Caught in the Ripples_An Epic Fantasy

by S McPherson

  ‘Stop, stop, stop, stop, stop’ I will countless times, my eyes clenched shut. ‘Stop, stop, stop, stop, stop…’

  Lexovia, Jude and Nathaniel stroll side by side along the edge of the moat in front of the farmhouse. It is a glorious day. The sun shines brightly, though hidden behind fraying clouds so its heat is not overbearing. Children splash in the water a little way off, the smell of burning charcoal wafts on the wind as someone prepares a barbecue and the sounds of raucous laughter spiral out of the Bar & Grill’s open door.

  ‘I missed this place,’ Lexovia notes wistfully.

  ‘Is that so?’ Jude raises a teasing eyebrow. ‘Karaoke and peculiar lad alike?’

  ‘Maybe,’ she concedes with an air of nonchalance.

  Jude wiggles his hips from side to side, imitating the dance his mother had done on Christmas day, and hums the same ridiculous tune. Laughing, Lexovia gives him a playful nudge. Being too busy gyrating, it sends Jude slipping on the slick grass and down into the moat.

  Astonished at her luck, Lexovia bursts out laughing. ‘Sorry about that,’ she cackles.

  Nathaniel chuckles, ‘I reckon you did that on purpose.’

  Lexovia lifts a casual shoulder. ‘I simply don’t know my own strength.’

  ‘Very funny,’ Jude chides as he scrambles out of the water and shakes himself off like a wet dog, clearly taking extra care to make sure he sprays Lexovia.

  Undeterred, she smiles and finds a nice patch of grass to sit on. The boys stop beside her, admiring the ripples the wind makes on the surface of the moat.

  ‘I hope Dezaray is alright.’ Nathaniel reaches for a pebble, skimming it across the water.

  ‘I’m sure she will be,’ Lexovia leans back on her elbows.

  ‘I bet the Court are all out looking for her,’ Jude adds.

  Nathaniel sighs. ‘I should never have let her leave.’

  ‘You wouldn’t have been able to stop her, mate.’ Jude gathers a handful of pebbles from the ground, bouncing them one at a time across the water.

  ‘She’s a big girl, Nathaniel.’

  ‘I know.’ He sighs, absently rolling a stone between his fingers. ‘I just owe her parents so much, and when they died…’

  Lexovia frowns. ‘Owe them?’

  Squatting beside her, Nathaniel lets the pebble fall from his hand. ‘I was just sixteen when the Storms hired me. My Dad was the town drunk and my mum…well, let’s just say she got about.’

  Jude dusts off his hands and settles beside them.

  ‘One night, my Dad stumbled into Steak Home, screaming all sorts of rubbish and trying to start a fight.’ Nathaniel shakes his head at the memory. ‘Someone who knew who he was called me to come get him. I did, and Ava, Dezaray’s mum, had been mortified, as was I.’

  ‘Ava,’ Jude considers. ‘Nice name.’

  ‘Nice woman. She and Frank practically raced after me. Frank insisted on helping me get my father home and Ava insisted I stop by Steak Home the next day to discuss working for them.’

  ‘So you worked at Steak Home?’ Lexovia always wondered how he and Dezaray had such a connection but had never got around to asking, afraid it would lead to people asking her about herself. It occurs to her that she often keeps her own tales close to her chest, but the more she gets to know people, the more it seems everyone has a sad tale to tell.

  Nathaniel nods. ‘For a while my greatest contribution was the plant life. I grew all sorts in the garden, hung flower baskets, draped vines. That’s when Ava asked if I wanted to be their gardener, instead. It seemed I had found my calling.’

  ‘That’s brilliant,’ Lexovia says, enviously, ‘to find yourself and discover what you want to do, rather than having it dictated to you your whole life.’

  ‘I can’t imagine what that was like,’ Nathaniel sympathises.

  Jude chirps in with, ‘It will be over soon,’ and leans back on his elbows. ‘Once the Exlathars are back in Vedark, you’ll be free to do whatever your heart desires.’ He points an accusing finger at Nathaniel. ‘And we need to find you a garden.’

  Nathaniel laughs, stretching as he gets to his feet. ‘On that note, I’m off to work.’

