Swept Away: An Epic Fantasy (The Last Elentrice Book 3)

by S McPherson

  He pushes himself up on quaking arms, grunting, teeth pressed into his bottom lip. When finally sitting, Diez pulls a twig from his satchel. It’s black, as if burnt, and a vibrant blue liquid leaks from its tip. Diez grins, his teeth seeming filed to points, and he plunges the stick between them, sucking on the fluorescent fluid. He moans in bliss and his eyes roll back into his head.

  He appears to suck the stick dry, like a vampire thirsting for blood, then at last gasps, breathless, and the twig falls from his clutch. He thrashes and squirms, clawing at his skin like a rabid dog.

  ‘I am Daniel Schawsmith,’ he snarls, eyes closed, drool dribbling down his chin as he continues to rip at his flesh. ‘My brother was Mathew Schawsmith. I’ve come to find a better world.’ He grits his teeth as his claw-like nails drive deeper into his flesh, trailing blood down his arm, but his eyes flash open and he growls, ‘My mind is mine to use. I am Daniel Schawsmith. My brother was Mathew Schawsmith. I’ve come to find a better world. My mind is mine to use.’

  He repeats this over and over again whilst he rips his wrists to shreds. Vladimir swallows, unable to look away, as the pain and mantra seem to stop Diez from losing his mind, as did most who encountered the Elutheran plant. They would often destroy themselves in such a way, wishing for death rather than life as a monster. Diez instead reminds himself of who he is, embracing the pain that comes with the power, embracing the monster.

  At last, he collapses as a quivering mass on the ground, cyan flecks sparking from his eyes. Blood drips from his mangled wrists and claws, though the wounds seem to be clotting far faster than would be normal.

  ‘Come to me,’ Diez whispers, his voice seeming to carry in the windless night. ‘Come to me.’

  Silence follows.

  But then he suddenly roars, ‘Come to me,’ as he rises to his knees, his arms still streaked with blood but on skin now devoid of gashes.

  His call brings a shriek in reply, and as black wings thrash the dull sky, sending waves of dust into the air, Diez pulls himself to his feet and smirks at the beast. The Exlathar lands, towering over him, its green eyes glowering down at Diez, but to Vladimir’s amazement, the creature does not attack.

  ‘That’s better,’ Diez breathes. His eyes now seem to shine. He tilts his head one way and another, seeming to communicate with the monster. The Exlathar stands stock still. Diez growls, his eyes brightening as he seems to will the creature to respond in some way. ‘Come on, you mutt.’

  The Exlathar jerks back, shaking its mammoth head as if it were being invaded.

  ‘Yes.’ Diez grins, stepping closer to the Exlathar, as it shrieks and stumbles back. ‘Yes.’

  Vladimir watches, in a sickening sense of awe. What is going on?

  The creature hunches over, Diez now towering over it.

  ‘That’s better,’ he drawls. ‘From today, I own you.’

  The Exlathar twitches, still shaking its head.

  Diez leans in closer. ‘From today, love, I own you.’

  The creature growls and swipes out with its wing, knocking Diez to the ground, but it barely notices as it struggles to push itself to its full height.

  Diez scrambles back, lifting clouds of reddened soil, a wild smile spreading across his face. The Exlathar shrieks and Diez bounds to his feet, racing off as the beast barrels after him.

  ‘Not today, then, mate?’ Diez laughs maniacally as the Exlathar lunges. Diez teleports out of the way of a descending talon then taps the gethadrox, racing away in the direction of the resultant portal at astonishing speed. The furious creature follows, it’s wings whipping behind it. It leaps into the air, only to collide with the closing portal, Diez safely on the other side. The beast hisses and soars away, and once again the world is left silent.

  HALL OF HOLOGRAMS

  The hall of holograms is a chamber of blackness and stone, with small mounds of metal that swell from the ground. Jude squints in the minimal light given off by the pale blue glow that hovers above them like fog in the air, waiting for his eyes to adjust. Dunt meticulously leads them down countless granite aisles, lined with more and more tiny domes of metal.

  ‘So, this is the hall of holograms,’ Lexovia muses.

  Dunt grunts, ‘It’s a lot dustier than it used to be, but yes. This is it.’

  Jude squats by a dome as his eyes, now adjusted, notice shimmering silver markings on each one.

  ‘They’re names,’ he realises. ‘Paul Tipun, nineteen twenty-eight,’ he reads.

