by S McPherson
‘The less people to know, the better.’ Howard agrees.
Lunch continues with more stories and strategies. I dip in and out of overwhelming panic and determined focus. By the end of it, the mood has somehow lightened and I’m somewhat at ease. It’s only two weeks after all.
Milo’s foot accidently grazes my leg, and I smack my ankle on the bench as I quickly yank it out of his reach. When I look up, though, he’s smirking at me.
‘You okay?’ he mouths.
I nod, hoping my face hasn’t turned bright pink.
When I finally take the last sip of my Zimble juice, Milo announces that we should be going. The sun is setting and we need to get to the school grounds before they put up the evening shield. I’m finally going to practice Syndigo; cheerleading for the supernatural.
It’s a nightmare. Milo bellows things like ‘dig deep’, ‘you can do it’, ‘smile!’ and ‘say it like you mean it’ whilst the wind roars through my hair and slaps me in the face. I can hardly hear him over the howling. It’s getting dark and I’m famished.
‘How about I suddenly come down with something?’ I exclaim. Syndigo is clearly not my forte. I flop down on the grass, resigned and out of breath, exhausted from running as fast as I can, jumping off steps and all sorts of other manoeuvres supposedly to unlock my mind.
‘Lexovia hasn’t been ill a day in her life.’ Milo strides over but doesn’t sit down.
‘Does that mean she can’t be?’
‘No one knows for certain,’ he shrugs, ‘but unless you want to launch an investigation, I say you sort this out.’
I scowl at him. He talks like it’s so easy yet I would like to see him try to connect a television for the first time or even tell the time for that matter.
‘Stop being mardy,’ he scolds. ‘Try again. Deep breath. Say it like you mean it.’
I clench my fists. I have plenty of things I would like to say and I would certainly mean them. Nonetheless, I scramble off the ground, take a deep breath and think about how badly I want to eat. I imagine toast with melted butter, maybe a bit of jam, and a flash of my kitchen in Islon enters my mind. The sound of a chair grating across the floor as Drake pushes it aside is next. I hear my footsteps racing away and feel the terror I felt back then.
‘Tixtremidral!’ I scream, and I have never meant it more as I see Drake lunge towards me. Suddenly, I am shooting up into the air and screaming my lungs out. My ears pop and my stomach feels as if it’s in competition with my heart; they’re trying to see which can shoot out of my mouth the fastest. The shrieking of the wind before was nothing compared to how it hollers now.
Milo yells something but is too far away to hear. Looking down, he’s now miniscule and I thank my stars I have no fear of heights. Having said that, not being afraid of heights and dangling in mid-air with nothing to support you are quite different, and I quickly stare straight ahead, thankful as I feel myself slowly gravitating back to Earth.
‘What?’ I yell down to him, my eyelids scrunched together.
Milo cups his hands around his mouth and now when he speaks it’s as clear as if he were standing next to me. ‘Perhaps we should practice control.’ Then, possibly noticing my stunned expression, he adds, ‘Decibolitry – stops people from straining their voice.’
At last I land quite delicately on the grassy field, puffing and struggling to conceal my twitching mouth.
‘I knew you could do it.’ He grins and I can’t help but grin back.
NON CORDUS MENZINE
Time passes in a blur. I don’t know how long it is until Milo is finally hungry enough to call it a night and we teleport through the school’s force field. We stroll through the barren land of Melaxous to an area called Devirum. Milo tells me this is where every empire member comes together to unwind and socialise. To me, it’s basically the city as opposed to the suburbs.
Devirum seems to rise out of nowhere and from a distance resembles a carnival. It has rides, bright swirling lights, flashing arrows marking where to enter and is surrounded by a tall iron fence. The eerie six-legged creatures from school and their carriages stand beside it, I look away.
