by S McPherson
Lexovia collapses to the ground, her entrance far from glamorous.
‘Cutting it a bit close, don’t you think?’ Jude reproaches but stops when the fallen girl looks up and he realises her eyes are a blazing ochre and her hair a blinding white. ‘Lexovia?’
She scrambles to her feet, breathless and dusting herself off. Words cannot express how relieved she is to see Jude and Nathaniel. She thought she would have to mindle them, trying with great difficulty to explain where she was.
‘What’s going on?’ Nathaniel queries, looking over her shoulder as though he expects Dezaray to appear.
‘More than I care to explain out here,’ Lexovia murmurs, remembering Dezaray’s warnings about R.U.O.E. She looks over her shoulder, nervously.
‘Let’s go,’ Nathaniel agrees. Lexovia and Jude follow, Lexovia quietly regaling them with details of the evening, leaving nothing out but Dezaray’s final abduction. She can’t bring herself yet to tell them, nor does she trust the wood’s ears.
‘What’s elutheran magic?’ Jude eyes her keenly, clearly intrigued to discover something new about Coldivor.
‘Do you remember last winter when we visited that little shop to fix the gethamot?’
The boys nod.
‘Remember when the owner, Tink, told us that story of the Provolian Pair?’ Lexovia asks as twigs and pebbles stab her through the soles of her thin sandals; she hadn’t been dressed for trekking through the woods.
‘I do,’ Nathaniel says, happy to know something.
Jude agrees. ‘The alleged necklaces that allow counterparts to coexist.’
‘Right, well,’ Lexovia says, ‘they didn’t just appear as necklaces; they were made. Myth says that, too long ago to know when, a powerful slime of some sort was discovered in the earth of Coldivor; in just one area by the sea. It was supposedly a mix of a dirty yellow and a bright blue and it’s said that flowers whose roots touched the blue blossomed fiercely, stretching across the ground and soaring up like fire in a blur of reds, pinks, yellows and oranges, whilst the roots immersed in the murky yellow grew just as wild but in a web of thorns, every petal crisp, their buds shades of black, emerald and violet that turned to cyan and silver vines as they coiled around rocks.’
‘Sounds sort of nice,’ Jude opines.
‘Apparently it was, but those who touched it were driven mad, crippled by a dark desire. Supposedly, most eventually killed themselves, tormented by the monster they became, and if not, they were killed by others who feared them. The plant was hacked down and burnt, but nothing would shift it. Eventually, someone found a way to use the plant’s magic against it and it shrivelled into the earth. The area where it was, still exists: a hole in the ground shielded by protection spells. The magic there was named Elutheran magic. The blue substance, however, was extracted and named Provolian magic, and thus the rumour of the Provolian pair was born.’
‘So elutheran magic is gone?’ Nathaniel asks.
‘Never gone, just buried.’
‘Wow.’ Jude is clearly enthralled.
‘Just a regular bedtime story,’ Nathaniel muses.
‘You know,’ Lexovia then says, conversationally, ‘when I thought it was just a story, it was actually one of my favourites.’
By now they’ve come out of the woods and across a deserted street that leads to a number of farms and their fields.
‘So where is Dezaray?’ Nathaniel asks, clearly unable to wait any longer.
Hesitating for a moment, Lexovia finally has to admit, ‘The Exlathars have her,’ and leaps over the low wooden fence leading to the derelict cottage.
‘What?’ Nathaniel gasps, stopping as though he has been winded then scrambling over the fence after her. ‘What?’
‘She’ll be fine,’ Lexovia says encouragingly. ‘Not great, but fine.’
They arrive at Feranvil’s entrance boulder, at which point Lexovia frowns, seeing Nathaniel and Jude awkwardly hovering beside it.
‘Are we going in?’ she asks.
‘The thing is,’ and Jude scratches his head, ‘technically, we’re not supposed to be out.’
‘What?’
‘Come on now, Jude, you’re a big boy,’ Nathaniel teases. ‘Mindle mummy and have her let us in.’
‘You joke now, but…’ and Jude grimaces, taking a deep breath to psyche himself up. He shakes his hands and kicks his feet a little, hopping from one foot to the other.
‘What are you doing?’ Lexovia asks.
