At Water's Edge_An Epic Fantasy

by S McPherson

  ‘He was interesting.’ Milo chortles. Suddenly, two red helmets are pushed out in front of us by mechanical hands. We take the helmets and put them on.

  ‘Red team initiated,’ says a robotic female voice. Our ruby bars now glow and we are wrenched away from each other and tossed into a sea of other colourful, spiralling and whirling bars. A girl, clinging for dear life to two bright yellow bars, hurtles past me.

  ‘Fifteen minutes and I’ve only connected to one,’ she screams before colliding with a green bar and suffering a shock. Gulping, I struggle to direct my own bar. I look up. Milo appears to be horrified, wailing and spinning around. He smashes into a pink bar, shuddering as the shock stings him. Then he hits a blue bar, another jolt welcoming him. I try hard not to laugh but it’s quite a sight. Poor Milo. He hates to fly and all we’ve done tonight is tumble through the air.

  A red bar spins past me. I yank on my rod, desperate to follow, and to my delight we do. I quickly master the art of steering and so it’s then merely a question of if I can link with my own coloured bars without colliding with others. The answer? Yes. I clumsily smack into the side of the red bar and so now have a chain of two in my hands.

  ‘Show off,’ Milo calls before being shocked by a purple rod.

  ‘Amateur,’ I yell back.

  After our twenty minutes in Bars of Bedlam – where I win a glowing red bracelet for somehow making a connection of three bars – we decide to head back to Telathrodon.

  ‘Beginners luck,’ Milo grumbles, kicking the earth as we stroll out of Devirum.

  ‘Whatever helps you sleep at night,’ I sigh, holding my bracelet up to the glistening lights of Devirum.

  Milo chuckles. ‘Did you have fun tonight?’

  ‘The most I’ve possibly ever had,’ I say thoughtfully.

  ‘I’m glad.’ The skin crumples at the sides of his eyes as he regards me. I allow myself a fraction of a second to smile back and then promptly avert my gaze.

  JUDE EDWARDS

  Two days later, Lexovia is making little to no progress. The rocking chair remains unchanged, even with Dezaray’s plans splayed out before her, and according to them she should already be working on the matching footstool by now. An array of tools and slabs of wood decorate the workbench but Lexovia cannot make sense of any of them.

  ‘Screwdriver, screwdriver,’ she mutters to herself as she analyses the tools on the table. Humanitorium is proving more and more useful each day. If only she had paid better attention.

  Which one is the screwdriver? Lexovia wrinkles her brow, utterly perplexed. Is it the one with the handle and rectangular type thing jutting out at the end? Is it the small one that is round at the top and narrows at the bottom? Or is that in fact the screw she is supposed to drive somehow?

  Accepting defeat, Lexovia picks up the screw, places it in the correct spot and tries twisting it by hand. It barely budges and she lets out a frustrated sound reminiscent of an injured pup.

  ‘Are you feeling alright, Dezaray?’ Professor Moxy calls.

  ‘Yes.’ Lexovia reluctantly exposes her teeth. ‘A bit tired is all’

  A shadow darkens the surface before her and she is aware of someone standing over her. Deciding they do not warrant her attention, Lexovia continues to fumble for anything to put the screw in place. Her visitor pulls up a chair and sits down.

  ‘Are you alright, Dezaray?’ the boy asks, ‘or…perhaps you are not Dezaray at all.’ He’s thoughtful, studying Lexovia closely from beneath his hood. He keeps his voice low and conversational. Lexovia sighs; it’s that Peculiar Lad again.

  ‘Something has been amiss these recent days,’ he says. ‘Perhaps you are her counterpart instead.’

  Unable to resist, Lexovia glances in his direction. He notices this; the edges of his lips twitch upwards.

  ‘You’ve been at the portal,’ he concludes.

  Deciding there’s no use for the charade, Lexovia slumps down in her seat, tossing the screw onto the table, ‘What’s it to you?’

  ‘You ought to be careful; there are precautions to ensure people don’t go flitting between realms on a whim.’

  Lexovia scoffs. And yet, he does seem well informed in regards to the portal and other realms. She wonders just how much he actually knows.

  Hesitantly, very aware she may end up regretting her decision, Lexovia asks, ‘Have you heard of Feranvil Farm by any chance?’

  It’s Peculiar Lad’s turn to be caught off guard. He nods.

  ‘Do you know of a bar and grill out there?’

  Another nod.

