The Force of Wind Read online

  The Force of Wind:

  An Elemental Mystery

  by Elizabeth Hunter

  The Force of Wind

  Copyright © 2012

  by Elizabeth Hunter

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Cover Design: Flash in the Can Productions

  Edited by: Amy Eye

  Formatted by: Amy Eye

  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the internet or any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

  For information about the Elemental Mysteries series, please visit:

  ElementalMysteries.com

  Other books by Elizabeth Hunter:

  A HIDDEN FIRE

  THIS SAME EARTH

  For my dear friends:

  to those who inspire me

  to those who challenge me

  for all I have met along the way

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Many thanks, as always, to my amazing reading and editing team: Kristy, Lindsay, Sarah, Kelli, Sandra, and Molly. You girls are amazing. I couldn’t do this without you.

  Thanks to my editor, Amy Eye. Your work is as fantastic as your enthusiasm and dedication.

  Thanks to my family: to my very patient husband and son, who often fend for themselves while I’m writing and who give me the love and encouragement to keep going. And to my parents, brothers and sisters, your pride and encouragement is an inspiration to me.

  To the readers who buy my books, send me e-mails, review, and tell their friends; who offer encouragement, enthusiasm, and so much more, a thousand thanks. You’ve let me into your imaginations, and you’ve let these characters into your hearts.

  I cannot thank you enough.

  The little reed, bending to the force of the wind, soon stood upright when the storm had passed.

  —Aesop

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  Wuyi Moutains

  Fujian Province

  China

  September 2008

  Fu-han watched the passing boats in the late afternoon sun, carrying their people and wares to the small town just a few miles away. The sun glinted off the surface of the Nine-Bend River and a breeze stirred, swirling the air and tickling the red and gold leaves from the trees. They whirled and twisted in the wind, fluttering down to lay along the edge of the water and drift downstream, carried away by the burbling river.

  “Master, do we need more of the moss?”

  The old man brushed a few leaves from his faded grey robes and glanced down to the young brother who was gathering moss from a rock along the bank. The young man had good eyes, stronger now than the eyes of the old man who taught him. Fu-han held his gnarled hand out and motioned to the young man, asking him to bring the basket closer to his eyes.

  “No more.”

  “Is that all we need from this part of the forest? Are the mushrooms here the correct ones or do we need to go upstream?”

  The old man gave a crooked smile. Elder Lu was wise to choose this young one to be his apprentice, despite his impatience. Impatience, Fu-han knew, could be mastered, but perception such as the boy’s could not be taught. The young man already perceived even a slight difference in the hours of shade could impart a different character to an ingredient.

  “We have enough for this remedy. These mushrooms are fine for healing. Do we have all the other ingredients?”

  The young man glanced at the slip of paper in his hand. “Yes, Master.”

  “Then, let us begin our walk back,” he said with a smile.

  The young man held out his arm for his teacher, who grabbed it along with his walking stick. They started up the small dirt path to the monastery, which was tucked into one of the creeping river valleys of the Wuyi Mountains in Southern China. The humid air was soft in the early evening, and the old man was glad that one of the young brothers had already come down to light the lamps along the path.

  “Is it true we will have visitors coming tonight?”

  “Yes,” the old man nodded, “Elders Zhang and Lu. They are bringing another immortal with them, a scholar. The scholar carries a book we will have the opportunity to study.”

  “What is the book?”

  “It is an old manuscript. From the West. The Elders think we may be able to help the young immortal to interpret it.”

  “They honor us.”

  The old man chuckled. “They do. But then, I am only an apprentice to Elder Zhang.”

  “Why does he not study the book himself?”

  “The Elders have many important things to do.” Like indulge in the new wine, the old man thought with a private smile. “And I am Elder Zhang’s oldest student. I accept the honor with happiness.”

  They walked for a few more minutes, slowly climbing the old stairs as twilight fell and the mist crept up the mountain.

  “Master Fu-han?”

  “Yes?”

  “Why did you not join the Elders when they asked?”

  The old man glanced at the setting sun and then up at the tall young man who helped him along the path. It was an important question, so he took his time in answering.

  “You will choose your own path, but I am happy to know I have only a short time more in this body. It has been a good life, and I have learned much. I will be ready to move on when death comes for me.”

  “But the gift of immortality… is it not an opportunity for even more study? Think of the years you could teach others. Someday, you could be as wise as Elder Zhang.”

  He only offered the young man a knowing smile. “Ah, but the gift of mortality offers its own lessons, as well. And though I will never have the wisdom of Elder Zhang, he will never have the wisdom of Master Fu-han.”

