by S McPherson
Eventually, I give up and toss the magazine aside. I press my hands together, dig my thumbs into my palms, chew on my bottom lip. Today I’m not as excited as usual. I’m just more anxious.
At last, the gateway spirals open, its rays of green stretching out and coiling as though to grab me. Wide-eyed, I scan the world on the other side. The sun shines there, the sky a pastel purple. I see luscious, thick strands of emerald green grass: Taratesia, and briefly hear the familiar clicks of a Rubus bird. My heart constricts; I haven’t heard that sound in so long. But I see nothing else beyond the trees. No one is there to meet me. The portal closes.
My shoulders sag. Chunks roll in my stomach. I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep sitting here on the outside, waiting for someone to welcome me in.
‘Hey!’ snaps a gruff voice. ‘What have you got there?’
I spin around. Wood security: a larger man this time, but the same uniform.
‘Give it here.’ He takes a step towards me, reaching for the gethamot. He has the same tattoo on his wrist, though again only half of it is visible beneath his sleeve. What are the chances of both men having the same tattoo in the same place?
‘It’s my necklace.’ I take a step back, protectively covering the gethamot with my hand.
He sneers, ‘Give it here,’ and moves to grab it, but I smack his hand away. Fury burns in his callous eyes but I lift my chin defiantly.
‘I haven’t done anything wrong.’
The man’s hand fumbles at his side, my stomach lurching. He’s going for his gun. Seriously?
‘Give it here.’ His voice is now low and menacing, his hand resting on his weapon. Before he can do anything, I take off.
‘Oi,’ he bellows. ‘Get back here.’
I flee through the woods, thankful it’s still light enough to see, gripping tree trunks for balance, shards of wood slicing my palms as I flounder over uneven ground. The flailing fabric of my jacket gets snagged and low branches catch in my hair but I rush on, stumbling over loose rocks that shift under my blundering feet.
I know the man’s chasing me. I hear the branches snap under his brawny weight, the grunts as he manoeuvres round the shrubs and logs in his path. Then there’s a BANG, a shrill ringing in my ears. Shocked, I stop and turn. Birds shriek and the bark of the tree hit by his bullet shatters around me like shrapnel. He’s going to kill me—but why?
I run, my calves now burning, my heart pounding and leap over a log only to skid down into a ditch. But there before me is the brook, and I push myself to my feet and race across it, sure the man is still hunting me.
TO THE COURT
Lurid alarm sirens wail out and immediately all those around gather their belongings and make their way out of Devirum Town Centre and towards the Sleeping Areas. Some climb into the obsidian carriages of Flookans, the strange six-legged creatures with scaly beige skin. Some choose to fly on the narrow sticks with curved edges known as terraduchins and some teleport, taking others with them. No one moans or grumbles, not anymore, all now well used to the call. The seventh hour on the dot, every night.
‘I’m getting really sick of this,’ Milo grumbles, impatiently drumming on the table of his favourite fish and chips shop, Fishy Chippy. ‘Lexovia and Howard are out defending the realm as members of the Court’s Guard whilst the rest of us are being told to go to bed.’
Yvane twists her mouth. ‘Not bed, just…not here.’
‘Not anywhere but our sleeping area.’ Milo adds, his glossy black locks falling into his face. He shoves it back.
Yvane sighs and makes a grab for her bag.
‘Not yet, mate.’ Milo screws up his face.
Needing no persuading, Yvane shrugs and leans against the low back of her chair. No doubt as fed up with curfew as he is. It’s been months since the alarm began trilling every night and since Rijjleton guards started telling them to return to their Sleeping Area. The Coltis fought back at first, demanding answers from the Court. “Why are people still turning up dead?” they asked. “Why are their bodies marked by the Exlathars when supposedly every dark creature of the Vildacruz was destroyed in battle, the night of the Elenfar?” But eventually their anger dissolved and now they march robotically to their homes. The siren continues to wail but Milo and Yvane ignore it, arms folded, smirking at one another.
‘The portal opened yesterday,’ Milo announces.
‘Did you manage—’
‘No.’ He shakes his head. ‘The Rijjletons are too quick.’
