THE REAPER'S SCYTHE: THE LOCI CHRONICLES BOOK 1

by L P PATERSON

  Mr Peters took off his cap and ran a hand through kinky white hair. Even now, the stark contrast between deep brown skin and white hair was startling.

  But I could not get sentimental now. I had been betrayed. I rounded on Mr Peters. "You know him? He broke into my home and you know him." I yelled. He held his palms up trying to placate me.

  "I don't know him, Audrey," Mr Peters stated, suddenly weary. "I know that he is a reaper, and he is asking for your help."

  "Reaper. Loci. None of these terms mean anything to me,” I lamented. “How can I help anybody find anything if I’m lost myself?" I dropped onto my bed again. My chest was feeling tight and my palms were slick with sweat. I felt that I was on the verge of a panic attack.

  The two men proceeded to talk quietly between themselves as I sat apart, arms at my sides idly, feeling just as useless.

  Out of the corner of my eye I saw Mr Peters tense. Cymon must have sensed it too because he straightened up. "What's wrong?".

  "Something is coming," Mr Peters declared. "You need to go. And take Audrey with you."

  "What is it?" asked Cymon, on his feet again, suddenly alert.

  "I don't know. But you need to leave. Now." Mr Peters commanded.

  "I'm not going anywhere with anybody," I said stubbornly, trying to make out sounds of impending danger. There was nothing, but the air around us had grown heavy and static. Something dreadful and unseen and silently malevolent was on the way.

  Both men turned to look at me. Cymon glanced worriedly in the direction of my broken bedroom door. "If the Sentinel says we need to go, then we need to go. Please Audrey, don’t fight us on this."

  Mr Peters stationed himself at the doorway. His stance was rigid, his bulky frame coiled in anticipation of God alone knew what.

  "Go with the Reaper, Audrey," he said resignedly, bracing himself against the ruined doorframe.

  Before I could protest, Cymon grabbed me by the arm.

  It was like a bucket of iced water had dropped on to me. The cold seeped in through my skin. I felt as if tiny snakes of ice had slithered on to my skin and entered through my pores and were working their way into my bloodstream. I gasped. Mr Peters blanched as he saw Cymon make contact with me.

  “Urgh!” I barked out a half scream, half moan, completely undone by the extremity of Cymon’s alien touch. Mr Peters groaned too, but before any more could be said, I was being pulled towards the door.

  "No!" Mr Peters bellowed. "Too late. Use the window. Audrey, get to my garage. You’ll find a bag. All you need is in there." He pointed at my bedroom window and it exploded inwards instantly, shards of glass and fractured pieces of wood went flying everywhere.

  Cymon dragged me towards the gaping hole where my window used to be as effortlessly as a child would a ragdoll. He was so much stronger than he looked, and for a moment my sleep-deprived, shocked brain wondered if Mr Peters would have been any match for him at all. Meanwhile, the cold was working its way up my arm and towards my chest area. I was freezing from the inside out!

  Cymon nodded one last time in Mr Peters’ direction. “Sentinel."

  “Reaper,” my neighbour replied, planting feet firmly on the ground, never taking his eyes from the darkness beyond my bedroom doorway.

  “Mr Peters!” I managed to cry out just as Cymon hoisted me unto the eviscerated window sill, my pyjama bottoms flapping as the cool night air gusted in.

  He looked back at last, a face that had come to be so dear to me over the years, and I could see the urgency and reassurance in his brown eyes, almost hidden by the multitude of laugh lines on his brow and cheeks. The air grew more suffocating as the room plunged into blackness when the weak light my little lamp had provided flickered out.

  “Go Audrey. Help the Reaper. It’s time”.

  Cymon joined me at our makeshift escape route. Were we expected to jump to our deaths? Oh God. This was it!

  I could hear Mr Peters shouting behind us. "Reaper! Take care of the Loci. Go! I’ll hold them off—I’ll…"

  Whatever he said next was lost forever as two things happened simultaneously—a blinding light followed by a thunderous bang filled the room and Cymon said, “Sorry, Loci” before shoving me, headfirst into the night.

