At Water's Edge_An Epic Fantasy

by S McPherson

  Lexovia clutches her leg, face creased in agony as Milo and I scrabble over to her.

  ‘Are you alright?’ Milo gasps.

  Lexovia grimaces, shaking her head as she allows us to help her to her feet. We’re close to a monument now; a tombstone for the Elentri. I read the words engraved on it, in what looks like shards of inlaid pearl. They read:

  Here lie the Elentri,

  An empire to rule all,

  Far more than just our sentry,

  They never let us fall.

  ‘Lexovia, it’s time.’ Vladimir strides over to us, his steps steady and determined. ‘We have them surrounded.’ His eyes snap to me, shock and fury mingling in them, but he says nothing.

  And I’m too overawed to indulge him. Somehow the Coltis appear to be victorious. They’ve formed a circle around the remaining Vildacruz, who are hissing and relentlessly charging, trying to break out. However, a shimmering force field contains them; even the Exlathars seem to be bound by it, spiralling round and round in the sky, their wings thrashing wildly.

  ‘How?’ I can’t help but ask.

  ‘This is the old home of the Elentri Empire,’ Vladimir snarls. ‘Their power lingers here, within the fog, but we must act now.’ He turns authoritatively to Lexovia.

  She nods, wincing slightly as she tries to stand. Once again, her fingertips spark amber, and with a clash, she’s gone. She appears beside the Court, joining hands with one of its members, Vladimir close behind.

  Once the circle is complete, a white light swirls in and around it and the force field becomes visible, strong and impenetrable.

  ‘Now what?’ Lexovia yells, clearly straining under the pressure of the hold.

  ‘We call on your forefathers for help,’ and Vladimir looks up to the sky, shaking as he struggles against the Vildacruz. ‘Elentri Old. Elentri New. We call upon you to guide us through.’ Lightning now streaks across the sky and thunder roars behind it. I’m mesmerised, clutching Milo’s hand in mine.

  ‘Elentri Old. Elentri New. We call upon you to guide us through.’ They all now chant.

  Rain starts to pour.

  I gasp, stunned, when at last the force field turns from a cylinder into a pyramid. Thunder crashes again, lightning strikes, shards of jagged fury, the wind howls like an ancient choir and the rain lashes down even harder. The point of the pyramid turns inward, then, in a flash of white, shoots down onto the Vildacruz, taking some but not all the Exlathars down with it. I’m about to yell out, to announce that they’re getting away, but a deafening silence echoes before the light expands and flings everybody in all directions.

  When I finally manage to lift my head, there’s a crater where the Vildacruz once stood and an odd beeping sound. It’s high-pitched and constant. Steadily, I clamber off the ground, dusting myself off as everyone else does. A little to my left, Milo is watching me, perplexed. I’m about to question him when I notice that others are doing the same, staring at me with puzzled expressions.

  ‘What’s that sound?’ Vladimir asks, taking a cautious step towards me.

  ‘It’s you,’ Milo says, confused, and he’s looking at me. Then my jaw drops. Through all the commotion I’d completely forgotten that I don’t belong here.

  ‘The portal,’ I gasp. ‘It’s about to open. I set my alarm...’

  Milo’s face falls. ‘How long?’

  I don’t reply. I’m too busy fumbling in my rucksack and whipping out the gethamot. The denomatrix is so light my stomach lurches.

  ‘Not long at all,’ another member of the court growls, peering over my shoulder. ‘Why did you return?’

  ‘I–’ My mind’s racing. There’s no way I can make it back to the portal in time. But if I don’t, I’m bound to die and I’ll take Lexovia with me. Unless I can convince one of them to take my life, before it’s too late.

  ‘Brixen, unfortunately we don’t have time for your anger.’ Vladimir stops the man before he can say anything else, and whistles. Instantly a shriek answers his call and we all stare up to the sight of a magnificent Trelion bird soaring down towards us in a blaze of silver. It hasn’t even stopped when I feel the pressure of Vladimir’s hand on my side as he hoists me up and practically throws me onto the creature’s back.

  ‘Go Trelion! Go! Go!’ he yells.