  ‘That’s right,’ Dunt nods as he ambles over. ‘Each tunik is a Coltis record, supposedly all linked to their Corporeal counterpart.’

  ‘Tunik?’ Jude asks, getting to his feet.

  ‘These things,’ and Dunt gently taps one of the silver mounds with the tip of his shoe.

  ‘How does it work?’ Lexovia asks, squinting at a name engraved on another dome a few rows away.

  ‘You just have to step on it,’ and Dunt grins, a twinkle in his eyes.

  Lexovia frowns then nods to Jude. Together, they each press their foot down onto a dome, which creak and grumble as they shudder into the ground. A blaze of blue light shoots from the openings where the domes had been, and inside the azure glow stand shimmering figures of people.

  ‘Paul Tipun I presume.’ Jude stares at the man whose holographic eyes seem to stare straight back at him. A spread of silver locks hang down Paul’s back, his eyes a stunning shade of green.

  ‘And this must be Veronica Shephard.’ Lexovia studies the hologram before her: a young woman, thick black hair pulled back in braids and dark eyes that slant at the edges.

  Dunt steps forward, delicately swiping a finger across the image of Paul. Promptly, the figure shifts, replaced by text that seems to be written in pearls. Jude reads a date of dawning which he assumes means birth. This is followed by his empire, in this case Telathrodon. Then there are a few empire symbols and names, which he assumes belong to Paul’s parents and siblings, followed by the phrase ‘Elev nos senaremdos’ and a date.

  Carefully, Jude presses his own fingers to the hologram, half expecting to slip straight through and half expecting to be able to pinch the letters between his fingers. He feels a shudder over his hand, as if it were being stroked by feathers, and then he swipes. The pearlescent letters fall away, and in their place stands another Paul, though this one is bald, somewhat rounder in the middle and with eyes that are a natural blue. Scrawled beside this Paul is the name ‘Eric Muntch’ and the word ‘counterpart’. Jude swipes again only to return to the original hologram of Paul Tipun.

  When Jude looks away, he realises that Lexovia has been doing the same to Veronica and that Howard and Yvane have also opened up a couple of other records.

  ‘Is there any sort of system?’ Jude asks Dunt, who is now staring fondly at a hologram of a woman named Chloe. Perhaps an old sweetheart, Jude wonders.

  Dunt taps a finger thoughtfully against his chin. ‘If I’m not mistaken, they are ordered by date of dawning.’ He thrusts a hand down one aisle of domes. ‘If these are nineteen thirty-two, then I believe,’ and he paces a couple of rows down, ‘these are nineteen thirty-three, and so on.’

  Yvane sighs, ‘Give me strength,’ and Howard whistles.

  ‘So what years are we looking for?’

  ‘I’d say around the same age as us, give or take a few years,’ and Lexovia stalks down aisle after aisle, meandering through row after row of tuniks. The other’s follow.

  They each squat beside one, reading off the dates of dawning.

  ‘Here,’ Howard calls from a few aisles ahead and presses his foot onto one of the metal domes. As this one trembles underground, a brilliant orange glow erupts around it and the hologram of a young boy with bulging biceps and a chiselled jaw stares out at them, blonde curls scrunched up on top of his head. ‘Stanley Dundom,’ Howard reads as the others rush to join him, and he swipes his hand over the image. ‘Fuerté, dawned sixteen collectives ago.’ He swipes again, this time being met by the hologram of an e
qually strapping boy, though his body is lean, like a swimmer, and his hair is a pale brown.

  ‘Derek Morton, counterpart,’ Jude reads.

  Lexovia presses her foot onto another, releasing an orange burst of light and the smiling hologram of a sixteen-year-old girl with red hair and red eyes who now stands in its midst.

  Dunt does the same a few rows down. ‘This one’s eighteen,’ he calls as a hologram manifests before him, bathed in a turquoise glow.

  ‘Seventeen,’ Yvane calls after reading the details of another image before her, this one shimmering in peach light.

  ‘There’s so many,’ Lexovia gasps.

  ‘How many will you need?’ Howard asks Jude as he presses his foot onto yet another tunik.

  ‘We were thinking about six.’ Jude bunches his mouth, ‘So let’s look for ten, and out of them, hope six agree to this whole swap malarkey.’

  ‘No,’ and Lexovia shakes her head, ‘we’ll need more than that.’

