Swept Away_An Epic Fantasy

by S McPherson

  There’s a rough scrape as a pad and pencil slide across the table, stopping in front of me. I frown questioningly at Nathaniel.

  ‘You’ll have to draw a map.’

  A knot tightens in my stomach. The last thing I want to do right now is remember the wonders of Coldivor and trace the steps I once took, but if Jude is going to have any chance of getting to the Court before the portal shuts him on the wrong side, he’ll need a map. I grasp the pencil and begin jotting down the things I remember. I try to detach myself as I sketch the many trees clustered in Taratesia’s forest, recalling the sweet smells of honeysuckle and wine, the way dew glistened and the air hung thick with a cool mist. I try not to think about the last night I was there: that sinking feeling in my gut like an anchor, as the Court members clad in black marched me to the exit. The twisting arrow of the gethamot seemed to twist my heart with every turn.

  ‘You’ll most probably arrive in Taratesia somewhere close to the sea,’ I say, numbly, squiggling lines to indicate waves in the ocean. ‘Like Tranzuta said: water is more powerful than all the magic in this realm and the next.’ I hastily add in some more trees, these thin and bare and beside a thick line that marks the border to Melaxous. ‘You’ll know you’re getting close because the ground will change.’ I swallow the pang in my chest. ‘The grass won’t be as thick. It will turn brittle and pale. The sweet scent saturating the air will become a harsh tang of rotten eggs for a moment, then it will seem to fade, or maybe you just get used to it.’ I half smile. The border always seemed to smell the strongest. I barely noticed it anywhere else in Melaxous.

  Both Nathaniel and Jude watch intently as I draw. A sheen of excitement glistens on Jude’s face, and I realise, that as sad as this may be for me having someone other than myself cross the portal, it’s incredibly exciting for him.

  I stretch my hand across the table and give his a squeeze. ‘Jude, you’re going to Coldivor.’

  A smile curves his lips as he leans back and runs a hand over his cropped hair. ‘Bloody hell,’ he breathes, ‘I’m really going.’

  Nathaniel grins and my own grows wider. Jude has dreamt of doing this long before I even knew it all existed. I continue to draw whilst Jude rambles on about possibly finding his counterpart and by the sounds of it, becoming best friends.

  ‘There is the matter of your mum,’ Nathaniel muses. ‘She won’t like this at all.’

  ‘That’s all right,’ I say. ‘Mrs Edwards won’t know a thing.’

  I finish off the map, and folding it, hand it to Jude. ‘If we’re lucky, the Rijjleton Guards will find you and you’ll be at the Court in no time.’

  Jude takes a long draught of his drink. ‘And if we’re not lucky?’

  ‘The Exlathars will find you…’

  ‘And I’ll be dead in no time.’

  The impenetrable shield around Feranvil was thankfully lowered a few weeks before, when people decided they needed to get back to normal—well, as normal as could be—and the boys and I easily slip out and into Islon.

  We enter the farmhouse through its chimney, still spotless from when Jude and I enchanted the house, and make our way out onto the grassy field that surrounds it. Jude’s eyes are alight and the air around him reeks of anticipation. I hope he knows what he is getting himself into. Apparently, Lexovia taught him a trick or two on dodging attacks but I doubt any Corporeal could withstand an attack from an Exlathar.

  We follow the winding arrow of the gethamot into the woods. I wriggle tension loose from my shoulders as Nathaniel carries my bag without me having to ask. He leaves me the torch to guide the way though, Jude is a few steps ahead, his own torch in hand as we descend deeper into the woods, the shade of the leaves blotting out the last remaining sunrays as the sun sinks into the horizon.

  ‘How are you feeling about this trip?’ Nathaniel rumbles, and it takes me a minute to realise he’s talking to me.

  ‘Fine.’ I force a tight-lipped smile. He meets it with a knowing look. I sigh. ‘It’s not me you should be worrying about.’ My eyes shift to Jude who leaps about and practices moves I assume Lexovia has shown him.

  Nathaniel’s eyes follow mine. ‘He’ll be all right. I bet he has the map memorised and will reach the Court in no time.’

  Before I can reply, the arrow stops. ‘We’re here,’ I announce. Now all that’s left to do is wait and keep a watch out for members of the R.U.O.E. organisation.

