The sun’s first light fell on Distria’s largest city and Ezo stretched tired limbs. He sat up and watched Dezra’s gates open. Even from this distance, he could see the crowd that waited outside to get in to the markets. Ezo might miss a comfortable bed from time to time, but he didn’t miss the press of bodies all around and the crowding of the city streets.
He stumbled down the small hill to wash his face in the cool river below. He sat down by the water’s edge and let his hair down, running his fingers through it before pulling the black mass back with a leather tie. He thought about staying the morning under the small copse of trees but decided against it. He’d been traveling the country for three months now, but there was still so much to do.
He stood up and dusted his pants off, tugging at his shirt. He was hours from the nearest village and it was too hot to worry about the vest and sash. Even with the rising sun, the summer’s heat had begun.
Ezo walked up the hill and looked back at Dezra one last time. He had hoped to find answers with the nobles and elementalists of the great city, but all he got was escorted to the gate for asking too many questions.
They were supposed to be there for the people. They were supposed to help. So where had they been when the earthquake had ripped his village apart? Where were the elementalists who could have used their magic to reconnect the earth and stop the flooding of the nearby river? Where were the promised soldiers to help rebuild their community and roads?
Ezo knew, even if they refused to answer. Distria rested too uneasily in its newfound peace to send soldiers out to help civilians when trouble could be brewing with any of its neighbors. The soldiers and elementalists themselves were too tired, exhausted from years of battle and sacrifice.
It strengthened his resolve and Ezo stood a little straighter as he turned away from the city. There was a world full of villages, like his own, that needed help.
He was self-taught, dismissed by the elementalists because of his lack of formal training, but he’d show them. His uncle had been a great man and he’s taught Ezo everything he could before he passed away. Ezo would have been content to take his place in the village, helping everyone and putting things to rights when it was needed, but there was nothing left.
A lake stood over his village now, with chimney tops sticking out over the tranquil waters in random intervals. The old clock tower - the pride of their town - still ticked away, a grim reminder of what they’d lost.
Ezo refused to let the drowning of the town destroy him though. There was nothing he could do for the people that had been lost, but there was a world of people that needed him. If he had to travel to find them, he would.
He closed his eyes and let out a deep breath, centering himself as he reached down and touched the earth at his feet. His finger dug in, and he pushed the image in his mind into the soil. He could feel the rush of power that came with the command, and stone and earth tumbled together to form a bridge over the river he’d slept by.
He opened his eyes and smiled. If he walked to the closest bridge, it would add another day to his travels. This would save him time and help the people of the village as well when they needed to take their wares to the city for trade and market.
He left the hilltop and crossed the bridge, stopping in the middle. It was large enough for a horse-pulled cart and there were railings on each side for safety. He pressed his fingers into the top of the railing and left his mark; the stone formed a small circle with an owl in the center, the moon just behind its head. Once it was formed he ran his fingers over it, thinking of his uncle who had used the same mark on all his works.
“An elementalist’s job isn’t to change the elements and bend them to his will,” Uncle Jacob said as Ezo gazed at the book in his hand.
Uncle Jacob was the town elementalist and Ezo had never known anyone as interesting or as important as him. Ezo wanted to be just like him when he grew up.
“Isn’t that what you do?” he asked. He concentrated on the stone in his hand and kept his fist closed tight until it was a perfect, smooth circle. He opened his hand and showed it to his uncle.
“Yes, that is what we do. But I want to ask, why did you make the stone a perfect circle? What was wrong with the form it had before?”
He shook his head. “I was just practicing.”
“It takes a long time to study to be an elementalist, but knowing how to change something, and knowing when to do it are two different things. Elementalists change nature and subvert it into our own needs, but we must remember that we were graced with these powers to help others. The true purpose of an elementalist isn’t to change the elements around us, but to be the elements of change that make the world a better place.”
He looked down at the bridge and smiled to himself. “Let’s see what other good we can do, Uncle.”
He crossed the river and didn’t look back again. The world called and it was his duty as an elementalist to answer.
