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

by S McPherson

  Howard relies on his weight, the thrust of his elbows, the assault of his fists. The beasts blow their lethal mist but quickly forged shields and teleportation let the three escape its ferocity.

  Lexovia manages to catch sight of Diez, watching from the side-lines, his proud smile having withered to a thin line. His eyes glow brighter and his upper lip quivers into a snarl. This is clearly not what he’d expected. Though the Coltis and Counterpart army hadn’t expected this battle, they’d certainly trained well for it. The Courts’ armoury had been freshly stocked with a feast of weapons, its lab gurgling with new concoctions to enhance the Nepatin’s strength, and everyone’s now on hand to assist. Though the few Exlathars Diez sent straight into Melaxous may be doing him justice, the ones here in the Court are falling.

  He splays his spindly fingers, as frail as spider’s legs. Scarlet beams erupt from their tips, thick and twisted. They snatch at the carnage, cutting through the Exlathars as they seek out Lexovia. The beasts shriek from the onslaught of their master but do not retaliate, many swarming instead into the Courts, leaving Lexovia to her fate. She dives out of the way as Diez continues to whip through the combat with his cords of energy, and she barely has time to roll out of the way of another attack. Diez is relentless. As Lexovia scrambles to her feet, Howard leaps into the path of the next scarlet snake, the shaft crumpling his armour and sending him flying.

  ‘Howard,’ Victoria screams as he tumbles through the air and smashes into the ground. He does not move.

  Lexovia barely has time to recover, Howards name on her lips as an Exlathar swoops down and grabs Victoria, dragging her away as she writhes and wrestles against it. Then something hard and sharp, like a serrated dagger, rips through Lexovia’s arm. The xyen falls from her grip. She gapes at the gash in her skin, blood pluming from it like smoke, her head snapping up in time to see another scarlet dagger of Diez’s energy hurtling towards her. She bounds out of its way, pain ripping through her bones as if her single wound has somehow injured her entire being, the pain like flaming needles bursting through her skin.

  She gasps and nausea blurs her vision. Where is Victoria? Where’s Howard? All she can see clearly are the burning pools of cyan that leak from Diez’s eyes and the bolts of power he’s flinging at her. Her movements slow as she avoids their attack, one eventually striking her across her cheek, the flesh falling open. Diez is going to destroy her, destroy the woman whose power gained at the Elenfar had held up his plans for so long. The power that could destroy his vision and save the Coltis. He left her to the Vildacruz then, but it’s clear he’ll not make the same mistake again.

  Lexovia trembles, agony raking over her skin like a clawing hand, one encrusted with steel thorns. Someone screeches her name, but she struggles to lift her head. Through the haze of her vision, she can make out a shadow with black curls spilling around its face: Yvane. She races at them, xyen waving above her head, satchel bouncing at her back, then she leaps at an Exlathar and skewers it on her weapon. Her hands now in her sack, ripping out a vial of Nepatin, forcing it into the beasts gaping mouth. The creature shrieks and thrashes, but Yvane’s already fighting another descending beast.

  And the battle carries on around Lexovia, but her gaze is once more firmly locked on Diez as he sneers and stalks nearer. She tries to stand but her legs won’t work, and she collapses, retching. What has he done to her? His fingers hurl power like confetti now, and the shards propel straight for her. Lexovia attempts to scramble backwards but can barely muster the energy to lie down. Then something slams into her, tossing her aside and flattening her beneath it. The daggers of Diez’s power whisk past, colliding with a frail tree that bursts into flames.

  Lexovia groans, the warm breath of whatever slammed into her now tickling her neck. She blinks up, groggily, at dark eyes set beneath dishevelled auburn locks and within a mud-stained face that’s now staring back at her. Vladimir. He doesn’t smile as he drags her to her feet and turns to face Diez.

  Only then does Lexovia notice the others, Amethyst and Baxter amongst them. They have returned. Growling, they lunge at the Exlathars like wolves on the hunt, more of the Coltis streaming in, clashing in what soon becomes a seemingly equal battle. Lexovia breathes deeply, steadying her swaying body. Though still wounded, the pain of it still ravaging her, she blinks and turns to Diez. He’s not alone; Yvane stands in front of him, his spindly fingers coiled around her throat. Her wide eyes betray her fear but all else about her is poised and calm.

