Swept Away: An Epic Fantasy (The Last Elentrice Book 3)

by S McPherson

  ‘Thank you,’ and Lexovia swallows. ‘Be sure to say it is a choice. No one is forced to do this.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘How many Coltis are there between sixteen and eighteen do you think?’ Howard asks. He leans forward in his seat, his tone one of efficiency. If Lexovia didn’t know him, she would think him unfeeling, a machine, a warrior capable of shutting out all emotion. But she notices the way his jaw is clenched, how tightly his hands are clasped and how his leg shakes against the table.

  Lexovia twists her mouth. ‘Between Thornton High and Madodgy Magicks, I’d say about five hundred.’

  Dunt takes a scrap of parchment and a writing stick from the centre of the table and scribbles down the numbers.

  ‘And of those, let’s assume a four-fraction don’t volunteer,’ and Howard gestures for Dunt to do the maths.

  ‘And of those whose parents refuse to let them volunteer, I’d bet we lose another four-fraction.’ Lexovia grimaces as once again Dunt scribbles and crosses out figures on his sheet.

  ‘Leaving us with…approximately two hundred and eighty volunteers,’ Dunt states.

  ‘Untrained volunteers,’ Yvane adds.

  Lexovia clicks her tongue against her teeth.

  ‘It’s no army,’ Howard sighs, no doubt thinking about the hundreds they’ve lost, ‘but it’s a start.’

  ‘And it’s all we have,’ Lexovia sighs. ‘There isn’t anyone else who can fight with us.’

  ‘I can think of some.’

  They each jump and swivel at the sound of a deep and familiar voice.

  Lexovia’s eyes widen with excited confusion. ‘Jude?’ she gasps, rising from the throne and rushing over. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘I’ve come with a proposition for you,’ and Jude steps into the room, eyeing the odd collection of advisors. ‘What’s going on? The doors were open and everyone’s dressed in black.’

  ‘You first,’ Lexovia says, ushering him into a seat and propping herself against the table.

  Jude nods his hellos at Howard and Dunt, his gaze finally resting on Yvane. She smiles and quickly looks away.

  ‘What’s going on?’ Lexovia urges, still unable to believe Jude is sitting in front of her. Aside from Milo, she can think of no other face she would rather see right now. Not even Vladimir’s. Especially not his, the look she dreads seeing when he returns to discover what remains of his court.

  Jude turns to her. ‘Those of us in Feranvil have put together a plan to take down R.U.O.E.’ He sits tall, arms resting on the table. ‘But we can’t do it alone.’

  ‘What do you propose?’

  ‘Well, a great man once told me that it’s easier for a Corporeal to access his or her magic in a world where such things are possible.’ Jude grins at Dunt who smiles back.

  ‘So…’

  ‘So, we want to ask for a trade. A fortnight for our future.’ Jude looks about the room. ‘We want you to train the Corporeal we send over, help them to tap into and hone their abilities and then send them back so we can take down R.U.O.E.’

  ‘My boy,’ Dunt says, frowning, ‘but why are you using the Corporeal when there are many Coltis living in Feranvil who I’m sure would be honoured to help?’

  Jude nods his agreement. ‘Oh, there are, but they’re exactly who we don’t want helping.’ He raps his knuckles on the table. ‘Think about it. If we Corporeals break into R.U.O.E. and get caught, what’s the worst thing that can happen?’

  ‘You die,’ Lexovia states bluntly.

  ‘Exactly,’ Jude agrees so enthusiastically that anyone walking past wouldn’t guess he was talking about his own death. ‘But if R.U.O.E. capture a bunch of Coltis? We’ll just have delivered right to their door exactly what they’re hunting for: an army to butcher, to maim and study.’

  Howard purses his lips. ‘You make a good point,’ he says and Dunt murmurs his agreement.

  Lexovia pushes herself away from the table and goes back to Vladimir’s throne. ‘You mentioned a trade?’

  ‘That’s right. Two weeks.’

  Lexovia gnaws at her upper lip. ‘I don’t know. I don’t think we have the manpower to spare.’

  ‘We don’t need many, a handful at most.’

  ‘But to make a trade, we need to know who you are bringing in so we know who to send out,’ Yvane points out.

  ‘Yes, we do,’ Jude grins. ‘Which brings me to the second part of the plan. Fawn mentioned an old records room. Something that was introduced around the start of counterpart conventions.’

