by S McPherson
My shoes scrape and stumble over the gravel, stick in the mud and crunch over twigs as I hear birds singing, camouflaged in the leaves high above me. Then finally, finally I hear the familiar sound of Beatrice Brook—its clear water rushing over the rocks, babbling to the pebbles. Eeeee! I almost squeal aloud. Today might be the day a piece of Coldivor comes back, if only for a little while.
The arrow stops spinning and I sit down, leaning against a tree trunk before pulling out my book and waiting.
‘What are you doing here?’ asks a curious voice a little while later. I jump and look up to see a man dressed in uniform, though one I’ve never seen before. It’s dark grey, almost black, a royal blue line running along the sleeves and trouser legs. The zip of his jacket is also blue as is the flat cap he wears, and his feet are swallowed by hefty black boots.
‘Just reading,’ I reply. I don’t know what it is but something about the man is making me feel uncomfortable. Perhaps the way his eyes shift or the way he hunches his shoulders.
‘Out here?’ he asks incredulously. ‘In the middle of the woods?’ He throws his arms out to the side and I notice a tattoo on his wrist, poking out from under his sleeve. It looks familiar but I can’t think why.
‘Is there a problem?’ I ask, closing my book. I hope this won’t take long. The last time I checked the gethamot, the denomatrix was almost lime green. The portal will open soon.
‘I’m sure you’ve heard about all those mysterious killings in town recently.’ He shakes his head at me.
I’m surprised. ‘No actually, I haven’t.’ Perhaps it was mentioned once or twice in Feranvil but I find I don’t really pay attention to the news anymore, not unless it’s about Coldivor.
He raises his eyebrows, astonished. ‘Where have you been living? Under a rock?’
I want to laugh. He has no idea how right he is. Not wanting him here when the portal opens—I know all too well what happened to Imogen when she was caught crossing between worlds—I stand.
‘Has the killer been found?’
He nods slowly. ‘We think so, but we’re not taking any chances.’ He rests his hand on his hip and I notice a gun in his holster.
‘Who do you work for?’
His face changes, becomes guarded and once again I feel uneasy. There’s definitely something off about him.
Then he smiles a much too broad a smile. ‘Wood security,’ he beams. ‘Now, please, get yourself home where it’s safe.’
I concede, not wanting to spend another minute with this strange man, and turn, making my way back out through the woods.
‘Wood security?’ Jude screws up his face. ‘What on Earth is wood security?’
I shrug. ‘He said there’d been a lot of mysterious murders lately.’ I pull myself up on a higher branch of the tree we’re in, so I can see more of Feranvil. The view really is spectacular from this hill, and especially from the vantage point of this robust sycamore tree. It’s far too high to climb but with the help of the tixtremidral spell—giving one the ability to hover—Jude and I venture up here every so often to practice a little bit of magic.
Jude is more fascinated with other realms now than he ever was as the perpetual Peculiar Lad, and is even teaching himself portology, using some old textbooks he collected in Feranvil. He is thrilled to have someone to share his knowledge with and I am a more than willing student.
‘Did he say what kind of murders?’
I shake my head. ‘No, but there was something funny about him. I don’t know what, but…something. And he had a tattoo.’
‘Not a tattoo, Jude teases.
I glare at him. ‘I’m sure I’ve seen it before, smartarse, only I couldn’t have.’
Jude wriggles slightly on his branch to get more comfortable. I don’t know how he can lie along it like he does. I’d be terrified of falling off. This thought makes me a little rocky and I grasp a stub of a branch beside me for good measure.
‘Always trust your intuition,’ Jude muses.
I nod, watching as he summons a leaf to glide towards him. It comes to rest on his fingertip.
‘Luminaro,’ he intones and the leaf glows a brilliant shade of green.
‘You’re getting better,’ I observe.
Jude grins up at me. ‘Your turn.’
A fortnight passes quickly, and once again I follow the gethamot’s twisting arrow and arrive at the portal. I wait anxiously for it to open, flicking aimlessly through pages of a magazine and running the gethamot between my fingers. I don’t pay attention to what I’m reading; I barely even notice the images.