‘Shaking out my jitters,’ Jude tells her, as though it is obvious. Then, with a final intake of air, he closes his eyes.
Mum? Mum it’s me, Lexovia can overhear as he mindles Mrs Edwards, forgetting to put up his mindle shield.
There is just a low hissing for a while, and then her voice comes, sounding angry, harsh and monotone, as vicious as a cold slap.
Jude. Where are you?
I left with the team. I was afraid Nathaniel and Dezaray were going to get themselves into trouble, He lies.
Lexovia and Nathaniel watch Jude’s eyelids flicker and his face twist as he converses with his mother.
Lexovia scoffs. ‘He’s blaming you,’ she murmurs to Nathaniel. Jude’s eyes pop open and he glowers at her. ‘Use mindle shield then,’ she reprimands him.
Yes, I know mum, Jude says, though he is clearly not entirely paying attention.
I have half a mind to leave you out there! Mrs Edwards snaps, her bark sounding far worse than any bite.
Not a good idea, I’m afraid. We have Lexovia with us.
Silence follows. Lexovia imagines the colour draining from his mother’s face as she tries to make sense of it all.
Mum? he mindles.
Nathaniel mouths the words, ‘What’s happening?’
Jude shrugs, shaking his head.
Mum? he asks again.
There is another drawn out silence then a hearty sigh sounds in his mind and Mrs Edwards breathes, It’s open.
Diving on the rock before she can change her mind, Jude tears it from the ground and immediately the earth starts to tremble. When the opening is wide enough, they jump in, one after the other, and spiral downwards. Jude is last, making sure the boulder slots securely back into place and that nothing follows them.
A few Coltis are waiting at their arrival. They help them to their feet then return to putting the shield back in place, proffering chants and sending rays of magic soaring upwards. Jude gulps; that his mother is not here waiting clearly does not bode well.
The three make their way across the narrow street and towards the Bar & Grill.
‘Brace yourself,’ Jude warns, his hand hovering over the door handle, ‘This won’t be pretty.’
Pushing the door open, they are greeted with the usual wave of folk music and high spirits, drifting on a beer soaked current. Lexovia’s stomach grumbles as the warm scent of battered fish and sausage wriggles up her nose, so potent she can taste them.
Mrs Edwards stands behind the bar, laughing with a few of her regulars. Spying their arrival, she beams, ‘Lexovia!’ and rushes from behind the counter, crushing Lexovia against her chest.
‘Hi, Mrs Edwards,’ Lexovia grins, feeling slightly happy to be seeing everyone again, though she would have preferred it to have been under better circumstances.
‘Good to have you back,’ and Mrs Edwards squeezes her shoulders as she leans away, ‘though I suspect it is not what you intended.’ Her expression echoes Lexovia’s concern. ‘Come and get a drink at the bar.’
Jude watches, slowly following after Lexovia and Nathaniel as they take a seat at the counter. His mother has not so much as looked at him yet.
‘What do you think you’re doing?’ for the first time she addresses him and Nathaniel, her tone as cold as ice.
‘Sitting down?’ Nathaniel replies lamely, watching as she pours drinks into only two tumblers.
‘No,’ and Mrs Edwards calmly places the bottle she is carrying down on the bar, ‘you’re not. The two of you are going to be wor
king in the back, washing dishes, taking out the trash and any other grunt work the chef sees fit.’
‘Oh, come on, mum,’ Jude groans.
‘If you want a place to stay tonight,’ Mrs Edwards leans in very close, her eyes unblinking, ‘you. Will. Get. In. That. Kitchen. Now,’ and Jude leaps off the stool he was half perched on and promptly makes his way behind the bar, then through the door to the kitchen.
‘Why are you still here?’ she barks at Nathaniel.
He chuckles, ‘You can’t be serious. Jude, sure. Me? I’m a grown man.’
‘Well, grown man,’ and Mrs Edwards leans forward once more, resting her elbows on the counter, ‘if you want to be in a job when you wake up tomorrow, you’d better get in there. Now.’
‘Yes, boss.’ Nathaniel climbs off his stool and rushes into the back.
‘Well done.’ Lexovia raises her glass to Mrs Edwards.
‘Cheers.’ She winks, clinking her own glass against Lexovia’s.
