by C. M. Lucas
‘Steph,’ Tim began, but her hysterical rant bowled right over his effort.
‘No, seriously, Tim, I’ve seen it on TV – people just get taken. One second they’re there and the next, hours have gone by and they’ve no idea where they’ve been or what kind of weird experiments have been done on them! Oh my God!’ she cried again, fanning her face in a panic. The bangles around her wrist clinked together repeatedly as she flapped. ‘What if they’ve put, like, little aliens inside us to grow and, like, a few days from now they just burst right out of our bellies – ’
‘STEPHANIE!’ Tim shouted, holding both her arms at her sides, trying to steady her. ‘Calm down. There will be a reasonable explanation for what just happened, okay? Let’s just take a minute and think about this logically.’
Anya didn’t believe in aliens but all the same, she was looking forward to hearing Tim’s logical explanation. After a long silence she soon realised he didn’t have one.
‘This is just absurd,’ Michael spat, pacing around. ‘There must be someone around here somewhere. I’m going to try and find out where the blazes we are and then I’m going home. I’ve had enough! I don’t know who’s behind it or how they did it but clearly we’ve become the butt of some cruel joke!’ He stomped off into the trees, snapping twigs and pushing branches out of his way.
‘I suppose we better follow him,’ Anya said, and they trudged into the forest after him, Stephanie still panicking and Tim trying to calm her down.
The forest was deathly still.
Usually, walking around the woods in the dark would be enough to put anyone on edge, what with rustling bushes and haunting hoots amid other common wilderness sounds, but here there was only silence. Unnerving, unnatural silence.
A ghostly grey fog hung in the gaps between the trees, making it difficult to see where they were going.
After a good hour of walking past the same murky swamp, Anya threw her bag to the ground. ‘Michael, we’ve been walking for ages and we’re getting nowhere! Let’s just get some sleep and carry on when it’s light?’ He ignored her plea and carried on along the swamp’s edge. ‘Come on, we’ve been awake for the last twenty-four hours!’
Michael stopped and looked to Stephanie and Tim. Anya suspected they would side with him, just as they had back in the attic room at Erimus Hall, silently. She was surprised when Tim spoke up.
‘We are pretty shattered.’ He looked exhausted, having only just managed to convince Stephanie that she wasn’t harbouring alien spawn. He dropped his rucksack and gestured to his much happier girlfriend to do the same.
‘Fine!’ Michael snapped. ‘But I’m leaving at first light. Anyone who doesn’t come with me will have to make their own way home!’ He threw his own bag down away from the others and laid his head on it like a pillow.
‘I think he’s still angry at me for getting us into this mess,’ Anya whispered to Stephanie as they settled themselves down to sleep.
‘Don’t worry. At least you didn’t end up here on your own. I’m scared enough with all of us here; could you imagine what it would be like to do this alone? No, it’s better this way. Friends should stick together.’ She turned in towards Tim and closed her eyes.
Friends. Anya had never thought of Stephanie as a friend before; just her boss. But in that moment, surrounded by the bleakness of the unknown and eerie forest, the word gave her comfort. She closed her eyes and drifted into the world of dreams.
HER EYES WERE still shut when Anya heard men shouting in the distance. A faint gallop of hooves quickly became a resounding, repetitive thump, thundering towards her like an old steam engine.
Her eyes burst open to see the others already scrambling to their feet. The cries grew louder as they approached. They couldn’t have been more than a few feet away when Anya snatched up her bag and followed Michael’s order: ‘RUN!’
She had no idea which direction to go, and the sharp, jutting branches and fallen trees within the fog, made a quick getaway impossible. Looking back as she ran, she could see flickering orange and yellow lights, bouncing through the night in time with the sounds of the racing steeds, all of which were still headed in her direction.
A man’s voice cried out of the darkness, ‘There! Arrows ready!’
There was a low hiss then a thud, and all at once something fell through the mist and collided with Anya. They rolled across the forest floor, coming to a stop in a stone cold puddle of sludge.