  CHAPTER 2

  My chest was burning and my legs were on fire. I was amazed that I was still in one piece after the drop from my bedroom window. Maybe Cymon really could cast spells after all. The roller shutter to the garage was locked but I knew that there was a door around the back. I took a few deep breaths trying to get some air into my lungs. We had just run about a half mile to escape whatever it was that was chasing Cymon. I was not fit and I hated exercise. My exercise regime relied totally on my belief that being young meant that I was healthy. I was now doubled over gasping for air and praying that I would not pass out.

  "Are you alright?" asked Cymon. Did I look alright? Was it normal in his world for women to be woken in the middle of the night by strange men, who then expected them to sprint for dear life through the dark streets of London?

  "I am just fine." I replied.

  "Good." he said. "We need to find a way into this place." That was glaringly obvious. But I couldn't voice the response that I wanted to give. My lungs were not yet behaving. I pulled myself up, placing my hands on my hips for support.

  "There is a door round the back." I said. Cymon looked at me and raised an eyebrow.

  "Then let's go." he said.

  I really didn't have the breath to argue but I promised myself that I would save it and vent later. We walked to the side of the garage where there was a small alleyway between the garage wall and the side fence. It led us to the back where there was a large fenced yard area secured by a back gate. The yard was just how I remembered it. Even though it was still dark I could make out the piles of worn tyres in the far corner along with the old wooden pallets and the drums filled with old engine oil. My father had always told Mr Peters that this yard was a fire hazard but nothing had changed and there was never a fire. It smelled of rubber and petrol and immediately I was a kid again, running around the yard and pretending to be a racing driver in the many old cars that Mr Peters always seemed to be working on. There were so many cars coming and going and I loved them all. But my favourite was the one that never left. No matter how many cars came and went. It was always parked in the same corner as if waiting for my return.

  And there it was still in the same place waiting for me. The Hillman Avenger. The car wasn't that big and it had never worked. Mr Peters never repaired it. He always said that he would get around to it at some point but he never did. The car looked to be black in the dark but I knew that it was a deep green colour. The beige leather seats inside were just visible through the dusty windows. And even though it was rusted in a lot of places and had no wheels and sat on bricks it was still beautiful to me. I ran to the car and opened the driver’s door.

  "What are you doing?" asked Cymon. "We need to get inside. Your sentinel said there is a bag in there for you."

  "I heard what he said. And this is our way in." I replied. I reached across the passenger seat to the car glovebox and pulled it open. Inside was junk. Old cassette tapes which were definitely from the last century spilled out onto the seat. Old leaflets, business cards and open packets of sweets followed. I kept digging. I yanked my hand back when I felt a small fuzzy slippery ball and then I saw a very old and probably half sucked mint roll out onto the floor. Disgusting. I dug my hand in again and then I felt hard cold metal at the tip of my fingers and I grabbed it.

  Mr Peters had told me before that the Avenger was where he kept everything that was spare. No one would look for anything valuable in a pile of junk he often said. Thankfully, no one did. The key to the back door was still there.

  Inside the garage was dark and it was cold. I ran my hand on the wall until I felt the light switch and flicked it on. The glare of the lights made me snap my eyelids shut but still the light seemed to burn through. I finally opened them and too
k in the cluttered surroundings of the garage. There was an open pit in the centre of the room, which luckily, we had managed to avoid falling into. I saw two large jacks near the side wall and another large blue machine which had a tyre in it. The other wall was covered with a peg board and this was filled with a huge selection of hand tools which sat neatly on pegs. I heard Cymon inhale sharply.

  "What's wrong?" I asked. I found myself whispering even though it was just the two of us in the garage.

  "Your sentinel is well stocked." he said.

  "What do you mean 'Well stocked’? and what is a sentinel?"

  He lifted that eyebrow again and folded his arm across his chest. "Well. I can't see the bag but there are a lot of weapons."

