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

by S McPherson

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

  ‘And I’m not?’

  ‘It’s on top of us, boys,’ I cry as the vortex starts to surround us.

  ‘ACCELERATE!’

  A high-pitched ringing in my ears, like a heart monitor in a hospital signalling that somebody’s died, is all I first acknowledge; later, I recognise it as my scream. Seemingly in slow motion, we exit the whirlpool, hovering mere inches above the chimney entrance of the house in the field Up Top. Nathaniel hits the accelerator and we narrowly miss it, and for a few brief moments, glide over the roof of the cottage before eventually landing with a bump in the field.

  Nervous and relieved laughter shakes the car as we finally come to a stop, all bones still intact.

  ‘I wasn’t worried for a second, mate,’ Jude lies, patting Nathaniel encouragingly on the shoulders.

  ‘Not for a second,’ Nathaniel muses, driving us towards the fence.

  Jude waves his hand and intones, ‘Unichovu’. The chains and bolts fall away from the gate and it opens, letting us drive out onto the gravel road.

  Nathaniel whistles, clearly impressed. ‘How many Coltis spells do you know?’

  Jude shrugs nonchalantly. ‘So, where to?’

  I pull the gethamot from my pocket and the denomatrix starts to spin. Slowly, the smoke arrow manifests and points.

  ‘To the right,’ I instruct.

  It’s not long before none of us know where we are. We’ve spent approximately two hours taking rights, lefts and reverses, and making up different routes as our path is blocked by buildings and train tracks that the gethamot does not take into consideration. Jude has taken over the driving. He’s a lot jerkier than Nathaniel when shifting gears but at least he can drive.

  I stare out of the steamed-up car window, making out blurred street lamps and the occasional passing car. Beatrice brook still runs through the woods beside us but I have certainly never journeyed this far along it before. I look down at the gethamot on my lap. The arrow is still pointing straight on but the denomatrix has started to lighten in colour. No longer the distinctive emerald it started out as, it is now a very obvious green.

  ‘We’re running out of time,’ I say to myself, starting when Jude answers.

  ‘It needs to be much lighter than that, love.’ He indicates the gethamot with a nod. ‘Can’t be much further now.’

  I force a smile and return my gaze to the indistinct views of Islon passing by.

  BAIT

  Lexovia is curled up on a soft blanket sipping on a boiling serum an Ochi has made for her. The dwarfed lady claimed it was full of good energy and exactly what the Elentri drank in the old days after their Elenfar, to revive themselves. It is Lexovia’s third mug and she must admit it’s helping.

  The night she arrived in the hideout she had slept for hours and no one had disturbed her. Samantha was sitting beside her when she woke, stroking her hair.

  ‘How are you feeling?’ she’d asked. Lexovia had groaned in response.

  Now, though, she is ready to talk, able to move. Rising, she wanders over to the tree stumps table in the centre of the room. The hushed conversations of those around her now silence, every eye following her steady progression.

  Lexovia studies the map, its circles, arrows and question marks. Most of the areas with question marks against them have been crossed out and she runs her fingers over an ‘X’ formed by snickleberry root. It is not only a delicious thing they eat but is also what they use to write, dipping the twigs into pots of berry juice that then stain the parchment.

  ‘We have successfully destroyed these dens of the Vildacruz.’ Brixen comes up beside her pointing to the red crosses.

  ‘And these?’ Lexovia taps on one of the many arrows.

  ‘As you know, we are not strong enough to defeat the Vildacruz alone.’ Brixen draws a twig from a pot of blue snickleberry juice and circles the area nearest the Court, where all the arrows are pointing. ‘This is the Elentri burial ground in Taratesia.’

  Lexovia sucks in her breath, stunned. She wasn’t even aware it still existed. She often thought of her mother, her father and wondered where they were now. If their bodies were found.

  Brixen continues, ‘We believe that strong magic may remain there. Its energy, bettering our chances. So, our plan is to destroy the Vildacruz bases with the intent of forcing them all there. With the ancient Elentri magic brewing and you at our side–’

  ‘We may actually win,’ Lexovia finishes.

  ‘We may.’ Brixen nods. ‘We just…’

  ‘What?’

