Earth (The Elementals Book One)

By Dominic Bergfield

A long time ago when Europeans first arrived in what would later be known as The United States of America, they faced heavy opposition from the uprooted natives. One tribe's decision to tap into mystical powers has had far-reaching implications. In the modern day, a young Markus McIntyre faces hardship after hardship. Death, bullying, and poverty have brought Markus to his lowest point. A chance encounter reveals a potent source of magic within the damaged youth: the gift of fire. Will this discovery be the key to changing his fate or is more trouble lurking on the horizon?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dominic Bergfield
• Release date: Feb 28, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215617380

Dominic Bergfield

Dominic Bergfield is a self-published author of the Elementals series as well as numerous other short stories. A lover of all stories, whether through books, video games, or movies, he sought out an education from Full Sail University to learn to better hone his craft. He graduated with a bachelor's degree in Creative Writing for Entertainment in 2018 and has since dedicated himself to gathering even more experience through various small writing projects. When not busy with his books, Dominic is an avid gamer and is always looking for new experiences.

Book preview

Earth

Copyright 2023 Dominic Bergfield

Published by Dominic Bergfield at Smashwords

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your enjoyment only, then please return to Smashwords.com or your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Elementals Reading Order:

Earth

Water

Air

Fire

Table of Contents

Prologue

Chapter I

Chapter II

Chapter III

Chapter IV

Chapter V

Chapter VI

Chapter VII

Chapter VIII

Chapter IX

Chapter X

Chapter XI

Chapter XII

Chapter XIII

Chapter XIV

Chapter XV

Chapter XVI

Chapter XVII

Chapter XVIII

Chapter XIX

Chapter XX

Chapter XXI

Chapter XXII

Chapter XXIII

Chapter XXIV

Chapter XXV

Chapter XXVI

Chapter XXVII

Acknowledgements

About the Author

Prologue

"Great hearts steadily send

Forth the secret forces

That incessantly draw great events"

-Ralph Waldo Emerson-

It’s not enough. It’s never enough. I take three steps forward only to take twice as many back. He was getting stronger by the day, I knew. He was never one to rest on his laurels. I failed to stop him once and now he and his army grow unchecked. How could the four of us stand a chance against such an unstoppable titan with limitless wealth, resources, and power? We were dead already, we just didn’t realize it. I did. I saw the encroaching doom that lay on the horizon. We needed more fighters. We needed more connections.

We needed a miracle.

Chapter I

It was a bitingly cold November day in Montrose, Colorado. I sat with my back against the cold, brick building as I watched the citizens pass by without so much as a glance towards me. I watched them scurry past, heads ducked against the cold wind as they hurried to their destination. What must it be like to actually have a destination to go towards? I wondered. When you spend every day sitting on the street corner begging for money for food, the dark thoughts that remind me of my situation surface.

My stomach cramped with need, reminding me it had been over 24 hours since I last ate. I got up to move to a different spot on the street, hoping that maybe 100 yards down the street people would be more generous. As I strode down the hard concrete of the sidewalk, I watched my reflection pass in the store fronts. My long, disheveled hair that came down to my shoulders was encrusted with dirt and frost. My clothes were torn and filthy from the many months of not changing them. Of course I wasn’t getting any money. Between my rags, as I now call them, my trashy hair, and my patches of beard growth, it was no surprise that people shied from me. I had become trash, scum, and the forgotten part of society…

I shook my head back and forth to clear the dark thoughts from my mind. I couldn’t afford to let my brooding get in the way of my daily pursuit of survival. I reached my destination at the end of the street and sat down. This new spot had not been heated yet from me sitting there, so the Arctic sidewalk sent chills rocketing through my spine. I gasped aloud at the sudden shock of cold. I held my breath and just worked my way through it.

From my new perch, I looked out for any charitable individuals. One by one people passed by me. A few glanced at me before quickly hurrying away, some refused to even waste their eyesight on my grungy visage. I ducked my head in shame in response to their scorn. I pulled my knees up to my chest and laid my head against my knees to ward myself from their blatant disgust. Why can’t I be treated like a person? I’ve done nothing to earn their disdain. I buried my head on my knees trying to stop the thoughts. Oh, what I would give to make it stop.

I felt the presence of somebody standing in front of me and I slowly raised my head. It was a woman and her child. The mother looked down upon my pitiful self with a look of concern in her eyes. She reached into her expensive looking purse at her side and pulled out her pocketbook. I watched with a shocked expression as she extracted five dollars. She handed it to me and, with tentative, shaking hands, I took it. She gave me a warm smile and quickly strode away. I felt myself smiling at the first money that I made all day. I had been out there for several hours and I finally got something. With my faith renewed at the prospect of genuine, kind people, I resolved to hold out longer, desperate for more money.

