by S McPherson
We slide the drinks onto the table and everyone makes a grab for theirs.
‘Everyone,’ Zack says, flinging his arm over my shoulders, again failing to notice my discomfort. I take another large slurp of Mrs Edwards’s concoction. It burns and I welcome its warmth. ‘This is Dezaray. I believe you know Nathaniel and Jude.’
I nod and hurriedly slip in beside them as he continues to introduce Susan Wright, a voluptuous redhead with bouncy auburn curls and a round freckled face; Henry Green, a Manchester lad with two front teeth missing – yet still a great smile – and spiky brown hair; and Marcus Shorly, a lean but muscular charmer with tight afro curls and a piercing on his left eyebrow. He takes my hand in his, caressing it with his thumb as he greets me. My, how things have changed since I was twelve.
I note there is one extra drink on the table and look around expectantly for person number eight.
Zack slides the drink over to me. ‘That one’s for you. Drink up.’
I’m laughing. I hear myself telling myself that I’m laughing and then laugh harder. My whole body shakes, my eyes clench tight and my cheekbones practically meet my ears. I’m actually, factually, wholeheartedly laughing.
The boys sway from side to side, waving their pint mugs in the air as they sing ‘All I want for Christmas is my two front teeth, my two front teeth, my two front teeth’.
I’m further tickled as it was Henry who had been the one to start the song.
‘My mum gets me a bleedin’ car,’ he cries incredulously. ‘I says to her: mum, all’s I want for Christmas is me teeth!’ After that they are off, singing their hearts out as Susan and I cackle and hoot in approval.
I reckon I’m on drink number seven because since my arrival we’ve all bought a round. My head swims. My mouth’s dry, tongue fuzzy and eyes slightly glazed. I haven’t managed to drown Milo out of my mind entirely but he’s definitely supressed. The thought of his name doesn’t produce a stabbing pain in my chest and I’m still able to smile.
Somehow the night winds down faster than I expect and I’m surprised when Mrs Edwards wanders over to ask that we finish up as she’s closing. Nathaniel and Henry left earlier, escorting a particularly inebriated Susan to her Bed and Breakfast, and Marcus had made a connection with a girl at the bar. I haven’t seen him since. After which, I was sandwiched between Jude and Zack, playing drinking games involving a pack of cards or sharing the occasional anecdote. Zack’s tales are quite thrilling. He isn’t as good a storyteller as Henry but his stories involve dealing with both worlds, keeping it hidden in his daily life, about his narrow slips and misses.
Eventually we sigh, say one last ‘Cheers’ and down the contents of our glasses in one. Jude lets out a hefty yawn.
‘Shall we?’ he asks.
I nod and go to grab my jacket.
‘I don’t think so, mister,’ Mrs Edwards calls from behind the bar. ‘Stay in my bar all night drinking, help to clean up.’
‘Oh, mum,’ Jude wails, throwing his arms over his face and kicking the table.
‘Tantrum-ing will get you nowhere,’ Mrs Edwards scolds. ‘Come on. These bar stools aren’t going to wipe themselves.’
I pat Jude on the shoulder. ‘I’d stay to help but I wouldn’t be much good.’ I hiccup as if to prove a point. Zack slides out of the booth and I follow after as Jude continues to groan and grumble incoherently.
After pulling on my jacket, I tighten my scarf and make my way out into the cold. The air stings, there’s frost on the ground and I can see my breath. It was freezing Up Top – as they call it – but Feranvil Farm hadn’t really seemed affected by the winter until now.
‘I’ll get you home,’ Zack says, coming up beside me, blowing into his hands.
‘No, no.’ I attempt to push him away but my aim seems to be off. ‘You’re staying just round the corner; I’m in the farmhouse all the way over there.’ I point, but once again, my aim is wrong because the house is in the opposite direction.
Zack laughs, ‘You know something, I just feel like a walk.’ He folds my arm around his and we begin walking in the right direction.
‘You never said what your father does or did,’ I exclaim, all inhibitions and supposedly good manners long since dissolved.
‘You never asked.’ Zack raises a challenging eyebrow and once again I feebly push in his direction.
