Caught in the Ripples_An Epic Fantasy

by S McPherson

  ‘Our men made a human barricade, stopping the Corporeal’s from entering but once Daniel managed to duck and slip through to our side, he turned, trying to bring his brother with him, but one of the guards saw this and raced over, attempting to force them both back out. They pulled and pushed at his brother until…Until the portal closed, slicing Daniels brother in two. Half of him in this world, half in the next.’

  I gulp, remembering how the gethamot had been so easily sliced down the middle and imagine it being a body instead. Involuntarily, I squeeze Milos hand. He squeezes back.

  ‘Needless to say, Daniel swore revenge.’ Brixens tone is now harsh, dragging my attention his way. ‘He was young, no more than eighteen, and he was angry. The Court searched for him, in hopes of helping him return when the sickness set in but it was like he’d disappeared.’

  As he talks, he leaves the shadows of the wall and comes closer. ‘A few days after this, Daniel’s counterpart was found dead, slit across the middle, just like Daniel’s brother.’ Brixen makes a face, as though he is about to be sick. ‘Everyone knew it was the Schawsmith boy but there was no way to prove it. Ordinarily, the Travisors would have been used, able to use their third eye to see what was previously seen in a place but for some reason their abilities were blocked. Daniel may have been from your world but he was no stranger to the workings of this one.’

  ‘Years later, he returned,’ Baxter steps in, seeming to have recovered. ‘He wouldn’t say where he’d been or what he’d been doing but seemed content to live amongst us as long as we left him alone, and so we did. That’s when Daniel formed a bond with the other outsider in our realm: Tranzuta.’

  I gasp and feel Milo jolt in surprise. The most feared being in Coldivor was friends with the most ingenious?

  Baxter grimaces, as though reading my thoughts. ‘Yes. Tranzuta was rarely ever seen without Daniel hanging from his every word, the two of them inventing miracles and perfecting dreams. They were almost identical, both brilliant yet eccentric, but different in one fundamental way. Tranzuta acted on a thirst for knowledge, a thirst to create, but Daniel had a thirst for power, an insatiable thirst to destroy, and so he always felt the tug of elutheran magic, the darkest of them all.

  ‘It was a few sets later when the Court found Daniel in a cave near Aulock Peak, standing over a young bound and gagged girl, around the same age as his brother had been. He was chanting, eyes rolled back into his head, his arms sliced, dripping blood onto the girl. She hovered over spikes rising from the ground as a slab of concrete descended from above. Daniel didn’t hear them come in, too lost in his trance.

  ‘The Court tackled him to the ground and freed the girl just as the spikes and concrete met. A second later and she would have been impaled and crushed.’

  I listen with sick fascination. There is so much more to Coldivor than I could have imagined.

  ‘Daniel screamed and screamed’ Baxter presses his lips together, ‘and screamed. “This is the only way to get my brother back!” he yelled at them. “You killed him and now you won’t let me bring him back. I hate you!”. He didn’t care that it was the darkest form of magic to dredge someone back from death. No matter how they tried to reason with him, he wouldn’t listen. He eventually fled from their confines, though, using some invention of his or Tranzuta’s, shrouded in the cloak of our comrades,’ and his eyes meet mine. He understood my emphasis on the cloak. ‘And he left behind a message on the wall, written in what they could only assume was the blood of the fallen. It said “You haven’t seen the last of me. D.S.”.’

  ‘And how long ago was this?’ I ask, my voice higher than usual.

  Baxter shakes his head. ‘So long ago that it is almost impossible to believe it is the same Daniel running the R.U.O.E. organisation…and no one has yet mastered immortality.’

  ‘Except the vampires.’ Everyone turns to Vladimir, as though they’d forgotten he was here, I sort of had, hooked on every word falling from Baxter’s mouth, the rest of my surroundings faded into the background.

  Now the word ‘Vampire’ hovers above me like a python about to strike. Would D.S., or Daniel whoever, have done that? Would he have gone so far to get revenge that he would walk amongst the living dead?

  By the time the conversation winds down I’m exhausted, mentally drained, leaning against the wall as I watch many of the Court members break off into smaller groups. A few of them look familiar, like I’ve met them before and I wonder if I’m thinking of their counterparts. When one of them grins, I am almost sure he is the lad that served me the last time I went into Greggs bakery but I know he can’t be. I frown. Counterparts are an unusual concept; one I’m still trying to wrap my head around.

