Swept Away_An Epic Fantasy

by S McPherson

  ‘The boy says to tell you he is well. He is in Rijora, seeking his way back to Coldivor.’

  Relief slams into Lexovia—he’s escaped—and she’s on her feet in one rapid movement. She has to tell Dezaray.

  ‘But,’ and Boonov’s tone stills her, ‘he says Diez intends to use Dezaray for whatever he has planned. She is to be guarded at all times and at all costs. And we are to look further into our knowledge of the Orange Moon.’

  ‘Orange Moon?’ Yvane is in the doorway, her face pale, eyes wide.

  ‘Your vision,’ and Howard rises from his seat, looking over her shoulder. ‘Where’s Dezaray?’

  Yvane clamps her hands over her mouth, stumbling against the wall. ‘It’s a trap.’

  Lexovia advances slowly, as if approaching a frightened animal. ‘Where is Dezaray?’

  Yvane shakes her head as she drags her eyes to those before her. ‘She’s gone,’ she whispers from behind her hands. ‘She’s gone.’

  ‘Where?’ Lexovia demands, keeping a tight rein on her spiking emotions.

  ‘To Milo. To Vedark.’

  ‘Milo isn’t in Vedark,’ Lexovia almost screams, ‘Diez is.’

  Trig snickers, ‘Weren’t we supposed to keep Dezaray away from Diez?’

  Lexovia shoots him a withering look. He holds up two hands in innocence. What did she expect? He won’t understand how serious this all is until he has a sword at his throat. She toys with the idea of demonstrating then glowers.

  ‘This induction is over. Get some rest.’ She dismisses them with a flick of her head, indicating the door. ‘We will start training tomorrow.’

  They each file out of the Chamber, Howard leading Trig and Swift to their rooms. Dunt sighs wearily, rubbing his brow as he shuffles through the door, leaving only Yvane, Lexovia and Boonov.

  ‘I thought I was helping,’ Yvane murmurs. ‘I wanted so badly to do something.’ She balls her hands into fists, her chest heaving with weighted breaths.

  ‘It’s not your fault,’ Lexovia sighs. ‘Dezaray would have found a way even if you hadn’t helped.’

  ‘Stubborn as anything that one,’ Boonov agrees.

  ‘I can go after her,’ Yvane says, pushing off the wall, determination shining in her eyes. ‘She didn’t leave long ago. I can find her, bring her back.’

  ‘No.’ Lexovia grips Yvane’s wrist before she can rush from the room on some misguided mission. ‘The last thing we need is for more of us to be gallivanting around the Nynthst.’ She sighs, wracking her brain for some form of solution. ‘Vladimir is in Vedark,’ she says at last. ‘We have to trust that he will find her.’ But even as she says the words, Lexovia knows she doesn’t believe them, and the look of doubt staining Yvane’s face says she doesn’t, either.

  ‘What else can we do?’ Lexovia shakes her head. ‘We’ve just brought Corporeals across the portal in place of our own. We’re more outmatched now than before.’ She bites her lower lip then turns to Boonov. ‘Boonov, tell Milo that Dezaray has gone after him. Tell him to return to Vedark and find her before Diez does.’

  Boonov dips his head. ‘As you wish, Mi Elentri,’ and then he vanishes with a hiss and a swirl of mist.

  Lexovia sits by a window in her bedchamber, her head rested on its cool glass, and stares bleakly out at the rain. In the garden below, the uncut grass is dark and leans against the wind. The paving stones are streaked and muddy. It occurs to her that the last time she sat here Brixen had been barrelling out of the Court grounds with countless warriors who would never return. She’d argued with them then and urged them to have faith in Vladimir and the others, but they’d simply waved aside her worries, and now they are nothing but memories.

  She heaves a sigh and squints through the lashing rain into the distance, towards Taratesia, imagining she can see the cresting waves. So long ago Milo had vanished on those shores, journeying to another realm where darkness dwells. It was the first time he’d ever done anything so reckless and dangerous…without her. The two of them were known for their wild spirits and curious natures when they were young, always plotting something away from prying eyes. This time, though, Milo had acted alone.