  Jude doesn’t miss her choice of words. ‘We?’

  Then she grimaces, turning to face him. ‘We’re in trouble. Brixen…Brixen…’ Lexovia runs idle fingers across her bottom lip. ‘Not long ago, he left with more than half of our best warriors and only a fraction of them made it back,’ at which Jude sucks in a breath but says nothing. ‘If we’re going to survive this, whatever it is that Diez has planned, we need help, and we won’t find enough of it here. But if this works—the trade and the training—it could mean we still have warriors to fight with us if any of us fall.’ She sighs. ‘I’m happy to do the trade, but one that benefits us all.’

  Jude cocks his head, like a jungle cat. ‘Join our forces.’

  ‘Sort of. The Corporeals we train will become our second army. If their counterpart dies, they will come here to take their place.

  Yvane unleashes a low whine. ‘Vladimir isn’t going to like this.’

  Lexovia arcs her brow. ‘Vladimir isn’t here.’

  VIOLET EYED

  I gaze at the dark sky through the cover of trees overhead. It’s sprinkled with stars and streaked with wisps of fraying clouds. One skates right past the moon like a smudge. I try to focus on the night’s beauty and forget what brings me here to the woods, in the middle of the night. The leaves shudder and I do the same. It’s cold tonight, a brisk chill rising the later it gets, and I agitatedly glance at my watch. It feels like Jude has been gone for ages, but apparently it’s been less than an hour.

  Blowing my fringe from my face, I slump against a tree and wriggle my toes in the earth, shoes long since abandoned, discarded in the muck beside Nathaniel. He doesn’t appear as restless as I do, practically the picture of calm as he leans against a log, his fingers dipping ripples into Beatrice Brook. I wonder if he’s pacing on the inside, wondering as am I if Jude made it to the Court and if he will make it back. Or instead, will a creature of shadow with bright green eyes greet us when the portal reopens?

  ‘So,’ Nathaniel muses, his eyes following the expanding rings around his fingertips, ‘have you managed to tap into any of your Elentri abilities yet?’

  I frown, ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well,’ and he shakes his hands dry, ‘Jude’s counterpart is an Ochi, and with the right incantations, he’s learning how to use those gifts. What about you?’

  For a while I don’t respond, trying to decide how truthful I should be with my answer. But when he shifts and turns to face me, I concede.

  ‘I’ve tried,’ I murmur. ‘On countless occasions.’ I’ve tried running, jumping and all the other stuff Milo first told me, but other than tapping into everyday spells and incantations, I haven’t mastered anything else. ‘Maybe it’s different with Elentri counterparts.’ I tell him the same thing I’ve been telling myself: ‘So many abilities, it’s impossible to actually use any.’

  Nathaniel scowls, ‘What about the premonitions?’

  I go to speak, then stop. I’d completely forgotten about the visions I first had of Milo before I met him. Now my frown matches Nathaniel’s.

  ‘I don’t know,’ I say, voicing my realisation. ‘In fact, I don’t think I’ve had another premonition since.’

  Nathaniel sits straighter. ‘Really?’

  I rack my brain, but other than a few indecipherable dreams every now and then, I cannot think of anything else, and certainly nothing as vivid as the ones I had of Milo. Slowly, I shake my head.

  Nathaniel’s eyes narrow. ‘That’s strange,’ and his mouth twists. ‘Well, as long as no aliens planted the visions in your brain.’

  ‘Yeah,’ and I force a laugh, but my stomach knots. Why haven’t I had any more visions since the ones of Milo?

  Then a rumbling voice growls, ‘Look who we have here,’ and my thoughts scatter like cats at a dog fight. I push myself off the tree and Nathaniel is quick to his feet. We both glare at the man, only a few feet away from us, dressed in a dark blue uniform with a peaked cap balanced on his head. As I stare, I realise I recognise his tanned skin and smirking face. He’s the salesman from Fixer Upper, the one who showed us around and shot at us with the rest of them. My eyes stray to his hip and note the weapon tucked into his holster. Though the man is outnumbered, he grins as if greeting old friends, his head held high.

  ‘I was hoping to run into you sorry sods again,’ he sneers. ‘Where’s the girl?’

  I know he’s referring to Sakiya and am instantly relieved that we convinced her not to come with us. Though ‘Convinced’ may not have been quite the right word. The plan is that no Coltis will be involved, especially if Jude can get the Court to agree to our terms. And though it took Mrs Edwards and Imogen restraining her, as she snarled and yelled profanities at our backs, Sakiya eventually let us leave.

