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

by S McPherson

  More frantic shrieks and snarls explode and then the flurried thunder of stampeding feet and the arresting scrape of what seems like a thousand angry wings pass by. The wind is next: a harsh and furious gust that slams into me like a block of ice as they swarm past, leaving me breathless, leaving me cold. It takes all I have inside me not to scream.

  I sit, motionless, listening to the distant commotion as the Exlathars ransack their hideout in search of me. Their fading cries suggest they are getting further away and I pounce on the opportunity, clambering out of the crevice as quietly as possible before scurrying off across the cave in the opposite direction.

  My nostrils shrink and my stomach churns at the bitter stench that claws its way down my throat, choking me. I pull my shirt over my nose and mouth, taking shallow, sparing breaths. Then I see the cause: the wasted Exlathar child, stiff on the ground, skin still sizzling, black and charred holes in its flesh, its eyes bulging from its misshapen head like dulled emeralds. I linger in the entrance longer than I should, fixated by the creature, as though it may suddenly rise. Now I almost long for the little nook I climbed out of.

  Hesitantly, I edge for the archway the mothers came through, every bit of me tense, like a balloon poised over a needle. I keep close to the wall, as if that will hide me if any of the beasts come back.

  At the entrance to the tunnel, I press my ear against the cold, slick stone, as though I could hear through it. There’s nothing but the sound of my racing heart, terrifyingly loud. I never wondered about the Exlathars hearing until now. Could the thing beating life into my chest, be the thing they track to kill me?

  Pushing the thought from my mind, I deftly swipe a torch from its wall bracket and slip into the tunnel, the flame out in front of me, though all I see ahead is blackness.

  ‘Here!’ Yvane shrieks waving a folded piece of parchment above her head. She spreads it out on the desk, her eyes alight as she scans the map of Coldivor with its marked safe bases and Exlathar hideouts.

  ‘That’s the one.’ Milo grins, peering at the map over her shoulder.

  Reverting from Fuerté form, Howard straightens out the floorboards he has yanked up and gets to his feet to take a look.

  He whistles. ‘That’s a lot of hideouts.’

  ‘It is.’ Still as determined as before, Milo slides the map off the desk, rolling it up and tucking it into the waistband above the seat of his pants. As an afterthought, he pulls the pair of swords from their mounts on the shield on the wall and fiddles with their scabbards, finally draping their leather straps around his body. ‘It’s not too late to change your mind,’ he tells Howard and Yvane as he slips the swords into place.

  Yvane shakes her head. ‘We’re with you—this time.’

  Milo nods, placing his hands on theirs and taking them away in a clashing swirl of blue.

  They materialise in a field of grass almost up to their ears, instinctively crouching down, eyeing the dark sky for shifting shadows or blinks of red. Steadily, they feel their way through the wiry strands of grass, tripping over tussocks that themselves seem to have gathered together in hiding.

  A fearsome cry stops them in their tracks—the screams of a man: deep, booming and full of ice. Yvane covers her ears but its memory has already burned itself into the deepest fissures of her being.

  ‘Must be one of the Coltis base guards,’ Milo assumes and pulls the map from his waistband, unrolls it slightly and peers down at the ink. ‘Luminaro,’ he quietly intones and the paper glows a pale gold. He squints at it, reading the lines and symbols before the brief light fades.

  Satisfied, he returns the parchment to his pants and leads them on through the open terrain, silently wishing they were hidden beneath a thicket of trees, especially as the closer they get to the first base, the shorter the grass becomes. No longer at their ears, now only up to their waists.

  ‘We should put up a shield,’ Howard whispers from the rear.

  Yvane hesitates, shrinking beside the boys’ taller figures. ‘They’ll hear it.’

  ‘They’ll find us eventually,’ Milo decides. ‘Better to be protected when they do.’

  Yvane stiffens as Milo teleports around them, his mist the barrier they hold in place, their eyes aglow: a mix of blue, red and yellow. When at last the shield is in place, the air around them shimmers with its impenetrable barrier.

  But then, as though they had just shone out a beacon, the shrieks of an Exlathar ripple through the night air, scarlet eyes glinting out from its dark mass, its wings beating at the air as it charges towards them.

