by S McPherson
‘Wait,’ I at last say. ‘I want to wait.’
Jude pushes himself back and starts to swing, kicking with his feet to go faster and faster, higher and higher. ‘Dezaray,’ he says, puffing as he soars, ‘no matter what happens, you can never live in Coldivor.’
A beat of silence passes. ‘I know,’ I say and continue to stare at the ground.
I don’t know how much time passes but the sun sets, bathing the sky in autumn coloured streaks before it sinks entirely, leaving behind the gleaming moon and stars; the street lights switch on. I hear the sound of a door closing and the faint drone of Celestial Pets’ recordings falling silent. Jumping off the swing, I turn and see that the animals on the sign have stopped moving. Dusting off my hands, I head towards it, Jude behind me.
As we get closer, I can make out Michaela locking the door. I wait as she leaves the garden, bolts the iron gate and strides off up the road, not sure if I should call her name or race after her. Would she even listen? But then Jude rushes past me and after her, so I follow his lead.
She must hear us coming because she stops and turns. A wave of anger crosses her face but so does a flash of fear. Who does she think we are?
‘What are you doing?’ she gasps.
‘Look,’ and I hold up my hands disarmingly, ‘we honestly aren’t who you think we are. I’m Dezaray Storm, the counterpart of the last Elentrice, Lexovia Trice.’
She looks at me for a moment. I do not know if Michaela has ever seen Lexovia but it’s worth a shot. No trace of recognition touches her face but her anger seems to have ebbed.
‘Maybe you aren’t who I thought, but either way, you need to leave.’ She turns to go.
‘Please,’ I beg. ‘Coldivor is in danger.’
‘We are all in danger,’ she says, a hint of sadness staining her words as she walks away.
‘But you can help,’ Jude calls, following after her. ‘You’re Tranzuta’s heir.’ He comes beside her, matching her stride.
‘Shush!’ Michaela exclaims, and the fear is back in her voice. What is she expecting to happen? Her pace quickens and I feel we are not the only thing she is trying to get away from.
‘What’s going on?’ I ask, hurrying after them.
‘Go home,’ she commands, constantly glancing over her shoulder and peering around.
‘Not until you tell me what you know about the gethadrox.’
‘Shut up!’ she bellows, turning on me.
I’m shocked and my lips clamp shut, as if welded together.
‘Now you’ve done it,’ she grumbles. There is fury in her eyes and she holds herself well, but that underlying fear is all too evident. I follow her gaze and make out two men in black heading towards us. Her gaze shifts to the other side of the road, the direction we were heading. There are two more figures there.
‘Who are they?’ I query, eyeing them.
‘Go home,’ she snaps and then races off. Jude and I stay with her, unsure what we are running from but knowing it is likely the smart thing to do. The men chase us and looking back, I glimpse a royal blue line in what I now clearly see is the men’s dark grey uniforms—Wood Security. Only, this is a long way from the woods.
They are gaining on us, and fast, but we push on up the hill.
‘Why are you following me?’ Michaela cries angrily.
‘Where exactly…do you expect us…to go?’ I puff back.
‘The real question is…why are they following you?’ Jude bellows, but Michaela doesn’t answer. From somewhere she gains a fresh burst of energy and sprints off, compelling us to keep up.
‘You can’t outrun us,’ yells one of the men and I am gripped with terror. I know that voice, the voice of the one who tried to shoot me—to kill me.
‘They have guns,’ I gasp.
‘What?’ and Michaela steals a look at me.
‘They’ll kill us.’ Against my better judgement I feel myself slowing down.
‘No they won’t,’ she says and comes to a stop. My eyes widen.
‘What are you doing?’ Jude cries, yanking on her arm, but she won’t be budged.
‘Something I swore I would never do.’
The men sneer and snicker as they surround us, their faces masked by their caps, but teeth flashing with a vengeance.
Trembling, I step closer to Jude and Michaela.
‘Smart lady,’ Jeers one of the uniforms. ‘Like I said, you can’t outrun us.’