  Lexovia leans her head back against the windowpane. She knew her life would be different after the Elenfar…if she survived it. She knew it was the start of a war the realm had been waiting for and that she would be the heart of it. The Coltis want her to be their weapon and the enemy want her destroyed. Not once did she ever truly let on how much this all terrified her, how much she wanted nothing to change at all, but one thing she always expected to stay constant was Milo and their friendship. But the Court shut him out, restricting their time together to none, and now Milo was gone, off on his own.

  Raindrops drizzle down the window like cracks but Lexovia barely registers them as she stares up at a starless sky. She realises that this is the first time she’s truly felt Milo’s absence like a drop off a cliff. And she realises the reason is because Vladimir is not here to catch her. Her days never seemed so vast and daunting when Vladimir was around to tease her or to make her laugh, giving her an excuse to forget her worries, if only briefly. He seemed to know she wanted company before she did and he offered it without her having to ask. But now Diez is playing a game where only he knows the rules, and even Vladimir is gone. Maybe this is his plan: to remove everyone from Lexovia and leave her completely exposed.

  A dense cloud of mist forms by her dresser, tearing her attention away from the outside world, and Boonov appears in the thick of it.

  ‘Mi Eltentri,’ and he bows his head as she tries to hide how much the title bothers her.

  ‘You have news?’ she asks, pulling her silk dressing gown closed over her baggy T-shirt.

  ‘Milo has left Rijora.’ Boonov seems to grimace, though Lexovia cannot be sure for his snout covers most of his mouth. ‘I returned to tell him of Dezaray only to hear the outcry, that the Coltis boy who was to be Pessa’s slave has fled. There’s been a hefty price offered to any who might find him, but we all know Milo has left the realm.’

  Lexovia sits straighter, swinging her legs round to face him. ‘If Milo has left Rijora, then where is he?’ She peers out of the window, as if she might see him racing up to the gate and charging into the building.

  Boonov looks at his feet. ‘No one knows, Mi Elentri. But if he returned to Coldivor, you would know by now. The boy is not here.’

  Lexovia sags back against the window, her head pounding. Where is Milo? Perhaps he was captured by Diez after Rijora? A pang twists her gut and stabs at her stuttering heart. In the old days, she would have raced to Taratesia herself, approached the ocean and leapt into the Nynthst. She wouldn’t care where she ended up or what she faced. She would save her friends or die trying.

  But now it’s not so easy. Now she is the Senior of the Court and the seven empires look to her for guidance. With the others in Vedark and Brixen in recovery she is the Coltis’s only hope against the power of the Exlathars and she will not leave her people now. She harrumphs. Her people.

  As much as a part of her longs to leap off the windowsill and race to Dezaray and Milo’s aid, a deeper part of her knows she won’t. She will stay and fight. And she will have to trust her friends to fight, wherever they are. She has to believe they will fight.

  There’s a scraping sound as Boonov shuffles his feet. Lexovia glances at him, realising with surprise that he’s waiting to be dismissed.

  ‘Thank you, Boonov,’ and she dips her head, knowing the gesture will mean a lot to him.

  He puffs out his chest, a smile dancing around his lips. ‘Mi Elentri,’ and he nods, his snout twitching, then he is gone.

  CARRY ME HOME

  My calves ache as I thunder through Melaxous, churning up the loose earth and kicking my way through tufts of burnt grass. I grin, now extremely thankful I spoke to Yvane rather than Lexovia. She seemed truly to understand my feeling of ineptness, perhaps even related to it. As determined as was myself, she’d stalked into Vladimir’s offi
ce, yanked open a cabinet, pulled out a hand-carved mahogany box, and flipped its latch.

  Resting on a plush silk pillow inside was the second and only remaining gethadrox, kept in case of emergencies. She pressed it into my hand and hurried me out of the building, prepping me along the way, shoving a satchel at me that she said held a weapon called a xyen. She also said it was best to be near water when using the gethadrox and the biggest source I know is the ocean, on the other side of Coldivor.

  The time it would take to get there on foot is more than I care to think about, so instead, I charge in the opposite direction, towards Thornton High where something may be able to help. I remember all the times I walked with Milo, how he would wait for me on the steps of the school and together we would walk to Telathrodon. I hear the whispers of our laughter like wind chimes on a forgotten breeze.