‘How many this time?’
‘Four,’ Milo snorts, ‘with spears.’
‘Rijjleton Guards with spears?’ Yvane laughs. ‘Give me strength. I bet the spears were bigger than them.’
‘They were.’
‘And still nothing from Lexovia? Howard?’ Yvane asks as she pushes a soggy chip through the remains of her mushy peas. She clearly has no intention of eating it. The vinegar seems to sting a crack on her finger and wincing, she sucks it clean.
‘My mum visited the Court a while ago,’ Milo tells her, lifting a shoulder. ‘As Lexovia’s guardian, they couldn’t stop her, though they did try.’
‘And? How is everyone?’
‘Apparently everyone’s fine,’ Milo sighs, ‘but I’ll feel better when I hear it from them.’
‘Whenever that will be. I wish we could contact them. Why do we have this mindle block, anyway?’
‘That’s a good question. And why the curfew?’
‘Why the guards?’
‘And why weren’t all the Exlathars on the burial ground the night of the battle?’ Milo raps his knuckles on the table.
‘Another good question.’
He leans forward. ‘And why are there so many questions?’
‘What do you two think you’re doing?’ A cloud of mist wafts by and an angry Rijjleton Guard stands before them, narrowing his beige beady eyes. His thick, purple whiskers protrude from his ears, cheeks and chin and shudder as he speaks, his snout grazes the top of his curved lip. ‘Curfew sounded ages back. You should both be in your sleeping area by now.’
‘We’re just finishing up.’ Milo explains.
‘No. You’re finished,’ snaps the guard and jabs his spear at them. Yvane and Milo lock eyes, snickering at their private joke. ‘Get moving.’
‘Alright, alright. Don’t hurt yourself.’ Milo holds up his hands in surrender. ‘Ready?’ he asks Yvane.
‘I suppose,’ and she slings her bag over her shoulder. Standing, Milo takes her hand and in a swirl of blue they evaporate from Fishy Chippy.
Lexovia crouches low, knees pressed to the cold ground, squelching in the soggy earth. Peering through the tall blades of grass, she sees the great stone wall of old Fuatrass, nestled in the Taratesia skyline of rising trees and forgotten empires. Its hefty brick wall is much larger than the one in Melaxous and an arch marks its entrance.
‘This is weird.’ Howard whispers from beside her, gaping at the old home of his people. His own parents lived here not long ago. Somewhere inside those walls, their home now stands empty.
Lexovia nods. ‘Surreal.’ She looks around to see if they can spy Howard’s parents amongst the rest of the Court’s Guard—most of the Guard are Fuertés. There are many faces she recognises but none is the Chors. They must have been given a different mission tonight.
Just then, Collin swoops down to them, balanced precariously on his terraduchin. He is already in full Fuerté form. His muscles bulge, his shield rests on his hip. He presses a finger to his lips, signalling them to be quiet. They salute and squat lower.
Lexovia runs a hand through her now silver hair. It had taken her by surprise at first, when she woke up after the Elenfar and found strands of grey sprouting from her roots. Chalking it up to stress, she hadn’t given it much thought, but within days her ebony tresses had completely transformed to an almost blinding white but they remained strong and soft and just as before.
It was then that she learnt it was normal for full-grown Elentri to cha
nge in some way after the metaphysical transformation. Perhaps in height or eye colour, or, as in her case, the colour of her hair. She pulls a strand down her forehead and stares at it, at the way it gleams and seems to reflect the moon.
‘The signal’s been given,’ Howard notes as Collin and other Court members whizz over the wall. In their wake, he, Lexovia and other handpicked members of the Courts Guard charge through the old Fuatrass archway and across a mammoth paved bridge, below them a field of jagged pillars.
A beam of light conjured by the Court, draws them towards it. They race over hunks of rock and around oddly shaped buildings made from lopsided stone. Hefty oak doors slam in the wind and slips of flaying curtains curve in the windowless frames. Howard briefly scans the labyrinth of grey. The dips, raises and arcs resemble frozen waves in the feral ocean. He wonders which jumble of rock is his old home; the place he took his first step and uttered his first word.