  ‘The Coltis are doing their best but not all the Vildacruz are going to the burial ground.’ He sighs and briefly makes eye contact with her. ‘We need the right bait.’

  Lexovia looks at him, knowingly. ‘You need me.’

  Howard races out of sight and crouches behind a tree. He lets himself shrink from Fuerté form, audibly sighing. He has lost track of how many days he has been that way but he was starting to feel lumbered and heavy. He stretches his arms, cracks his neck then peeps back around the tree trunk.

  His opponent, a warlock, still lies unconscious on the ground. It was during his fight with this creature that the Teltreporthi arrived and delivered their message.

  ‘The last Elentrice is ready,’ he’d said.

  Smiling, Howard leaps to his feet, thrilled at how easily he now moves. He extends his palm, his eyes glowing red. ‘Luminaro,’ he whispers and instantly a swirling sphere of scarlet light forms in his hand. Keeping it ahead of him, he uses it to light the way as he rushes through the throng of trees.

  THE LAST REUNION

  The gethamot’s arrow is now pointing into the forest to our left, so we decide to continue the rest of the journey on foot. We pull out our tents, sleeping bags and such from the car, and with the aid of flash lights, follow the arrow into the woods. After trekking for some time and building up quite a sweat, the arrow stops shifting direction and simply points upwards. I can’t make out the wood’s footpath but hear the rush of Beatrice brook somewhere nearby.

  ‘We’re here,’ I announce.

  Nathaniel glances around. ‘A shame we didn’t think to leave a trail of breadcrumbs.’ Jude and I follow his gaze, no idea how to get back the way we came.

  ‘We’ll be fine.’ I shake off my doubt and begin setting up our family-sized tent. It proves to be considerably more difficult than that time in Coldivor. The fire won’t be as brilliant either.

  I’m too wired to sleep, half terrified that some creature of the Vildacruz is going to come barrelling out of nowhere and end us all and half worried that we’ll wake up to find the portal has opened and shut without us noticing, Milo never knowing I was here.

  The boys believe I just plan to peek through the portal, to see if anyone is there or if I can make anything out before it shuts. But my intention is to venture into Coldivor and seek out Milo or Lexovia. My attempts to mindle either of them now fall flat and I refuse to wait another two weeks to find out if everything is okay. I refuse to stay safe on this side, whilst my friends die on the other, knowing that maybe, just maybe, things would be different had I tried.

  Jude and Nathaniel aren’t plagued by as many concerns, convinced the Vildacruz believe I’m dead at Drake’s hand, and so they easily drift off to sleep, Jude cradling the bow and arrow as if that’s all the protection we need. I, however, watch the denomatrix tick anticlockwise. It’s certainly a lighter shade of green than when we arrived. I quietly lean over and peer at Jude’s watch: ‘2:57am’. I unzip my sleeping bag and silently creep out of the tent and into the night.

  As I inhale the scent of bark and early morning dew, my stomach tightens in anticipation. I’ll see you soon, Coldivor.

  I jump as a bird swoops over my head, its wings fluttering loudly in my ear, having apparently dozed off outside the tent. Jolting upright, I gape anxiously at the gethamot. The denomatrix is a pale green, but I relax when I note that the smoky arrow still points up
wards; I haven’t missed the opening.

  Then it happens. The lime glow extends from the gethamot and the portal appears. He’s not there. Jumping up, I charge at the gateway, throwing myself through its shimmering green glow. I have no idea who or what I’ll find on the other side but I don’t stop to think. Love, hope and possibility are out there and that is all I need to know. If I die tonight, at least it’s for a reason.

  It’s quieter than I expect and pitch black once the portal snaps shut, a mass throng of trees arching overhead. Briskly walking into the black, I rummage in my rucksack, pulling out my flashlight and starting the timer on my stopwatch; eighty-eight minutes. I stumble over something as I start to run, but as long as that something doesn’t grab me, I don’t care what it is.

  My palms are sweaty and I grip the flashlight tighter, desperate not to drop it. The menacing shadows it creates are far less menacing than total darkness. My lungs start to ache as I race on. My feet pound against the ground, my calves bulging. I grit my teeth and thunder on, clumps of earth tossed and thrown aside by my blundering heels.

