by Dan Cash
“Anyway,” she continued. “I arrived and then you threw me in jail before I could even do what she had asked. And I’ve had a week to think… a week to think about how stupid I’ve been. I would never want to hurt you and Sofia. And I know I’ve just told you everything, so you probably won’t believe me after all the things I said, but it is the truth.”
Max did not speak for a few minutes. He had just been given a lot of information to digest, so Anne-Alicia let him contemplate his options
Finally, he spoke.
“I have a few questions.”
“Hit me,” she replied.
“First, how did Matthew die?”
Anne-Alicia was confused, and then she realised.
“Oh! Max I’m so sorry! I didn’t tell you! Matthew isn’t really dead, they freed him. It was my only condition to help Eimaj. They let him go.”
Max smiled, but there was doubt flickering behind his eyes. Anne-Alicia could not blame him. After all, she was dubious herself. She could not be one hundred percent sure that they had spared Matthew’s life; she could only trust what they had told her. And she did not feel too comfortable placing her trust in Eimaj.
“Thank everything good and bad!” he exclaimed. “Any idea where he is?”
“No, but he can’t be too far! Maybe he’ll find his way here.”
“We’ll find him. Right, another question: what have you told Eimaj since being here?”
The girl hesitated. “I’ve told her that you’ve locked me away and that I’m angry.”
“Good, we will let her believe that you’re still doing her bidding.”
Anne-Alicia agreed that this was best, especially because Eimaj would surely kill her if she found out that Max now knew the truth.
“Why didn’t you tell me you liked me? I thought you hated me.”
This question surprised Anne-Alicia. How could he focus on something so trivial at a time like this?
“I… Me and Sofia agreed that we’d just let fate decide.”
“Oh. Well, let me tell you, I used to believe in fate and destiny. But I’ve been here for a little while now and something tells me that they don’t exist.” Max smiled at Anne-Alicia, all tension in the room finally cleared.
“Max, can I ask you something?”
“Of course.”
“Why didn’t you do what Eimaj did? You know, read my mind,” she asked. Grateful that he did not choose that path.
“Well, to be honest I’m not very good at it,” Max confessed.
“Oh,” muttered Anne-Alicia, deflated by his response.
“But anyway, even if I could have, I wouldn’t,” he added.
“Why?”
“Because I know I can trust you. You’re my friend and I need you. And you need me.”
“I need you?” mocked Anne-Alicia.
“Ha. Ha. You know what I mean.”
The friends laughed, grinning at each other.
“Okay, is there anything else I need to know before we go?”
“We?” she repeated, hopefully.
“Of course, you can’t stay here any longer.”
“Thank you,” Anne-Alicia smiled, before something else suddenly came to her. “And yes, one more thing. ScribblePads.”
“ScribblePads? What about them?”
“Well I was only there for a day, albeit the longest day of my life, but I heard Eimaj talking about ScribblePads. She seemed to think that there was a way to use them to find you and Freddie.”
Max looked like he was about to vomit. His head suddenly fell into his arms.
“Max? Are you okay?” Anne-Alicia asked.
“Thinking,” he replied simply.
The room remained silent for several minutes as Max thought. Just as Anne-Alicia’s concern was growing, her friend’s head shot up.
“I need Luc. There’s a room… Oh, but I can’t think!” Frustration shook Max’s voice. “I’ve seen it… Faces… Friends… Light on the Landing. I’ve seen it! And Joz said… ScribblePads…”
“Max, are you..?”
“WHY CAN’T I THINK?!” He barked, before sprinting left out of the door.
Anne-Alicia smirked. An open cell door was all she needed. She exited the cold room and turned right. Part one of her plan had been executed perfectly. Now for part two.
Freddie
A streak of electric blue darted through Freddie’s naturally blonde hair. Betrayed by his Terexian roots, the young man’s disguise was gone.
When the interviewer had read his name from her autocue, his instinct was to run. Not to save himself, but to save the five young men who had risked everything for him. And the frustrating thing was that Freddie had no idea why he needed rescuing, or from what he would be running.
Haze glared at Freddie from the stage as he stepped up to his microphone, and shook his head sternly. Freddie knew what he was saying – Don’t be an idiot. In spite of everything, he allowed either end of his mouth to curl upwards. Of course he would not leave, not after all they had done for him.
Hiding did not come naturally to any Terexian but Freddie knew he had no other option. The tour bus and various hotel rooms became his only environments. Watching Light on the Landing’s concerts from backstage, exploring new cities, and meeting fans outside venues were no longer options. If somebody was looking for him, he would not be so foolish as to present himself so publicly.
He was not alone, though. Haze, Jayke, Jimmie, Naithain and Zaak did not abandon the lonely boy in his time of need. Most evenings, they opted for the hotel bar rather than venture into the city in search of a pub or nightclub. When Freddie had isolated himself in his hotel room, one of his friends came knocking. It was usually Haze.
Younger than the rest of his bandmates, Tommy Haze was perhaps the most kind-hearted person that Freddie had known. It would not have surprised him in the slightest if it had been Haze who agreed to save him and convinced the others. Freddie made a special effort to be happy whenever he greeted Haze at the door and felt genuinely happier by the time the singer had left.
