by S. J. Higbee
“So long as you’re shady.” Seth put his arm around me.
I went on leaning against him, so very grateful for his presence. Meanwhile, I flicked my fingers, as a number scrolled through my head and two more spiderbots took off down the road towards the three figures at a skittering run.
“You gonna come to Gloriosa with us?” I asked Damita, as we started ambling along Main Street towards West Gate.
It was Demri who answered, screwing up his face in disgust. “Nah. Them Uppies give me a headache with the way they talk.” His face split into a huge grin that had me smiling back at him, despite my sadness. “And if we stay here, then you’ll have to come back and visit. Won’t you, Priesty-boy?”
I joined in as Seth threw back his head and laughed, promising that – yes – we’d return for a visit, bringing plenty of new maps with us.
It was one of those golden moments that will always be etched on my memory, because just as the sun cleared the distant hills, throwing a pink wash across the landscape, Vrox bugled. A fluting call that had me spinning around and running towards him for a few yards, wondering for a yearning, impossible moment, if he’d changed his mind… decided to return to once more fill my head with his mantivore magic…
But no. The road was about to snake behind a bend in the river and as I shaded my eyes squinting into the copper light, I saw him standing motionless in the middle of the road, looking back at me.
Farewell, little Queen… he Sent, before turning back, his scales flashing in the sunlight until he blinked out of sight.
And out of my mind. Gone.
As if he’d never been.
I realised that he’d never truly left my head before, even when I thought he had. Because now he was absolutely absent, my skull resounded with silence. I swayed, reeling with emptiness and staring at the road, at the bend, wondering where he was now… how he was feeling…
“Libby?” Seth took my hand.
I blinked, looking up at him. Seeing his concerned frown and high forehead as if for the first time. All on my own. Looking around, everything felt… new. Lighter. Without mantivore heaviness weighing it down. So Seth and I turned back and walked hand in hand, flanked by Damita and Demri towards West Gate, facing the future together. To start our new rule over Arcadia.
Without Vrox.
THE END
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Also available from Griffinwing Publishing
THE ARCADIAN CHRONICLES
Mantivore Dreams (The Arcadian Chronicles #1)
THE SUNBLINDED TRILOGY
Running Out Of Space (Sunblinded #1)
Dying For Space (Sunblinded #2)
Breathing Space (Sunblinded #3)
Sunblinded: The Complete Trilogy box set
Read on for a sneak peek at the first book in The Arcadian Chronicles series, Mantivore Dreams…
CHAPTER ONE
I held my breath. At last! I’d begun to think I’d never track down this music site. A picklist unfolded and I gawked at the strange words. Classical. Youth Cultures. Popular Cultures. Devotional. Ethnic.
What did they mean? Surely music was just a dance tune, or a song? I jabbed at the first one. Yet another picklist unpeeled onto the mat. Much longer. The words tasted strange as I sounded the musicians’ names aloud. “Beethave- no -hoven… Mozz-art…Ta-ch— simply don’t have the time to sound that one out.” I went for a short name – Bach. What did his Family do, to earn a Name like that?
My eyes slid down the picklist of his tunes and found a piece about organs with something about a minor D. Probably a comedy. I hoped so – I could do with a laugh.
“Play.” I breathed in the thick, sweet smell, storing up the sensation of Facs-mining on the Node – something I didn’t do nearly enough. Looking across at the bubbling organi-packs glowing in their transparent tanks, I wished I could spend more time here, rather than snatch these forbidden stints when Mother was away.
The sound pealed out. What was the instrument? The notes seemed to stop, then to stack up on each other as they roared around the room, making Mother’s flower vases buzz on the stone floor. It was unlike anything I’d ever heard. Torrents of melody attacked, drowning me in a rush of yearning. Everything seemed bright, and achingly beautiful.
The final crashing chord faded into silence.
Vrox sways, crooning with delight…
“Again.” I closed my eyes as the monumental music thundered around me. I was Tranced by Vrox’s joy as his emotion rolled through me, swept along by the reverberating climax—
I was stunned by a hard blow. And another. My hurt-hot ear rang with the impact. My cheek felt numb and heavy; my mouth filled with blood.
