Caught in the Ripples: An Epic Fantasy (The Last Elentrice Book 2)

by S McPherson

  ‘I had no idea.’

  She holds up a hand. ‘They’re coming.’

  Almost instantly, distorted shadows are cast on the walls as members of the Court march into the vast room. They are dressed in robes, but not the usual emerald ones. These do not shimmer and are a mix of silver and gold—I presume them to be their sleeping robes. That they didn’t even stop to get dressed does not bode well.

  ‘I bet you think you’re funny,’ Vladimir growls, stepping forward and addressing the three of us. His tone is eerily calm.

  ‘Not at this particular moment.’ Lexovia replies. I marvel at her wit at a time like this. She stands straight backed, eyes blazing. She does not ask for his attention, she demands it. I push my own shoulders back, mimicking her stance. Vladimir is a warrior and the senior of the Court. He will not respond to fear and uncertainty. With him, we must be unfailing; a damn blocking the current of an ocean.

  Vladimir glares at her. ‘I think perhaps we trusted you too soon.’

  The few Court members who have bothered to come down now fold their arms, nodding in agreement. I can’t be sure but Lexovia seems to flinch at this. Her eyes flash with an emotion that vanishes too quickly to trace and the muscles in her jaw twitch. Her tone is laced with thorns as she says, ‘How fickle you are with your trust.’

  There is a tense silence, everyone quiet as though they can see the storm steeping on the horizon. I struggle to tell whether they will destroy or devour each other as they stare unblinking at the other.

  I clear my throat, flinching at how loud it sounds in this deathly silence. Vladimir whips his neck in my direction and I set my jaw. I will not back down. I am the lightning in a storm.

  ‘You have no business here.’

  I open my mouth to retort but Lexovia cuts through my words. ‘I let them in for a reason Vladimir.’

  Vladimir chuckles deep down in his throat. ‘To amuse yourself, I’m sure.’

  She frowns, a look of betrayal marking her face. Is she surprised by his hostility? I’m not.

  ‘I’ve brought you something,’ Milo interjects, releasing my hand and advancing towards the table.

  ‘Yes,’ Vladimir eyes me distastefully, stepping closer, ‘we can all see what you’ve brought.’

  It’s my turn to glare.

  ‘Leave her out of it,’ Milo snaps.

  Vladimir’s voice rises. ‘I wish you would.’

  ‘That’s enough.’ Lexovia steps between them; trust her to march into the line of fire. Come to think of it, she is the fire and the boys are walking her line, a fine line, especially Vladimir. ‘Like I said: they’re here for a reason.’

  Vladimir turns on her, clearly furious, at more than just the fact that we’re here but I can’t guess what it might be.

  ‘I’m on a clock,’ I point out, my words coming out less strongly than intended. Everyone looks at me, though, blankly, and I force my voice to louden. ‘I need to get back to the portal soon. If we are going to do this, let’s do it.’

  Vladimir sighs, stalking towards the table. His russet eyes shine and he directs them above our heads. I wince.

  ‘Luminaro,’ he utters and the room instantly brightens. I look up and see the crest of Coldivor shining down at me from a skylight. Blinking, I return my attention to the others, who have also come forward to stand around the table.

  ‘Go on, then. Show us what you’ve brought.’ Vladimir does not hide his emotions well, if at all. He is gripping the table, veins jutting out of his hands, his jaw clenched.

  As usual, Milo takes everything in his stride and confidently places his bag in front of us all, carefully revealing his device. I sense curiosity rise, and everyone shuffles closer or strains their neck to get a better look. They watch as Milo fiddles with nobs and attaches the antennae, a rush of static greeting us as he tries to channel worlds.

  At last, an unknown language comes clearly through the speakers. The Court look at each other and then at Vladimir, uncertain.

  ‘As I’m sure you can tell from the dialect, this is another realm, one unknown to any of us,’ Milo announces before fiddling with a nob and pulling on a joystick. This time, a series of screeches follow. ‘And this is another.’ Once again, his fingers dart about the device, pressing switches and pulling tags. Finally, I hear words I recognise—English words—and hear the familiar chords of Islon radio’s signature tune. Everyone gasps. Lexovia and I don matching smirks.