  ‘Do you know how to get there?’ Lexovia asks with mounting frustration, her voice rising slightly.

  ‘Why so curious about the farm?’

  ‘Don’t you worry about it.’

  Peculiar Lad shrugs.

  ‘Well?’ Lexovia urges. ‘Yes or no?’

  ‘Yes or no what, exactly?’

  Lexovia’s fists clench. She is so inescapably tempted to knock this freak right off his chair. ‘Do you or do you not know how to get to Feranvil Farm Bar?’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘Right.’ Lexovia digs in her rucksack and retrieves a pen and a small pad. ‘Can you please jot down the directions?’ She attempts to pass him the materials but he refuses with a brisk shake of his head.

  ‘I can take you there,’ he states.

  Lexovia is more than a little put off by the suggestion. ‘That’s alright.’ She shoves the pen and paper at him once more but he simply crosses his arms.

  ‘Either I take you, or you attempt to find another aware of its location.’

  ‘I would hate to put you out.’ Lexovia, trying to remain calm, wiggles the pen in his face. He stands up to leave.

  ‘Alright.’ She glances at the seat beside her, indicating for him to sit back down. The fact that the two loners are actually having a conversation is already sparking enough interest. Even Professor Moxy seems a little intrigued. He constantly looks their way and has not once told them off for not at least pretending to work, like the rest of the class are.

  ‘Alright.’ He sits back down.

  ‘Frankly, I don’t fancy being taken to some shady ditch where you prance around an elm tree, naked I might add, before beheading me as a sacrifice to your alien God,’ Lexovia states matter-of-factly.

  Peculiar Lad tosses his head back and makes an odd ‘Ah-hu’ sound. His teeth show and Lexovia assumes he is demonstrating an expectedly weird form of laughter. Then, once again giving her his attention, he repeats, ‘Either I take you, or you attempt to find another aware of its location.’

  ‘Are you actually going to take me there?’

  ‘I am.’ He smiles, a surprisingly normal one. ‘We’ll go this Thursday. Meet me here. 6 PM. We’ll remain the weekend.’ Before she can protest, he stands and leaves.

  ‘Are we there yet?’ Lexovia asks, finally breaking the silence between them. It’s a brittle Thursday afternoon and she stamps her feet to keep warm. She has been walking with Peculiar Lad for quite some time now and is beginning to grow antsy.

  ‘Are you frightened?’

  ‘No!’ she replies too quickly.

  He grins wickedly and Lexovia flexes her index finger in preparation. He leads her into a wooded area, venturing onto a gravelled footpath. Looking to the side, Lexovia notices that the trees continue down a slope leading to a large, ideal for prancing-around-an-elm-tree-naked-and-beheading-someone type ditch.

  Acknowledging what is obviously running through her mind and probably noticing her alarmed expression, Peculiar Lad smiles to himself, struggling to hold back his laughter. Realising this, Lexovia scowls and juts out her jaw defiantly.

  They walk further on in silence, finally coming to a clearing. It is surrounded by a brown, chipped wooden fence approximately waist-high. Multiple signs advise against entry. ‘Beware of vicious attack dogs!’, ‘Keep off grass – Snakes!’, ‘Enter at own risk.’ and ‘Private Property!’ are just a few. Seemingly oblivious to these, Peculiar Lad
begins to climb over the splintered fence.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Lexovia hisses. ‘Private Property!’ and she thrusts her hand at the sign.

  ‘Were all the stories of the rebellious Coltis fiction or merely the most of them?’

  Lexovia glowers at him. ‘I rebel in my own dimension thanks. Here I prefer to keep a low profile.’

  ‘Are you journeying to Feranvil farm or aren’t you?’ he asks, offering his hand to help her over the fence as he firmly lands on the other side.

  ‘I am.’ Lexovia refuses his hand and effortlessly leaps over the fence in one elegant jump.

  ‘Touché.’

  Up-ahead, Lexovia can make out a quaint house almost swallowed up by its vast surroundings. There’s no sign of any guard dogs, snakes nor risk-taking afoot. Barely half way across the field, Peculiar Lad stops.

  ‘Here we are.’

  Lexovia stares at him then down at the large rock he is pointing to.

  ‘Would you care to do the honours?’ he asks.

  ‘What?’ Lexovia’s forehead creases.

  ‘Lift the boulder,’ he says.

  ‘I don’t…’ Lexovia’s voice trails off as she tries to come up with a logical explanation.

