by S McPherson
Shit.
TRAPPED
Lexovia wraps her aching arms around her trembling body as she lays curled up in the field. Everything feels like it is spinning uncontrollably around her and she gulps, trying to catch her breath. She is sure she has been here for too long and that the boys must be worried sick. Breathing heavily, eyes clenched shut, Lexovia finally summons her power. It seems to stutter up through her body, not the usual familiar rush, but she manages to dredge up enough strength to return to the woods. She arrives in a distorted blur of yellowish-brown, stumbling to one side and against a tree.
‘Lexovia?’ Nathaniel gasps, racing towards her, Jude hot on his heels. They turn her to face them. She knows she is shaking, her eyes rolled back into her head.
‘Lexovia, what happened?’ Jude cries, pulling her against him. She pushes away, heaving into the undergrowth but with nothing coming out.
Nathaniel grabs her before she can fall face down in the earth, his wide eyes searching her. He places a trembling hand on her brow.
‘She’s burning up.’
Jude instantly puts his own quivering hand out and feels her clammy forehead, wincing at the heat.
‘I thought Elentri didn’t get sick,’ and Nathaniel frowns.
Jude shakes his head. ‘They don’t.’
Milo hears the screams, as loud as if they were right behind him.
‘Dezaray!’ he bellows, and in a mad wave of blue, he zips from one dark tunnel to the next.
Ear-splitting shrieks of Exlathars dull the sound of his arrival as he materialises in a crowded cave, squinting against the glare of its many burning torches. There seems to be nothing here but the foul creatures and a moderately large pool of black boiling water, releasing a bold steam.
Stunned by the horrific sound sending jolts of agony up his spine, Milo falls to his knees.
‘Equitemo!’ he grunts, and soon all is silent, the pain subsiding. Now, he hears nothing, not the pop of the simmering pool, not even the howls of the demons. In his newly found solitude, Milo gets to his feet, pulls his remaining sword from its scabbard and charges at the nearest creature, swiping the blade through its tough skin. The beast cries out, crumpling as the hilt clanks to the floor; the blade already disintegrating.
Then he sees Dezaray, his shock and elation only swept aside when he reads her yelling lips: ‘Behind you!’ He turns and narrowly avoids the claws of an Exlathar, falling to the ground but instinctively rolling out of the way as the beast swipes again. As another one lunges, Milo promptly disappears, teleporting to a ledge, out of sight above them.
Quickly catching his breath, Milo utters the words ‘Noco equitemo’, and instantly sound is restored—Dezaray screaming his name from within the snarls and bitter laughter of the seemingly victorious Exlathars. He notes with some relief that the searing cries of the beasts have ceased but he likes their laughter even less.
Livid, Milo leaps down onto the back of an Exlathar, his eyes blazing blue as he summons all his power into his palms and then out and through the neck of the beast. Headless, its body crashes to the ground, Milo leaping clear.
‘Exlarvus!’ he bellows like he has never before, and half a dozen Exlathars are thrown against the cave walls, their skulls cracked as they fall in lifeless heaps. ‘Let her go!’ he thunders, locking eyes with the most powerful looking one of those still on their feet. Although Milo’s heart hammers wildly, his hand remains steady as he holds up his blinding palm.
Leisurely, the creature turns to another. ‘Make it slow,’ it hisses, ‘make her watch.’
The one now restraining Dezaray cruelly grips her hair, keeping her gaze fixed on Milo. ‘No!’ she begs. ‘No!’
One of the Exlathars shoots towards Milo, but he does the same, racing towards the onrushing demon as he yells ‘Iginassa!’ and a ball of fire erupts from his hands, slamming straight through the Exlathar, leaving a gaping hole in its startled carcass.
Dezaray kicks at her captor, but the Exlathar only snarls back.
Milo knows that all he has to do is touch her and they will be free, teleported away from this place, leaving the Exlathar currently holding her the only one left to fight. But another one gets in the way, releasing its thick yellow mist as it looms over him.
Milo is frozen, his mouth soon hanging open as his vision fades. He grasps his throat, straining to take in air, and falls to his knees, locked in terror’s vice.