SIX DEGREES OF SEPARATION
The absence of light feels like the absence of air. I gasp, panting as we spiral in what seems like a downward direction. We sway this way and that, a blinding pain throttling my shoulder.
‘Where are you taking me?’ I puff, straining to see, to make sense of something, but all I am aware of is the callous grip of the Exlathar as we continue to spiral through air drenched with the overwhelming stench of raw eggs, foul and thick. I gip, the passing cold air only slightly cooling my prickling sweat.
Don’t panic! Gritting my teeth, I ignore the piercing ache shooting through my arm and into my twitching fingers. I force myself to focus. Wide eyed but blind, I search as we delve deeper into the creature’s lair—there has to be a way out.
Then my stomach dips and rolls and I feel myself being flung. The scream barely leaves my lips before I smack into the ground, the stink of sulphur and herbs choking me. I gulp, unblinking as I notice a circle of bright green eyes glaring down at me. Their strange sounds say it all as they wordlessly praise my capturer with an odd hiss and grunt of triumph. My ankle stings as another snatches me up, dangling me by my leg as it yanks at my hair and leers into my eyes. I shut them like a barricade, knowing that being so close to the creature’s misshapen face will only spark images that nightmares are made of for years to come, assuming I still have years to live. I may be maggot food soon enough.
I hear a hiss of laughter, feel the boiled wind of its sour breath and I turn away. Why are they toying with me? They could have killed me a hundred times already.
‘Let me go!’ I cry, and as if to oblige, the brute drops me. Before I can do anything, I’m hauled off, tugged through mud and gravel by my burning ankle.
‘Get off me!’ I squirm, lashing out with my free foot, using my good arm to protect my head as we bump and dip across sharp rocks and hollows in the ground.
Breathless and blind, I kick and kick; my boot smashes into the monster’s side until I hear a strange sizzle and get a whiff of scorched leather; my boot is gone.
‘No!’ I bellow, scrambling and clawing at the world, wedging my heel in the earth but the Exlathar growls and tugs, dragging me as easily as a leaf through water. Using my mouth as a shovel, I twist, collecting grime and stone; the biggest ones I can carry. A heady tang of muck and earth clings to my tongue as I use it to launch my gathered missiles. Most barely even touch the creature and those that do, don’t slow it down.
There has to be a way out of this. I am grazed and caked in mud when we finally slow down, reaching what I guess will be my prison; a hole beneath a tarnished grate in the ground.
‘Where are we?’ but my question is ignored. ‘What are you going to do with me?’ but again, no reply.
Effortlessly, the beast draws back the grate and hurls me into the pit. I land with a thump and a resounding scream, as I hear my shoulder brutally click back into place. Relieved and nauseous, I scramble onto my hands and knees and heave a dry gasp, releasing nothing but air and the occasional bubble of spit, as a rasping screech tells me that the creature is sliding the grate back in place. I swallow a sob, cradle my aching arm and listen to the sounds of my harried breath.
I don’t know how long passes before I start to feel a little normal again—if any of this can be called normal. I clamber to my feet, squinting through the gaps in the circular grate above me, making out the faint silver glimmer of the moon. But that doesn’t tell me what is out there or give me any idea of where I am.
‘Hello?’ I holler. ‘What do you want from me? Why am I here?’
A stinging silence is my only reply.
‘Why am I here?’ panicked, I scream. ‘Why am I here?’ I kick the wall, soil scattering around my feet. My eyes burn with what feels like electric tears, ‘Why am I here?’
The taste of blood slithers down my throat: a metallic taste. I have screamed so loud and for so long it burns and my voice is hoarse. I swallow, wincing as flesh peels away and slides down with it; that would explain the bleeding.
Rummaging in my pocket, I pull out a balled-up tissue and croak, ‘Iginassa’, setting it ablaze. It won’t burn for long, so I quickly look around; it’s still hard to see. I reach out my hand and feel forward, straight into a wall, doing the same in the other direction. Holding the last of the flaming tissue above my head, I see the shine of moisture on a stone wall before me and stroke my hand across the wet.
Then I’m plunged into a darkness that seems even more intense as the tissue snuffs out.
‘Let me out,’ I plead, but can barely hear myself. ‘Please.’ My throat feels sticky and I swallow again, screwing up my face at the swelling ache.