  ‘Lift the boulder.’

  ‘Are you serious?’

  Peculiar Lad nods.

  Lexovia groans with frustration. ‘What is the matter with you? Why would you-’

  He unexpectedly clamps his hand over her mouth. ‘Under gravel and rock, you’ll find me. Safe beneath the Earth I’m hiding.’

  Lexovia seethes, her breath heating and cooling his hand in short succession.

  ‘Lift the boulder,’ he repeats.

  She glowers at him.

  ‘Under gravel and rock, you’ll find me. Safe beneath the Earth I’m hiding,’ he again says, but slower this time. ‘Lift the boulder.’

  Though his face is still shrouded beneath his hood, Lexovia can vaguely make out the sincerity in his eyes. She nods and he immediately lowers his hand. Keeping a wary eye locked on him, Lexovia crouches down and lifts the rock, revealing a hole leading to who knows where. She waits for him to say something but he simply stands, perfectly still.

  The ground starts to shake and the earth begins to crumble away, caving in and widening the opening. Lexovia jumps back but Peculiar Lad still does not react. She stares at him then back at the spreading gap creeping towards her. As she’s about to take another leap away, he grabs hold of her wrist and they both go plunging into the ground.

  Lexovia hears a scream; it’s hers but sounds as if it’s coming from someone else. She attempts to grab onto the side of the hole but the earth simply disintegrates. Before she knows it, she is flat on her back, plummeting down the hole that rapidly fills in above them, her arms and legs flailing. She glances across at Peculiar Lad who is merrily cascading down. He too is on his back, but rather than being in hysterics at the colossal amount of soil chasing after them, he is extremely at ease, his hands joined behind his head.

  Then at last they land with a gentle tap and skid for a few feet along a stretch of grass. This is clearly the norm, for this particular part of the grass is much more worn and flat than that around it. They are welcomed by warm daylight and a gentle breeze. Lexovia can see a narrow road, across which is another mass of greenery, the odd fenced off area here and there containing cows, goats or pigs. The scent of just mowed meadow and traces of manure lingers in the air and a white painted sign stuck in the ground declares ‘Feranvil Farm’, written in black.

  Peculiar Lad stands up, dusting himself off, then makes his way to the pavement and heads across the road. Lexovia hastily follows. Though he frightens her a little, he has certainly brought her to where she wants to be.

  In the distance is a spectacular farmhouse, around which is a wooden veranda. Its beautiful brick walls and pointed wooden roofs enhance its beauty and a crystal blue stream running in front of it does more than simply set the tone. She is mesmerized and a little disappointed when Peculiar Lad veers away from this architectural masterpiece and heads for a quaint building on the right which, from the outside at least, resembles a barn.

  As they get closer, an odd sense of déjà vu creeps over Lexovia – a feeling quite common to Premoniters – and sure enough, once they reach the door, she looks up to see a wooden sign with the words ‘Feranvil Farm Bar & Grill’ scrawled on it with a piece of chalk. Lexovia experiences a spasm of excitement. She is really here.

  Peculiar Lad pushes open the door and they’re greeted by a wave of folk music and high spirits. Lexovia looks around. There is the rectangular box, the source of the music, with – as predicted – the merry girls doing their jig, kicking their legs and tapping their feet in synchrony whilst some other people stand on stage, attempting to conjure up a large conga line. Small round tables and wooden chairs are spread around the circular dance floor, not one of which is free; in fact, the whole place is densely packed. Yet this doesn’t appear to bother anyone, and if anything, adds to the effervescent ambience.

  Feranvil Farm Bar & Grill is certainly a barn conversion; small stacks of hay still lie in corners, great big beams add their own character and even some of the stables remain and are being used as V.I.P. booths with plush couches, glass tables and gossamer emerald curtains.

  Lexovia is captivated. Seeing that she needs a bit of help getting passed the doorway, Peculiar Lad tugs on her arm and leads her towards the bar where a jolly looking elderly woman with long golden curls is twirling bottles and pouring shots.

  ‘What did I tell you about waltzing in the front door?’ the woman says, addressing Peculiar Lad. ‘You’ve three months ‘til your eighteenth and it’s not the holidays either.’ Noticing Lexovia, she softens, her features welcoming.

  ‘Don’t be like that.’ Peculiar Lad tosses his bag over the bar, saunters to an empty stool and waits for the woman to join him. She eventually does, leaning over conspiratorially.

