At Water's Edge_An Epic Fantasy

by S McPherson

  ‘Dezaray,’ her eyes widen as she forces an awkward smile, ‘keep this between us?’

  ‘You’re pinching.’

  ‘I know.’ She grimaces. ‘I wouldn’t if I didn’t have to but I truly am desperate.’

  ‘You’re stealing cash from my family business, Tracey.’

  ‘What family?’ she asks incredulously. ‘Everyone knows that since your parents died you don’t get a penny. If anything, you should be back here with me.’

  I scan her hand. Not more than a few hundred.

  ‘Take what you have. Leave now and I won’t mention this to anyone.’

  ‘You’re a lifesaver.’ She smiles graciously and rushes out of the room.

  I am lost in thought when the owl’s cry alarms me. I look up, the moon seeming at eye level; full, low and slightly red. Taken by its beauty, I stop and admire its reflection dancing on the brook. I smile wistfully. What I wouldn’t give to lie down in this water and float away.

  Footsteps snap a twig nearby and remind me I should keep moving. Islon isn’t really a dangerous part of London but you never can be too careful. I continue on through the wood; being sure to remain on the overgrown footpath dimly illuminated by lampposts. As I walk, I allow the woods to claim my mind. I appreciate the low hanging branches of the tall robust trees, the flutter of the wind rippling the surface of the stream and the scuttles and flurry of the wildlife.

  Something shiny in the shadows strikes my eyes. Peering through the lampposts’ haze, I recognise the man I’ve dubbed Tinfoil leaning against a tree just off the path. I call him Tinfoil because that’s what he always wears: tinfoil hat, coat, and fingerless gloves. I often see him on the weekends in town, yelling out predictions and profanities at passers-by. Most people give him a wide birth – especially since he once told a man he was heading for a fall, and the next thing I knew, that same man was in a wheelchair – however, I’ve never really bothered. Tinfoil never offends me in any way and usually fails to notice my existence, keeping his head down and his crinkling hands inside his torn pockets.

  I move closer, preparing to give my usual nod on the off chance he looks my way, but stop when his head twists in my direction. His eyes widen with that crazed look I’ve seen him give others, and he jumps into my path.

  ‘I see the light,’ he gasps, ‘shining bright. Walk through it.’

  I furrow my brow.

  ‘I see the light!’ he cries, ‘shining bright. Walk through it.’

  My heart pounds as I stumble to get around him but he keeps leaping in my way.

  ‘I see the light. Shining bright. Walk through it.’

  Oh dear. A crazy person is telling me to walk into the light, this can’t be good. I pretend to step one way, and when he follows, quickly step another, finally getting around him. His gloved hand grips my wrist, the folded foil poking at my skin.

  ‘Get off!’ I exclaim.

  ‘Tonight free.’ Tinfoil leans close, so close I can see a spit bubble bobbing from one lip to the other as they meet. ‘Tomorrow a cage.’

  I gulp, twisting my wrist, but he’s surprisingly strong for such a withered character.

  ‘Tonight free. Tomorrow a cage.’ His eyes leave mine and lower to the ground. ‘Tonight free. Tomorrow a cage.’

  I watch, unmoving as he repeats this a few more times, his grip lessening. Finally, he sets me free, still repeating the words to himself. Not bothering to hang around, I run through the woods, hopping over logs and boulders that others who do not visit here as often as I do would be unaware of.

  I’m tired, exhausted in fact. Having been unable to sleep after last night’s run-in with Tinfoil, I somehow manage to drag myself to college and now to work. Though I tell myself not to dwell on the ramblings of a mad man, I still find myself wondering what this cage might be, and if it is literal or metaphorical.

  I scowl as I line up with my co-workers. I hate when Marceaux gives me two dinner shifts in a row yet here I am, again, preparing for another evening with another unruly crowd. Or at least I am until Marceaux calls an impromptu meeting.

  ‘This is serious,’ he says as he pounds his wrinkled fist on the bar. ‘Someone...one of you,’ he points an accusing finger at the line of staff in front of him, ‘has stolen from Steak Home and I want to know who.’

  Tracey and I exchange glances, neither saying a word.