‘So your mother is here,’ I say and he nods. ‘Where’s your father?’
‘In Coldivor.’
We stop walking. Or perhaps I stop which then brings Zack to a halt.
‘How many worlds are you a part of exactly?’
‘Three I suppose.’ Zack shrugs, striding away. ‘Up Top, Feranvil Farm and Coldivor.’
‘So, do you get to see your father?’
‘Not as often as I’d like. He and my mother got separated when passing of the portal was prohibited, and it’s difficult to coincide my term holidays with portal openings.’ Zack walks on and I stumble after him.
‘Your father belongs on the other side?’ I ask, intrigued.
‘Yep. I’m a halfy; half Coltis, half Corporeal,’ he explains when he sees my puzzled look.
‘And what does he do?’
‘He belongs to Travisory Moor.’
My brow furrows.
‘They can travel back in time I suppose. Well, they can see what has previously happened wherever they’re standing,’ Zack amends. ‘They can’t change or impact it in anyway, just observe.’
‘Wow!’ I gasp. It may just be the alcohol but I find this news mind-blowing. I’m amazed at how well Zack is conducting himself under the influence; clearly no stranger to alcohol.
He adds, ‘My dad is about ten feet tall. All Travisors are tall. The belief is one day they’ll grow to be so giant they’ll be able to stretch around time.’
I’m about to comment when white flecks start to trickle from the sky. One lands on his jacket and I absentmindedly brush it off. Another falls, landing on my nose, then another on my eyelashes, and finally lots of them all around.
‘It’s snowing!’ I squeal like a five-year-old.
‘Whoa!’ At last something seems to excite Zack, and the childlike desire that intoxication creates finally shines through. He sticks out his tongue to catch the flakes and I immediately do the same.
The snow starts to fall faster in a flurry of white as we twirl around, admiring its wonder, commenting on the way it melts when it lands, until it’s finally falling fast enough to begin covering the ground. I shiver from the cold but fail to care. I pull up my jacket’s hood and start kicking the small mounds of snow that are collecting. Zack shakes some down from a tree that now looks frosted with icing and chortles as it tumbles on top of him.
I’m not sure how long we prance about but the snow is eventually deep enough to make some extremely shallow snow angels. We lay down at the same time, nothing having to be said, and spread our arms and legs maniacally, guffawing as we do. The wet seeps in through my jeans and I can’t take it anymore, leaping off the ground. I look down at my grass angel surrounded by snow. Close enough. Zack laughs and jumps up too, shaking out his hair.
I jolt, surprised to see that we’ve reached the farmhouse gate.
‘This is your stop,’ Zack says.
‘Yep.’ I’m inexplicably downhearted to have the evening end. I suppose I haven’t felt so normal in a long time. Well, as normal as an under-earth world can be.
‘I had a great time tonight,’ states Zack, shivering from the cold but trying to hide it as he takes my hands in his.
‘Me too,’ I beam. That’s when I notice something in Zack’s eyes; a message, no, a question. My heart beat quickens, but with fear rather than desire; I’m just not sure what I’m afraid of. That he’ll kiss me and I’ll smack him and ruin a great night, or worse, that he’ll kiss me and I’ll let him. Until Milo, I’d never been kissed, not really. After my parents died, I fooled around with some twat from school, but when that didn’t fill the void they’d left, I instead fe
ll into it.
Zack leans in and my breath hitches. Perhaps he reads the fear in my eyes for he veers towards my cheek and plants a kiss on its cold flesh. His lips are like ice.
‘Run home,’ I instruct through nervous laughter.
‘Na.’ Zack shakes his head and starts to head back down the path. ‘I inherited my father’s gift. Think I’m just going to take my time and watch us playing in the snow, over and over again.’
‘You’ll catch pneumonia,’ I yell as he jumps about as we had so recently been doing, probably following us in his third eye. I giggle as I watch, subconsciously remembering Jude’s words about choosing another path: ‘It won’t be bad I suppose, just…just not as good as it could be – should be.’