  Then a spark in the sky temporarily lights the night brighter than any day and I hear a thunderous bang. I involuntarily scream, the torch trembling in my iron grip. Then steeling myself, I head in the direction of the noise.

  The closer I get to whatever lies ahead, the louder and brighter it becomes as magic seems to rain down. I dig in my rucksack, pulling out the knife I swiped from Mrs Edwards’s kitchen and tuck it into my waistband. I know it won’t do me much good but it’s still comforting in a way.

  There’s a shuffle behind me and I switch off the torch, hoping to blend in with the shadows. I press myself against a tree, its bark scratching my elbow, and hold my breath. Rays of Coltis power dance in the sky, occasionally lighting where I’m standing. I crouch down, willing my heart to steady though I know the adrenaline may be needed soon – to help me run from here.

  It’s hard to be certain through all the commotion of what’s happening up ahead but I’m almost sure I hear the sound of something breathing. A cold wind rushes past me. I clamp my lips together to keep from screaming. The gust passes again and this time I whimper; certain I feel the stroke of a feather. The next time the wind approaches it stops in front of me. I can barely make out the creature’s form even in the light but the shining green eyes tell me it’s an Exlathar, and it’s looking right at me.

  ‘You!’ it hisses. I shiver. Its voice is like ice: a cold, harsh slap. I don’t notice its silhouetted lips move but I know it spoke the word. Trembling, I scramble around the base of a tree but the Exlathar simply meets me on the other side.

  This time saying nothing, its shadowed hand grips my wrist and yanks me into the air, its wings flapping. I pry at its hand; the hard, cold fingers are unyielding. I’m dangling above the trees now but still feel it would be better to be dropped than go wherever this monster is taking me.

  Then I see them, a mass of black and green dots in the distance, giant wings spread – an army of Exlathars. Tears tumble from the rim of my eyes as I thrash and twist against the creature.

  ‘Get off me!’ I scream. Then groping behind me, I pull out the knife and stab it into the beast’s arm. It snarls and hisses, increasing its speed, its wings waving up and down as it charges ever faster towards the others. When I go to grab my knife back, it disintegrates. I’m stunned! Desperate, I plunge my teeth into the hand that holds me. The skin tastes sour but I bear down as hard as I can. The Exlathar shakes me belligerently but I don’t let go, and neither does it. I wait to taste blood but instead a cold and bitter liquid seeps into my mouth. The repulsive tang makes me rip my mouth away, spitting and spluttering. We’re much closer to the other Exlathars now and their silhouetted mouths are pulled back in less than inviting sneers.

  ‘What do you want with me?’ I bellow, my throat raw.

  ‘We’re going to eat your heart,’ it hisses.

  That heart bangs against my chest as panic paralyses me. The wind is howling but I do my best to roar over it. Looking below, I yell for help. My throat aches and I’m sure my breath is wasted.

  ‘Let her go!’

  I tense at the familiar voice. The Exlathar spins around, as surprised as I am, and I recognise Collin, the Dizby captain, hovering on his terraduchin. Behind him are more Coltis, all dressed in armour and balancing on their own, spears and vials locked in their hands.

  The Exlathar holding me rears up, tall and defiant as the others swarm to its side.

  This doesn’t seem to bother Collin. ‘Don’t panic,’ he tells me, then hurls his spear at the monster. It strikes the beast, going straight through, but then returns to Collin who immediately throws it again and again. The Exlathar roars as it’s filled with holes that quickly heal.

  The sky comes alive; weapons and potions tossed between the Coltis and Exlathars. They dive on one another, some of the Coltis daring to leap from their terraduchins and on to the backs of their enemy, fending off enchantments with their shields.

  Collin has managed to veer close to me now and I stretch my legs out to reach him. He continues to distract my captor, stabbing it with the spear, bashing it with his shield, even if the wounds prove only temporary.

  Clearly growing tired of this, the Exlathar screeches at such a high pitch my teeth ache. Then I feel myself falling. The creature has dropped me in its frenzy to go after Collin, and as I plummet to the earth, I see Collin coming after me. My stomach lurches as his outstretched hand reaches for me, the tips of his toes balancing unsteadily on his terraduchin. The Exlathar, a black shadow with wings stretching so wide I can’t see past them, swoops down behind him, drawing ever closer. Its green eyes seem even more vibrant. I know my own are wide, my arms aching as they stretch up to Collin. Leaves tickle my leg as I enter the canopy of the trees below and then I’m submerged in darkness, only the occasional spark of magic lighting my ominous surroundings.