  ‘I’m sure many of you recognise the sounds of this realm.’ Delving back into his bag, Milo pulls out the crystal ball, resting it on its perch and waving his hand over it. Immediately, my little flat becomes visible. ‘And now here you can see it.’

  Unable to resist, three members of the Court press forward and peer into my room.

  ‘A timepiece,’ one of them breathes, noticing the clock beside my bed.

  ‘An ice machine,’ another points excitedly.

  ‘Where did you find this?’ Vladimir barks, silencing the room.

  ‘I made it.’

  Astonishment changes Vladimir’s expression as his brows shoot half way up his forehead, but then it furrows. ‘You did this?’ and he steps forward and looks more closely into the sphere.

  ‘Yes. He did,’ Lexovia snaps.

  I can practically see the venom dripping from each word, and her gaze is so icy even I shudder.

  Vladimir glances at her, undoubtedly sensing it too, then turns back to Milo. ‘Can you see all worlds?’

  Milo half smiles. ‘I’m sure I could. At the moment, though, I didn’t feel the need to see any but Islon’s.’

  Everyone looks at me and I flush, surprised when Vladimir grins. Lunging over the table and dragging me back to the portal kicking and screaming, seems much more his style.

  ‘This is excellent,’ he nods emphatically. ‘Remarkable in fact.’

  ‘Well,’ Milo lifts a shoulder, humbled, ‘if it helps get us to Vedark, I’m all in mate.’

  Vladimir regards Milo with what I can only describe as newfound respect; a mix of a smile and a frown as though he is trying to understand an alien.

  ‘And you,’ he says, turning to me, and I stiffen, ‘I believe you also have something to show us?’

  I nod briskly and approach the table, setting my bag down. My heart is racing but I hide it with swift and steady movements. Nonchalantly, I pull out the battered journal, unlock its buckle and open it to the first page.

  ‘Michél Tranzuta. Operation: Gethadrox,’ I read out, believing this says it all.

  Vladimir’s eyes widen and Lexovia gapes at me, stunned, though she hides it quickly, remembering she was supposed to have known about the journal all along.

  ‘Like I said,’ she says, folding her arms, ‘I let them in for a reason.’

  Almost as if he were afraid, Vladimir edges towards me. He looks at me as though I might suddenly rip the journal to shreds, laughing maniacally. To reassure him, I offer him the book.

  He takes it and exhales a long and deep breath, stroking its binding for a while. Everyone watches in breathless anticipation.

  ‘What a glorious night,’ he whispers. ‘What a glorious night,’ he repeats more loudly, and everybody cheers, everyone except Lexovia, Milo and myself. I am somewhat dazed with relief and stumble to Milo’s side as he packs away his device. He wraps his arm around me and kisses my forehead.

  ‘What a glorious night,’ Lexovia says, mocking Vladimir as she joins us, but I know she is truly thrilled. ‘Tranzuta’s journal!’ and she nudges me.

  ‘It was in Feranvil.’ I grin. ‘Tinker’s Shop.’

  She is about to respond when Vladimir comes up behind her and murmurs, ‘I’m sorry I doubted you.’

  She turns to face him, that icy stare of hers returning.

  ‘Can you forgive me?’ he asks.

  Lexovia considers. ‘You said you didn’t trust me.’

  ‘I know.’ Vladimir bows his head.

  ‘When everyone was ready to turn their back on rebuilding th
e gethadrox, I didn’t.’

  ‘I know,’ he repeats.

  ‘We went into Taratesia, put our necks on the line trying to find something so you could get to Vedark.’

  ‘Lexovia—’

  ‘But the second I bring two of my friends here, you’re the first one to call me a traitor.’

  Surprisingly—and it seems I’m not the only one surprised—Vladimir pinches Lexovias chin between his finger and thumb. ‘Forgive me,’ he says again, holding her head steady.

  Milo and I exchange glances. Is there something happening between the two of them we aren’t aware of? Are they even aware of it?

  Lexovia fumbles to find a response and I grin to myself. I know that tongue-tied feeling.

  ‘Forgiven,’ she mumbles at last.

  ‘Good.’ Vladimir smiles, dropping his hand. ‘Then let’s leave it at that.’ He turns to Milo and me, ‘I would like to show you something.’