  ‘Stay calm,’ Milo says to himself as much as to his companions, and together they hurry on, hoping to blend in with the diminishing grass about them. But no such luck, for the Exlathar is already upon them, soon hacking at the shield, wailing wildly, its acid flesh singeing holes that quickly seal.

  ‘We should run,’ Milo murmurs.

  ‘What?’ Howard bellows over the raucous cry of the beast.

  ‘RUN!’

  And they do, pelting across the field, leaping over dips and hollows, the Exlathar harrying their shield, its mouth opening wide and snapping shut as though applauding their attempt to get away.

  For some reason, perhaps her growing fear, Yvane recklessly looks behind and stumbles. The others race on ahead, unaware, the shield stretching and finally snapping open, allowing Yvane to fall behind.

  The Exlathar springs on her like a viper, but the shock of the shield snapping shut brings Howard to stop and turn. He races back just as quickly, and morphing into his full Fuerté form, pounces, straining to drag Yvane back under the protection of the shield. He gets her in as far as her foot, the one in the Exlathar’s grip, the one it’s now yanking back. She screams, desperately grasping at Howard, frantically trying to get fully within the shield, but the Exlathar is too strong.

  Frantically, Milo struggles to free one of the swords from its scabbard strapped around him, panic making him all fingers-and-thumbs.

  ‘Come on,’ he grunts as he fumbles for the hilt. Finally, he rips the sword out and stands over Yvane, hacking at the creature’s limb, trying to avoid Howard who’s now wrestling with the beast.

  ‘Luminaro!’ Milo bellows, and the sword glows a blinding silver, lighting the night as though the moon were in his hands. This time, the blade hacks part way through the Exlathar’s limb before disintegrating.

  The beast hisses and snarls, a gurgling rumble in its throat. Teeth bared, it rises onto its claws, its wings outstretched at its sides, almost encasing them. It shrieks again, but this time a resounding squawk is returned from high above and all heads turn skywards. A brilliant trelion bird soars overhead, temptation enough for the Exlathar to tire of its attack and to charge after it.

  ‘Good luck, Trelion’ Milo pants as they leap back under the protection of the still shimmering shield.

  Yvane winces. ‘Why’s it always me?’ she grumbles, leaning against Howard as he helps her sit down to examine her ankle.

  ‘You’re just too delicious.’ He grins, squeezing her toes, and then carefully, rolls up the leg of her trousers, gently tugging as he peels the fabric away from a seeping wound.

  ‘Looks like your pants saved you from the worst of it,’ Milo observes. ‘Think you can walk?’

  Yvane nods, holding out her arms for Howard to haul her to her feet, ‘I don’t know if I can but I will.’

  There’s a stand of trees in the distance and Milo leads them towards it, where he reckons they will be less conspicuous. ‘That’s the spirit.’

  Yvane limps beside them, Howard bearing the brunt of her weight on one thick arm.

  ‘So, what’s the plan?’ he asks.

  ‘I haven’t got one,’ Milo admits, now sure he can hear the thunder of flapping wings getting louder—getting closer. He squints that way and realises the sky appears to be moving, fragments of night seeming to rise into the air from the dark landscape around them. Flashes of red amidst the shudder of wings confirms it to be a swarm of Exlatha
rs.

  Instinctively, they duck down into the grass, dumbfounded by the sheer number of beasts now streaming out from behind a solitary bush some way off, filling the night sky as more and more of them well out and race aloft.

  ‘Find her!’ they hear being cried, one to another as the beasts emerge, and Milo turns to the others a wide-eyed stare, gasping as his heart races. ‘She must have escaped!’ He gets to his feet. ‘She can’t have gone far.’

  Howard and Yvane follow his gaze back to the lone bush, but then Milo pulls out the map again, his hands clammy and trembling.

  ‘It’s not marked as a base,’ he tells them.

  ‘Perhaps the Court didn’t find this one,’ Howards says

  ‘How will we find her?’ Yvane asks, peering in every direction.

  There is a brief silence before Milo says, ‘If she’s left anything in there, I’ll be able to cast a locating spell’ and he crouches down, dipping his finger into the blood trickling from Yvane’s ankle.

  She yelps. ‘What are you doing?’

  Using his now blood-smeared finger, he circles where they are on the map, then gets to his feet and hands the parchment to Howard.

  ‘Tell the Court you found another base,’ he says, stepping from beneath the shield.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Howard gasps.

