The Other Side (Thomas Skinner Book 1)

by S. I. Anderson

  “He is a boy,” Antonio said. “I like to kill things...” He paused and the left side of his lips rose into a half-smile, exposing flesh beneath the scar. “...bigger,” he finished.

  “I don’t care what you like!” Lord Dragunov raged. “You will kill the boy. And then you will cut his head off. You will bring it to me and pray that I don’t sear your tongue out!”

  The smile left Antonio’s face as his lips tightened. He took a step towards Lord Dragunov when Marcus grabbed him by the arm.

  “You will be paid handsomely,” he said.

  Antonio stopped, but he still stared at Lord Dragunov. “As you wish,” he whispered.

  It hadn’t escaped Lord Dragunov's notice that Antonio had taken a step towards him. There was nothing he could have done had Marcus not stopped him. He knew Antonio’s reputation. A man who cared for none, a man who killed for all – if the price was right. He turned to watch his men below. There were four of them around the brute, holding their staffs up defensively.

  “Make the boy suffer.”

  Antonio said nothing.

  “You will find him in the Queen’s Head, Friday evening,” Lord Dragunov said as he watched the brute swing. It connected with another staff before it pushed past and hit the holder on the arm. “He is to meet Kayvan Malik-”

  “Of House Malik?” Antonio asked.

  He had spoken three words, the most Lord Dragunov had heard from him and he turned to look at him again. “You know him personally?” he asked, eyebrow raised.

  Antonio ran a finger down his scar. “His father.”

  There were plenty rumours of how Antonio Greyblood came by his scar. Most revolved around fights with dragons. None mentioned Lord Malik.

  “The boy must die,” Lord Dragunov said. “Kill anyone who gets in your way,” he said quietly.

  The smile returned to Antonio’s face and he bowed. The two men took their leave. Lord Dragunov returned to the men below. The four that had had the brute surrounded now lay on the floor, nursing their injuries.

  “What’s your name?” he called down.

  The brute turned and looked up. “Jangis,” he said.

  An idea formed in his head – a battalion of brutes. It could be useful. Lord Dragunov smiled. He wasn’t the greatest tactician, but when you had so many men, when the odds were stacked so high in your favour, it didn’t matter.

  Chapter 31

  Friday night came sooner than Tom wished it to. He was sat on his bed, ready and dressed in a black hooded cloak when the twins popped by to wish him luck. They wouldn’t be going with him. They had studying to do and couldn’t afford to waste any time.

  It was OK for Saafir – studying wasn’t necessary for him. He was rich and important. It didn’t matter if he was stupid, Jenna had said. Tom wasn’t rich, and he was important in a way likely to have him murdered. He guessed school didn’t matter to him either if the Le Fays managed to kill him. Luckily, he wasn’t able to dwell on that thought as Saafir showed up then.

  It had snowed for the first time that morning. And it was snowing again as they stepped out of the tree house. Both trudged silently up the hill, their feet digging into the soft whiteness.

  It was when they stepped onto the road tunnelled by branches that Saafir spoke.

  “It’s a bit dark, isn’t it?”

  It was.

  The sun had set, and it was supposed to be dark, but this was different. It was a little too dark. Ahead, they spotted the glow of a lantern and they hurried toward it. It came from within the cabin at the carriage station. Inside, the ticket man sat with his feet up and his eyes closed.

  Saafir woke him. They bought their tickets and boarded a carriage. It was only the second time Tom had flown, but it felt familiar. He didn’t stop and stare either as they landed. He pulled his hood over his head and moved along the platform.

  They made their way through the narrow lanes, taking the shortest route possible, weaving in and out between other people and sometimes carriages too. Tom hugged his cloak. It was cold, and he missed the warmth of his room. That was where he should have been now, in the tree house, in bed.

  He didn’t care to admit it, but he missed the Le Fay cloak. It was thicker. The twins had decided he didn’t need it. No one had so much as glanced at him, even when he had been knocked to the ground by Cindy in the middle of that horde.

