The Frozen Beginning (Elemental Diamond Book 1)

THE

FROZEN

BEGINNING

DAPHNE ROBYNSON

THE FROZEN BEGINNING

Copyright © 2016 by Makayla J. Woodley

Limited Edition, 2016

All rights reserved. This book or any portion of it may not be reproduced or used in any scenario without the expressed written consent from both the publisher and the author, except for in the use of brief quotations in a book review.

ISBN-13 978-1533052216

ISBN-10 1533052212

This is a work of fiction. Any or all names, characters, locations, concepts and scenarios are a product of the author’s imagination to be used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, business establishments or places is entirely coincidental.

www.daphnerobynson.com

DEDICATION

To My Grandad

I Love You
More
Most

.

The human mind is pretty magnificent. Without your intention, it can create an attachment to absolutely anything – like fictional characters, sappy love songs, and celebrities that don’t even know you exist. That’s just the way it works. But that is also what makes us human. The emotions you feel when your favourite character dies, or when you finally read those last few pages of a great novel. It makes it that much more enjoyable – to experience their troubles, their adventures, and their lives.

We have learnt over time to live vicariously through others.

• THE LAWS
  
• PROLOGUE
  
• 1 DISCOVERED
  
• 2 THE DEAL
  
• 3 THE PERSIA HOTEL
  
• 4 P.A.M.
  
• 5 INTRODUCTIONS
  
• 6 BRINK
  
• 7 ELEVATORS
  
• 8 THE SEEDING
  
• 9 FIRST DANCE
  
• 10 THE WINTER GALA
  
• 11 FIRST MEETING
  
• 12 ICE FIELD
  
• 13 CAUGHT
  
• 14 PANIC
  
• 15 MINK’S SONG
  
• 16 QUICK VISIT
  
• 17 THE HARVEST: PART I
  
• 18 THE HARVEST: PART II
  
• 19 DATE
  
• 20 THE LABYRINTH
  
• 21 REFLECTIONS
  
• 22 FINAL DANCE
  
• 23 BAD NEWS
  
• 24 NEW DECISION
  
• 25 DELIVERANCE
  

THE LAWS

ONE CANNOT IMPART HARM UPON YOUR FAMILIAR ELEMENT.

ONE CANNOT INSTIGATE CONTACT WITH ANY OTHER THAN THEIR FAMILIAR ELEMENT.

FOR SELF PROTECTION, ONE CANNOT PASS THE BOUNDARIES DICTATED TO THEIR FAMILIAR ELEMENT.

PROLOGUE

“You’re coming back tomorrow right?”

The young girl turns at the sound of the boy’s voice. Looking over with a happy smile on her lips, her chest swells with content. She nods her head.

“Of course! I need to help you take care of Mink, don’t I? You might burn her to a crisp if I’m not there!” Referring to the small furball in the boy’s palms, she reaches out to pet it gently.

Her joke frightens the boy. His eyes widen with fear, quickly glancing down at the tiny creature in his palms.

“I-I don’t want to hold her anymore…” His chest surges with fright, his heart beating wildly. The girl notices his panic. She rests her hand delicately on his shoulder, calming him. His skin cools at her naturally icy touch.

“It’s OK, you won’t hurt her. She likes how warm you are.” The girl likes it as well. He is like a furnace of endless warmth. For her, it is nice to feel
something
.

The boy studies her. His eyes capture hers, and he falls into her hypnotic stare, two different colour irises watching him carefully. Never has he met anyone like her – no one as friendly, or gentle, or calm as her. Her company, and her touch calms his temper.

He has learnt to be serene around her. He has learnt to control his warmth.

I can’t hurt her
—
I
won’t
hurt her
.

“But I might burn Mink…” His voice is tender, nervous. Anxious. His eyes change, now swirling with the gruesome image of the little pup burnt like a rodent on a spit-roast. His body convulses with tremors of disgust.

The girl smiles again, her teeth showing. “You won’t. She trusts you.” She pauses, watching him, “I trust you.”

The boy looks back to the fox curled in his hands. The animal’s nose presses against his thumb as it huffs in its sleep. Mink’s body had been shaking like a leaf earlier, so the girl forced him to hold the cold creature until it is warm again.

“I really have to go now. My father will be wondering why I’m still not home…” The young girl gives the sleeping animal one last scratch behind the ear before rising to her feet.

The boy looks up with sad eyes, frown lines marring his forehead. “You’ll be back tomorrow, right?”

Both are only eleven – just kids. But they know they have a bond. Friendless and bullied, they need each other.

She nods her head once more, her eyes dancing brightly, “If it is still snowing, then I will come back tomorrow.” Her mind races with the excitement, her thoughts surrounding the concept of having a friend.

It’s nice to be wanted
.

Unconvinced, doubtful, the boy pesters, “You promise?”

She crouches down until they are eye level, surprising him with a quick kiss on his cheek. The heat radiating across her lips warms her flesh with a bright blush. She leans back, a small smile on her summery lips.

“Yes, I promise.”

ONE

DISCOVERED

The thick ice crunching beneath her feet shatters
the silence surrounding her. No one else dares to take a stroll in a weather like this – not unless they have hopes of freezing to death.

She never feels
cold
. Frigid air doesn’t make her shiver, and her limbs don’t lock from the frostiness. Her nose and cheeks never blush pink at the icy biting, and her teeth never chatter.

