Children of Swan:The Land of Taron, Vol 1: (A Space Fantasy Adventure)

by Coral Walker

  A low, menacing murmuring sound resonated through the hall as the glass of the heavy door vibrated.

  “Down!” he cried, hauling Brianna to the floor.

  The moment their shoulders hit the ground, the glass panes exploded, bursting into millions of pieces, shooting, bouncing, and dancing wildly everywhere. In the wink of an eye, the hall resounded with the jingling sound of glass hitting the walls, and the floor was quickly strewn with moaning people.

  The pain was sharp, mostly from the back of his hands; Brianna’s neck was bleeding. But Bo was crying with a muffled sound. One of the women was squeezing his face with her skeletal hands, distorting his face with the force of her grip.

  Scrambling to their feet, Jack and Brianna dashed for the car.

  Seeing them approaching, one of the women opened her arms to stop them. They shoved her away abruptly. The ill-temper and roughness they showed must have been frightening, as the other woman let go of Bo’s face and retreated. Right away Jack leapt into the driver’s seat, and Brianna scrambled into the seat next to Bo.

  +++

  “Where to?” It was said in a joking tone, for he was confident he could drive — whiling away the long summer in a junkyard of cars hadn’t all been for nothing. But the instant his glance fell on the control panel, his mirth evaporated. No gears, no ignition, no pedals; just buttons of different colours and shapes. Fumbling with his fingertips from one coloured button to another, Jack dithered. Which one?

  “Blue!” Bo said.

  Jack grinned. Bo’s favourite colour was blue. He would’ve pressed that one if there were one. He let his fingertip fall onto the sleek surface of a green button. Instantly the car hiccupped, once, twice.

  Bo tittered. “More!”

  A peculiar orange sliding bar caught Jack’s eye. But the instant he went to press it, a voice boomed in the air.

  “Don’t press anything, Jack. Let’s talk this over.”

  Over his shoulder, he could see Dr Kevin Renshell towering over Ms Upright and the short and chunky men who had swarmed out of the Centre. With his hands on his chest in an earnest gesture, he looked genuinely concerned.

  Jack hesitated. His hand, in an absent manner, flicked the orange bar up.

  “No, Jack, slide it back!”

  Urgency edged his voice, and as he spoke, he strode forward as if to emphasise his point. Several men took his sudden move forward as a call and forged forward themselves. Baker, the nimblest one, looking eager to avenge his bleeding head, hopped and leapt, latching onto the back of the car.

  “Go! Go!” shrieked Brianna.

  Instantly Jack dropped his hand onto the red button nearby. There was a thundering roar from the car and a scream from Baker. With a powerful and abrupt jerk, the car thrust forward. It accelerated rapidly, throwing them back forcefully as if by a weighty hand.

  Something was wrong — Jack struggled to comprehend — something was contrary to common sense.

  “We’re flying, Jack!” came Brianna’s shrill voice.

  It was a bewildering moment, and Jack, through his shaking, half-shut eyes, watched in awe as Dr Renshell and his men and women shrank to dark spots in a matter of seconds.

  They were flying upwards at a steep angle.

  For a while, he sat breathing hoarsely. His head was reeling, and every muscle of his body was clenched tight. He was petrified. A high-pitched warning siren roused him from his state of stupefaction. The sound seemed to be coming from a cross-shaped button that had risen out of the surface and was now blinking emphatically. A line of text in an alarming scarlet was engraved beside it.

  “FOR EMERGENCY USE — PUSH IN,” it read.

  Without a thought, Jack thrust his hand forward and gave the button a hard push.

  It blinked more as it sank back into the surface. In a flash, a glass roof slid out from nowhere and covered the entire vehicle. The siren stopped, and an eerie stillness fell over the compartment.

  The relief was intense but brief. A pungent, distinct scent filled the air, and a sniff of it immediately induced in him a dazzling sensation. A woman’s voice drifted into his entranced mind, tuneful and reassuring like the soothing voice of a stewardess.

  “Dear passengers,” it said, “the emergency procedure is now initiated. You will be put to sleep, and the vehicle will take you safely back to the base —the Island of Skorpias. Have a good rest.”

  5

  The Island of Skorpias

  Jack jerked awake, drenched in sweat.

  A beam of light shining through the thickly-lined curtains swept up the tall wardrobe and threw a long bright path onto its glossy surface. For a while, he sat staring at the light’s path, his heart pounding from a strange but thrilling feeling, as if he had just plummeted down an endless hole. Slowly and aimlessly, he let his glance drift to the sturdy desk, the dressing gown hanging behind the door and the wall — it was his room.

  He ran his gaze back to the door. The dressing gown, deep blue with a football pattern. Shouldn’t it be on the revolving chair? He had taken it off when he was in bed, scrunched it up, and launched it at the back of the chair to see if he could make it spin.

  Someone must have moved it.

  The wall felt empty — where were the posters? And the desk was too tidy to be his desk. But it had to be his room — the orange carpet, the blue wall and the blue curtains. Could it be that someone had tidied it all up, and that someone …?

  Springing to his feet, he dashed out. The corridor was lit, and the curtains were pulled back. He passed Brianna and Bo’s bedrooms, which were shut with their names spelt out on the door, and his parents’ bedroom was to his left.

  The door was shut. No sound came from inside. There was a moment’s hesitation before he turned the handle. The hinge of the door squeaked, and there stood the bed, the bedside tables, and the heavy units against the creamy wall.

  No parents.

  At least, the furniture was there. Breathing a sigh of relief, he started descending the stairs.

  A grey shadow moved soundlessly up towards him. It was swift and unexpected, and they would’ve crashed head-on if he hadn’t flung himself to the right, thumping hard against the wall. The wall sounded strangely hollow under his weight.

  The grey figure, screeching as it swept past him, ascended two more steps, pivoted, and stared down. The icy gaze, the translucent skin with wiggly veins and the small, bony and wizened fingers were unmistakable.

  Ms Upright!

  Her long face widened into a simulated smile. “You overslept, Jack.”

  Abruptly Jack turned, his heart hammering as if he had seen a ghost. Three steps at a time, he scrambled down to the bottom of the stairs. The empty hall was spotless, and so was the living room with silent sofas and the solemn marble fireplace. Straight ahead was the glass double-door, covered by blinds, behind which the garden would be ablaze with bluebells and tulips.

  +++

  The door burst open under his hand.

  “I thought …” he gulped, his eyes flicking wildly around the room that he thought would be the garden.

  The shock of seeing a large, open-plan dining and sitting room where the garden should be was overwhelming. The sight of a small, silver-haired stranger sitting in a substantial armchair at the end of a heavy, chestnut-coloured table hadn’t helped. Brianna, who was sitting in a chair opposite the man, stared at him oddly as if he were a bit crazy. Bo, sitting next to her, giggled, covering his mouth with his hands, a habit he had adopted from his nursery.

  The man strolled over to him. His fine, wispy silver hair floated by his ears. “I’m Professor Nandalff,” he said warmly.

  Puffing and panting, Jack swayed a little under his hand. He tottered robotically to a chair that the Professor drew out for him and slumped into it.

  “It looks like our house, but ... it’s not our house,” Bo said, carefully articulating each word, and pointed a finger to the door.

  Jack stared with a dull, distant expression like he
was sleepwalking. The Professor, who seated himself next to him, tilted sideways to touch his shoulder. He shrugged it off. Nevertheless, the Professor said in a warm voice, “Jack, welcome to the Island of Skorpias.”

  The Professor sat gazing at him as if expecting to be questioned, but Jack ignored him and let his eyes be drawn to a plateful of buttered toast. Leaning over, he grabbed a piece and sank his teeth into it — he was starving.

  “Alright, breakfast.” The Professor retreated, refilling his not-yet-emptied coffee cup. Steam rose from it, and the aroma filled the air. Strong and evocative, it touched Jack with a tinge of tenderness, too subtle to tell its source, but linked to feelings of security and normality.

  Dad used to drink coffee at the breakfast table. An economical coffee drinker he was, careful about how much he would drink in a day. But this professor drained the cup in a few gulps and now was reaching for more.

  The coffee pot was soon empty. Straight away the Professor made a distinct gesture with his thumb. A strange creature answered his call. Bare-footed, ashen-skinned, and with a head covered with worm-like extrusions, it was a ludicrous and bizarre sight.

  The creature strode straight to the table, clutching a pot of coffee with its bare hands. A wisp of steam snaked out of the spout. The metal pot must have been hot, but it held it with no fear of being scalded. After replacing the empty pot with the fresh one, it made a surprise detour to where Jack sat and winked at him.

  “Emma! Jack, this is Emma!” Bo shouted and clapped his hands. “She is not a policewoman. She’s an O … zzi, from planet Ozzar.” His lips took on a funny shape to emphasise the ‘O’.

  Jack’s eyes had widened since her entrance; now they looked as if about to pop out. With his mouth stuffed with the toast, he uttered a helpless gurgling sound.

  Swiftly the creature passed him a cup of blue juice. Jack took it and gulped it down without even looking at it.

  At the sight of the empty glass, she wiggled her head. The worm-like tentacles twitched, and her long fingers fluttered wildly over her ears.

  “She’s excited. She likes you, Jack,” said the Professor, looking amused.

  Jack flushed and quickly lowered his gaze to the toast he was holding. Smiling, the Professor gestured to the Ozzi to leave, and she obeyed. With a jovial tap on Jack’s head, she screeched before waddling out, swaying her distinctive pear-shaped body accentuated by her tight vest and skirt.

  “Emma can’t talk,” the Professor said softly. “An Ozzi doesn’t have a complex vocal anatomy like ours, but instead has a muscular chamber like birds have. I placed artificial cords into their throats and programmed them to act as they did when they visited you.”

  Seeing the astonished look on Jack’s face, he added, “They are not an intelligent species with subjective free will, but they are programmable.”

  “What about ... Ms Upright? She ... she talked to us this m ... morning,” Bo cut in with his sweet, immature voice.

  “Ms Upright! My little Ms Upright!” the Professor exclaimed, eyes glinting fondly. “She’s different. Clever … exceptionally clever. Ozzies are not smart —you must program them. But Ms Upright is naturally gifted and absorbs knowledge marvellously well as she goes along. It’s true she can talk, but I’ve fitted her with permanent vocal cords. It suits her; she has always wanted to be like one of us, a human lady. In any event, she is one now!”

  Looking hard at the Professor, who held the coffee cup in front of his face, looking jolly and unconcerned, Jack felt a rush of frustration.

  This man had sent his Ozzies to bring them here. Why was he so desperate to get them? He had built a replica of their house, so in some way, he must be familiar with them. Could he have anything to do with the disappearance of their parents?

  His head was already throbbing — it must be the effect of the sleeping gas he had inhaled — and now it was buzzing with questions. Slowly he lifted his head.

  Brianna’s voice interrupted him unexpectedly. Sitting upright across the table, she firmly fixed her eyes on the smooth face of the Professor.

  “Perhaps, Professor, you can tell us where our parents are.”

  Her voice, quiet and shaking slightly, was resolute nonetheless.

  6

  The Ring

  With his meticulous memory for detail and dazzling descriptions to bring events alive, the Professor told the story well. When he got to the part about the gallant fight between the daring couple, the mist, and the disappearance, Brianna sat up, alert. “What are the Prince and Princess to do with our parents?”

  The Professor’s lips parted, his pale blue eyes glowing mysteriously. “Because Marcus and Zeleanda are the names of the Prince and Princess. Zeleanda is also known as Zelda.”

  “Mum and Dad!” Bo cried.

  There was a smash as Jack’s bowl of porridge fell to the floor. Instantly, Ms Upright popped out from behind the wall. With her razor-sharp eyes, she scrutinised the mess before uttering a string of screeches. Straight away two Ozzies appeared carrying mops, sprays, and buckets.

