Fire and Snow

This is a two-fer – first, I’m adding to my “Adventures in Fantasy” anthology with a winter story (so it’ll replace the one on “Short Stories”) as well as, second, answering Chesca Preli’s prompt about an elemental getting snowed in. It’s more of an adventure story, so I hope you enjoy!

The Hotel De La Grande, Buntstown, North America

Fat, thick flakes trailed past the window, marring Travis’ vision and spirits. “I guess there’s no chance of getting out today?” he asked.

The receptionist, a tall woman with long, dark hair, shook her head. “I’m afraid not. Even if we could get you to the bus station, they won’t be running. Word is that there was a drift pile-up just outside of town. Even the trains can’t get through. Tracks are blocked.”

Travis sighed, running a hand through his bright-red hair. “Do you have a phone? I need to call ahead and tell everyone I’ll be late.”

“Phonelines are down, too,” the receptionist said, picking up an ancient receiver to check. She made a face at the static, then hung it up. “Sorry, sir.”

“Nothing you can do,” Travis said, mostly under his breath. He looked around the lobby, scowling at his baggage standing to the side. Fat lot of good that did, breaking his back to bring it down.

“You’re that comedian, right?” the receptionist asked. “The hair color one?”

Travis turned back, readjusting his face to be pleasant. “That’s me, yeah,” he said, lifting his hands slightly, as if in admission. “I’m surprised you recognize me.” He said the last part with a small indication at his hair.

“We haven’t had a show of any kind come through town in a long time,” the receptionist said. Travis realized she was much younger than he had first assumed. “I was working, so I couldn’t go, but it was very exciting to hear about. How do you do it?”

“Tell jokes?” Travis asked, though he knew what she was asking.

“Change your hair color in front of a live audience,” the receptionist said. That was where Travis had first claimed his fame, on the massive stage of a live talent show. But changing your hair color, while unique, doesn’t win votes, and so he had taken up the stage presence of the “Chameleon Comedian.”

The truth was that it was harder not to let his hair change color in front of a live audience. But he didn’t bother to mention that. “Tricks of the trade, I’m afraid,” he said. “If I told you, the hair stylists of America would kill you.”

The receptionist looked like she was about to burst with the excitement of talking to a third-tier celebrity. ‘If I were really famous,’ Travis thought, ’I wouldn’t be staying at the Hotel De La Grande.’ He wasn’t going to be the one to ruin her fun, though. And besides, there was something about the attention that was gratifying.

“Tell me about yourself,” Travis said, checking her name badge, “Martha. How long have you worked here?”

“Oh, I’ve been here about three months,” she said. “It’s pretty fun. I don’t like the late night so much, but otherwise, it’s good.” She glanced away, then blurt out, “What’s it like? To be on stage in front of everyone?”

Travis quirked a smile at the earnestness. “You don’t see them, but you do,” he said. “You feel like you’re wearing a mask, but also like everyone can see everything. I like it. I put aside me for a second and become someone else.”

“That must be nice,” she said, shyly looking down.

Travis gave a shrug. “It’s late nights sometimes, but otherwise, it’s good.” He gave her a smile as she realized that he had just used her line, then sighed. “I’m going to get my stuff back upstairs. Thanks for the chat, Martha.”

As he lifted the bags, he heard a wild howling. He turned, studying the room, then saw the snow swirling against the window. The wind, screaming its displeasure, tried to get in, but to no avail. Shaking his head, Travis lifted the bags again. “Stay warm,” he told Martha with a nod.

Staying warm was not an issue for Travis. That said, he didn’t like the cold. No fire elemental in their right mind would like the cold. His wife, Rita, didn’t mind it, but she had married him, so her sanity might be questionable.

Try as he might, Travis couldn’t hide his lineage. If he tried to dye his hair a neutral brown, it would just burn the color out. If he wore a hat, the hat would glow. So he leaned into it, using the natural hair colors of his race – red, orange, yellow and blue – to accentuate his show. The humans in the audience wouldn’t know who he was. Those that did would know better than to say anything.