  I’m distracted by laughter as the main members of the Court huddle around the great stone table, bouncing ideas off each other, laughing off what they hope is impossible. I wouldn’t be laughing if I were them; nothing seems impossible anymore. A few other members leave the great hall, tending to the sick and-or chatting about the mysterious Daniel Schawsmith, realising they were only ever told part of the story. “Strictly need to know”. Milo is off to one side with Vladimir and Lexovia. I don’t know what they are talking about but soon Vladimir returns to the other members and Milo returns to me.

  ‘Everything alright?’

  ‘Yes.’ He nods absently. ‘We were just rescheduling our meeting.’ Sighing, he flops beside me.

  ‘Do you think we could get out of here?’ I ask.

  He turns his head to me, raising a sceptical brow and I shrug; it was worth a shot. Seeming to agree with me, though, Milo cocks his head in consideration before taking my hand in his and walking me over to the grand table in the centre of the hall.

  ‘We’re going to take off now,’ he announces.

  Vladimir’s neck swivels so fast I think it might snap. ‘What?’

  ‘It’s almost time for the portal to reopen,’ I add, hastily, realising it’s probably true.

  ‘We’re going to head over there,’ Milo says, leading me to the exit.

  ‘Take an escort with you,’ Vladimir calls after us.

  ‘We’ll be grand,’ Milo assures him as we reach the door.

  ‘Unescorted?’ Vladimir is incredulous.

  Lexovia smirks, ‘Oh, Vladimir, they don’t want a chaperone for what they’re about to do.’

  My cheeks colour and I scowl at her. To be honest, with the way I’m feeling right now, Milo will be lucky to get a handshake. My mind is swimming and all I want is some air.

  Milo chuckles. ‘If any trouble creeps in, I’ll teleport us right out, mate.’

  I see reluctance stain Vladimir’s face as his lips purse and his eyes narrow. ‘Fine,’ he sighs at last, and without waiting for him to change his mind, we watch the door melt away then hurry out.

  I breathe, unaware I’d been holding my breath, gazing up at a sky doused in glitter. Any other night I would have said it was beautiful, but tonight it just makes me dizzy. Milo pulls me close and I wrap my arms around him, burying my head in his chest. His strong arms grip me—feeling bigger than they used to—squeezing like he needs this as much as I do, and for a long while we don’t move. We don’t speak, just hold each other, embracing the glow of something good left in this nightmare.

  Eventually, his hold loosens and, sighing, I step away, pulling out the gethamot and watching its arrow form.

  ‘Let’s go,’ he breathes.

  Silently, we follow the arrow as it shifts this way and that, occasionally smiling at each other but ultimately staying locked in our own minds.

  After a while, finally passing from Melaxous into Taratesia, the arrow stops spinning.

  I glance at my watch. ‘Well, that was quick.’

  Milo grins. ‘Time flies when you’re having fun. Isn’t that something you Corporeals say?’

  I twist my mouth. ‘I’m not sure if tonight counts as “Fun”.’

  ‘Well, we’ll just have to fix that.’ I hear the mischief in his voice and my e
yes instinctively move to his. Heat rises. My cheeks flush as his eyes darken, the gold seeming more prominent. I take a step closer, leaving a hair’s breadth between us. It turns out he is going to get so much more than a handshake.

  ‘Kiss me,’ he says, and I am all too happy to oblige as I rise onto my tiptoes, leaning in, but Milo pulls back ever so slightly, grasping my hair in his hand, his eyes searching mine. ‘Slowly.’

  Blushed with desire, I try to reign it in, intent on making the kiss last longer. I go in like a lion stalking prey, the whisper of Milo’s breath caressing my lips as I gradually edge closer. He grips me tighter, his hands running all the way down my body, squeezing my hips and my breath hitches. But he doesn’t take his eyes off mine as I push myself against him.

  I want to kiss him more than I have ever wanted anything before, but somehow the burning ache of not kissing him is almost as intoxicating. It’s so feverishly delicious that I distract myself, trying to focus on something else.