  They wave goodbye as Nathaniel saunters away towards the Bar & Grill. Lexovia pulls off her shoes, dipping her toes in the water, rolling up her pants’ leg. It is cold at first but warms within seconds, and she wiggles her feet all the way in.

  ‘What do you suppose you would’ve done if you were born a Teltreporthi or a Prevolid? If you weren’t the last Elentrice?’ Jude asks, waving his fingers, mimicking jazz hands.

  Lexovia considers, but then says, ‘I honestly don’t know. I’ve never really had the chance to think about it.’ She pauses, as if about to speak, but then changes her mind.

  ‘What is it?’ Jude probes, never missing a beat.

  ‘Well, one thing I sometimes thought about was how people treated me, boys in particular,’ she smiles wryly. ‘It seems being who I am is intimidating and I’m to be admired, but never approached. It was only after I became captain of the Syndigo Squad that the Dizby team saw me as more than my empire.’

  ‘But?’

  Sighing, Lexovia throws herself back onto the grass, not caring when dandelions puffballs explode around her. ‘Now I’m intimidated,’ and she laughs sardonically, turning onto her side to face him. ‘There is a guy, though.’

  Jude grins, ‘I thought so.’

  ‘And I think he likes me.’

  ‘And that’s bad?’

  ‘That’s terrifying.’ Lexovia covers her face. ‘I thought he was going to kiss me the other day and I ran away.’

  ‘You ran away?’ Jude cries in amusement.

  ‘It’s not funny,’ Lexovia wails in embarrassment. ‘I haven’t been kissed before. I wouldn’t have a clue what to do with myself.’

  Jude chuckles from low down in his throat.

  ‘Why are you laughing?’ Lexovia snaps, only half irritated.

  ‘It’s nice to see that even the last Elentrice struggles with matters of the heart sometimes.’

  ‘Everybody does,’ she moans. ‘If love was easy, we wouldn’t care as much.’

  The liveliness of the Bar & Grill is a welcome distraction. Having finished dinner, Jude and Lexovia decide to join Nathaniel at the bar. He finishes serving a customer then walks over noting they are in a rather heated debate.

  ‘What have I missed?’ he asks, wiping down the surface and leaning in, conspiratorially.

  ‘Lexovia wants to go and see Michaela,’ Jude announces.

  Nathaniel frowns. ‘Didn’t you and Dezaray do that already?’

  ‘That’s what I said,’ and Jude nods, pointedly.

  Lexovia rolls her eyes. ‘It just seems to me she’s a bit hush-hush with her information. Surely her dear old grandad left her more than a single memory. Besides, she knew Coldivor way back when.’ Lexovia half shrugs. ‘Maybe meeting me will remind her of that time and help open her up.’

  ‘Okay,’ Nathaniel concedes, ‘but there’s the small matter of us being trapped down here.’

  Jude snorts, ‘And after last time, they’re being even more vigilant. I’m pretty sure I saw barbed wire surrounded by rabid dogs out there.’

  Lexovia waggles mischievous brows. ‘Leave the Makers to me. They seem a bit kinder to the last Elentrice.’

  Jude expels a disbelieving puff of air. ‘To say you aren’t a fan of being the last of your kind, you certainly know how to abuse your status.’

  Lexovia smirks, ‘It gives and it takes.’

  The night draws to an end and Jude and Lexovia say their goodnights before making their way back to the farmhouse.

  ‘Do you think my mum will let us out?’ Jude asks as they walk.

  ‘I’m not sure.’ Lexovia yawns. ‘I told her what I told you, that Michaela seeing me—a Coltis and the last Elentrice—may help us get some answers.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘She saw my point and said she’ll talk to the others. She also unders
tood that I can’t just sit idly by whilst all hell breaks loose in Coldivor.’

  ‘Good argument,’ Jude says as he unlocks the door, letting them in.

  ‘It’s the truth,’ Lexovia points out as they trundle up the staircase and towards their own rooms.

  ‘Wait,’ Jude whispers, grabbing Lexovia’s arm and pulling her to him. His mouth smacks against hers, his hands cradling her neck. Her eyes widen, stunned, but when he wraps an arm around her waist, pulling her closer, and his lips gently push hers apart, she responds, following his lead. She lets her hands snake over his arms and gives in to the pounding of her heart. She never noticed until now how much he smells like home. Not one she knows, but one she might like to. After a brief moment, Jude pulls back, pushing her hair away from her forehead.