  ‘The Hall of Holograms,’ Dunt says when Lexovia looks blank. ‘It’s been locked up for collectives now, but I believe the information is still intact.’

  ‘The Hall of Holograms?’ Lexovia says. ‘Where is it?’

  ‘A lower level, beneath the arena. It holds records of everyone in our world with links to their counterpart. Some information may not be a hundred percent accurate but it was made to update itself regularly.’

  Lexovia waivers. ‘A fortnight for our future.’

  ‘Aye,’ and Jude rests a hand on hers. ‘So, what do you say?’

  WHAT HAPPENED WHEN…

  Mist swirls as Vladimir, Amethyst, Baxter and the others arrive in Vedark. Before the dust can settle, their weapons are raised, their mouths pulled back in snarls and their eyes alight with fury. They survey their silent surroundings. The vast stretch of reddened earth is littered with peculiar slabs of forgotten stone that curve towards a grey sky, streaked with smears of red. It offers a pale, ghostly light and the air is hot and clogged with death.

  Amethyst and Mandeck crouch down, collecting handfuls of earth that crumble in their palms like clumps of powder, that then trickles through their fingers.

  ‘This ground hasn’t been troubled in a while,’ Mandeck murmurs as he stands, once again towering above the others.

  Vladimir nods and allows his eyes to sweep the expanse of the land. Nothing changes, not even a faint wisp of wind.

  ‘This way,’ and he takes a step forward, pushing the gethadrox into his satchel. The others follow suit, keeping their weapons ready.

  Vladimir wipes at the sweat that blooms on his brow, smearing dirt and grime across his face. His feet trudge through the soft earth, his legs growing weary as, like the ground, time seems to disintegrate. The rocks that climb from the earth, all start to look the same and the ashen sky stays constant. The others follow, panting as they’re choked by the humidity, their steps slow.

  As he sucks on his cheeks, willing moisture back into his mouth, Vladimir marches on, not knowing what answers he hopes to find but refusing to leave without them. There must be some evidence of the Vildacruz here, some sign of how they escaped.

  ‘Over there,’ Javina calls with a tilt of her head, squinting into the distance. The others crouch to her height, and they too note the shadowy outline that lingers within the haze. A dome. Vladimir adjusts his gloves and tightens his grip on his xyen, mentally preparing for battle. If Lexovia is right, which he doesn’t doubt she is, then Diez is here somewhere and he won’t be pleased to see them.

  Amethyst, light-footed and flushed with fresh determination, comes beside him and nods as they near the bulge of rock arching from the ground. Vladimir dips his head in return. He glances behind him, to where Baxter follows with his silver eyes glowing, his body tense and ready to teleport them away if necessary. Thadwin, another Teltreporthi and advisor to the Seniors, mimic’s Baxter’s stance, his own shocking green eyes wary and gleaming.

  Vladimir’s lips curve into a smile as he takes in his small army. Diez may be strong, but the nine of them combined are brutal. Swallowing any misplaced arrogance, Vladimir squats beside the dome wall and listens. Hearing nothing, he gestures for Eajery, who nimbly slips in beside him, her blonde tresses balled on top of her head and surrounded by a crown of beads. She pulls off her dark eye-shaped glasses to reveal glowing white irises, ones she turns towards the dome, ones that will be seeing straight through the stone. Eajery
turns her head this way and that, clearly scanning the entire structure. At last, she pulls back and replaces her glasses, blocking their glow.

  ‘Someone was there,’ she sighs, ‘but a very long time ago.’

  Vladimir tilts his head in query.

  ‘I saw bones,’ she explains, ‘sunk deep in the earth, scatterings of parchment and the shredded sole of an old shoe.’

  Mandeck steps forward without having to be asked and Javina conjures up matching orbs of fire in the palms of her stubby hands.

  ‘Let’s go,’ Vladimir murmurs, and together they creep around the dome until gaining its entrance, where they pause. Javina waves her hand inside, lighting the parts the skies pale glow does not touch, and Mandeck steps up to join her. His brown eyes shine, sending out a shower of glowing glitter, and then the world rewinds. For a long while nothing seems to change, not a single grain of earth.

  ‘Faster,’ Vladimir growls, and what looks like another blast of embers erupt from Mandeck and history starts to pass before them in a blur of silhouettes and light. ‘Not yet.’

