Arcane Gateway

Elemental Uncertainties

Elemental Uncertainties

I did not make it back to my room unseen. As the adrenaline from my dance with Hans gradually wore off, I began to feel as though the forest watched me, the breeze eerily rustling the leaves to discuss the birth of a Teuton. This sort of thing doesn’t just happen, I told myself, the chill of the air beginning to seep through my icy protection. The Teutons are just one of the ancient German tribes, not this . . . this mysterious witchy thing . . . .

At length I huffed and put my glasses back on, shutting my eyes and taking a moment to breathe deeply in an attempt to calm down enough to take the bluish sheen off of my vision. I wondered whether my irises looked as blue as my vision did when I awakened my ice. My ice. This was madness. How could Hans just walk away from me after deftly demonstrating that the supernatural was real?

And what had he meant by that word? Sconi. I needed to look it up, but I did not know what dialect it was, or what language in general. I also needed to see what the encyclopedia said about Teutons. I barked out a laugh at that thought. Maybe what I really needed to do was find one of my grandfather’s books of olden fairytales. Maybe there was one I had missed in childhood that said that sometimes people had elemental powers that came out at night. Or was I some modern version of the Snow Queen, or the White Witch?

But with the elements, it’s usually just earth, air, water, and fire, I thought while sprinting back to the house, still feeling as though something was watching me. Hans was fire, black fire, like hell fire I guess. But why is my water frozen? Is it supposed to be that way, or am I a freak?

I entered the house through the side door to the garage, which Hans had left unlocked, thankfully. I crept as unobtrusively as possible toward the back staircase, where I encountered a rotund man wobbling about halfway up, garbling nonsense about having a tryst with a girl in a red dress. He did not seem to notice me, though he loosed a belch when I slipped past, rolling my eyes at the collective stupidity of partying adults. Maybe that’s why Pappi wanted me to stay out of sight, I realized. I should have thought of that earlier, but I had been too enchanted by the concept of ballroom dancing. The dance I had experienced was far afield from that.

In the library I encountered a couple half-dressed on the couch, the man’s mouth at work on the woman’s right breast while she giggled and tugged at his hair. “There are bedrooms for that, you know,” I muttered in disgust, heading straight for the shelf that held my father’s encyclopedias. I pulled out the one for the letter T and settled onto the floor, paging through until I found the entry on “Teutons.” I skimmed the entry quickly, seeing that it repeated the same tale I had heard in school. The Teutons were a generalized term for the German tribes as a whole, though there had been several tribes from millennia ago that actually called themselves by that name. They had settled in Alpine areas. The other Germanic tribes like the Saxons, Alemanni, and Goths had populated other sections from the Italian border to the North Sea. The Teutons had helped keep the Romans on the far side of the Rhine and the Alps.

But the encyclopedia gave no hint that they had elemental powers or any sort of magical gifts at all. I should not have expected otherwise. Real people did not just manifest random elemental powers. Only characters in fantasy novels and fairytales did things like that.

“Adi . . . there’s a kid in here.” The lazy female voice broke my concentration, and I looked up from the encyclopedia to see the woman’s flushed face pointed in my direction over the back of the couch, her ruby red lipstick slightly mangled.

“No there’s not,” I heard the man mumble in response, his head hidden from view. I heard a smacking noise. I figured I had better not test my luck. Though the pair seemed fully engaged, they could conceivably reveal my presence to my father. So I left the encyclopedia on the floor and sped to the door, slipping quickly into the shadowed hallway, bound for my bedroom.

I spent several hours pacing here and there in my room, sometimes sitting on the couch, sometimes stepping outside to the balcony, sometimes curling into a ball on the edge of my canopied bed. I knew that I needed to sleep, but I could not turn off my brain, which seemed insistent upon contemplating every possible problem with having an elemental gift of ice. Was this the type of thing that could erupt without notice, now that I had discovered its existence? How was I supposed to keep this hidden? Was I supposed to keep this hidden? Were there other Teutons in München aside from Hans and me? Was my father a Teuton? Could he summon ice, too? Was this the sort of thing that meant I had to quit regular schooling and attend some secret magical boarding school, like in the Discworld novels or The Worst Witch series? I would be behind everybody else if I had to do that; I had only just learned about my ice that very night.

I wish I could tell Dane about this . . . .

