The Other Side (Thomas Skinner Book 1)

by S. I. Anderson

  “He knows not to come here.”

  Tom rolled his eyes. He could hear the tremble in Fredrick’s voice. He wondered what they would do if he walked up to them. He was tempted to get up and charge in their direction, roaring like a warrior, or a madman –

  “Lord Zarlock.”

  Tom turned his head in surprise. So much for his super hearing. Cindy was standing over him, staring down at him, her large red eyes full of concern, her teeth nibbling on her bottom red lip.

  He had been waiting for her. She was going to escort him to the House of Lords, to reclaim his land and titles and… something… he had been a little distracted when everything was explained to him.

  He stood up and followed her through the school. Students and teachers stared at him as he passed. They had done that since his first day. Back then, he was a “Breeder” and they stared with hate or in intrigue. Now, they watched in awe, or hate…

  Yup, some things never change.

  As they reached the bottom of the hill, the carriages came in view – his carriages. They were an emerald green, the borders silver. The face of a white tiger was emblazoned on each door. It sparkled in the light, the mouth open as if roaring; the sight majestically threatening. His carriages, brought from the House of Zarlock.

  Wizards stood on either side of the carriages. They reminded Tom of the guards of honour he had seen near Buckingham Palace. They were definitely dressed for it. They all wore silver cloaks and had long white hair that emerged neatly from underneath their silver helmets. They held their silver staffs before them, as if ready to attack the ground by stamping it.

  “Who are they?” Tom asked.

  “Silver Cloaks. Lord Malik sent them as a precaution,” Cindy replied. “Wolves have been spot–”

  Cindy didn’t get to finish her sentence. A man moved, swiftly and suddenly, towards them and stood right in front of Tom, invading his personal space.

  “I am Valentin Gervasio, Commander of House Malik’s Wolf Division. It is an honour to serve you, my lord.” He gave a low bow.

  His voice was deep and, unlike the others, his hair was silver and it reached all the way to his knees. Underneath his cloak, he wore a silver doublet gleaming with diamond-like stones.

  The man remained bowing, Tom glanced at Cindy uncertainly and, when no direction of what he should do came from her, he cleared his throat.

  “Umm… Thank you?”

  Valentin further lowered his head in acknowledgment before almost gliding aside, holding his arm out. Tom walked passed him, feeling very conscious of every step he took. Neither Valentin's eyes, nor those of his wizards, were directly on him, but he felt like he was being watched, being measured; probably being judged too.

  As he came to the carriage and his hand reached for the door, he spotted the beasts. “Cindy…” he turned to look at her, his eyes wide. “What… what are they?”

  “War horses.”

  Tom racked his brain. He had learned of war horses in one of the classes in school. They couldn’t fly. He remembered thinking that to be a major disadvantage, but looking at the beasts that stood before him, he began to re-evaluate.

  They were at least twice as big as a normal horse. Their body was covered in what looked like thick metal armour and they wore helmets with long spikes attached. One of the war horses turned its head as its tail flipped up. Tom caught sight of its eyes glowing out from within the black helmet. Completely white eyes…

  He opened the carriage door and climbed in. Cindy followed after and sat opposite him. They drove slowly along the road, hemmed in on all sides by a tunnel of branches. There were carriages ahead and more fell in line behind from the side of the road as he passed. Silver Cloaks rode beside his carriage on war horses and, above, he heard the whooshing noises of what sounded distinctly like wizards on brooms.

  “Why is a Wolf Division escorting me to the House of Lords?” Tom asked.

  “Just a precaution. Wolves have been spotted on roads far from the Southern Border. I came across some a few days ago when I was flying past the forests in Ravenscourt.”

  “What were they doing?”

  Cindy’s brows furrowed.

  “I don’t know… I spotted them as they came into the open to cross the road and, after that, they disappeared into the forest again. I tried to follow but –” she paused, “they are really hard to track."