‘EXLARVUS!’ he distantly hears Dezaray scream, and all about him the Exlathars rise and fall like a wave, lifted off the ground and thrown around the cave, many landing in the scorching pool, their cries ripping through the air as they thrash and boil.
At the edge of his vision, he can just make out Dezaray, flinging her weight forward before hurling herself back, her feet lifting off the ground as she slams against her distracted captor, ramming it against the wall. The beast shrieks, dropping her, and she races towards him, throwing herself over his body to block out the yellow haze. He gasps and sucks in air, coughing as though drowning.
‘Get us out of here,’ he hears her urge, her once gentle eyes now fierce, but he feels too weak, barely able to keep his eyes open, his head now heavy and dull.
Then he sees the shock on Dezaray’s face, sees her cheeks sink in between her teeth, her mouth gaping open as she stretches her tongue out as though in need of water. He feels the same things happening to him, the tingle of the mist burning through his skin, the leeching of all moisture from his mouth. They fumble their hands together, gripping one another with what little strength they have left. At least when their bodies are found, they will be found together. Milo hopes the Coltis will bury them that way.
Lexovia hears the boys calling her name as her consciousness fades, their voices seeming to come from miles away. She can no longer resist the insistent tug of her mind and allows herself to drift away on its tumultuous current as her eyes close, the blurred faces of the boys soon obliterated by total darkness.
When her eyes reopen, Lexovia finds herself in a musty cave, brightly lit by burning torches. At first there’s only the gurgling of what sounds like a hot spring, but then the shrieks of Exlathars jolt her to her senses. She gapes around, almost instantly realising the reason for this out of body experience, like the one she had the night she first saw Dezaray.
‘Milo!’ she pants. ‘Dezaray!’ Clambering to her feet, she rushes over, quickly shielding them under her own hastily formed force-field. She can’t believe the look of them: skin seemingly petrified, as white as death, their eye sockets sunken, eyes bulging. She struggles to tell if they are still amongst the living.
But then the quiet of the cave impinges, an ominous almost deafening quiet. The beasts have stopped shrieking, and even the bubbling of the pool has died down, but why are the few Exlathars still standing now glaring in her direction, their poisoned eyes leering right at her?
They don’t know I’m here, she tells herself, not in an out-of-body experience, but still her heart hammers against her ribcage. The nearest Exlathar reaches out its withered claw, and Lexovia clamps her lips together, wincing as its talons pass straight through her.
It peers at its hand, as though expecting to see something, and she inwardly sighs with relief. She is just an apparition. But then a shock grips her like a current of electricity, shooting through her body, and she looks down. An Exlathar’s claw is digging into her heart, coated with the yellow mist, the acid burn of its septic flesh scorching her from the inside. Lexovia starts to convulse, Milo and Dezaray collapsing to the ground as her shield falters. She looks up to see the Exlathar smiling, somehow now able to see her.
The last Elentrice and her counterpart at their disposal; what a stroke of luck for them!
Then a chorus of clashes shatters the silence: Teltreporthis and members of the Court appearing with hexes and potions already airborne, plunging into the Exlathars. There’s Collin and some others swooping overhead on terraduchins, dropping vials of glowing red liquid that leave the
Exlathars shrieking and crumpling to the ground. And there’s Amethyst, charging the nearest beast with one of their new xyens thrust out before her.
‘Ku-ta!’ and she jabs at the creature, who snarls and lunges back. Spinning the weapon in front of her, Amethyst blocks the beast, the xyen’s web of pointed leaves slicing across its middle.
She is not the only one. Many members of the court are likewise armed with this new and deadly device constructed of polished bone and black marble, their days and nights of practice clearly paying off as they easily spin, lunge and strike. The weapons glow brightly with each and every contact, splintered layers clinging to the Exlathars before dissolving in their toxic flesh.
As each weapon’s life expires, though, the members pull another from the quiver-like satchel draped over their backs, and yet more ‘Ku-ta’s!’ sound out as the carnage continues.