  ‘It has been happening for some time now and I have looked the other way, hoping the culprit would one day confess, slip up or better: just stop.’ Marceaux eyes us disapprovingly. ‘But last night more than usual was taken, a few thousand to be precise, and I cannot allow this to continue. Now fess up.’

  I am inwardly stunned. Tracey had definitely not had a few thousand in her hand. I peek in her direction and catch her eye; she looks away guiltily. Obviously, she had been hiding a lot more money on her.

  ‘How could it be any of us?’ Steven cries. ‘No one can get into that office without a key.’

  All eyes are now on me.

  ‘Apparently, they can,’ and I shrug. Tracey Bakeswell did.

  ‘You were last night’s closer, Dezaray.’ Marceaux studies my reaction.

  ‘Yes, but no one knows the code to the safe besides Drake. Maybe he staggered in drunk a few nights and doesn’t remember.’ Something about the way Marceaux watches me makes me sure he knows I am lying. I have never been a good liar after all.

  ‘I too considered Drake, but he has an alibi for every incident. Do you?’

  I shake my head. ‘Not unless someone saw me taking a walk in the woods. I’m sure the owls by Beatrice Brook could vouch for me.’

  ‘You realise, if you do not confess, they can simply run fingerprint tests,’ Marceaux snaps at us. A couple of cops stroll in from the backroom, looking like they are in the mood. Then something happens, something I never thought would.

  ‘It was Dezaray,’ Tracey cries. ‘I saw her. Last night and last Wednesday.’

  ‘What?’ I screech.

  ‘Do you deny it?’ asks Marceaux, smiling triumphantly.

  ‘Why would I steal from my own business?’ I cry.

  ‘Your business?’ Tracey scoffs and a few chuckles follow. ‘Everyone knows that, since your parents died, you don’t get a penny. It’s no wonder you were back there with your grubby paws all over what you feel is rightfully yours.’

  Without thinking, I lunge across the table between us and smack her in the face. Perhaps it’s all the rage I’ve left to dwell inside me over the past few years. The anger I feel towards my parents for dying or at my aunt’s inability to care for me as she said she would but instead she left me with my brother, to use as a punching bag. I don’t know what it is, but flames of fury rip through me.

  ‘My nose is bleeding,’ Tracey squeals as I continue to maul her. Four strong hands pull at me.

  ‘Get off,’ I demand.

  ‘Come with me, Trouble.’ One of the officers sneers as he roughly yanks on my arm. I panic. I don’t like this. He’s hurting my shoulder and the other policeman is egging him on. What, with the sound of everyone laughing and the absolute betrayal of Tracey…well, I lose it. With all my strength, I whack the man in the mouth with a wooden salt shaker from the table. One of his teeth drops to the ground. He is angry now.

  ‘Theft? Assaulting a police officer?’ Tracey squeals. ‘You are done for.’

  I detangle myself from the web of arms and bolt out the door. The cops are hot on my heels as they bound after me. Everyone from Steak Home has rushed to the window to watch. I’m going fast but there’s no doubt the police are faster. A stitch cripples my side. I glance behind and the one I struck is practically on top of me. In no time, he tackles me to the ground and slaps a pair of handcuffs around my wrists.

  It’s bloody freezing in the cell they throw me into and they seem in no hurry to bring me that extra blanket I’d asked for. It seems Tinfoil was right. Last night I was free, tonight I am caged. What’s worse, they’ve tossed me into the same cell as some kooky old
lady who keeps eyeballing me from her corner.

  ‘Can I help you?’ I ask impatiently.

  ‘Come into the light,’ she croaks. That’s a laugh. There’s hardly any light in this place.

  ‘I’m quite comfortable here thanks.’

  ‘Come into the light,’ she croaks a little more loudly, causing her to cough. Not wanting her to suffer a heart attack on my account, I reluctantly stroll over to the bars of the cell to be nearer the flickering florescent lights in the corridor

  ‘Lexovia?’ she says. ‘You are the Elentrice, Lexovia.’

  ‘No.’ Poor old lady. ‘I’m Dezaray Storm.’

  She chuckles. ‘You were always such a kidder. You are going to be in a world of trouble once they find you missing from Coldivor. Best you get back to the portal.’