  My arms and legs flounder as I hope to grab on to something. My arm smashes against a branch and, ignoring the jarring pain now shooting through me, I grip it with both hands. I suppress a sob from rising in my throat and exhale sharply before pulling myself up.

  ‘Dezaray!’ I hear Collin call seconds later. It still feels strange to be called that name here.

  ‘Collin!’ I yell back.

  Soon, he’s charging towards me in full Fuerté form, a small orb of light on the tip of his terraduchin lighting his way. He swoops past, scooping me onto the stick as I instinctively wrap my arms around his waist and focus on keeping balanced.

  We barrel between the tree trunks and I bury my head into his back.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ I ask, ‘with all these Coltis in Dizby gear?’

  ‘To be honest, the games are more training for battles than anything else,’ Collin calls back. ‘The only problem here is,’ and he looks down, ‘no safety nets.’

  I follow his gaze and groan.

  Collin dips lower, so low that if I stretch my hand out I could catch the taller strands of grass, and the night suddenly grows louder. We’re buried in thick smog but I can vaguely make out the figures of Coltis and Vildacruz locked in battle. There’s the clanking of steel against steel, breathless grunts, howls of Borum wolves and the occasional glimpse of pale skin, sharp fangs and fur. Instinctively, I grip tighter to Collin.

  ‘Where are we?’ I ask, squinting through the fog.

  ‘The Elentri burial ground,’ Collin replies. His whole body is tense as he winds us through the commotion, trying to remain undetected. Slowly he hands me his spear. I gape at its pointed edge: tinted black and red. Then my heart jolts, all sound fades save for the race of my pulse. Not too far away, a figure, his sword flashing as he swipes at a warlock with glowing red eyes. It’s hard to tell but the way he moves and the way I’m drawn to him tells me the figure is Milo.

  He jabs with his sword, the warlock jumps back then lunges forward, knocking Milo down and out of sight. I yelp, and without thought, leap off the terra
duchin.

  ‘Where are you going?’ Collin yells behind me, ‘you’re going to be killed.’

  I block him out, racing through the throng of destruction. I leap over the wounded, narrowly dodge weapons and duck under enchantments. I stay focussed on the area I last saw Milo, though now all I can see are those who fight around it. Then there he is, still on the ground. Panic grips me and my legs push harder into the earth as I silently beg the stars to save him and the warlock crouches over him. I can’t tell if he’s moving and I barrel forward, muscles burning. The only thought in my head: save Milo, the way I feel he already saved me.

  Gasping for breath, I lunge, lifting the spear above my head and plunge it into the warlock’s back, stabbing it through the flesh. The skin is thick and I ram my foot into the creature’s back as I force the weapon in further. The creature collapses and I’m struck with joy when Milo rolls the corpse from on top of him.

  ‘Thanks,’ he pants, then double-takes, leaping to his feet. ‘Dezaray?’

  I throw myself into his arms. He’s real. I inhale his familiar scent and for a fleeting instance, smile. He stares at me, stunned, for a beat, neither of us registering the chaos around us. I brush my nose against his but he moves back.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ he growls. His tone is furious but his eyes betray him.

  ‘Saving you I’d say.’

  He’s about to retaliate but I shriek, ducking as a violet beam whizzes above our heads. Our eyes follow it and we both tense.

  In the distance, a large russet Borum wolf is circling Lexovia. Her ochre eyes glow and amber sparks dance from the tips of her fingers. The beast is angry. Instantly I feel an odd sensation and make out a wisp of blue as Milo transports us to Lexovia’s side. But we’re too late: the wolf surges forwards, crushing its incisors into Lexovia’s thigh. She screams and a surprising gust of wind bursts out of her, the sound of it almost visible, sending all who are close enough sailing through the air – this must be a new gift, as Milo looks as shocked as I do. We land in the grass with an ungraceful thud and I’m momentarily dazed. The gale-force wind has knocked the wolf into a tree and it’s now lying unconscious.