  Mandeck continues, rewinding through flashes of life as they each try to make sense of anything.

  Then Vladimir lifts a hand and Mandeck blinks, slowing the visions down until time returns to normal. Before them is a man, huddled on the ground. His torn shirt clings to his back, stained and speckled with dirt. He trembles and presses a hand over his mouth, as if to keep from screaming. His eyes gape wildly out of the dome.

  ‘Elev nos senaremdos,’ Baxter gasps as he studies the man’s face: striking purple eyes and a layer of grime crusted over dark skin. ‘It’s Michél Tranzuta.’

  The others rush forward, eager to confirm this. The ones who knew the man gasp the loudest whilst the others simply nod, only ever having seen Tranzuta through the sight of a Travisor, never having met the infamous Mad Man themselves.

  They follow Tranzuta’s gaping eyes and Vladimir sucks in a breath. Outside the dome writhe swirling streaks of black: Exlathars. They swarm around a bloodless vampire who darts under their thrashing wings and bares his luminous fangs. His skin is ghostly pale, a mere reflection of the moon. He ducks to avoid being skewered on an Exlathars talon and speeds off only to collide with another Exlathar, it’s luminous green eyes unforgiving and intent, its wings splayed and overshadowing.

  The creature lunges and its razor-sharp teeth make contact. They rip into the vampires throat and he howls, as if choking on bile. He tears himself away, collapsing and dragging his masticated body across the ground. He doesn’t get far before another Exlathar attacks, stealing a further piece of him. The creatures dive and tear and maul until the only thing left is a twitching hand.

  ‘Forward,’ Vladimir murmurs, and obediently Mandeck’s gleaming eyes speed everything up. They all watch as Tranzuta fumbles with a gethadrox, seeming to get away before the Exlathars or other creatures of the Vildacruz, notice him. They watch as Borum Wolves later devour the other vampires and warlocks, and as warlocks and the vampires devour wolves. They watch as fires are lit, bodies roasted and as Exlathars consume them all. All this happens amidst silence, where if he didn’t know better, Vladimir could have convinced himself they were back in the present. The night air is stifling, their surroundings unchanged. He considers telling Mandeck to go faster, but afraid to miss something, continues watching at the steady pace, tense and poised.

  There’s a sound in the distance, a drone of hushed voices, and Vladimir holds his hand up for Mandeck to resume time, then they step outside the dome and see them: two figures, one they recognise as Tranzuta and one they recognise from visions they were shown many years before—Diez. He’s older now, perhaps in his early thirties, but it’s undeniably him, that face etched in nearly every Court member’s mind.

  Vladimir steps closer and the others follow. The soil beneath his feet puffs up into the still air as he briefly wonders if it’s of the present or a part of Mandeck’s recreation. When they get close enough to hear what’s being said, Vladimir brings them to a halt.

  ‘I can’t believe I let you convince me to come back here,’ Tranzuta hisses as he warily looks around, a spear in his hand and a satchel with rolls of parchment poking out slung over his shoulder. Diez strides beside him, wild fervour sparking in his hazel eyes, his dark cropped hair sprinkled with dust. He too looks about him, but he is not in the least bit wary. He only looks hungry.

  Vladimir sneers as Diez’s lust for pain and power shudders around him like a force field.

  ‘All in the name of research, mate.’ Diez speaks candidly, expanding his arms to encompass their surroundings. ‘A world that dwells in darkness is nothing to ignore.’ He pats Tranzuta heartily on the shoulder as he rushes forward, his eyes scanning the darker sky that’s still torn by red scars. ‘We should try to understand these creatures. Gosh, Michél, but not only have you invented a way to travel the realms, we can take back real evidence, learn so much. They won’t be calling you “Mad” much longer.’

  Tranzuta smiles slightly at this, his lips bunching with pride as he rushes to keep up with Diez

  ‘Who knows what these monsters could teach us,’ Diez goes on to say, ‘what power runs through them.’

  Tranzuta stops, frowning. ‘You understand that these creatures are evil? They feast on each other. That it’s every man and monster for themselves.’

  Diez grins at this, his eyes practically glowing. ‘Exactly,’ he hisses, turning to Tranzuta. ‘We’d be unstoppable, mate. The Mad Man and the murderer. They’d live to regret what they’ve done to us, how they’ve pushed us aside.’