  A little apprehensive, we nod—what could Vladimir possibly want to show us? —and allow him to lead us through an archway and down a long corridor lit by a few measly candles hidden in alcoves along the wall. Lexovia follows, quietly humming to herself and kicking at occasional pebbles.

  I squint when we get to the end and step into an extremely brightly lit room. I half expect to look up and see fluorescent lights, though I don’t hear their familiar hum. Narrowing my eyes, I peer up at a high ceiling, seeing nothing but light. Its source is unclear, most probably magic.

  When my eyes finally adjust, I gasp. We are still walking, but much slower now, and I see Vladimir observing us from the corner of his eye. I wish I knew what reaction he expected. I wish I was better prepared, but I’m not. Instead, I finally stand here agog, gaping at large vats of green serum, the offensive odour stinging my nostrils. I recognise this pungent smell, so fierce it makes my eyes water: Extroosal, the serum Milo once used to heal my injuries.

  I remember how the sting was horrendous, burning like a thousand scorching needles. I gulp when, beyond the large containers, I notice scarred men and women lying naked in incubators. The top of one slides open, and to my horror, the barely conscious man inside rises, as though lifted by invisible hands, and is dipped into the serum.

  He screams. He begs, scrambling to escape the liquid. I imagine his pain and tears prickle my eyes, my breath catching in my throat.

  ‘LET ME DIE!’ bellows the man, thrashing in agony. ‘LET ME DIE!’

  ‘What is this?’ Milo asks, unblinking.

  ‘Not long ago we were attacked by the Exlathars and we discovered another of their many gifts,’ Vladimir explains. I hadn’t realised we’d stopped walking until we move on again, our feet near silent on the paved ground. ‘They are able to drain us, of our power, of our very essence, taking everything from inside us and leaving nothing but a hollow shell.’

  At last the screams of the man stop as he is removed from the serum and returned to his incubator, shivering and in tears. I wince and will everyone to move on faster when I see the lid of another incubation tank creep open. This time it is a woman, her hair long, black and straggly with bald patches revealing a seeping scalp. Her skin is as wrinkled as a scrunched-up ball of paper, though from her physique it is obvious she is still young. I watch in horror as she too is carried into the Extroosal. I cover my ears when she screams, piercing, making my blood curdle. She doesn’t ask for death, though, the pain stopping her from forming words. She simply writhes and screeches, splashing green serum everywhere. I am stricken. Trembling, I leap out of the way as serum swills over and onto the stone floor.

  I can’t move, fear firmly planting my feet until Milo’s gentle tug guides me through another archway. They are all talking but I fail to hear their words, visions of what I’ve just seen writhing around my mind, the woman’s screams staying with me long after they have stopped.

  When I finally re-join the conversation, we are back in the great entrance hall. All the other members appear to have gone back to bed. Everything is now silent, and I welcome it. I look at Milo; his eyes are troubled and deep frown lines crease his forehead. He seems to have stopped blinking and instead stares blindly ahead.

  I am surprised when I look at Lexovia. She doesn’t seem as troubled by the experience, though she is definitely not her usual flippant self and her humming has ceased. Then I realise: Lexovia lives here now, probably sees that sort of thing all the time. Instead of being stiff—an imitation of strength like Milo, or a lion without courage like myself—she seems completely at ease, propping herself against the stone table, arms folded.

  ‘Do you know why I took you there?’ Vladimir asks.

  I shake my head. I think Milo does the same but I don’t check.

  ‘I wanted you to really understand the nature of the danger we face. I wanted to be sure you don’t wonder why I say what I am about to say.’

  I tense.

  Vladimir appears to brace himself, which surprises me, as though he truly does care about our feelings. ‘Dezaray, you can never come back to Coldivor.’

  I gulp, completely blindsided. What?

  ‘It has been a rough few months since we defeated the Vildacruz and no doubt it is only going to get worse.’ Vladimir continues spouting off the thoughts I’ve already had. Thoughts I don’t want to think. ‘Though none of us wants to think it, there’s a chance that,’ and he pauses, briefly looking at Lexovia, ‘that our Elentrice, like many of us, won’t survive. I assume you are familiar with the C.P. Myth?’

  I nod, slowly. In the event that Lexovia dies, it is believed that I could inherit her powers, becoming the Elentrice myself.