***

The sun began to set on the horizon and I had not made any further money. I knew that, with the coming of night, additional homeless and late night hooligans would be prowling the street for any individuals with any amount of cash. I knew that I couldn’t risk the five dollars that I waited 12 hours for. I rose from my spot on the street, groaning as my body cramped from long hours of inactivity. I rubbed my sore lower back as I slowly, dejectedly walked down the street to find a suitable shelter for the night. My shuffling footsteps echoed through the cold, still air. There were very few people out this late, so I was allowed my privacy as I continued to search. I passed alleys that left me exposed to unwanted attention, and I passed homes with families sleeping soundly in their beds. I wondered how many of them realized just how lucky they were. I quickly hurried past so I wouldn’t become distracted with any dreams of what could be. Finally, after about an hour, I found an abandoned building that seemed to have once been an apartment complex. It must have been recently foreclosed because the building was still in decent condition. The once tan paint was now fading and peeling off at random intervals. A few of the windows had been broken out, supposedly to house former homeless people. Other than those few faults, the building seemed as if it could still be habitable with some TLC. I climbed in through one of the broken windows, being careful to not cut myself on the remaining glass. I gingerly landed on the floorboards of the first floor. I waited several minutes listening to the silence to see if there were any temporary tenants waiting in one of the abandoned rooms. After thoroughly listening, I deemed it deserted. Despite having already listened and found nothing, I still crept up the stairwell carefully so as to remain unheard. I climbed up three floors to ensure that I had adequate distance between my hiding place and the entrance. Having so much distance allowed me to have sufficient time to hide or escape should somebody share my idea of staying here for the night. There was a stained mattress lying on the floor. I could have imagined a 1000 other places I would rather sleep, but my choices were limited. Closing my eyes, I laid down on the bed. My body did not lie comfortably on the mattress because it was lumpy and torn. It was still heavenly compared to an alleyway or the sidewalk. I closed my eyes and let my mind wander to distract me from the deplorable cot.

Focusing on the inside of my eyelids, I relived the events of that day. The cold, sharp wind was still biting my flesh. I wished that I had more clothing to shield me from the elements. I need more money. I quickly banished the thought. I’m already using what little money I get to buy food. I don’t have any surplus with which to buy more clothes. Maybe people will be more charitable tomorrow? I grit my teeth at the foolish thought. What was I thinking? Who in their right mind would give their hard earned money to a piece of gutter trash like me? I will never matter in their eyes. I will always be the scum of society. I am going to live in this hell of a life forever. I felt cold tears beginning to stream down my face. I contemplated wiping them away, but they served as a reminder that I was still living. Some days when I am treated like I don’t exist, I feel as if I am not alive. What did I do to deserve this? How did I get to this spot in my life? This isn’t right.

I’m only 19.

Chapter II

March 31, 1996

The flames licked at the night sky. The heat could be felt up to 200 feet away. A peaceful, residential neighborhood was now in chaos as one of its buildings was burning with an intense ferocity. The couple who had lived there for only five years were the talk of the town. Gossip had spread that the couple did not survive the fire. No one could recall their names. They had always been a reclusive kind of people. Many false rumors spread around the town about the origins of the family. Some spoke with fear that they were murderers escaping the law. Some said with envy that they were wealthy artists who needed to be alone to create their masterpieces. Either way, the town was still sad at their loss. Their sadness was founded in the loss of their favorite conversation topic. It was not a sadness born of a loss of a friend or the loss of a human being, it was a sadness born of selfishness.

But where there was sadness, there was also hope. Though the couple died, their young child survived. Despite the couple being an enigma, everybody knew about the son. He couldn’t have been more than two-years old. The secret of his sole survival nobody could figure out. The firemen, having finished putting out the fire, assumed that no one lived. When they went to retrieve the bodies, they found the young boy crying in his room, completely unscathed. They called it a miracle.

The firemen conducted research to find out if the boy had any other family. They found no records of any living family, so they gave him to the orphanage just outside the neighborhood. The Gunnison Orphanage was bewildered at the strange survival story of the young boy. Nevertheless, they took him in to live amongst the other children. Before the firemen left, they told the orphanage director, Sister Katherine, that the boy’s name was Marcus McIntyre…

July 26, 1999

My face hit the ground hard. The other kids erupted into laughter. One of the children, an eight year old named Thomas Lennon, had just tripped me. I picked myself up off the floor, brushing off my bruised pride. I showed no hint of how they made me feel. They wouldn’t get the satisfaction of seeing me cry.

Learn how to walk, Freak-Intyre, the malevolent child sneered.

I went over to the corner and sat down. The kids mocked me, calling me coward, freak, and other words that the nuns would have smacked them for saying. None of them were brave enough to pick on me in front of them. The nuns weren’t fond of me either, but they could not be blatantly disdainful to a child. It was obvious though in the way they looked at me, the way they never took my side, and the way that they were quick to punish me, that I was unwanted. The looks they gave me suggested that I was the very evil which they taught us to be wary of. To them, I was Satan.

Sometime later, the kids had left me alone. It could have been a half hour, an hour, or two hours that they spent mocking me. No matter how long it was, it was an eternity to me. I only realized they had stopped when I glanced up from the corner. I felt wetness on my face and realized that, against my resolution not to cry, I had. I wiped the shame off my face and walked, feeling like an outcast, to my room. I walked in and felt the urge to slam the door. It was only the fear of what the nuns would do to me that prevented me from doing it. I plopped down on my bed and felt safety and companionship with its firm embrace. My bed was the only place where I was not bullied. I was safe here. It was my sanctuary.

I let the dam burst and sobbed into my pillow. Why don’t they like me? Why won’t they be my friends? Of course, I knew the answer. It happened a few months ago.

***

It was January. Everybody was celebrating the start of the New Year. Even Sister Katherine had joined in on the festivities. The children were running around banging pots and pans. They reveled in the chance to cause so much noise and not be in trouble. I was only three. To me, the orphanage’s celebration was like Rose Bowl Parade. I ran with the kids and shouted at the top of my lungs my jubilation.

As I ran, blowing my noisemaker, other kids ran around me in a blur of young bodies. Suddenly, a hard force shoved me to the ground. As I fell, my noisemaker flew from my mouth. I looked up and saw my