  The town square was much quieter. There were no crowds and the sudden drop in temperature made sure that the few that were out and about hurried along. Tom and Saafir stepped into the Queen’s Head. The sudden warmth hit him as much as the noise did. The inn was full.

  Every table seemed to be occupied by thunderous customers. Mugs clashed, laughter rose and arguments ensued. He stood by the door, a little intimidated. Saafir appeared less fazed and he headed for the far left corner. There was a single empty table there.

  Tom followed and, once seated, he glanced furtively around the room. It wasn’t a great crowd. Many wore hooded cloaks, some had staffs visible hanging loosely by their sides. Most were loud but others sat silently, suspiciously.

  “We need something to drink,” Saafir said, and he was up and gone before Tom had time to even register a protest. It wasn’t that he didn’t want a drink – he didn’t want to be left alone.

  Saafir returned with two mugs in hand. “Drink up,” he grinned.

  Tom couldn’t think of any reason not to, and a drink could settle his nerves, so he gulped it down. It had a bitterly tangy taste that could take some getting used to. Saafir watched him intently, his eyes amused, the grin now a smirk.

  “What?” Tom asked.

  “Wait for it.”

  “Wait for-”

  Tom’s eyes widened and his hands shot down to his knees. The bones within had vanished and his legs flopped. No, they were there again... his hands moved up his back. His spine, what was happening to it?

  Saafir burst out laughing. “The look on your face,” he managed to say, “priceless.”

  Tom was too shocked to respond. His bones had just disappeared and reappeared throughout his whole body. The health risks associated with something like that happening to the body – who could possibly have thought it a good idea to make a drink that did that?

  “Your first Wobbly Vin?”

  He looked up to see a man standing at their table, mug in hand. He was tall and had light brown skin with black hair. He wore a dark brown cloak, the edges highlighted by a silky brown border.

  Tom nodded.

  “You did well. You should have seen this one. Grabbed his knees and cried, “My bones, my bones”.” He looked at Saafir much like a displeased parent would. The man took a seat next to his now scowling younger brother and extended his hand. “Kayvan Malik,” he said. “So, I hear you’re having trouble sleeping?”

  That was one way of putting it. Tom instantly liked him. Kayvan had a composed, confident demeanour, and there was no beating round the bush. It was straight down to business.

  He glanced around the room again, wishing not for the first time that they could have had this conversation in the tree house. It was the tables with the silent drinkers that worried him most. Kayvan stared at him patiently, waiting. Tom took a deep breath. This was why he was here.

  He started from the very beginning. Speaking quietly and quickly, he told of the first dream he had, the dreams that followed, their trip to the House of Zarlock, the sleeping unicorns that came to life, the flying beast that tried to eat them, the pain he felt after every dream, and what the seer said it meant.

  Kayvan listened without interrupting and, once he had finished, he leaned back in his chair. His eyes wandered the room. They came to rest on a group of men sat a few tables away, hoods over their heads.

  “I wish you had told me more before we agreed to meet here,” he said softly.

  “You would think I made it up,” Saafir said. “You would think I was bored.”

  Tom followed Kayvan’s eyes as they moved from the group of men
towards the door. It was the only way out and they were sitting as far away from it as possible.

  “We all know what you do when you are bored.” Kayvan turned to Saafir. “You burn things down.”

  “It was an accident. I wasn’t-”

  “We are here now,” Kayvan sighed as he gave the room another glance. “We may as well talk.” He sat up.

  “It began a few years before the death of the Zarlocks. Innocent tragedies, they seemed at first. A carriage toppling over, a cliff crumbling, an animal attack – they happened to those houses most loyal to the Zarlocks. Within a few years, Camelot was strife with conflict between the minor houses, disputes over lands vacated by deceased nobles.

  “Lord Zarlock did nothing to quell the troubles. Something had murdered his kin, he was certain it was coming for him. He stayed in his house and waited. But time passed, and nothing came.

  “Lady Zarlock fell ill. None knew what her sickness was. Lord Zarlock rarely ventured out anymore and he began to restrict those coming to visit. Our father was one of the few he allowed in, but even he did not know what was wrong with Lady Zarlock.

