At Water's Edge_An Epic Fantasy

by S McPherson

  Knowing the only way to kill a vampire is by beheading, he scrabbles in the dirt. At last he finds an empty glass bottle and smashes it against the rubble. With aching limbs, Milo returns to the stilled killer and plunges the jagged edge of the broken bottle into her neck. Stab, stab, stab until he makes it through to the other side; her bones cracking, her veins slitting, his hands soaked in blood. He contorts his face and tries to look away, his nostrils stinging at the stench.

  Suddenly, the sky dances with swirls of white, orange and blue, spiralling down onto an obscured spot in the distance: the Courts of Coldivor. The Elenfar has begun.

  Lexovia is entranced, now standing in the centre of a sanded star on the ground inside the great hall. She gazes blindly up as the ceiling breaks open, tumbling and crashing around her as swirls of light seek her out. Pillars erupt; slabs of concrete plummet. As the debris crashes about her, it is hurled in all directions, ricocheting off of an invisible shield placed over the star.

  Within the shield, a ray of blue envelopes Lexovia in a spinning spiral, pulling her onto her tiptoes and arching back her spine as a ray of white shoots down, directly into her eyes. Orange light simply lingers, hovering beside her: the protector should anyone break through the shield. Lexovia starts to convulse, the blue beam supporting her as she thrashes, the chains clanking as she does. She is unaware of anything around her. All she hears are voices whispering her name, bestowing their gifts and instructing her to use them with care.

  Samantha Thor materialises beside a large green shrub with red polka-dot flowers. Quickly scanning her surroundings, she determines that no one is about and turns her glowing golden eyes on the bush.

  ‘Oruvee,’ she whispers.

  The shrub shudders then splits down the middle revealing a mud staircase below. Taking one last fervent glance around, Samantha creeps down the stairway, the shrubbery closing behind her.

  It is darker than she remembers it being earlier and she runs her hands along the wall of soil to guide her further down into one of the many underground hideaways for the empires. At last the dim glow of a candle flickers in the distance and she heads for its dancing flame, meandering down a narrow passage carved into the Earth. Moments later, she enters a small room lit by candles hovering in the air. Though they offer light, they pilfer the oxygen and Samantha finds herself panting slightly. No one notices her arrival at first. They are huddled around a table forged from tree stumps. She wanders over to join them.

  ‘What news do you bring?’ Brixen grumbles, running his fingers along the map of Coldivor. He has circled the Court, where Lexovia is being guarded, and question marks show where the Coltis believe the Vildacruz are hiding.

  ‘News of war,’ Samantha sighs heavily. ‘Lexovia is safe now but for how long is uncertain. The elderly and young are being removed, taken to other safe bases.’

  Brixen punches the table. ‘We agreed all with power would fight! Skilled or unskilled; infant or old. What change brings about this cowardice?’

  ‘It isn’t cowardice. It’s survival!’ Samantha exclaims.

  ‘What good is survival if we are all damned?’

  ‘This decision was made by Vladimir. If you would like to argue it, I will gladly take you to his side.’

  Brixen hesitates. He is third in command to determine the actions of the Court after Vladimir the Senior and Baxter the Pre-senior; he knows better than to argue with them if he wishes to maintain his position.

  He grumbles lowly in the back of his throat but says nothing more on the subject.

  ‘How much longer do we have to stay down here?’ A lanky man with dark, eye-shaped glasses leaps off the ground in frustration. ‘Our efforts are wasted here.’

  ‘We wait as long as we must,’ Brixen states. ‘When the first of us fall, we will take their place.’

  Samantha winces. Milo, her son is amongst the first of them, at his insistence. She closes her eyes, praying he will not be one of those who fall.

  IN HIDING

  The sun sets on the third day and at last the skies go black as the lights cease to shine. Only the candles offer any illumination inside the great hall as Lexovia falls to the ground before slowly waking from her trance. She lifts her head, for a moment unsure where she is.

  Thuds, bangs and crashes, heard from behind the oak doors, help to jog her memory.

