Caught in the Ripples_An Epic Fantasy

by S McPherson

  I suck in air through my flared nostrils, now finding it very difficult to breathe.

  ‘I have to call the others.’ She pulls up her bag and rummages inside.

  ‘The others?’

  ‘I invented this place, Feranvil, with the help of a few Coltis,’ she hurriedly explains, then finally finds her phone and taps in some numbers. ‘Fawn, Pebble, Alice, Clay.’

  I’m sure I’ve heard those names before, but the only one I can put a face to is Fawn, a large man with white hair and a stubble beard. ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘What we do best,’ she assures me with a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. She listens to the phone. I strain to hear as a voice says ‘Hello’.

  ‘Under gravel and rock, you’ll find me…’ Mrs Edwards recites.

  ‘Safe beneath the Earth, I’m hiding,’ finishes the voice on the other end of the line.

  Within a few hours, Mrs Edwards and the Coltis, together known as The Makers, have truly rallied the people. Through word of mouth they have managed to get almost everyone in Feranvil crammed into the great hall in the town centre. It is a vast and vacant building with a high beamed-ceiling; a blank canvas that can be altered to suit any event. It is sometimes used for school proms, concerts, galas and the like, but, apparently, not since its conception has it been used to send a warning to all and to implement rules.

  I spy The Makers on a stage stretching across the back of the hall, now realising I know them all except a dwarfed man with blonde streaks in his afro curls. Nathaniel tells me his name is Clay Buzdreedle, an Ochi with the ability to alter temperature from freezing cold to searing hot.

  With him are Mrs Edwards—of course, then Fawn—who seems to be the spokesperson, standing at the podium, microphone to his mouth, and Deetry Pebble—a bald-headed Spee’ad with claw-like nails; she had intervened the night I almost killed Drake, as did Alice Brelouse, the woman standing next to her. Her eyes are a shocking red, sleek like a cats, making me sure she is a Teltreporthi.

  I bite my lip to keep from growling as my soul silently seethes. I know I’m being irrational, that my anger is misplaced, but it doesn’t help. The more I think back to that night, the more I blame them for what is happening now. I could have ended this then. The shovel was in my hand and Drake at my mercy on the ground. I swallow, dragging my hands through my hair. The next day I had woken relieved, thankful they had stopped me—but now…

  I close my eyes, exhaling, slowly returning my attention to the great hall and the people in it. I edge closer to the stage, squeezing through the crowd as I strain to hear what Fawn is saying. He talks about the Vildacruz and how they were almost defeated. He paints vivid pictures of the Exlathars, using nothing but his words, and talks of war; the one already in Coldivor and the one at our door.

  ‘The Coltis are dealing with the beasts,’ he is now saying, ‘and it is our duty, our calling, to fight this fight with R.U.O.E. before it reaches them.’

  Some of the audience start to chatter with fervour and a small smile curves Fawn’s lips. ‘I know you are eager, friends, but we must tread wisely,’ he states. ‘We do not know the R.U.O.E. Organisation’s plan, and until we do, we will just be throwing flames into the ocean.’

  I sigh, feeling as extinguished as his metaphorical flames.

  ‘But,’ he says, and my hope peaks, ‘we have a plan.’

  I edge even closer, practically on my tiptoes, as if the gained height will improve my hearing.

  ‘We will place an impassable shield around Feranvil.’

  My mind stumbles but I keep listening; a stronger shield doesn’t sound like a fight.

  ‘This shield will prevent anyone and anything from getting in or out.’ He puffs out his chest, as though this is good news, and I tell myself I’ve missed something.

  ‘Some of us will go Up Top before the shield is in place and learn what we can.’ His voice echoes in the silence of the enamoured crowd; why does no one look as dumbstruck as I feel? ‘We will bring back information: keys to the unlocking and tearing down of R.U.O.E.’ Fire burns behind Fawn’s eyes, and I know he’ll be one of the ones going up.

  ‘We will raise the shield by the third hour. None will be able to leave and none, not even R.U.O.E. will be able to enter.’

  “Third hour” spoken like a true Coltis. I dig my nails into the palms of my hands, chomping anxiously on my bottom lip.