  ‘We cannot risk losing both of you. Not when we are so close. If you really want to help us, you must never come here again.’ His eyes are almost pleading. I look down. I know he is right but can’t seem to say it.

  ‘We truly appreciate what the two of you have done tonight and the risk you both took to get here,’ he goes on, ‘but trust me, whatever information you have, will never be worth what we stand to lose.’

  I hear him through what feels like a vacuum. His words are warped and echoe-y. I try not to retaliate, digging my nails into my palms. I know he is right but for some reason a rush of anger surges through me.

  ‘You stand to lose your safety net,’ I say. I don’t know what reaction I expect, if any.

  Vladimir simply creases his brow.

  ‘You’re asking that I stay put and wait for my friend to die.’ My eyes flicker to Lexovia and then back to him. Right or not, his request tastes like poison in my mouth.

  Vladimir grips my wrist, the one with the raised skin, the flesh flaking and a bright shade of red. I wince.

  ‘You think this is bad?’ he asks. I feel Milo tense as I screw up my face, my lips clamped together. ‘This is nothing.’ At last he drops my wrist and I breathe out heavily, raising my wrist and blowing on the irritated skin. ‘I know in the end you will do what you want, but you’d do well to listen to what I’ve said this time.’ Not waiting for a response, Vladimir leaves the room in a blur. I don’t doubt he’ll already be in bed, asleep.

  ‘Dezaray?’

  I turn to the voice and gasp—Howard. I rush into his strong arms. Even after all this time, he still smells of roosenbick. I’m so relieved, thinking I would never seem him again. Even though we didn’t always see eye to eye, he was at least there for me when it mattered. I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment and hope one day I get to see Yvane again too, though I know that probably won’t happen.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ he asks, holding me. His hair is dishevelled and it’s clear he has just woken up.

  ‘I’ll tell you in the morning,’ Lexovia offers. ‘Dez is just leaving.’

  ‘It was really great seeing you,’ I say in earnest.

  ‘You too.’ He squeezes my shoulders. ‘Until the glory days.’

  ‘Until then.’

  Milo and I step out into the chilly air of the night and I hold my wrist up in the wind, welcoming its gentle
and cool caress. We haven’t said anything since saying our good-nights to Lexovia and Howard.

  Using my good hand, I take the gethamot from around my neck and hand it to Milo. He taps it and waits as the arrow appears.

  ‘This way,’ he murmurs, taking my hand. I can tell he’s distracted: his eyes are distant and his grip of my hand is mechanical.

  We soon seem to draw close to Taratesia, and after a couple of minutes, I know we have left Melaxous. It’s amazing how instantly our surroundings change. The ground shifts from sand and gravel to mud and grass. The few but strong trees soon become clustered together and envelop us beneath their canopy, the air smelling sweeter, the night cooler.

  As we enter their denser press, Milo releases my hand, slips the chain over his head and pulls a lantern from his bag.

  ‘Iginassa,’ he intones, and immediately a flame ignites the wick. Saying nothing, he carries on walking, the gentle pants of his breath comforting me like they used to do. I wonder when we will walk together again, like this, and then I swallow, looking down, not caring if I fall into the deepest crevices in the earth; I feel as though I’ve already fallen into one.

  ‘We’re here’ he murmurs, bringing us to a halt. ‘What is it?’ he asks, reading the desolation on my face.

  I humph in mock amusement. ‘What is it.’ I repeat as a statement. ‘It’s that, no matter what I do, I can’t change this. Vladimir’s right, I don’t belong here but of course that doesn’t stop me from wanting to. It doesn’t stop me from caring. But I can’t belong here. So, what, what am I doing here?’

  Lying to myself. Holding onto something that was never mine to hold. My eyes burn with unshed tears that I blink away.

  ‘Scream,’ he says.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Scream,’ he repeats, a hint of laughter dancing in his eyes. It’s been a while since I have seen genuine amusement in those irises.

  ‘Scream?’ and I look at him as though he is mad. ‘You have truly lost your marbles.’

  ‘Scream,’ he insists.

  ‘What about the Exlathars?’

  ‘What about them?’ and he looks exasperated. ‘Scream,’ and I do, though not very loud, in fact it’s pretty pathetic.