by S McPherson
‘Or protecting you,’ Nathaniel concludes.
‘Don’t remind me.’ I grimace as I recall Fawn insisting on a team being in charge of guarding me, risking their lives for someone they barely know. About to continue, I’m stopped by the sound of static; a muffled voice in my head proves hard to hear through the hissing.
‘…hear…hello?’
It’s a girl’s voice I acknowledge with a pang of disappointment. But whoever it is, they’re managing to mindle and my heart leaps into overdrive. What if it’s bad news? Nathaniel and Jude are oblivious as they continue discussing tonight. I take a deep breath and focus my energies on the voice in my head.
‘I can hear you,’ I respond.
‘Happy birthday, counterpart,’ the voice replies – the static dying down the more I concentrate.
I smile. ‘Happy birthday to you too. How is it going over there?’
‘Not good,’ Lexovia confesses. ‘They’ve hidden me away from the outside world.’
‘You must be in my old quarters.’ I say wryly, ‘Any news from Milo and the others?’
‘Not a word. I imagine everyone is being chaperoned. Contacting me would be strictly forbidden; that’s why I haven’t contacted them.’
‘Yeah, probably,’ I sigh.
‘You haven’t heard from anyone either?’ Lexovia sounds surprised and her concern concerns me.
‘N-no,’ I stammer. I wasn’t aware I could stammer in my mind. ‘Do you think something’s happened?’
There’s a pause. ‘Not even Milo?’
‘No.’ I swallow, panic rising.
Lexovia is quiet for too long. The terror shows on my face and Jude and Nathaniel silence their conversation to frown at me and mouth the words ‘What is it?’.
‘What do you think’s happened?’ I ask.
‘I think no news is better than bad news,’ Lexovia finally says. ‘I best be going now. I hear footsteps. Wish me luck.’
‘Good luck,’ I reply absently, rubbing my face in my hands.
‘What is it?’ the boys both ask.
‘It was Lexovia. She’s fine,’ I say before they panic, ‘but she was surprised I hadn’t heard from the others.’ I bite my lip, trying to silence my subconscious and its imaginings.
Nathaniel nods. ‘I wouldn’t worry about it. They’re probably just preparing.’
‘Lexovia is fine and that’s all that matters,’ Jude agrees.
I nod, my eyes idly tracing the stem of a flower printed on the tablecloth. Lexovia’s safety isn’t all that matters to me. Though she is high on my list of concerns, there’s one other that matters as much if not more.
HIM OR ME
Later that night, my heart stops. A damp sweat smears my crumpled brow. Though the air is icy, I fail to notice for my chilled blood matches the cold. Drake, of that I’m certain, though I can’t make sense of his presence here, in Feranvil, stood by the stables like death incarnate, malice in his shadowed eyes. I’m unable to move, frozen by fear. The sun is setting, bleeding into the tinged sky, my feet sink into the snow and the horses gallop off into the distance, free and unafraid – unlike me.
I won’t speak. I’m not even sure I can. The silence stretches out in time but he doesn’t seem to mind, apparently enjoying the build-up. I can only guess at what he’s building up to…my end. His hatred for me has finally consumed him and he plans to rid himself and the world of me, a smudge to be wiped clean. I hope he does it quickly. There’s a pang in my chest as I imagine Nathaniel and Jude coming to find me when I fail to return from letting the horses out, the snow crimson with my blood, parts of my body garnishing the farm. My stomach rolls. My friends…one my oldest and the other so unexpected. But now the thought of being without either is unimaginable.
‘Hello, sister,’ Drake smirks. He’s thinner than the last time I saw him; he must be feeding on his hate alone.
‘What are you doing here?’ I rasp. My throat dry, tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth.
He chuckles, ‘Beats me. I was in solitary when a voice tells me I’m free, it’s time and the door swings open; guards dead, not an obstacle in sight.’
A voice. ‘So, what are you doing here?’ I repeat, but fear I already know the answer. Nathaniel mentioned last night how dark magic can’t enter Feranvil Farm. But perhaps a Corporeal, one sent by dark magic, perhaps they can instead. I ball my hands into fists and grit my teeth; a pale imitation of strength.
‘Dezaray by name, her death it does remain,’ and Drake grins.