Blinking back into focus, she found herself staring into the strangest green eyes she had ever seen – mostly human, but with a vertical slit where a round pupil should have been. The edges glowed with a golden halo.
She could see pain inside them, and soon realised the person on top of her had taken an arrow to the wing – HANG ON, WHAT?
‘Help... me,’ he whimpered and his head fell toward her shoulder.
With a second look, she saw that the guy on top of her wasn’t quite human. He had a patch of dark green scales across one side of his forehead, down his cheek and crossing his left eye. The hood of his grey cloak had slipped back to reveal two small horns protruding from black, ruffled hair, and stretched out to his right; a full dragon wing.
The arrow had pierced his left wing right by his shoulder, and Anya watched, stunned, as two-toned teal and red blood dripped from the wound and onto her top. As it sunk through to her skin, a roaring hot flash ignited in her chest, and she felt like she was burning from the inside. She gasped for air, trying to cool herself down but nothing helped. Nothing, that was, until the Dragon-Boy managed to lift his head again and lock eyes with her once more.
Her brain was telling her she should be scared of this strange, half-breed mythical creature... but she wasn’t.
The men burst through the trees on white winged horses and gathered round Anya and the Dragon-Boy.
‘Get the chains,’ one ordered, as three others lifted him off Anya, shackling his hands and blood-soaked wings.
‘Hey, be careful, he’s hurt!’ she cried in protest, still clutching her burning chest. The cold air was only a brief release between breaths.
The sound of her voice seemed to stun the soldiers, as they all turned and stared at her. It was as if they were looking at a ghost.
The biggest soldier approached her slowly and looked down at her, his eyes wild with suspicion and his hand lingering over the sword that hung at his waist. He was wearing what appeared to be armour over his bare chest, but it wasn’t the sort she’d ever seen on TV or in history books. The obscurity of it made her wonder whether this was just another of her strange dreams.
‘We have orders from the King. The escaped prisoner is to be brought back at once.’ He leaned in close to her, taking her face in his large hand and examining her meticulously. ‘Being careful,’ he continued, low and sinister, ‘was not in those orders.’ He snorted at her through his brutish nostrils, and she pulled away, disgusted. ‘Tell me, girl, what are you doing out here in the forest, and alone?’
‘Nothing! I’m just... looking for something, that’s all.’
The man raised a huge, black eyebrow. ‘Chain this one too, Barlem!’
‘Hey, I haven’t done anything! You shot him down at me, you should be apologising to me!’ She readied her fists to fight them off, but when they each drew a sword, she knew they weren’t to be trifled with. The simple-looking one called Barlem, whose neck was practically non-existent between his hulk-like head and shoulders, bound her in chains and flung her over the back of his horse.
ANYA KICKED HERSELF the entire time they rode through the forest. She thought about the different ways in which she could have handled the situation better. Back-chatting the scary, sword-wielding-men-with-chains probably wasn’t her best idea to date.
She thought about Stephanie and Tim, and for just a moment, Michael. She hoped they were safe, wherever they had ended up. She wondered how long they would look for her before giving up and trying to find home.
The journey felt like hours. The men
had taken her bag, she couldn’t check the time on her phone. She thought it ridiculous they were walking when these horses had wings. Why not just fly? But then again, she had no idea what fate would have in store for her when they reached their destination, so she kept quiet and used the time to think up an escape plan.
When the horses finally came to a stop, Barlem pulled her down and told her to follow him. They walked through a camp that reminded her of Robin Hood. There were wooden huts of all sizes with thatched twig roofs, both on the ground and in the trees above them. Rope ladders hung down for access and in the distance she could see a paddock full of more winged horses, all as white as the steeds they were riding on.
It was as if she had fallen into a fantasy novel. She had trouble believing what was right in front of her, yet the idea of this all being a dream was disappearing with every minute she spent in this bizarre place. Surely she’d have woken from a dream by now?
