by S McPherson
The battle continues, moving as they dodge and counter each other’s attacks. People on their level shuffle out of the way, pressing themselves to the wall, hugging textbooks to their chest.
‘You’re not half bad,’ Milo notes good-naturedly.
‘You’re a funny lad,’ Scott jeers. ‘Cocky but funny.’
They stop on the bridge over Trilyot Lake, each holding firm to the hilt of their sword.
‘So what’s it to be?’ Scott calls. ‘Do we call it even or are we to fight to the death?’
‘I’ll sing at your funeral, mate.’ Milo grins and dives at Scott but is stopped by the screams and hollers of the crowd below.
‘Morgoyle!’ a high-pitched Ochi voice screeches.
Everyone watches, horror-struck, as the once still waters of the lake now shudder and a scaly, grey creature—resembling a human sliced down the middle but with a tail rather than a leg—spirals out, soaring into the air like an arrow. Serrated teeth protrude from its wider than average mouth, gnashing together as it leaps over the boys, a whip-like tongue stretching out from its mouth.
Hastily, Milo grabs Scott and the two vanish in a wave of blue as the tongue flicks past where they were standing. Angered, the morgoyle screeches before descending back into the lake with an unceremonious splash, soaking those nearby.
‘Thanks,’ Lexovia splutters as Milo materialises beside her, Scott in his lap.
‘My pleasure,’ he grins, as if he truly means it, and blows his wet fringe from his eyes.
‘Nice fighting with you, Milo,’ Scott chortles, springing to his feet. ‘Next time, let’s keep it in the designated classroom.’
‘You’re no fun!’ Milo jeers.
With admiration and relief that the lake is once again calm, their audience breaks into applause. Milo waves and Scott takes a bow before walking away.
‘I didn’t realise you were back into sword fighting,’ Lexovia notes with surprise.
Milo shrugs. ‘It seems to be the only thing that makes me feel marginally normal nowadays.’
Lexovia sighs. ‘I’m hearing that a lot lately.’ She rests back on her elbows, considering. It seems to her that normal now consists of unbeatable monsters and immeasurable power. ‘We have Years of Coltis next lesson,’ she states. ‘Cover for me?’
‘Where are you going?’ Howard and Yvane both ask in unison.
‘To my new normal.’ And in a blaze of orange and with a deafening clash, she is gone.
Lexovia appears in the top floor laboratory of the Portologists Headquarters. Only a few there jump, most used to her impromptu arrivals. They briefly acknowledge her as she saunters down the narrow aisle between their workbenches, making her way to the golden door at the back of the room.
Honorary Court member, Honorary portologist, Lexovia thinks to herself as she rests her hands on the door and whispers the secret word. The door melts away. Being the last of your kind, certainly has its perks.
She steps into a much smaller room, lit with blinding light enchantments in great contrast to the few dimmer ones in the main laboratory. Here, only three portologists work, mostly peering through microscopes—gifted to them from the Humanitorium department—and constantly scribbling down notes. Knowing not to disturb them, Lexovia tiptoes through to a steel door on the other side, a large crank at its centre. Holding its handle, Lexovia winds it to the right until it stops and there is a click. Then letting go of the cool metal, she watches as the crank swivels back the other way and the door creaks open. Once wide enough, she steps through and it shuts behind her, clicking into place.
The room is poky and dark, dimly lit by lanterns swinging from the ceiling. A large desk takes up the better part of the room, leaving just enough space for no more than three people to sit comfortably, but Lexovia now realises with a jolt that she is not the only one here.
‘What are you doing here?’ she gasps.
‘I could say the same to you.’ Vladimir raises an eyebrow, not moving from his seat, bits and pieces of gethamots and gethadrox spread out around him. ‘Shouldn’t you be at school, little one?’
Lexovia scowls. There are only five years between them but for some reason Vladimir enjoys throwing this in her face. ‘Shouldn’t you be off bossing people around?’ She grimaces at her own lame response and Vladimir laughs loudly, as if mocking her.