  There’s a gentle breeze coming in from all sides, smelling of sweet rain, as one of Milo’s lips briefly strokes mine. I hear the distant clicks of a Rubus bird calling to another as Milo’s teeth trail the length of my chin, as his fingers caress the base of my throat, his other hand exploring my waist. I close my eyes, biting back the urge to scream, and then, finally, all the blood rushes to my mouth as I feel the firm press of his lips on mine, his hands sliding up the back of my shirt.

  Unable to resist, I draw him closer and he pushes me until I am pinned against a tree. Our slow rhythm becomes more urgent and I lift myself against its trunk, wrapping my legs around him. We move together, tender and deliberate, my heart pounding. Then I pull away to breathe but am right back in, clawing at his back, wishing this moment would last a lifetime.

  ‘NO!’ I hear Milo thunderously roar before I realise what’s happening. Torn from him, I soar into the air, something pinching my skin hard through my sleeve, something that’s now carrying me away. Then I look up, and my blood runs cold.

  ‘Get off me!’ I scream, writhing ferociously, cold sweat drenching me in what feels like seconds as I continue to thrash and yank myself away. The creature’s spindly fingers exude a fearsome heat and its jagged smile leers down at me. The Exlathar chuckles.

  ‘Dezaray!’ Milo bellows from below as he races after me, sending cobalt sparks into the air. But the Exlathar skilfully dodges them, its bright green eyes steering us to the stars.

  ‘Get off me!’ I shriek again, pushing my feet hard against the beast, trying to pry myself free. As I heave yet harder still, there’s a sudden, resounding ‘Pop’ and horrific pain rips through my shoulder. I clamp my lips together as nausea threatens to fly out my mouth in chunks. Closing my eyes against the pain, I finally hang limply from the creature’s hold, moaning pitifully as I swing like a puppet on a broken string.

  ‘Tixtremidral!’ I hear Milo shout, nearer now, near enough for me to prise open my eyes. He’s beside us, his face wracked with panic before he hollers, ‘Exlarvus!’ across the gap.

  The spell hurtles towards us, striking the air apart with its speed, but again the Exlathar evades it, taking us further and further out of Milo’s reach as he descends back to earth.

  ‘Milo!’ I howl, but he’s too far away, the memory of him having been so close now replaced by the eerie glow of the Exlathar’s eyes, blurred through the tears of the searing agony exploding from my shoulder.

  CONDEMNED

  ‘Let me in!’ Milo bellows, pounding on the great doors of the Court. ‘Let me in!’ and his knuckles throb as he beats at the wood, the sound of his fists not near loud enough for his liking. The wood splinters under the force of his blow but he doesn’t have time to care.

  A fierce snarl erupts from the base of his throat as he yanks on the decorative handles. The doors do not budge and nobody comes. To give his hands a rest, Milo resorts to kicking the door, one thunderous thwack after another.

  ‘Open these doors or I’ll knock the bloody things down!’ he roars. If this was Vladimir’s way of flexing his muscles, it was severely ill-timed.

  At last, the doors fade away and Milo careens in. ‘They’ve taken her!’ he shouts at the three pairs of baffled eyes now staring back at him, Lexovia, Vladimir and Amethyst’s, each standing with a xyen poised in their hands.

  Vladimir is the first to react. ‘What?’

  ‘The Exlathars have Dezaray.’ Milo storms towards them. ‘We have to find her.’

  Vladimir seems to pay no attention, taking long and fast strides to the back wall of the great room, pulling a gethamot down from its hook. Tapping its centre, he breathes a sigh of relief when the smoky arrow appears, but then gasps at the almost translucent shade of the denomatrix.

  ‘The portal is about to open.’

  ‘Well done!’ Milo retorts.

  ‘Take Lexovia there.’

  ‘What?’ Lexovia places her xyen down on the table, her forehead creased.

  With urgency, Vladimir shoves the gethamot into her hand. ‘We won’t get Dezaray back before it closes. One of you must be on the other side when it does.’

  Seeming to understand, Lexovia asks, ‘Milo, do you remember where the portal is?’

  ‘What?’ and his brow wrinkles in frustration. Why is nobody running around in desperation to save Dezaray?

  ‘Milo!’ Lexovia snaps, stalking towards him, ‘do you remember where the portal is?’

  ‘Yes’ he barks back.