  "I don't see any weapons." I said. I quickly scanned the garage searching to see what he was seeing.

  "There is a glamour in here." he said. He moved his hand through the air and it became wavy, as if there was heat passing through it. The wave grew until it covered the wall which was filled with tools, and somehow those tools morphed into weapons. My mouth dropped open as my eyes grew wide. There was a selection of guns, some of which I recognised. They looked a lot smaller than what they looked like in movies. I also saw a crossbow, a long-handled spear, something that looked like a trident and a whip!

  My palms kissed my cheeks as I turned open mouthed to Cymon. "What the hell is this?"

  "Like I said. Your sentinel is well stocked." He picked up a knife and I saw it disappear into his hoodie.

  "What is a sentinel?" It was almost a scream and for half a second, I felt slightly embarrassed, but that quickly passed as I needed to know what was going on. I leaned forward slightly and stared at him.

  "Okay." he said as he leaned his head back to look up at the ceiling. He exhaled slowly and then looked at me. "Audrey. You are a Loci." he said. There was that word again. A word I had never heard before but with which I was suddenly labelled. "You have the ability to find things. Things that others cannot find."

  "Yeah? Really? That's normally just called looking. And you know what, most people can do it." I saw his shoulders slump but my sarcasm wasn't over. "Here's the thing, you can use a map or even a compass and I'm sure that nowadays you can even find an app to do it for you! And let's not forget a good old brain and a pair of eyes. I'm not special" I said.

  "Do not test me Loci! I need to find my scythe and you're going to help me do that." His lips drew into a thin line and he walked towards me. He seemed to grow in height as his face paled to the point that it resembled a skull, and I swear I saw a shadowy cloak and hood form around him. Shit!!

  I lifted my arms with palms facing him. "Wait, wait, wait." I said, a bit too quickly. "Look. This is a lot to take in. Just tell me what a sentinel is. I've known Mr Peters since I was a child and he's just my neighbour."

  "He is your look out." he said. "He stands guard and makes sure that he sees and stops any threat coming before they get to you." he added. "I guess he always seemed to be around at odd times." he looked at me. "Well. Was he?" he asked.

  Cymon was back to his normal self. He seemed less angry. I was beginning to understand that this scythe thing must be very important to him. "All of that is just ridiculous." I said. Mr Peters had always been in my life but he wasn't my lookout or guard. He was my neighbour. Then a memory stomped through my mind, insisting that I remember. I stuttered as I voiced what was in my head. "I was about nine years old, playing in the park. Two women had suddenly appeared. I remember because they didn't have a kid with them. I had checked because I was looking for someone to play with." Cymon continued looking at me. He sighed deeply but didn't interrupt. "They looked funny. Their faces seemed strange... long, like if they didn't fit properly on their head."

  "And your sentinel?" I exhaled sharply and turned away as I threw my arms in the air. I wanted to scream.

  "Mr Peters is not my or anyone's sentinel!" I shouted. Cymon looked at me intensely and crossed his arms over his chest.

  "Why are you so stubborn Audrey? You are a Loci. Your neighbour Mr Peters is a sentinel, clearly assigned to you. And... You will help me to find my scythe." The way he said it made me wonder why he needed my help at all. The man was scary.

  "I'm not a Loci. This cannot be happening. I don't know what you are talking about." I whispered. My mouth opened and closed as I tried to understand what he was telling me. I racked my mind for any possible clue from my past, any hidden memory which might shine some light and help me to understand. Nothing.

  My parents and I had lived happily in the west London suburbs since I were a child. I had gone to school, made friends and did all the things that normal people do. I was not special. These strange things that Cymon was telling me were not real. They couldn't be.

  "Where are your parents Audrey?" he asked. His pale grey eyes searched my face.

  "They retired... to Wales." I replied. "It's where my dad is from." Mum and dad couldn't wait till I had completed my studies. They were on a countdown. Towards the end of my final year, mum was so fidgety that I just told them to go. And they had gone. They now lived in a small village near Brecon and loved it. I loved it too. But I now wondered if they had kept secrets from me.