  The Elenfar. Gathering her bearings, Lexovia parts her wrists, shattering the chains that bind them, and races towards the sounds outside. She is much faster than usual, reaching the door in a fraction of a second. She stops to catch her breath, gazing at her bruised wrists and trying to steady her pulse. So much could have happened in the last three days. So much could now be changed. She eyes the door; the only barrier between her and whatever now awaits on the other side. With closed eyes, Lexovia recalls the whisperings of encouragement from her forefathers and allows the new well of power to open up and flood her veins. Then at last, she heads out into the cold night air.

  The fresh breeze makes her dizzy and she sways for a moment, rocking unsteadily from side to side. All around her appears to be moving in slow motion. Rays of power and weapons soar overhead. Nauseous, Lexovia staggers back against the door.

  ‘You shouldn’t be out here,’ a hushed voice insists as a hand grips her elbow. Blinking, Lexovia recognises the face of Vladimir. ‘Come!’ He pulls her back inside the hall, and using the rays of his russet eyes, signals for another member of the court to follow.

  ‘What’s wrong with me?’ Lexovia winces as she fights the overwhelming urge to throw up.

  ‘You’re extremely weak,’ Vladimir explains, peering through a crack in the door at the war raging outside. ‘You haven’t eaten or slept in three days and your body has undergone an immense transformation.’ She thinks his gaze lingers on her hair but doesn’t have the strength to question it.

  The man Vladimir summoned places a steadying arm around Lexovia’s waist. She looks at him, her head starting to throb.

  ‘This is Mantar,’ Vladimir states.

  By the stunning hazel of Mantar’s eyes, Lexovia identifies him as being a Teltreporthi.

  ‘He’s going to take you to one of our underground bases until you are ready.’

  Lexovia nods wearily, her lips now parched and her body drained. Holding as tight as she is able to Mantar’s robe, she allows him to transport her away.

  They materialise in the woods, far quieter than the Court they just fled. A barrier prevents Mantar from orbing all the way into the base and Lexovia watches through closing lids as he whispers the word ‘Oruvee’ and a hedge with red polka-dot flowers splits down the middle revealing a mud staircase and a passageway that they then teeter through.

  A wave of relief washes over Lexovia when she sees the familiar face of Samantha Thor.

  ‘Mrs Thor,’ she croaks.

  ‘Lexovia!’ Samantha rushes over, cradling Lexovias quaking body in her arms; her best friend’s child, her child.

  ‘Water,’ Lexovia gasps.

  For a while Prelang is silent. The sun sets and rises without interference but everyone stands ready all the same. The strongest Premoniters line the front, waiting for the Vildacruz to arrive. Others stand back armed with any form of weapon they could fashion; vials of poison, potions, dark magic spells.

  Yvane, along with a few of the other elder teens, is standing on the roof of Prelang tower, acting as a lookout. Melaxous is in flames and hexes light the night. Yvane licks her lips, trembling, and tries to keep her eyes open as many around her drift off to sleep.

  Then shock bolts through her like a blazing current as the hay wall of Prelang is obliterated and the Vildacruz swarm in like swollen bees. Yvane yelps. She had not seen the Vildacruz sneak up on them yet here they are. Bales of hay cascade to the ground and ricochet off the tower.

  ‘They’re here!’ she unnecessarily screams. The whole of Prelang is already in action, rays of magic and hexes tossed at their enemy. Those around her are pulling up swords they were g
iven and waving them wildly as the Vildacruz scale up the tower to them. Fumbling with the sheath, Yvane draws out her own sword. The warmth of someone’s breath at the back of her neck causes her to swivel around.

  She gasps as the crumpled face of a warlock greets her. Immediately, she thrusts the sword at him. He jumps back, cackling. Panicked, Yvane waves the weapon in front of her, its weight already beginning to strain her arms; she wills herself not to drop it. The warlock reaches out, grabbing her fists where they are clamped around the sword’s handle. He tugs at them, attempting to yank the sword from her grasp. She pulls against him but the warlock seems to be winning, smiling wildly. His eyes glow red. Gripped with fear, Yvane pulls back with all her might, wrenching her hands free from his hold and plunges the blade of the sword into his side.

