Caught in the Ripples_An Epic Fantasy

by S McPherson

  ‘Get changed?’ I protest, but his raised eyebrow and superior look force me to agree. I cannot go and see Drake after so long looking like a paranoid wreck. As far as Drake knows, I have it all together, and that façade has to hold. ‘Don’t take too long,’ I grumble.

  They don’t, and I find I arrive only a few seconds before them. Feranvil Force Holdings is nothing more than a large concrete box, now towering over us. I tremble in its shadow. I’m trying to stop myself from shaking, but whilst I walked over, all sorts of irrational scenarios crept into my mind. The most vivid is that I will enter and Drake will be waiting for me, a gleaming dagger in hand, his eyes red with hate.

  ‘Ready?’ Nathaniel asks.

  I nod, firmly, but cannot voice the word. I’d hoped I would never see Drake again but now here I am, voluntarily, and hoping he will be willing to answer some questions.

  Nathaniel steps forward and knocks on the door. I can barely tell when it opens. It is just as dark inside as out, but without the light of the stars. Only the movement of a tall, broad man in the doorway tells me there’s someone there.

  ‘What’s this?’ he asks, stunned.

  ‘We’ve come to see the prisoner,’ I say.

  ‘Now?’ scoffs the guard. ‘It’s not exactly visiting hours.’

  ‘Come off it, Charles,’ goads Jude, ‘you don’t even have visiting hours.’

  Charles laughs. ‘True. We don’t normally have criminals, neither.’ At last he steps aside. ‘Come on, then, but don’t be long about it.’ He fiddles with the wall beside him, flicking a switch and lighting the room. It is a poky office with an unmade sofa bed, one I assume he had just been sleeping on. A small box of a television set rests on an even tinier desk with a miniscule swivel chair squished beneath it, no room for both it and the open mattress. It feels like a cell in itself and I start to wonder how bad the actual prison must be.

  Charles leads us to yet another concrete door, one that blends in with the wall. I see now that his muscles are larger than most and decide he must be a Fuerté. This is confirmed when Jude attempts to open the next door we come to and can barely budge it. Charles, on the other hand, easily draws it open. The corridor we enter is slight and dimly lit by bulbs housed in small cages on the wall. When we come to another door, Charles stops. This must be it: the final barrier between me and Drake.

  ‘I’ll go in first,’ Charles murmurs. ‘He’s not the jolliest of sorts.’

  My anxiety intensifies. I look from Jude to Nathaniel, hoping to draw strength from them but they both look as apprehensive as I feel.

  I am confident, I tell myself. I am strong.

  Charles slams the door behind him as he goes in alone, but even with its thick barrier between us we can hear Drake’s muffled laughter.

  ‘Dezaray?’ I hear him guffaw, and I shift uncomfortably. There is more kerfuffle that is hard to make out, then at last Charles returns. He looks a little worse for wear and pulls the door to, to block out Drake’s profanities.

  ‘I have put up a shield,’ Charles tells us, slightly breathless. ‘You will be able to see and hear each other but there’ll be no physical contact possible.’

  I inhale, ‘Fine by me.’

  Nathaniel squeezes my shoulders but I cannot tell which one of us is dreading this more.

  ‘Very well,’ Charles says, clearly baffled by our desire to go in at all, and pushes open the door, letting us through. ‘Just knock when you’re done.’

  We nod, and then he is gone, the door slamming shut behind him, trapping us in this concrete prison with Drake. I suddenly feel claustrophobic and try to disguise my gasps for air. I know the boys are already looking at him but it takes me a moment to muster the courage.

  When I do, my blood runs cold at the sight of him. There is more hatred there than there ever was before, and it seems he has used all his spare time to bulk back up. He is possibly even larger than before. He glares at me from behind the barrier that occasionally shimmers like wet glass, unmoving, hard as stone. There is one chair right in front of the barrier and I know the boys have left it for me.

  I am in charge, I repeat to myself. I am in charge.

  At last, I force myself into the chair, drawing it away ever so slightly, hoping Drake won’t notice. There is a chair for him on his side but he doesn’t sit down, just watches me, the veins in his neck pulsing as he gnashes his teeth.

  ‘I’m here about your arm,’ I say, knowing there is no point in pleasantries. ‘You have the mark of R.U.O.E.’

