by S McPherson
‘Just tell me how.’ Lexovia smiles wryly and is thankful when Vladimir puts his arm around her again, until he has her steady against the table. ‘So, this mist—’
‘This mist,’ Vladimir snarls.
‘New?’
Amethyst scoffs, ‘Not new, just hidden.’
‘Hidden?’ Lexovia says in surprise, her strength slowly returning. ‘You think they have the sense to hide things from us?’
‘Perhaps not them,’ and Amethyst sighs.
‘Not this again,’ grumbles Brixen. ‘You still believe someone is behind the Exlathars escape that night, don’t you?’
‘I believe someone could be behind it all,’ Amethyst insists, ‘starting with the day they were released from Vedark.’
‘None of us can say anything for certain,’ the Pre-senior of the court, Baxter, now states. He frowns, his bright silver eyes narrowing. Tonight, his eyes seem even more vibrant against the darkness of his skin and his thick black moustache twitches as beads of sweat drip from his bald head.
Vladimir sighs. ‘I think we need to revisit our earlier plan of action.’
Now everyone is avoiding eye contact and shifting uncomfortably.
Lexovia eyes them warily. ‘Which is?’
‘Return the Exlathars to Vedark.’
Her mouth hangs open. ‘We can do that?’
‘No, we can’t,’ Brixen adds bitterly.
‘But perhaps we can,’ Amethyst interjects. ‘To this day, no one knows how the Vildacruz broke out of their realm. They had no gethamot, no skill.’
‘But somehow they did.’ Vladimir says, ‘and if they were able to get out then there is a way for us to get in.’
‘How would we even begin?’
‘Before he left, Tranzuta swore he had found a way to enhance the gethamots. He called it: the gethadrox, a way to reach more than just the Corporeal.’ Vladimir drums his fingers against the stone table. ‘A way to reach other realms.’
‘The mad man vanishes.’ Baxter agrees.
At a loss for words, Lexovia lets the hall fall into silence save for the occasional echo of running feet as others rush in and out with supplies for the injured.
‘But we tried that,’ Brixen eventually growls, ‘tried and failed.’
‘So we will try again,’ Vladimir insists, his tone rising. ‘If there is someone behind all this, I guarantee they are in Vedark.’
‘So now you suggest we go looking for trouble out there, when you can barely control what is happening here?’
‘I’m suggesting we seek out the source.’
‘Surely, you can think of something else,’ Brixen says, clenching his fists, clearly tiring of having this young man tell him what to do. ‘Something that might actually work and not something we already know will fail.’
Vladimir slams his fist on the table. ‘It won’t fail.’
‘It will,’ Brixen shouts back just as ferociously, then shakes his head and storms from the hall.
HELLO & GOODBYE
I’m under the shade of trees, bark catching on my sleeve and scratching the backs of my legs as I swat away a relentless fly and watch the sun set at a racing pace. My eyes furtively shift from side to side like a pendulum swing, seeking out one of the so-called Wood Security lurking in the shadows. I still can’t figure out what they want but am pretty certain it isn’t to keep the woods secure. Biting my bottom lip, I push my hair behind my ears and survey the trees once more. What if they see me as the portal opens? My stomach turns. What if they take away my gethamot, my only connection with Coldivor?
Every sound makes me flinch and I wish the owls would hoot less. The rolling hiss of Beatrice brook somewhere nearby and the scuffle and chirrups of wildlife all make it difficult for me to hear anything else, like the sound of approaching footsteps.
Stealthily, I open my hands from around the gethamot. Its arrow still points directly ahead and the denomatrix is extremely pale—any second now.
And then it happens, a swirling vortex of green dancing in front of me. My heart stops, literally, for at least a second. My stomach pangs like a snapped elastic and my body shakes. Milo is here and running towards me. I blink and blink again, unable to believe my eyes. Am I just so desperate I’m imagining him or is Milo really here, charging through the opening, out of Coldivor and toward me?
