The Final Season Read online

  Table of Contents

  Blurb

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Epilogue

  More from Tom Early

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  About the Author

  By Tom Early

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  Copyright

  The Final Season

  By Tom Early

  Sequel to The Doorway God

  Fay is Winter now. The distinction between a bodiless god and a sometimes-possessed kid is gone, leaving only a boy with the power of a Season. And if Fay thought life was about to get even harder… he was right.

  The Seasons’ return plunges Gaia—the magical world that acts as a mirror to Earth—into chaos. Some see the return of the Seasons as a threat to their power and way of life. Others view the imminent struggle as an opportunity to enact real change. Gaia’s enemies, meanwhile, see Fay and the other Seasons as a threat they’ll do anything to eradicate, even as the Seasons push to destroy them first.

  In The Final Season, Fay, Sam, Tyler, and the rest return to a world thrown into anarchy and try to find their way out of the madness unscathed. Fay finally has the power he’s dreamed of without the danger that once haunted him, but now he must decide if it’s worth the cost.

  For the friends and family who believed in me when I didn’t. I will forever be grateful for your support in turning a dream of a little trilogy into the reality it is today.

  Acknowledgments

  THIS BOOK was a project I kept close to my chest. I wrote it when I didn’t want to be writing, and then scrapped it and wrote it again when I wanted to be writing. No one was here to look at it in its early days except for myself, but that was not for lack of offers. Ultimately, the people I want to thank the most are the ones who helped me want to write again, even as I was struggling to keep the rest of me afloat as well.

  My first thanks go, as ever, to my family. Mom, your expectations helped—if only because your belief that I could reach them and more was evident as well. I know I give you a lot of grief for pushing me when I don’t want to be pushed, but I wouldn’t be who I am today if you hadn’t. Dad, this book wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t brought me to every library and coffee shop you could track down in a five-mile radius. You gave me a space to work and the encouragement to use it. I’m looking forward to reading your story once you’re done. I know I’ll love it.

  To my forty-seven friends, rumored to number three. You helped encourage me almost day in, day out, in a time of my life where I wasn’t especially inclined to be encouraged. I don’t know what I’d do without your faith in my creativity. I can stand on my own two feet again, but I would have fallen much farther without you three bracing me. I hope to keep telling stories with you for many years yet.

  To old friends and new. Your encouragement most often came in the form of curiosity. It’s always a gamble to ask an author when their next book is coming out; I imagine it’s rather like poking a land mine and hoping for the best. But in my case, your wondering was the reminder I needed that I have readers, obligations, and people who want to see more of what I write. It kept me moving. Thank you.

  To the wonderful people at Harmony Ink Press, editors and beyond. Three stories I’ve given you, and three books you’ve helped me make from them. Fay and Tyler and Sam wouldn’t be anywhere without you, and I’ll always be grateful for your help in making my constant repetitions and capitalization nightmares into something people might actually want to read.

  The last thanks I owe is to you, my readers. I don’t know what drew you here, but if you made it all the way to the end of Fay’s tale, you’re good people. Thank you for walking alongside a boy with powers and a hope that didn’t line up with them. Thank you for watching out for him—Sam and Tyler too, and the rest of the characters in the Seasons Rising world as well. Fay’s story may be finished on paper, but those three will forever be in my heart, and I hope in yours as well.

  Prologue

  THERE WAS a time when the earth was still young, and the lady of all the lands and seas was still awake. Her name was Gaia. She was a young goddess, brought to bear in a universe that spanned layers of concept and reality, where other worlds held powers beyond comprehension, and others still held a terrible hunger. The worlds above her did not wish to help—not until such a time as she needed salvation and would become beholden to them. The worlds below did not see Gaia; they saw prey.

  Gaia found herself alone, surrounded by evil in numerous forms just waiting to swallow her up. But while Gaia was young, she was wise. She knew she could not create the life she wanted while dealing with outside threats, and so it was with protection in mind that she birthed her first children. The Seasons, in a time long before they settled into any recognizable role, came into being and set forth to their task: protecting Gaia from any who would threaten her autonomy. While they watched the boundary Gaia crafted around herself, she was safe to create—and create she did.

  While hosts of beings now known as demons marched forward to consume all and were felled in turn by these first loyal four, Gaia raised mountains from the land and coaxed water forth from the sea into rivers and lakes. While the angels from on high came down to offer their “help” and the Seasons cut them down as well, Gaia breathed life into the animals and plants of her lands, and began work on her most beloved creation yet: sentient life, always striving to improve and evolve. As the Seasons fought, Gaia bled more and more of her life into the world that eventually took her name as its own. When the last hosts of the worlds above and below shattered against the Seasons’ bulwark, the four were finally able to end their eternal warring and return to their mother—only to find that she was already gone.

  Gaia had given the last spark of her life to make her creations truly alive, and for her first children, she left only one last message, whispered on wind and in the rushing of water, rustling through leaves and in the rumblings of the earth. A final request: that they continue to protect all her creations, until the day comes that they can protect themselves. She apologized, in her way, for what she asked of them.