Humans preferred to be oblivious to the world around them. People like Travis and his family wandered in and out of their lives, and they never noticed. Gatherings of magical communities happened in designated areas, typically away from normal human notice. Then there were people like Travis, who openly flaunted his difference, in such a dramatic way, no one would every suspect that he was, in fact, not human.

He sighed as he put the bags back into his room. If only his producer, and friend, hadn’t had connections in this no-name town. If only he hadn’t been pressured into putting on one last show before he went back home.

If only.

‘Ah, well,’ he decided, ‘Nothing I can do about it now.’

He closed the door and walked down toward the breakfast bar. It wasn’t much, but it was still free coffee and pastries. Something was better than nothing, he supposed.

As he approached the coffee dispenser, one of the servers poked their head out from behind the door. “Just decaf now, love! Sorry about that!”

Travis heaved a sigh, but took the decaf. “No worries,” he said under his breath, “Nothing you can do about it.”

He took a seat, picking up the paper. His picture was the on the front page. Travis Bentham, the Chameleon Comedian, to do show at local theater!

‘Excellent.’ Travis thought. He thumbed through the article, but he knew everything that was contained within. He flipped through some of the other pages, but there was nothing exciting.

The door flew open and a group of snow-covered men stumbled in, stamping their feet and brushing their arms. “It’s just getting worse,” one of them said. “Can’t hardly see the ground, let alone anything around you.”

“You said it,” a second man said. “Doesn’t matter how fast you shovel, it just gets filled back in.”

“Or thrown in your face,” another man said. He shook violently, pulling the coat tighter around himself. “Wish it wasn’t so blasted windy.”

“Oh, come on, Charles,” one of the other men said, clapping him on the back. “That’s half the fun!”

“Slow going out there?” Martha asked, coming in from a back office.

There was a chorus of agreements. “Do we have anything to warm us up?” one of them asked, stamping towards the breakfast bar.

Travis put the paper down, deciding it was time to make his departure. He stood and slipped down the hall, away from the boisterous shovel crew. He ducked into the exercise room, putting his decaf down on one of the nearby tables. Trying to pass the time, he turned on a treadmill, slowly walking to nowhere.

At some point, another man came in and started walking next to him. “Terrible weather, right?” the man said. He was middle aged and thickset. If he had been a little shorter, Travis would’ve marked him as being a dwarf. 

“Terrible weather is right,” Travis agreed, glancing over at his exercise-mate.

“Could be worse,” he said, looking back forward. “One time I got stuck outside in a storm, trapped on a train. That was a nightmare.”

“They said the train is stuck now,” Travis said, also looking forward. “Hopefully they get out soon.”

“Yes, sir,” the man said. He stuck out his hand. “I’m Harrison Becket, by the way. Pleasure to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you, too,” Travis said. “I’m Travis Bentham.”

“Bright hair you’ve got there,” Harrison said, rubbing a hand over his own bald scalp. “Mine’s just shiny.”

Travis gave him a grin, but said nothing. He wasn’t really in the mood for conversation, but he needed something to do other than sit in his room.

“Just traveling through?” Harrison asked, though he wasn’t looking for a response. “That’s what I was doing. ‘Just a short business meeting, Harry, old boy,’ that’s what I told myself. With any luck, I’ll get out early, get a chance to head on. Poor kids, getting dragged into it with me.” He flashed, ‘Oh, yeah,’ look, then added, “I have three kids. I wasn’t planning on bringing them with me, but it was just an extra night, and the boss was okay with having them in the meeting. Makes it more personal, you know. Plus gave the missus a chance for a night or two alone.” He sighed. “More than that now, though. I hope she doesn’t celebrate too much.” He gave another grin, laughing a little. “They’re all upstairs, knocked out. When we woke up and I told them we weren’t going anywhere today, they just fell back asleep, bless their hearts.”