  Tom remembered his encounter with the wolves. Artur Balan, the large wolf who had slowly transformed into a man as he walked down the hill and then, in the blink of an eye, turned back into a wolf when he'd attacked Cindy. The strength and speed he had was incredible.

  The wolves had come to take him to their king and they had almost succeeded. If it weren’t for Shera the tiger, where would he be now he wondered… if he was still alive, probably with the wolf king.

  That the wolves had a king came as a surprise to everyone. Before the Werewolf War, nothing was known of the wolves and, after the war, very little was known about them. They lived hidden in the vast mountainous South, past the Line of Control. When they emerged, they did so in small packs to hunt and then they disappeared again.

  Tom remembered his father William Zarlock’s last moments. The old man had known something. "Beware of the wolves," he had said and, fourteen years later, the wolves came… the thing that attacked Lord Zarlock, they hadn’t seen much of it. It came as a blur, the room darkened, the screams became silent.

  Was that the wolf king?

  Tom stared out at the forest of evergreens as the carriage sped down the expansive stone-paved road. They were moving at a remarkable speed with barely any friction. The stone paving wasn’t smooth, but it didn’t seem to matter. It was as if the carriage floated over it.

  “Werewolves don’t like silver much. It unsettles them,” Cindy said, watching him. “Might be their sight is really sharp, but no other colour does it like silver.”

  Tom did wonder about their clothing. Very bright, very sparkly, very visible – not normally what troops would wear in the Land of the Wanderers. Silver bullets killed werewolves and vampires, according to Wanderer mythology. Maybe there was some truth in that.

  The carriage suddenly slowed, coming to a complete halt within seconds. War horses crowded around his carriage and brooms shot past, flying low.

  Tom sat up and placed his hand on the door.

  “What’s going on?”

  Cindy stuck her head out of the carriage window.

  “Why have we stopped?”

  “Wolves ahead,” one of the Silver Cloaks answered.

  Cindy reached inside her cloak for her staff and climbed out.

  “Stay in the carriage.” Her voice was firm, commanding. She closed the door, turned and disappeared beyond the men on horses.

  Tom leaned back in his seat. Wolves… his memories of Artur Balan were still vivid; the long snout, the yellow eyes, the mouth open, sharp teeth threatening him as he raised the shield. It was a good thing wizards couldn’t dream otherwise the wolf would have haunted his nights too.

  Wolves had been spotted on the move far from the southern mountains he recalled Cindy saying. She had even seen some roaming around in Ravenscourt, home of the Maliks. They were up to something, no doubt, but why were they here? Was it just a coincidence? Or did they know he would pass this way?

  There was a heavy presence of wizards on war horses around his carriage. Tom stuck his head out of the window. His view was blocked by the enormous beasts. He wished he had a staff with him and the shield too, or just Shera would have done. He missed the tiger. It was the only thing he cared for that was Zarlock related.

  As the time passed and nothing seemed to happen, Tom felt frustration build up within him. He pushed open the carriage door and climbed out. None stopped him as he walked forward, though he did notice the Silver Cloaks on war horses that fell in line either side of him.

  There were many carriages ahead and he began to run. A month ago and he would have collapsed already, but his
body had changed. He moved at a speed not humanly possible. With every stride forward his legs felt stronger. A power seemed to emit from within his body, almost egging him on.

  He reached the front carriage, beyond which were a line of Silver Cloaks on horses and just a few feet in front of them stood Cindy and Valentin. He saw the wolves immediately. They would have been hard to miss. Two large ones sat in the middle of the road, their yellow eyes fell on him lazily. Their stance reminded him of bored guard dogs, the ones that couldn't be bothered to bark, but you knew what they were thinking: Feeling brave are you? Come closer, little human. Our teeth are sharp, our mouths are big. One bite. Yes, that's all we need. Just one bite.

  Behind them, crossing the road, were other werewolves of all sizes and ages. As the last wolf crossed, the two sitting wolves stood up and, with a final glance towards the Silver Cloaks, they turned and disappeared amongst the trees.