Even my sigh hurts, and I gingerly slide down the wall, trying to stay bathed in the little moonlight that reaches in through the grate. I keep my arm fastened to my side, afraid of the torture I know will come if I try to move it, and close my eyes. A wave of exhaustion hits me and I long to fall asleep. In dreams I can leave this place and enter a new reality.
Come on sleep. I will, save me.
When it seems I am too exhausted to sleep, I remember something better: gooshack. Using my remaining strength, I summon my inner power, my few steps prison transforming into the C. P. One.
I am in its luscious dining hall at a table covered in white silk, a glass of sparkling wine in front of me, its delicate bubbles popping and fizzing as I twirl the stem of the glass in my fingers. I take a sip: it’s crisp, cool and slides down nicely. I’m amazed how wonderful it tastes and try not to imagine what I must truly look like, sitting in filth, covered in muck and drinking from an imaginary flute.
Screwing up my eyes, I enter further into my fantasy. I can no longer make out the dim edges of black that truly surround me and instead the dining hall brightens. I can make out the sound of a band playing jazz music and hear the thunderous applause and laughter of those swinging away to it on the dancefloor. I hear the excited chatter of a gaggle of women who are ogling a table of handsome gentlemen and I detect a faint whiff of cigar smoke. I cannot see more that surrounds me, confined by the size of my cell, but what I can plainly see are the guests sitting at my table. I smile at them, my heart warming, my bad arm supported in my lap. Aside from the throbbing ache in my shoulder, I almost convince myself that all this is real, that the real events of this night have never happened.
I raise my glass to those in front of me. ‘Cheers,’ I beam; ‘to friendship.’
I feel wonderfully delirious as Lexovia, Nathaniel, Yvane, Jude, Howard, and of course Milo, all raise their own glasses and tap them against mine.
‘Cheers,’ they boom, and I’m stunned by how they sound exactly as they should. Gooshack has captured them as though they were truly here, down to every dimple and laugh line.
‘You look beautiful,’ Milo murmurs in my ear, trailing his lips across my lobe.
I shudder. ‘You scrub up nicely yourself,’ and I turn to face him, rubbing my nose across his as he rubs his across mine. We are disgustingly sappy in my imagination a
nd I don’t mind it one bit.
‘You guys make me want to spew my guts out,’ Lexovia chimes in, puffing out her cheeks, ‘and then eat it.’
Everyone groans and Nathaniel playfully socks her on the arm.
‘Well, we’re all thinking it,’ she cries innocently.
‘Want to dance?’ Milo asks.
‘Okay,’ I nod, standing up, and in an instant the table fades and we are on the chestnut dance floor, the inordinately large chandelier hanging over us. I now see some of the other guests, tapping their feet, clapping their hands and twirling their partners. The band is a collection of four well-dressed men strumming guitars, hitting snares and blowing the saxophone, whilst a stunning, robust woman croons at the microphone. Her voice is sultry, unique and powerful at all the right moments.
I’m starting to understand why gooshack was banned. Though I know I’m not truly here, it’s so easy, so effortless to become completely emerged. I’m surrounded in this known fantasy and feel it won’t be long before I blur the lines with reality. I shrug as I sway in Milo’s arms; better than being in any pit.
A harsh breathing and loud scraping sound now rival the music. I squeeze my eyes tighter shut, trying to block out the intrusion, but slowly the edges of my daydream fade and the darkness returns.
‘No,’ I whimper as the scene disintegrates entirely and heavy footsteps and a dragging sound take over. I open my eyes; I’m back in my prison. The moon has moved, making it even harder to pretend I’m not trapped underground. I look up, trying to identify the cause of the noise. Then I see them: two narrow green eyes glaring down at me. I now realise the dragging sound was the colossal wings of the Exlathar trailing behind as it stalked over my cell.
‘What do you want?’ I yell, surprised to see how strongly my voice has returned. How long was I immersed in my gooshack-induced world?
The Exlathar hisses and I jump back from the grate as it unleashes an almighty screech, sending actual rays of pain racing up my spine and into my head, crippling me with a stabbing headache. I collapse, shielding my ears and clutching my head, pressing myself into the ground in a mad attempt to get further from the blare, not sure if the throbbing in my shoulder or the pain in my mind is worse.