Her eyes shift to the emerald fabric shimmering on the back of his chair and she realises this is the first time she has seen him not wearing some kind of robe. He looks quite ordinary now in a black t-shirt that clings to his biceps. He’s trimmed his beard too, making him appear tame, but his eyes contradict this: wild as a raging bull.
‘Well?’ he asks. Lexovia stares blankly at him, hoping he cannot see the blush she feels sure has coloured her cheeks. ‘Are you just going to stand there?’
Clenching her fists—yep, he’s still a barbarian on the inside—Lexovia makes her way over, sliding into the seat beside him, ignoring the shiver of delight when her thigh brushes against his arm.
‘Any luck?’ she asks coolly.
Vladimir shakes his head, tapping the notebook in his hand: Tranzuta’s own. ‘The gethadrox seems to get bigger with each realm. That I know, I just can’t understand how or why.’
‘Let me have a look,’ and Lexovia takes the book from him, flicking through the pages.
‘If you think you’ll have more luck,’ he grumbles. She’s about to retort when she sees the exhaustion weighing him down as he rests his head in his hands.
‘Do you think there’s a reason for all this?’ Lexovia asks.
He peers out from between his fingers. ‘For what?’
Lexovia sits back, thoughtfully. ‘Amethyst is convinced someone is behind the Exlathars’ survival; maybe even behind the Vildacruz’s escape from Vedark.’ She studies his reaction, curious to hear what he thinks. It has been suggested to him a few times now, but he’s never offered an official opinion.
‘That is what she thinks, yes.’ He moves closer, leaning over her shoulder to look at the journal.
Lexovia tries to focus, ignoring the distracting heat of his breath on her collarbone. ‘Is it possible, though?’ she asks.
Vladimir nods absently, sliding back in his chair, to Lexovia’s relief. ‘There is only one way to control a member of the Vildacruz, a creature of darkness.’
‘How’s that?’ Lexovia was unaware there was any way to control them.
‘Through the use of an even darker magic: elutheran magic.’ Vladimir’s eyes meet hers. ‘And in the whole history of Coldivor there has been only one I know of to have practiced it, and he is no longer alive.’
‘Who?’ Lexovia cries. Granted she doesn’t pay much attention in school but the presence of someone actually using elutheran magic in Coldivor has certainly never been mentioned.
‘D.S.,’ Vladimir states.
‘D.S.?’
He taps the book in her lap. ‘Come on.’
Still ripe with questions but deciding he is not going to give away the answers easily, Lexovia returns her attention to the scribbles and symbols in Tranzuta’s notebook.
‘Are you scared?’ she says after a pause.
Vladimir glances at her, clearly puzzled.
‘That this won’t work?’
‘It will work,’ he states determinedly, turning back to the table, slotting gadgets into holes and pulling pieces apart.
‘You don’t have to do that with me, you know,’ she snickers. ‘I’m no stranger to putting on a brave face.’
Vladimir looks at her with sceptically raised eyebrows. ‘You?’
She shrugs. ‘Do you really think it’s easy being born into an empire you don’t belong to, and all because your own has been destroyed?’
Vladimir turns his seat to face her. ‘Were you scared?’
Lexovia slowly nods. ‘Almost every day.’
He watches her nervously shift her hair behind her pointed ears, then says, ‘I was scared; when I lost my father.’
<
br /> Lexovia hides her surprise; she hadn’t expected that.
‘When the Court insisted I take his place,’ and Vladimir shakes his head, ‘I was nineteen.’
Lexovia tries to curb her curiosity. She had heard all about the senior member of the Court dying from an unknown illness and his son taking over, but at the time she had been too young to have any interest in the story. ‘How come it didn’t immediately go to Baxter?’
Vladimir shrugs. ‘It was my father’s dying wish for me to rule the remainder of his service. Seniors of the Court are voted on every decade, so if I do a rubbish job, Baxter will be voted in soon enough,’ and then he half smiles.
‘You’re doing fine,’ Lexovia tells him. She cannot understand why a large part of her wants to reach out and stroke the chin hidden beneath his now tidy beard.
‘Brixen doesn’t think so.’
‘Yeah, well, Brixen’s a twat.’