  The line of Silver Cloaks broke away, some riding past him, others forming a protective shield around him. Valentin stood before him, his face full of concern.

  “My lord, it is best we continue our journey.” He raised his arm, ushering Tom back to his carriage.

  Cindy walked beside him, her staff still in her hand, her eyes alert. Tom climbed into the carriage and she followed him in. They were on the move again, Silver Cloaks on war horses riding beside them.

  “What do you think the wolves are doing?” Tom asked.

  Cindy was biting her bottom lip again.

  “I don’t know, but –” she paused, looking uncertain, “the wolves I saw in Ravenscourt were on the move too.”

  The questions remained unasked, but they were both thinking them. Wolves on the move, but where were they going, what was their destination and, once they reached it, what were they planning to do?

  Tom felt a sense of dread as the carriage continued onwards, heading for the House of Lords. The War of the Wolves: They had named it and the wolves had almost won and now they were back, the timing perfect as the wizards bickered and fought amongst themselves.

  Chapter 3

  Tom's mind was occupied by wolves as the carriage rolled on. He remembered the battle between Cindy and Artur. The werewolf hadn't even seemed to be trying and yet he had disposed of Cindy easily. The wolves today, the two that sat on the road, it was no wonder they had had little concern for the Silver Cloaks that faced them. Their tails flickering, their yellow eyes observing and yet distracted – they radiated power, like the big, tall, built and quiet kid at school. The one who didn’t have any friends but was never bullied. The one you were sure had seen and done things and would drop you with one punch were you to say the wrong word or look at him accidentally.

  Wolves on the move, their destination unknown – that was what today’s gathering in the House of Lords should have been about. Instead, the Zarlocks and the Le Fays locked horns over a title and a piece of land Tom cared nothing for.

  He hadn’t made his feelings about Camelot known. He had wanted to, many a time. He had wanted to scream out loud that he cared none for Camelot, nor did he care for House Zarlock being reinstated into the House of Lords, but, like many things of late, it seemed easier to keep his thoughts bottled up.

  It was unhealthy and he was certain his emotions would eventually get the better of him. He could picture it, standing before Saafir and the twins, sick and tired of hearing how amazing the Zarlocks were, shouting at them, telling them what he really thought of the selfish, murderous –

  His right hand had clamped into a raised fist and he noticed Cindy watching him, her eyes full of concern. Tom lowered his hand. Placing it on his lap, he slowly uncurled his fingers, making a mental note-to-self to work on not appearing deranged and crazy.

  Tom glanced out of the carriage window. The forest on either side of the road began to thin and he could see the fields beyond. In the distance, he spotted a wizard on a broom speeding away, two large sacks hanging by the back. He wondered what it was like being a normal wizard, having a normal family, just getting on with life.

  His procession of carriages passed through their first village. The houses were small and simple, single floor, made of grey stone, roofs thatched. A few villagers stood by the side of the road. They were lean, their bony faces absent of joy, their eyes tired. The dreary colours of their cloaks seemed to add to their apparent misery.

  Tom knew little of Atlantis and the wizarding world as a whole. He had spent his first year cooped up in the tree house, hiding away from the many that wanted him dead. He had never really given much thought to how the rest of the wizarding world lived but, were he to guess, he certainly wouldn’t have pictured them as poor commoners from the Victorian era. That was what the villagers reminded him off. The black and white pictures he had seen of men and boys working in the coalmines; their bodies rigid, their faces dirty, unsmiling… Although, apparently, smiling in pictures wasn’t the done thing back in those days.

  The carriage sped on. The village, surrounded by fields, quickly became nothing more than a dot on the horizon. The carriage slowed another three times as they passed through more villages and each time, faces of weary wizards stared at him.

  The first town they came upon wasn't that impressive either. It wasn't much bigger than Serpent's Square. The roads were narrow, rubbish piled up by the sides. The houses were dirty and the Greystone blackened. Word had spread of the passing green carriages bearing the white tiger emblem and small crowds had gathered along the edges of the road. They were silent crowds; no cheering, no jeering, just staring.