  Jude joins us, dabbing sweat from his brow, a grin on his face that fades when he sees the expression on mine. ‘Say the words you think, lest they eat away your soul.’ He prods me with his elbow and my face crumples. Normally his peculiarity makes me want to cringe and sock him in the head, but today it makes me want to cry and I fold my arms around his middle.

  ‘Don’t get caught,’ I whisper.

  He returns my embrace, letting, for the briefest of moments, his playful nature take a backseat. ‘I won’t,’ he murmurs, solemnly, but we all know it’s not a certainty. The only thing certain in life is how uncertain it turns out to be.

  ‘What’s this?’ a high-pitched voice screeches. We turn, meeting the ravenous inky eyes of a woman in a familiar uniform; dark grey, almost black, a royal blue line runs along the sleeves and trouser legs. Red hair peeps out from beneath her peaked cap and she blows it from her eyes as she steps closer, hand on hip. I know her weapon is close, tucked in a holster at her side. She doesn’t have to say anything for me to deduce she is a member of the R.U.O.E. organisation. I haven’t seen a female member before but something tells me she will be no kinder than her male cohorts.

  My eyes flicker to the gethamot, still cradled in my palm; the denomatrix is pale, the portal set to open any minute, but I doubt we have that minute to spare. The woman’s eyes linger on me, a trace of recognition souring her already bitter stare.

  ‘I oughta kill the lot of you,’ she seethes through clenched teeth, ‘cavorters of the otherworld, of evil.’

  Instinctively, Nathaniel and I step ahead of Jude, barring him behind us. He’s the one who has to make it through tonight. Whatever happens on this side will be worth it, for the sake of the worlds. I wring my hands, my heart spooked into a gallop. Panic licks my chest and leaves behind a wet coldness. I consider trying to reason with the woman, to explain how the Vildacruz are far from the Coltis and that the evil they wield has simply infested Coldivor, as it might one day infest us all, but I know my arguments will fall on ignorant ears.

  I wait for her to make the first move, the more time we waste sizing each other up, the better. My eyes drift again to the gethamot; there isn’t long now.

  ‘Hand it over,’ she growls, having followed my gaze. I hesitate then carefully slip the chain from around my neck. She tenses. ‘That’s right,’ her grin is malicious, ‘nice and easy.’

  My gaze is trained on hers, my expression revealing nothing, save for exaggerated fear. I am afraid, but less so of her than of the idea that Jude won’t get into Coldivor tonight, or worse, that he won’t get back out.

  She extends her hand, the other still poised over her weapon. ‘I didn’t think you’d be this easy.’ Her smile is so broad she’s practically giddy. ‘What Diez sees in you, I’ll never understand,’ she grumbles. I jolt. Diez: Daniel Schawsmith, the greatest evil either world has ever known. As suspected, he is alive, and somehow through the Exlathars and R.U.O.E. he is fulfilling his plan—whatever that plan might be. I want to scream. The stupid cow doesn’t even realise she’s working with the very evil she’s trying to stop.

  She snarls, as though realising she may have said too much. ‘Just give me the device and get off home. There’s nothing stopping me from putting a bullet between his pretty brown eyes.’ She glowers at Nathaniel. If he’s afraid, he doesn’t show it, and a rush of relief washes through me. It seems our hope of keeping her focused on us and off Jude is working.

  ‘Alright.’ I hold up my hands in surrender, the chain of the gethamot swinging idly from my fingers. Any minute ‘NOW!’ I turn, tossin
g the gethamot to Jude as the portal springs open. He catches it in one hand and dives at the opening, but the woman is fast. Like a brick wall slamming into me, she barrels past, knocking me to the ground. She lunges at Jude, grabbing his ankles, and he stumbles, half in this world and half in the next.

  I’m wild with panic; this scene is all too familiar. It’s the same thing that happened to Diez’s brother, leading him to being sliced right down the middle, and it cannot happen to Jude. Nathaniel quickly recovers and bounds onto the woman, wrestling her as she fights for her gun whilst keeping one hand firmly wrapped around Jude’s ankle. Wedging her feet in the earth, she pulls him back and he squirms and kicks as the opening shrinks around him, her grip too solid.