The evening that Freddie disappeared was particularly uneventful. The band had left for an awards ceremony, leaving the Terexian alone in his hotel room after trying but failing to urge him to accompany them. It was not that he did not want to go; it was just not worth the anxiety of being in a highly publicised event with cameras everywhere.
He was half-lying, half-sitting on his plush hotel bed, the sound of traffic filtering through the walls blocked out by music playing from Freddie’s ScribblePad. Eyes closed, body relaxed, his mind emptied of worry for a brief moment. Bliss.
Until the music stopped abruptly and a familiar chime escaped the device that lay next to him. Instinctively, he reached for Lynk’s ScribblePad. No flashing light. For the first time in weeks, somebody was contacting Freddie.
Max?
Prisoner 001
Soldiers were armed with cameras, flashing lights indicating that they were ready to shoot. Prisoner 001 was in position once more, knelt into submission with only ragged remains of boxer shorts to cover his flesh.
This time, no guards stood either side of him. Instead, it was Eimaj who accompanied her first casualty of war on the stage. In the background, hoards of people were being shepherded through metal gates into the camp. For the first time, she was broadcasting a message to the whole of Rysked.
“Five…” began one soldier, “Four…” He held up three fingers, then two, then one. They were live to a nation.
“People of Rysked,” began Eimaj. She motioned to the crimson sky overhead. “Or should I say Red Sky. War has begun. It is time for you to join me and my army.” Every sentence was followed by a pause, every phrase gesticulated with authority.
“Many of you know Prisoner 001. He was the first person who failed to meet my requirements. He is not a soldier.”
A manned camera approached Prisoner 001, zooming into his emaciated face.
“We are here today at one of my camps. Here, we wi
ll help to build the skills of those not fit to fight. Cooking and cleaning, making clothes and repairing machines. Things that help to win a war without violence. My camps are a place for nurture. Prisoner 001 was the first campmate to arrive here. But this morning, he defied me.” Eimaj paused, her face contorting in rage. She spat the next words.
“As if it isn’t enough that he cannot perform magic, he has now refused to follow my orders. He did not want to join my side. He was against me. He is an enemy. And this is what I do to enemies.”
Prisoner 001 could only imagine the reactions of the millions of people watching this scene in their homes. Horror. Terror. Shock. This was an official declaration of war on a nation. Rysked, whose sky had been stark red for over a week, was under attack. And Eimaj’s army had already grown.
A fortnight of terrorising towns into submission had expanded her forces immensely. This public broadcast would surely increase her army even more, as well as the population of her camps. Nobody was safe, and everybody was realising that simultaneously.
Eimaj had explained everything to Prisoner 001 in the old classroom and it was clear that there was no help coming to the people of Rysked. ScribblePads had been banned from the land for almost a month, so all contact to the other lands was deemed impossible. This was apparently under the order of every political figure in the country, but their decisions were Eimaj’s; every member of their families had been taken.
Every politician, every mayor, every preacher, every celebrity, everybody with some sort of status, had had their loved ones stolen from them. Taken to camps or conscripted to Eimaj’s army. There was only one way to try and save them: follow Eimaj’s orders.
And so the public whippings of Prisoner 001 were permitted, even outside town halls and historical buildings. The camps were built without any intervention, no questions asked. Eimaj had free reign over the land of mystery, the land that had cut itself off completely from the outside world.
Of course she would eventually be found out, but by then it would be too late. While Joz Domen busied himself with Max Myers and his silly little friends, Eimaj will have dominated Rysked. Prisoner 001 was unsure how he had known the name Max Myers, but before he died he remembered.
The gun that pressed into his temple was the statement that would rock The South. A weapon like this had not been seen for centuries, since The End. The war that lasted for ever was fought with magic, until the final few months. Nobody remembered what really happened during The End, as it was such a long time ago.
All the history books had been rewritten so most of the truth was obliterated into extinction. Nobody in The South would remember now that it was Eimaj who brought weapons upon the four lands. Soldiers had been fighting for decades, magic against magic. But they were equally matched. There was no way the war would be won unless one side had a way to overpower the other.
And so Eimaj wielded a gun, a weapon that had never been seen by lands so pure. Her metal bullets had no place in a world of beautiful magic. In a war where fire battled water, charms clashed against curses, people atop dragons soared against people with their own wings, no weapons were needed. But they made an impact.
Eimaj was just a soldier doing her brother’s bidding when she walked onto the battlefield, but when she left she was her own force to be reckoned with. Shooting people down with the press of a trigger. Countless corpses falling to the ground. Paired with her immense magical capabilities, she was undefeatable, untouchable, and she had poisoned The South with the introduction of her metal killing machines.
When the war was won, and Eimaj was forced into exile, guns were forbidden. Eimaj’s weapon and those forged in its design were destroyed and never seen again. The history books never completely eradicated the introduction of guns to The South. Guns were undeniably, categorically, unforgivably evil and people must never forget the devastation that the pull of a trigger can cause.