Eventually I ended up in my bathroom again, squinting my gray eyes at the mirror as I tried to grasp exactly what I had to do to awaken my ice again. I tried to quiet my mind, to recall how I had felt in the glade with Hans, abruptly wondering whether I needed to be outside for it to work. Or maybe I needed a Teuton partner to guide me into the sphere of the unknown. Maybe I needed a middle-aged man who was not particularly unattractive, his black hair transforming into a dark flame of fire while we danced . . . .

“You’re an i***t, Swanie,” I whispered to myself, leaning forward to touch my forehead to the mirror while I squeezed my eyes shut. “It was just a dance. You can’t just start feeling something for a guy who works for your Pappi.”

I had never really felt attracted to anyone before, at that point in my life. I had played along with various girlfriends as a kid, pretending to have a crush on this boy or that boy. My American cousin Beth and I had once “liked” a boy her age who went to her church, but we had decided to stop liking him after watching him bite into the bottom of his sneaker. It had all been fun and games until now. Now I was spending too much time remembering the feel of Hans’ fingers linked with mine, the sensation of his fire brushing perfectly against my ice. Too much time remembering that I was only thirteen with underdeveloped breasts and a child’s figure. My father would kill me if he caught wind of my thoughts. I hoped that Teutons did not have psychic powers too.

Eventually I fell into a shallow slumber on my bed, having resolved to hunt Hans down later that morning. It was Saturday, and even if he did not come to the main house at all this weekend, I could find him at his cottage out back. Our property had three small cottages, two of which were occupied, one by Hans and the other by Lise and her husband, who took care of the gardens and did simple repairs. If I headed that way first thing in the morning, my father should remain unaware of my activities. Alcohol was a vice of his, especially at parties, though I knew that he drank to forget his wife and son more than for any other reason. He probably would not crawl out of bed before noon at the earliest.

I woke shortly after eight a.m., having gotten maybe six hours of sleep tops. My first instinct was to go back to sleep since it was Saturday, but memories of the previous night returned in a flash. I jumped to my feet and headed for the bathroom to prepare for the day; my braids had not fared well in bed, so I undid them and put my hair up in a blue scrunchie. Then I entered my closet and sifted through my casual clothes for a while, finally settling on violet corduroy pants and a sweatshirt with ducks printed on it. I had gotten that one in the U.S. two years ago and would not be able to fit into it for much longer. Beth’s grandmother had given it to me for Christmas, back before my world had shattered into tiny pieces all over again.

Does this ice that I apparently have mean that something good is going to happen to me finally? I wondered while heading downstairs. Not that I haven’t had any good things before. But this better not be one of those things that will put my family in danger. There’d better not be some elemental war going on in the shadows. I shuddered a little and entered the kitchen, where some of the extra staff from last night were finishing up their cleaning. I asked the one who appeared to be in charge whether he had seen Hans that morning or not. He replied negatively and asked whether he could get me anything for breakfast. “No, I’ll just get some Pop-Tarts, thanks,” I answered, snagging the box from a cabinet as I spoke. Then I turned for the dining room with its glass doors that opened onto the back porch.

I did not feel as though the forest watched me make my way to Hans’ cottage, so maybe what I had sensed before had been the work of my imagination. I finished the second Pop-Tart just as I reached his doorstep, which was of aged cement. I halted there and shook the crumbs from my fingers before stuffing the trash into my pants pocket, glancing toward the windows on each side of his front door. Their shutters were already open, and mums bloomed in oranges and yellows in his flower boxes. He was doubtless already awake, so all I needed to do was knock. But how am I going to break the subject? So what was that thing you showed me last night when we danced? How widespread is this elemental thing? Why can’t I get the thought of you out of my head? I grimaced, embarrassment heating my cheeks. I could not bring that part up, not at all. Hans was in his forties, and I was thirteen. There was nothing for it. I just needed to find out more about this magical madness that had intruded upon my life.

I had planned to knock, but I found myself twisting the knob instead. The door slid open silently, revealing a cozy living space: brown, three-cushioned sofa against the far wall, dark mahogany coffee table, small TV on a wheeled stand, five-shelved bookcase, two tall lamps, one on, one off. The window beside the front door let in enough sunlight to render the lamps superfluous, truthfully. A soft chair that matched the sofa stood before the window, and that was where Hans sat clad in a green flannel shirt and tan trousers, the morning paper in his lap, his right hand cradling a mug of coffee. “Guten Morgen, Swanie,” he greeted after I had stood awkwardly in the doorway for a few seconds, silently cursing my impropriety. His tone did not sound surprised in the slightest, and that wry smile had curled upon his lips again.

