At Water's Edge: An Epic Fantasy (The Last Elentrice Book 1)

by S McPherson

  The door my head struck not long ago, is still cracked but the blood has been wiped clean. Carefully, I peek in through the glass, almost giddy yet confused, when I spy Nathaniel. He’s busying himself with something on the stove and all seems well, though his brow appears slightly creased.

  I tap on the door. When he doesn’t respond. I tap louder. He jumps and turns, his eyes lighting up at the sight of me.

  I wave hello and he races over, slides back the door, and curls me in his arms.

  ‘I thought it was today,’ he beams. ‘I’ve been waiting all afternoon.’

  ‘I’m surprised Drake didn’t throw you out,’ I gasp as he releases me. And his frown deepens. ‘What is it?’

  Within minutes I’m sick to my stomach as I learn the reason for Nathaniel’s scowl; the reason he waited here for me to return.

  Apparently, Nathaniel hasn’t come to tend to the garden often but when he has he’s found Drake stumbling through the house, bellowing my name and vowing that I can’t hide forever.

  ‘One day he charged outside and demanded I tell him where you were or else.’ Nathaniel scoffs. ‘I told him the truth. He didn’t believe me,’ he chuckles but I can’t find the humour. ‘He stormed back inside, yelling to himself.’

  I bury my face in my hands. I suppose a foolish part of me hoped Drake might have been so full of remorse from the last time that he might have been happy to see me. Milo stands solid beside me, his hand rested on the base of my back, but it does little to fix my shattered mood.

  ‘On a better note,’ and Nathaniel smiles so brightly I’m confused, ‘I received this a few days ago.’ He shoves his hand in his pocket and pulls out a paper plane. ‘It swooped in through the window of my friend’s flat – closed window I might add – and whacked me in the head.’ Nathaniel hands me the paper.

  I curiously unfold the plane and read, ‘Nathaniel. I managed to find Feranvil Farm. A peculiar lad in Dezaray’s class was able to help me. We didn’t manage to fix the gethamot in time, though, so I’ll be staying here a while longer. Meet me at the Orchard Carvery on the eighth hour of the 31st. Would be nice to see you again. Lexovia.’ There’s a stunned silence. I re-read the note at least twice before meeting Nathaniel’s stare.

  He’s grinning. ‘Looks like you’re not staying in Islon today.’

  My shocked expression turns to Milo. He looks as astonished as I do.

  ‘Is this real?’ I finally say.

  ‘I hope so,’ Nathaniel nods. ‘It’s the only plan I have for New Year’s.’ He does a little jig and I release a breathless laugh.

  ‘Two more weeks in Coldivor?’ I say, baffled, holding back a face cracking smile, but it quickly falls flat; two more weeks for the Vildacruz to attack; two more weeks of risking everyone in Coldivor’s life, including my own…including Milo’s.

  Once again, Milo appears to read my mind, meeting my eye with both excitement and fear.

  I swallow, reading the letter again.

  ‘Is everything, alright?’ Nathaniel muses, noting how Milo and I don’t jump for joy as he’d expected.

  I nod, absently. ‘How long before the portal reopens?’ I finally ask.

  Milo considers; his inner body clock at work. ‘Forty-seven minutes.’

  ‘I want to take you somewhere,’ I announce, realising we may never get another chance. He nods, just the once. Turning to Nathaniel, I plant a kiss on his cheek. ‘See you in two weeks, my friend.’ But as I say the words, I wonder if they’re true. Will I even exist in this world or any in two weeks’ time?

  Milo and I stroll hand in hand down Cuckilbury Mountain. I sigh as I look around, truly appreciating its beauty for the first time in a very long time. I regard the trees, bare from the bitter winter’s cold, and tentatively peek into the neighbours’ latticed windows. Lights are being turned on, bursts of orange stretching out into the night before curtains are drawn and families snuggle up by the TV. The wet grass seeps through my fraying shoes and the overgrown blades tickle my calves, but neither of these things diminishes my swelling awe for my surroundings.

  We saunter past the bar at the bottom of the hill, the one my brother frequents, and I involuntarily tense. Seeming to sense my unease, Milo’s grip tightens.

  ‘Sorry,’ I breathe, cautiously eyeing the wooden door as if it may fling open at any minute.

