, come dance with Evangeline. His mother’s hypnotic voice tinkles through the room like the gentle river she masters, her accent hinting at the region in Russia she flows through.

Shit. He forces a cordial smile, squares his shoulders, and turns to face the matriarch. He bends down to give his mother a peck on the cheek. With all the refinement she forced him to learn, he softens his voice as much as he can. Mother. Are you enjoying your party?

Even at a whisper, his rumble is enough to shake her shoulders. She brushes off the discomfort, masking it behind a gentle shake of her head that sends golden hair cascading over her crystalline blue shoulder. Her motherly authority cracks and her alabaster cheeks glitter in the firelight as she gives him an understanding, forgiving smile. Very much. As usual, I wish it were not so loud. The poor creatures near Lake Kama are shaking in fear right now. A worried pout pinches her eyebrows together as she casts a longing glance toward the other rivers protected from the din by faerie magic.

He forces his voice even quieter. You will calm them. The library is open if you need it.

She sighs heavily. I am afraid I might. But, she claps her hands together and brightens. I cannot take my leave until I see the two of you dance. She shoves against his arm and could smash a chair against it for all the good it’s doing. But Don knows that what his mother lacks in strength she makes up for with persistence and will wear him to nothing if he doesn’t comply.

So, he moves. He sketches a bow to the fire kokoro before him. Care to dance, Miss Evangeline?

Indeed, she whispers, her voice sultry and warm.

Experience tells him that at any moment she could crackle and roar, igniting everything within sight. While he could care less – he’d survived her rage before – he is afraid for the woodland and water nymphs surrounding them. The faeries could easily protect them if they had some warning. Problem is, Evangeline never gives any warning. She may have grown out of infancy, but she is still such a nymph. He holds back the derisive snort and grimace, focusing on getting her to the center of the room and leading her through a respectable dance at a respectable distance.

Evangeline smirks up at him. Her gown flares yellow before calming back to a vibrant red. How have you been, Lord Donnegul?

He cringes trying to decide which is worse, her using his full name in that sultry voice, or allowing her to use his familiar name in a familiar way. Best to keep it formal. Very well. And you, Miss?

A slight pout puckers her red lips and heat radiates off her. I have been well enough, Sir.

He leads her to the middle of the floor, as far from the flammables as possible. His mother shoos off the other mountains that are taking up floor space and gives him an encouraging smile. While all of them will gladly exchange places with him, none of them want the drama that invariably follows.

She leans in and lets her hipbones connect with his body. I heard your brother has his eye on a waterfall. Heat flashes through her body and into his, setting his suit to smoking.

Indeed. They appear to be very happy. We are expecting an agreement any day now. If she scorches another prairie, I will crush her hand. He gently forces their bodies apart and into a rigid frame.

And what of you, my lord? Anyone spark a fire in you? Waves of soft, urging warmth bleed into his hand and back, driving a spike of unwanted passion through him.

He forces more space between their bodies. I do not have time to pursue anyone at the moment.

Ah yes, I had forgotten. Her body cools, pulling the burning desire from him like a spider sucking out his blood. How are the negotiations going?

He masks a sigh of relief as a sigh of frustration. As well as can be expected at such a time. A fist-sized knot of muscles in his back tightens from the tension in the room.

Well, heat flares again, flowing softer, gentler, slower, if you need to divert your attentions and energies with a friend, you know how to call me.

Never going to happen. We both know how that would end, Evangeline.

Her laughter sneaks into his chest, squeezing none too gently. Yes, but it will be a fun ride.

He keeps his face impassive, but his gut twists into a red-hot, putrid mass of regret and fear. If you call a raging forest fire and millions of creatures burned to death fun.

Flames lick at his hands. Her red hair dances in an arid wind. Her blue eyes glow hot and flicker like living fire in a permanently blushing face. Donnegul, I apologized for that. You want me to do it again? Fine. I am sorry I burned every living thing off your precious hill. There. Happy now?

He takes a deep breath, keenly aware of the multitude of eyes focusing on them. No. He fights to keep his voice low, to check his anger and worry. To prevent himself from causing more death at her hands. Evangeline, you are a fun ride, but I am not yet recovered from your last tantrum. So you’ll forgive me if I don’t want to invite that level of destruction on innocents again.

She steps back, crosses her arms over her large chest, and scoffs a laugh. You haven’t recovered? What’s the matter? Not quite kokoro enough yet? She makes a point of staring at his crotch before returning her gaze to his face. You know what? You’re right. I deserve someone better, someone stronger. I deserve a real kokoro. Not some pouting nymph. She settles her weight back on her hip, adopting an ugly, smirking smile to a chorus of gasps from the crowd.

Don forces his balled fist open. It would be the single most satisfying thing in his world at this moment to punch that disgusting, self-righteous look off her face. If she were male, he’d do it. But his mother watches from just behind Evangeline, horror, sadness, and fury etching her face. And he knows he can’t even yell to vent his frustration without risking harm to every waterfall and woodland in the room.