His attention is turned when the Courts Guard come to a waterfall, tumbling from a great cliff and frothing in rolls into a circular lagoon. The water shines like electric ice, shadows of its swimming creatures skittering below the surface. In the distance, the Court stand on the bank, their emerald cloaks shimmering.
The air is alive, Lexovia notes as she rushes through the sting of it, the wind slapping her in the face and pushing her back. She clenches her fists and charges on. The rhythmic thump of footsteps follows her like the sound of a beating heart. She glances to her right; Howard is there, now in full Fuerté form. The veins in his neck bulge and his gold hair whaffs in his face, not that he seems to notice.
Nearing the cloaked figures of the Court, they slow down, now more alert of what might be lurking in the shadows.
Once within earshot, Collin slides from his terraduchin, ‘How many?’
Vladimir shakes his head, his russet eyes narrow. ‘Hard to say. We spotted at least eight entering there,’ and he points to behind the gushing waterfall. ‘Let’s move.’
In a line they follow Vladimir across the narrow strip of land that leads to the rock shelter. Their weapons and terraduchins hugged to their chest. They press themselves against the gravelled wall, moving in trained silence.
At last they step into the near darkness, keeping close, and march forward. Vladimir and the most senior members of the Court lead the way. Weapons poised, they search for some sign of the Exlathars: a gust of wind, the gleam of a green eye.
Vladimir stops, his spear ringing out as it collides with something hard. He presses his hand to it. It is cool and damp – a wall. The others also stop as they reach it. They listen to the odd grunts and growls coming from the other side and Vladimir’s eyes light the gloom. He searches the wall, prodding and pushing as he seeks out some point of weakness.
‘Here,’ he finally murmurs finding loose stones that easily tumble to the ground. Together the Court charge through the weak area, rock exploding around them as they burst into the cave. A mass of green glowing eyes swivels in their direction, a foul stench suspended in the air like a hanging corpse.
‘Luminaro!’ The Court cry, and immediately the cave is lit. Pebbles glow, moss carpeting the walls gleams and tendrils of roots that hang from the ceiling fast become luminous.
The Exlathars rise and their black pointed teeth gleam as they lunge at the intruders. In the air, terraduchins collide with thrashing wings and hang in crooked talons. The Court throw spears of lead that slice though the creatures’ acid flesh, fearsome shrieks drowning out all other sounds of battle.
From every direction, Coltis folk charge at the beasts, their spears raised and potions ready. There is a flash of purple as one of the serums is tossed, smashing to the ground, inches from an Exlathar’s pointed ankle. It chuckles—a raspy, cold sound—then glides murderously toward the one who threw it. With an almighty shriek, a sulphurous mist spews from its mouth and falls onto the Coltis.
The man gawks, clutching his throat, gasping for air before his eyes bulge from his head and blood trickles from his nose.
‘What’s happening to Henriqué?’ bellows Vladimir as he watches the man violently convulse. ‘Iginassa,’ he calls out, setting a rock ablaze and hurtling it at the Exlathar with a thrust of his head. The beast squawks angrily and soars off to attack another as the flames of the rock are extinguished in the mud. Vladimir races to where Henriqué has fallen.
Kneeling, Vladimir turns his friend to face him, jumping back in horror. Blood leaks from the fallen man’s nose and the corners of his eyes, his face barely recognisable. Drained of all moisture, his skin is now shrivelled and sunken.
‘Henriqué?’ Vladimir gasps, futilely, knowing his friend will not answer, his friend is no longer here. Snapped out of his shock by the howls of those around him, Vladimir is stricken to see the same thing happening to others. Though the Coltis continue to fight with vigour, the toxic yellow mist spraying from the open mouths of the beasts is all it takes to end them.
‘RUN,’ Vladimir yells. ‘Everyone back to Melaxous,’ and he rushes over to another fallen member of the Court, but he’s too late. He darts from victim to victim, but even Spee’ad as he is, Vladimir is not fast enough to save them. ‘No!’ he gasps as he sees an Exlathar creep up behind Lexovia as she battles with another.