I shake my head. Alcohol is a powerful drug but apparently, love is an even stronger and more addictive one. Zack’s great, but as the drunkenness lifts so do the chains it wrapped around my heart to ensure my good night. The stabbing ache returns and I am eager to remove these wet clothes and climb into bed, to meet Milo in my dreams.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY
My eyes flicker open. The room is shaking and I can make out bright lights through the curtain, streaking across the sky. It looks oddly like lightning but its colours are different, and the raucous noise is certainly not thunder. Groggily, I clamber out of bed and stumble towards the window. Before I have a chance to pull back the curtain, my room door bursts open.
‘Oh, thank God,’ Nathaniel pants. He’s only wearing pyjama bottoms and his hair is jutting out at random angles. ‘Get down!’ he demands.
Immediately, I crouch down as another ear-splitting siren screeches and the floor trembles again. A photo of Jude and his parents falls off the bedside table.
‘What’s going on?’ I say, gripping the radiator for balance and scalding my hand in the process. When the floor seems steady enough, Nathaniel lets go of the door frame and we scurry towards each other.
‘They’re trying to break in,’ he says, holding out his hand to help me to my feet.
‘Who are?’ I ask, pulling on my dressing gown.
‘The Vildacruz.’
My heart shudders almost as violently as the house. I follow Nathaniel out into the corridor and down the narrow staircase. The front door is wide open and I can see people racing around in the distance.
‘We all headed out when we heard the commotion,’ Nathaniel calls as he slots his feet into a pair of sandals by the door. I shove my feet into a pair of trainers that are thankfully close to my size, and follow Nathaniel outside.
‘When we realised you weren’t with us, we got worried,’ he explains. I am not surprised he took it upon himself to come back for me. Nathaniel will always come back for me. My friend, my brother. It’s the one thing I can count on.
‘What’s going on?’ I ask, jogging to keep up with him. People are yelling things I can’t understand. A group of men are holding up their arms and rays of blue, pink, green and orange are shooting out of them and ricocheting off some yellow haze in the sky, with a piercing screech. I cover my ears as it happens again, running when Nathaniel starts to run. Everyone is out tonight, hugging trembling children, bellowing things at one another and screaming when the yellow haze dips down lower.
‘You see that yellow mist?’ Nathaniel points. I nod. ‘That’s the barrier placed around Feranvil to prevent the entry of dark magic. They’re trying to bring it down.’
‘The Vildacruz are up there?’
‘Some of them.’
We push our way through the crowd nearest the men holding up the force field and I see Jude and Mrs Edwards at the front.
‘Thank goodness,’ Mrs Edwards sighs when she sees me, dragging me under her arm. ‘Don’t you worry, Dezaray. We won’t let them get you.’
The haze droops lower. Everybody cries out as they duck down. This is all because of me. Because one night, a lifetime ago, I ventured into a world that was not my own.
‘We can’t hold on much longer!’ I hear Fawn grunt as he buckles to his knees; hands still held up, exuding a purple ray to hold up the force field. I hadn’t noticed he was in the group. As I look closer at those trying to defend us, I see quite a few familiar faces, men and women combined. Each face is twisted, eyes half closed as they struggle against the Vildacruz’s power.
‘Under gravel and rock you’ll find me,’ bellows an Irish woman. She’s still standing tall, emitting a vibrant pink glow from her fingertips. ‘Safe beneath the Earth I’m hiding,’ she stresses. ‘This is our solitude.’
‘This is our home,’ yells a man close beside me.
‘They cannot take it,’ cries someone else.
Spurred on by the fierce roar of the crowd, those who have fallen find the strength to stand again, pushing the yellow haze up as they do. Then a thunderous cry sounds out and we turn to see a horde of people racing over the hill in the distance, barrelling towards us. They are already releasing rays of colour to help hold up the barrier.
The crowd separates to let them through and they charge in to join us, where the barrier is at its lowest. I bite my lip as I watch. Mrs Edwards squeezes my shoulders but at last we see the mist start to rise. The yellow slinks towards the sky, releasing its shrill shriek every so often until at last it slots back into place and is no longer visible.