  “And then it happened. Father went to see the Zarlocks one day but found the house closed. There was no way in, and no one came out. That morning Father walked past the bridge and up the steps, but not into the house. When he returned later with others, they were unable to even pass the bridge. The house wouldn’t let them.”

  “Why don’t I know any of this?” Saafir asked.

  “You were but a baby when the Zarlocks passed. That they were murdered, Father tried to keep a secret. The Le Fays were on the rise again and he feared such news could be used to their advantage. Rumours persisted that something awful had happened, and many lords speculated but none openly said anything.”

  “But the Zarlocks are alive,” Tom said.

  Kayvan stared at him studiously. “I doubt they are.”

  “The seer said-”

  “If they were alive, why would they have remained hidden for so long? What were they waiting for? You?” Kayvan paused before adding, “Why?”

  “Because of the beast,” Tom said, and he instantly wished he hadn’t. He knew better than anyone else that he was the last person capable of defeating the creature.

  “You mean Shera?” Kayvan asked.

  “Who’s Shera?”

  “He’s their flying tiger.”

  “That wasn’t a tiger.”

  “Big head, sharp teeth, paws that reached for you, black and white marks across the body? Those were stripes,” Kayvan said.

  Tom had seen tigers before. They were big and he imagined quite scary to be chased by, but this thing was much bigger. Although, it did fit the description he had given. Maybe Kayvan was right, maybe it was a tiger – on steroids.

  “So...” He paused, unsure of what to say. Everything had just fallen apart. The Zarlocks were dead, the beast that he was meant to battle didn’t needed battling – what was he supposed to do? Why were they calling him? What did they want?

  “I don’t think the Zarlocks are calling you,” Kayvan said. “I think it’s the house.”

  “Huh?” Tom shook his head. That was supposed to be the last certainty, the one unchallengeable fact, that the Zarlocks were calling him. And now even that was being dismissed?

  “How can a house be calling him?” Saafir asked.

  “I think it might be alive.”

  “The house is alive? That’s not possible,” Saafir said scornfully.

  Kayvan frowned at him. “How do you imagine it closed up and became their tomb?”

  Saafir didn’t reply, and Tom knew why. He had said something similar to the twins about the house being special, how no other house closed to become a tomb.

  “We need to get the wand,” Kayvan said. “I don’t know the significance of it, but I think there might be more to this than avenging the Zarlocks.” He paused and smiled at Tom. “This might be about you. Let’s not forget, you are the first ever wizard born to Wanderers.”

  Tom didn’t think he could forget that even if he tried. But he was pleased with what he recognised as an objective completed. They had come here to ask for help in retrieving the wand and, even though the conversation hadn’t gone quite as he had imagined it would in his head, help they were going to receive.

  He did wonder what he was supposed to do with the wand once he had it. If it wasn’t a weapon to fight the beast, what purpose could it serve?

  “We can go within the week,” Kayvan said as his eyes wandered the room again. They lingered on the table where the hooded wizards sat, huddled over their drinks. “Of course, I would like to take a few trusted men with us... you can never be too careful.”

  Tom and Saafir’s eyes met. There was one thing he had forgotten to mention. He reached into his pocket and hurriedly pulled out the note. Kayvan’s eyebrows furrowed as he finished reading it.

  “We didn’t know what shadowing meant,” Saafir said.

  “It’s a spell that leeches onto you, shadows your every move, shows the curser what you see, what you hear, what you say. A difficult curse to work without the person knowing,” Kayvan said. “Most often, the shadowed would feel a searing pain spread through their body as the curse takes hold.”

  Tom remembered experiencing a feeling similar to that once. His throat suddenly became dry. “Remember when Fredrick attacked me?” he mumbled to Saafir.

  “...That was so long ago.”

  It was.

  “How much have they seen?” Kayvan asked.

  Everything – that was the answer. They had seen everything. But he couldn’t answer. Not in words. He felt himself sinking within. They knew everything.