  "Didn't they tell you anything?" asked Cymon.

  "There is nothing to tell. I'm not a Loci." I said. "I can't find objects or artefacts. Real or otherwise. You've made a mistake."

  Cymon came towards me. I wanted to take a step back but resisted. I waited. He stood in front of me and I tilted my head back slightly to make eye contact. His brows were drawn together as if they were trying to hug. I almost laughed but the tight set of his jaw stopped me.

  "Audrey." he said. His voice was soft now. Almost comforting. I wondered if he really was a reaper as he claimed, if this was the voice he used when talking to the dead. "I asked for a Loci and the portal led me to you. Loci's are very rare and the gene is inherited. You are born a Loci. If the portal led me to you then you are a Loci."

  I looked around the garage as I felt a slight stinging behind my eyes. I refused to cry. I ran my hand through my hair and gave myself a mental shake. Cymon was still watching me intently. "Okay. So, what now?" I might as well play along I thought. He gave me a sweeping look and I instantly remembered that I was still in pyjamas.

  "Now we find the bag and get anything that may be useful from here. Then we leave. We don't have a lot of time. I really need my scythe.”

  CHAPTER 3

  This was ridiculous. I was tired and hungry. It felt like we had been walking for hours. And we probably had. The bag that Mr Peters had so conveniently put away hadn't contained much that was helpful. A pair of jeans, some trainers and a bright red shirt which clashed with my bright red hair. That wasn’t going to work. I was thankful though that Mr Peters had packed trainers and not shoes. At least my feet were comfortable. The bag did not have any weapons in it. I guess he thought that I would take what I wanted from his personal stock.

  "Cymon" I called. I was not following this idiot any further. At least not until I had a better idea of where we were going and when I was going to get fed anyway.

  "What can I help you with Audrey?" I could tell that he was as fed up as I was. But this was his world and he wasn't doing much to help me understand it.

  "Where are we going Cymon?"

  "I don't know, I'm following you."

  My feet ground to a halt as a searing heat rose in my head. "How the hell can you be following me when you're in front?" I shouted at him. Is this guy for real or did I get a dud? Following me? When he had been leading the way all morning and now that we were walking around in circle’s he wants to make it my fault that we weren't getting anywhere.

  "I'm following you Audrey because you're the Loci." He didn't shout as loudly as I had, but the flared nostrils and tight set to his mouth added to the glaring eyes and the wide stance told me everything I needed to know. And it really was not a fight that I wanted to get into. I was too hungry.

  "Okay okay
." I said. "I'm the Loci. But I have no idea where we are going or how we get there." I was tired. "How about we rest for a while?"

  "We don't have time to rest. Do you think the dead have time before they need to move on? I need my scythe."

  "I don't bloody care about the dead right now. They're dead!" I screamed at him. "I am taking a rest. Now." I turned and stomped off. Not knowing where I was going but walking anyway. I hadn't gone very far when I saw it. Our blessing.

  "Look at what I found." I said as I returned to Cymon. I was so excited I forgot that we had just been arguing. "Now we can ride. We don't have to walk anymore." My excitement did not seem to impress Cymon. He stood staring at me wide eyed. "Its great right? It was just parked over there. Like if it was just waiting for me to find it. Maybe I'm finally getting the hang of this Loci thing." I said. Cymon did not share my excitement and I was getting annoyed. Okay. The bike was parked up and I did take it without asking. But it had the key in it, so whoever left it there should have known better. I wasn't a thief. Well not before this. I would bring it back. Maybe.

  “What did you do?” I heard Cymon ask in a hushed whisper. Finally. A response. My excitement quickly fluttered to life again.

  “I know.” I squealed. “Look at it. It's perfect isn't it?"

  I looked at the motorbike. It was a beast and I loved it. I wanted to get a moped when I was younger, hoping to move up and progress to a motorbike. My overprotective father soon killed that dream, insisting that any motorised vehicle which only had two wheels was not safe to carry passengers.