  The room comes alive as people clap and cheer in approval. Glancing over my shoulder, I meet Nathaniel’s eye through the scape of grinning faces. I know he already knows what I’m thinking. Slowly, he shakes his head, warning me against whatever ridiculous plan I am forming, but I simply turn away, shouldering my way through the crowd and out the door.

  I can see the great hall from my window, some twenty or so people standing outside its open doors, unable to get in. Fawn’s voice sails to me from the conical speakers dotting the edge of the hall’s roof, although a little muffled, but I pick up the odd word: ‘Barrier’, ‘Protected’, ‘Unharmed’. He is trying to appease everyone; to ebb away their fear, but mine only grows with each placating phrase.

  Drake is out and a shield didn’t stop him the first time.

  I consider mindling Milo but know it won’t work, besides what would I say? You’re all in danger? He knows that already.

  The crowd in the great hall cheer again, their thunderous applause travelling through my window. Tearing myself away from the view, I drag my rucksack from under the bed and throw in a few items of clothing and packets of processed food. I’m not sure how long I’ll be away or even where I’m going, not really. But I refuse to be trapped down here. I’ve spent too long confined in my own self-made prison; I won’t fall back into another.

  I pat my chest—the gethamot is still there, safe and strangely cool around my neck. I scan my room, thoughts racing with the unknown. At the last minute, I remember the crystal ball. I don’t know when Milo will fix his device but I intend to be available when he does. I release it from its box on my bedside table and slip it into my bag.

  The bellowing sound of the crowd at the hall has now died down and I take one last look out of my window; people are starting to spill out and mill around. Gasping, I look at my watch: ‘2:50’. Almost the third hour. I race into my bathroom, where the tub has been filling with water, and frown: it is not as full as usual but I can’t wait much longer.

  ‘Dezaray,’ I jump in surprise when Nathaniel comes up behind me, his voice wary. ‘You can’t go Up-Top.’

  ‘I have to,’ I say firmly as I shove various toiletries into my sack.

  ‘What will you do up there?’

  ‘I don’t know. But down here, I know I can’t do anything.’

  ‘Where will you go?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ I shrug but lean against the basin, as though he may try to grab me.

  ‘That’s ridiculous,’ he scoffs; ‘you can’t do this.’

  ‘I have to.’

  ‘Why? Fawn and a team are going up. Let them handle this.’

  ‘And we do what,’ I cry, ‘stay here and play pretend?’ I turn back to the mirror, hardly recognising the fire in my eyes.

  ‘Stay here and be safe,’ but he lifts a lame shoulder.

  ‘I’ve stuck my head in the sand for as long as I can remember, telling myself things will somehow get better if I ignore them.’ I say to his reflection, shaking my head. ‘I don’t know about you Nathaniel, but now I want to live, whether that life is ten thousand years or ten seconds.’

  He is quiet and for a minute a faint smile crosses his lips before they once again fall to a grim line.

  ‘You won’t be able to come back.’

  I take the Elamine from the cabinet and pull off its lid. ‘I know,’ and turning to him, add, ‘You should go if you don’t want to be pulled out there with me.’

  Nathaniel hesitates, then steps out of the bathroom and I sprinkle the glitter of pink into the tub. The water opens up to me, rising and swirling in a
pale blue vortex, bubbles frothing like whipped cream and the water rippling, black and tangible. Without a thought, I step in and allow myself to be pulled Up-Top.

  I land with a thud in the cinder filled fireplace, shocked that the chimney is always so filthy despite how often it is used. I rub ash from my cheeks, my nose itching. It must all be part and parcel of the spell put on the place to make it appear abandoned, but a shower at the end wouldn’t go amiss.

  ‘Get out of the way.’

  I look up and shriek as two feet descend towards me. Leaping out of the way, I am stunned to see Nathaniel blinking cinders from his eyes, sitting where I had just been.

  ‘What are you doing?’ I gasp.

  He grins. ‘Living.’

  THE EXLATHAR & THE BEAST

  We hear the sound of soot falling into the fireplace and hurriedly leap behind the old sofa that reeks of mildew and is covered in moth holes. Dust puffs around us and I press my lips together, swallowing a cough as I glance at my watch—the third hour. We crouch low; I’m practically on my stomach, peering from my hiding place to watch Fawn stumble out of the hearth, followed by Deetry Pebble, Alice Brelouse, and several other people I don’t recognise.