  ‘Until next time,’ Diez grins, strips of shadow swirling around him.

  Lexovia forgets the pain, her power surging through her like flames chasing oil. Her eyes that usually glow the colour of fire now turn the colour of blood, and she snarls and prepares to attack, to bludgeon the smirk from Diez’s lips, until something stops her.

  Yvane’s wide eyes spark white and flashing images pierce Lexovia’s mind. A vision. A cold and haunting vision that Yvane must have had. Lexovia swallows, the nausea setting in again. Biting back her instincts to rip Diez apart, she clenches her fists and freezes. A half smile lifts the corner of Yvane’s lips and then both she and Diez are gone.

  MAKING SENSE OF NONSENSE

  I wake, cocooned in Milo’s wings, stripped to my underwear having removed my dripping wet clothes the previous night. Milo’s body is unnaturally warm against mine, considering he wears nothing but his boxers, and his fingers trail sparks of electric desire across my waist.

  ‘Good morning,’ he murmurs into my hair. I turn to face him.

  ‘Good morning.’ I prop myself up on my elbow and lean over to kiss him. It’s a slow and tender kiss and my hair somehow winds up wrapped around his hand.

  ‘Good morning,’ he repeats when we slightly part.

  ‘Sun’s up,’ I murmur against his mouth. ‘How much do you want to bet it plays music and is surrounded by day stars?’

  He chuckles and strokes a finger over the curve of my lips. ‘Can’t say I’m not curious.’

  A part of me wants to stay wrapped up in Milo forever; this is what he wanted once, for us to run away together. But we couldn’t do it then and we can’t now. Maybe one day we’ll be free; no one trying to kill us or the ones we love, no one trying to keep us apart. But the sun hasn’t yet risen on that day.

  Sighing, we get to our feet, the stone surprisingly cool, and push aside the vines. I gasp. The day in Sehence is even more stunning than the night. Now the river is peaceful, rippling not too far below us like a blanket of woven crystal and sapphire gems. The sky is gold, gleaming and reflecting the ripples of the river and the peaks of the mountainous land. There’s no sun, or rather, the whole sky is the sun. It offers a warm glow that gently roasts the earth and, though the scent of fish still lingers, there is no trace of the creature’s toxic stench.

  Great birds, that from down here I could believe are pterodactyls, swoop through the sky, circling and squawking. They pay us no attention and I’m relieved that it seems only the snake-like beast of Sehence meant us any harm. I hope there are no more lurking about.

  Milo disappears into our cage of vines and stone and emerges with our last few stems of snickleberry. He pops one into his mouth and offers me the other. My stomach gurgles appreciatively. Though the berries have been a great distraction and the sollaballs have kept us hydrated, I will be glad when we finally return to our own realms and eat a proper meal.

  ‘Should we finish them?’ I ask, eyeing our last rations.

  He grins at me. ‘The portal is open.’ With a flick of his head, he indicates the thick, smoggy arrow now stretching across the river. I have no words, my eyes alight, my spirits dancing. In a haste, I shovel the food into my mouth and drag on my damp clothes. Milo does the same.

  Moments later, we stand on a stump of stone that juts from the tumble of rocks and roots. We’re surrounded by nothing but sky, the river swaying far below as if we’re balanced on the edge of the realm. Milo pulls me into his arms and brushes billowing strands of my hair from
my face, a face his eyes now search as if they’ll never find it again.

  ‘My wish came true,’ he murmurs.

  I eye him sceptically, looking from him to the narrow arc of stone we perch on. ‘You wished to be suspended above a river in a realm of unknown creatures?’

  He laughs, the sound sending ripples through my skin. ‘A long time ago, what feels like a lifetime now, I threw a coin into the museum fountain.’

  I remember, my mind easily taking me back to that day, back to when finding a safe place from my brother had been my main concern. When Drake’s alcoholism was my biggest threat. Milo had taken me to Corporeal Ville in Coldivor, and after making a wish, I’d asked what he’d wished for. Milo had replied: ‘I’ll tell you if it comes true.’

  I meet his gaze. ‘What was it?’

  ‘That you’d want me,’ and his lips twitch, ‘even after you saw what I truly am.’