So when Eimaj produced a gun and pointed it at Prisoner 001’s skull, she was making a statement. This was a war, make no mistake. The pull of a trigger, a loud bang, the metal bullet ending a life without remorse. This was Eimaj’s war. And she would win.
Anonymity was no longer important. In fact, the identity of Prisoner 001 was now integral to her plan. And when she shouted out his name, he remembered. In his final moments, before he was just an empty body lying on the ground, he remembered who he really was.
He did have a family, and he had loved them very much. His mother and father must have been out of their minds with worry, and they will be devastated when they hear the news of their son’s death.
He had friends, too. Some of them he had only known for a while but others he had known for a long time. They all meant so much to him.
Max Myers had been his friend, and a great friend he was. Caring and funny and so naïve… But now he had The South to fight for. This war would be Max’s as well, and he would fight until Eimaj was defeated. But without him.
The first casualty of Eimaj’s war would be one of Max’s best friends. This was no coincidence. He hoped that Max would find the strength and the courage to fight on.
There was someone else, another friend. No, someone more than a friend. A boy… the boy in his dream. He had saved him from the fox.
Russell. His best friend and his soulmate, Russell Chaney.
In the split second before Eimaj emptied the gun’s chamber of its single bullet, her victim was flooded with relief.
He was not Prisoner 001. He had a name. He had had a life, once. And he would be remembered not only as the first victim of Eimaj’s war, but as a son and a friend and one half of a whole.
He was Matthew Harrinter.
Jimmie
The day Jimmie disappeared was the day Light on the Landing had fallen apart.
Terexe had played host to problem after problem. It was hard not to blame Freddie. It was hard not to blame each of the band members. It was impossible not to blame fans. Because while Light on the Landing had the best fans in The South, what did they really mean by ‘best’?
They were dedicated, that had always been unquestionable. But their dedication balanced precariously on a narrow border with obsession. Lighters, the majority anyway, ruled the boys. Their boys.
While music had brought everyone together in this crazy little world, music had gradually fallen to the background. That had been the case for a while. But when Zaak made his relationship with Yazmin public, things had quickly turned sour and Jimmie was reminded why he sometimes detested Scribbler and ScribblePads.
Messages of hate, pure and unadulterated, flooded in Yazmin’s direction. She had called Zaak in tears, reading a small extract of the Scribbles in her inbox. Fans had labelled her ‘ugly’ and ‘disgusting’, they accused her of coming between members of the band, they swore in caps lock and, by far the worst but not an isolated case, she was told to kill herself and die.
Zaak was livid, disappointed and gutted, as were his band mates when they were told. They were advised to stay away from Scribbler completely, the temptation to retaliate not worth the newspaper headlines. And Jimmie listened to Graham and his band mates and to other celebrities who had seen the uproar. All because Zaak had a girlfriend.
But it did not stop there. Only a day later, Haze caused even more drama when a paparazzo snapped him kissing a girl after a night at a Terexian bar. Rumours of another relationship widened the rift between Light on the Landing and the Lighters.
Not only that, but people who for so long had joked about Jimaze being a real romance suddenly burst onto the scene. Jimmie realised that there had not been mere jokes about him and Haze being secretly in love – there had been speculation and theories.
When he typed the word ‘Jimaze’ into the Scribbler search bar for the first time, to say he was shocked would be an astronomical understatement.
Every interview during which Jimmie had sat next to his best friend, and that was a lot, had been analysed. The brotherly hugs they had shared, the playful kno
cks and nudges, the inside jokes they had acknowledged through discreet eyebrow raises… all misconstrued by fans as signs of true love.
The interview with Elisabeth had apparently been the icing on the cake, Jimmie and Haze’s banter causing a fangirl meltdown.
And so, Haze became the new target of hate messages simply because he had kissed a girl in public. Jimaze was a ‘trending topic’ for hours, allowing millions of people to view what he had seen with a simple click of a button.
It upset Jimmie. Not because he cared what people thought about him – that did not matter. What bothered him was the plunge into the celebrity rumour mill that he had tried to avoid. For so long they had managed to keep their private lives as secret as they could but he realised that that was now impossible.
Because of the press and their fans
Not long after the dramatic events on Scribbler, the band had a live interview that would go out to the whole of The South. It was agreed that Zaak would speak about Yazmin and respond to the hate that she had received. He had learnt his script in make-up.
Jimmie and Haze would not sit next to each other in the hopes that the rumours would soon die down. Naithain and Jayke would have to keep the energy alive, as the other three felt so disheartened that they currently resented everything about their lives at that moment.
And they succeeded. Until Jimmie missed Haze, Zaak swore, and Naithain stopped thinking. This all happened within a minute of each other.
First, Jimmie went to whisper a joke in Jayke’s ear about something the interviewer had said, but as he turned his eyes met Haze’s. They both grinned knowingly, both thinking the same thing. Damn, thought Jimmie. That would not go unnoticed by the more vigilant and convinced Jimaze fans.
Then the interviewer told Zaak, “It is a shame that some fans react in such a negative way about something that you must be so happy about.” Zaak had agreed emphatically, a swear-word slipping from between his lips before his mind could prevent it. A slip-up.