Eventually, I give up and toss the magazine aside. I press my hands together, dig my thumbs into my palms, chew on my bottom lip. Today I’m not as excited as usual. I am just more anxious.
Finally, the gateway spirals open, its rays of green stretching out and coiling as though to grab me. Wide-eyed, I scan the world on the other side. The sun shines there, the sky a pastel purple. I see luscious, thick strands of emerald green grass: Taratesia, and briefly hear the familiar clicks of a Rubus bird. My heart constricts; I haven’t heard that sound in so long. But I see nothing else beyond the trees. No one is there to meet me. The portal closes.
My shoulders sag. Chunks roll in my stomach. I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep sitting here on the outside, waiting for someone to welcome me in.
‘Hey!’ snaps a gruff voice. ‘What have you got there?’
I spin around. Wood security: a larger man this time, but the same uniform.
‘Give it here.’ He takes a step towards me, reaching for the gethamot. He has the same tattoo on his wrist, though again only half of it is visible beneath his sleeve. What are the chances of both men having the same tattoo in the same place?
‘It’s my necklace.’ I take a step back, protectively covering the gethamot with my hand.
He sneers, ‘Give it here,’ and moves to grab it, but I smack his hand away. Fury burns in his callous eyes but I lift my chin defiantly.
‘I haven’t done anything wrong.’
The man’s hand fumbles at his side, my stomach lurching. He is going for his gun. Seriously?
‘Give it here.’ His voice is now low and menacing, his hand resting on his weapon. Before he can do anything, I take off.
‘Oi,’ he bellows. ‘Get back here.’
I flee through the woods, thankful it is still light enough to see, gripping tree trunks for balance, shards of wood slicing my palms as I flounder over the uneven ground. The flailing fabric of my jacket gets snagged and low branches catch in my hair but I rush on, stumbling over loose rocks that shift under my blundering feet.
I know the man is chasing me. I hear the branches snap under his brawny weight, the grunts as he manoeuvers round the shrubs and logs in his path. Then there’s a BANG, a shrill ringing in my ears. Shocked, I stop and turn. Birds shriek and the bark of the tree hit by his bullet shatters around me like shrapnel. He’s going to kill me—but why?
I run, my calves now burning, my heart pounding and leap over a log only to skid down into a ditch. But there before me is the brook, and I push myself to my feet and race across it, sure the man is still hunting me.
* * *
Running out of air? Find out what happens in the next thrilling instalment:
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* * *
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THE EMERALD EYE
By
S. McPherson
A short story
IT BEGINS…
I stare out at the expanse of snow-capped mountain peaks, stretching across the horizon. The golden sun sinks behind them, bathing everything in red and gold. A cool breeze skates towards me, ruffling the strands of hair that have slipped from my loose braid. Nivarum: no place is more isolated…more peaceful than here…at least, until now.
From this mountain crest, I look below, spying the plumes of thick smoke gorging the air, the raging o
range flames cutting through it like blades. I hear the cries of my people; some wail, desperate for mercy, while still others scream in fury. Nivarum is burning.
King Nicolai is here and as always, he will take no prisoners. He will tear this place apart until he finds it: The Emerald Eye. That which will grant him immortality, good fortune and even has the ability to show him his future. King Nicolai believes we, the Nivarums, keep the Eye, a gem, locked in a cave hidden within the mountains. The king doesn’t realise that the Emerald Eye is a living, breathing thing. My name is Irina Drakarkus and I am the Emerald Eye. I come from a long line of them. The gift, the burden, falling to the next in line and now only myself and my sister, two years younger, remain.
For months King Nicolai has hunted me, destroying lands both near and far but my people have sworn allegiance, fought in my stead. Even when I begged them to let me go, to let me fight, they refused. There was no telling what the king would do with my gifts. The magic I use to heal the sick, help crops grow through mounds of sodden snow and make daylight last just a moment longer before the biting wind of the mountains screams through us. Though then, I help the fires burn hotter and ask the winds to sing around us. I have never used my talents for evil, but I do not doubt that I could nor that King Nicolai would ask it. Nay, demand it.