‘How did you get past the Feranvil guards?’ I don’t know why I ask. The answers won’t matter when I’m dead. Maybe I’m stalling. I’m not sure anymore. I can’t quite think.
‘Last night,’ Drake sneers, ‘during the commotion. That was just a diversion to get me in here.’ He takes a step forward.
I take a step back.
‘You see, this voice, it says it wants me to do something in return for my freedom.’ Drake tilts his head to the side, as if considering my reaction, then he sneers once more. I see he’s lost a tooth, probably from one of the many brawls he’s likely to have had in prison.
‘And what’s that?’ I ask, my ferocity disguising the rapid tremor of my heart.
His sneer grows wider and too fast, the gap between us closes. He lunges at me, effortlessly knocking me to the ground. My head smacks into the snow, a puff of it swirling around me. I’m dazed. I feel him claw for my throat but it’s padded in my scarf. He resorts to using his fists.
My face stings and throbs but I still haven’t quite grasped what’s happening. I’m willing myself to react but my eyes are wide, my tongue locked behind my teeth, and with every blow I’m reminded of the ones before, all those times when I was helpless and alone.
‘Something they didn’t have to ask me to do,’ Drake bellows between punches.
I bring my arms up to shield myself, but with one of his own, he clamps them down. Bam! A stabbing pain shoots through my cheekbone. My eyes water, my vision clouds and I taste blood, metallic on the tip of my tongue. He presses his hands over my face, smothering my nose and mouth. I feel my chest tighten as the oxygen is squeezed from my lungs. The pressure builds in my head and I feel my eardrums might burst. Not like this.
‘Get off me!’ I try to cry, the words stifled by his grip.
I squirm, anxiously grabbing at his wrists, pulling on his fingers and clawing at his skin. I’ve cut him, blood beneath my nails, but he barely flinches. My eyes are glazing over; my head is starting to ache. I don’t have much time. I prepare myself for the inevitable and the image of Jude and Nathaniel discovering me enters my mind once more…My friends. And then something I could never have prepared for happens.
My body works without me. My knee lifts and meets the base of Drake’s spine. He groans and his hold relaxes. Then my hands are pressed into his face, my thumbnails pressing harder and harder into his eyes as the boxing instructor had shown me. This time Drake cries out and tumbles off me. I attempt to crawl away, desperate to find a weapon, but in a blind haste, Drake grabs my scarf and restrains me. It cuts into my windpipe and I gag. As fast as I can, I unravel the cloth from my neck and, shocking myself, kick back, ramming my foot into Drake’s chest. He doubles over and I don’t stop there. The thirteen-year-old he always reduced me to has now grown up, and she is well and truly pissed off.
Whilst he’s down I draw my knee almost up to my chin to ensure maximum impact and kick him again, this time hitting his throat. A strangled gargling sound escapes him as he wheezes and clutches his neck, finally collapsing into the snow. I pounce on him. Summoning all my strength, I punch him in the face. He moans again and I punch him once more, this time in his swelling eye. Then I sock him in his jaw, against his missing tooth, in his ear, wherever my fists can reach.
I hear myself almost growling, a deep, angry bitter growl as I clench my teeth and deliver my handful of knuckles. Suddenly, an almighty roar erupts from me and I can barely think straight. My heart is pounding so
fiercely I can feel it all the way up to my ears. My breath pulsates from my mouth, fogging the air as I try to breathe.
Drake is shielding himself as much as he can, starting to collect himself, something I just can’t let happen. Though I truly thought I was going to roll over and take it, there’s something different about this fight, something different from the times when he used to beat me, blaming me for our parents’ death, and when, somewhere deep down, I blamed myself. The difference this time is that I have a reason to fight back…friends, love, a belief in the assumed impossible.
Hastily, I scramble off Drake and stagger to my feet, still dizzy and mad with rage. I stamp on his head, my hefty snow boots coming down heavily. He yells out and I push harder, grinding my heel into his skull. Then something reflects the moonlight and catches my eye. I squint through the darkness. It’s the mucking-out shovel.