  I scramble to my feet, ignoring my bruised shoulder, and rush to help. But how? Are we just to be a chain of humans stretching between worlds until it snaps shut, ending Jude’s life?

  ‘Nathaniel, let go!’ I call.

  He looks at me, like I’ve gone mad, but does as I ask. I try to stay focussed and ignore the walls of the portal folding in, Jude still firmly stuck between. He’ll be cut in half. There’s no coming back from that. I channel my energy, the little power I have, and feel it surge, stronger than anything I’ve ever known. It dives into my hands, drenching them in an icy cold, my fingers stiff as lead. I hope what I’m about to do is right.

  ‘Exlarvus!’ I howl as the portal grazes Jude’s side. I see the fabric of his shirt sizzle and then the incantation catches. He and the woman are flung onto the other side just as the portal vanishes, as if swallowed by the light that raged from it. I wish I could see what’s happening, but all I can do now, is hope.

  Nathaniel is bent over, palms resting on his knees, his breath ragged.

  ‘I hope that was the right move,’ I wheeze.

  Nathaniel nods, slowly standing. ‘She won’t be much harm to him now.’ I’m about to ask why when I see what he’s looking at: a bloody boot, tilted and crusted with mud and clotting scarlet smears, lies where the entrance to the portal had been, the owners foot still inside.

  ‘Oops?’ I offer, trying to make sense of the delight and horror squirming in my gut. Nathaniel snorts.

  ‘“Oops” she says,’ and he chuckles, shaking his head. I shake my own then settle on the ground and lean against a tree, one as far from the bloody shoe as I can get without losing sight of it. It’s going to be a long night.

  BORN OF ICE AND FIRE

  Jude bounds to his feet. Adrenalin courses through him, as blind and determined as a driverless train. He swivels, fists raised as Lexovia had shown him, expecting to see the woman snarling at his back, but instead a scream drags his eyes to the ground. There the woman lies, as a snake writhing in the dirt, her face creased like a dried-up lemon as she clutches her leg. Jude swallows bile, seeing blood gushing from where her foot should be.

  Hastily, he rips off his jacket and crouches at her side, making to swathe the wound and stem the bleeding.

  ‘Get away from me!’ she hisses. Spit sprays and bubbles from her lips.

  ‘Shush!’ he urges, glancing at the sky. They aren’t in England anymore. The enemies here have weapons far greater than guns. Once again, he goes to grab her leg but the woman lashes out, teeth grinding so loud he can almost hear them.

  ‘Don’t touch me,’ she growls her brow percolating with sweat.

  ‘I’m trying to help you!’

  The click of a gun is all Jude needs to still his hands. He feels its cold steel pressed to his temple, and he waits for the click of the safety being lifted, but the weapon trembles, unsteadily. The woman is clearly weak, too weak to fire, he hopes. When her hand drops in exhaustion, trapped air escapes his lungs as he sends up a silent prayer.

  ‘I don’t need or want your help,’ she mumbles as the pain seems to claim her consciousness.

  Jude clenches his jaw, wrestling with his conscience. Half of him could quite happily leave the wench to die, but a greater part shrinks away from this. And for that reason, he wraps his jacket as tightly as he can around her ankle, slowing the bleeding.

  Already weary, Jude stands, and for the first time since crossing the portal, takes in his surroundings. An army of trees flank him, tall and sturdy, some so high he can’t see their top. Thick, lengthy grass stretches up, as if it hopes to compete, and a sweet, musky scent like mulled wine wafts on the breeze. He doesn’t need to pull out Dezaray’s hastily sketched map to know he’s in Taratesia, its sky the colour of purple grapes. A smile slits his face, despite his companion’s parlous presence.

  Digging his phone from his pocket Jude switches on the torch and grabs the gethamot from where it had fallen to the ground. Head away from the wind. That’s what he’d been told. Taratesia has a sea and Melaxous is far from it. Jude licks his finger and holds it up, in an attempt to judge the direction of the wind. He’s no outdoors man but he’s seen it done in movies a thousand times. To his startled delight, the wind licks the back of his finger, cooling it first.

  He glances down at the woman, still sprawled unconscious on the ground, her face fixed in a sneer. Sighing, he hooks her legs under his arms and drags her along behind him, with little concern for what he may be dragging her body through.