  The bird doesn’t slow, gaining speed as it carries me up into the sky and I glance anxiously back at Milo as I’m whisked away. A lump of sorrow swells in my throat and I swallow back the ache, holding tight to the gethamot though the bird is going so fast it’s hard for the denomatrix to keep up; the arrow spins wildly.

  A flicker of blue distracts me and I tremble with relief. Milo. He’s behind me, half smiling, half scowling.

  ‘You’re here,’ I choke.

  ‘I wouldn’t be anywhere else.’ He pecks me on the shoulder but I know he’s distracted as he scans the trees, trying to source the portal before it’s too late.

  I do the same. I hoped something would seem familiar but it’s all woods, and from way up here everything looks the same.

  ‘This isn’t how I imagined tonight would go,’ I yell over the rush of the wind.

  ‘How did you imagine it?’ he asks with an amused frown. ‘Spooning by an open fire?’

  I shrug, resigned.

  ‘There!’ Milo suddenly calls, pointing down as the arrow stops spinning and we see the beginnings of a light green glow erupt from beneath the trees. The Trelion squawks louder than I would have thought possible and abruptly dives towards it. Everything’s a blur. My hands are clamped around its long, silver feathers and my teeth are clenched so tightly my jaw hurts. My stomach’s rising higher the lower we fall and my heart sinks, though not from the descent.

  ‘When will I see you again?’ I call.

  Milo sighs and then nods, just the once. ‘One day.’

  ‘One day?’ I arch my brow. ‘How ambiguous. I won’t hold my breath.’

  He grips my cheeks between his fingers, his eyes searching mine. My heart pounds faster than I thought it ever could and I struggle to catch my breath. Desperately, I close the gap between us and his body responds. In one easy movement he turns me around and pulls me onto him, my legs straddled around his waist.

  I forget we’re spiralling down to earth and fail to acknowledge the icy rush of air as it wafts over us. I’m supposed to be terrified. The portal is about to close, and if it does, I’m trapped here and chances are I won’t survive. But I’m not frightened at all; if I were to die this second, it would have all been worth it. Milo trails his hands over my hips, pulling me closer. I breathe in and there it is: that musky scent of vanilla. His lips are still as soft as on our first kiss and the heat between us still as scorching. Just as I’m sure I will burst into flames, the trelion shrieks again, and to my dismay Milo pulls away.

  He smiles, ‘Hold your breath.’

  About the Author

  S. McPherson

  is a young British expat living in Dubai. Before becoming a full-time author and making the USA Today Bestsellers list, S McPherson was working as a kindergarten teacher. When she was not at work immersed in a world of imagination and fantasy created by the children, S. McPherson was immersed in her own worlds of imagination and fantasy at home, dreaming up tales and writing them down.

  At Water’s Edge is S. McPherson’s debut novel in the epic, fantasy series, The Last Elentrice. S. McPherson loves to connect: Join her at www.smcphersonbooks.com, or get really involved in her world of dreams and join the Facebook Group, Dream Weavers & Leaders You can also find her on Twitter (@smcphersonbooks) Instagram: s_mcpherson_books Facebook and YouTube (S McPherson Books).

  SNEAK PEAK:

  Find out what happens next in The Last Elentrice Series

  A WOLF IN THE WOODS

  I hurtle through the portal, the shrieks of the trelion bird echoing behind me long after the gateway has gone. Beatrice Brook shudders below and I plunge into it, submerged beneath icy water, ripples expanding around me like ribbons of ligh
tning.

  I wait to rise to the surface, to instinctively come up for air but I can’t lift my head. A hand is holding me down; a strong hand whose pressure I know too well, Drake’s.

  Somehow I swivel. The face is his but the eyes are a piercing blue: shocking, like Milo’s. As I gape at them in disbelief, I hear Milo’s voice, as though he were right beside me.

  ‘This is how it has to be,’ he says.

  I go to scream, but my cries are muffled by the weight of water slamming me down. I push against it, stretching up, reaching higher but only getting further away from the surface.

  ‘The Exlathars are back,’ Milo continues. ‘We think they were never gone.’

  Never gone? The words repeat themselves over and over as I sink deeper into the brook, now as vast as an ocean. My head throbs as bubbles tumble from my lips, and Milo’s eyes burn, watching whilst I drown.