But the heat, Glacier could definitely feel that. Like being trapped in a small room with blistering sunlight streaming in with defence. She can’t bare the heat, the feeling of suffocation, of the sweat trickling down her forehead; the thought has her shivering with disgust.

The ice that surrounds Glacier clings to all surfaces, the house roofs, windowsills, porch railings, broken or forgotten bikes, and abandoned First-Generation Hovers that litter the run-down streets. The dank brick walls of the overgrown buildings are tagged with Alluvium’s symbol, the two weaving stripes with three different sized circles between each curl, and a giant red ‘X’ across the image.

It feels like I'm hiking through this bloody snow
.

She climbs through the thick slush in her tatty snow boots and dark jeans. The ends of her jeans are soaked with melted snow clinging to each fibre.

Walking along the icy road, the ice crushes beneath her worn boots as she pulls her navy cotton sleeves over her hands for some comfort.

To her left, Glacier can see the old glasshouse behind the crumbled brick-stone church. The church had been a small place for humans to congregate and pray, until the land was sectioned off as Hydren property. The small cracked glass shack had always been a form of solitude, where she could hide away from those who called her names. It’s been a long time since those days, now the other kids just ignore her all together.

For 17 years, Glacier has been presumed human. Everyone knows her name, and not for the right reasons.

She turns away from the glasshouse, as memories of water flooding her lungs reminds her why she is isolated.

Shoving her naked fingers into the pockets of her thin jacket, her unruly white curls flutter in the light breeze, knotting behind her ears.

Her footsteps falter when she hears a strangled sound echoing from her right. Staring down the alley the gurgles float from, she watches for any disturbance or movement. She is greeted by quiet murmurs.

Seconds later, she hears a different sound, similar to a ticking clock.

That is too loud to be a clock
…

Glacier follows the sound down the alley until the air is silent. Soon after, she hears a thump, followed by another scream, much louder this time.

“Ge’ off my prope’ty, critter! Don’t need thieves stealin’ ma food!” The angry voice is muffled from distance.

As she jogs closer to the end of the dank alley, she recognizes the path leading to Mr Michaels’ old shack. Her father had warned her about the ‘crazy old lunatic’ countless times.

From where she stands, she can smell aged wood coupled with the putrid stench of an unhygienic timeworn man.

Glancing over to the front porch of the aged shack, she spots Mr Michaels standing over the quivering body of a young boy. Glacier immediately recognizes the boy’s messy black curls.

Mr Michaels swings a large rod against the boy’s ribs. A sharp thump echoes in sync with the boy’s pain-filled squeal.

Instinct kicks in like a sudden bolt of lightning. She propels herself across the short distance, launching her small frame onto the hunched back of Mr Michaels.

“Stop it! Stop it, you crazy old man!”

Her arms squeeze around his flabby neck, clinging to him as she leans backwards, pulling the old man away. Glacier’s frizzy lump of hair flips over her head, covering the old man’s face before blowing widely in every other direction.

“Ge’ off me!” His voice is harsh with time, and raspy from exertion.

His balding head flies back into her face, catching her nose with a swift smack. A loud click echoes across the bridge of her nose. She squeals loudly as pain erupts through her cheekbones. Glacier releases her hold on his shoulders, falling gracelessly into the snow.

The slush begins to prickle against her skin again. Blood spills from her nostril. She doesn’t bother to wipe it as she crawls over to the little boy.

Her coat provides little protection when the rod hits her thinly veiled back, cracking against her spine. She screams in pain as it throbs through her backbone.

“You wa’ stealin’ from me, weren’t ya? Ya filthy mutt! I’d kill ya both!”

For an old man, Mr Michaels is tough
.

Sounding winded from Glacier’s unexpected attack, he seems otherwise unaffected. His arms hold enough strength to bring the rod down against her shoulder blade, causing a jagged grunt to pass her lips.

The ice now
itches
at her skin. Glacier ignores the sensation, slinking over to the boy.

He needs protection
.

Mr Michaels’ footsteps scream loud in the crispy ice as he follows her slow crawl. The uncomfortable sensation of blood gushing from her nose, down the side of her mouth has her stomach heaving against the ice beneath her.

The boy lies still in the snow, sunken in the slush, unmoving. Not dead, just unconscious.

The moment she reaches the boy, a sharp knock to her forehead throws Glacier to the side, disorientating her. She rolls over the boy’s body onto his other side, her head exploding in pain. She tumbles before settling back on her stomach. As she manages to gather her bearings, she hears a near-silent click, followed by a short zap.

Glacier’s mind nearly split when the little boy’s sharp, drawn scream pierces the panting air.

It resounds through her head like stabbing nails for less than a second before he suddenly jolts and wiggles in the snow like a snake writhing in fire. She covers her ears with her hands, squeezing her eyes shut from the pain erupting across her forehead, electrifying her jaw.

“Stop,
please
!”

Her voice is non-existent. When she opens her eyes, she knows Michaels hasn’t heard her plea. He grips the rod in his hand, one end pressed against the centre of the boy’s back. An evil grin blisters Michaels’ brittle lips.

Still disoriented, Glacier swings up, punching the evil man’s elbow inward. There is a small crack that vibrates against the barren walls surrounding them. The boy's screaming stops suddenly as the rod drops from Michaels’ hand.

“Ya ugly imp! Ya punch’t me!”

The blood throbbing through her skull pounds against its walls in the new silence. Glacier shifts over the boy’s body to protect him. He quivers and quakes harshly beneath her. His sobs surround her ears as she watches Michaels for his next move.