  As they left behind another town, the road took a sudden turn towards the hills. The eerie quiet of traversing through the high-rising mounds of greenery was penetrated only by the occasional whooshing of a broom soaring past. The hills ended almost as they had begun, suddenly and abruptly. A wide river began where the last hill ended. The carriages came to a halt by the red bridge that crossed it. It was a momentary stop. The gates opened and the carriages moved on and then they were in the City of the Free.

  Bordered east, south and west by the river and protected by a high wall to the north, the City of the Free appeared sparsely populated for the largest city in Atlantis. The road was wide, the surface of it smooth and green. White trees, five meters apart from each other, lined the pavements. The houses beyond the trees were large, some rising three floors, some four, some five. Each was fenced in by walls and surrounded by gardens. Some had enormous domes atop with open balconies below; others had spires with stained glass. The stonework was of all colours – red, green, silver, even black.

  As they drove in further, the mansions and their gardens gave way to a forested area. The pavements disappeared, the road suddenly narrowed and a turn later, beyond the trees, Tom could see the city proper.

  The buildings were small and clustered and black smoke rose from some. As they came closer, he could hear noises and smell the different scents: foods, burning metals, fragrances…

  His carriage came to a stop and he could hear shouting. He stuck his head out of the window. The line of Silver Cloaks on war horses took up much of the road and, in front of them, another carriage was headed in the opposite direction. The road was large enough for two carriages to pass each other, but not when accompanied by enormous war horses.

  Tom could see the other carriage. It was black with silver spikes attached to the front. The two war horses before it wore black helmets with a purple cobra, its mouth open and ready to pounce, its fangs white. A man with a black cloak and a purple staff visible by his side stood holding the reins to a war horse, his head craned upwards, arguing with Valentin.

  Eventually, the man in the black cloak relented. He turned and walked up to the carriage. The curtain pulled aside and Tom spotted the pale face of a woman. They spoke briefly and the woman glanced his way before she turned back to the man, giving a slight nod of her head. The man returned to the front of the carriage and led the horses past a stall to the side of the road.

  Tom’s car
riage began to move. He remained staring out of the window, his eyes on the black carriage with the purple cobra emblem on the door. As he passed, the woman pulled the curtains back again and their eyes met. Her face was pale, her hair was covered with a purple scarf, a few loose strands emerging from underneath. Her eyes were dark, purple he saw at first, but then they changed to a maroon. The side of her lips parted in a smile and then she was gone.

  “Who's that?” Tom asked.

  “The purple cobra belongs to Marianne from House Oakenfield,” Cindy spoke uncertainly, “one of the thirteen houses. She hardly ever leaves her fortress of Bounds Green… as in, rumour had it the family of Oakenfield was physically bound to their house because no one could remember the last time they had seen one leave.” Cindy’s voice trailed. “I wonder where she went.”

  A family of hermit wizards Tom thought. She had an alluring smile and a sparkle in her eyes. House of Oakenfield, one of the thirteen great houses that had a seat in the House of Lords. Maybe that’s where she was coming from, the House of Lords. Was the return of a Zarlock reason enough for her to leave her fortress? He wondered why that made him feel warm… he didn’t know her at all, barely even saw a glimpse of her… but those eyes were alluring…

  He shuddered. Shaking his head, he glanced out of the window. The road had widened and the pavements had returned, as had the white trees growing five meters apart from each other. What they had left behind wasn’t the city proper, but just a cluster of buildings. They passed more clusters, separated by large areas of greenery, fields of many colours, lakes and walled mansions with large gardens.

  They were weaving their way through hills now and the House of Lords came into view quite suddenly. Set in a valley of hills, the building itself was shaped like a pyramid, each floor smaller than the one it rested on. Every floor on the front of the building had platforms extending like balconies and held up by enormous white pillars. A fifty foot wall made of grey stone and metals bars with the sharp tips painted gold surrounded the building. It made for an imposing structure.