by S McPherson
She frowns, and for a while neither of us say anything.
Eventually, resigned, I rest my clasped hands on the table. ‘What if the one place you don’t belong is the only place you feel like you do? Do you just pretend it doesn’t exist or do you do everything in your existence to be a part of it, even if only a little?’
Michaela’s frown deepens. She regards me, her tongue swirling thoughtfully around her mouth. ‘Are you familiar with Gooshack?’ she asks at last.
I nod, and in an instant our surroundings change. We are on a grand and glittering ship, sitting at one of many tables spread with a lace tablecloth and boasting elaborate place settings. People in a fabulous rainbow of gowns and suits cavort all around us, and as I look over at the dancefloor, beneath a stupendous chandelier, I realise where I am: aboard the C.P. One.
Jude’s eyes are alive with wonder, his head pivoting this way and that. A lump swells in my throat as I recall the night I was actually here, the night my lips first touched Milo’s. That was a fleeting moment of real happiness and I haven’t known a greater feeling since.
‘I was living in Swanson when my grandfather came for me,’ Michaela says. ‘He was very excited about a breakthrough with his latest invention and said he would like me to accompany him to a C.P. Convention happening that night. I was thrilled. My mother agreed, and an hour later, I raced into Taratesia and aboard the C.P. One,’ and she gestures around us.
I bury the hurt and memories of Milo and listen intently. She gets to her feet and we follow, past the people and decorated tables and on towards double doors at the far end of the room.
‘That night he took me to the top deck,’ and she pushes open the doors. ‘This one.’
We all stop, captivated by the sight that greets us. Everything on deck is bathed in a scarlet glow from the setting sun, wisps of peach clouds streaking across the dimming sky like feathered foam. There is a faint splash of water as it laps against the ship’s side and a few Trelions siren overhead like glittering waves of silver. Ahead of us, couples slow dance, twirling and dipping one another or holding each other close. I gulp; a sight like this could cause even hearts of stone to break.
I look to Michaela and realise her gaze has settled on a couple standing by the rail, gazing out at the ocean stretching into the distance. We walk towards them, but as I get closer I see one of them is a young girl who looks an awful lot like Michaela. The man standing beside her, leaning carelessly over the rail, is much older but with the same vibrant purple eyes—Michél. He is muscular, broad-shouldered and has a head of tamed curls. If it wasn’t for the fact that I know he is a Teltreporthi, I could easily have mistaken him for a Fuerté. I inch closer, admiring the curve of his thick lips and the way his dark skin seems to reflect the water. I’m in awe, as though I’m in the presence of a celebrity, of a king.
Michaela sighs, her smile brimming with nostalgia. ‘That day, granddad told me all sorts of wondrous tales of other realms. He said he would often travel the world—the one we see and the one we don’t—and that day, he showed me how.’
I watch as the young Michaela—about thirteen—and her grandfather laugh at an unheard joke. I swallow, feeling as though I am intruding on a very precious moment in her life.
Tranzuta pulls out a bronze device, various markings along its edge. At a glance, it is the same as the gethamot only bigger, the same circular shape, a thin sheet of glass covering the top. I’m riveted as Tranzuta retrieves a vial of clear liquid and a pipette from his coat and hands the vial to young Michaela, pinching the pipette between his teeth.
Young Michaela eagerly opens the tiny bottle and awaits further instruction, watching as her grandfather taps the clear top of the gethadrox, which then lifts ever so slightly. Using the pipette, Tranzuta places one drop of the liquid along the edge of the device, allowing it to seep in.
Almost instantly, a giant misty arrow, stretching farther than the eye can see, expands from the gethadrox, out across the ocean.
‘Bloody hell,’ Jude exhales in awe.
‘That’s England,’ Tranzuta explains and I suck in my breath; I am hearing Tranzuta’s voice. It is smooth, like treacle, deep and brimming with hope, with dreams. Taking the pipette again, Tranzuta repeats his actions, twisting the glass top another way and immediately another arrow stretches out in a different direction. ‘That’s Crystosalys.’ He does it again and again, each time adding more of the transparent liquid until at last a multitude of arrows stretch out around us.