  ‘Don’t be daft,’ he says, wrapping an arm around my shoulders and drawing me in.

  At last, we round the familiar corner onto Teton street and the accustomed scent of hay and hint of horse manure fill the air. Ahead of us lies a vast open space, a wooden fence surrounding it and stables in the corner. Excitement rising, my steps unexpectedly quicken as I make my way to the main office on the left of the large gate.

  My pulse races as I apprehensively enter. The door swings open and the notorious ding of the bell sounds. A woman with mousy features and pulled back black hair – someone I haven’t seen here before – welcomes me with a brief smile and an enquiring eye.

  ‘Hi.’ I twiddle my fingers. ‘I’m here to see my horse, Charlotte Storm. Stable 36.’

  The woman’s eyes widen. No one has claimed Charlotte in almost two years. I was surprised when Drake didn’t stop all payments for her but I suppose renting her out for extortionately priced lessons made her beneficial to him.

  The woman taps something into her keyboard. ‘Name?’ she asks.

  I search my mind, my thoughts jumbled. Am I Dezaray now, or Lexovia?

  ‘Dezaray Storm,’ I reply at last.

  ‘Identification?’

  I fumble in the small bag I borrowed from Lexovia’s collection, pull out my passport and hand it over the counter. Eyeing it, the woman nods before handing me a rusty key on a threadbare string.

  ‘Thanks,’ I murmur and head through the back to where the stables are, Milo close behind.

  There she is, as glorious as I remember, my palomino beauty. Her golden coat and white-blonde mane shine under the dim light. I hesitantly unlock the gate and venture inside. I hear Milo’s breath hitch as he follows, wonder filling his glorious eyes.

  ‘Hello, old girl.’ I gently stroke her snout, daring to rest my forehead against her, thrilled that she doesn’t pull away. ‘This is Milo,’ I tell her. ‘Milo, this is Charlotte.’ I move aside for the introduction.

  ‘Charlotte.’ Milo nods, taking a step closer and stretching out a hand. His movements are slow, cautious and then he touches her and his shoulders drop, and he lowers his head in amazement. ‘I never thought I’d be doing this,’ he murmurs.

  Seeing Charlotte is already tacked up for her next lesson, I ask, ‘Do you want to ride her?’

  Milo jolts, his eyes wide and my insides melt.

  ‘Yes,’ he gasps at last.

  His mount is rocky and we laugh as he struggles to haul himself up, unsure of where his feet should go and exactly what he is supposed to hold on to. I give him the brief rundown of stirrups and reins then slowly lead Charlotte out of her stable and into a fenced arena. We walk in silence for a while and I enjoy the sound of Charlotte’s rhythmic breathing beside my ear and the occasional nudge she gives me with her nose.

  ‘Okay, I’m going to let go now,’ I announce once we have done a few circuits.

  ‘Okay.’ Milo nods, just once. I like when he does that. I only noticed it recently when I thought I’d never see it again. It’s like he is so sure, so confident – one nod; yes, and that is all.

  Opening the gate, I let myself out, watching as Charlotte continues at a steady trot. Milo is a natural, rising and falling as she does. After another lap, he clicks his tongue and Charlotte obediently goes faster. Moments later, they are in a canter. Milo grips tightly to the reins but shows no desire to slow down, his vibrant eyes scorching like blue flames.

  ‘Be careful,’ I call as he races past me for maybe the fourth time. His hair whips in his eyes, his teeth glisten as he laughs and for a moment I laugh too, caught up in his joy.

  The idea of having another f
ortnight beside him, trills through me like a ringing bell. But as soon as I feel the excitement, my stomach twists in knots and the throbbing ache in my shoulder grows more painful.

  I glance at the gethamot in my hand; the denomatrix is getting lighter. Soon it will be time for us to return to the portal. Soon I’ll be back in Coldivor. Exhaling deeply, I try to steady my nerves and get lost in the idea of more time with Milo. But I can’t stop my mind from conjuring images of silver daggers, hungry fangs and slanted green eyes.