  Kayvan’s face suddenly became harsh and he held his hand up, fingers spread as if he were about to grab something. “Thomas Skinner is under the protection of House Malik. Any insult or injury caused onto him is insult and injury caused onto the House of Malik. You have been warned,” he said and he snatched at Tom’s face and pulled.

  But it wasn’t his face that had been grabbed. Kayvan’s fingers were inches away from his skin, holding onto something, pulling. It was as if a layer of web, being heaved from the centre, held on by the edges. Tom began to feel a trickling of movement through his body, through his blood, and then it was gone.

  Kayvan moved his hand away. “They will see no more.”

  “Was that a message for whoever was watching?” Saafir asked.

  Kayvan nodded.

  “Will it work?” Tom asked.

  “Depends on who is watching.”

  That was another thing Tom had forgotten to mention. They already knew who it was. Cindy. The words spilled out of his mouth in a jumble as he spoke of her. But he managed to say everything, if not in the right order.

  “What does she look like?”

  Tom described her the best he could, drawing on the last time he had properly seen her, many months ago – he remembered the long red hair, large red eyes, sharp nose, red lips. She wasn’t actually very hard to describe. He had never seen anyone like her before.

  Kayvan was looking up and beyond Tom when he spoke the following words. “A little like her?” He signalled towards the exit.

  Tom turned. There was a woman standing by the door, staring at them, staring at him. She did look a lot like Cindy. In fact, she looked exactly like Cindy.

  Chapter 32

  “That’s her,” Tom said expectantly, waiting for Kayvan to do something.

  “Are you sure?”

  “That’s definitely Cindy.”

  “It’s not who she is that I think you might be uncertain about, it’s what she is that I’m finding hard to believe,” Kayvan said. “Look at her.”

  Tom turned to look again, wondering what he was supposed to see. There was no doubting that it was Cindy. He would know her from a mile away. She was the first of their kind he had seen, the first he had felt that feeling of familiarity with, that feeling of belonging... He wouldn’t easily confu
se her with someone else.

  She was no longer standing by the door but walking towards them. Her eyes with the dark circles underneath wandered the room, searching. She looked worried. Her lips twitched as she bit into the bottom one.

  “Are you still certain she’s the one?”

  Tom turned back to see Kayvan with his right hand in his cloak as if clutching something. He caught a glimmer of silver shine amongst the brown cloth. He was holding a staff, filling it with magic, readying himself in case he needed it.

  For a moment, Tom was relieved. And then he understood why Kayvan wanted him to be certain. He was going to use the staff on her if she was a Le Fay. That was a horrible thing to do, base life and death around something a just turned fourteen-year-old boy said. And he knew it was life or death. Everything in Atlantis was like that, cruel and dramatic.

  “Tom,” Kayvan said. There was urgency in his voice.

  He spun around in disbelief, hoping a final look at her would help him decide. She wasn’t far now and she was looking at him again. Her eyes had bubbled up. She looked more ready to cry than kill him. He turned back and shook his head. Kayvan’s hand still remained in his cloak but he sat back, seeming a little relaxed.

  And then Cindy was standing at their table.

  “Thomas...” she said. “I’m so sorry.”

  Tears began to roll down her cheeks. He stared up at her awkwardly, not knowing what to do. He felt like he should say something. Maybe comfort her. But he was lost for words. Why was she crying? What was she sorry for?

  Kayvan seemed a little less bemused than he should have been and with his free hand he ushered over a chair. “You need to stop crying and start talking,” he said firmly, but not unkindly.

  Cindy nodded and wiped away her tears. She began talking erratically through sobs. “I’m so sorry...” she apologised again. “I d-didn’t know what to do... they were at my door... I had to run... I’ve been h-hiding since... he said to kill you... I had to warn you b-but I didn’t know how... they were a-after me... I came here... it’s too late... th-they’re here.” Cindy paused to blow her nose. “The wand, they think you’re the heir. The grey smoky thing told Lord Dragunov to kill you. He sent for Antonio Greyblood.” She stopped.