  The warlock barks, cupping her face in his rough hands and smashing her head into the wall as he grips his bleeding side. Dizzy, Yvane leaps out of the way before the staggering beast can collapse onto her. Taking the sword with her, she races to the tower door and down the winding stairs.

  Mayhem can be heard from all directions; cries from adults and children, smashes and flashes. Her parents are hidden behind a wall with a few other Premoniters, conversing quietly between themselves, reorganising their strategy and spells.

  ‘Father!’ Yvane snaps when she sees them, fighting back her tears.

  They turn to her.

  ‘Yvane.’ Her father rushes towards her, then notices the blood-stained sword and stops. ‘What happened?’

  ‘A warlock. The Vildacruz are winning here.’

  Her mother buries her face in her hands.

  ‘You must go to Devirum,’ her father urges, gripping her shoulders. ‘There are many there, putting up force fields and shields of protection. Find one.’

  ‘What about you?’ Yvane cries, her eyes wide with worry. She can’t just leave. Her life is here, her home, her family. Surely, she should fight for them.

  ‘We will stay here and protect Prelang.’ He pats her briefly on the arm. ‘Don’t worry, we have a plan.’ Wanting to protest but knowing her pleas will make no difference, Yvane races over the fallen gate and out into the land, as her father asked, but with no intention of finding a shield of protection.

  The Vildacruz pillage the town, fast and fiercely. People begging for their lives, offering to serve them instead, receive no mercy. Dead bodies decorate the streets, hanging from lampposts and swinging from trees, like tinsel.

  Milo crouches behind a fountain, watching as his fellow Coltis flee the streets, charging, limping or staggering away, some of them on fire, some adorned with arrows, faces bruised, bodies battered. He looks up at the night as a ball of fire races across the sky and heads toward them.

  ‘Watch out!’ he hears a woman scream. He scrambles away from the fountain, keeping low to the ground. A child cries, sobbing openly, and he turns to the sound. His heart skips. Yvane. She is sitting on the ground, a little boy blubbering into her shoulder, but clearly, she hasn’t heard the woman’s warning nor noticed the sphere of fire now hurtling at them.

  ‘Yvane!’ he yells, but the roar of approaching destruction drowns him out. In a swirl of blue, he manifests beside her and the boy, cradling them both in his arms before they can say a thing, and transports them out of the way. The force of the impact sends debris flying, and for a moment the three huddle over one another some good distance away, shielding their ears, their eyes closed.

  A few seconds of silence pass before Yvane eventually looks up. ‘Thanks,’ she gasps.

  ‘Don’t mention it,’ Milo grunts. It occurs to him that he hasn’t really seen or spoken to Yvane since the night Dezaray left, in fact, not since the day she and Howard showed up at the tree house. How trivial it now seems in the midst of all this.

  ‘They took my mummy,’ the small boy wails. Yvane makes shushing sounds to soothe him.

  ‘You’re going to have to be quiet, kid,’ Milo cautions, ‘or they’ll take us all.’

  Yvane scowls at him but Milo shrugs. No point in lying to the child.

  ‘We need to get to the meeting point,’ he continues. ‘We’ll be more help there and better protected.’

  Yvane nods, her entire body trembling in fear. Though she knew this day was coming, she is still woefully unprepared. Scooping the boy up in her arms, she allows Milo to lead the way.

  ESCAPE

  ‘Why haven’t we heard anything? From any of them?’ I’m practically in pieces as I pace back and forth inside the bar, scarcely dodging stools and customers and their frothing drinks. Nathaniel frowns, and gripping my shoulders, plonks me in a seat.

  It’s been days since the Elenfar began, since my brutal encounter with Drake. The people of Feranvil are still unsure of what to do with him but I absolutely do not care. All that consumes me now are thoughts of Coldivor. And this lack of contact is leaving me bereft. As I sit mindlessly drumming on the table, the wheels start to turn in my head. The portal is due to open tomorrow.

  ‘Don’t even think about it,’ Jude says, derailing my thoughts, and tosses a tea towel at my head. ‘We’re staying put until told otherwise.’ I don’t know how he does it, but it seems Jude is a natural for knowing what a person wants, sometimes even before they know it themselves.