We walk under the entrance archway and Milo takes my hand so he doesn’t lose me in the crowd. Our hands slot together as though that’s where they’ve always been. His skin is warm against mine, slightly rough in places and smooth in others, especially his palm. My eyes inadvertently flicker over our interlocked fingers. He picks up the pace and I stumble as I rush to keep up and take in my surroundings at the same time. We bump our way through the crowd, people of all shapes and sizes – some taller or smaller than I’ve ever seen. A very slender woman with an exceedingly long neck strides past me like a gazelle and it takes all my willpower not to stop and stare.
A group of boys with coloured streaks in their hair – I’d guess a few years younger than me – laugh wildly as they hurtle a ball at something. No…not a ball. I pull Milo to a stop.
‘What’s this?’
‘Noogles,’ Milo says, smiling at my blank expression. ‘Watch.’
What I thought were balls are actually tiny round creatures whose mouths rapidly open and shut. And the boys are hurtling them at a board covered in small round objects. These, which I learn are the Noogles, constantly swivel and dart about. The aim of the game seems to be to toss the creature at the board and have it suck up one of the Noogles. I’m fascinated, laughing at how some of the creatures find their Noogle just as it’s about to dash off again and how some of them fail, smacking into the board and sliding down into a bucket, leaving behind a smear of sticky goo. I’d think it was cruel, though the Noogle’s seem to feel no pain.
Eventually, Milo and I continue on, coming to a more open area. We seem to have left the narrow, cobbled lanes of the rides and games arena and are now passing one storey buildings with floor to ceiling windows. The first is a pet shop called ‘Pembly Pets’ but the animals are nothing I recognise. One creature jumps up at the window and I clamp down on a scream. It’s a small pink thing, looking somewhat like a pig but it has wings like a bat and the tail of a dog wagging merrily behind it.
Milo chuckles, ‘That’s a ligat.’
‘Sure.’ I nod lamely and follow after. As we walk, I slow to admire the view but soon discover the only view I’m admiring is him. That infuriating gait made of power and strong legs, how his arms hang comfortably at his side, the bulge of his biceps not bothering him, and—my heart races as my eyes rise, reaching his neck. It’s thick, wider at the bottom than the top where it meets his solid jawline.
‘What do you fancy?’ he asks.
‘You,’ I almost blurt, but don’t. Clearing my throat, I ask, ‘Don’t suppose there are any fish and chips shops around here?’
‘But of course.’ He leads me down an alley between two buildings. One holds a room which appears to be nothing more than a big bouncy castle in which children are bouncing up and down. The other contains an upside-down restaurant where people are dining on the ceiling, nothing being spilled and without them falling from their chairs. As a woman eats soup, I expect it to fly up her nose, but it doesn’t. This doesn’t make sense!
We turn a corner and I’m greeted with more shops on either side of me. Many of them are closed but a few are still open, allowing me to see inside. In one, clothes swirl around the shop. The outfits appear to stop and pose in the window, sleeves waving, dresses twirling before zooming off. The fabric looks exquisite and I imagine it’s as soft as the things I’m wearing now. Some of it looks even softer.
We near the end of the alley and come to a final room: a takeout place with a few high stools and a couple of tall round tables for those who feel like eating in. Pasted across the window are the words ‘Fishy Chippy’. My stomach gurgles with glee.
A bell chimes as we walk through the door and I’m greeted with the smell of batter and vinegar.
‘Hey up, Milo, Lex.’
‘Hey, Smitty.’
‘Hey, Smitty,’ I say, copying Mi
lo. Clearly, he and Lexovia visit here often.
‘The usual?’
‘You know it.’ Milo removes his jacket and perches on one of the stools.
‘What’s the usual?’ I whisper, propping myself up on the stool opposite.
‘Chip butty, piece of cod and a pot of mushy peas.’
I’m pleasantly relieved at the ‘usual’. Not only is it something I’m actually excited to eat but is also something I wouldn’t have thought of ordering myself.
‘Smitty’s a Corporeal,’ Milo states.
‘Really?’ I ask, ‘How come he’s here?’
‘His C.P. was killed a few years ago during Feasting Season.’ Milo shakes his head, as though to shake away the memory. I gulp. There’s that term again. ‘For a while the two of them were trading back and forth. When Smitty found out what’d happened, he decided to stay here. But he goes back every now and then to bring us some authentic Corporeal food.’