  Drake seems caught off-guard and perhaps momentarily impressed, but says nothing.

  ‘You once told me that dark magic sent you. How is that possible when you are working for the very organisation trying to bring it and all magic down?’ I lock my ankles around the legs of the chair to stop my feet from drumming.

  Drake sneers, briefly looking from Jude to Nathaniel but it is clear they are simply here if I need them. This is between me and him. He regards me, no doubt sizing me up. It’s been months since we last saw each other and then I’d been about to smash in his skull with a shovel. My stomach tightens at the thought but what affects me more is how much I don’t regret it, not even a little.

  ‘Clever girl,’ he spits at last and moves towards me, his legs jerking as if it takes all his willpower. He still does not sit but rests his palms on the back of the chair, allowing him to glower down at me, ‘Yes, those creatures brought me here, but I agreed only on R.U.O.E.’s orders.’ He looks down at the tattoo inked into his flesh, gently caressing the peculiar markings.

  ‘Why?’ I ask, unable to make any connection.

  Drake snickers. ‘That’s for me to know.’

  I stare up at him, unable to believe how smug he looks.

  ‘I will say this, sister,’ and he hisses the word as though it is one of the most vial words he has ever spoken, ‘this is only phase one.’

  I knit my brow. ‘Phase one?’

  One corner of his mouth pulls back into a sneer. ‘I hope you and your Coltis are ready.’

  ‘What are you saying?’ I growl, rising from my seat, my nose almost against the barrier, all confusion replaced by anger.

  I’m shocked when Drake shakes with laughter but try to hide it. The room feels like it’s spinning.

  ‘I’m saying that this is only phase one,’ he grins, wildly throwing his arms out to the side, as though this is what they intended all along. ‘Phase two is yet to come,’ he cackles.

  ‘You’re lying!’ I bellow, feeling reckless and hot. I want to lunge through the force field and choke the life out of him. It shocks me to learn just how strongly I despise him, my own flesh and blood.

  ‘We have seen the monsters in your world,’ he growls, ‘and we intend to keep them there.’

  His words leave me cold. I stare at him, unmoving.

  ‘It’s only a matter of time,’ and he chuckles.

  ‘No!’

  ‘Oh, and watch your back, sister, we all know about the C.P. Myth.’

  ‘No!’ As I bang on the shield, it solidifies, throwing me back against Jude and Nathaniel who hastily hold me up, guiding me to the door.

  ‘We’ve heard enough,’ Nathaniel decides.

  ‘That’s right,’ Drake taunts, ‘run along home.’

  I rip myself from the boys and am back against the shield, my fist hovering over the part that shields his face. He doesn’t even flinch. ‘At least I can leave, brother,’ I hiss. ‘You aren’t going anywhere. Ever!’

  I turn and stalk to the door, pounding on it with all my might, ignoring the pain shooting through my knuckles.

  ‘Dezaray,’ Drake calls as the door opens, and against my better judgement I turn to him. ‘Tick-tock.’

  ‘He’s lying,’ Nathaniel insists as we leave the building.

  I shake my head. ‘He has no reason to lie.’

  Jude sighs, clearly frustrated. ‘Plus, he is definitely a member of R.U.O.E. and he knows a lot more than he’s telling.’

  Im
mediately my thoughts surge to Milo. I am not entirely sure what I will tell him or if there is anything really to tell, but I have an unbidden urge to speak to him. He hasn’t channelled me in a few days. I really hope he will one day…one day, soon.

  I call in sick to work, exhausted and weak from an unrestful night. My eyes are puffy, my nails bitten down and I am still in the same clothes. I fell into an uncomfortable sleep on my settee for all of five minutes once I’d got back home, cradling the sphere against my bosom in case Milo called.

  Groggily now, I eye the ball in my grasp. Like this, it seems so insignificant, but I squeeze it tighter. This is my connection to Coldivor, to ‘My world’ as Drake had called it, monsters and all. I almost drop the device when the familiar tinkle sounds and it goes from clear to murky.

  Wiping the saliva from the corners of my mouth and sitting up, I hurriedly wave my hand over the orb. At last there he is, smiling at me.

  ‘Hello, sweetheart,’ but his face changes, ‘everything alright?’