Everybody cheers and wails happily; patting each other on the back, giving one another hugs, slapping high fives. Mrs Edwards envelopes me and passionately kisses the top of my head. I try to smile. I try to be relieved but I don’t feel the joy the others do. That was just one attempt and I don’t doubt there will be many more to come.
It’s a cold and crisp January morning, just like the ones before it. Though today there is one significant difference; today is my birthday. I groan despondently. To be fair, I haven’t enjoyed any of my birthdays for the past few years, but this one is going to be even worse. This one I can’t enjoy because it’s also the Elenfar. I don’t want to sing happy birthday and have people draping banners and balloons about the place. I don’t want to unwrap gifts and blow out candles and eat cake.
All I really want to do is talk to Milo. If birthday wishes came true, I’d wish for Coldivor. That they find themselves victorious in this war that’s brewing. But right now, I’d just settle for Milo beside me, promising me he’ll stay safe, promising me he’ll stay alive. I rest my head against the cool glass of the mirror and try to prepare myself for the day ahead. More stretched cheeks and gnashed teeth are a must. No matter how unhappy you are, no one will let you rest if you don’t pretend not to be on your birthday.
I inhale deeply, psyching myself up. I have breakfast planned with Nathaniel and Jude in some barn café I didn’t realise existed – apparently just over the hill, which they say as though there’s only the one. Then I exhale. My stomach is running riot and my nerves stand to attention. I press my palms to my face. The Elenfar is a three-day ceremony; I’m going to need some thick skin.
‘Good morning,’ the boys say cheerily as I join them by the river. I can tell that even their cheer is false. We all know what today is, and my birthday is the least of our concerns.
Nathaniel’s holding a bouquet of flowers which he hands to me before planting a kiss on my cheek. Just like he does every year. I remember one day, Drake had stormed into my room and tossed them out the window.
‘If you want them, go get them,’ he’d snarled eyeing me and then the open window. The next day, Nathaniel returned, saw the scattered flowers and collected each one before re-gifting them to me.
‘Happy birthday,’ he murmurs.
‘Thanks,’ I smile.
Jude pats me good-naturedly on the back. ‘Happy birthday. All set to cross the hill?’
‘Sure.’ I allow Jude to lead the way.
As we walk, my eyes devour the sights. Feranvil Farm is much more than a mere farm. Though on arrival a farm is what greets you, after some fifteen minutes of trekking you come to a large hill. The grass is longer here, the trees taller, and the
birds seem to sing louder. This is the hill the crowd of people charged across last night. I make out where the grass was flattened by their weight, where daffodils were broken. All this because someone was trying to get to me, or rather something.
When we reach the summit, I gasp. Stretched out below us on the far side is a small town. Low buildings holding furniture stores, restaurants, cafés and electronic shops speckle the grass, and a paved path winds between a few rows of buildings.
‘What is this place?’ I ask.
‘Feranvil Farm Town Centre,’ Jude announces proudly. ‘It’s not much but it does save us from having to go up top all the time.’
‘Not much?’ Nathaniel whistles, impressed. ‘It’s something.’
We begin our descent of the hill and follow Jude through winding paved streets and narrow alleys until we arrive at Barnyard Bakery. It is a quaint little café with a very wooden and antique sort of vibe. The barn has been painted white inside and old birdcages swing in the corners. We sit on rusty garden chairs of olive green, floral tablecloths laid on equally rusty tables, and wind chimes tinkle in the breeze.
We sit in silence, the air thick with tension. Our façade is cracking. The constant wary glances and looks of pity I keep getting from our waitress aren’t helping either.
‘Perhaps she should take a photo,’ Jude growls under his breath.
‘Can you blame her?’ I scoff. ‘We’re all thinking the same thing and pretending not to.’ I tap my foot anxiously on the ground. Nathaniel places a hand on my leg to steady it but it only helps for a moment. ‘Do you think it will work?’ I ask at last.
‘What?’
‘This plan.’ I raise my eyes to the panelled roof. ‘City lockdown at seven and hope for the best.’
‘That’s the plan for those too young or too old to be involved,’ Jude says. ‘The rest of us will be out there, protecting the realm.’