He throws his arms around me before I can even think, his eyes crinkling at their corners as he smiles. Then his grip tightens and the feel of the ground beneath my feet fades as he lifts me so his lips can find mine faster. I fling my arms around him, pulling him even closer. But I’m torn between my desire to kiss him and my desire to gaze at him. He’s really here.
His lips are soft and warm despite the cooling waft of his longer hair, tickling my brow. I inhale. He smells of old vanilla and wine. He smells like Taratesia. A spasm of longing rushes through me, not just for him but for Coldivor.
When we finally part, he stares at me as though I’m an exotic jewel he’s never seen before. Neither of us say a thing. His fingers stroke my cheek, the burning blue of his eyes igniting the embers that have lain so patiently smouldering in my chest. Then I kiss him again, slowly this time, my lips only slightly parted. He squeezes my waist in one strong hand, the other cradling my neck, sending tingles through my spine.
Eventually—I have no idea how—I pull myself away, my arms still wrapped around his neck, my fingers tangling in his dishevelled locks. I smile, watching as the golden flecks in his eyes swirl around, watching as he watches me.
‘Hi,’ I breathe at last, still amazed he’s actually here.
‘Hi Sweetheart.’
The sound of his voice ripples a hot current through my veins. My memory of it hadn’t done it justice. My heart slams into my ribcage as though it’s about to burst out for Milo to carry home. Colour infuses my cheeks but I can’t look away. Then a noise, the sound of rustling leaves, and I quickly remember where we are.
‘What is it?’ Milo asks as I tense and my gaze again drifts to the shadows.
I squint in the direction of the sound, sure I’m seeing the dull beam of a torch.
‘We have to go,’ I whisper and lock my fingers between his, drawing him with me through the woods, my torch aimed in front of us. I guide him over the rough ground until we at last reach the barely visible footpath by Beatrice brook. A cool breeze sails from it, carrying a whiff of bluebells and daisies. I forgot how beautiful the woods turn in spring.
Sensing it’s now okay to speak, Milo asks, ‘What’s going on?’
‘There’s been these men lately,’ I explain quietly. ‘They call themselves “Wood Security”.’
‘But you don’t think they are?’
‘Well, the last time I ran into one of them,’ I shake my head, still baffled, ‘he tried to kill me when I refused to hand over my gethamot.’
Milo pulls us to a halt. ‘What?’
I shrug, ‘I was as surprised as you are.’
He frowns, but then his eyes drift off, lost in thought.
‘What is it?’
‘Do you remember that Exlathar that managed to pass through the portal with you, the one that freed Drake?’
I’m momentarily winded by the mention of my brother’s name and an uncomfortable knot tightens in the pit of my stomach. I haven’t given Drake much thought these days but I’m very aware that he is still locked away, bound by magic in Feranvil Force Holdings. Up here, he’s considered a highly dangerous fugitive, responsible for the death of six policemen. His face plastered on television screens in store windows. I wonder if they’ll ever stop looking for him.
I nod in response.
‘Apparently its hunger consumed it,’ Milo says.
‘You mean…’ I remember the first Wood Security I met mentioning something about strange killings in the area. ‘What happened?’
‘The Courts were summoned.’
‘What?’ I splutter.
‘For the first time in twenty years, the Courts of Coldiv
or were asked to cross worlds so they could help defeat the Exlathar.’
I’m stunned; the Court were here, in Islon, and fighting evil creatures no less!
‘So you think these men have been put here in case anymore Exlathars get through?’
Milo grimaces, his mouth twisting, ‘Dezaray, if they tried to kill you for your gethamot then I think they might be here to stop any of us from getting through.’
I gulp. I knew there was something I didn’t like about the Wood Security, even before one of them tried to shoot me. Disgruntled, I collapse my head onto his shoulder, and he ‘Umph’s at the force.
‘Sorry,’ I breathe.
He pulls me closer. ‘Don’t ever be sorry.’
For the first time in a long time, I feel complete, closing my eyes, any and all distractions finally fading. This is where I belong. As nice as my life in Feranvil has turned out to be, nothing will ever feel more like home than Milo’s arms around me. Here I can imagine we’re in the treehouse in Deadwood or are standing by Trilyot Lake at Thornton High. I can almost hear the clashes of the Teltreporthis, the cheers of the syndigo squad. Heck, I even miss the Court and their air of superiority.