I race over, wild like a barbarian, barge through the stable doors and yank it from its hay bed before charging back, waving it frantically in front of me. At last I stand over him, as he meekly pulls himself away. I lift the shovel high above my head, as high as my aching arms will allow, longing for there to be a thunderstorm, for lightning to streak across the sky behind me to reinforce my statement. Then I bring the shovel down, preparing myself for the resounding crunch to come – but it doesn’t. When my red mist of rage clears, I see Pebble before me, holding the haft of the shovel.
‘Don’t do this!’ she says calmly.
‘What are you doing?’ I cry. Stupid Spee’ad.
‘Dezaray.’ The sound of my name startles me and I glance over my shoulder. Jude and Nathaniel are racing towards us.
‘You don’t want to do this,’ Nathaniel yells.
‘Yes, I do,’ I call back and try to yank the shovel from Pebble’s surprisingly strong grasp. ‘Get off!’
Nathaniel’s now beside me, panting heavily whilst Jude helps Pebble try to wrest the weapon from my grip, but my wrath is stronger.
‘This isn’t you, Dezaray,’ Nathaniel says, trying to talk me down, but I’m in no mood to listen.
‘No!’ I snap, continuing to wrestle them for the shovel.
‘We’ll call Feranvil Force. Let them handle this,’ Nathaniel urges.
I shake my head, my eyes brimming, my throat raw as I groan from the bottom of my belly. ‘No!’ I exclaim.
‘Dezaray, stop,’ Nathaniel cries as I yank on the shovel and almost pull Jude and Pebble to the ground. Alice Brelouse, another member of the defend Dezaray team, arrives and joins Nathaniel in trying to yank me away from Drake.
‘NO!’ I shout. ‘NO!’ and tears stream down my face as I fight against them. ‘Let me go.’ but they don’t, and eventually I’m separated from the shovel. My hands still tensed in position, I buckle at my knees, a wave of emotion dragging me down, and I fall to the ground not far from my brother.
‘I hate you,’ I whisper from where I lie in the snow. ‘I hate you,’ and I curl up in a ball, cradling my knees.
Drake doesn’t respond, merely rolls over with a breath of relief.
I’m told Drake will be taken to Feranvil Force Holdings, a place they don’t often use, normally banishing any offenders to be discovered Up-Top. Most offenders, though, are just thieves or bullies. This is their first case of attempted murder sent by dark magic. Apparently, a group of Coltis will meet Drake at the holding facility and I’m told they will be placing the strongest barriers they can around it until they decide what to do with him.
‘He won’t be getting out. We’ll make sure of that,’ one of the force officers assures me as I sit trembling in the cold, a woollen blanket wrapped around me by Mrs Edwards.
‘Stronger barriers, that’s what we need,’ the other officer says and nods. ‘Only those invited here should get in.’ I watch as Drake slumps in the backseat of the car, hands cuffed behind him. The flashing orange and green siren lights hold my gaze until they eventually become dots in the distance.
Nathaniel reappears with a tray of steaming mugs. Everyone graciously accepts the liquid warmth. He forces one into my hand and I sip it. Hot chocolate. Each sip slowly helps to revive me and clear my head. No one says a word. They simply sit beside me, in utter silence, the only disturbance the slurping of drinks and the thudding of hooves as the horses gallop across the hillside.
THE ELENFAR
The sun sinks and the moon floats. It illuminates the stars, enabling them to twinkle brightly, as beautifully as they would any other night, though tonight is inescapably different. All day, the air in Melaxous has been thick and stifling, tension setting everyone on edge, a child’s laughter enough to pinch the nerves, and almost every street deserted. No one strolled idly through the stores, no one visited another for a cuppa and all schools will be closed until Monday. This is of course under the pretence of a public holiday: the great day when the last Elentrice receives the blessings of her forefathers. The truth unsaid being that it is the day their secret weapon, their buried gun, is finally loaded with titanium bullets and the ultimate battle will begin.
As predicted, the Vildacruz show up with massacre held in highest regard. They come in mass, starting in the town centre and veering off in their smaller groups. Gravel and ice break beneath their feet and the wolves call to the moon as they stampede through the alleys. It is a bitter night; the wind howls, but even its piercing shrieks don’t conceal the hollers of the people that arrive, chanting hexes and ready to fight.