Vladimir laughs, his eyes settling on hers. Lexovia tenses. She notices the flash of pink as he licks his lips, the shadow passing over his face as he leans forward. She gulps, attempting to swallow her heart which now feels like it is beating in her throat.
Is he going to kiss me? she wonders with irrational dismay. Isn’t this what she wants?
‘I should go,’ she blurts. ‘Don’t want another detention.’
Confusion creases Vladimir’s features, then he nods. ‘Alright…’ and he smirks, ‘little one.’
Lexovia glares at him, playfully pushing him aside, then races to the door, placing her hand on it and murmuring the secret word. The crank on the other side spins and the door creaks open.
‘Goodbye…boss man.’
He chuckles but Lexovia only scowls, her usual wit having absconded at the worst possible moment.
SAIL UPON A STORY
An air of unease settles around Jude and I as we cross the street to Celestial Pets. I can’t be sure what it is, but I know something is wrong. It’s too quiet. Today the park is empty because the children are back at school, the homes silent and locked up whilst the parents are off at work, but that’s not it.
This quiet is the once vibrant sign of Celestial Pets now being motionless and silent: no sounds of dogs or cats. The place looks deserted. My gut tightens as I realise that that is exactly what has happened. The fountain is dormant and inside the store is bare, like nothing has ever been there. I gawk at it as Jude sidles past, lets himself in through the gate and peers in through the windows. How, in only one day, is it like nothing ever existed?
I jump at the sound of metal scraping across the ground and turn to see a man so slight he is almost as thin as the rake he carries. He has scraggly grey hair, a stubble beard with specks of blue and he is hunched so far forward his shoulder blades jut out behind him.
‘Hello,’ I say after we eye each other for too long.
‘Hello,’ he grunts, returning to raking up the few leaves that have fallen, which to me seems entirely unnecessary, not to mention that the shrill sound of the rake being dragged across the concrete sends chills through my teeth.
‘Do you know what happened here?’ I ask, ‘where she went?’
‘Who’s asking?’ he snarls, eyeing us both suspiciously.
‘I’m Dezaray. This is my friend Jude. We were here just yesterday and there was no sign of it closing down.’ I try not to let the panic show as I will him to know something.
I don’t know what to think when he tilts his head thoughtfully to one side. Then he grins and phlegm rattles in his throat as he chuckles.
‘You two are them troublemakers asking all sorts o’ questions you shouldn’t be asking.’
I regard him warily. ‘Perhaps.’
‘Do you know anything about where she went?’ Jude asks. ‘It’s important.’
The man looks skyward and leans his rake up against the wall. ‘I’m sure it is.’ He slowly pulls off his gardening gloves and smiles, but only to himself. ‘I knew you would come.’
That’s when I truly acknowledge the flecks of blue in his beard. They are not irrelevant, nor are they a trick of the light; this man is a Premoniter. I irrationally feel a draw to him, as though he somehow brings me closer to Coldivor.
‘So—’ I say, but he holds up a spindly finger. I glance at Jude who only shrugs. Something is going on, the question is, what?
Then I hear it: a hissing in my head and a muffled voice—mindle. Jude nods at me. My mindle is rusty and I cannot quite make out what the man is saying, but Jude seems to have understood.
‘Thank you,’ he says. ‘Come on,’ and he takes my arm, leading me away from the store.
‘Did you get that?’ I ask.
He looks around, making sure we are not being followed. ‘Yes.’
I feel like we have been walking for ages. We left Swanson a while ago and I have no idea where we are now. The pavement is uneven and the road is mostly cracked cement and gravel, the occasional beaten truck chugging along it. We appear to be in the countryside, nothing but fields and a far-off manor house surrounding us.
Jude hasn’t spoken, other than the occasional ‘This way’ or ‘Over here’, and I wonder if he’s not speaking for safety’s sake or if we are perhaps being mindled the directions as we go.
An array of purple flowers speckle the roadside like lavender flames on stalks of green. They shudder in the summer breeze that faintly smells of rain. I close my eyes and breathe. There is something inexplicably relaxing about being in nature; the various shades of green and golden grass, the setting sun with beams of colour drizzling from it and into the sky.