Vrox rears up, startled – sorry he hadn’t noticed her approach...
“Turn it off! Turn it off!” Mother shrieked over the music. Her distorted face shivered in my vision for a shock-stalled eternity. Snatches of her rant filtered through Bach’s bone-buzzing crescendo, making her fury seem even worse, “…-icked girl… -ways think you know best… -dare to override my passwor…” The organ tune stopped abruptly, just as she screamed, “…ate you! I hate you…”
Her words echoed horribly in the small room.
I jerked to my feet. She’s finally admitted it. Axe-sharp hurt immediately snuffed out the flicker of relief, that I’d been right all these years. “Think I don’t know?” My voice shook, on the edge of tears. But grown girls of seventeen shouldn’t cry in front of their mothers. I spun round, stumbling over a vase, and ran. Out into the hot sunlight. Past the stable, whose sharp smell reminded me I still hadn’t mucked out the camel stall or goat pens. I scrabbled at the keycode on the sidegate, my shaking fingers making a hash of it.
She ran after me, yelling my name. Her panting echoed between the house and high fence, getting closer. Finally, as Vrox focused, I got the sequence right. The gate snicked open as she grabbed for my arm. I twisted away, the burn of her nails raking my skin. Skidding through the gate, I slammed it shut in her face. I sprinted across the front yard and past the first startled Node enquirer of the day, over the village courtyard, heading for Westgate. Heat settled like a greasy coat as I raced down Main Street, dust clotting my nose and throat.
At Westgate, Cupert Peaceman, the village security guard, dodged out of the way. Just as well, because I wasn’t stopping for him, or anyone else. Ignoring several calls, driven by the need to get away, I finally slowed, winded and hurting, on the open road where the verges were widened to discourage hostile wildlife. The sun beat down in a suffocating sheet.
Haven’t got a sunscreen – better find some shade. I tottered along on chewed-string legs, coughing up dust. Mother would say it was my punishment. The thought of her pushed me on.
Turning onto Mantivore Way was a relief. The palm tree clumps offered shade and the smell of the water strengthened my legs. I pushed through the shoulder-high reeds, which used to swish over my head, swallowing me whole. Moist leaves slapped against my sore legs. I broke off a brown-brittled stem, whipping it around and stamping noisily to frighten off any lone jaspers or nemmets sheltering from the sun. River silt seeped through my sandals, soothing my feet as I paddled in the murky water. Reaching my sanctuary – a stranded treetrunk – I sat down and rested my eyes on the river.
Sunslit water glitters through the swaying stalks. Scents of river ooze and crushed leaves tickle Vrox’s nostrils. Wind rocks the reeds with a sighing rattle…
See? I was right. She really hates me… For once Vrox, my imaginary childhood companion, was wrong. He reckoned mothers found their daughters annoying, but that, deep down, they cared.
Vrox croons comfort noises, his vari-colour scales flickering in shades of green and blue.
His image flashed on my inscape, while his sympathy fi
nally broke my resolve not to cry. I buried my face in my hands and sobbed until no more tears would come, while the mantivore paced and huffed his sympathy. Finally, I wiped my eyes, blew my nose and stared across the river, where a cargo boat laden with olives throbbed downstream, headed for Reseda. I watched it disappear around the bend, wishing I was on the deck. But then I’d forfeit my right to be Brarian. Waste Uncle Osmar’s painful effort. Besides, I wanted the job – the Node was the only place I felt truly happy. Other than this place. I stared hungrily at the peaceful patterning of light and water. If I came here more often maybe life would seem worth the effort it takes to breathe.
Vrox churrs a strong agreement…
A swishing of reeds warned me, so he faded from my consciousness before I heard the voice. “Kyrillia?”
I relaxed. “Here, Onice.”
“You braced?”
“I’ve been better.”
She high-stepped into the small space surrounding the treetrunk, and carefully sat on the trunk, lifting her skirts clear of the muddy water. “Saw you pelting down the road, so I figured you’d be here.” Handing me a sunscreen, she added, “You’d better borrow this.”