  ‘You’re a natural,’ he grins. ‘Now you can kiss what’s-his-face.’

  Lexovia shakes her head, smiling up at him. ‘You really are peculiar, aren’t you?’

  ‘A simple thank you would suffice.’

  Lexovia grins. ‘Thank you, Jude.’

  ‘Anytime,’ and with a friendly pat on her arm, he wishes her a ‘Goodnight’ before turning towards his bedroom.

  ‘Good night.’

  ‘TIS THE SEASON

  My eyes flicker open; I must have fallen asleep. My mouth is dry, like a salted slug, and I smack my lips together to try and get back some moisture, groggily pulling myself up to standing. My arm still aches and I keep it locked to my side. The pit is brighter now, and squinting through the grate, I see the sun.

  My stomach gurgles hungrily; I squeeze it with my palm. Maybe if I compress it, it will start to feel full.

  How long have I been down here? I go to the wall beneath the grate. Ignoring the jarring pain in my arm, I start to climb, barely getting both feet on the wall before I slip down its smooth surface.

  ‘Come on,’ I will myself, trying again, and once again fall. I yelp, pressing my shoulder into myself. They say “Mind over matter”, but my arm is definitely winning this fight. I gently tap my head against the wall, trying to dislodge some idea from the depths of my brain. Then the obvious hits me: magic!

  Taking a deep breath, I tap into my energy. It takes longer than usual, probably because I’m so completely drained.

  ‘Tixtremidral,’ I utter. Elated, I rise off the ground. Extending my good arm, I reach out and grab the grate. After taking another energy dredging pause, I pull against the metal, press my feet into the wall and heave.

  ‘Come on,’ I urge, yanking on the bars. ‘Come on!’ It doesn’t budge. I press my face against it, trying to see out. There are no signs of anything, just more slick black rock of what appears to be some kind of fort. I yank once more, growling with frustration, and my hand slips, sending me tumbling to the ground. I hit the earth, winded and dazed, my shoulder throbbing once more.

  I have lost all grip on time; seconds, minutes, hours, days merging into one. I can barely think anymore, clutching my stomach as sharp griping spasms rip through it. My tongue is dry and gives no relief to my cracked and white-caked lips. I gulp, willing spit to somehow materialise but nothing comes. I cough, gingerly resting my head on the wall behind me. I cannot remember the last time I didn’t have a headache and it only seems to be getting worse, muddling my thoughts and blurring my vision, too exhausted even to muster the energy to fall into the false freedom of gooshack.

  Desolate, I gaze down at my pale skin, as white as I’ve ever seen it, so dehydrated it almost feels like paper. I run my frail hand across my face, sickened by what I feel. I contort my features, sure I would burst into tears if my tear ducts had more in them than dust. Maybe the Exlathars striking me down in the beginning would have been a kinder way to die.

  For the first time in I don’t know how long, I hear the thud of heavy footsteps and the scrape of weighted wings along the gravel. Inhaling deeply, I brace myself for whatever they have planned and close my eyes, thinking of Milo not racing after me with wild panic in his eyes, like the last time I saw him, but laughing, climbing the ladder into the treehouse, holding me in his arms. I think of anything to steady the rapid beating of my heart as terror snakes its way up my spine.

  I’m shocked and stunned when numbingly cold liquid is thrown on me, then leap to my feet, gasping, disoriented. Water! I look up, sucking the wet from my lips and hoping more will come. It does, and this time I ignore the ache in my chest as all my senses are sent into a frenzy. Opening my mouth wide, I guzzle mouthfuls of precious water. Not wanting to waste a single drop, I hold out my hands, catching what I can. When the downpour stops, I drink from my blistered palms, then suck on my sopping t-shirt. Nothing has ever felt so good. I squint up at my captor, feeling like I may actually have the tears to cry joy as he sends another onslaught of water my way, gulping what I can until I choke.

  The thing above hisses at me before I hear the clank of a bucket hitting the ground, and then the beast is gone.

  ‘Thank you,’ I call, dropping to my knees. Water is on the ground and soon it will slip through the cracks or soak into the earth. Before it can, I press my mouth to it and suck up what I can, sighing, breathless. Tranzuta was right: water is just as magical as all the magic in this realm and the next.