  ‘Take me.’ She grips his hand. ‘Now.’

  Immediately, Milo vanishes in a bang of blue, taking Lexovia with him.

  ‘What now?’ Amethyst asks, following Vladimir like a shadow as he goes over to the stone table and rests his palm on the centre of the crest. His eyes briefly blaze and immediately each of the seven symbols of the empires rise; a glowing apparition bathed in blue, purple and white, as though lit from the inside. Vladimir’s eyes briefly flick to the blank eighth where the Elentri symbol used to be, but now there’s nothing there to mark it, nothing to represent Lexovia.

  He sighs, rubbing his tired eyes. ‘Once again they condemn us all.’

  The clamour of racing feet now sounds out as every member of the Court charges in, wrapped in robes of shimmering emerald, hoods drawn to mark the severity of the occasion. Then thunder seems to slam at the door: the sound of many fervent hands beating against it.

  ‘Let them in,’ Vladimir calls and the doors disperse like dandelion seeds as the Court’s guard barrel in, all dressed in their honorary avocado robes. Their own hoods are also up over their heads. They all know what the call means, the reason they were summoned: The last Elentrice is gone—the enemy is winning.

  Milo is beside himself, raking anxious hands through his shaggy locks and pacing frantically, puffs of soil swirling about his ankles. The portal has closed, Lexovia making it safely across, but even this does not calm him. He glances at the tree, the very tree where he last held Dezaray in his arms, and winces at the physical pain now tearing through him, as though he’s been stabbed in the chest.

  Shaking his head, Milo stumbles off through the forest.

  ‘No, no, NO!’ he hollers, increasing his pace as he charges through the trees, his eyes darting about, searching the sky through the canopy. ‘Dezaray!’ he bellows into the silent night, ‘Dezaray!’ He hasn’t lost her; he can’t have. She is out there somewhere, and every fibre of his being strains to find her.

  ‘Dezaray!’ he pleads, a strangulated howl, and feels the sting of tears behind his eyes. ‘Dezaray!’ he roars, determination still rampant despite his waning body. All the trees look alike, as does every star in the sky she vanished.

  ‘No!’ he bellows repeatedly, kicking out at the nearest tree. ‘No!’ he insists. A new wave of energy surges through him, one fuelled by blind panic, and again he races off through the mass of branches and leaves, with no direction of where he is going or where he has come from.

  ‘Where are you?’ he hollers into the black night.


  Time ticks by but how much he cannot tell, his entire world having come to a standstill He cradles himself, hugging tight, as though to squeeze out the ache, and stands rooted by the weight of his grief.

  ‘Dezaray!’ he again wails against the night, his lungs burning, all his strength squandered on not crumpling to his knees. ‘Dezaray!’ he bellows again. ‘Dezaray!’

  ‘Milo! Stop!’

  The sound of footsteps racing after him and the brusque instruction of a girl’s voice hardly impinge, though, he knows the voice is not the one he wants to hear. Hollow and defeated, he turns to see Yvane charging at him, her lock of red catching the moonlight as she flings herself into his arms, an embrace he sorely welcomes.

  ‘They have her,’ he groans into her hair.

  ‘Shhhh’ she soothes, ‘it’s all going to be fine.’

  More footsteps soon reveal Howard.

  ‘There you are,’ he gasps. ‘The Court have got almost everyone out looking for you.’

  Milo only loosens his hold on Yvane, his head now bowed.

  ‘Did Lexovia cross?’

  Milo nods.

  ‘Well, that’s a bit of good news.’ Yvane forces a hopeful smile, but one that is not at all convincing.

  Howard steps closer and Yvane slips out of the way. ‘They won’t kill her, Milo,’ he says.

  Milo grunts, ‘Of course not. Why would they?’

  ‘The Exlathars are smarter than that, or at least whoever’s in charge of them is,’ Howard assures him, ‘They know Dezaray is more valuable as their prisoner than as their meal. As long as she’s here, Lexovia can’t come back.’

  ‘And this is good news?’ Milo scoffs.

  ‘It is,’ Howard claims, ‘It means Dezaray is out there somewhere, alive, and we will find her. The enemy may be winning but they haven’t already won.’

  Lexovia collapses to the ground, her entrance far from glamorous.