Travis made no sound, but quietly hummed to himself with aggravation. He was a stand-up comedian, he was paid to talk. But whoever Harrison Becket was, he seemed to think he had the same license. For a second, he wished he had taken the kids’ advice and gone back to sleep.

“I didn’t think anything about Haltford sending me out here, of course,” Harrison was saying. “But that’s just how Sid is, you know? That’s my boss, I mean. Sid Haltford.”

“Sid?” Travis asked. “Haltford?”

“Yeah,” Harrison said. “Do you know him?”

Travis considered. “Nope. Continue.”

Harrison took it in stride, and continued prattling away. Travis tuned him out, vaguely catching details about his three children and wife, more about the contract he had just signed, and elements of the struggle to manage both. It finished with Harrison turning off the treadmill and wiping his brow. Travis assumed the sweat was more from talking than the exercise. “Well, I shouldn’t leave the little ankle-biters for too long, I suppose. Nice talking to you!”

He disappeared from the room and Travis blew out a long breath, turning the treadmill up a notch. He jogged for a few more minutes, then likewise got off and stretched. He had gone through a health fad a few months before, and some of the ideals had stuck, even if he had mostly reverted to his old ways fairly quickly.

Travis ran a hand through his hair, which he had noticed, had begun to bleed to orange. He didn’t bother resolving it. Let the humans in the hotel come with their own suppositions. He would just let it do whatever it wanted.

He left the exercise room, walking up the stairs and counting them as he carefully put a foot on each one, drawing the walk out. He reached his floor at eighteen, though he wasn’t sure if the floor at the base and the landing at the top both counted towards the steps, or if neither did. Had he counted them? If he hadn’t, it was twenty. If he had, maybe it was sixteen.

He sighed at the fruitless mathematical problem, fishing in his pocket for his hotel key. As he did so, he noticed the room beside his standing wide open. He paused, looking around for the cleaning cart, wrinkling his brow when there was none.

Deciding to ignore it, he went to step past, when his eyes caught sight of the lone figure standing in front of the window. A dark silhouette was framed against the raging gray of the snowstorm. A profile of a face emerged as the figure half-turned their head. “Hello, Travis. Glad to see you.”

Travis froze, feeling his hair – his entire body – react. “Hello? Who are you?” He forced it down. It was fan, excited to see the Chameleon Comedian. But something deeper told him otherwise.

“My name isn’t important, but you can call me Chesterfield,” the man said. He turned to face Travis, his hands in his pockets, pushing the tails of a snug suit out of his way. “I need your help.”

“I don’t know what a second-rate comedian can do for you,” Travis said, “But I’m listening.”

“Oh, no,” the man said. “I don’t need the comedian. I need the elemental. Travis Bentham, I need your fire.”

Travis put up his hands, but he had the sinking feeling that he had already been found out. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“That storm outside isn’t natural, Mr. Bentham,” Chesterfield said, turning back towards the window. Travis considered walking away, but his feet remained where they were. “It’s a derecho. Well, the meteorology department would disagree with the exact definition, but it’ll do for our purposes.”

“What are our ‘purposes?’” Travis asked, taking a step toward the open door.

“We need to someone to bring the derecho down,” Chesterfield said. “It’s not a normal storm. It’s created by a creature that thrives off cold and snow.” He sighed, stepping away from the window and taking a seat on the bed. “A natural storm system crossed paths with this creature, making the creature stronger, which in turn, made the storm stronger. And now we’re looking at a storm that will never run out, only grow larger and larger until the entire world is covered by it.”

“And I come in how?” Travis asked, looking at the storm through the window. The flakes seemed to pound against the glass, trying to get in.

“I have a heat gun,” Chesterfield said, patting a suitcase behind him. “A weapon of real effectiveness against the derecho. But the only issue is that I need a fire elemental to power it.”

Travis raised an eyebrow. “And you just happened to have one with you, even though you’re not an elemental?”

Chesterfield shrugged. “Deus ex Machina. The point is, I have it. And the further point is only you can use it.”