‘You alright?’ Jude asks, noticing I’ve slowed down.
I smile, peaceful, and answer ‘Yes’. I truly am alright. I have no idea what lies ahead or what’s in store for me, but in this one fleeting moment I am alright. I take one final look around then pick up my pace, keeping in step beside Jude.
The road is straight and long but at last we reach its end and come to a narrow stream, an old and splintered bridge hanging over it our only way across. It leads to a small courtyard, a few shops scattered about with the odd café and restaurant. A spread of pink and white flowers—I think Nathaniel once told me they were called bougainvillea—climb up the walls and across the gutters of white painted buildings. There are a few people around, strolling hand in hand along the water’s edge or zipping about on scooters and bicycles. I almost feel like I have stepped into the pages of a glossy magazine.
Jude hesitates, eyeing the old bridge, and then, as if persuaded by voices in his head—which in this case could very well be the case—he climbs its steps and starts across. I wait until he is almost at the other side before following, watching the planks beneath his feet wobble and jump. I really doubt the bridge could withstand our combined weight.
Jude exhales with relief once we are both firmly on the other side. Then, once again seeming to re-enter his mind, he looks about, his gaze finally falling on a small pub not far away.
‘There,’ he says, pointing, and we head towards it, ‘she’s in there.’
For some reason I hesitate, eyeing the door as if it might burst open and knock me off my feet.
‘Is she expecting us?’
He doesn’t answer, only opens the door, and together we step into the bar, immediately catching the startled stare of Michaela Tranzuta. She hastily plonks the tray she is carrying down on an empty table—which most of them are—and storms over to us. The pub is dimly lit and smells of mildew and hot cider. Everything seems to be made of old wood, weak and faded, as though they might collapse at any moment.
‘What are you doing here?’ Michaela hisses through clenched teeth, her nose practically pressed up against mine.
‘We’re not done talking,’ I say firmly. I will get answers this time.
‘How did you find me?’ she growls.
‘A helpful gardener,’ Jude smirks.
‘Damn it…George,’ she grumbles under her breath. Apparently realising we aren’t going to leave, sh
e looks over her shoulder at a podgy man with slicked back greasy hair standing behind the bar. ‘I’ll be back in five,’ she calls.
He nods, disinterestedly, not that he could complain; there are only a handful of customers in the place. Michaela gruffly grips my arm, pulling me to a different door and back outside, Jude close behind. It leads to a small abandoned beer garden behind the pub and she steers me to a white metal table and chairs, well out of sight and earshot of any passers-by.
‘Sit.’
We both obey. Cold seeps through my jeans but I try not to show it.
‘What do you want to know?’
‘About the gethadrox.’
Michaela scoffs, ‘“The mad man vanishes” they said. Nobody cared about it then, so why now?’
‘A mad man could call another man mad and mad that man may be, but who’s to say, as a mad man said it?’ Once again Jude adopts his Up-Top exterior of Peculiar Lad, speaking in riddles and tongue twisters. Michaela screws up her face, clearly baffled, and slowly looks from me to Jude.
‘Creatures came,’ I say, before Jude can confuse her any more: I do love the lad but his timing couldn’t be worse, ‘not from this world and not from theirs; monsters.’ I grimace as I picture the silhouetted faces of the Exlathars. ‘We’re going to return them to where they came from, but we need the gethadrox to do it.’
‘We?’ and she cocks an eyebrow.
‘The Coltis,’ I amend, shirking the reminder that I won’t be a part of it.
‘Why are you so invested?’ but although her tone is accusatory, there’s definitely a hint of curiosity in her voice. ‘You’re a Corporeal.’
I avoid her inquisitive gaze, trying to hide my flush of anger as I feel them both stare at me. Is it so hard to believe that a Corporeal could care about the Coltis? The two worlds used to live harmoniously for decades. No divide based on prejudice or fear. But now…I clench my fists.
‘Because I don’t think that matters. I made friends there,’ I came alive there, I continue to myself, the words not getting beyond my lips. ‘You won’t understand.’