‘What is this stuff?’ Young Michaela asks, peering at the vial in her hands.
‘Water.’ Tranzuta grins wildly, as if sharing some extravagant secret.
‘Water?’ I say.
‘Shush,’ Michaela hisses.
‘Water rushes,’ Tranzuta goes on, ‘fast and fierce, slow and steady.’ His eyes are bright and his expression the same one Milo gets when talking about something that excites him. ‘Water can seep through the tiniest of cracks. It can bring down the largest of buildings. We need it to survive, and yet…it has the power to kill us all.’ Tranzuta’s gaze returns to the vast ocean and myriad of arrows. ‘Water is just as magical as all the magic in this realm, and the next.’
Silence follows as he and young Michaela watch the waves rise and fall. I am hit by a spray of water but barely notice it, waiting anxiously for someone to say something.
‘I’m going tonight,’ Tranzuta finally announces.
Young Michaela furrows her brow, as do I.
‘Going where?’
Tranzuta throws his arms out towards the arrows. ‘Everywhere.’ He then envelopes Young Michaela in a hug, kissing the top of her head. ‘I will visit you when I can,’ he murmurs into her hair. Then he moves away, reclaiming his vial of water. One of the large arrows still stretching across the ocean goes from hazy to opaque, a thick smog of grey. ‘It’s time,’ Tranzuta enthuses. ‘See you soon, my dear.’ With that he clambers up onto the rail, throws his legs over and falls into the ocean below.
Agog, Young Michaela, Jude and myself lean over the edge, watching as Tranzuta swims towards a small rowboat bobbing a little distance away. With ease, he hauls himself into the boat and pulls on the oars, following the direction of the darkest arrow. We watch until a light too bright to stare at appears, and then he is gone.
‘I never saw him again.’
Our surroundings fade and we are once again in the beer garden, only now we are by the tall cedar wood fencing on the opposite side.
‘The mad man vanished,’ Michaela concludes.
SHIELD ME NOT
Frustrated, I snarl into my pillow then flip onto my back. I throw my arms over my eyes but that doesn’t block out the images in my mind. I toss back over, onto my belly, dragging the pillow from under me and burying my head beneath it. Deep breath in, deep breath out…deep breath in, deep breath out. Sleep is sure to come. I wait, then, feeling suffocated, I turn once again onto my back, placing the pillow back under my head and scrunching up my eyes.
Sleep! I will myself, sleep. But it is pretty clear I won’t be sleeping tonight. I’m plagued with too many disturbing thoughts. Though Michaela gave us some insight into the workings of the gethadrox, I find it only invited more questions. Her memory didn’t recall the inner workings of the device and Tranzuta hadn’t murmured any incantation to get it started. All we know is that it takes multiple drops of water. So, basically, we know nothing.
I can’t explain why I clamber out of bed, pulling on my familiar leggings and slipping my feet into my usual flip-flops. A desire for answers is spurring me on; a salacious need to make sense of something—anything—once and for all.
I make my way down the staircase leading to the building’s exit and retrace the steps I took not so long ago. My senses are heightened, the wind seeming vicious as it wafts through my hair, almost pulling me back, urging me not to do what I am about to. I keep at bay any fear I might have and continue on, the grass tickling my toes as I walk. At last I come to the looming shadow of the co
ncrete prison and knock on the weighty door.
Moments later I am relieved to see the same night guard as last time, standing in the doorway. Charles, I think.
‘Hello.’ I say briskly, half-smiling.
‘You’ve returned,’ he observes. ‘Hoping for another outcome?’
‘Something like that.’
He steps aside, letting me in. The room is brighter tonight and there is a floating bulb gliding through the air. I duck out of its way as I follow Charles out of the room and through another set of hefty doors until we reach the last.
‘I’ll…’ he pauses, searching for the word, ‘announce you, I suppose.’ He pushes his way in but this time all stays peaceful. No one yells or cackles sardonically. No foul insults can be heard, and when Charles returns, he is untroubled.
‘Everything alright?’ I ask, slightly put-off by the unexpected response.
Charles seems just as wary. ‘He isn’t bothered; seems uninterested. I am not sure how much you will get out of him.’