  I know this is Milo’s diplomatic way of telling me I look awful but I appreciate his attempt to veil it.

  I shake my head, a painful chunk of emotion climbing up my throat, and pull my eyes together.

  ‘N-no,’ I stutter. I didn’t realise how raw I felt until this moment and I cover my face with my hands, balancing the sphere in my lap and taking long, even breaths.

  ‘Dezaray, what is it?’ Milo asks, clearly panicked. But I can’t bring myself to speak. I’m so tired, so overwhelmed. And I hate this; I hate not being there, in Coldivor, fighting beside them. I hate how Drake still has a hold on me and I hate being so far away from Milo.

  ‘Talk to me.’ he presses.

  ‘I don’t know where to start,’ I sigh.

  ‘One thing at a time.’ His tone is soothing and he gives me a nod of encouragement. Taking another weighted breath, I launch into the tale of Michaela: finding her, losing her, the Wood Security and their tattoo being The R.U.O.E. Organisation, and finally about Drake.

  Milo is enthralled. His expression shifts from confusion to shock, then anger and fascination. With each passing second, I feel more alive, more determined, though I don’t know what I’m so determined to do.

  ‘More worlds, more demons,’ and Milo clicks his tongue against his teeth.

  ‘Looks like it.’ I sag back into the sofa, idly chewing on my bottom lip. It takes me a minute to realise Milo is watching me. Something flashes in his eyes that seems to slice right through my body, a delightful zing of heat. ‘What is it?’ I ask.

  His eyes, filled with a hunger I haven’t seen, don’t leave my mouth. His voice is low, ‘I really want to kiss you right now.’

  I shudder with longing, ‘I really want that too,’

  He stares at me for a while and I stare back, welcoming the silence and the gaze of his glorious eyes, each numbing the sad truths of our situation. I still can’t get over how much more wild and fierce he seems to me lately. Like fighting for his people has unlocked a chasm of raw power inside him. I get lost in the intense blue and occasional spark of gold looking back at me. I try to remember his scent, that faint aroma of vanilla that follows him, and briefly close my eyes, recalling his touch: firm but somehow gentle at the same time.

  ‘I miss you.’

  ‘Not as much as I miss you,’ he replies.

  I swallow, gulping the ache in my chest. Tears reach my eyes and I try to smile, but something in his expression makes me falter. ‘What?’ I ask.

  ‘I’m not sure when we’ll speak again,’ he carefully murmurs. ‘The Court have asked me to dismantle my device tonight, so they can see its inner workings. I don’t know how long they’ll need it.’

  I bite my lip. ‘I’m sure it won’t be too long.’ I lie.

  ‘It better bloody not be or I’ll give ‘em a taste of these,’ and he waggles his fists in the sphere. I giggle, the sound of my laughter almost unfamiliar.

  He chuckles. ‘There it is.’

  ‘What?’ I ask, still grinning.

  ‘The sound that’s going to keep me going.’ His lips briefly twitch and something in the way he says it makes me think he needs me, truly. ‘Never stop laughing, sweetheart.’

  In my mind, violins cry tears disguised as melody. My last connection to Coldivor is finally being taken. I knew it would be eventually. ‘Alright.’ I agree.

  ‘Alright.’ He nods.

  ASSUMED NORMAL

  Lexovia sits, idly drumming her fingers on the splintered top of the wooden desk. There is something gravely dissatisfying about Humanitorium once you have experienced the appliances first-hand. She still cannot actually believe she is in school, going about a so-called ordinary day whilst knowing there is nothing ordinary anymore. Their world is at war and the walls of Thornton High won’t shield them for much longer.

  Lexovia grimaces, realising it is the horrors outside the walls, the gruesome deaths and failed attacks on Exlathar bases, that led to her being back here: all minors in the Court’s Guard ordered to return to life as usual, until called upon. If called. She lets out an exasperated sigh, shaking her head at Professor Stirn, though he does his best to engage the class. He alters his tempo and varies his tone as he discusses electricity and its wonders.

  ‘The Corporeal don’t have to murmur any spell,’ he scoffs, ‘they simply flick a switch and kabam: the room will be lit,’ and his students gasp in awe, everyone except Lexovia.

  She finds her mind wondering to thoughts of the gethadrox, the Exlathars and all those lost because of them. Humanitorium seems so insignificant in comparison.