‘We don’t have to,’ Michaela quietly says, gripping my hand. An odd but familiar sensation takes over. I feel cold, almost elastic as I vaguely register a wave of purple and a loud clash: we are teleporting.
We materialise somewhere dark, and no matter how many times I blink, I can’t see a thing.
‘Iginassa Anteleren,’ I hear Michaela breathe and a small lantern resting on the mantle of a fireplace lights up. Beside it is a small clock and some framed pictures. I step forward to get a better look, the floor soft beneath my feet—carpet.
‘Where are we?’ I ask.
‘My home,’ she says, lighting a few more candles placed strategically about the room. Finally, she lights the fire before rushing to the windows and peeking out from behind the closed curtains.
‘Who were those men?’
‘The organisation R.U.O.E.,’ she says, now leaning against a sofa.
‘Roo-oh?’
‘R.U.O.E.,’ she explains. ‘Rid Us Of Evil.’
‘Let me guess,’ and Jude takes a seat on one of two armchairs. ‘Magic is the evil they want to be rid of.’
‘So it is.’ Michaela half smiles.
‘What do you mean?’ I ask, taking a seat, too.
Michaela makes herself comfortable on a rocking chair, removing her shoes and jacket before saying: ‘I don’t know all the details of their origin but I can tell you what I do know.’ She rubs her hands, one over the other, as though soothing her nerves. ‘When I was younger, I was an avid supporter of my grandfather and all his farfetched philosophies. He imagined counterparts and other worlds long before he could prove they existed.’
I listen intently, hanging on to every word. This is just what I wanted, someone who really knew the Michѐl Tranzuta. Jude seems as enthralled as me.
‘When he disappeared, I was certain he’d been successful in discovering other worlds, that his gethadrox had truly worked. I walked the streets, raving about my brilliant grandfather.’
‘The streets of Islon?’ I ask, to be sure.
‘Yes. Crossing was still allowed back then, though there were rumours of an organisation set against it, brewing beneath the surface.’ She expels a puff of air. ‘I didn’t care, and anyone who would listen was told about my granddad’s latest accomplishment.’
‘What happened?’ I practically whisper.
‘I don’t know why, but a few years later, all crossing of the portal was banned, as well as all talk and trinkets; something about monsters.’
Jude and I nod, knowingly: the Vildacruz’s escape from Vedark.
‘The more I spoke, the more terrifying things became. It started with threatening notes being slipped under my door. I was ridiculed by those I told, and shortly after, the bullying began. I was chased out of places, beaten in the streets.’ She pauses, no doubt remembering it all. ‘My mother told me to stop. There was no going back to Coldivor. But I was stubborn and insisted people listen to me, that whatever was going on, it was not worth losing such an integral part of our lives.’
I snort, already knowing how that turned out.
‘The final straw though was when I was visited by the R.U.O.E. Organisation.’
My stomach clenches as I imagine what likely happened.
Michaela pulls her dark hair back from her shoulder, revealing a raised scar on her neck. ‘They did this.’
Jude and I both gasp. Even in the dim light it is easy to see; a long gash half way around her throat.
‘I was never to use or speak of magic or anything related to it again. If I did, my life would
be over and they assured me they would always be watching.’ She sighs. ‘Which they’ve proved tonight.’
There is a clatter outside and I yelp, all of us jumping up from our seats.
‘You have to go,’ she urges. ‘Now!’
I flounder. ‘It might just be a cat. We can’t be sure it’s them,’ I say, not wanting to leave, not when I have come so close.
‘We can’t be sure it’s not,’ she insists. ‘Don’t look for me again,’ and with a deafening clash and swirl of purple, she is gone. Jude grabs my hand as the noise of people moving around outside grows. He pulls me into a corridor and through a kitchen to a back door, away from the noises at the front.
‘We know you’re in there,’ bellows a thunderous voice from the other side of the house, and my survival instincts kick in. Story or no story, we have to get out of here. I help Jude unlock the door’s many bolts, my hands moving faster than I can register, and we charge outside, across a patio and through a garden. Leaping over a gate, we find ourselves in a deserted alley, racing through it and out onto a road, away from what used to by Michaela’s home.