I hear snow crunch beneath heavy boots and know Rawn stands behind me. I turn and meet his grim stare. His black locks fall forwards, in stark contrast to his pale skin and his eyes are as grey and brooding as swollen storm clouds.
‘Where is Ava?’ I ask. At fourteen, my sister has seen more horrors than most should in an eternal life. We both have. So many times I tried to convince her to live a life without me. The gift, the duty of being the Emerald Eye, would fall to my offspring if I had them, or die with me. She shouldn’t have to live a life of fear and being hunted because of me, but each time Ava refused and I loved and loathed her for it. Not only were my days peppered with worry for myself but riddled with moments of gut-wrenching horror when I thought of what the enemy might do to her, how they might ravage her, to get to me.
So far, we have managed to keep my identity hidden, allowing King Nicolai and his allies of neighbouring lands to believe the Emerald Eye is a gem, ensconced in the bosom of this mountain town, but he is here now. And rumour says he has developed a device that will seek out the energy source and guide him to it: to me. Any who stand in his way will be slaughtered and his guards have a reputation of killing just because their hands are idle.
I note the blood drenched sword twitch in Rawn’s iron grip, his hands in gauntlets, body sheathed in armour that hides the bulging muscles that lie underneath. On another night, I might have run to him, perched on my tiptoes, flung my arms around him and pressed my lips to his. I might have curled my fingers in his hair and smiled as he stared back into my bright green eyes – emerald – but not tonight. Tonight, I wait for him to speak the words I fear as his shoulders sag.
‘King Nicolai used his device.’ Rawn’s voice trembles but he continues to talk and I continue to listen. ‘He sensed some of the Eye’s energy on Ava. He knows she does not have it but is convinced she did and knows where it’s hidden.’
All air rushes out of me and my skin turns cold.
‘He took her.’ Rawn’s eyes do not meet mine as he says it. ‘I ran after them. I butchered his men but it wasn’t enough. There were too many and he got away. The king got away and he took Ava with him.’ Rawn’s voice is hoarse as if he’s been screaming and for a split second the pain on his face matches the agony I feel.
There is a churning in my gut like boiling lava and I clamp my mouth down on nausea as I feel my gift—myself—change. My ability to give life and heal shifts to a burning arrow of death and destruction. My gift to make the sun shine longer shifts to one that could make the endless dark of night stretch on for an eternity. Without its scattering of stars or luminous moon, without hope. Just silent, raging, dark.
I close my eyes, whirling through the screams and cries of those below. In my mind images flash. I see the king and his sentries storm in on their golden hairy beasts with hooves and talons, three horns twisting from their heads.
I see King Nicolai leap down and swear he means them no harm as his guards already start the massacre: slaughtering the men, ransacking the tiny homes, and bedding the women against their will. I close my eyes, screwing up my face, willing bloody scene after bloody scene to pass until at last I spy Ava, cowering behind a tree. Her clothes have been torn from her, mere scraps she has managed to scrounge maintain her dignity.
Before they were killed protecting me, our parents would call her their Little Palomino. Though both of our skin is golden brown, Ava’s hair is also a stunning white-blonde. But tonight, that golden skin is trembling, her bright hair stringy with sweat, and angst fills her soft, hazel eyes. I watch as shadows loom over her, a collection of sentries, clad in black armour, swords and shields baring the kings seal in their hands. Then I see him.
The king stalks toward her, his crimson cape billowing behind him, an ostentatious crown of gilded vines and sparkling jewels perched atop his red hair. He sneers at her. My visions don’t reveal what he asks but whatever she replies results in a harsh thrash across the face. My sister’s eyes water and her face crumples. She lowers her head, still trembling, still barely clothed. The bones in her back jut out as if trying to escape.
Then a soldier falls and the others swivel as Rawn charges at them, his sword blazing like a streak of lightning. I open my eyes, stopping the images. I know what happens next.