‘Do the Court cross often?’ I ask, ‘uninvited, I mean?’
‘Not likely,’ Milo says, trailing his fingers up and down my back. ‘As soon as the Vildacruz took over, the Corporeal made it clear we were never to mix again.’
I lift my gaze to meet his eyes. ‘About eight or nine years ago, I saw a shimmer by the brook, a shimmer I now know was the portal.’ I remember that day well: I’d pressed myself against my bedroom window, blinking incessantly, convinced my eyes were playing tricks on me. ‘And not long after I saw some figures in hooded cloaks.’
Milo cocks his head to one side. ‘That’s odd.’
‘Now that I think about it, I can’t imagine who else it could have been.’
‘And if it was the Court, why were they here?’
After walking further on through the woods we come to the clearing by the brook. I instinctively look to my left, finding Cuckilbury Mountain with Storm Manor looming on its peak. The house is in complete darkness. I left an estate agent in charge of selling it but they don’t appear to be having much luck. Selling Steak Home was easy. Marceaux was more than happy to take it and I was happy to let it go, kissing its brick walls goodbye and asking my parents to forgive me.
In the other direction is the still broken bulb of the lamppost, the first place I ever saw the portal. I doubt anyone will ever fix the lamp; I hope they never do.
Milo takes my hand and leads us to a tree. He sits beneath it, leaning back against its trunk. Tugging on my hand, he positions me between his legs and wraps his arms around my stomach. I sigh and rest my head against him.
‘How did you manage to get out tonight?’ I ask.
‘Teleported around Rijjleton guards as they poked at me with spears.’ he chuckles, ‘Had to knock one of them out though. Hope he doesn’t hold it against me.’
‘He’s a Rijjleton guard!’ I laugh. ‘They’re small and grumpy. He’ll hold it against you.’
He grins, then says, ‘I have something for you.’ I sit up whilst he rummages in his jacket pocket, from which he then pulls a transparent sphere, cupping it in his hands.
‘What is it?’
‘A crystal ball.’ He smiles and as if I catch it, I smile too. ‘I made it. It connects with my invention, allows me to see the worlds I’m channelling.’
I remember the night Milo took me onto the roof of the head dimensionals building at Thornton High School. He showed me a radio-like device he had made, one that allowed us to listen to different worlds. We even listened to Islon radio.
‘You mean you can see other realms through here?’ I ask, amazed.
He clicks his teeth. ‘Not exactly. But I can see Islon and that’s all I really want to see.’
I swallow as his gaze bores into mine.
‘I just want to see you.’
I don’t know what to say. ‘How is it you’re more amazing than I remember?’ I whisper at last.
‘I don’t know if I’d say I’m amazing,’ and he smirks as he smooths out his ruffled locks, ‘but I am pretty damn fabulous.’
I can’t help but laugh. ‘So,’ and I flick my head at the sphere, ‘how does it work?’
Straightening, he holds it up. ‘You take this one and I have another connected to my device. When I tune into your world, it will appear inside mine, and when you answer, I will appear in yours.’
‘So I can see you,’ and my heart stammers.
‘Yes, you can see and speak to me, no mindle necessary.’
‘Have I told you you’re a genius?’ I gasp, gazing at the ball.
‘Maybe,’ he shrugs, ‘but you can tell me again.’
‘You’re a genius.’ I say, kissing his inviting lips before asking, ‘How long do we have?’
He considers for a moment. ‘About six groupens.’
‘Groupens?’
‘Sorry, Coldivian jargon for minutes.’
‘I didn’t know that,’ only that months were called sets. I wonder what other jargon I’m missing out on, being confined to this side.
He tugs my bottom lip. ‘Don’t pout. You look like one of those humped animals.’
‘Do you mean a camel?’ I screech.
He laughs as I punch him in the ribs and tell him he looks like a toad.
‘Ow! You hurt me, sweetheart, deeply and truly,’ he says solemnly, pressing a hand to his chest.