  ‘What’s the worst that could happen?’ I ask in a psychotic squeaky tone. I wince. I’m starting to wonder if I’m losing my mind; who knows what they must think.

  ‘You don’t want me to answer that,’ Jude warns.

  ‘How about we just have a look?’ I suggest, grasping at straws.

  ‘What?’ Jude is incredulous.

  ‘What?’ asks Nathaniel, returning from serving one of the bar’s regulars.

  ‘Dezaray wants to find the portal.’

  ‘What?’ Nathaniel furrows his brow. ‘I thought we hadn’t heard anything.’

  ‘We haven’t.’ I try to steady my voice, to make them overlook my wild eyes and air of psychosis and actually to consider my suggestion.

  ‘So…’

  ‘We can just go and see what’s going on.’ Their stern expressions are less than encouraging. ‘Or leave a message,’ I suggest, hurriedly.

  ‘A message?’

  ‘A note. Obscure. On a rock or something, saying where I am. If Milo comes, he’ll know to look. He won’t leave without trying to find me.’

  ‘And what if it isn’t Milo that comes?’ Jude says, continuing to dry pint glasses, but his gaze does not waver from mine. ‘What if you leave a lovely note telling more Vildacruz exactly where we are?’

  I’m silenced. I hate to admit it but he has a good point, and it’s one I can’t challenge.

  Having said goodnight over an hour ago, I imagine everyone is sound asleep in their beds by now. I pull on my black gloves and zip up my black jacket, pulling the hood tight over my head. The darker my attire, the more likely I’ll blend in with the black of the night outside.

  Getting hold of the gethamot was easy. The night I first arrived, Jude bragged about how Lexovia had told him to keep it so he could go and visit one day. I was there when he pushed it into a grey sock which he then shoved to the back of his drawer. All I had to do was wait for when he was out, then I slipped in and retrieved it.

  Now, with the device securely in my pocket, I venture into the corridor, silently closing the door behind me.

  I pull my small rucksack tighter over my shoulders. I don’t have much to carry, just some necessities; water, snacks, flashlight, stopwatch, homemade pepper spray, a knife, garlic –apparently, vampires don’t do well with garlic.

  I nimbly teeter down the narrow staircase—a damn sight more difficult in the dark—and stealthily creep down the passageway. There, I turn the brass key, always left in the door at night, and clink! I’m free.

  I have to swallow back a scream when I open the door and find Nathaniel and Jude standing right in front of me.

  Jude peers at his watch. ‘12:15,’ he observes, tut-tutting. ‘We thought you
would’ve come down at midnight.’

  ‘How clichéd do you think I am?’ I retort, quickly regaining my composure. ‘If you’re here to stop me, don’t waste your breath.’

  Stretching, Jude picks up a huge bow and a quiver of arrows from the wall beside him and Nathaniel jangles a strawberry keychain holding a key.

  ‘Does it look like we’re here to stop you?’ Jude says quietly.

  ‘Are we stealing your mother’s car?’ I gasp.

  ‘Borrowing.’ Jude places an arm around my shoulders and the three of us begin our journey – for better or for worse. ‘Stealing is such an ugly word.’

  Driving out of Feranvil Farm is a lot more horrifying than leaping. Using the ‘Tixtremidral’ spell that I learnt in syndigo, allowing me momentarily to fly, Jude and I cause the car to lift off the ground and hover above the moat. Sticking our hands out of the window, we each sprinkle a few grains of Elamine. The pink, glittery dust floats down to the water and a swirling whirlpool appears.

  ‘We don’t want to go through the chimney,’ Jude reminds Nathaniel for the fifth time, ‘so you must accelerate as soon as we enter the vortex.’

  My heart is beating a million times a minute. I know that driving will be much faster, especially considering we don’t know where the portal will be, but I’m half tempted just to steal a car when we get Up Top and leave this one here.

  ‘Why don’t you drive?’ Nathaniel yells, again for probably the fifth time, as the vortex grows larger.

  ‘Because I’m terrified!’ Jude calls back.