  I wake up panting, my blind hand reaching out for the face I may never see again. Trembling, I sit, sifting through the nightmare as I try to figure out what of it was memory, what nightmare and what may have been a premonition.

  Idly, I run my fingers along the raised and raw skin on my wrist where the Exlathar gripped me the night of the battle. At the time it didn’t hurt as the beast yanked me through the sky—perhaps I was too pumped with adrenaline to notice—but within an hour, I was in agony. Even now, a whole three months later, the skin still tingles and remains a bright shade of scarlet.

  I press my palm to my forehead as though resting the weight of my problems there. I told myself I wouldn’t go back to Coldivor. I wouldn’t risk the lives of the Coltis, not again, but as the weeks go by, I wonder which choice is right. Sitting back and doing nothing certainly doesn’t feel right anymore; it never really did.

  A bird startles me as it flutters past the window. The magic-made sun of Feranvil is coming up, casting eerie shadows of the trees on my thin and fraying curtains. I turn away from them, my gaze meeting the rest of my flat. I haven’t lived here long but am already starting to feel at home in this little studio.

  Most things—kitchen appliances, television, ornaments and such—I took from Storm Manor a few weeks before I put it up for sale. But the small wooden dining table, chairs for two and the narrow single bed I currently sprawl across I had the pleasure of crafting myself. I even branded them with a golden ‘D’ floating on a silver cloud. I smile fondly, my fingers tracing the logo embossed on my headboard.

  The sunlight bounces off it and I squint. After just a few days of living in Feranvil Farm, I learnt that it doesn’t take long for the sky to turn from pitch black to the rays of a glaring sun.

  The clock beside my bed tells me it’s almost time for work and I smile. Feeding my need for distraction Mrs Edwards got me a job in a small furniture shop in the F.F. town centre, a place called ‘Carve and Wood’. The owner, Mr Picklesby, is an elderly man, his spectacles perpetually perched on the bridge of his pointed nose and his face boasting a bushy red moustache. He is thrilled to have me help in the shop and my favourite thing about him is how he doesn’t insist I talk when he can tell I don’t want to.

  Arching the kinks out of my back, I at last clamber out of bed and get ready, washing down a few slices of toast with a glass of orange juice and dressing in a pair of worn jeans and a shirt.

  Making my way down the flight of stairs that lead to the exit, I hiss like a vampire when the sunlight hits me, then rummage in my bag for my sunglasses. Though everyone else prances around in a skimpy dress, vest and shorts, and seems to welcome the warmer weather, I don’t. The warmer it gets the more it reminds me that the last time I saw Milo there was snow on the ground. It reminds me of Coldivor and of how much I want to go back.

  I try to imagine what everyone is doing now. Not long after the Elenfar battle, the Exlathars returned and in full force. Apparently, the Court ordered all civilians to stay out of the issue and resume life as normal, but if I know that lot; normal will be a broad concept. I feel a pang in my chest. I wish I was a part of this revolution. I can practically hear the courts scathing laughter: a coltis war is no place for a Corporeal.

  Letting out a hearty sigh, I eventually reach Carve and Wood’s door and let myself in, inhaling the familiar scent of wood, immediately feeling warmed by the sombre tones of chestnuts, browns and hazels. A row of beautifully crafted baby cots stands to my right; I spy my favourite: cherry wood rails with a gossamer peach canopy. Beds, wardrobes, desks and chairs are next.

  ‘Good morning love,’ Mr Picklesby calls from behind the till. He is tapping away, stacks of cash lying on the counter beside him.

  ‘Good morning.’ I call back cheerily and automatically head to the backroom, hanging up my cardi and handbag. I enthusiastically roll up my sleeves and make my way over to the half-finished cabinet I’m working on, truly grateful to Mrs Edwards for this job. The familiarity, the comfort of doing something I’m good at is such an escape—exactly what I need. I work alongside four others: two men, Charlie and Peter and two overly friendly women, one considerably older than the rest of us, but none will come in until later and I delight in the morning quiet.