I shook myself and turned away to shut the door, returning his greeting in a voice laden with uncertainty. I stood facing the door with my hand on the knob for a count of five, gathering my courage. Then I heard Hans get to his feet. “Have a seat, if you would, and I’ll make us some more coffee.”

“No thanks. I don’t like coffee,” I murmured as he went through a doorway that I assumed led to the kitchen.

“How about tea, then? Or milk or orange juice. Have you had anything to eat this morning?” He had paused in the doorway, his eyes scrutinizing me from head to toe, like they had done in the hallway last night.

I fairly flew to the couch before he could notice my blush rising once more. “I had Pop-Tarts, but I’ll take some milk, thanks.” He muttered his assent and left the room, so I sat stiffly on the cushion closest to the door with my arms wrapped around my body, feeling as uncomfortable as I felt whenever I had to give a speech in class. I still had not worked out how to broach the subject of Teutons. Something caught my eye against the glass panes of the window—a jarred candle sat on the sill, having burned halfway through its wax already. The flame atop the wick was a solid black. It cast no light.

I kept staring at it until Hans returned and handed me a glass of milk. “You don’t look like you slept very well,” he remarked while heading for his chair, a fresh mug of coffee in his hand.

A hysterical giggle escaped my lips with a shocking suddenness. “How could you expect me to sleep after that?!” I demanded, abruptly irritated.

Hans chuckled in response and took a sip of coffee. “How indeed.”

He sounded so casual, as though the candle at his windowsill had a regular old flame burning upon it. I frowned at him and drank some milk, firmly ordering myself to keep my cool. I needed his help to understand what had happened to me. “So it . . . doesn’t just happen at night, I guess?” I nodded toward the black flame.

Hans chuckled again, seeming entertained by my ignorance. “The time of day has no effect on a Teuton’s gifts. Our elements are a product of our blood, yes, but they stem from our spirits, from inside of us.” He leaned back in his chair and shifted a lidded gaze to his candle. The flame reformed itself into a perfect sphere.

I stared, feeling as though my eyes were as round as an owl’s. “How do you just . . . put it there like that?” My questions hardly made sense.

“It takes practice to create and manipulate one’s element with precision,” Hans replied, taking another sip from his mug before looking back toward me. The flame regained its natural shape, and I just gaped, my hands starting to tremble around my glass of milk. I set it down onto the coffee table.

“This all came as a shock to you, I suppose, and I don’t know if I can really grasp how confused you must be,” Hans said. “Though most people today think that magic doesn’t exist, our people—the Teutons—have known otherwise since ancient times. Back when giants roamed the earth, our people were given enhanced powers to protect us from supernatural enemies. The elemental magic only scratches the surface, and most Teutons are taught about the elements from childhood. Many discover their own at a young age, sometimes as early as four.”

I felt my eyebrows come together, and I blinked rapidly at Hans from behind my glasses. “You . . . you said . . . last night . . . that my Pappi had . . . stifled me? What does that mean? Is he a Teuton, too? Why didn’t he tell me anything about this?” Betrayal scratched at my heart again. First the party, now this. I had thought that my father had always been open with me.

Hans sighed heavily, and his dark blue eyes took on a hue of sadness. “It’s a hard subject, Swanie, but his silence is one of his ways of dealing with your family’s losses. Childbirth can be hard for a Teuton woman.” I stiffened. “And when your brother’s element began coming out during his sickness—”

“What are you saying?!” I shouted, clenching my fists, panic contracting my chest. “My Mutti died because she was a Teuton? And Dane . . . Dane was . . . what element did he have?!” The last phrase came out in a screech, and my eyes welled up with tears. I choked, gasping for breath, my heart pounding in a ribcage that felt far too tight. I pressed my fists into the cushion beneath me.

“Swanie, please.” Hans’ voice trickled into my consciousness from the far end of a tunnel, a tunnel that was a hospital wing, that smelled of pungent medicine and hopelessness. I think he said something else, but now my brain was drowning in memories, truths I had never grasped haltingly clicking into place. My mother had died because childbirth was difficult for Teuton women. My father had watched it happen and decided not to tell me. My brother had somehow found his element during his sickness, likely during that final bout early this year, when his lungs had slowly smothered themselves. The doctors had said that cystic fibrosis patients usually last much longer than he had. Being a Teuton was a death sentence. I had been right. This was not the beginning of good things for me.

