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The Elementalists, C. Sharp
Chapter 1
Bees and the Birds

Chloe lay in the grass on the side of a gentle hill, unmoving, as a honeybee hummed
through the air only a few inches from her face. It landed on the yellow crown of a
buttercup, and the thin stem bowed toward the grass with its weight. Its legs were already
dusted yellow with pollen as its head busied about the stamen, the tiny flower bobbing with
every movement it made. Her eyes tracked as it rose again into the air with the blurry
triangles of its wings returned.

It hovered in place a moment, as if deciding which direction to go, and then came closer,
landing on her elbow. She watched from the corner of her eye with her chin perched on her
steepled knuckles. Her heart lurched as the tickle of its legs navigated the hairs of her arm,
stepping closer to her cheek in a zigzag pattern. But she kept her cool, remaining stone still,
knowing that there was nothing to fear if she didnt give it reason to sting.

Chloes favorite teacher last year, Mrs. Greenwald, had told them that a disturbingly large
percentage of the honeybee population had been dying off over the last few years and that
the death of the bees had a domino effect that could disrupt the balance of nature. With no
bees, there was no pollination of the flowers, and that meant far less of the fruits and
vegetables that humans and animals rely on to survive. And of course, no more honey. Chloe
loved honey.

Some of her classmates, like Kendra Roberts, the Queen Bee herself, had made a joke out
of it, saying, Whatever, less bugs is less bugs, right? My dad runs like a massive
bioengineering company that totally knows how to pollinate flowers without bees. And I use
Splenda anyway. Her drones had all giggled in compliance before returning their fleeting
attentions to the latest texting exchange. But Chloe couldnt stop thinking about what Mrs.
Greenwald had said then, noting that some scientists and theorists speculate that the death
of the bees is an early sign of the decline of Mother Earth itself, the beginning of the end.

A breeze kicked up and the bee let go of its hold, carried away toward the pond at the
bottom of the hill. Chloe watched it until she lost the receding speck among the dance of
dandelion parachutes that pinwheeled through the air to land gently on the sheen of the
water. Just then, a small fish jumped, no doubt investigating the slight disturbance on the
ponds surface, hoping to find a tasty gnat rather than the wayward seed tuft. From high up
she heard the cry of a hawk, and her eyes found its red-tailed form circling beneath the
gathering clouds as it watched the flop of the fish far below All of lifes little movements,
flowing in their natural cycles of cause and effect.

She loved this placealone with her thoughts, at peace in a way she could not find at
home or among her peers. Here it didnt matter that her mom was overworked and unlucky
in love, or that Chloe had worn the same pair of running shoes every day for months and
they smelled like something had died in them.

Another fish jumped, and her gaze returned to the concentric circles that rippled out from
that spot. Then another? Soon sunfish and perch were taking to the air with frantic tail-
flapping leaps all across the pond before splashing down to the unremarkable looking water.

DIVERSIONBOOKS

443 Park Avenue South, Suite 1004
New York, NY 10016
212-961-6390

Chloe sat up to get a better look, amazed that so many fish could even live in this pond, let
alone all decide to try to escape it at once. Over the summer, shed spent most of her free
time on this hillside, hiding from her mom and Brent and the struggle to be cool. She came
here to read and watch the animals. To listen to the wind in the leaves and fantasize about
all the places she would escape to when she was older. But she had never seen the fish act
this way.

Maybe they could sense her anguish, offering their joined protest over her need to report
to school again tomorrow. The tenth gradethe first day at Charlottesville High School.

A blustery wind whipped through the trees, and her unkempt, brown hair lashed her
cheek. Being in the accelerated program had always seemed like a blessing throughout her
three years at Buford Middle school. But now, as the other girls in her class laid out their
competitively slutty outfits for the big day while gossiping over the phone about which boys
they hoped to find in homeroom, Chloe was left wondering if her bookish ways and latest
Walmart fashion wouldnt prove a horrible curse. She was not ready to face the morning.

She tracked the red-tailed hawk as it sailed into the clearing above the pond and fluttered
to a graceful, wing-tucked perch on a branch overhanging the water. Still the fish were
jumping, but the raptor only watched with jerky ticks of its head rather than going for the
easy meal. Something about the scene didnt seem right. Then the mad squawking of a
murder of crows raced overhead, and twenty or so of the black birds landed in the
surrounding trees opposite the hawk.

Their chatter continued as they also seemed to watch the riled water. Smaller birds joined
the odd vigil as well: sparrows and robins, chickadees and blue jays, more and more
flapping to join the ring around the pond every second.

Chloe stood, blue eyes squinting in the wind as she put her hair in a ponytail with callused
hands. Her nails were bitten short with nervous attention. The rain started a few moments
later, tapping the leaves above her with a building rhythm. She looked up at the dark clouds
above the branches as heavy drops spattered across her forehead.

Where did you come from? she asked the storm, as a jagged claw of lightning flashed
across the sky. She counted, One Mississippi, two Mississippi, three and the thunder roll
followed. She wanted to continue her observation of the strange avian gathering, but a
soaking sheet of rain descended, blocking her view.

Chloe ran, sprinting toward home, as lightning fell again with a deafening crack. Her feet
carried her deftly through the woods without need of a path to guide her. She let out a merry
yelp as the cold wet clung to her shoulders, but she didnt stop the liberating run until shed
reached her back door a mile away.

She did not see the muddy fountain of bubbles that rose in the center of the pond, nor did
she glimpse the silvery form that stirred beneath the surface and then was gone.

As quickly as it started, the fish stopped leaping, the birds scattered, and the storm moved
on. In moments, the water settled again into a glassy sheen.