  I’m about to disagree with this senile old woman but the mention of the portal captures my attention.

  ‘I’m honestly not Lexovino, or whoever you think I am,’ I state, braving a few steps towards her, ‘but perhaps you can tell me more about her, Coldivor and this,’ I shrug, ‘this portal?’

  THE LAST ELENTRICE

  ‘Many decades ago, before even I was born, the discovery of another dimension was made by a man named Michél Tranzuta. This other dimension he found was here; the world you and I live in,’ the old lady explains. I listen intently, hoping her story might answer some of my many questions. What is the portal? Where does it lead? What is a Spee’ad? And maybe, just maybe, who the man of my dreams is; literally.

  ‘When out walking one night, testing a device he had developed, Tranzuta stumbled through the portal and fell face first on to the ground by Beatrice brook,’ she continues to explain.

  ‘I live by Beatrice brook.’ I cock my head to one side, thoughtfully; could that explain those hooded figures I saw so many years ago?

  ‘Well, my dear girl, you live extremely close to a historical landmark,’ she shrugs, ‘though I suppose now it is just a dusty old lake by a deserted path, long since forgotten.’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘Shortly after Tranzuta made his discovery, the two dimensions coexisted; the Coltis and the Corporeal, as they named us. A footpath was made, streetlamps set up and so it was. The Coltis would attempt to teach us their extraordinary abilities and some would succeed. We in turn would teach them about our ways, such as electricity, building and so on. It was a mystical time. The Elentri were my favourite empire within Coldivor. They were in fact everyone’s favourite.

  ‘The Elentri were kind, gentle and held more power than the other seven empires put together. They were stronger than the strongest, faster than the fastest, could jump higher than the highest...you get the gist. This of course was all prior to the reign of Vildacruz.’

  ‘Vildacruz?’ I cross my legs, prop up my elbows and cup my chin in my hands.

  ‘Terrorists,’ she hisses. ‘When the day of their ascension dawned, all sorts of creatures were somehow freed from Vedark, the realm of sinners and betrayers: Borum Wolves, vampires, warlocks and Exlathars – you don’t want to know. Only the Elentri held enough power to defeat them, so naturally, the Elentri were the ones they destroyed; men, women, and children.’

  ‘That’s horrible,’ I frown.

  ‘Oh yes.’ She nods, pulling her blanket around herself. ‘But it was paramount for the Vildacruz’s survival. You see, on their eighteenth birthday, an Elentrice is gifted the power of their forefathers at a famed three-day ceremony called The Elenfar, making each generation stronger than the one before.’

  I’m not quite sure I’m buying this story but am enthralled all the same. Some batty old lady’s explanation for the odd occurrences in my life is far better than the complete lack of one I currently have.

  ‘When the Vildacruz finally took over, Earth promptly discouraged all ties with Coldivor and forbade anyone to pass through the portal,’ she goes on. ‘No one was allowed to enter and none were allowed to leave. This is the reason I am here.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Five years ago, I was caught returning from Coldivor. I had no trial, no jury. I was simply tossed in this cell and the keys thrown away, I’m sure.’

  My eyes widen. To think all this was going on is shocking but surprisingly not unbelievable. ‘Why did you even come back?’ I ask.

  ‘If it were my choice, I would have stayed there forever, but sadly one can only pass through the portal for ninety minutes. To try to stay on the other side for longer would surely end in death.’ She appears to consider her words as she licks her cracking lips. ‘You see, dear, every human has a counterpart. Someone seeming just like them but not them, living in a parallel universe. Both counterparts cannot co-exist for more than two weeks together in one dimension.’

  Before I can interrupt, she holds up a bony finger to silence me.

  ‘Ironically, the portal takes two weeks to appear during which time you both grow weaker. Unless you are strong enough to pass through the portal on the fourteenth day, which most are not, you are best to spend no more than ninety minutes and then return to where you belong before the gateway is gone.’

  ‘There must be some way?’

  ‘Believe me, many have tried.’ She half chuckles, shaking her head ‘Some succeeded and some failed; killing themselves and their counterparts.’

  Brutal! This fantasy land with all the answers, real or otherwise, is sounding a lot less attractive.

  ‘And nothing can change this?’