I’m amazed. ‘Doesn’t it go stale?’
Milo shakes his head. ‘Not with our preservation methods. They’re nothing like your ice machines.’
At first, I’m blank. Ice machine? Then I realise he must be referring to our refrigerators and freezers.
‘Well, aren’t we smug?’ I muse.
The conversation flows easily, comfortably. At times too comfortably, like we’ve been waiting our whole lives to have each other to talk to, and I remind myself this is temporary. I don’t belong here and soon I’ll be going back.
Conversation dithers on the surface for a while, discussing the week ahead, what I should expect, how I should react to things, but then we delve deeper, shifting to his upbringing. He talks fondly of his mother, less fondly of his father who abandoned them when Milo was two. I listen, enthralled, as he casually relates the details of his past. He seems to have recovered from everything with his dad and admits that he doesn’t really remember him. On his eleventh birthday, his father had shown up, eager to mend fences, but it was too late for that and Milo apparently wasn’t interested anymore. He saw how much his father’s presence disturbed his mother and decided it wasn’t worth it. I’m further surprised to learn that his Dad actually lives not far away, in a hut in Telathrodon. It’s just thanks to their gift that none of them have ever bumped into each other. Then, finally, we switch to what it was like growing up with Lexovia, the last Elentrice.
Apparently, when the Courts discovered Lexovia existed, she was taken from his home and hidden in the Court where she was trained daily by the best of the best to hone and wield her powers. She was still given weekends with Milo and his mother though and was allowed to attend school.
‘It’s funny,’ Milo murmurs, looking out the window behind me as he says, ‘I’ve always felt a strong connection to Lexovia. It’s what made her my best friend I suppose, but…I never really understood why.’
I frown, feeling like he has more to say and I’m afraid to move and derail his train of thought.
‘There was something about her, though, that I was drawn to.’ His eyes land on me; they say so much but for a while he says nothing. ‘Maybe it was you.’
My breath snags, as if caught on something, my brow furrowed. What? I try to gulp but my mouth is dry. I stare at him, bemused, his words still swimming in my mind. What does he mean by that? I feel my legs shaking and press my heels into the side of the stool to steady them, working up the nerve to ask. He watches me, no doubt waiting for me to speak, but I don’t know what to say.
‘Anyway,’ at last he scrunches his eyes and shakes his head, taking the moment with him, ‘never mind.’
Drat! A part of me wants to ask him to explain why he would be drawn to Lexovia because of me. Has he had the premonitions too? Did he see me before he met me? But for whatever reason, I can’t bring myself to ask. As if something in that conversation will make pretending I feel nothing for him, even harder.
‘Tell me about you.’
I blink. ‘Me?’
He shrugs, then as if the question just occurs to him, asks, ‘Any love interests back home?’
Unable to stop myself, I unattractively snort in response, arching my eyebrow sardonically. ‘Between Drake, work and classes, I don’t really have time to socialise.’
He grimaces. ‘What happened between you and your brother anyway?’
I go to respond but the words stick to my tongue. I press my lips together, sucking in air through my nostrils.
‘I didn’t mean to upset you.’ Milo seems to reach out for my hand but then decide against it, letting his fingers lay idly on the table.
‘It’s alright,’ I snatch up a napkin and quickly dab my eyes. ‘It’s a fair question.’
‘Forget I asked.’
‘No, honestly...it’s…fine.’ I take a sip of my peppermint pop – cola is unheard of here – and gather my thoughts. ‘Drake blames me for the death of our parents,’ I say in one breath. ‘He says it was my fault.’
‘That’s ridiculous,’ Milo spits. When I don’t respond, he leans in cautiously. ‘Do you think it’s your fault?’
I exhale heavily. ‘Yes,’ I whisper.
Deciding not to elaborate, we finish eating and I allow Milo to lead me back into the narrow streets of Devirum, still abuzz with life and laughter.