  I shake my head, frowning. How could he think I wouldn’t want him? One thing I know for certain is that I will always want him. If our plan to change the world fails and the Counterpart army falls, I’ll want him. If the orange moon changes me and I end up a servant to Diez and his darkness, barely able to remember my own name, I’ll remember that I want him. Milo is the one thing I’m sure of. The only one I ever saw before I knew him, and I still can’t say why.

  ‘I always saw who you truly are,’ I say. ‘What changes on the outside doesn’t change this,’ and I press my hand over his heart. He half shrugs, eyes down, and I realise that maybe he’s not only worried about me rejecting him, but of everyone and everything he has ever known. ‘Milo, even if you sprout wings and grow horns, I will still want you. Oh, wait…you already did that,’ I grin.

  He laughs wholeheartedly, prodding me in the side, and I’m glad to see some of his unease melt away. Then he crushes my lips beneath his own and I run my fingers down his cheek. The kiss is soft but rife with passion. Everything will be different when we return. We know Diez’s plan, the Corporeal will almost be trained for war, and Milo, now matured, is a Dragonysius.

  Our return to Melaxous is not what we expect. The stench of death is thick in the air and the sky is fogged, shrouded behind a curtain of smoke. Corpses blemish the land like spilled salt. Milo grips my hand and I pull the xyen from my satchel.

  ‘Ku-ta,’ I murmur and the weapon lengthens. We trundle on, tripping over fallen Coltis, their mouths agape, their faces twisted. What happened here?

  The top of the Court of Coldivor pokes through the smog of smoke, like an accusing finger pointing at the sky. We hasten toward it. The gates are open, swinging off their hinges, and parts of the wall are blown in, lying in heaps of rubble. My stomach clenches and my eyes burn, and I’m afraid to blink. What happened here? My skin prickles with uncertainty as we cautiously make our way past the scattered debris, the fallen warriors and over the broken earth. My breath hitches as I recognise faces. They aren’t Coltis warriors, they’re the Corporeal counterparts who we sent to train. Who we sent to their deaths. I swallow as I gape at the faces of Celia, a Premoniter, and Ibrahim’s lover, Jeff. Their hands are clasped, their guts slit open. Milo stands beside me as I study those faces I once knew, tears bubbling in my eyes, my lips trembling, then we walk on.

  ‘No,’ I gasp, covering my mouth to keep from retching, trying to tear my eyes away. A head, its body not far away, lies mangled and speared, a head with shocking red hair and pale green eyes that gape blindly back at me: Victoria. A sob escapes me, lancing pain through my heart. Then we find Derek as we near the steps, crumpled and limbless. I tremble though the night is warm, asking myself over and over: What happened here?

  I take little solace in the Courts’ doors being shut, but when we barely tap on them and they easily swing open, my solace quickly fades. The wards that forbid entry to all but Court members are down, probably obliterated in whatever carnage took place here.

  The great hall is a shadow of itself. Though the stone table stands as strong as ever at its centre, the skylight above has been shattered, littering the table and floor with shards of glass that glint like tears. Many of the pillars have fallen, protruding from the cracked ground like chunks of burnt flesh. Milo crouches, peels a cloak from one of the fallen Coltis and drapes it over his arm.

  ‘Did you know him?’ I ask.

  Milo nods, just the once as he stands. I think my heart might burst. His eyes glow a brilliant blue, more vibrant than before, and he directs them at the cloak which shines in response. ‘Edrekets,’ he intones and the cloak rises, shimmering and now near see-through, like an apparition. It slides seamlessly onto his back like a ghost, his wings gliding effortlessly through before it once again becomes whole and tangible. He smooths the fabric over his bare chest, his movements steady and strong. But his eyes are weary, struck like those of a young boy, his face a grim reflection of my own.

  He sighs, ‘This way,’ and leads me down a cobbled corridor and up a flight of stairs I recognise, the one to the Seniors Chamber. The door is ajar, murmured voices within. We push our way in. Relief mingled with a fierce blend of horror cleaves my fragile shell as I take in the crowd gathered there, the six thrones each occupied: Lexovia, Vladimir, Swift, Howard, Amethyst, and Baxter. Nathaniel leans against the wall with a few others whose faces I recognise. Tanks sits curled up in Mops lap, looking smaller than I’ve ever seen her look before, her eyes bloodshot. I wonder if what’s assembled here is all that’s left. They gawk at the sight of us, but then Nathaniel almost scrambles over the table and lunges into my arms. He squeezes me and I bury my head in his chest. My one familiar comfort from a life so long ago. I breathe him in—he smells like everything: blood, sweat, wine, roses—and I grip the fabric of his shirt.