In amongst them is Howard, for a moment clearly unsure where to attack next, but then something seems to catch his eye and he glances across at Lexovia and the two limp figures beneath her. Doubling into Fuerté form, he lunges at the Exlathar with its claw still wedged into Lexovia’s chest, knocking it to the ground.
The cave, the sound of fighting and the feel of Dezaray and Milo beneath her all promptly vanish, and Lexovia finds herself once again drawn into complete and utter blackness.
Nathaniel and Jude struggle with Lexovia’s weight as they haul her to her feet, flinging her arms over their shoulders. She is comatose, her skin still roasting hot, the occasional tremor passing through her before she once again stills. They pant as they lug her along, praying they don’t come across any Wood Security, or anyone else for that matter.
Jude grunts, puffing sweat away from his dripping lip, the heat from Lexovia’s skin warming him. He tries not to panic and to stay focused, but he cannot help asking himself: What’s happened to my friend?
ARE YOU HAPPY NOW?
Where am I? I feel my eyes start to flicker before an excruciating flame rips through me, smothering me. I feel like I’ve been plunged into a vat of scorching water, my skin melting, shrivelling from my bones. I scream, thrashing, the putrid liquid gurgling in my throat as it rises up and over me. Muffled voices insist I calm down as I stretch out, reaching above the liquid fire, but something wedges me in. Flashes of green dart across my closing eyes and then I see nothing. My mind glazes over and all the world disappears.
I cannot be sure how often I repeat this but eventually I remain conscious longer and the agony, though fierce, is almost bearable, my cries not as violent. Where am I? I detect the sheer gleam of a transparent case over me, enclosing me in what feels like a glass coffin, before once again I fade from consciousness.
When I return, however long later, I am lucid. My eyes spring open and instantly I reach up, my hands slamming into the box that confines me. I feel around, my eyes darting from side to side, my breathing shallow. I’m about to scream and pound on the barrier when his face comes into view: Milo’s. I stare at those piercing blue eyes searching me with worry as my heart bangs in my chest, my lips dry and cracking. I gulp, willing him to free me. He turns his head and calls. I watch as a figure races over: a slim man, wearing opaque eye-shaped glasses and an olive lab coat. He dabs at my cage, creating odd ripples where his fingers touch, and then, at last, a cool breeze touches my face. I’m free.
I quickly sit up, instantly regretting it as my mind whirls; everything appears to be spinning, and though I know my stomach is truly empty, I have the urge to hurl its emptiness out.
Steadily, strong hands steer me back down.
‘No sudden movements,’ the curt voice instructs. With no strength to argue, I lie still, closing my eyes but groping beside me. I know Milo is there.
It isn’t long until I feel his touch. His hand is trembling as he slots it into mine but he steadies it by enclosing both our hands in his other. They’re warm but clammy and feel slighter than usual. I inhale and slowly open my eyes, seeing him properly for the first time. His hair is dishevelled and there are dark shadows under his eyes, as though he hasn’t slept in weeks. It’s obvious he’s lost a lot of weight and the warm glow he always naturally exudes has faded. I look down at myself, barely recognising the feeble frame below my neck. I’m glad to see that, unlike the others in incubators around me, I’ve been swathed in pale green bandages to maintain my modesty, no doubt thanks to Milo.
‘Hi.’ My voice sticks in my throat. I attempt to swallow but my tongue simply clings to the roof of my mouth.
‘Here,’ and lab-coat man unceremoniously stuffs a rather large and powdery lozenge in my mouth, pressing my mouth shut around it. I gawk at him as the tablet crumbles and a vinegary taste drizzles down the back of my throat. I feel like I might choke, a concern the man does not seem to share.
Milo grimaces but does nothing, apparently deciding that whatever I’m suffering is necessary. I wonder if he experienced the same. At last the lozenge is fully dissolved and I swallow, my tongue now loose, as wet as if I’d guzzled a gallon of water. I feel slightly revived and a little more alert. It’s then that I notice the thick tubes leading from my case to a central reserve of extroosal. I pinch it between my fingers, eyeing the green-stained tubing.