‘Want to head back?’ he asks but must read my hungry expression as I drink in my surroundings. In Fishy Chippy, I could almost convince myself I was back in Islon, but out here, it’s impossible to confuse my realm with this one. ‘Come on,’ he grins, leading me to a building called ‘Non Cordus Menzine’, which apparently means insane and it really is nothing but.
It’s a colossal one storey building divided into about a gazillion different rooms, winding around like a maze. It’s dark with red and green lighting, the floor made up of woodchips and gravel. It’s really hard to see anyone until you are practically on top of them so I make sure to stay close to Milo.
We come first to a room with thick white doors.
‘Welcome to the gravity room,’ booms a lanky freckled man with a long, pointed nose, ‘or shall I say the gravity defying room?’ His voice carries far too well for a man as puny as him, and I can’t help but notice how his eyes seem to shine alternately. He hands us each a padded blue suit and instructs us to put them on. We oblige.
‘Do not remove them,’ he cautions, ‘not even on pain of death.’
Milo and I glance at one another, sucking in our cheeks to keep from laughing. Once the man is sure we’re securely in our suits, he opens the door, ushering us in. As soon as we enter, we’re lifted off the ground, bouncing against the cushioned black walls that twinkle with stars. It really is like being in outer space. At first, we struggle, wildly flapping our arms and kicking our legs as we try not to collide with one another or the other guests, but we soon get the hang of it and simply glide side by side. I press the green button on my suit, which the instructor says makes it possible for us to hear each other.
‘This is breath-taking,’ I sigh, gazing up at the fake starlight. I feel weightless, fearless.
Milo sticks two thumbs up in response. Then the buzzer sounds and the game begins. The object is to land on the ground for no less than three seconds. If you succeed, you win two free passes to Non Cordus Menzine, and if you remain on the ground for five seconds, you also receive a romantic meal for two. For this reason, everyone is flailing about like drunken three year olds at a Disney parade, trying to make themselves heavy enough to reach the floor. Needless to say, in the twenty minutes we’re permitted, no one even comes close.
Once out of the room, I pull off my cushioned gear and hand it to the instructor.
‘Had a ball did ya’?’ he asks.
‘Fit for a queen,’ and I smile.
Milo staggers up behind me, looking a little worse for wear.
‘Are you alright, laddy?’ asks the instructor. Milo nods.
‘How come you and Lexovia have never been there before?’ I ask Milo as we wander on for another insane roo
m to visit.
‘I hate to fly,’ Milo confesses ruffling his hair, ‘although Lexovia would sometimes carry me whilst she did, cradling me like a baby I might add; she was never cruel enough to force me to go in the gravity room.’
I’m confused. ‘Why didn’t you say so?’
‘You really wanted to go.’
‘And?’ I ask, incredulous.
Milo shrugs. I feel a pang in my chest and look away, afraid I might reach out and touch him. No sense getting attached. This is only temporary. Next, we stop in front of a great black door with the words ‘Bars of Bedlam’ on it. One of those creepy fellows, like the guards from the school, appears in a puff of smog.
‘Ten Shocklas to enter here,’ he croaks.
Shocklas are Coldivor’s currency. Milo rummages in his pocket and hands over two five shocklas to the man. They’re strange. They look like transparent stones, each having a different number of protruding edges. I observe that a five shockla has five edges, though nothing like a pentagon for they appear quite random. The guard ties red ribbons around our wrists and hands us each a red metal bar.
‘The objective is to connect with bars of your own colour. You’ll see them whizzing around. Catch them,’ he instructs. ‘Do not link with bars of another colour or you will get electrocuted.’ Milo and I glance at one another, sensing what the other is thinking and this time we do crack up laughing. Perhaps Bars of Bedlam isn’t such a good idea.
‘Not funny,’ snaps the man. ‘This is more than a game.’ Milo and I struggle to stifle our laughter as the guard pushes open the door, wiggling his fingers in our face. He evidently takes his job very seriously. ‘Beware!’
Once the door is shut behind us, we can’t help laughing harder.
‘Beware!’ I mock, blinking in the darkness.