  ‘I’m going to get Dezaray,’ and not waiting to argue, Milo races off towards the bush.

  Sword firmly in his grip, the crest of Coldivor impressing itself into his palm, Milo tiptoes around the bush as the last of the Exlathars vanish into the black sky far above. The entrance must be close, he reasons, and soon comes across a spill of fallen leaves. Milo eyes them, how they look somehow contrived, and kicks them aside. Beneath is a gossamer web clinging to the rim of a hole. His stomach tightens, a knot of joy and fear; the entrance to the Exlathar base.

  Gripping the sword even tighter now, he kicks away the mesh and peers inside, hoping to see or hear something, but all is still; all is also extremely dark. Finding a small stone, he tosses it into the black. Almost instantly it clatters against something hard and Milo leaps in after it, bracing his legs for the landing. His feet strike gravel and he slips, steadying himself whilst he waits to recover his breath.

  Scrabbling around on the ground, he finds another stone and holds it close to his lips, murmuring ‘Luminaro’.

  The pebble becomes a fragment of light in his hand and he holds it out in front of him. More darkness ahead, dank and bloodied walls to either side, a roof of jagged rocks. Silently, he begins his journey, every inch of him poised for attack.

  THE TALE OF THE GIANT

  The setting sun casts shadows on the hillside as Jude and Lexovia make their way to the Bar & Grill. Famished, Lexovia swans in, plonking herself in the nearest booth and greedily eyeing the menu. Jude exhales loudly, clearly relieved to get off his feet after training all afternoon.

  Most of the customers in the bar have recovered from the arrival of both Lexovia and Michaela and are continuing on with their merry lives as usual. Sprightly folk music sirens out from the duke box and jovial chatter and laughter fill the cider-scented air.

  ‘What did I have last time; those brown things with that fluffy white stuff?’ Lexovia furrows her brow as if hoping to squeeze out the memory. It’s been so long since she left Islon, she has now forgotten Corporeal food.

  Jude considers. ‘Bangers and mash,’ he finally confirms.

  ‘Yes,’ Lexovia cries and beckons Nathaniel over. ‘Bangers and mash, please.’

  ‘One bangers and mash,’ Nathaniel says, scribbling on his notepad.

  ‘Make it two, would you?’ Jude shrugs. ‘Breakfast was a long time ago.’

  ‘Right,’ Nathaniel nods. ‘Back in a sec.,’ and he leaves them to place their order.

  Lexovia smiles. There is something intoxicating about this place, the sort that forces you to live in the moment. There is so much happening, it is impossible to focus on anything else, good, bad or otherwise. It’s the swelling atmosphere, she decides, that just draws people in.

  Though not the only pub in Feranvil, it is the only one that boasts such great service, scintillating dishes and such an eclectic crowd. Lexovia looks about her, Corporeal and Coltis all blurred into one. She tells them apart by their size—dwarf or greater—by their shocking un-Corporeal coloured eyes or the delinquent lock of a different shade of hair, though she realises now that many of the Corporeal have done this with something they call ‘Dye’.

  Finally, her eyes fall on an excessively tall man sitting on the floor in the corner of the bar. She vaguely remembers seeing him there the last time; perhaps it is the only spot he can fit. His eyes meet hers and he bows his head in acknowledgement, which she returns.

  ‘I’ve never seen such a tall Travisor,’ she muses, turning to Jude. ‘What’s his story?’

  Jude pouts, disinterestedly, idly skimming the drinks menu. ‘Fawn and a few others found him in the woods about a year ago, sobbing his heart out, rambling on about getting home. We think he’s a bit loopy; call him Big.’

  ‘Didn’t they take him to the portal?’ Lexovia glances back at the man, idly staring at his mammoth fingers as he bites off a nail end about half the size of her thumb.

  Jude drops the menu beside him. ‘Of course, but he just wailed and ran off. Eventually, they convinced him to come down here.’

  ‘Strange.’ Lexovia can’t help turning back to watch him. He truly is giant, as wide as the table they’re sitting at, and no doubt his head would touch the ceiling were he to stand. Her eyes drift that same way.

  ‘He crawls in and out,’ Jude then tells her, clearly guessing what she is thinking. ‘Mum always casts a spell to widen the doorframe for him.’