Travis laughed. “You want me to take a gun and go kill a storm? I thought I was the comedian.”

“No,” Chesterfield said, “Not kill. We don’t need to kill. I just need you to weaken it, let the storm subside. Then it’ll stop raging.”

Travis took a step back. “I’m just a second-rate performer. And it’s just a storm. It’s just nature. It’ll blow by. There’s no monster to fight, Chesterfield. There’s nothing we have to do, just wait.”

He stepped past the open door, pulling out his keys.

“Wait, Travis!” Chesterfield called. Travis could hear him stand and hurried with the door, forcing it open and slipping through. He clicked it closed behind him as the well-dressed man reached it. Travis’ heart pounded in his chest. “There is something we can do,” Chesterfield said softly. “I see now that I have to face the consequences of my own actions.” He spoke louder. “Good luck, Travis. Don’t get lost in your disguise.”

Travis looked through the peephole, watching as Chesterfield walked away, back into his own room. He looked at his baggage, then at the window, walking toward it slowly. The snow still seemed to fight against the glass, wanting purchase and ownership of the room. “A derecho,” Travis scoffed, watching them scatter as they hit. ”What a thought.”

As he reached the window, he heard a noise above the howling of the wind. A voice, shouting into the storm. “I know it’s me you want! I’ll come to you, just stop chasing me! Leave everyone else out of it! Be reasonable!”

Travis searched for the voice, but couldn’t find it. Then a flicker of movement caught his attention. Chesterfield was pulling himself out of his window, yelling at the top of his lungs. Travis’ eyes bulged, and he fought to open his window. “Chesterfield!” he yelled, forcing it open and leaning into the cold. The wind tried to steal his breath, but he reached for the man in the dark suit. “What are you doing?”

“I hunted for the storm,” Chesterfield said, looking away, into the heart of the swirling tempest. He clung to the frame, his feet precarious on the outer sill. “And now it’s hunting me. I came here because I knew I could find you and you could power the heat gun, give us an edge over it.” He laughed bitterly. “But if you’re not going to help, I’m out of options.”

“This isn’t convincing me any more than your previous argument,” Travis said, flinching as a shaft of air brought pieces of snow and sleet into his face. “Come back in, and let’s get some coffee. We can talk about it some more. You can tell me what happened!”

Chesterfield looked over, catching eyes with Travis. He shook his head. “It’s too late, Mr. Bentham. It’s always been drawing closer to finding me, but now it knows where I am. There’s no escaping now.” He said something under his breath, then added, louder, “With any luck, I’ll satisfy the derecho’s need for destruction, and it’ll turn away. Maybe I’ll even survive!” He pulled himself to the window next to his, watching his feet. Travis could see the top of the carport above the front entrance. “The case with the heat gun is by your door. Come with me or not, I’m going to face the storm.” 

Chesterfield turned away to give his full attention to the climb, his muttering and shouting still not ending. “I know it’s me that you want! I know I’m not exactly Gilderbrand, but in my defense, I asked for him to come, not me. So you could’ve had him!”

As Travis went to follow – though going out onto a frozen wall, even on the second story, was one of his nightmares – he caught a sight of… something. He froze, watching the depths of the storm draw nearer.

Flashes of lightning lit up the clouds, framing some kind of structure within. The shape of a creature. Long, crab-like pincers could be seen by one bolt. A long, segmented body was illuminated by another.

Travis felt his blood run cold from more than just the storm. He fell away from the window, scrambling for some kind of shelter from the sight. He recognized it from the stories his mother would tell him. A creature made of ice and snow, reigning in the farthest northern reaches. A creature who stood against all things that fire elementals knew and loved. A creature that should not be seen by the eyes of normal humans.

“What have you done, Chesterfield?” he murmured, terror pounding in his brain.

Maybe he could hide. The monster would consume Chesterfield and move on. Maybe the Hotel De La Grande would be destroyed, but Travis could survive. It wouldn’t be easy, given the cold, but fire elementals had been through worse and survived.