  Tranzuta tightens his grip on his spear, a twitch in his jaw. His eyes narrow. ‘You told me you didn’t murder that boy.’

  Vladimir tenses, knowing they are speaking about Raja Khan, Diez’s counterpart, who ended up sliced in half not long after Diez arrived.

  ‘I didn’t,’ Diez snaps. ‘It wasn’t murder. It was self-defence. Me or him.’

  ‘You or him?’ Tranzuta cries. ‘You or him? You shouldn’t have been there in the first place.’ Tranzuta steps nearer the man. ‘They told you to stay out of Coldivor and remain in your own world.’

  Vladimir admires Tranzuta’s bravery as he advances, seemingly fearless, only ferocity and a look of betrayal on his face.

  ‘Sure, keep out of Coldivor and stay in England, in the war, and die. Get blown up or shot,’ Diez barks, taking his own step towards Tranzuta, his shoulders high and fists clenched.

  ‘So, instead, you chose to take an innocent life, and in turn your own brother’s.’

  The men are almost nose to nose now, glowering at each another.

  ‘They killed my brother,’ Diez says, his tone low and menacing, ‘when they wouldn’t let us through. They killed Matt, and a lot of others.’

  ‘So if Matt had got through, would you have killed his counterpart too?’

  Diez sneers, ‘Self-defence, innit?’

  Tranzuta opens and closes his mouth, his lips failing to marshal words, until they find: ‘When we left Coldivor to visit this realm of darkness, I was afraid of what we would find here. But now, I wonder if the real realm of darkness doesn’t dwell inside you. Perhaps I should be afraid for the monsters.’

  Diez growls, ‘Perhaps you should.’

  A howl in the distance cuts off Tranzuta’s response. Instead he steps back and pulls out his gethadrox. ‘We should go. This was a terrible idea.’

  ‘You go if you want to,’ Diez shrugs. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’

  ‘Daniel, you don’t know what you’re getting into,’ and Tranzuta’s tone is urgent. ‘You cannot stay here and survive. If I leave without you, you’ll be lost forever.’

  Diez chuckles, and as if by magic, a gethadrox appears in his hand. ‘You didn’t think I was just taking notes for fun, did you?’

  Tranzuta seems to sag with the realisation. ‘You never intended to come back to Coldivor.’

  ‘Not until the perfect time, mate,’ and with that, Diez turns and wa
lks away.

  ‘Daniel,’ Tranzuta calls after him as another howl sounds out. ‘Daniel,’ but Daniel does not turn back.

  For a while, Vladimir and the others stand by the dome, waiting for something, anything to happen but when nothing does, they once again begin their trek through the wasteland of Vedark.

  They wander aimlessly, stopping on occasion to watch as Mandeck once again unravels the past. In places, there is nothing more than a creature’s cry, in others, scenes of feasts and frolicking or battles of beast and man.

  None of the Coltis discusses what they see, each seeming to lock away what they’ve witnessed, to draw it out for study at a later date. Sometime when they’re not dripping in sweat and as tense as drawn arrows.

  ‘Here,’ Vladimir instructs as they reach another stretch of anonymous land, just another mass of terracotta clumps and rolls. Again, Mandeck steps forward, sending shards of light to scatter the air, and the world once more rewinds.

  Vladimir jolts at the sudden sight of Diez, as if he’s emerged from the shadows.

  ‘Faster,’ Vladimir barks and a blur of creatures and smears flurry around them. When once again the night seems still, Vladimir murmurs, ‘Now.’

  The scene settles and they watch a little less than patiently for something to happen. Vladimir eyes their surroundings, knowing he definitely glimpsed Diez in the blur of time. Then a thud snatches his attention and he stalks towards the sound, that of a figure that had hit the ground a little way off.

  The body seems frail, swallowed beneath an emerald cloak: a cloak of The Courts. They watch as the figure slowly lifts its head, thin black hair slick with sweat smoothed over a torn scalp of pale skin.

  Vladimir’s jaw twitches. Diez. Thinner than the last time, panting, trembling, perfumed with sulphur and painted in sweat. His eyes are still brown but a ring of cyan surrounds his pupils and something ominous lingers on his smirking lips. Though at a glance, Diez seems beaten and broken, the look on his sunken face, suggests otherwise.