  ‘I’ve never seen such a tall Travisor before,’ Lexovia repeats, though this time there is something simmering beneath her words. She turns to Jude. ‘What if he isn’t one?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘What if he isn’t a Coltis at all?’

  ‘How would he be here, then?’ and Jude’s eyes narrow to slits.

  ‘Has anybody asked?’

  ‘Fawn says Big is a man of few words,’ and now Jude grimaces.

  ‘Well,’ Lexovia says, sliding out of the booth, ‘that’s about to change.’ She steps purposefully across to where he’s sitting. ‘Hello,’ she ventures.

  He glances at her through half open eyes but says nothing.

  ‘Are you a Travisor?’ she asks, though she already knows the answer. He isn’t; he can’t be. His eyes are bulbous and extremely close together, his nose shaped like an old boot. His mouth is as wide as her forehead, home to a few stained teeth, and he still carries an unfamiliar scent: a mix of spicy sweat and some type of herb.

  ‘I not Travisor,’ he says with disinterest, his accent sounding foreign.

  Lexovia feels a twinge of hope but Big doesn’t elaborate. Instead, the giant sighs wearily and returns to ripping off strips of his fingernails with his teeth.

  ‘Where are you from?’ she asks.

  ‘I giant,’ he grumbles.

  ‘I see that.’ Lexovia forces a smile. ‘But how did you get here?’

  Big shrugs, ‘I in woods.’

  ‘And before? Before the woods?’

  ‘I home,’ and he smiles, sadness dampening its intended affect.

  ‘And where is home?’

  The giant cricks his neck and nods along to the music, apparently done speaking. Lexovia clings to her patience; Jude did warn her, after all, that he was a man of few words.

  ‘I bet it’s beautiful,’ she presses.

  ‘Crystosalys,’ the giant unexpectedly says and heaves a shrug, his gaze now wistful, ‘beautiful yes. Bukran trees and falling water; gizzlembots and rovenets.’

  Lexovia is momentarily stunned, convinced this must be the most he has ever said in one go.

  ‘Crystosalys,’ she smiles encouragingly at him. ‘Why did you leave?’

  ‘I no leave,’ he barks. ‘I tak
en.’

  ‘Someone brought you here?’

  ‘Something,’ he hisses, and takes a swig of his beer, covering the entire mug with his hand. He belches, a sour tang spilling into the air, then returns to enjoying the music.

  Lexovia wrinkles her nose, now starting to understand why the giant was an assumed rare Travisor and left to his own devices.

  ‘What thing?’ she urges through clenched teeth. ‘What happened?’

  Big frowns at her, as though wondering why she’s taking such an interest in him. Lexovia senses his reluctance.

  ‘Please,’ she begs, and something in her tone must appease him.

  ‘I walk. Water on ground. Foot step in but touch nothing.’ His eyes shadow over. ‘I step out, put hand in, touch nothing. Put head in, see many little trees like toys below. Then water shine and something pull me. I land; such pain, then nothing.’

  ‘The portal was gone?’

  ‘I know no portal, just water gone. No way back.’ This time the giant yawns, closing his eyes, seemingly signalling the end of their conversation.

  Stunned, Lexovia returns to the table where Jude and Nathaniel are waiting. Food has been set on the table but she is too lost in thought to be relieved. She slips into her seat.

  ‘Were you just talking to Big?’ Nathaniel is clearly amused. ‘It’s like pulling teeth, isn’t it?’

  ‘I did warn her,’ Jude says, ‘was he full of more words than three today?’

  ‘He’s not from Coldivor.’ Lexovia stares blankly at the steaming plate of mash potatoes and sausage. ‘He’s from a place called Crystosalys.’

  ‘No!’ Jude gasps, sitting straighter in his seat.

  ‘Yes.’ Lexovia’s eyes meet his.

  ‘How did he get here? Does he have a gethadrox? I bet Tranzuta gave it to him,’ and Jude hops up and down excitedly but Lexovia shakes her head.

  ‘He doesn’t know much.’ She frowns. ‘It sounds like he somehow entered through a puddle.’

  ‘A puddle?’ Jude surreptitiously glances in Big’s direction, drawing Lexovia to look that way. She wonders if the giant can hear them, his mammoth cork-like ears able to draw in more sound, but he hasn’t stirred from his sleeping position.