‘Anything is better than nothing,’ I decide and signal Charles to let me in. He does, stepping in behind me.
The barrier is not up tonight; I assume Charles felt no need for it and now I see why. Drake is sitting on the floor, head back, resting against his bed’s thin mattress. ‘Uninterested’ seems fairly optimistic at this point.
‘Drake,’ I say, edging closer. He doesn’t react. ‘I know you hate me. I know you blame me for our parents’ death; for a while, I did too. But this has to stop.’
He rolls his head to face me but still says nothing. Warily, I walk over and perch on a frail chair set close to him, ignoring his fumes of sweat and waste.
‘Secret government organisations, curses. This isn’t just you versus me. This type of stuff can get us both killed.’
‘I know that,’ he grumbles.
‘So why do it?’ I cry. ‘Why are you with R.U.O.E.? If you aren’t just playing out some sick fantasy where I finally “get what’s coming to me”,’ I use my fingers to symbolise quotation marks, ‘then why?’
Slowly, he lifts his head. ‘You’re different.’ I cannot tell if he means this as a good or bad thing but decide I don’t care either way.
‘Why?’ I repeat.
Drake considers before responding: ‘It started out that way. A way to see you in the ground and to be the one to do it.’ His smile is so bright at the thought that I recoil. ‘The Vildacruz wanted me to kill you in exchange for my freedom, though as a fugitive. R.U.O.E. wanted me to carry out the Vildacruzs’ demand in exchange for exoneration. They called it “The greater good”.’
He sits straighter as he speaks. ‘But you and I both know, I do what I want to do and of my own volition.’
I absorb every syllable, trying to find some trace of what I’ve missed and what’s to come, as though this may be hidden in his words.
‘So…’
He springs to his feet and I press my own into the ground. My eyes flicker to Charles, still by the door, watching and ready.
‘So they took me out of confinement.’ Drake smiles fondly at the memory. ‘Under official government business, I was taken to their base and shown what’s what.’
My stomach tightens. Yes, this is what I want to hear. This is what I want to know.
‘And?’
‘And what I found convinced me to join them,’ he sneers.
He is circling me now and I twist to see him as I say, ‘What did you find?’
‘A family.’ He stops and stares directly at me. ‘A brotherhood; united for justice.’
Justice. I want to spit the word. Of course, Drake would find a group that rule by fear, a group for justice. Family though, family are what I feel I could have found in Coldivor. I can’t argue with that.
‘What’s phase two?’ I ask. I don’t expect him to answer, but when he hesitates, my hope soars. He glances at the door behind where Charles stands. ‘What’s Phase two?’ I ask again, but he doesn’t respond, just looks at me then back at Charles. I am not sure if this is a good idea, but taking a hefty breath, I ask Charles, ‘Could you give us a minute please?’
Charles stiffens. ‘One minute,’ he grumbles at last, pulling open the door, ‘not a second more,’ and he leaves.
I turn back to Drake, swallowing hard when I see he is now right in front of me, crouched down, his nose only inches from mine. My heart races, my eyes involuntarily widen and my blood runs cold.
‘What’s phase two?’ I manage to repeat, hoping he doesn’t notice the tremor in my voice.
He speaks slowly, not removing his eyes from mine: ‘I infiltrate this place, learn the ins and outs.’ He has placed his hands on each arm of the chair, wedging me in. ‘And then I return my findings to Daniel as a free man, a brother.’
‘But you got caught,’ I point out. ‘Now you’re just stuck in a different cell,’ but as I say the words, I don’t believe them. Drake sneers and a searing pain lets me know he has struck me across the head. I fall to the ground, the clatter of the chair beside my head. He goes to kick me but I grab his foot and he stumbles, yanking his leg away.
No! I scramble after him but he simply turns, kicking me in the chin, then rams his heel down on my outstretched hand, crushing my fingers. I call out, and to my relief the door opens and Charles comes in. But Drake is ready: chair now in hand, he swings it powerfully across Charles’s face before pushing past and barrelling out the door.
No! I scramble to my feet, feeling light-headed, and race out, down the dimly lit corridor. Surely Drake couldn’t have got through the concrete doors on his own, but I soon realise he has; the corridor is empty.