The snow began to take the windowsill, and the cold began to take the room. Travis crawled behind the bed, his legs trembling. The shouts of Chesterfield were overtaken by the howls of the wind. 

He could hide, then make his way out of the city. Return to Rita. They could escape. If Chesterfield was right, and this only kept growing, the only recourse was to run. Go back to the lands of his family, where trained elemental warriors could take care of the derecho.

Even as he considered it, though, he thought of Martha, jokingly complaining about her late nights, just like he had late nights. He thought about Harrison Becket, the man with three children and his own Rita to return to. The shovel crew and the hotel staff. They wouldn’t make it out, not if that creature came through.

Travis pushed himself to his feet. The storm raged behind him, forcing its way through the window, but he ignored it, grabbing the door handle. He pulled it open, stepping into the hallway and looking at the case next to the door. He knelt, breathing heavily, and cracked it open.

Inside lay a long, dark rifle. He recognized the make and model immediately – he saw them all the time in military recruitment materials. He touched the grip, and a flicker of red appeared just above in the stock.

The thunder crashes grew louder as the heart of the storm approached. Travis picked up the gun, feeling it fight against him. He worked to maintain the appearance of a human, and the gun, designed to react to his nature, recognized that.

“I just want to be Travis Bentham,” he said, quietly. “I just want to tell jokes.”

His second hand gripped the support, readying the gun. It still fought, and he forced it to keep charging. But it was slow, and he knew it.

Travis closed his eyes. He let the heat build into his cheeks. Smoke trickled from his hair, flickering with inward light. The pinkish-tan of his skin gave way to a lighter, almost translucent state. As he opened his eyes, the dark pupils had been replaced with glowing orbs, filled with the fire of his blood.

“I will be,” Travis said, fighting his fear and stepping determinedly toward the stairs, “whoever I must be.”

He hit the stairs running. Eighteen steps to the bottom seemed nothing now, his heart ablaze and ready to find what he would. As he came off the steps, he heard the crash of glass breaking. His heart’s fire burned away the fear, leaving only courage as he rounded the corner to the front atrium.

Chesterfield was lying in the center, two glowing knives in his hand, surrounded by the remnants of the automatic doors. Martha screamed from behind her desk. Behind them both loomed the creature of Travis’ nightmares. Long, spiky claws pushed through the last of the door, revealing a bulbous head and sharp eyes. The entire thing was made of snow and ice, swirling around some unseen center.

“Snow ice to see you!” Travis said loudly. His internal critic raised a chorus of remarks about the flat attempt at a joke, but Travis ignored him. He had bigger issues than dumb jokes.

The ice elemental’s attention shifted to him, as did Chesterfield’s. “Oh,” the man said, snorting a laugh past a bloody face, “I didn’t expect you to come.”

“Neither did I,” Travis said, lifting his gun.

The ice elemental roared, the temperature of the room dropping. Travis only flared bright, walking forward. “Leave this place and I won’t harm you,” he shouted. “We have no quarrel with you.”

“No… Quarrel….” the creature said, its voice sounding like the rumbling of thunder and lightness of snow. Travis refused to be unsettled. “Not… Until… The agent… decides to kill me?”

“No death!” Chesterfield shouted, “You’re a danger to yourself and everyone around you!”

“That… Does not… Concern me,” the creature said with finality. “Come… Embrace the eternal white.”

It threw itself forward, the long, frosty claws reaching for Chesterfield’s heart. Travis, acting on instinct, dropped to a knee and fired. The same power and artistry that had formed the blazing blades of the elementals in days of yore now took heart again as a blazing beam of fire and light sprang from the barrel of the gun.

The ice elemental screamed at the burning, pulling away. Travis stood and walked forward, never letting up on the trigger as he scorched the heart of the storm. As it retreated out the door, Travis let up, crouching beside Chesterfield. “Are you all right?”