  ‘What happened here?’ Milo growls. I listen, still clutched in Nathaniel’s arms as Lexovia tells us a story that seems too horrific to be real. They are indeed all that’s left, save for those in incubation but no one knows how they will fair, and Diez has taken Yvane.

  Milo snarls and I’m reminded of his change, surprised no one has reacted, but when I finally leave the cocoon of Nathaniel’s arms and turn to him, I find him as he once was. An ordinary boy with shocking blue eyes, no wings nor horns in sight. A glamour, I realise, only a single bead of sweat betrays how hard Milo is struggling to maintain it.

  ‘Where’s Jude?’ I ask, once I find my voice, my gut twisted. I’ve studied every face here and Jude isn’t amongst them. Nor is Sakiya.

  Lexovia’s eyes meet mine, crinkled with pain. I stagger back, shaking my head.

  ‘He’s not dead,’ she says, urgently, though her stricken face implies he may well be soon enough, ‘he’s in incubation.’

  I cling to the words ‘He’s not dead’ like I would a bloated corpse keeping me afloat in a raging sea as my ship sinks in a blaze of flames around me.

  ‘He sacrificed himself to save Sakiya,’ Nathaniel murmurs, clearing his throat as if scratching out the ache of the words. ‘She’s as good as can be expected but won’t leave his side.’

  My trembling fingers run through my hair, then over my lips as I crush them between my teeth. Not Jude. Not Jude. My knees buckle and Milo slips his arms around me before I fall.

  ‘What now?’ he asks.

  Vladimir sighs, rubbing his weary hands over his tired face. ‘We don’t know. We need to rebuild an entire army and have no means to do it.’

  ‘The C.P. Myth,’ Nathaniel says, his tone thoughtful. ‘It’s true,’ he then almost says to himself. We each watch as his mind works, as his foot taps absently against the stone tiles. ‘The C.P. Myth is no myth at all. It’s true.’

  Vladimir frowns. ‘Yes, but we’ve seen what happens when we use Corporeal counterparts.’ He clenches his fists, nearly choking on his words.

  ‘If Lexovia dies, Dezaray becomes the Elentrice, becomes more than any ordinary counterpart.’

  ‘Yes,’ and Vladimir nods, still frowning. Bags hang under his eyes, his face stretched with exhaustion, but his usual
air of hostility has evaporated and he seems willing to consider any and all suggestions.

  ‘What of the other Elentri, those who died so long ago?’

  I suck in a breath, apparently one of the first to understand what Nathaniel is suggesting. If the C.P. Myth is true, then when the Elentri Empire was wiped out by the Vildacruz all those years ago, their powers would have transferred to their Corporeal counterparts. Meaning…

  Vladimir’s eyebrows quirk as he too understands and animated whispers soon hiss around the room as everyone else catches on.

  ‘They would be Converted Elentri: the empire resurrected.’ And Vladimir almost smiles as he thumps the table. ‘How have we not thought of this before?’

  ‘You would never have considered working with a Corporeal until today,’ I say before I can stop myself.

  Vladimir’s eyes meet mine, saying something I don’t understand. Then he nods. ‘Perhaps it’s time for things to change.’

  ‘We could do it,’ and Amethyst’s eyes dart eagerly about the room. ‘We could track the Converted Elentri. Their abilities will be almost as boundless as Lexovia’s.’

  ‘An army.’

  ‘An empire,’ Baxter says, clearly baffled by the possibilities.

  ‘So, we’re doing it?’ Milo proffers. ‘Building an Elentri army?’

  Vladimir nods and his lips almost turned to a grin. ‘For the fallen.’ His index finger glows and he sketches the Crest of Coldivor in the air; a blaze of glowing amber. A symbol I don’t recognise completes the once missing eighth: the Elentri’s.

  Lexovia jolts, her fingers tense, and Vladimir covers them with his own. ‘Elev nos senaremdos.

  The End

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