‘I heard you cry out,’ Charles pants, coming up behind me. ‘I didn’t have time to close them.’
‘No,’ I gasp, pelting outside. Drake’s not too far away but moving fast. I charge after him, racing up the hill, but his silhouette is soon on the skyline and he disappears over the top. When I get there, I have no idea where he went.
‘Come back!’ I hear Charles call out, not far behind, but I don’t slow down. Drake can’t have escaped; he can’t have. Two hands grip me, bringing me to a halt, and I turn to face Charles.
I gulp, ‘He’s free,’ then pant, ‘He can’t be free.’
‘What would you do about it if you found him? It’s late and you’re bleeding. Get yourself home. I’ll find him,’ and Charles releases me and races off down the hill after Drake, but I know—like my hope— that Drake is already lost.
Drake grips the stitch in his side as he stumbles wildly through the narrow streets weaving through little shops and cafés all closed for the night. The wind sings as it dances around him, blowing his much longer hair in his face and he grins, a wicked grin. So long he has dreamed of the touch of the wind, the sight of the stars and the feel of earth beneath his feet.
When the Dreldaras Fae had come to visit his cell, announcing that she worked for Danny and would see that he was freed, Drake could barely make sense of her cryptic codes and rhymes.
‘By blood she’ll come to set you free,’ the Fae had said, her face shrouded in the shadow of a black hood, ‘use four legs and come find me.’
‘What are you on about?’ Drake had grumbled, pacing the length of his cell and wondering whether or not he should pummel this woman. Though, he reconsidered when she said she was sent by Danny. He knew Danny wouldn’t leave him to rot.
Drakes stomach now twists. He isn’t comfortable with Danny getting friendly with yet another other-world creature but he is sure his new brother has his reasons.
He slips behind an old restaurant with wood barricading its windows and squats behind a stack of bins, his nostrils registering and embracing the musty tang of garbage in the air. What a relief to smell something other than sterile concrete and his own sweat.
Catching his breath, Drake thinks back. What else had the Dreldaras Fae said?
By blood she’ll come to set you free. Use four legs and come find me. Over hill and passed the three, a fo
rgotten clock tower, you shall see.
Drake frowns. The blood must have been talking about Dezaray and true he just ran over a hill…but what of the four legs and clock tower?
Then his ever eager nose detects another scent, faint and familiar. Hay. Stables. Of course! He is on a farm.
Delighted, Drake rises from his crouch and follows the smell. Once he finds himself a horse, he will search for the clock tower. He can only hope the mysterious Fae is there to meet him.
I watch the sun come up from my seat on the windowsill. I have been sitting here since Drake escaped, leaning against Feranvil Farm Bar and Grill’s window, waiting for the place to open.
A short while later, I hear footsteps. Lifting my bruised head from the soothing cool of the window, I almost smile at the sight of Mrs Edwards coming towards me. She is fumbling in her pocket, no doubt looking for her keys, but stops when she sees me.
‘Dezaray?’
‘Hi, Mrs Ed.’ I gingerly leap off the sill and limp towards her, having twisted my ankle in pursuit of Drake. I fall into her open arms, squeezing her tightly. ‘I didn’t know where else to go.’
She strokes the back of my head, pausing when her fingers find a lump. ‘You came to the right place.’
Having found the key, she unlocks the door and ushers me inside. I notice she locks the door behind me.
‘Sit,’ she instructs and I do. Though my mind is bouncing about with all my thoughts, my body is drained, every movement an effort. ‘What’s going on?’
I sigh, ‘Drake is out.’
Her eyes widen and I wince. ‘When?’ she gasps.
‘Last night—well, this morning.’ I am not sure how much Jude has told her, but based on her expression, she knows enough. ‘He said phase two is coming.’
Mrs Edwards seems distracted. ‘Phase two?’
‘Return to them with information he has learnt about this place,’ I grimace, ‘but he couldn’t have learnt much. He’s been locked away.’
Mrs Edwards rests her hands on the table in front of me, as if holding herself up. ‘He learnt how to get in here.’