The man in the dark suit grinned up at him. “Remember. Don’t kill it. But bring it down, Travis.”

Travis slapped him on the shoulder and ran through the front door. There was no time for second guessing. The derecho would only grow, and now was their best, if not only, shot at stopping it.

He froze as he stepped onto the snowy parking lot, scanning the area for the ice creature. He heard it before he saw it, and spun, raising his gun. Another explosion of fire burst from the barrel, beating the creature back. He could be mistaken, but Travis was fairly sure that it was shrinking in size.

The monster disappeared into the snow again, and Travis backed away, spinning in a slow circle to catch any movement. This time, he missed the motion. A claw hit him along the back, and he fell forward, rolling on his back to lift his gun.

The disparity between his hair and his skin was losing distinction, the two blurring together as his hair turned more and more flame-like. Fire sang through his veins. He hadn’t felt his alive in years, wrapped up as he had been in keeping his elemental nature a secret. “Come on!” he shouted, firing wild shots into the empty air.

He threw himself to his feet, but immediately, felt the gun wrested from his grip. He saw the back of the claw almost at the same time as he felt it, and tumbled backwards. The ice elemental sprang towards him, pincers opened to claim his life.

Then, in the last second, there was a blur of black as someone threw themselves between the monster and Travis. Chesterfield spun his knives as he pushed the claws back. He made a stab, and the ice elemental reeled back as the point hit his eye. “That’s right,” Chesterfield said, readying his next attack, “You can knock us down, but we get right back up.”

Travis rolled over and scrambled toward the gun. The other two were circling each other, jabbing experimentally. Chesterfield had a terrifying grin on his face, laughing as the creature pressed its attack. They sparred, neither of them seeming to give any ground to the other, as Travis reached the gun. He gripped it firmly, spinning as he took aim.

“Chesterfield!” he shouted, and the agent shot him a look. “Get down!”

Just as Chesterfield was about to get out of the way, one of the monster’s claws caught him, throwing him aside. It set its sights on Travis, roaring as it came to finish the job.

“That works,” Travis muttered. He pressed the trigger, firing directly into the gaping maw of the beast. He refused to let up, even as it screamed away, running for the shelter of nearby snowdrifts that held Chesterfield.

Travis stood, wincing at a pain in his side. He walked toward snowdrift, his gun at the ready.

A piece of it broke open and Chesterfield fell out. He lifted his hands, dropping the knives. “It’s done. Travis, it’s done.”

Travis let the gun fall to his side. “The derecho?” he asked, walking forward and reaching a hand down to lift Chesterfield up.

“Shrunk,” the man said, brushing snow off and adjusting his tie. He looked into the snow. “About the size of your hand. Normal sized now.”

“It was as a large a house,” Travis said.

“A soccer mom minivan,” Chesterfield corrected, breathing heavily. He watched the snow. “Are you angry at me anymore, Derecho?”

“That’s… Not my… name,” the creature said. Its voice was still like the falling snow, but softer – just as the snowfall around them was softer.

Chesterfield grinned, bending down and picking up his knives. “Fair enough. We didn’t hurt you, did we?”

“You… Removed the excess…. That is all.”

“I think that’s a good thing?” Travis asked.

“Yeah,” Chesterfield said. “Come on. Let’s get something to warm us up.” He looked Travis up and down, noting the flames that made his body. “Well. Something to warm me.” 

Travis looked at his hands, which were starting to return to their original human tone as he forced the heat back within. “Well. They might just have decaf.”

Chesterfield shrugged. “It’s warm, and I was just buried in a snowbank.” He lifted a hand as Travis tried to hand him the gun. “Keep it, Travis. I have a feeling you’ll use it again.” He slapped Travis on the shoulder, then walked past him to the hotel. 

He paused at the broken door, looking over his shoulder. “Are you coming, Mr. Bentham?”

Travis looked between him and the gun in his hands. Then he looked up, his eyes still lit from his internal flame. “Yes, Chesterfield. I’m coming.”