Don snorts a laugh. I am going to be in so much trouble. Go ahead and burn through all your suitors. I deserve something a little more faithful than an easily snuffed flame anyway. He sketches a bow, marveling in the shock on her face, then turns his back and strides toward the bar.

Standing behind the bar, Niagara takes a step back holding a bottle of brown liquid in his hand. Lord Donnegul, what can I get you?

Just give me the damn scotch. He doesn’t wait for the night’s bartender to respond. Snatching the bottle, Don turns toward the door and marches off to his sanctuary. Terry, I need you to hurry it up.

Chapter 3: Telepathy and a Tree Line

Researchers gather in front of Building 3 with packs and crates of gear, instruments, and equipment for a field expedition. I join them with the electronic equivalent of the entire NOAA library of data in one tablet. Doctor Kathy Smith, my boss, strides up. Got all the data we need?

Yep, I answer confidently.

Good. We’ll need to compare the readings we get today with past patterns. She turns to the crowd of scientists gathered. The engineers from Energex Systems will meet us there. It is our job to give them an accurate prediction and analysis of the local weather and climate so they can determine the best technology to put in place. Terry will collect all of your results and run the calculations with myself and the engineering team from Energex.

I open the ebook on communication my childhood therapist recommended. Not my strong suit, but if I have to coordinate between teams of scientists, CEOs, engineers, and construction workers without telepathy, I’m going to need all the help I can get. I read it on the two-hour drive to eastern Washington. As the vans wind up a dirt road in the middle of a dusty stretch of hills, I give myself a pep talk.

Keep things clear and free of emotion. Communicate the facts and my needs. Clarify and repeat their needs back. Try to see beyond the argument to the core of the problem. I roll my eyes. This would be so much easier if I could hear the whispers from their minds. But that was only something that happened when I was deliriously tired. Still, even the barest hint of telepathy would make negotiations less arduous.

Since reading minds and speaking directly is out of the question, I take a deep breath and prepare to set up in a localized area that is simultaneously out of everyone’s way and central to the project. My boss is the first out of the van when it stops. She directs me to the top of the first rise.

Wind whips across the scrubby brush sending dust and stray hair flying into my face. I gaze at the tree line longingly. What I wouldn’t give for a break from the wind. For the trees I already miss.

Shoving aside my discomfort, I fire up the tablet and prepare to enter all the data. Aside from woodlands, sleep, and coffee, conservation efforts are my greatest passion. Yet another reason I love working for NOAA.

Despite the relentless wind, there is a sense of excitement and joy at the work site. The wind turbines will produce enough power for a significant portion of the state. Sunergy Systems’ CEO climbs out of a Tesla. Dressed in dirty jeans, work boots, and some God-awful flannel shirt, he takes a moment to orient himself before trotting off to coordinate with the work crews from Energex. Adding solar panels beneath the turbines will produce even more power.

The engineering problem everyone faces is not my concern. Our teams from NOAA are concerned with height and direction of wind turbines for optimal efficiency and the direction and tilt of the solar panels for the same reason. Kathy is coordinating the effort with the scientists, but I know that her primary concern is impact to the ecosystem. As much as we all love hydroelectric dams, we all hate them for how they alter the entire ecosystem surrounding them. Better than burning coal, but still not the best solution.

The wind lets up slightly and everyone pauses. A hushed kind of anticipation washes over the work site. We’re waiting for it to start up again. A few of the teams stare at their watches and note the passage of time.

It picks up again with a warm gust. The collective breaths rush out in relieved sighs.

Thank you.

I look around for the source of the whisper. I stand alone at my workstation, nothing but the wind for company. I shake off the odd sensation.

Thank you, the soft female voice whispers again.

I look for the woman. I imagine her having soft and gentle features, but fierce eyes. Like some Greek Goddess that is all gentleness and nurturing until someone pisses her off. Still alone, a crease furrows my brow as I return to the data.

Thank you, the voice whispers again.

I freeze. This is no normal voice. It doesn’t register in eardrums. It seeps out from the inside. A sense of warm peace fills my head.

Shock steals the words from my lips, chokes my vocal chords, tightens my chest. Without thinking, my mind replies, you’re welcome.

I feel more than see the grateful smile of… well, the only way I can rationalize it is to call it the wind. The wind smiles at me and leaves to supervise the rest of the team.

Shaken and rattled, I stare at the data in a new way. It holds new meaning. This isn’t just a renewable energy project. It isn’t just a collaboration. It is revolutionary and endorsed by the wind. Naturally, I have serious doubts, questions, and a healthy dose of skepticism. And yet, the pervading sense of peace remains.

* * *

Our teams remain in the area essentially performing an ecological climate survey for the two companies. On the second day, representatives from local governments join the small army swarming about the hilltops. Some are only interested in smiling and looking pretty for the camera crews they drag up here. Considering their thinning hair and the constant wind, that feat is easier said than done.

Others are legitimately curious. They want to know the impact of the project on the state’s power grid and, more specifically, what that means for their constituents. Kathy takes this group around to the different teams and gives them a brief lesson on what each is doing.

Of the two groups, the latter is by far my favorite. I make a mental note who these people are and where they govern.