  The distant memory urges my feet forward though my head pounds and my lungs burn like I’m inhaling acid. A fortress of rock and steel rises in the distance: Thornton High, and beside it I see the shadows move. The Flookans. Yes, yes, yes. Gravel spits about my heels as I come to a stop mere inches from their dwelling.

  In the moon’s pale light, the Flookans look as if they’re moulded from the sand on which they stand, the same beige colouring their scales, their six legs like thick stalks rising from the earth. They shift at my arrival and multiple orbs of shimmering black turn to stare at the girl who once cringed from them. One steps near with a silent grace, head held high and moonlight bouncing off the three sharp horns on its head.

  I dip my head before bowing as low as I can without tumbling over.

  ‘I need your help,’ I pant.

  I do not shudder or whimper when the creature cows its slender neck and a cold snout nudges my chin, urging me to stand. I meet its eyes and it meets mine. It must see the urgency in them, hear the strain in my voice. I do not know, but for whatever reason, the Flookan sits on its hind legs, waiting for me to scramble on.

  ‘Thank you,’ I breathe. It tilts its head, offering me its horns which I then use to pull myself up onto its back. Its skin is smooth, like the petals of a rose, and I stroke it as the creature stands. ‘The ocean please,’ and before I have time to wonder if this regal creature understands, it charges off in the direction of Taratesia—in the direction of the ocean.

  It covers the distance I just ran from the Court in a matter of seconds and I note the needle-like point of the building as we thunder past. I grip tighter, hugging the Flookan around its neck as we enter the dense Taratesia forest, one the creature seems to know like an old friend. It weaves and winds through the trees, anticipating each and slashing through the grass like a blade through water. Everything passes by in a dizzying blur. I bury my head in the Flookan’s coat, shielding myself from the suffocating claw of the wind and the way it seems to urge me back. For Milo, I repeat to myself as the earth snaps and shudders beneath us, as the Flookan grunts, releasing heavy puffs of hot air, and as fear and doubt gnaw at the edges of my mind. For Milo.

  The stop is so abrupt I almost fly off the creature, clamping myself to its back, but the delicate caress of the wind forces me to open my eyes. I gasp. There it is: the stunning expanse of a rippling world, its depths as vast and unknown as the night it reflects. Once again, the Flookan sits and I slip off its back.

  ‘Thank you.’ I pat the creature on the back, resting my forehead against its own when it turns to me. We stay like this a while and then it rises and I step back, turning once again to the sea. For Milo. I step towards the ocean, ignoring the way my feet slip and then stick in the wet sand. I don’t stop until I’m ankle deep, the water sloshing into my shoes and splashing up my legs.

  Glancing back, I spy the Flookan watching me, its black eyes reflecting the starlight, as if it was a statue carved from nature. For Milo. I pull the gethadrox from where I tucked it safely in my pocket. The metal is cold, like a clump of ice, but I curl my fingers around it.

  ‘Three clicks to the right’ Yvane had said. I tap the glass screen, watching as it rises from the base. For Milo. I twist the top to the right. One. Click. Two. Click. Three…

  TRAINING DAY

  Lexovia’s eyes flicker open, her body stiff and aching. She’s still perched on the edge of her windowsill, her joints crooked and groaning. When had she fallen asleep?

  She looks out of the window, staring blearily at the autumn coloured sky as dawn breaks. It’s stopped raining at last and instead of its lulling hiss, she hears the thwacks and grunts of combat. Puzzled, Lexovia looks down at the Court’s garden, stunned to find Sakiya, Jude, Nathaniel, and Howard battling against each other, xyens in hand. Yvane supervises from the top of the steps, wrapped in a blanket as the breeze ruffles her curls.

  Lexovia slips off the sill, her bones protesting. She wriggles into her comfortable combat gear of black trousers, an emerald throw-over top fashioned from the same fabric as the Court members cloak and a pair of boots suited perfectly to her feet.

  She grabs her xyen from the chest at the foot of her bed and leaves the room, skipping down the steps as she enthusiastically races towards the distraction of being pitted against others in a friendly fight. This she can do.

  Court members and guests rouse from their sleep, coming out of their chambers as she skids down the corridors and into the great hall. The sun is slowly breaking through the skylight bathing all else in shadow. She races to the front doors, nearly colliding with Yvane as she swings them open.