  At last, I run the final layer of varnish over the now finished cabinet and put away the brush. When I glance at my watch, I’m surprised by how much time has passed and look around for what feels like the first time in ages. The rest of the team have arrived and the small room resembles Santa’s workshop with screws strewn across the floor and various surfaces, plans, sandpaper and spilled coffee tumbling to the concrete tiles. There are various creations propped at strange angles as someone works on them and the sounds of hammers, sanders and table cutters fills the air.

  Stretching, I feel the gethamot slide across my chest and place my hand over it, glad I attached it to a chain; somehow it makes me feel closer to Coldivor. I pull it from under my shirt and irrationally frown at the dark green hand; the denomatrix. Of course it’s dark green—it will only lighten tomorrow when the portal is supposed to open—but I still feel cheated, like time is deliberately taking ages to pass.

  ‘Finished already?’ Mr Picklesby sounds surprised as he comes in from the store front.

  I look around, ‘I’m sure I’ll find something else.’

  ‘Don’t be daft,’ and he waves a dismissive hand. ‘If you’re finished, it means it’s time for lunch.’

  I twist my mouth into a grin. ‘Well, if you insist,’ and I grab my bag.

  Instinctively, I walk away from Feranvil town centre and towards the highest hill, the one that separates it from the farm.

  As I come to the Bar & Grill, I try to spy Nathaniel through the latticed windows. I’m still not used to having him here. For a while he would simply visit for bank holiday weekends. Then Mrs Edwards offered him a job and he hasn’t looked back since. I don’t blame him. If there were a way for me to exist in Coldivor I wouldn’t think twice.

  At last, I see him serving a regular at the bar. Apparently it’s never too early for a pint. He catches my eye and dips his head. I wave in return and make my way to the entrance.

  ‘Hello there,’ Nathaniel booms, coming over and enveloping me in his arms. I smile, hugging him back. He smells like cider and warm fish.

  ‘Do you have a few minutes for lunch?’ I ask, hopefully. I hate eating alone these days; now I thrive on distraction.

  ‘Sure.’ He grins, unwraps the blue apron from around his waist and tosses it over an empty chair before sitting down. ‘Julie will be back any minute anyway.’

  ‘Julie,’ I stress with a giggle as I sit opposite him. ‘So informal.’

  ‘Yep, she’s a colleague now,’ Nathaniel chuckles, ‘no more “Mrs Edwards” for me.’

  ‘So you’re enjoying it here?’ I smile. ‘Well and truly?’

  ‘I am.’ He agrees.

  ‘Good.’

  ‘How about you?’ he asks more seriously. ‘How have you been?’

  ‘I’m good,’ but I don’t meet his gaze.

  ‘Well and truly,’
he murmurs.

  ‘Well and truly.’ I mindlessly stroke the gethamot under my shirt, lifting its chain and running it along my bottom lip.

  ‘You want to go back, don’t you?’ Nathaniel signals a barman who salutes and starts preparing two pints.

  I sigh. ‘Not necessarily back. I know I can never live there but, to live in a time where both worlds co-exist…I wouldn’t mind that at all.’ I grimace. ‘I’m mad aren’t I?’

  Nathaniel pauses for a moment while he considers. ‘Yes.’ He says, ‘but then again, I never thought I could live in a beneath-the-earth world.’

  My mouth twists to the side. Ever since I left Coldivor, I’ve wanted nothing more than to still somehow be a part of it. I crave the magic, the wonder. I miss the people. I didn’t know them long but because of them I know myself. Howard and his roosenbick sandwiches, Yvane and her edge of neurosis, and Lexovia—strong, beautiful, kind.

  For so long I mistook kindness as my brother Drake, telling me there was water in the kettle in case I wanted a cup of tea. Back then, I thought kindness was the days when Drake would ignore me and not punish me for our parents’ death. In all honesty, besides Nathaniel, I didn’t encounter much kindness, not until Lexovia and the others rushed out of that portal and rescued me in more ways than one. I swallow, clearing the lump in my throat.

  Nathaniel takes the beers from the barman, sliding mine toward me. ‘To living in a world without divides,’ and he raises his glass.

  ‘To living.’

  Barely able to contain my excitement, I watch the misty arrow of the gethamot twist and bend in all directions. I don’t know how, after all this time, but I am still so hopeful that someone will be there to meet me at the portal, that this time it will be different.