  I’m exhilarated yet at the same time petrified. Getting ready for this amazing New Year’s party in the sky had all sounded fabulous and wonderful. Actually venturing up the mountain however, is a completely different story. It doesn’t help matters that we’re being driven in a carriage pulled by a Flookan: one of those six legged creatures with scaly beige skin, that I always saw outside the school. When I first get close to the beast, I’m tempted to bolt in the opposite direction, forcing myself to suppress a scream when we clamber in to the carriage. I grip Milo’s hand so tight he winces and tries to assuage my fears with tales of his own first time on a Flookan carriage ride.

  Barely listening, I peer over the edge, gulping at the great drop off the other side, rocky peaks jutting out below. Then I look up, high into the heavens and see a collection of people who appear to be dancing on air. Supposedly, they’re on a thin sheet of glass; a piece hardly discernible, that will be the only thing separating me from certain death tonight. What a way to ring in the New Year!

  ‘You look like you’re going to be sick,’ Milo acutely observes, squeezing my fingers.

  ‘I feel like it too,’ I say a bit louder than I normally would to be heard over the wind.

  ‘It looks more daunting than it is,’ Yvane calls from the seats behind us. ‘It truly is the best party of the year and every time they somehow manage to top the last.’

  ‘You’re going to love it,’ Howard agrees.

  Attempting to relax, my nerves are shattered to smithereens as a giant – and I do mean giant – bird squawks loudly and swoops over the carriage. At least I think it’s a bird; it has all the expected features, feathers that are almost a blinding white with countless streaks of silver.

  ‘What the heck was that?’ I shriek, straining to see as this bleached monster soars into the distance. It was hard enough accepting the Flookan, now this.

  ‘Sorry.’ Milo tries and fails to smother his laughter. ‘I should have mentioned the Trelion birds. They’re how we get up there.’

  ‘What?’ I’m sure my eyes are like saucepans. ‘You mean I have to ride one of those?’

  ‘It’s a wonderful feeling,’ Yvane coaxes like a little hippy. I now find myself wishing I’d stayed in Islon last night after all.

  Whoosh! My stomach lurches as we go soaring into the air, direction: ‘Party in the sky’. The only thing I hear over the howling cry of the wind is the melodic rhythm of the gigantic wings flapping up and down. For a moment, we’re in darkness as the wings overarch us, then the moon shines and party lights beckon through its feathers as it brings them back down.

  ‘You alright?’ Milo asks from behind me. We’re sitting in a line along with four or five other party goers who are all cheering happily on their Trelion trip to the stars.

  ‘Not too bad,’ I call back; truth being that I’m not too bad at all. Though my legs are tightly clamped around the bird’s body and though Howard has asked me three times not to squeeze him so tightly, I’m actually sort of enjoying the ride.

  Feeling a little braver, I look down. The carriages and trees below are now nothing but a distant blur and we still have higher to fly.

  ‘They do this every year?’ I ask, wrenching my eyes away from the dizzying view.

  ‘Every year,’ Milo murmurs before kissing me on the shoulder. I instantly relax on the inside as my whole outer shell sizzles, the patch where he kissed tingling.

  Then there’s music, a loud thumping baseline pounding rhythmically, battling the winds’ howl and the flapping of wings. The area around us grows lighter as golden light and spiralling beams take over from the moon. The Trelion bird stops in mid-air and everyone clambers off and onto the glass floor.

  Milo jumps down and offers me his hand. ‘Let’s go.’

  I reluctantly take his hand and struggle to climb down, my legs shaking animatedly.

  ‘Hey.’ Milo stops me, half-on, half-off the bird. ‘I’m here.’

  Poor Milo. He hates to fly, yet he’s kept himself together to soothe my nerves.

  I exhale. ‘You’re all I need.’ Then slide off the bird and into his arms. He plants a kiss on my nose before putting me down. The Trelion lets out another almighty squawk before soaring away.

  Now that I’ve calmed, I take in the setting. It’s breath-taking. A low, twinkling fence, apparently made from twine, surrounds the edge; not really offering much security but looking fantastic. A podium beside a large glass bar homes the DJ, bobbing his head to the beat, his dreadlocks hopping as he spins records and twiddles nobs. I then note that the bar must be made by the same manufacturers as Lexovia’s chest of drawers. Though seemingly containing nothing but empty shelves, the bartender keeps on pulling glass after glass and bottle after bottle out from behind it. Surrounding the dance floor, and at intervals along the edge of the glass, are tall round tables covered in white cloth which sparkles silver every now and then. And spiralling beams of light twirl and swirl around us, alternating in colour and direction.