  ‘Starting without me?’ she pants. ‘That hardly seems fair.’ Before Yvane can reply, Lexovia leaps down the steps, twirling her xyen before whacking it against Howards. He hoots and returns the blow whilst still fending off Nathaniel, who is already sweating, the xyen quivering in his grip. Nathaniel looks gratefully at Lexovia and slinks away, to join Yvane on the steps who teases him as he plops onto the ground, rubbing his aching wrist.

  Lexovia grins as she lunges again at Howard. Their xyens release brilliant bursts of white light as they clash and she laughs. Howard smirks, the leaves of his weapon jutting out as he jabs at her, but she blocks his advance with her own. They push against each other, and seeing they may be matched, Lexovia doubles into Fuerté form. Howard is quick to do the same, the two then struggling, their oversized feet driving into the earth, sending pebbles and flecks of mud flying as they push each other back.

  Noticing them, Jude and Sakiya move aside to give Howard and Lexovia more room, and a small crowd of Counterpart recruits gather by the door, sipping on steaming mugs of Jugans water and Prifitrot juice. Lexovia inhales the familiar scent but barely notices the gurgle of her stomach. Her eyes are now locked on Howard’s. His jaw’s clenched, muscles trembling. Her proud friend refuses to back down even though they both know she could further enhance the muscles in her arms and be done with it. Knowing Howard would dub this an unfair advantage and so not admit defeat, she instead leaps aside, cackling as Howard gasps before crashing forward and landing face first in the slick wet grass.

  ‘Who’s next?’ Lexovia twirls the xyen in her hands, briefly scanning the crowd for Vladimir. He was always a good opponent, but of course, he isn’t here. She ignores the tug in her chest and beams as one of the recruit’s steps forward. He has dark skin, a gold hoop in his eyebrow and tight black curls flecked with gold. She thinks his name is Trig, and she nods, accepting his challenge, and waits whilst Nathaniel hands over his xyen.

  Trig feigns an attack, and when Lexovia responds, he ducks, swiping her across the back of the legs with his weapon. The crowd erupts into cheers of approval and Lexovia chuckles, delighting in the intoxicating rush of adrenaline ripping through her. She swivels, lowers her weapon, pleasantly surprised when she finds Trig has anticipated this. His own xyen is now out and ready to receive the blow. He barely moves at the force, and deftly hops aside before Lexovia can strike again. He turns the weapon over and over, swirling it in dizzying circles, the xyen a blur of white and gold. His face is serious but his eyes burn with the fierce playf
ulness of a jungle cat as the crowd cheer his name.

  ‘Trig. Trig. Trig.’

  ‘Is that all you’ve got?’ he cajoles, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

  Lexovia splutters, deciding she might be sad to see Trig go at the end of this.

  ‘Ku-ta,’ she hisses, and the xyen snaps shut almost snatching Trig’s hand. A startled look darts across his face and she smirks. He didn’t know the xyen could do that. A fast learner he soon has his own weapon forking and bending in all directions as he jabs and deflects her advances.

  Lexovia doesn’t know when it happens but she soon registers the clanks and scrapes of others around them, battling with newly acquired xyens. Blasts of light erupt from every angle as the weapons collide, and cheers, grunts and growls roll out over the morning.

  Throughout the day the Counterpart recruits discover the wondrous agony of Extroosal, yelping and swearing as the bitter liquid is applied to their wounds but revelling in how quickly they heal. After declaring a tie between herself and Trig—she wouldn’t use her abilities on him on the first day—Lexovia then battles Tanks, a smirking girl with a stunning smile and curves that seem to slide off her like silk. The girl is strong but slow, and Lexovia quickly disarms her. From there on, her opponents show even less skill, and Lexovia spends her time demonstrating techniques and stances.

  It’s near lunch-time when they finally stop, arms aching, clothes torn and mudded. Some stretch and practice what they’ve learnt whilst others collapse on the grass, bloody and breathless. Lexovia notices Dunt come to the top of the Court steps, watching for a moment with what looks like hope glistening in his eyes before he cups his hands around his mouth.

  ‘Lunch is served,’ he calls. His words travel through the grounds as loud as if he’d yelled into their ears. The Counterpart recruits gawk at him in disbelief.