Elemental Hunger by Elana Johnson Page B

Adam teased it with a playful breeze. Within minutes, the flames chased away the shadows and the chill of the stones.
    Adam began plucking the chicken. I watched, memorizing his movements so I could copy him later. He piled the feathers neatly, then scooped them up and took them to the corner of the cave. He pulled out a sack half the size of a pillow and stuffed the feathers inside. When he came back, he held a stick that had been carved into a crude knife.
    Everything he did happened in a calm manner, reminding me of Isaiah. Everything about Isaiah screamed cool! He’d invented a clever nickname for everyone he met. Mine was Gabbers. It made me feel important to him. Special.
    Everyone thought they were something special to Isaiah. And maybe they were. He just had that oozing charisma that drew people to him.
    Since Cat and I spent a fair amount of time together, Isaiah and I became great friends. He didn’t say much, but when he spoke, I listened. One time he said, “Don’t underestimate yourself, Gabbers.”
    The end. Nothing more, nothing less. He didn’t drone on the way Educator Ostrund did. He didn’t appraise me with loathing the way the cook did. He wasn’t looking for me to do anything, say something, be someone.
    And I loved him for it.
    Along with that cool, charming side came strength. Power poured from his broad shoulders. He kept his head shaved almost completely bald, and with his dark skin and nearly black eyes, more than one girl followed his movements in the dining hall.
    But he entered every room hand in hand with Cat. They’d leave the same way. Everyone knew whose he was.
    His hands were large, nearly double mine, and when I came home from work broken, they held me as I sobbed into his shoulder. They rubbed the knots out of my back and erased the worry from my feet.
    “Gabbers, you gotta get outta that place,” he’d say, adding water to his precious earth and making a mud treatment for my neck. “When are you gonna pick your track?”
    Even with my body screaming for a release from the kitchens, I couldn’t choose. I didn’t tell Isaiah why.
    But he knew: I was waiting for a Council.
    Watching Adam work, I thought that a Council might just be possible for me. He moved a few feet away to a stained, flat stone and placed the chicken on it. When he looked at me, a hard look pulled at the corners of his eyes.
    I almost laughed. “You look like you’re going to be sick.”
    “Sometimes I can’t get the head off the first time.”
    “You’re going to cut it with that stick? No way.” I suddenly understood why the steel had come into his eyes.
    “You got a better idea?”
    “Yeah, use this.” I pulled a knife from my belt and tossed it on the ground.
    He slowly lowered his makeshift weapon and stared at the silver blade gleaming in the firelight. He didn’t pick it up. “Where’d you get that?”
    I looked anywhere but at him. “Found it.”
    A moment passed in silence. When I finally tore my eyes away from the dancing fire, Adam was staring at me. “I don’t believe you. That’s a sentry’s blade. They don’t get lost.” He crossed his arms. “Who are you, anyway? Where you from?”
    I stood up and fingered the other two knives under my hoodie. “I’m Gabe Kilpatrick. I’m from Crylon.”
    Adam straightened too. He had a couple of inches on me. “Crylon burned to the ground. You… you did that.”
    “No, I didn’t,” I said. “Crylon was still standing when I left. Besides, that sentry said a girl did it.” There had been Watermaidens on the scene. I’d watched the fire die. How—and when?—had the whole city of Crylon burned to the ground? The sky had been clear when I walked down the highway, away from Crylon, away from the hair that made me Gabby, away from the only life I knew.
    Adam’s jaw unclenched, and he crouched again. I dropped my hands, grateful I didn’t have to reveal the other two knives. He wouldn’t believe any story I invented for having