  The young man’s cheeks reddened at the old man’s apparent arrogance. Fu-han was quick to continue.

  “Do not mistake me, I do not compare myself to the Elders. Their wisdom is beyond our comprehension, but they have chosen to step off the path of enlightenment that mortality offers. Just as there is wisdom to be gained from a long life, there is wisdom to be gained from a short one, as well.”

  “I do not understand.”

  The old man gripped the young monk’s arm as he avoided a thick tree root that had worked its way through the old stone sta
ircase. “The immortals carry the wisdom of our ancestors, but their own enlightenment is slowed by their long life.” As they climbed the stairs leading to the monastery, a small bird came and landed on one of the stone lanterns. Fu-han nodded toward it with a smile.

  “Look at the thrush.”

  The young man glanced at the small speckled bird as it cocked its head to the side, observing the two men as they moved up the stairs.

  “What of the thrush?”

  “What lessons might be learned from living in such a small, weak body?” The old monk smiled at the bird, which flicked its tail before flying to perch on the branch of a low-hanging conifer.

  “The thrush has a most beautiful song, Master. One could learn to appreciate that.”

  “You are correct. And is it a powerful bird?”

  The young man smiled. “Of course not. It darts along the branches and eats only seeds and insects.”

  “And yet, it does not worry about its life. It is a humble bird, as many small creatures are humble, but it has a beautiful song.” He paused to catch his breath on the stairs and looked up at the young man beside him. “We gain more enlightenment from weakness and loss than we do from strength and victory. That is the wisdom of mortality that our immortal elders cannot grasp. It is only the youngest of them that remember such humility.”

  “But that wisdom is lost when you die,” the boy said with a frown.

  “As it should be—to be discovered again by the young.” He reached a gnarled hand up to pat the young man’s cheek. “You will learn this. And when the time comes, and Elder Lu asks you if you would choose an immortal life, you will make your own choice, as all of those in your order do.”

  They continued to climb, and Fu-han felt every creak of his joints. Soon, he would not be able to join the young monks as they gathered the plants and roots in the forest. Soon, he would take refuge in the collected wisdom of all those who had come before him and stay in the library and workrooms of the monastery.

  “Master?”

  “Yes?”

  “Which of the elements is most powerful?”

  Fu-han smiled. It was a young question.

  “There is no one element more powerful than the others.”

  “But surely—”

  “It is balance that is most powerful. The elders know this; that is why there have always been eight, two from each earthly element.”

  But it was the fifth element, the space between, that Fu-han thought of as he climbed the stone stairs. It was the elusive energy he felt quicken his own senses as he looked to the top of the stairs to see his old teacher jump from the branch of a tree to land on his toes.

  Fu-han smiled as his companion took a sharp breath.

  “Elder Zhang Guo,” the young monk said with a respectful bow.

  The ancient wind vampire floated down the stairs, his white robes fluttering in the dark along with his long, black hair. Though he was called ‘elder,’ Zhang had been frozen in the prime of his human life. His broad face was open and jovial as he greeted Fu-han and reached out an arm to help him.

  “How is my old student this evening?”

  The old monk smiled and gave a deep nod. “I am well, my teacher. We were not expecting you until much later.”

  Zhang shrugged. “We took refuge in one of the caves today so we could be here early. Our guest was most eager to bring his book to the safety of the library.”

  The old man frowned. “Does this guest bring trouble?” He glanced at the young man beside him and thought of all the boys who trained at the monastery school.

  The ancient wind immortal only smiled. “And who would dare harm the monks of Lu Dongbin? Your patron is far too powerful for anyone to challenge.”

  Fu-han bowed. “We are grateful for the protection of all the council, Elder Zhang.”

  Zhang laughed. “Some more than others, my old friend.”

  The three walked slowly up the stairs after Fu-han waved away the offer of a quick flight from his old teacher. The two friends spoke of the young monks and the school, about the visitor who would be staying with them and the curious book he was bringing.

  “I am eager to hear your thoughts on it,” Zhang mused. “You are familiar with its author, though I can promise you have not seen anything like this before.”

  “Oh?”

  “I need your eyes, my friend.”

  “Have you asked your daughter to look at it?”

  Zhang smiled a little. “My daughter has taken a vow of silence for many years. She has no time for me.”

  Fu-han chuckled. “I will always have time for you, Master.”

  “No,” the vampire said as he looked at the bent, old man. “I’m afraid you won’t.”

  “I suppose that is true enough,” Fu-han said.