  The Seasons were weary when they heard Gaia’s final request. They had fought for so long, and it seemed they had no rest to come for a long time yet. Still, they obeyed. They returned to the land between Gaia and the other worlds, the battlefield known as Limbo. There they sculpted the space into their own domains, slowly settling into the concepts they are known for now. They did not know what to expect next from the other worlds, and so they continued to train and refine their powers, until the boundaries of Limbo were no longer strong enough to hold their power at bay. As the cycle of the years continued to turn, each Season would come to a zenith, where their power grew to such a height that it spilled over into Gaia and blanketed the world. The beings of Gaia began to worship the Seasons as gods, a choice that made the Seasons despair: after all, was it not the incursion of gods and others that the Seasons had worked so tirelessly to prevent? But one Season, the eldest of the four, was not so despairing of this choice. “After all,” Winter said, “why not worship us, who have given so much in Gaia’s defense? Do we not deserve it?”

  This marked the beginning of the Seasons’ demise. We know how it ended. Winter attempted to swallow the world, and the three other Seasons pooled their power to counter them. Gaia was split in two, a world without magic and a world to hide away what magic was left from Winter’s hunger. Winter was seemingly des
troyed, and the effort cost the remaining Seasons all their power, and they slipped back into Gaia’s embrace.

  Now the world was left newly defenseless. The Seasons were gone; it was only a matter of time before the other worlds, sensing Gaia’s new vulnerability, began to circle once more. Ironically, it was Winter’s power that kept half the world safe: the world without magic was as deadly to the beings of the other worlds as it was to its own inhabitants, and so only the world with magic, still known as Gaia, suffered incursions.

  Beings that called themselves gods slipped in first. Some fashioned names and roles for themselves, like the being that called itself Janus and slowly took control of Limbo. Others built civilizations to replace the now-dwindling Dawn Civilization. Others still took a subtler approach, angels and devils alike weaving temptation for concepts such as good and evil into the world, calling others to fight their battles for them. Hell came to a portion of Gaia, but found it could expand no farther past its first foothold—the beings that had already made a home there fought back. And as the years passed on, Gaia’s first vision of a world that was truly free dwindled to mere memory.

  Humans rose to dominance over the other races, while gods ruled over them all, and took the guise of magicians and kings when it came time for gods to disappear as well. The Great Families formed, with Hell’s Colonies and the collection of magical creatures known as the Chironians rising to hold them in check. The world settled into an uneasy stalemate, and then something unexpected happened. The world moved past its instability and continued to grow. A balance was established, and for a time, all was well.

  And then something changed. Winter, long thought dead and forgotten by the world, found a way back in. A small child with the right affinity for power, born into the world Winter had once covered in ice and snow, found his way to the threshold of death, and the cold almost claimed him. Winter found him first and slipped deep, deep into the child’s beleaguered spirit, and there they rested. There, Winter began to recover. The boy rallied and returned home in time, with hair as white as snow and a heart unknowing of the second life lying beneath it.

  As the boy grew, Winter did too, and when Janus University—guided by the magician Didas—found the boy, Winter saw a chance. As the boy, now a young man, tested his power and pushed it to the limit, Winter finally stretched and slipped free. The heartbeat of freedom Winter tasted took the lives of three others and the might of terrible magics to seal Winter back away, and the world was forced to reconsider everything. The other Seasons stirred from their rest, not recovered in the way Winter was, and set out to walk the world once more, searching for their missing sibling. The young man, still unaware of the full truth, recovered and continued to train. He wanted nothing more than to live without fear and feel welcome, and Janus University pretended to offer him both while secretly Didas plotted to steal Winter’s power for himself and Janus, that forgotten “god,” sought to use the boy for his own freedom. The Seasons intervened in time, and the young man did something unexpected: he proved himself stronger than Winter, the ancient Season living inside him. He had more to live for and more love to offer. He held more of Gaia’s will than Winter did, and so without knowing the true depths of his actions, he took the mantle of the Season for himself.

  The Seasons reunited in the shattered remains of Janus University, once the hope for the future of Gaia. Perhaps they meant well, but history does not judge on intentions. The careful balance Gaia had maintained was gone once more, and everything began to change. The Seasons were now in a world that both needed them and did not. Perhaps this confusion explains the matters that unfolded after. Only one truth was clear to all those wise enough to see it: now that the Seasons had returned, nothing could ever be the same.

  But in a tale such as this, it is easy to lose track of the people caught up in it. What is a young man to do when given the power of a god with duties never made clear? What is there for a young man who wanted nothing but to feel safe and welcome, newly thrown into a life determined to take both from him forever?

  This is the story of the Final Season. May Gaia watch over whatever comes after, for not many of us may be left to see it.