  The best feature, though, is everything that surrounds the transparent surface; a sprawling stretch of crystal stars and the occasional cloud as if we’re immersed in the universe.

  ‘You okay?’ Milo asks.

  ‘Fantastic!’

  Just when I think the night cannot get any better – we’ve all laughed, chatted and danced the hours away; what more can happen up here? – the DJ asks, ‘Is everybody having a good time?’

  Everyone cheers, claps and stamps thunderously. I’m surprised the floor doesn’t shatter beneath us.

  ‘Well, as you know, every year we like to do a little something new. Last year it was the rain shower, the year before the free Littitree drug – before they banned it!’

  Everyone boos appropriately as the DJ shakes his fist at the sky. I laugh; clearly, he was a fan of this drug.

  ‘But don’t fret,’ the DJ continues, silencing the crowd, ‘because this year we have something else.’

  Once again, the crowd erupts.

  ‘This year, I’ve made a playlist of songs with beats that will make not just you but everyone and everything around you...move!’ and the floor slides to one side. Everyone squeals, shrieks, or cheers.

  ‘Are you ready to party?’ the DJ bellows into his microphone.

  We all applaud, though I’m a little apprehensive when the floor slides to the other side. A moving glass floor in the sky; surely a bad idea?

  ‘Me say, are you ready to party?’ the DJ yells, cranking up the volume.

  The music takes over and everyone shakes their hips, clicks their fingers and nods their heads. I decide to go with it.

  The floor tilts slightly to the left and everyone shrieks and grabs hold of the nearest thing they can. Seconds later, it tilts the other way.

  ‘This is crazy,’ Howard cries with a wild grin.

  ‘It is,’ I call back.

  The faster the music gets, the faster the glass alters its direction. Sliding here and there, tilting back and forth and even spinning around. Everybody loves it. Drinks go flying, people go toppling over and everyone laughs.

  ‘He’s falling!’ we hear a girl scream. ‘HELP!’

  The DJ stops the music. ‘What’s that, love?’ he asks.

  ‘Denis!’ The girl hangs over the edge of the fence, screaming down. My heart’s in my mouth. ‘He’s falling!’ she cries. Everyone gasps and rushes over.

  ‘Not a problem, love,’ the man laughs. ‘That was our intention.’ He starts up the music once more.

&
nbsp; About to become extremely freaked out, along with the others, I’m stopped by the squawk of a Trelion bird. Moments later, the creature appears, its great silver wings sending a gust of wind into the throng. The man I assume is Denis now stands on the bird’s back, waving. He looks a little shell-shocked, but all-in-all, exhilarated. Once again, the mass goes wild with thunderous applause and approval.

  ‘Now come on, people,’ the DJ bellows. ‘Let’s bring in the New Year!’

  The flight back down on the Trelion is even more exhilarating and terrifying than the way up. Feeling braver now, I take care of Milo, offering kisses over my shoulder, holding his hand and squealing happily as the wings encase us. There are more of us now too, seeing as the party is over, which enhances the buoyant atmosphere. An entire flock of Trelion birds charge towards the Earth; it’s majestic. Milo groans and buries his head in my back. I laugh.

  Then, something in the distance silences me, silences us all – a message in fire scrawled across the ground. As we get closer, I hear people reading it.

  ‘What does it say?’ I ask Howard who is in front of me. I can’t hear his response, but as we get nearer, I can see the words for myself. Written in flames, I too now read:

  ‘You visited, unwelcome. Trust us to show you the same kindness.’

  Everyone looks at each other, utterly confused. But I’m not confused. I turn to Milo; he has the same expression as me.

  NORMAL FOR A NIGHT

  Lexovia shivers at the draft creeping in through the window of the guestroom, slightly ajar. A part of her wants to close it, another part of her delights in the smells and sounds of life outside. Feranvil is like a dream; a flashback to a past that once was and a glimpse into a future that might be, where Coltis and Corporeal live as one, united and unafraid. That is, if she survives the Elenfar.