‘I think we’ll let the King decide what t’do wi’you,’ Barlem said, excitement glistening in his eyes.
That couldn’t be good.
A fire burned in the centre of the camp across from two makeshift cells where Barlem locked up Anya and the Dragon-Boy.
Even in the dark, the cell looked poorly constructed; she planned to make a run for it when no one was looking. After the soldiers had gone, she tried nudging one of the crooked posts of wood, but to her surprise it didn’t budge. She hit it harder, but still nothing. It was solid.
‘It’s no use,’ came the Dragon-Boy’s pained voice from the next cell.
The fiery sensation in her chest flared up again, and she wondered whether there had been some kind of venom in the boy’s blood when it touched her. ‘It’s like the house the three little pigs built, I’m sure I could just blow it down if I can find a weak spot,’ Anya said, feeling around the walls for a loose panel.
‘You won’t. The Royal’s magic is far too strong for any normal Virtfirthian to break through.’
Had she heard him right? ‘Magic?’ she repeated sceptically. There was a snap of wood and the Dragon-Boy groaned. ‘Are you taking that arrow out yourself?’
‘It won’t heal if I don’t – then I’d be stuck with it forever,’ he muttered under his breath.
‘Who are those men?’
‘The big one is Faust, the King’s hand and Commander of the Royal Army. He’s vicious, and that’s after a good sleep. The others are just his dogs.’ By the tone of his voice, the Dragon-Boy didn’t think very highly of them.
‘I’m Anya, by the way.’ She sat back against the wall, giving up on the escape.
‘Arn-yah? What kind of a name is that?’
‘What do you mean?’ she asked, suddenly defensive.
‘I’ve never heard it before; I wondered where it came from?’ There was a cold detachment in the way he spoke.
‘It’s Hebrew. I Googled it once.’
‘Hee-brew’. Is that close by?’
‘You’re kidding, right?’ She took his silence as a no. ‘So, if you don’t mind me asking, where are we?’
‘This is the Royal Camp – it’s been here since the castle was taken by the Darkness.’
Now he mentioned it, it was still dark. She wasn’t sure how long they had slept before the chase through the forest, but it must have been long enough for dawn to be making its entrance.
‘But where is this? Are we still in England? Heck, are we still in 2013?’ Had they gone back in time? At this point, she was ready to believe anything.
‘Of course it’s 2013,’ he said pointedly. ‘How long were you in the woods exactly?’
‘I don’t know. To tell you the truth, I don’t even know how we – I got here,’ she corrected herself, not wanting to give anything away. She didn’t want to risk anyone hunting down her friends.
‘Well, I’ve not heard of your ‘In-gland’. This is Virtfirth. How far away is your land exactly?’
‘I wish I knew,’ she whispered to herself. How could a person not have heard of England, especially when he spoke English? And where on earth was Virtfirth? As if Anya’s problems couldn’t get any worse, Barlem headed back to her cell. ‘Hey, what’s your name?’ she asked the Dragon-Boy in a hush.
‘Lorcan.’
Barlem kicked one of his gigantic boots at Lorcan’s cell. ‘Don’t talk t’the prisoners, devil!’ He opened Anya’s cell and dragged her outside. ‘‘e wants t’see you.’
‘All right, all right, I’m coming with you. You don’t have to pull me about, you know!’
Barlem didn’t seem to take kindly to her defiance, dragging her all the way to the King’s quarters. Her wrists, sore from the chains, were now throbbing and raw.
THE KING’S QUARTERS were just past the big fire in the middle of the camp. They were larger than the other huts and more care had been put into building them. Two more men in armour flanked the entrance.
Inside wasn’t impressive. In fact, other than the size difference, it wasn’t a great step up from the cell she’d just been in. There were seats made from the tree trunks covered in what looked like blue lamb’s wool, and weapons hung against the wall, yet no obvious fixtures or fittings kept them in place. The throne was more elaborate. Backed with giant butterfly wings, it was the richest of blues, laced with definite black veins, and fine white spots dotted along the forewings.