  There is something odd and strangely familiar about the one who arrives last. He—from his physique I can only assume he is a ‘He’—hangs back, remaining quiet and close to the redbrick wall, clearly not put off by the cobwebby grime dangling from it, his hood drawn over, covering his face. Everyone scurries around, pulling open the chest that is always full of damp cloths, wiping themselves off, chatting away. But he doesn’t. He barely moves.

  ‘I still have a home in Islon,’ Fawn announces. ‘We will stay there; blend in.’

  ‘Is it big enough for the lot of us?’ asks Pebble, flinging her dirty cloth back into the chest. I know, once its lid closes, the rag will once again be clean.

  Fawn seems to smirk, ‘It’s big enough.’

  At last, the group make their way into the hall and out of the house, but the strange one hangs behind, peeking out of the window, watching them go. I press a finger to my lips, signalling Nathaniel to stay quiet, but our hooded fellow then tells us, ‘You can come out now.’

  Relief and joy spiral through me as I recognise the familiar voice of Jude. He grins as I spring up from behind the sofa, Nathaniel in tow.

  ‘What on Earth?’ I cry.

  ‘I saw you two leaving the hall,’ he tuts. ‘You didn’t think I was going to let you have all the fun, did you?’

  ‘So you snuck out with the team?’ I splutter.

  ‘That I did.’

  ‘You silly twat.’

  We explore the house. Broken lightbulbs dangle overhead whilst a scattering of glass and gunk mash into the carpet beneath our tread. The floorboards creak as we teeter up a narrow staircase, entire steps and chunks of rotten bannister missing. Afraid to touch anything, I pull my sleeves down over my hands and gingerly look about the poky landing we come to. Three doors lay ahead, each splintered or hanging from its hinges. I can see through the gaps that they lead to two rundown bedrooms and a grubby bathroom. We go to the first door, it’s aged and faded, flakes of crimson paint speckling the floor like glowing embers.

  Its decrepit appearance is nothing compared to what greets us within. I stifle a whimper as I gape about the ‘bedroom’.

  ‘Can you fix it up a bit?’ I ask Jude.

  He raises an eyebrow. ‘I can try.’ Then he clears his throat and waves a hand. ‘Escaliar.’

  Almost instantly, the bedroom goes from grimy to grand. The peeling and soiled wallpaper seems to melt away, leaving behind a layer of crisp white flower-embroidered satin. The bed, just now in pieces, shards of wood spiking through its bug-ridden mattress, now stands strong and gleaming before us, the mattress transformed: deep and firm, clean purple linen spread across it. The dust laden and cracked mirror leaning against the wall mends itself, the glass becoming sparkling clean, causing me to squint as it reflects the sun shining in through now pristine windows.

  ‘Nice try,’ I muse.

  Jude smirks, cricking his neck.

  Nathaniel whistles. ‘Nicely done.’

  ‘By the way: dibs,’ Jude calls.

  ‘Come off it,’ Nathaniel crows. ‘There’s only two rooms, mate. We’re sharing.’

  Jude purses his lips. ‘Fine,’ he then grumbles, ‘but I’m the big spoon.’

  We chuckle as we make our way to the next room.

  ‘Your turn,’ he orders.

  ‘Okay.’ I am far too excited as I delve into my mind, seeking out that greater part that helps me hone my power. I feel the charge rip through me, claiming its rightful place like a long-lost limb, then, gazing at the derelict space, I whisper, ‘Escaliar’.

  The transformation is magnificent and rapid. The sunken, whining bed not only fixes itself but goes from a queen to a king-size with four posters and a gossamer canopy. The ash-coloured wallpaper, complete with its growth of moss, peels down and fades, revealing a blank brick wall that soon shimmers and morphs to pale pink plaster with silver trimmings. The once disarrayed and jutting floorboards now lay flat and smooth, shining like freshly polished mahogany, and the dilapidated, rutted and raked door pops back onto its hinges, its dull brass handle now as bright as the brightest gold.

  ‘Wow,’ I breathe.

  ‘You can thank your Elentri counterpart for that one,’ Jude notes and sighs wistfully, ‘I hope I find my counterpart one day. What do you suppose his power would be?’