‘Good,’ I cry. ‘Oh,’ I straighten, remembering why I asked him about the time. ‘I need you to take us to Partridge Police Station.’
‘Okay.’ I love how he doesn’t even question it. He hands me the crystal ball—it’s heavier than I imagined—and we get to our feet.
‘Ready?’ he asks, wrapping his arms around me.
‘Ready.’
Having described the exact location of the cell means we arrive directly in front of Imogen. It is just as dark and dank as I remember, the concrete underfoot seeming harder than most. The incessant buzz of the flickering light in the hallway, hums like a hundred stuttering bees.
I’m surprised by how little she reacts. I was always jumping out of my skin the first few times Milo and the other Teltreporthis teleported around me. Not Imogen though. She flinches slightly at our arrival then casually says, ‘I wasn’t expecting company.’
She doesn’t look any different but her silver streaked hair is matted and her eyes are narrow, puffy with sleep or tears. My heart goes out to her. Stuck here for doing nothing but know the truth. But people don’t like what they can’t understand.
‘Hi.’ I smile. Milo looks lost but I haven’t time to explain. ‘I’m breaking you out.’
A flicker of delight skims across Imogen’s features. ‘You came back for an old girl?’
I grin, ‘Of course I came back.’ Did she really think I would do anything else?
There’s the sound of racing footsteps; someone must have heard the clash of our arrival. Not bothering to collect her few scattered belongings Imogen leaps off the frayed mattress and grabs my outstretched hand. Instantly, a haze of blue surrounds us as Milo transports us back to where the portal appeared.
‘Thank you,’ Imogen breathes, staring at Milo with gratitude glistening her gaze. ‘Truly, thank you.’
His lips twitch and he tilts his head. ‘You’re welcome.’
I squeeze her hand, then turn to Milo. ‘How long?’
‘Two minutes,’ He sighs.
‘Two groupens.’ I attempt a smile as the colour drains from my face. Imogen must sense what’s going on. She stealthily takes the crystal ball from my hand and wanders off a little so she can no longer hear us.
I grimace. I knew the portal would be opening soon but the reality of it now stabs me like a thousand knives. This is the closest I’ve felt to being alive for so long; I don’t want to be buried again.
‘I wish I had something to
give you,’ I flounder, ‘something to help you remember me.’
Ache creases his brow and he pulls me closer.
‘I couldn’t forget you if I wanted to,’ he whispers, his warm breath sending tingles up my neck.
I step back, breathing heavily and blinking more than usual.
‘I do have something for you though’ and as the portal springs open and my eyes widen in horror, he desperately presses his lips to mine, harshly at first but I don’t mind. I can make out the swirling green of the portal behind him and squeeze my eyes shut to block it out.
‘Go!’ I hear Imogen say as she gently prods him in the side. Reluctantly, he moves away. ‘Go,’ she insists. Without looking back, Milo races through the opening just as it snaps shut.
I stare blankly at where it was, feeling hollow.
‘You’re alright, duck,’ Imogen soothes, stroking my back.
I absently trail my fingers along my lips, as if to trace Milo’s last kiss. ‘I just miss him,’ I murmur. ‘I miss it all.’
‘I know.’ She consoles. ‘But that boy will make sure he sees you again, Dezaray. I could tell.’
I bunch my lips. ‘I know. Once we actually thought about finding…’ but then I remember how Imogen had completely dismissed the idea of the Provolian Pair, as if it were a fairy-tale, and I’m in no mood to hear that right now. Gems that allow counterparts to co-exist? Be serious!
‘About finding the Provolian Pair?’ she asks, knowingly. ‘I thought I told you to stay away from all that?’ There’s something in her tone that makes me think she may believe in their existence, after all, that perhaps her off-handedness was just to stop me from even considering them.
‘Are you saying they’re real?’
‘Rumours are always forged from truth. I believe this is yours.’ She hands me the crystal ball and I hug it to my chest. It still smells like Coldivor: earthy with a hint of snickleberry and mint. Saying nothing else, Imogen walks away, and I assume it means we are done discussing the mysterious necklaces of truth—or of legend.