A lamppost topples to the ground, smashing against the pavement. Shards of glass splinter the air, darting out like daggers. A mother cradles her son protectively as they crouch down in the snow. Extending a hand, she unleashes a haze of pink that settles on the Exlathar gliding murderously after them. He freezes, but only momentarily, twisting and jerking as he breaks through her hold. Her eyes widen in horror. Not stopping to watch, she gathers her child, scrambles from the ground and hastily pelts off in the opposite direction.
The boy holds out his hand, coral rays flying from his palm and colliding with the Exlathar. This barely slows the creature as its body suffers holes that fill almost as fast as they appear.
By a shattered shop window, a blue-eyed Spee’ad races circles around a befuddled Borum Wolf, dashing in and out of the store, grabbing candleholders, plates, cups and any other household items he can find to hurl at the beast. The Borum Wolf growls in rage, snatching at the air in an anxious rush to contain the man but with no success. Finally, the Spee’ad finds a weighty glass vase and smashes it across the creature’s head, rendering it unconscious. Victory is short lived as another Borum Wolf launches at the man, both cascading to the ground.
Meanwhile, the vampires flash their fangs and the warlocks hiss and snarl as they wield their arrows and spray poison from their blackened tongues. The people of Melaxous continue to fight with vigour, whether successful or otherwise.
‘Over here,’ a middle-aged brunette calls to a little speckled girl racing past. The lady waves her hand and a green light encompasses her and the small boy beside her. ‘It was foolish to expect the young to fight!’ she cries. ‘Come!’
The little girl races over. Grabbing the woman’s outstretched hand, she allows herself to be pulled under the force field. Once they are all inside, the woman waves her finger, and in a whirl of green, teleports them all out of Devirum.
‘It’s time.’
Lexovia lets out a long, uneven breath and allows heavy golden chains to be clamped around her wrists. She raises a quizzical brow.
‘To stop you from injuring yourself during the ceremony,’ Vladimir explains as he ensures the hold is secure.
‘How will I get out of them?’ Lexovia gulps, her mouth parched, as they lead her down the narrow hallway towards the great hall.
‘Trust me,’ Vladimir chuckles, ‘you will.’
Screams ring out like shredded bells. Milo ducks into the doorway of a shop as the first wave of Vildacruz charge into the town centre, demolishing landmarks and breaking down force fields
. Flames rain around him. Not waiting to be seen, he deftly slips from the doorway and crouches behind low walls and benches before they are also eliminated. The groan of a woman causes him to stop in mid-run. Turning, he sees a cloud of dust, the remains of a marble statue on the ground and a shoe, a shoe with the wearer still inside. Keeping low to the ground, Milo edges towards the shoe, hoping its owner is still intact. As he does so, he realises her leg is trapped beneath the statue’s cracked plinth.
‘Don’t worry,’ he announces, placing a comforting hand on the woman’s trembling back, ‘I’m going to get you out.’
The woman immediately stops trembling and becomes rigid. Taking no notice, Milo pushes and kicks at the plinth, desperately trying to free her leg before the Vildacruz can find them.
It is only after an excessive number of attempts, when Milo sits, panting, his hands bloody and blistered, that he realises the woman has been unusually quiet. When he turns to check on her, his blood runs cold. The woman, leg still trapped, her black hair dishevelled and on end, stares at him from pool black eyes. A gash drips red from her neck and new fangs sprout from her mouth.
Milo attempts to stand, to run, but she lunges at him, gripping his ankle and scratching at his flesh. He kicks her, but her hunger is strong. She will devour him, not taste him then turn him, as what happened to her, but utterly consume him.
He kicks again, harder this time and the newly born vampire wails out, still dragging him to meet her. Her nostrils flare, her fangs close to his flesh; one puncture and Milo knows it will be his end. Desperately, he wrenches his leg away, pulling her from beneath the plinth and grazing her face on the ground. She hisses.
Without hesitation, Milo punches her in the side of the head. She howls out but swiftly grabs his wrist, licking his knuckles, her eyes alight. Her mouth widens but before her teeth make contact, Milo grabs at the rubble, lifting the largest piece he can find and smashes it against her face. Yelping, she releases him and he wastes no time. Holding her head in his arms, just like they had been taught in school, he twists and swiftly breaks her neck. Now silenced, she collapses but only for a moment.