  ‘No,’ she sighs ‘though there is legend of a set of matching necklaces: the Provolian Pair. If each counterpart wears one, they can supposedly live harmoniously in the same realm.’

  ‘Really?’ I ask, intrigued.

  ‘Nothing but hearsay and tittle-tattle.’ She flaps her hand dismissively. ‘Find the portal, have your ninety minutes then be on your way.’

  ‘How did anyone else ever find it? The portal.’

  ‘Everyone was given a device.’ The old woman smiles, clearly enjoying the opportunity to share her stories.

  ‘The device Tranzuta made and was testing the night he found the portal,’ I say, nodding.

  ‘Exactly. A device known as the gethamot which was also destroyed by Corporeal and forbidden, along with the book written by Tranzuta himself, detailing how one can develop and operate his invention.’

  My mood drops. Not that I have any intention of recreating this device, but the possibility of hope is refreshing. I can’t count the times I’ve dreamt of a far-off place where life might be better than it is now. I shake my head. Foolish. ‘So, no more exist.’

  ‘My dear, how do you think I crossed world’s five years ago?’ and she raises a sly eyebrow. ‘Now, naturally my gethamot was taken away when I was brought here, but there remain many people out there who still have theirs and pass in and out of our dimension when the mood strikes.’

  Throughout the conversation, we grow more comfortable, sat together on the springy mattress of my bed, sipping on lukewarm tea an officer eventually brings us.

  ‘So, Lexovia, she’s an Elentrice?’ I ask the old lady, whose name I have learned is Imogen.

  ‘The last Elentrice,’ she nods. ‘As I said, the Vildacruz were quick to destroy the Elentri, leaving very few survivors which, over the years, they managed to wipe out entirely, all but Lexovia. The resemblance between you two is uncanny; the mere difference is her nose is pierced, her eyes like liquid fire and she prefers to keep her hair short and sable.’

  I subconsciously smooth back my scraggly tresses. The police made me remove my hair tie on arrival, making it look even more hideous.

  ‘She also has the mark of an Elentrice: pointed ears.’

  My eyes widen as I try to imagine the girl Imogen describes.

  ‘The Coltis have devoted their lives to protecting Lexovia, and many lives have been lost because of it,’ Imogen says. ‘For a long time, the Vildacruz were not aware she lived, and as long as the Coltis remained in Melaxous, the poorer side of Coldivo
r, they would do them no harm, well, not until feasting season.’

  My stomach lurches. I know autumn, winter, spring and summer, but feasting season is new to me, and I’m certain I don’t want it to ever be familiar.

  ‘However, Lexovia, being the rebel she is, got herself discovered a few days before I got there, and the hunt for her began. I suspect it still continues if it’s not turned into a fully-fledged war by now. With the onset of her eighteenth birthday, the Vildacruz must be growing desperate.’

  I pause, debating whether or not to mention my own upcoming birthday. Deciding not to, I cross my legs and ask, ‘How did Lexovia survive?’

  ‘I don’t know all the details but it’s said that Lexine, Lexovia’s mother, was one of the few Elentri to escape and hide in Telathrodon; another kingdom in Coldivor. When the battle was at its worst, Lexine hid her daughter’s existence from everyone, making them believe that all Elentri were dead except her.

  ‘Unfortunately, a few years after, Lexine attempted to battle the Vildacruz on her own but her powers were no match for them.’

  ‘What are the powers?’ I ask, now realising I have no idea.

  ‘There’s the Teltreporthis; those with the ability to teleport. The Ochis, they can alter the temperature of things. Spee’ads have incredible speed.’ Imogen closes her eyes as she lists them off. ‘Premoniters; premonitions, Fuertés; ridiculous strength, Prevolids; ability to see through objects, Travisors; see back in time, and… there’s one I’m forgetting.’

  ‘The Elentri?’

  Imogen waves a hand. ‘They go without saying. There’s another one but I can’t remember.’ At last, Imogen shrugs, admitting defeat.

  ‘And so the Elentri, they could do all those things?’

  Imogen nods. ‘All that. And they could fly too.’

  ‘Dezaray Storm.’ An officer bangs on the bars of my cell, causing Imogen and I to wake. ‘You’ve made bail.’