  Slouching back in her chair, she flicks through her textbook; ‘Corporeal Cues’, coming to a section about transportation. She shudders. She never did get used to those loud wheeled machines and to her dismay there are so many different types; lorries, vans, cement trucks. Her eyes eagerly scan the page with a mix of intrigue and terror, and deciding this could merit her attention, she starts to read.

  Lexovia is revelling in the description of an aeroplane—this one sounding like a fourteen-wheeled monster with wings—when the bell sounds for the end of class. She finishes the sentence she is on then hurriedly makes her way out into the garden; it’s lunch time. She heads across the grass, dotted with stone tables and tree stump seats, past the well sporting the statue of Sir Thornton, and towards Trilyot Lake.

  She smiles when she sees Howard and Yvane, sprawled out on their usual blanket beneath their glorious tree. Yvane is nibbling from a small container and Howard is devouring what is no doubt a roosenbick sandwich.

  Lexovia cannot help but feel a little nostalgic as she joins them. Soon they will graduate and this will all be over; if they survive, that is.

  ‘Hello, hello.’ She grins, plunking herself down beside them.

  ‘Lexovia,’ Howard booms, eagerly dropping his sandwich to the ground. ‘Check it out.’ In an instant, Howard is on all fours, his arms supporting most of him. ‘One, two, three, four…’ he counts as he performs a series of push-ups.

  ‘Give me strength,’ Yvane groans. ‘I’ve had to watch this three times already.’

  Lexovia laughs.

  ‘Look,’ Howard urges, ‘not even breaking a sweat.’

  Rolling her eyes, Lexovia prods him in the side with her foot. He collapses.

  ‘Come off it,’ she goads, ‘there isn’t a Fuerté here that couldn’t do that.’

  ‘A few hundred maybe,’ Howard retaliates, sitting up and retrieving his sandwich, ‘not a few thousand,’ and he flexes his muscles. This action does not go amiss by the gaggle of swooning peers around them.

  ‘Wave,’ Lexovia teases. ‘Wave to your adoring fans.’

  Smirking, Howard winks at those watching then returns to shoving the sandwich down his throat. This is just repulsive enough to make any stragglers beat a hasty retreat.

  Chuckling, Lexovia pulls a piece of parchment and a writing twig from the inside pocket of her blazer. ‘I bet you missed us,’ she muses.

>   ‘I did, to be fair,’ Yvane says firmly, ‘more than you know.’

  ‘Awww,’ Howard coos, planting a sloppy kiss on her cheek.

  ‘That’s disgusting,’ she snaps.

  Shaking her head, Lexovia scribbles down her lunch order, watching as the paper flutters away. Almost instantly, a plate of dumplings and Ligat bacon appears on her lap.

  ‘So, how’s things going in syndigo, captain?’ she asks, popping a dumpling in her mouth.

  ‘Pretty great to be honest.’ Yvane gushes. ‘It’s not the same without you, but…’ she growls, exhilarated.

  Lexovia nods. ‘It’s brilliant, isn’t it?’ She remembers how much she used to enjoy it; the only time she could use her ability to fly without everyone gawking at her like she was some kind of alien. She blended in then, last Elentrice or not, part of the team. Her team now is a bunch of stuffy hooded people with only one aim: to kill. Her eyes drift to Howard and she smiles, sure she wouldn’t have lasted this long without him.

  ‘To be honest, it’s the only thing that makes me feel sort of normal anymore,’ Yvane adds. ‘Mum has been a wreck since the Elenfar and my dad is using a walking device.’

  The sound of steel clanking against steel distracts them. Looking up, they see Milo, hair flopping into his face as he hops and leaps about, sword poised and jabbing at his opponent, Scott Munduck, a Travisor with bright blue hair and a good few feet taller than Milo. They are on the second level of the school, sparring on the balcony, a small crowd gathering below.

  Scott makes a swipe for Milo who hoots as he effortlessly springs out of the way and onto the wall’s edge. He wobbles slightly, and those watching gasp, convinced he will fall, but Milo quickly reclaims his balance and nimbly teeters across the ledge.

  Growling as he lunges, Scott thrusts his blade at Milo who parries the blow with his own sword as he jumps down from the wall. Scott stumbles, quickly getting back his footing.