I had curled into a ball on the sofa when I heard Hans’ voice speaking much closer to me. “Did you take your pills this morning?”

“They . . . they don’t . . . not happy . . . they can’t . . . I can’t . . . think . . .” My speech slurred from German to Bayerisch to English. What I wanted to say was that the pills did not make me happy; they only made it hard to think. I had thrown each one out as soon as Lise had stopped watching me take them with breakfast. I did not want to be dependent upon pills to keep my panic under control, especially since I had never had a panic attack before Dane had died.

“Swanhilde, look at me,” Hans commanded, prying my left arm away from my body and enclosing my wrist in an iron grip. I gave out a strangled gasp, and then I felt him take hold of my chin. “Look at me,” he repeated, his thumb pressing hard upon the center of my left wrist. I was still struggling to breathe. I realized that if I could not get my panic under control, Hans may very well call some doctor to stick pills down my throat, or worse. Look at me, he had said, so I clutched onto that command like a lifeline and pried my eyes open.

All I could see before me was a blur, and the tears felt crusty upon my eyelids. A large form sat before me on the floor, and I blinked, trying to focus on his face. I could not. “Breathe slowly with me. In, out. In, out.” Hans softly repeated himself until I had nearly managed to match my breaths to his; then he told me to recite the Lord’s Prayer in German. Something basic and unrelated to drag my mind out of the muck. I whispered the words bit by bit, and when I had finished he asked me to say the prayer again in Bayerisch, and then in English. By the time I had recited the last phrase of the English prayer, I could see clearly again, though I sensed the traces of ice upon my face. Apparently tears could come out as a person’s element.

I had certainly been learning a lot today.

Hans had let go of my chin after I had finished the first prayer, and his grip on my wrist moved to rest upon my pulse while I spoke. “That might be the last language I know it in,” I said in English.

Hans snickered and released my wrist, rising to his feet. He had moved the coffee table toward the center of the room to give him space to kneel before me. “That may be, but if you can’t recite it in Latin, you’re no scholar.” He shifted the table back toward the sofa, and I noticed that my milk had not spilled.

“Really?” I muttered in response to his jibe, launching immediately into the Latin version of the Lord’s Prayer. He chuckled again and returned to his chair, sitting down and lifting his mug from the floor, watching me minutely while I said the Latin words, this time trying to take their meaning to heart. Mutti and Dane were with God now. It was no use to cry about it. And I did not have cystic fibrosis. It was just my stupid panic that told me I could not breathe.

“So I guess elements come out when you’re upset,” I observed when I had finished the prayer, switching back to dialect without a hitch. “I’ve been upset a lot this year. I wonder why my ice never came out before.”

“Normally Teuton children are informed of their elemental potential and are taught how to control or suppress it, depending on the circumstances.” Hans favored me with a thoughtful expression, and I picked up my glass of milk again. “Whether informed or not, though, a Teuton’s element may manifest itself when a person is in mortal danger, which may explain what happened with your brother.”

“Did his lungs . . . freeze inside of him?” I bit my lip after I put the question into words, not sure whether I really wanted the answer.

Hans shook his head once, and I relaxed a little. “He was not ice. He seemed to manifest either water or mist; I am unsure which one. But the excess of liquid damaged him in a tragic way.” I took a large gulp of milk to hide my face from Hans, unsure whether that sounded worse or better than having frozen lungs. “Now that you have discovered your ice, it would behoove you to actually take your medicine,” he added in a barbed tone. “You don’t want to be having panic attacks like that one while out in public.”

He had a point, but that raised another question in my mind. “Do I have to go to some elemental magic boarding school now?”

Hans laughed outright, and I saw the black flame of his candle increase in size in response to his amusement. “No, Teutons have no such place. But there’s an elderly Lady in our city that would like to meet you, one who has taught Teuton girls about their gifts for many years. I’ll have to arrange for you to meet with her and with your peers of the same age the next time your Pappi is away.”

I found myself smiling at the thought, for it was clear by the look on Hans’ face that he respected this Lady very much. Maybe being an icy Teuton would turn out to be a good thing after all.

Chapter Three: