At Water's Edge: An Epic Fantasy (The Last Elentrice Book 1)

by S McPherson

  ‘Was that a...’

  ‘Focus,’ and using his finger, Milo turns my chin so I face him. ‘That was too close,’ he confirms, running a hand through his hair. ‘You should have been more prepared.’

  ‘Me?’ I gawp.

  His mouth twists but he says nothing to absolve some of the blame.

  ‘If anyone says anything about your hair, say you used Bulliak,’ he instructs.

  I nod. ‘Bulliak. Great for growing hair.’

  ‘Hmm,’ and he steps closer, looking troubled. ‘I don’t know a spell for those,’ he muses, peering down at me, just inches away. He cups my chin in his hand, turning my face, this way and that. His brow is furrowed, his stare penetrating so deep I feel it in my toes.

  ‘For what?’ I practically whisper as I study the blue of his eyes, only now noticing the few flecks of gold that dance across them, as if the sun were orbiting the Earth for a change.

  ‘Your eyes,’ he says. ‘They don’t match Lexovia’s.’

  ‘My eyes,’ I repeat, not really paying attention.

  ‘Yeah,’ but it comes out breathless and he doesn’t sound as concerned as he previously did. ‘They’re…’ He seems to struggle to find a word; just looks at them, looks at me. Then he blinks. ‘Don’t stare at people, I suppose is what I’m trying to say.’ I can’t be sure, but he seems slightly flustered.

  He practically pushes my head back as he releases my chin and steps away. Once again, I simply nod in response. I can’t understand why I feel so tongue tied around him. I want to say something charming and witty but instead my words catch in my throat and my thoughts fall over each other. I tell myself I’m just not used to being around someone so unnaturally stunning; not only his looks but his mind, his whole manner, all seem made to entice.

  ‘Anyway,’ he shrugs, ‘I’ll see you in a bit.’

  ‘What?’ I almost choke.

  ‘I have Dimensionals. You have Humanitorium.’ He indicates a door a little way ahead, the words ‘Professor Stirn: Humanitorium 1.0.1’ printed on the frosted glass top.

  ‘We aren’t in the same class?’ I hiss.

  ‘Not this lesson.’ He grimaces. ‘Just try to go unnoticed and you’ll be fine.’

  ‘Umm...okay,’ I agree but am not at all convinced.

  Remaining unnoticed is a lot easier said than done, especially when the topic is about humans and all things Corporeal. Though I don’t sit here like a teacher’s pet, my hand perpetually stuck up in the air, I can’t help occasionally blurting out the correct answer when all the other students gape mindlessly at the object in question. How hard is it to recognise a kettle anyway?

  ‘What’s she on?’ and I hear the boy and girl snicker behind me after I absentmindedly blurt out yet another right answer. The boy is wearing extremely dark, thick glasses shaped like eyes; I notice that quite a few of the students are wearing them and cannot fathom why. It’s hard to believe they can even see through them.

  I sigh and stare out the window. Resolving to keep my mouth shut, I let my mind wander, too distracted by my own thoughts even to acknowledge that Professor Stirn is speaking. I imagine Milo sitting in Dimensionals; based on its name, I assume it’s a class about other worlds. Milo seems clever and I envision him nodding emphatically with his professor and offering his opinion even when he isn’t asked. Maybe one day he’ll figure out a way to find those necklaces so counterparts can co-exist. I think back to Imogen waving a dismissive hand and saying the gems were nothing but legend but I can’t help but hope. Not that I want to stay here…I don’t think, although it’s not like I’m in any hurry to go back either.

  My head starts to ache, the two worlds fight it out as I weigh up their pros and cons in my already full mind. Islon does have one rather large con, though: my drunken and occasionally abusive brother. For a long while I was sure he would change, go back to the brother I knew, but after last time I’m no longer so convinced. In turn, Coldivor certainly has a lot of pros. Magic, hope, a new beginning…Milo…I shake my head, the idea ridiculous. I don’t belong here, and regardless of pros and cons, I can’t stay. I desperately dislodge the idea from my mind but his name lingers like something stuck in a drain.

  I snarl. It’s absurd how my body involuntarily responds to the idea of him. I feel my temperature rising, though the tips of my toes are almost numb with cold. There’s a pounding in my ears and I’m sure my cheeks are as red as they can be. Steadying my pulse, I quickly return my attention to the class, afraid I might spontaneously combust.

  It’s now that I realise my greatest mistake. One of the girls, I believe her name is Belair, looks at me and lets out a high-pitched shriek.

  ‘Oy! Where did you get that?’ and she points at my watch. Apparently, clocks don’t exist in Coldivor. Good one Milo. I’d have thought he would have noticed that small detail but he was clearly too preoccupied with gaping at my eyes. I want that thought to annoy me, to lessen my attraction towards him, but instead I feel a rush of longing. However, it’s quick to fade as I stare at the sea of strangers now gawking at me expectantly.

  I flounder. ‘It’s a fake. I read about them in the library,’ I finally say, remembering when Yvane bragged about the school library and how they had snuck into a Portologists only, section to find a book on making a gethamot, ‘I wanted to make an imitation.’

  ‘Fascinating,’ cries Professor Stirn, nodding with appreciation. ‘I was not aware you had taken such an interest in the subject.’

  I shrug and slouch down in my seat, again trying to remain unnoticed but it is obviously too late for that.

  The few lessons that follow run a lot smoother, probably because I have Milo, Yvane or Howard with me. If the professors ask me anything Lexovia is likely to know, they whisper the answers in my ear, and if not, I simply say nothing. The classes are enchanting; professors spewing off histories of supposed realms beyond, speaking of spells and magic, but they don’t stop my mind from screaming that I don’t belong here. That everybody knows I’m a fraud.

  Not a moment too soon, the lunch bell rings and the four of us head into the school garden. We sprawl out on a blanket under a large tree opposite Trilyot Lake. Its water is black and still, and they tell me that this is due to the turmoil brewing beneath. ‘Do not swim’ and ‘Beware of the Morgoyles’ signs are pinned at intervals around the edge and I notice people are giving it a wide birth. A hefty stone bridge extends across it, joining one side of the building to the other. Not many people use it, though, and those who do, sprint or teleport across.

  The school looks grand from here: a majestic stone fortress with prominent square roofs and arched windows. Its land is vast and well groomed. Paths of hexagonal stones wind between large stretches of smooth grass. Strong, spiky bushes act as a hedge and I am mesmerised as different shades of flowers bloom on them. Then the flowers retreat and seconds later new ones blossom.

  There is a great well in the centre of the garden, surrounded by round stone tables and wooden stumps where most people are seated, eating. I watch, amazed, as the students scribble their order on a piece of paper which then flutters away. Within seconds, whatever they wrote appears on their plate. I can’t help but notice how many of the students have almost the same stunning eyes as Milo, though not quite as vibrant; shocking greens, reds or greys. I wonder if this is a trait amongst all Teltreporthi’s. Then I notice those with a lone streak of violet, cobalt, gold or blue in their hair; just like Yvane.

  My eyes then wander over to the well itself; a statue of a man stands beside it as if he is yanking on the rope that runs from its pulley. He seems proud and has the school’s crest printed on his arm. I peer at it: a circle engraved with jagged lines that divide it into eight equal parts. Each triangle appears to represent a different empire; a spiral inside an eye for the Premoniters, a flexed fist for the Fuertés, a contrast of fire and ice for the Ochi’s and other symbols and drawings I can’t quite make out. As I look closer, I notice that one of the eight sections has been broken,
stopping the circle from being whole; I wonder if that was for the Elentri. I decide the man must be Sir Thornton, the one I have found out the school is named after. My finger circles the button on my blazer and I look down at it, seeing the school’s crest there too.

  To my right, more winding paths run through shrubs and to steps that lead down to more areas unknown. In the distance, a flag blows in the wind on top of a lone tower that looks something like a lighthouse. I can’t make out the image on the flag but it vaguely resembles the crest. Other than that, it’s just more sky, clear and a pale shade of purple.

  If it wasn’t for the incessant blabber of the others, I might actually be enjoying myself but they constantly keep nudging me to make sure I am paying attention.

  ‘Your biggest challenge is going to be syndigo,’ Howard explains through a mouthful of sandwich. I wonder what’s in it. It looks like peanut butter but smells like nothing I know; seedy and hot.

  ‘Syndigo?’

  ‘A combination of dance and acrobatics they perform at our Dizby games.’

  ‘Like cheerleading?’ I raise my eyebrows. Me? A cheerleader? The irony makes me want to laugh.

  ‘More intense actually.’ Yvane twists her mouth to the side. ‘For one thing, cheerleaders’ pyramids are on the ground.’

  My smile fades. ‘And in Syndigo?’ I’m almost certain I do not want to hear the answer.

  ‘In Syndigo, we do them in the air, cheerleading for the supernatural.’ Yes, that is the exact answer I most definitely did not want to hear.

  ‘Lexovia is captain.’

  I jolt up, gagging on my pudding. ‘How am I supposed to imitate that?’ I splutter, pounding on my chest.

  ‘Breathe,’ Milo orders. ‘All Corporeal have the ability to learn a few basic powers. That’s why they traded places back in the day.’

  ‘And I’m supposed to learn to fly?’ I ask, incredulous.

  Milo chuckles, but I fail to see what’s funny. ‘No one can fly, well, except Lexovia.’

  I throw my hands up. ‘Exactly!’

  ‘But, you can learn to hover with the rest of them.’

  My head hurts again. I sigh, resigned. ‘How do I do that?’

  ‘I’ll teach you.’ Milo squeezes my leg and I tense, as if I’m preparing for battle though it seems the only thing I’m fighting is me. ‘Eat your pudding,’ he orders with a lazy grin.

  But breathless, I simply stare across the lake, imagining myself plummeting from the sky with angry voices roaring, ‘Imposter’.

  THE PREMONITION

  After what seems like a lifetime, the number seventy-three bus finally arrives and Lexovia graciously leaps on. She looks once more at the paper in her hand.

  ‘Can you let me know when we are at the Bilstrum stop please?’

  ‘If I remember,’ grumbles the driver. ‘That’ll be one-seventy.’ His eyes are puffy from lack of sleep. The few strands of hair he does have are slicked to one side and his chest hair pops from the top buttons of his uniform.

  Slightly taken aback, Lexovia rummages in the change pouch Nathaniel gave her and retrieves a handful of coins. She frowns at the currency, unable to identify which one is what.

  ‘Another drunk,’ sighs the driver.

  ‘I am not,’ Lexovia snaps, ‘I’m just a bit confused.’

  ‘‘Ant you ever seen money before?’

  Not this money, Lexovia thinks to herself. There are no such things as coins in Coldivor, only shocklas.

  At last she locates the one pound, fifty pence and twenty-pence coins. She attempts to hand them to the driver but a large plastic partition blocks her way. He chuckles sardonically then taps the barrier, pointing to a small red box.

  ‘In there,’ he snarls.

  Embarrassed, Lexovia hurriedly tosses the money into the open slit and heads for an empty seat.

  ‘Take your ticket,’ calls the driver.

  Wishing the ground would simply swallow her up, Lexovia silently takes the small piece of paper hanging from another red box and takes the closest seat.

  Though the driver doesn’t tell her when she’s reached the Bilstrum stop, a kind elderly woman does and Lexovia somehow makes it to Steak Home in one presentable piece. Rather than being thanked, she is wrenched into the kitchen where an apron is tossed at her before she’s handed two steaming hot plates of food. Setting the plates down, she pulls the apron over her head, tying it around her waist then readjusts the plates in her hands. She scans the crowd; no sign of Drake, though she can’t ignore the brunette with a bandaged nose scowling at her from across the room.

  ‘What’s her problem?’ Lexovia mutters to the slender man beside her as he pulls on a pair of plastic gloves.

  ‘You are joking!’ he cries gaily, ‘you’d glare at someone too if they’d broken your nose.’

  Broken their nose? Lexovia is stunned. She wouldn’t have thought Dezaray had it in her. She briefly returns Tracey’s icy stare then pushes her way through the swinging doors.

  From that point on her buoyant mood starts to sink as she is plunged into a pool of disrespect. Cat calls, pinches and all sorts of misdemeanours follow. From observing the other waitresses, she learns that she is simply supposed to grin and bear it, but it is easier said than done. One of the waitresses actually appears to be enjoying herself: throwing her head back with laughter and occasionally stroking a gentleman’s arm. She smiles with a nod when she notices Lexovia watching. Lexovia briefly smiles back then returns to her work.