  They reached the gates of the monastery to find a group of young monks scurrying about, preparing for their visitors. They were rushing in expectation of their patron and only a few stopped and stared at the three men as they made their way through the stone courtyard and the meeting room, winding their way back into the mountain and toward the library.

  The dim hall was lined with books, scrolls, and manuscripts, a mix of modern and new writings, and small alcoves branched off into study rooms strewn with cushions. It was lit by some of the few electric lamps in the ancient building, the risk of fire outweighing the preferences of their immortal patrons.

  The young man escorted Fu-han to his favorite corner of the room and left him to go put the herbs and other ingredients they had gathered in the workroom. He promised to return with tea.

  Fu-han could feel the eyes of his old teacher on him as he arranged his aching body on the low cushions. Zhang stretched his legs out and relaxed against the cool, stone wall of the library.

  “It’s not too late to change your mind.”

  The old man laughed. “And spend eternity with an old and creaking body? I was tempted when I was thirty, considered it at forty, but at ninety-eight years?” The old monk shook his head. “I will welcome death when it seeks me out.”

  Zhang scowled. “You waste yourself.”

  “I move on to whatever is next.” Fu-han shrugged. “That is all. Tell me about the young immortal.”

  “He has been hiding for many years, afraid of the knowledge he has.”

  “Why be afraid of knowledge?”

  “This knowledge is power, and others seek it. His mortal life was taken because he found it.”

  “Ah,” Fu-han nodded. That changed things. To be thrust into an immortal life without a choice was a harsh fate. “He is welcome here.”

  “I hear him approaching with Lu now.”

  “And his element?”

  “He controls water, but is not very powerful. His sire was unwise and too prolific.”

  “And his mind?”

  “Impressive,” Zhang said with a slow nod. “Very impressive.”

  “I look forward to meeting him.”

  They paused when Fu-han felt the stirring of energy that signaled the presence of a powerful immortal. Zhang rose as Lu Dongbin, patron of the monastery and ancient water vampire, swept through the doors of the library, followed by a thin man in Western clothes. The proper greetings were offered along with quiet words of welcome as the three vampires situated themselves on low cushions in front of the old man, who examined the newcomer.

  The young immortal was of moderate height, and his dark hair and dramatic features indicated Spanish or Mediterranean blood. He did not carry himself with the confidence typical of his kind, but his keen eyes darted around the room, taking in the massive library that Fu-han’s order had tended for over a thousand years. He carried a wrapped bundle clutched to his chest that looked like a small book or box.

  He was younger than Fu-han, in mortal years as well as immortal, and the old scholar could feel the vampire’s nervous energy fill the small alcove, causing the lights to flicker.

  This one, he thought, had not forgotten his own humility. Thi
s one was open to a greater wisdom.

  When Fu-han’s kind eyes finally met the brown gaze of his guest, the old man smiled.

  “Stephen De Novo, you are welcome here. And you are safe.”

  Chapter One

  En route to Beijing, China

  August 2010

  Giovanni Vecchio eyed the impassive water vampire from across the compartment, casually draping an arm around Beatrice’s shoulders as she sat next to him on the plush couch.

  “Remind me why he is here.”

  She rolled her eyes and refused to answer, so Baojia spoke for himself.

  “I am here because Beatrice has a very concerned grandfather who offers her the finest protection of his clan.”

  “Are you sure you’re not just homesick?”

  The Asian vampire’s face betrayed no emotion when he replied, “Unless we have changed course to San Francisco, I do not understand the question.”

  Beatrice snorted and laid her head on Giovanni’s shoulder. “Leave him alone, Gio.”

  “I dislike having someone else on the plane.” Particularly someone who looked at Beatrice the way her grandfather’s enforcer did. Beatrice may not have noticed, but the quiet water vampire watched her every move with keen interest.

  “You’re overreacting,” she murmured. “Besides, Ernesto wouldn’t send anyone with us who wasn’t on our side.”

  He saw an almost imperceptible smile flicker across Baojia’s face, and there was a wry amusement in his eyes when he looked back at Giovanni.

  “And it is always beneficial to have another interpreter,” Baojia said in perfect Mandarin.

  When Don Ernesto Alvarez, Beatrice’s powerful ancestor whose clan controlled Southern California, had offered to send his child with them to visit the legendary Eight Immortals of Penglai Island, Giovanni could hardly refuse.

  Baojia’s prowess as a fighter was almost as well known as Giovanni’s, despite his youth, and the offer was evidence of both how highly Ernesto viewed his granddaughter and how valuable he saw her connections in his world. Giovanni couldn’t deny the offer without alienating a powerful ally and causing a rift in Beatrice’s family.