Typical of Onice to worry about me getting fried to a greasy spot. “Oh! Many thanks. I’ll get it back to you tomorrow.”
“She on to you, again?” Onice’s forehead creased in concern.
Grabbing at a reed stem, I rolled it between my fingers.
I hate you… Mother’s wrath-reddened face blazed through my mind as I opened my mouth to frame the words. And closed it. What could I say? I’d watched Onice bask in her parents’ affection with shocked envy ever since I’d been old enough to understand it. She knew that Mother and I fought – she regularly tangled with her own father. But she’d never make sense of Mother’s loathing for me.
And if she did, maybe she’d realise I wasn’t worth her friendship. I stared at the river. “Found that Music site on the Node and played a song. That was when she caught me.”
Onice clicked her tongue. “Bet what had her steaming was you breaking through her passwords and sneaking onto the Node. Again.”
“Hm.” The reed stem mashed to a papery pulp between my fingers. Onice never understood why I persisted in using the Node, despite Mother’s strict ban. But then, I hadn’t told her about Vrox and his constant longing for the Node, either.
“There’s talk about restarting an inter-village apprentice network, Da says. Some girl drowned herself last month in Pistacia cos of her family’s beatings. Maybe you could get yourself signed up for it.” So Onice figures I’ve angered Mother to breaking point.
I hate you… I pushed the memory away, trying to think straight.
“And if I get apprenticed away from here, what happens to Uncle Osmar? She wouldn’t take proper care of him.” I tore at another reed stem.
Onice shrugged. “You got to live your own life. Your Uncle’s had his chances.”
I sighed. It seemed a hard way to treat the old man, especially after all he’d taught me. But it was a sharp-edged situation and if there’d been an easy option I’d already have taken it.
Onice stood up. “Got to get back. Just wanted to make sure you were alright.”
She’s worried I might follow that poor girl into the river. So she dropped all her chores and came after me. I let go of the reed and hugged her. Hard. “Thanks for coming.” I struggled for a solid way to show my gratitude. “If you’re working late, I’ll come by and lend a hand.”
She shook her head, laughing. “Well if I’m working late, you’ll be slogging even later, you crip-wit!”
“S’pose so.” I shakily joined in the laughter, before she left to face certain punishment from her parents, who didn’t like me.
I plaited a rough basket out of a couple of palm leaves and instead of heading straight back to Cnicus, made for our olive grove south of the village. I kept a careful lookout for Hannon Field, who Mother employed to tend our crops. But though the trees were loaded with ripe olives ready for harvesting, Hannon was nowhere in sight. That wasn’t a surprise. He had a rep for napping on the job. Vrox kept a sharp lookout for me, while I shook a quantity of olives from the nearest tree. It was while I was picking them up from the ground that we heard cries coming from one of the irrigation trenches.
Is Hannon hurt? Or is it someone else? Leaving the basket half-filled, I crept from tree to tree. Out here, there was no way I wanted to encounter Hannon Field if he wasn’t seriously injured – he’d cornered me several times before, full of how Mother was keen for us to get together. At the time, I’d dismissed his lecherous gabbling as just that, but now…
I hate you…
The air shimmered with heat and the worn sunscreen was only just coping, so I was grateful for the intermittent shade from the trees. Sneaking closer, I realised the cries weren’t human. Vrox figured it was a young nemmet in trouble, which was unusual. They mostly lived and hunted in packs. Easing behind a tree, I caught sight of Hannon, squatting on the ground, jabbing at something with a pointed stick. The gloating glee crawling across his face turned my stomach more than the sudden stench of blood, or the scrabbling of the pitiful nemmet cub.
Vrox growls his contempt at the pathetic creature the male has hunted. It’s unworthy to stake a cub so… He rears up and roars.
My head was flooded with mantivore might, terrifying and potent. And in the instant I’d registered it was there, it had gone again, leaving me drained and shaky, pressed against the gnarled trunk of the olive tree.
There was a piercing squeal of terror from the poor cub pinned to the ground. And then nothing.