TICK TOCK
Milo eyes the glass door, framed in wood, wondering why he is back here. Every year since that day, on this same date, he trolls through Devirum, stopping outside this door. His eyes skim the sign. The gold lettering is now faded, some letters gone entirely but he knows what it says: Blade Upon Blade.
The door jingles open as the bells above it are knocked and the owner pokes her head out. Her eyes are globular, her nose long and curved and her bright wayward hair looks like burnt straw.
‘Aren’t you going to come in?’ she chirrups, ‘we both know you will eventually’ and she lets the door swing shut as she slips back inside.
Milo sighs. She’s right. Though he may hate himself for it, he’s going to go in. Why wait?
Pushing back his shoulders, Milo enters the weapons shop, immediately taken back to the days when he was thirteen. He hears the lady chuckle but ignores her. She does it every year. The wood of the store seems darker now and the polished metal around him seems to glisten, reflecting the sun creeping in through the door and occasional window. All sorts of weapons: spears, axes, daggers, whips and more hang from chains in the ceiling, cover entire walls or are laid in glass-top cabinets, but Milo swiftly ducks and manoeuvres around them until he finds himself at the back of the shop, trailing his fingers along the blades and embossed hilts of swords resting in stands. These are his favourite. They are tapered well, weighted perfectly and each holds an ancient tale. Tales his father told him, the last time he was here.
Sighing, he draws one from its sheath, holding the blade at eye level, staring into his reflection. He is not thirteen anymore. He hasn’t told anyone the truth about the day his father came to make amends and he wonders if he ever will.
‘I hoped I would find you here.’
Milo tenses at the deep voice and haze of red settling around him.
‘Aren’t you going to look at me?’ The voice asks but Milo is looking. He can see the reflection of his father in the swords blade, beside his own.
‘Milo—’ the man goes to rest his hand on Milo’s shoulder but Milo swivels directing the blade at the man’s chest.
‘What are you doing here?’ he growls.
His father lowers his head. Though much of him is changed, missing, his face still looks the same—thick black locks stuffed hastily into a bun, a thin beard braided at his chin and eyes as red as fresh blood. He holds up his hands in innocence.
‘I don’t blame you for being angry.’
‘Angry? Ha!’ Milo barks, fury burning through him like flames through oil. He cannot actually believe his father stands before him. Is it fate that has given him a sword in his hand? His father must notice the look in his eyes as he quickly draws up a sword and directs it at his son.
‘You can’t know how many times I came here, hoping to find you. Almost every day for the past two years.’
‘Well obviously you didn’t come on the right day.’ Milo spits, smacking his father’s sword with his own. His father barely moves and frustrated Milo lunges. His father dodges.
‘Milo, I came to tell you I’m sorry. I should never have left you like that.’ His father hops back then jabs as Milo advances.
‘Which time?’ Milo growls and thrusts his sword out again. His father blocks it and for a while the two of them combat in what feels like a dance to the death. Milo knew his father had hurt him but he never realised just how much until now. He had trusted him. He had let him back into his life only to be left out again.
‘Milo, you’re my son,’ his father gasps.
‘Only when it suits you,’ he hisses. ‘What happened this time?’
There is a clang as his father drops his sword to the ground. Milo doesn’t watch it fall, his gaze stays locked on his father’s.
Resigned, the man shrugs, ‘Milo, we had a child.’
Milo feels like he’s been punched in the lungs, all air spiralling out of him.
‘A little girl. She’s four.’ His father braves a smile, ‘I’ve told her all about you and she’d like to meet her big brother.’
Milo stares blankly at the man he once loved, the man he once called “dad”. He doesn’t know whether to scream or stab something but instead places the sword back on the rack, takes one last withering look at the man and teleports away from Blade Upon Blade.
I am half asleep, half-awake as images I can’t fully understand swarm into my mind, making me dizzy. I slip in and out of consciousness, trying to make sense of things. One second there is a flash of Milo’s face, or his smile, or eyes—I always see Milo—then next I see the distorted faces of the uniformed men: the members of the R.U.O.E. Organisation. They are sneering at me, surrounding me.