The King himself was dressed much like the soldiers, though his sheer presence screamed majesty. His face, however, was not what Anya had pictured. The image she had conjured was a harsh one; a sneering, royal snob. But this King’s face was soft and kind, a little dreamy. His solid, defined muscles gave away his strength, while his lightly greying hair, his age. Her gaze only faltered when she realised her friends were standing beside him. Michael, Stephanie and Tim; all there and in one piece.
‘Kneel then!’ Barlem barked, and he kicked Anya in the back of the leg. She fell to her knees and winced as the ground grazed her bare skin. ‘You’re in the company o’the King!’
‘BARLEM!’ the King roared. ‘This is not how we treat important visitors of Virtfirth! Unchain her at once and beg her forgiveness.’
Huh?
Anya looked around, wondering if the King was referring to someone else, but the only other person in the room that she’d failed to notice was the army commander, Faust.
With his jowl quivering, Barlem clumsily fumbled at his amour for the key, dropping it twice before finally releasing his prisoner. He looked almost as confused as she felt. ‘I’m... I’m sorry, Sire,’ he stuttered. ‘Miss, I – I beg your f’giveness, Miss. I’m ever s’sorry!’
He lifted her onto her feet and, not knowing what else to do, she nodded to the apologetic soldier. He crawled backwards on all fours, out of the room.
Anya looked to Michael. He shrugged his shoulders and gestured with a tilt of his head that she approach the king.
‘Step forward, child,’ the King said. No one but Iain had ever called her child before.
She stepped closer and he held out his hand.
‘Is it true? Have you finally come to restore the balance in Virtfirth?’ Though he phrased it as a question, his voice held a certainty beyond doubt.
She took his hand. ‘Sir,’ she said softly, dipping her head to acknowledge his status. ‘I’m not sure who you think I am, but I’m afraid you have the wrong person. I’m... I’m no one, sir.’
He looked at her with a raised eyebrow then turned his gaze down to the palm of her hand. ‘But child, you have the flaming hair that the prophet spoke of, and you bear the mark. And have you not arrived on the solstice?’
What was he talking about? What mark? She peered down at her palm. The King was right.
She didn’t know how it got there or when it had appeared, but there, right in the centre of her left hand was a deep and precise red scar, in the shape of a rounded-edge triangle, point down, two lines weaving vertically through it. The skin around it looked sore, yet she felt no pain.
Anya was stunned.
The King stood, and Anya witnessed another strange sight. The giant butterfly wings that she had thought part of the King’s throne were, in fact, part of the King himself. They fluttered back and forth like flower petals caught in a breeze as he walked Anya out into the heart of the camp, her hand still firmly in his.
‘May I have your attention?’ The King barely lifted his voice above the din of the soldiers, and yet it seemed to carry right across the camp, for men poured in from every direction and gathered around the fire, awaiting his next words.
With the purest grace and humility, the King knelt down in front of her and placed a kiss on her hand.
All eyes fell on Anya.
‘I, Theone, King of Virtfirth, welcome you, Marked One, and thank the Gods for your arrival.’
By her next breath, Anya was the only one left on her feet. Every member of the camp had dropped to their knees before her.
She looked back to her friends who were watching from the doorway, but they were just as baffled as she was.
HOURS HAD PASSED since King Theone had announced Anya as the Marked One. Virtfirth was still in darkness and not one person appeared worried by this, other than the four visitors.
After exchanging stories of how they all came to be at the camp, Anya told her friends that she needed some time to think, and she took a blue sheepskin blanket from a store hut that Barlem had kindly directed her to, and sat by the fire.
She had always found the sight of fire so mesmerizing. She loved the way the flames cracked and curled around one another as they danced their way toward the sky, and how they turned to fluffy, grey ripples of smoke with their last breath, succeeded by bright, new flames. It was the circle of life in its simplest form.
Sometime later, Stephanie came and sat down beside her, though she didn’t say anything. Eventually, Anya found her voice.