  To say Milo isn’t handling Dezaray’s disappearance well would be putting it mildly. He has barely slept in days, slipping unwillingly in and out of consciousness, curled up in an uncomfortable ball on the floor of the Court’s great entrance hall. At first, they encouraged him to go home, to get some rest, but as he grew more restless and unpredictable, they decided keeping him close was probably the better option.

  After two days, Milo was given a room. Meagre and with a relentless draft whistling through the cracks in its wall, it did at least have a bed and a small oval window, not that he needed either. The bed was merely where he sat to get away from the monotonous strategizing of the Court, which never seemed to amount to anything, and the window only taunted him with the beauty of life outside.

  Milo now growls, dragging his fingers down his face, repeatedly tapping his feet on the concrete floor of his poky room, his eyes darting about as though the answer to all his qualms might suddenly jump out at him.

  Deciding they’ve fobbed him off long enough, Milo hops off the thin and hard mattress and heads out the door. Determined, he snakes his way through winding corridors, now as familiar with this maze of a building as he is his own home, until he reaches the hall. As expected, Vladimir, Brixen, Baxter, Amethyst, and a few others he’s never bothered to learn the names of, stand around the stone table, muttering lowly to one another.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Milo booms.

  ‘Milo.’ Amethyst seems surprised. ‘You really should be lying down.’

  ‘Stop telling me what to do,’ he snaps, angrily, storming over to join them. ‘It’s been four days! Why are we still here?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Vladimir asks, calmly, folding his arms across his chest.

  Milo’s eyes widen in disbelief. ‘I mean: why aren’t we out there?’ and he thrusts his hand viciously towards the double doors, ‘getting Dezaray back?’

  ‘And how would you have us do that, Milo?’

  ‘By getting out there and lighting the buggers on fire!’

  Baxter chuckles to himself; clearly finding Milo’s spirit brash but somewhat commendable.

  ‘An attack is exactly what the Exlathars want,’ Vladimir points out.

  ‘So, you’re going to do nothing?’ Milo bellows, pounding his fist on the table.

  ‘We’re going to do what we have been doing,’ Vladimir snaps, jabbing at the table with a pointed finger, ‘tracking their bases and eliminating them until the gethadrox is ready. If we find Dezaray, it’s a bonus, but I warned her, Milo. I warned you both. You didn’t care then, why should I care now?’

  Milo charges around the table, stopping inches from Vladimir’s face. Everyone gapes, their heart in their mouth when suddenly a siren calls. One that is louder than th
e curfew alarm, more erratic, dipping in and out of extremely low and astonishingly high blares. This siren they hear once a year, marking the start of Feasting season.

  Colour drains from every face and every eye expands in horror. They have all been so consumed with destroying the Exlathars, they have forgotten the onset of their most dreaded time of year, the one time when the whole of Melaxous retreats underground.

  ‘We’re done,’ Vladimir growls then turns to the others. ‘Get everyone ready. We move now!’

  The siren continues to shriek as Court members in glistening robes dart in and out of the hall, chanting hexes and waving their hands in the hope that those too injured to be moved will be protected by their enchantments. Milo watches, horror-stricken.

  The building creaks and groans as the ground shakes, slowly descending. Milo stumbles to the table, gripping it for balance, amazed at how easily the Court members move as though the building is not sinking into the ground. Shadows pass its windows the lower they go, the sound of rock crumbling like thunder around them.

  ‘We can’t just leave her,’ Milo calls after Vladimir as the man walks away, then gapes from member to member as they rush in and out of the hall, all preparing to move underground.

  We can’t go underground! and Milo’s stomach feels clutched in irons. Not whilst Dezaray is still out there, a prisoner of the Exlathars.

  The realisation of what Feasting Season means, hits Milo like a brick in the face. He knows the Court will force him below, into a bunker that will bind his ability. No Coltis will be allowed to roam Melaxous now. If he wants to save Dezaray, he will have to do it alone, starting by getting away from the unwanted protection of the Court.

  Frantic, Milo’s eyes sweep the hall, studying the heavy double doors, wondering if he could reach them and get outside without anyone noticing but then his gaze settles on the map sprawled out on the table. Exlathar bases have been marked off with circles, crosses on those the Court have already conquered. He looks about, checking if anyone is watching as he tiptoes his fingers across the stone, reaching out to the map.