  I push out my own chest, mimicking the man’s air of ease. ‘I don’t think she’s your concern anymore. Do you?’

  ‘Careful,’ he says, lowering his voice as his hand shifts to his hip, inches from his weapon. I glance at my rucksack, discarded on the ground, though there’s not much in it to combat a bullet. I notice Nathaniel take a surreptitious step closer to the man. He doesn’t blink and his moves are so slight they’re practically invisible. His eyes flick to mine when I don’t answer the R.U.O.E. member and a plea flashes in them: keep talking. Clearly, I’m the decoy.

  I turn back to the man and shake my head pityingly. ‘Is that why you’re here?’ I force indifference. ‘Some desperate attempt to get back what you lost?’

  The man chuckles ‘Please’ without humour. ‘I don’t give a toss what you did with that human imposter; that thing,’ he then goes on to say. ‘The boys had a feeling you were out here, dabbling with the demons, and I decided I couldn’t let that happen.’

  The boys said we were out here? Why? How? My skin prickles as I imagine eyes in the stars but I keep my features placid to hide my shock. Nathaniel continues to creep forwards, the man seemingly unaware.

  ‘And what do you intend to do about it?’ I retort, keeping my voice as steady as I can.

  The man sneers and whips out his gun. At the same time, Nathaniel lunges and tackles him to the ground. The two wrestle, hurling punches to the face and jabs to the ribs. Though Nathaniel fights with vigour, he is clearly outmatched. The RUOE member, the coward, strains to reach his weapon, from where it fell from his fingers, but Nathaniel pulls back on the man’s hand, twisting at the knuckles. The bones crack.

  My eyes dart between my rucksack and its knife, buried at its bottom, and the men grappling on the ground, a loaded gun beside them. In a split-second decision, I charge at them, unarmed, and leap onto the man’s back, trying to haul him off Nathaniel who’s now pinned beneath him. The man goes to deck me but I wrap my arms around his neck and squeeze with all my might. I glance down at Nathaniel and jolt. He seems dazed, his eyes unfocused, and his nose gushes blood.

  The RUOE member pries at my arms, his bitten nails digging into me like thick thorns, and I feel my grip start to slip. He clutches my elbows and pulls my clasped hands apar
t. Gritting my teeth, I yank one arm free and ram my thumb into his eye. He howls, his hold loosens and I shove my other thumb into his other eye. I press down hard, my fingers wet with what I think is blood. The man thrashes, desperate to throw me off but I cling to his head, watching as Nathaniel shakily attempts to stand.

  Roaring, the man flings his body back, slamming me into the ground and crushing me beneath him. I choke for air, my brain seeming to rattle inside my skull. Clouds of earth erupt around me. I don’t know how but somehow when my vision clears, the man is aiming the gun directly between my eyes.

  He smirks. His chin is bruised, his eyes bloodshot, one leaking blood, but otherwise he’s unscathed.

  I clench my teeth, ignoring my hammering heart, and raise a brow. ‘Don’t you remember what happened the last time you pointed that thing at me?’

  The man barely blinks before he throws his arm back and fires. The bullet soars towards Nathaniel at a dizzying speed, too fast for him to dodge. I blink. Purple sparks dance in front of my vision and my body trembles as what feels like a rush of fury sets my skin on fire, blazing from my toes to the tips of my hair. My stomach clenches as time seems to freeze, and then Nathaniel is gone.

  ‘Nathaniel?’ I scream. There’s a clash somewhere nearby: teleportation. ‘Nathaniel?’ I call as the man attempts to smother my mouth and nose under his brawny hands. They’re salty and gritty with grime. I squirm, snatching gasps of air as I try to make sense of what just happened. By the sounds of it, Nathaniel teleported out of a bullets way, and I have no idea how.

  The R.U.O.E. member seems nearly as stunned as I am, his eyes constantly searching the shadows to find the boy who disappeared. In his distraction, I twist out of his dumbfounded grip and elbow him in the jaw as I snatch his gun. He makes a grab for me but I spring to my feet and point the weapon at his chest, ignoring the stabbing pains in my head and the stitch in my side.

  ‘Don’t,’ I snap as he goes to stand, but then he freezes at the sound of rustling coming through the carpet of fallen leaves. I tense.