‘They weren’t too sure how you’d hold up in there,’ Milo says, indicating the vast container with a flick of his eyes, ‘so they decided to pump it into here. Every day, three times a day.’ He sighs.
‘And how many days has it been?’ I ask, not taking my eyes off the twisted pipes, imagining the fiery liquid surging through them and immersing me.
‘Eleven days, nine hours and seventeen groupens,’ he half smiles. I imagine that his precision is something he is able to do using his inbuilt clock but I like to think he has been counting every second. Eleven days…Wow.
I shake my head. ‘And you?’
‘I got out a few days ago.’ He runs his fingers through his now lengthy tendrils. ‘Haven’t left your side since.’
I weakly squeeze his hand in response. ‘Except to go to the loo, I hope.’
He smirks, not letting it reach his eyes. ‘Except for that.’
I smile back, forcing my eyes to stay open, suddenly exhausted.
‘Get some rest,’ he instructs and I feel him lean over me. The last thing I register is the soft, lingering press of his lips on mine.
I wake later that night, my incubator case firmly back in place. What a lonely place to be, I think, but then flinch when I notice a shadow beside my tank. Squinting through the laboratory’s flickering dim light, I make out the strong lines of a jaw, the flick of curls as they tumble around a face and glorious burning blue eyes: Milo. He grins when he sees I’m awake.
I grin back and consider saying something, but there is nothing to say. We stare at each other, unmoving, unblinking. Slowly, his hand stretches out to me, resting on the shield. It shudders, rippling around his hand. I reach up and press my palm against his. I can’t feel him, but if I close my eyes, I can pretend I do. I imagine the weight of his hand in mine, the smoothness of his palm and the rough callouses beneath his fingers. I open my eyes again, realising he is now sitting, his hand still over mine.
I smile again, and this time when my eyes close I don’t reopen them, drifting off to sleep in a matter of seconds.
This uneventful routine is repeated for a while. Countless hours in isolation and occasional extroosal baths that leave me gasping and begging to be let out. Milo tells me that, because I’m Corporeal, I’m taking longer to heal from the Exlathars venom. The time I spent trapped in their caves, without any real food and only sporadic hurls of water, hasn’t helped me, either. My weight loss has left me with sagging, pale skin scraped over a frail skeleton and there is a constant ache in my joints. Supposedly, the extroosal will help with that too.
‘You’ll be as right as rain soon enough,’ lab-coat man confirms with a brisk nod. He jots something down on his handful of parchments and then once again is gone.
Having nothing else
to do, I fall back asleep.
The next morning, I am woken by the now familiar zipping sound of my incubator opening. Lab-coat man and two women in avocado silk, their hair pulled back in tight buns, stand over me. I blink, my eyes adjusting to the bright light that lingers throughout the day.
‘You are being summoned,’ lab-coat man states. ‘Vivayka and Garnet, here, will dress you,’ and he curtly nods at the two women.
‘Okay,’ I say uncertainly, gently pushing myself up and sliding to the edge of the case. My legs tremble as I swing them over the side and I pause, catching my breath and preparing to step down. The extroosal has definitely helped—I am almost back to my old size but still feel as fragile as a butterfly’s wing, but am eager to be out of here and eating solid food again.
The ladies help me stand and drape a robe around my shoulders before cautiously guiding me down the wide steps leading from my incubation unit. We slowly pass the hefty tank of serum and finally reach the bottom of the stairs, now standing on the smoothed stone tiles of the building.
I pause, noticing Milo leaning against the wall, hands in his pockets. Worry lines seem etched into his frown and he looks to be bothered by something more than just me. He watches but doesn’t come over. I try to smile but am too out of sorts to do anything. Instead, I let the ladies steer me from the room, looking back at him but expecting nothing.
Soon I’m dressed in a stunning cream summer dress, one that ruffles at the hem and rises higher up one leg. They have also placed me in comfortable brown boots that adjust themselves to the contours of my feet. I stare at my reflection in the pool of water suspended on one wall, seeming enchanted as the reflection appears terrifically clear. They have pulled my hair back into one of their severe buns, but other than that I actually like what I see—for possibly the first time in my life.