  Splotches of porridge had landed on Jack’s trousers and shoes. Ms Upright spun sharply to face him, her claw-like hand clutching a cleaning cloth. Seeing her approaching, Jack scrambled over two chairs and sat down on one at the end of the table. Unexpectedly, Ms Upright hurled the cloth towards him across the chairs. He caught it just before it whacked him in the face. With a shrug, Ms Upright made a haughty and noisy retreat with her pear-shaped body shaking and her high heels rapping on the wooden floor.

  “Are they really our parents?” Brianna asked, impatient about the spilt porridge.

  Bending over in silence, Jack started wiping the splotches off his trousers.

  +++

  They are indeed Prince Marcus and Princess Zelda, known to you three as Mum and Dad.

  That wasn’t their first contact. Many times before they must have met by chance, at official diplomatic events, on occasional border patrols, or unexpected encounters during hunting trips in the wild forest near the boundary of the two kingdoms. It may never be known how the seed was planted. Perhaps in hand-to-hand combat when they pressed against one another so closely they felt the rhythmic beating of each other’s heart, or a glance found its way into a dark chamber reserved for love and ignited it. Hardly anyone expected it to happen. Like walking in winter on a path thickly covered with fallen leaves, you don’t know that a seed is germinating underneath. You know about it only when it sprouts up into a sapling the next spring. By then, it is too late to uproot it.

  The fateful three days of physical conflict between them made one thing clear: they could no longer be separate from each other.

  For many years, Cygnore had been at the centre of my interest, and I built a portal for the convenience of travelling there. At the top of the Mount Tarata, behind thick clouds, the portal was beyond the prying eyes of most, and yet failed to escape the notice of one particular presence — Tyanna.

  Tyanna is a Wona woman, a kind of fairy who has magical abilities — don’t grin, children! She is not the sort from a fairy tale, but a real one. She’s also a half-targar who, in a blink of an eye, can morph from the shape of a woman to the shape of a targar, a swan-like bird. The people of both kingdoms loved her, regarding her as their guardian angel, and her words had weight with kings and ministers. With her sharp Wona-sense, Tyanna observed my trips many times before my first sight of her.

  The next I knew was the appearance of the Prince and Princess, a blue hand holding a red one, as they passed through my portal.

  How time had flown. It’s almost thirteen years since the Prince and Princess set foot on this island.

  They came by themselves — how, I don’t exactly know. But I wasn’t really surprised, it was as if I had somehow been informed and acquainted with their circumstances and was thus expecting them. I had been preparing for their arrival and built this house for that purpose, the one you have seen behind the double glass doors. It would have been my dream house if I ha
d ever had a family myself.

  This was all through Tyanna’s amazing power. She’s such a mystical being who has a way to foresee things and put ideas into your mind.

  The island is small, but Earth, with its vast lands and a similar atmosphere to Cygnore, would be the ultimate home for the Prince and Princess. For over a year they stayed on the island and dwelled in that very house, learning and training in order to live on Earth. They progressed well, and I monitored them closely. It wasn’t until a year later when I was convinced of their ability that I took them to Earth, to a house built specially for them and sharing features indistinguishable with the one behind that double door.

  I was afraid; it was, after all, an experiment. Its success or failure was just as unpredictable as for any other experiment. But how could I allow things to go wrong — lives were at stake.

  Their bedroom was devised primarily for this purpose — to ensure a successful outcome. Sensors were installed; their body conditions and stress levels were monitored; the data collected were analysed by an intelligent device embedded in their bed, which carried out any necessary crucial actions. At an extreme level, when the analysis indicated or predicted immediate and severe harm to their body or mind, a decision might be made to perform some drastic action.

  +++

  Brianna sat up instantly, alarmed. “What sort of action?”

  “Return them to Cygnore, their home.”

  She gasped. “How?”

  The Professor grinned. In a soft, unhurried tone, he continued. “The walls of their bedroom were not ordinary walls but made of RSM, a certain substance only found on the planet Ozzar. It is tough and resilient, but marvellously pliable if placed in a suitable electromagnetic field.”

  “You mean the bedroom can transform?”

  “Indeed, the bedroom of your parents was, in fact, a multifunctional space shuttle.”

  “No wonder they’ve gone with all the furniture.”