  Sweat blooms on his brow at her deadweight as he follows the short path his torch now lights from where he’d propped it up in his pocket. His weighted breaths cloud in front of him as the temperature sinks with the sun. And unfamiliar birds click to one another as they lazily flutter past, up into the trees for the night.

  The sky has darkened from plum to raisin and stars light up, as though a switch has been pressed. The darkness allows Jude to admire all the glowing treasures of Taratesia, such as the bright, ruby eyes that stare out at him from behind leaves and from under rocks. Lemon wings flutter on the small bodies of insects and something large blazes in the distance, nestled in a copse just off to one side. Then something even brighter than the stars, like a low hanging moon, catches his gaze. Jude cocks his head, sure he can hear a distant melody drifting from it, a poignant song. A sound like a flute, but one forged by angels and spun from pure silk. Readjusting the woman in his arms, Jude makes his way towards it. It can’t hurt to take a look. But even as he thinks these very words, he isn’t entirely sure he means them.

  As the music continues to serenade, he pushes through the branches of the copse, the leaves scattering about him as he trips over raised tree roots, rocks and furry shrubs in his blind haste to find the source of the song. It guides him like an invisible rope, its melody rising and falling like waves breaking on the shore.

  It’s a tree, Jude realises as he nears.

  A lone tree surrounded by luminous, golden sand, sand that shudders and ripples like water around his feet. A chorus of shattering glass sings up at him from the grinding grains and the bright glow swelling from the tree dies as the song itself fades away. Soon, only bursts of light spurt through the gaps between the leaves, like thousands of fairies.

  Jude drags the woman to the nearest rock and positions her comfortably on the ground, her leg propped up on the stone. Then, carefully, he ambles nearer the tree, marvelling at its curved, arched and swirling branches, at the tiny olive-green leaves that cling to them. The trunk is just as complex, its wood entwining like ribbon, the gaping holes thinly shielded by a shimmering silver substance looking as fragile as lace.

  As Jude steps closer, the scent of mint is carried to him on a faint breeze that makes him think of Twinings tea. He rises on tiptoes, the branches scratching his hands as he pushes them aside. A rainbow of light streams out to meet him, each drop of colour no bigger than his thumb, through which he passes his hand, scattering them as they roll through his fingers like beads.

  But then the lights fade, claimed by a darkness so whole it swallows him. He blinks but sees nothing. All the creatures and distant stars are blocked out, his arm tickling as the tree shudders and trembles and something moans; a keening sound. Jude yanks his hand from inside the tree and tur
ns to run, but his legs are wedged, the once fluid sand now as thick as cement. Then comes a laugh, like shaken wind chimes.

  ‘Who’s there?’ Jude challenges, his eyes wide, grasping for any shred of light, his back straight and feet twisting in the ground.

  ‘You are brave,’ praises a silvery voice, yet the praise sounds far less than sincere, ‘daring to place your hand in the sacred Dreldaras tree…and on your first day.’

  Light returns like a rising sun, casting a bronze halo over fingers as long as streetlamps. They coil around Jude, pinning his arms to his sides before hauling him up. Wind whistles around him as he’s whisked towards the stars. Talons then stretch from each finger, like obsidian swords, and Jude has the good sense to remain still.

  Only his mouth moves, to fall open in a silent scream as a woman emerges from the tree, her mammoth size too impossible to make sense of. First one willowy leg stretches out—its foot bare, toes curled upwards—then the other. When the top of her head appears, Jude is reminded of rolling waves upon a deep and dangerous ocean. He sucks in a breath, his thoughts now rattling in his skull. How has he ended up here? How will he escape? And how much time does he have left to do it?

  The woman stands, dark hair billowing in a wind that feels as harsh as a slap, and copper light radiates from all around her. Jude forces himself to meet her gaze only to find her eyes are pools of endless black, her nose a fine point, her lips plump and tinged violet, her ears thin and wiry, framing her head like the sides of a broken crown. He looks away, following the red and blue veins that pulse beneath her ghostly pale skin, skin that looks as frail as tracing paper.

  ‘What brings you here, Corporeal?’ she asks, her voice teasing, provoking.

  Jude clears his throat, shaking his voice loose. ‘I heard your song.’ He fixes his eyes on the curve of her chin—her only feature that doesn’t fill him with dread. ‘What was it?’