  She can barely squeeze through the narrow gaps between the cramped round tables nor see through the fog of smoke. Spluttering, she wonders what the source is. Then she sees it: a small brown log pinched between a man’s fingers. She watches, fascinated, as he twirls the thing in his mouth, soaking the tip with saliva. The end brightens orange and a puff of grey air leaves his lips. He holds his head high, like the object sets him in a class above the rest, but Lexovia is immediately unimpressed and put off by the strong, foul smell.

  ‘Another pint! Keep ‘em coming,’ bellows a plump man shifting uncomfortably in his seat. Unfortunately for him, only one of his butt cheeks can occupy the chair at a time. At first, Lexovia was going to suggest he move to a booth, for his own comfort, but after getting to know him and his boorish clan through the course of the evening, she decides she wants him to be as uncomfortable as possible. It takes all her willpower not to break one of his chair legs. All it would take would be a flash of her finger.

  ‘Coming right up,’ she says through gritted teeth, her smile looking more like a sneer.

  After work, Lexovia makes her way to the library. Nathaniel had written directions to it on the other side of the paper and promised her it was only a ten minute walk. As her feet ache from serving all night, Lexovia really hopes that that’s true. She clears her throat which feels scratchy and raw and squeezes shut her dry and itchy eyes. Cigars and cigarettes were both new and pointless items to her. The men smoking them coughed unattractively, the sound of phlegm rattling in their chests and their teeth stained yellow.

  Lexovia shakes her head, convinced she will never understand Corporeals and their ways. She stops now before crossing the street and looks both ways after pressing the button on the box Nathaniel showed her how to use the previous night. There are no cars in sight but she waits patiently for the man to turn from red to green. At last he does and she makes her way across the black and white stripes. It is quiet and she guesses at the time. The last she had checked, she was told it was after midnight but her innate body clock has been thrown off since the crossing and she can’t quite gage what time it is anymore.

  Once on the other side of the street, she stops in front of a high hedge and pulls the paper from her pocket again. She squints at it; some of the words just look like squiggles.

  ‘Follow the path to the right,’ she reads, and does as instructed. There, between the hedgerows, is a small opening and ahead of her a medium sized car park leading to a building. It’s small, constructed of red,
orange and brown bricks and has two large wooden framed windows. Looking through them, Lexovia sees only one woman inside, probably the owner of the lone car in the parking lot. She has short red curls and is sitting at a small counter near the entrance, sucking on a pen and reading.

  Lexovia sighs happily. It isn’t crowded with Corporeals doing Corporeal things and the light inside looks warm, golden and inviting. Pushing her way through the door, Lexovia welcomes the familiar scent of old books and ancient wood.

  She smiles at the librarian then ambles her way through the over-stacked shelves. Squinting in the dim light, she peers at small signs swinging from the ceiling.

  ‘Children’s, self-help, romance,’ she reads. Shuffling down further narrow aisles, she identifies more unrelated titles, but nothing on portals, gethamots or other dimensions.

  Cautiously, she meanders over to the librarian, running out of other options.

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘Yes?’ the lady smiles, briefly tearing her eyes away from the page she is on.

  ‘Do you have any books on portals or other worlds?’ Lexovia studies the woman’s reaction, preparing to sprint if necessary.

  The librarian simply smiles and asks, ‘Have you tried our fantasy section?’

  ‘Yes, I have,’ Lexovia starts slowly, ‘not quite what I’m looking for, though.’

  ‘Oh.’ The librarian is thoughtful. ‘Perhaps the comic book section?’

  ‘No, see, I was wondering if perhaps you had something non-fiction?’

  This time the woman’s expression does change; her eyes harden. She sits straighter, taking the pen from her mouth and propping it between the pages of the book to mark where she was. ‘I’m sorry?’

  ‘Perhaps something on other realms,’ Lexovia presses.

  ‘I don’t know what you mean.’ The librarian forces a chuckle.

  ‘Like, any books on other dimensions existing on Earth?’ Lexovia urges, only now realising how much her hopes were riding on this. If she leaves here empty-handed, she is all out of ideas.