I stride toward Rawn, cupping a hand around his neck and pull him to me, his lips roughly colliding with mine. Does he know that this kiss is likely our last? The way he clings to me, ever drawing me closer, I think he does. Before his eyes can open, I pull away and race down the mountainside towards the town; leaping over crevices, slipping over ice. I have walked this narrow trail so many times, I no longer cower from the sheer drop off both sides or flinch at the biting cold. I have one thought in my head and it heats me with a fury that burns: save Ava.
I leap from a height too great, one I would normally refrain from, sure I would shatter my ankle but tonight I don’t share that concern. I land in a crouch. The air reeks of blood and burning flesh. Ash flutters around me like an eclipse of moths. The smoke a blanket smothering the air. I draw up the hood of my sheepskin cloak and pull it up over my nose and mouth. Closing my eyes again, I whir through the past, watching as the king gruffly hauls my sister under his arm, leaps onto one of his beasts and thunders away with her through the pine trees.
My eyes spring open and I creep through the snow, remaining hidden in the shadows, concealed behind groaning trees that bend as if they feel the pain of their people. A nightmare: a vision of chaos. Fire, charred sculptures, crumbling homes, bodies hanging from branches, bludgeoned creatures and screams that grate the soul. I walk through it all, seeking out the area in my vision. The area at the edge of the forest where King Nicolai ran off with someone very precious to me. Someone he cannot keep.
I stop, catching my breath as one of those brutal creature’s lumbers past me, bombarding into a cottage. I don’t wait to hear the cries of the family as he claws the place apart and discovers their hiding place. Now I run. The forest isn’t far and I sprint to it across an empty lot of snow and ice, nothing to hide behind. I hunt for that fallen pine tree the king’s beast knocked down as they fled from Rawn.
Finally, I see it. My heart is pounding, my hands clammy, body shaking but I can’t stop. I won’t stop. I follow the gargantuan tracks in the snow. Though my shoes are made from slips of wood, string and wolfs hide, the wet still seeps in where they are poorly stitched. I scrunch my toes, teeth chattering against the cold.
The beast has left a trail of destruction in its wake: broken branches, churned snow, fallen nests. My stomach turns. What havoc is it now wreaking on Ava? Once again that heat, my power, stirs in me. If she’s dead, it seems to say, we’ll kill
them all.
The sound of running water, a stream, nearby stops me in my tracks. I lick my dry mouth. A part of me insists I continue – no time to stop, but I don’t know how long it will take to reach the king’s castle and I have left without reinforcements. Just me, my power and storming rage. I squint, my eyes narrowing and zooming in. The stream isn’t far from here; I can see the moonlight bouncing off of its dark surface through a clearing in the trees. I skulk through the thin gaps, icing myself in snow I’ve nudged from the pines. It litters my hair and clings to my cloak.
I shake it off once I come to the clearing, surveying the shadows before kneeling at the water’s edge and scooping up handfuls. I grit my teeth, feeling as if I’ve plunged my hands into a pool of frozen needles, that somehow manage to sting and burn all at once. But I suck the water from my hands all the same, ignoring the stab of pain as it hits my teeth.
So engrossed in quenching my thirst, I don’t notice the water move, like a wind stirs from beneath it. I don’t notice as bubbles pop along the surface. I only feel the cold and fierce grip of the Syphogy as its bony fingers coil around my wrist. They are vicious, unfeeling creatures that dwell in lakes and streams. How could I forget?
I meet its hollow eyes, empty sockets of swirling black. Mucus gleams on its grey skin and it offers me a grin of few fangs.
‘Pretty girl,’ it hisses, ‘with such pretty emerald eyes.’
My stomach knots. It knows what I am. I was always told to be wary around water. The Syphogy’s possess a power from the dawn of time, one no one living now understands. I pull against its biting grip, my skin beneath flaking in its grasp.
‘Don’t fight me girl,’ it crows, ‘stay and together we can live a long life. An eternity I believe.’ It tugs me, trying to bring me into the water but I wedge my feet in the snow until they are nestled beneath gravel.