  ‘Being normal?’ Nathaniel teases.

  I chuckle then ask, ‘What do you mean “thank my counterpart”?’ as we delicately make our way back down the ramshackle staircase.

  ‘You’re the counterpart to the last Elentrice,’ Jude explains. ‘The potential for some serious magic is in you.’

  My stomach tightens in wonderful knots, but the glow quickly fades when we return to the living room.

  It’s a work of art, if art were a tremendous pile of dung. It pays great homage to the creator of the spell that made this little house look so wrecked.

  Nathaniel snickers, ‘Have fun, superstar,’ and pats me on my shoulder.

  I raise my eyes to a cracked and flaking ceiling.

  ‘It’s actually not that bad,’ Jude reasons.

  We round on him with looks that query his sanity as he runs his finger through a thick line of dust caking the top of a cabinet. It has glass doors, stained brown and sticky with an unknown substance. I cringe.

  ‘It just needs a good clean.’

  ‘It needs Jesus.’ Nathaniel shakes his head and I giggle. But as I look around, I see Jude may be onto something. The place is filthy but nothing appears to be broken or unusable.

  I pat an armchair—it looks like it has a floral design but it’s hard to tell under the layers of grime—and a puff of dust lifts into the air. I splutter.

  ‘Together?’ he offers.

  Still choking and fanning the air with my hand, I nod.

  ‘Escaliar,’ we intone. I can practically feel the magic pouring out of me and flooding the room as it transforms.

  Though everything remains in the same haphazard arrangement, it now glimmers, spotless and inviting. I blink. Will magic ever feel normal? We were sure to keep the outside as rundown as it always was. Even the windows still appear grimy, covered with cobwebs and years of soil and mud, but from the inside you’d never know.

  The furniture is an odd jumble of mismatched pieces and there is definitely too much of it in such a little room. There are floral armchairs and polka-dot cushions squished against a brown leather sofa tufted with buttons and displaying immense curved arms. A random statue of a Great Dane stands in front of the sofa and a blue rocking chair encrusted with diamonds reclines on the opposite side of the room. There are far too many cabinets and wooden chests stacked in the narrow space behind the sofa and a slender piano is wedged between a radiator and an antique looking carved walnut coffee table. The carpet is fluffy, a pale beige
with olive tips, but everything is clean and that’s all that matters.

  ‘Not too shabby.’ Jude goes to clap dust from his hands but finds them spotless. ‘What now?’

  I lift a shoulder, sidling past the dog statue and flopping onto the sofa. ‘We strategize and we wait.’ Leaning over, I retrieve my bag from where I’d left it and pull out the crystal ball, propping it on top of a magenta footstool.

  ‘What exactly will you tell them if you do get through?’ Nathaniel asks, slipping onto the sofa beside me and marvelling at Milo’s creation.

  I twist my mouth. ‘That Drake is out, I suppose. That he’s working for an organisation that would have let him kill me for some supposed greater good.’ I swallow, sickened.

  ‘Collateral damage,’ Jude scoffs.

  ‘To rid us of evil,’ Nathaniel muses.

  The dim lightbulb swings lazily overhead whilst the beige carpet tangles in my toes. The boys and I yawn against the coffee table surrounded by scrunched up balls of paper and a scattering of dried up pens. There are scribbles on the palms of our hands and I try to make out the jumble of words I have scrawled on mine, now clammy and smudged.

  ‘Storm Manor!’ Nathaniel sits bolts upright, slamming his fist down on the coffee table and startling the sleep out of us all. ‘That’s where Drake could be hiding: Storm Manor.’

  ‘The last place anyone would think to look.’ Jude seems to consider the suggestion but I shake my head.

  ‘No. I’ve had an estate agent in and out of the place with prospective buyers.’ I sigh. ‘And besides, according to said agent, there’s a set of cops parked on the hill, incognito in case Drake does decide to return; even Steak Home is under surveillance.’

  Instantly deflated, Nathaniel wriggles back against the coffee table, defeated. We have been sitting here for hours discussing all we know about Drake and the R.U.O.E., trying to figure out why they would be willing to sacrifice mine and other’s lives to get into Feranvil? Into a world that has operated peacefully without their knowledge for decades.