I didn’t need to hear the stream of curse words falling out of Hannon’s mouth to know the cub had died. What he didn’t realise was that Vrox had frightened the young nemmet to death. I’d heard the stories, of course. We all had. How mantivore hordes were able to fell their prey by mind-zapping them. And now I knew it was true.
As Hannon flung the bloody stick on the ground and kicked the pathetic little bundle, I froze, scarcely daring to breathe. Now would not be a good time for him to find me out here.
Vrox paces, trumpeting in triumph that his attempt to cut short the cub’s pain so gloriously succeeded.
My head hammered with the aftermath of his mind-zap. In this heat, with the inadequate sunscreen, if he didn’t ease up, I’d have a monster headache before returning to the village. Fortunately, Hannon stomped off, still swearing, in the direction of the River Salamander, doubtless looking for more thirsty prey to snare and torment.
I hope a maw shark finds him instead…
I waited another long ten minutes, while Vrox – after he’d calmed down – was sure Hannon was still heading away from us, before retracing my steps to the basket to finish picking up the rest of the olives.
The hot tramp home was miserable,and the closer I got to the village the worse I felt. Sneezing in the permanent dust pall, I politely answered every nosy enquiry into my business with a story about urgently needing some olives for Uncle Osmar, though my heart thumped at the unwelcome interest I’d created with my earlier, angry sprint.
Cupert Peaceman kept me standing on the road in full sun while I got a verbal smacking for, “…pelting towards me as if every mantivore on Arcadia was galloping after you”. He tutted to our audience of curious villagers over my ‘unladylike behaviour’, so stuffed with self-importance his uniform should have split at the seams.
I kept my head down, muttering apologies until even Cupert got bored. And while I was crossing the village courtyard, Felina Keeper appeared from the Storehouse. She winked at me, before loudly threatening to serve a Notice on our olive crop if it wasn’t harvested by the end of the month. So I repeated my earlier submissive performance, hoping I’d get one of her written invitations to sneak away and spend an evening with her. I had to keep it secret, because if Mother found out, she’d forbid me to visit Felina again. Not that there was anything remotely illegal or wrong with our meetings. Felina
would put on a mini-feast and invite me and sometimes Seth Priest along. We’d eat till we could hardly move and chat about all sorts of stuff, before I’d sneak back to the house in time to toilet Uncle Osmar before he settled down to sleep.
Today though, there was no chance for any such invitation. We were drawing curious looks from all sides. The villagers had doubtless all heard, – or seen – my dash for freedom. Which was now over.
Prison door clangs in a desolating echo. Pace… and pace… and pace…
I blinked, dust-clogged and footsore, clutching the olives and swaying as Vrox thumped through my head hard enough to hurt. Again. I wondered why he was doing this kind of stuff more often these days, making it hard to concentrate. He never used to be so painful.
Mother came to the front door. Her face flickered with something like disgust at the sight of me, before her familiar expression returned, smooth and hard as glass.
I curved my mouth in what I hoped looked like a grin. “Greetings, Mother. I’ve got enough olives for Uncle Osmar’s oil. After I’ve changed, I’ll get on with my chores.”
A tight smile crimped her face. “Thank you, Kyrillia. Oh, and next time, remember to change out of your house tunic and trousers before you go rushing off on your uncle’s account. You’ve been the talk of the village all morning with your unseemly race to the fields.”
I’ll bet. I politely gestured for her to lead the way into the house, with stares from Node enquirers boring holes through me.
“Good morning, Elders.” I bowed in the doorway, before reluctantly deciding against a shower. No point in getting clean. I had a long, sweaty day’s work ahead of me.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
I couldn’t have produced this one without a lot of help, particularly as it had a painful beginning. Many thanks go to my writing group – Sarah Palmer, Katie Glover, Geoff Allnutt aka The Speech Painter, Liz Tait and Debbie Watkins, who are always on hand with plenty of feedback and suggestions. There would be forests of ellipses, dashes and faaar too many extra adverbs littering up the place if it weren’t for these good folks. Even better, the necessary critique is always washed down with quantities of good strong tea and yummy cake (thank you, Sarah!). A very special mention must go to Sandra Wood-Jones, whose wonderful beta-read was so thorough – I really appreciate your hard work.