  ~ A document, written in an elegant hand and left unsigned. It was found in the remnants of the abandoned Ombra estate library, by the obsidian memorial for the fallen.

  Chapter One

  “SO YOU want it to be over the ears, right?”

  “No,” I said, keeping very, very still. “I want it behind my ears, but only if you think you won’t accidentally take my ears off in the process.”

  Fall stood behind me, hands raised high as the four winds swirled into razor edges behind his fingers. His hair had taken a decidedly burnished-copper look this month, and while it looked very good and all, his ability to change his hair with his mind didn’t really make me feel confident in his ability to cut mine.

  “I’m sure it will be fine. Besides, Spring can always patch you up if it doesn’t go well—it shall be a learning experience for everyone!” I could see Fall’s grin reflected in the sheet of ice in front of me. It didn’t inspire much confidence either.

  I stood up. “Okay, you know what? I think I’m gonna work the shaggy look for a while. I like my ears where they are.”

  Fall shrugged and banished the winds with a wave of his hands. “Suit yourself. Five minutes and then we resume.” With that, he strode back out of the clearing and disappeared behind a tree, which I’d learned meant he could be anywhere, since Fall regarded trees as more “doors waiting to happen” than actual plants. I used to find his flightiness more than a little annoying, but it seemed to be who he was, and once I figured out he wasn’t actually trying to unsettle me, it became a lot easier to be around him.

  I pushed myself to my feet and wiped all the pine needles off my jeans. I wasn’t sure exactly where we were today, beyond that it was clearly far, far away from anywhere civilized. Fall kept us moving around a lot when he was in charge of training. I asked him how he knew where to pick to go, and he waved his hand and said something about “errands.”

  Still, there were worse places to be than here, wherever here was. Pine trees—and other trees I couldn’t recognize—scraped up against a sky so piercingly blue that it hurt my eyes to look at it directly. It was still chilly, but I hadn’t had to worry about temperature for a long time, and even I could tell that it was getting warmer. The ground was beginning to wake up too—I was seeing fewer and fewer snowdrifts with every passing day, and there were a few tiny plants poking their heads out past the warming dirt. I hadn’t realized how much I missed that particular shade of green unique to new-growing life until I could see it again. Winter might have been my season, but it was still dreary as hell sometimes. Spring, in all its varying forms, was a welcome sight.

  It was also, according to Fall, the perfect time for me to start working a little harder toward control over my powers. In a lot of ways, things were easier after I had, for lack of a better word, merged with Winter. I didn’t have to worry about possession or being used anymore, and my own existence wasn’t a secret to me now—the rest of the Seasons were more than happy to explain anything I asked after. But in a lot of ways, the merging had made things harder too. I hadn’t just gotten Winter’s powers—I had their awful personality as well, all wrapped up in uneasy tangles with the power I now wielded. Any time I pushed a little too far, there was a risk that I’d get carried away on a tidal wave of associations, feeling all that Winter had felt back when they did stuff like moving glaciers and summoning blizzards. And since Winter was a giant bag of dicks, that meant I felt an intensely creepy mixture of hunger, satisfaction, sadistic pleasure, and a sensation that came way too close to arousal for my comfort. There were some questions I felt comfortable asking the other Seasons about—asking if they were weirdly into doing their own forms of magic was not one of them.

  Anyway, the hope was that now that winter was ending, my powers and the whole emotional trigger portion of the me
rging would be easier to manage. At least that was the premise Fall was operating on. Spring came by sometimes to help train me too, but she was off trying to piece together the remnants of the Dawn Civilization for… something. I wasn’t sure what, exactly, but I trusted her. Summer had disappeared almost immediately after I had left Janus University in ruins, leaving Lailah behind at her request. I wasn’t sure what she was up to, but Fall said Summer was planning to find a better host so she wouldn’t put Lailah in further danger and could free her to instead focus on her studies. Or what was left to study after Janus’s attack, anyway. I still felt bad about that, and it wasn’t helped by the fact that the Seasons hadn’t let me near anyone or anything other than them for months now. Fall let me write letters to my parents and Sam and Tyler, but I was really starting to hate being alone all the time. The only reason I hadn’t tried to run away was that I knew what a risk I was right now: if I let my powers or my emotions get away from me, people around me would get hurt. I had already done enough of that for a lifetime.

  Instead I let Fall take me from forgotten corner to forgotten corner of both worlds, so I could let loose with my powers somewhere nobody else would get hurt, and Fall could still rein me in. So far it seemed to be working out. Only one problem: I was really starting to lose it when my only company was a Season whose main available emotion was “flippant,” or “frustratingly vague” if he was in a mood to mess with me. Not my favorite. I sighed at nothing in particular and took a little walk around the clearing. For all Fall’s eccentricities, he did know how to find the most beautiful places.

  “I’m back,” Fall said, stepping around the side of a pine. I still hadn’t decided if he really had to appear from behind trees for his transport magic, or he just lived for the drama. I was pretty sure it was the latter. “Ready to continue?”