‘BEHIND YOU,’ he roars, and Lexovia turns just in time to face the jagged teeth of the Exlathar as it stretches its mouth and releases yet another yellow haze. She holds up her hands, a shield forming around her, blocking the mist and safely dispersing it. The creature screeches, but Lexovia simply hurtles towards another Coltis—a woman with hair as ferocious as a lion’s mane.
‘Get in,’ Lexovia urges. Immediately, the woman scoops up her snapped terraduchin and leaps into the force-field around Lexovia. Other Teltreporthis do the same, forming force fields around themselves and urging others inside. But each time the mist hits their shields, part of it seeps through, sucking the juices from those being protected.
‘JUST GO,’ yells Vladimir, shepherding others out of the way of the spiralling haze.
The Teltreporthis encase whoever they can in their shields and hastily teleport out of the cave. The Spee’ad’s likewise waste no time, grabbing whoever is close enough and carrying them out at great speed, despite their extra weight.
Vladimir hears Lexovia call ‘Are you coming?’ and glances across at her, her shield now almost full of trembling Coltis.
He looks about him, frantically, and realises that those who are left have all fallen, already being feasted on. There is no one left to save, except himself. Then an Exlathar swoops down towards him, letting out a piercing shriek. He ducks then dives behind a rock, wedged in between it and the cave wall. The Exlathar thrashes around, trying to drag him out with its long, spindly claws. He raises his arms to protect himself, his eyes searching for some kind of weapon.
‘We walk as one!’ Lexovia instructs those behind her, and together they march to Vladimir’s aid. Her breathing is weighted, though, each step more difficult than the last, as though she were wading through tar.
Almost there. she repeats to herself, focusing on reaching Vladimir before it is too late. Almost there.
The Exlathar must hear their approach for it swivels to face them and releases a yellow cloud. Lexovia’s ochre eyes shine brighter than flames and the shield becomes impenetrable.
‘Impetribo!’ she chants.
She notices Vladimir crane his neck from behind the rock, but her attention quickly returns to the Exlathar thrashing against her force-field.
‘Impetribo!’
Those beside her do the same, ‘Impetribo!’ their eyes glowing a rainbow of reds, blues and greens.
The shield itself now glows but the beast continues to wail, bashing viciously against the barrier.
The shield won’t hold much longer. Lexovia closes her eyes, leaving those behind her to continue the chant whilst she delves into the depths of her power.
‘Exlarvus!’ she bellows, the sheer force of her voice sending t
hem and the Exlathar tumbling into the air, twisting as if caught in a hurricane.
Before the beast can return, Vladimir rushes from behind the boulder, the others scramble to their feet and all dive into the waning shield around Lexovia. With no other thought than survival, Lexovia teleports them to safety in the grounds of the Courts of Coldivor.
Panting, she collapses her shield and staggers.
‘Careful,’ Vladimir warns, catching her before she falls. Squinting, Lexovia can just make out the tall apex of the grey pyramid building with balconies as its only decoration. It stretches over her, seeming so much taller than she knows it to be.
‘What’s wrong with her?’ she hears a girl ask. The voice is rough and thick with panic.
‘She is weakened, that’s all,’ Vladimir assures them as he practically carries Lexovia to the Court entrance. ‘Her kind of power can be draining.’
Lexovia feels him shift as he rests his hand on the mammoth door and soon she can register a variation of clangs and scrapes as the doors seem to vanish.
They enter the Court, the sound of hurried activity and concerned voices filling Lexovia’s snatched glimpses of flickering candlelight, of deep shadows cast upon great stone walls.
‘This way,’ Vladimir steers her to a robust stone table, around which members of the Court stand. Lexovia manages to summon enough strength to realise she’s staring down at the symbols of the seven empires, engraved upon the table top. When she lifts her head, it’s to meet nothing but grave faces.
‘Vladimir. Thank goodness,’ cries Amethyst, her long brown hair pulled tightly into a plait, one strand of lilac curling around her ear. Her petite physique is almost swallowed by the great emerald cloak she wears but that doesn’t slow her as she races into his arms. ‘We were so worried you hadn’t made it.’
‘I almost didn’t,’ and Vladimir grimaces but then smiles gratefully at Lexovia, who sways at his side.