Before true panic takes hold, visions of Coldivor appear before me. I am standing on Aulock Peak, gazing up at the grand golden stars, trying to see my aura, but then the sky rips like torn paper and its black ink snakes across the moon, twisting into the image of that dreaded tattoo; the symbol of R.U.O.E. with its jagged lines branding each member. There is still something so familiar about it, and I scrunch my eyes as I try to delve deeper into my memory. I feel myself tossing and turning, begging myself to wake up, but my mind clings on to a last image, one it thinks I must see.
Then I am by the Feranvil stables, having just let out the horses, and I turn, seeing Drake, a cold sweat prickling my brow.
Wake up! I plead as my heart hammers in my chest. It was a long while before the nightmares of this night left me, and I vowed they would never return, but now they have. Wake up! I urge. But I don’t. Drake is coming towards me, then he is on me, smothering my nose and mouth beneath his rough palm. I scratch him, clawing at his skin, trying to break free. That’s when I see it. For once, I am not focussing on the fact I am dying, that I have little chance of escape. I am focussed on the finer details my subconscious kept but never fully acknowledged. Now I see a mark on Drake’s wrist. At the time it meant nothing to me, but now its meaning is immeasurable. Tattooed on my brother’s arm, that night of the Elenfar, is the symbol of The R.U.O.E. Organisation.
At last my mind frees me. My eyes spring open. I am panting and tangled in bedsheets. Drake is a member of R.U.O.E. My heart pounds so fast I feel almost deafened by its drumming. How? How can he belong to them? How can he know anything about them? I throw my arms over my head, trying to block out this latest revelation, to slip back into ignorance, but it is too late. I know the truth, and no matter how hard I try, I cannot un-know it.
Clumsily, I tug on my jeans, shoving my nighty down inside as I stuff my feet into my slippers and race out of the house. I am sure I must look deranged, with my haphazard outfit and barbaric hair, charging about the streets in the middle of the night, but I need answers and I need them now.
I struggle over the hill, relieved when I see that the Bar & Grill hasn’t closed yet. I race to it, ignoring the looks of the last drunken gu
ests stumbling out as I push my way in.
‘What you been drinking?’ cackles one of them. I roll my eyes and squeeze past his bulbous belly.
‘We’re closed,’ Nathaniel calls automatically, then stops when he sees me and the state I am in. He beckons me over and I drop onto a barstool.
‘I need to see Drake,’ I pant, struggling to catch my breath.
Nathaniel’s eyes favour saucepans and he gawps at me, making a strange strangled sound at the back of his throat.
‘Remember R.U.O.E.? The organisation Michaela told Jude and me about?’ I ask, but Nathaniel does not respond.
‘The organisation with the tattoo,’ and I take a deep steadying breath, ‘it’s the same tattoo I saw on Drake, the night he attacked me. That’s why it looked so familiar.’
Nathaniel runs his hands over his face, leaning heavily against the bar, and I wait for him to find the words he’s searching for.
‘I don’t…understand,’ he says at last.
‘Drake is a member of R.U.O.E.,’ I spell out to him. ‘I don’t know how or when or why, but…but I think he’s the only one who can explain.’
Nathaniel groans, burying his face in the bar, shaking his head.
‘No, no, no,’ he mumbles, then finally meets my eye. ‘No.’
‘Yes.’
‘But the Vildacruz were the ones to let him in that night,’ Nathaniel says, almost to himself. ‘Why would he be working with the very evil the organisation is against?’
I shrug half-heartedly. ‘That’s a good question.’
Silence follows as Nathaniel considers my very late night decision. I chew on my bottom lip, waiting for his opinion, but really, I’ve already made up my mind. I need to go and see Drake and I need to try to make sense of this because now nothing makes sense at all.
‘You can’t go alone,’ Nathaniel says, solemnly, finally reaching the same conclusion as me. ‘I’ll go get Jude. You get changed and we will meet you there.’