  ‘What’s the story?’ she asks with a flick of her head at Lexovia.

  ‘Amateur passing of the portal. Got stuck here.’

  ‘What of the counterpart?’

  ‘Traded places. Unintentionally it seems.’

  ‘Thank God for that,’ she breathes. ‘As long as they are opp-dimensional, we stand a fighting chance.’

  Lexovia can hardly hear a word of this conversation, and though she is aware they are most probably discussing her and her options, she fails to be concerned – too engrossed in the happenings within the bar. A tall man, excessively so and borderline giant, is sitting in a corner. He’s really too big for a chair and is belting his heart out to the song being played. Cheery customers applaud and some even sing along with him, swaying from side to side and waving their drinks in the air.

  Two abnormally hairy gentlemen – it covers every inch of them except for their eyes, hands and, interestingly enough, their heads – are enjoying a fascinating game of darts. Fascinating in that once a dart is thrown it is not left to its own devices but is directed by the men to where they wish it to land by a wiggle of their fingers. The dart does not slow down, however, and has to be positioned with astonishing speed and exhaustive precision to gain a perfect bull’s-eye. Just an ordinary game of darts is intriguing enough in Coldivor – it is so human – let alone a magical version.

  ‘NEVER!’

  Lexovia manages to tear her eyes away from the hairy men and sees an elderly gentleman good-naturedly refusing to dance as a few gushing women try to drag him from his seat and out onto the dance floor. Lexovia gazes around. Everyone is frolicking, not a care in the world. The entire atmosphere is like an addictive drug.

  ‘Impressed?’ Peculiar Lad yells over the music.

  ‘For want of a better word,’ Lexovia calls back, only now realising how far he has ventured from her.

  ‘Cheers, love. I run this place,’ The woman from behind the bar smiles before returning her attention to Peculiar Lad. ‘And get that ridiculous kit off will you?’ she s
ays to him.

  Peculiar Lad willingly obliges, pulling his hooded sweater up over his head. What is revealed is something quite astonishing. Peculiar Lad unveiled is not even marginally odd. Instead, though definitely not her type, Lexovia notes he’s exceptionally more handsome than she would have imagined. The strange and surly persona he evidently likes to adopt in public still has weird written all over it, but what stands before her now is undeniably impressive.

  Peculiar Lad, or now rather Average Lad, is of medium build with short ash-blonde hair with an eyebrow piercing and dark green eyes. He smiles at her – again perfectly normal – and for the first time she smiles back before joining him.

  ‘It’s human after all,’ she says once she’s close enough for him to hear.

  ‘Jude Edwards.’ He extends his hand. ‘’S a pleasure.’

  ‘Lexovia Trice.’ She shakes his hand.

  ‘And this,’ Jude gestures to the curly haired, dark blonde standing behind the bar, now energetically drumming out a beat on a beer keg and greatly entertaining the guests beside her, ‘is my mum.’

  ‘Hello there.’ Mrs Edwards winks, ‘Hear you’re in a bit of a pickle.’

  Relieved to be able to express her worries at last, Lexovia perches on a bar stool, propping her chin up on her hand.

  ‘Yep. One of the bitterest pickles you can imagine.’

  ‘Right. Well, let’s not talk in here.’ Mrs Edwards pulls a couple of mugs down from a shelf behind her and thrusts them at Jude. ‘We live in the farmhouse up the way. We’ll have a chat in there. Have a cuppa for now whilst we take last orders before lunch.’ Without having to be asked, Jude starts on the teas and Lexovia allows herself once more to be taken over by the contagious environment of the bar.

  WALK WITH ME

  I slip out of the classroom as soon as the bell sounds and hurry to the exit. After last night with Milo, I need to be alone or at least away from him, if only for a short while.

  You don’t belong here. You don’t belong here. I try to keep my head up, stride steady, trying to come off as Lexovia like as possible. Once out the doors, I jog down the school steps and pull my jacket tighter around me. There’s quite a chill today and the sun is in hiding; rumour has it, it will snow soon. About to take a turn towards Telathrodon, I’m halted by someone calling ‘Lexovia’. I don’t stop at first, still not used to being called that name, but then it clicks and I turn. It’s Milo, running down the steps after me. There’s a flutter in my stomach I try to ignore. I want to run in the opposite direction but my feet refuse to move. I hear warning bells clanging as he gets closer but drift far, far away in my subconscious.