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

by S McPherson

  ‘Milo, we have to get out of here,’ I again say, my voice cracking as I try to swallow my mounting fear. We won’t make it over the hill before the beasts gain the courage to attack again, and my next step has me collapsing to the ground, Milo following ungraciously beside me. His weight against me seems inordinately heavy, but then he shifts, trying but failing to push himself up on his shuddering arms, his wings folded behind him.

  ‘Milo?’ I whisper but he only mumbles in response. I drag my hands through my now matted hair, snatching mouthfuls of stale air as I curl my bottom lip between my teeth. Eyes closed, I clench and unclench my fingers until I feel a familiar flicker of power smarting through me. Tentatively, I reach out for the wall the beasts must have created to bind it; nothing. Maybe their wall has crumbled with them. I cling onto that hope, like I would a log in some swollen river’s rapids as I dredge up my remaining ounce of strength. I wait for the familiar cool rush that comes when it merges with my blood and courses through my veins. As I place my pale hand over Milo’s, I think of where we might go and for some reason I remember the black boxy structures I saw earlier.

  For a while, though, nothing happens, and then…purple. Everything’s now a blaze of violet. There’s a rush of cold and my skin is stretched. We’re teleporting. I am teleporting us. I feel Milo beside me, the softness of his wings warming my otherwise frozen hand.

  We slam into the side of something, something scratchy and unyielding. My spine protests on impact and I groan, my head throbbing, my side torn open all over again. I don’t stop to think about the severity of my injury. Instead, I rummage in my bag in the near blackness and finally wrap my hands around my torch and gratefully switch it on, its small light revealing our surroundings.

  We appear to be on a sodden mound of earth, that damned olive-coloured slime clogging its surface. I drag my hands from it before it burns, wiping them on the coarse structure behind us. It’s one of the buildings I spied earlier, though now up close I see it’s not a building at all. It slants from the ground, arching at the top like a tortoise shell. A few others stand close by and I listen out for any sounds of life, but there’s nothing.

  At last, I turn to Milo, startled by the sight of his wings, not that I could really have forgotten them. But their existence is still a lot to grasp and my mind becomes crippled at the pressure of trying to. The horns, thankfully, blend in well with his hair, and in this faded light, I can almost un-see them. He’s pushed himself up onto his elbows, his head slumped forward, his breathing laboured.

  ‘I’ll be right back,’ I whisper and steadily climb through the gunk, digging my fingers into the sides of the mound as I slither around it. There must be somewhere we can rest, somewhere to hide. My hand slips, as if the universe had heard me, and I tumble face-first into a blanket of what looks like black sand mixed with pale yellow grains. It smells like nature, fresh and green. I collect some in my hands, rolling it in my fingers, waiting for my skin to react. But nothing happens. For now, it seems it’s safe.

  I shine my torch around and realise I am in a hollow. a sort of cave where we might slip away for a short while. It definitely looks big enough for the two of us, although I wonder if it will accommodate Milo’s…changes. I shrug off my bag and ram the torch into the ground at the entrance, then steadily climb back up to find Milo. He’s now sitting up against the mound, his wings splayed. The dim glow of the torchlight shrouds half of him in darkness, the rest lit like a halo. The last scraps of his clothing have fallen away, his heaving chest so lacerated I could believe he’d been whipped. Swallowing my urge to throw my arms around him, still not sure if he’s the same boy I once knew, I shuffle closer, hesitating before the expanse of his wings.

  ‘You moved,’ I fumble to say. His eyes are still closed and I wonder if they’ll still be blue when he opens them—if he opens them. ‘I’ve found some shelter. Just on the other side of this mound.’

  His fingers barely twitch in response.

  ‘Do you think you can make it?’ I get closer, taking care not to touch his wings, not yet ready to feel their silk again. ‘I’ll help you.’

  Milo licks his lips, that small act the only sign he’s still conscious. Slowly, so slow I hardly notice, he nods…just the once. I clutch the xyen in one hand and move even closer. The tips of his wings stroke the top of my head but I try not to think about them as he wraps an arm around my shoulders and together we haul ourselves to our feet.

  The ground is so sodding slippery, we wobble and sway, slamming against the packed earth behind us. I use the xyen as a prop and for a while it seems to work. But Milo’s weak, each slip of his staggering feet sending me sliding and grasping at thin air as I try to stay upright. We’re almost at the mouth of the hollow when I feel my feet won’t budge, the soles of my shoes wedged into the glutinous earth as if moulded from it. I tug, grunting and hissing as I try to tear myself free.

  ‘Come on.’ I grit my teeth and yank my leg back as harshly as I can. With a shrill squeak, I fall to the ground like a pile of bricks. I gape up at Milo, checking he too hasn’t fallen, and gasp, stunned when I see his body shaking, his teeth flashing, his face creased with laughter.

  ‘You’re laughing?’ I shriek, sweat dribbling down my face, my throat so dry it feels raw. ‘How can you be laughing?’

  Milo doesn’t respond as he leans against the wall, his laughter growing louder. As if contagious, I begin to smile, watching how his face shines, all traces of his earlier torment vanishing. He clutches his seeping chest as his laughing becomes a series of cackles, and soon I’m laughing too. He still doesn’t open his eyes, though. Open your eyes, Milo. His hair falls into his face as he extends a hand to me, which I then take. He goes to help me to my feet, but instead, I pull him down beside me. He oomphs and I start at how easily he fell. He’s still weak. But then he grins as he turns to me. My heart flips as brilliant blue eyes, more striking than they ever were, study mine. Milo.

  ‘This stuff stings,’ he murmurs, his voice hoarse and catching.

  I nod a ‘Yes’, a lump of joy and sorrow swelling in my throat, choking my words. I have no idea what happened tonight, but I know that somehow everything has changed.

  TO THE SKY

  Yvane stands in the guest toilets of the Court and smiles at her reflection in the elegantly framed mirror. It’s a stunning brass Gothic arch mirror with tall thick candles nestled in holders around it. Equally extravagant doors lead to the toilet stalls, brass whorls and defined symbols of the empires adorning them. Yvane wonders what her parents would think if they saw her now: an acting advisor to the Senior of the Court and currently in charge of a handful of Corporeal recruits. Involved in a mission so covert it’s not yet been shared with the rest of Coldivor.

  Yvane sighs. Not long after her vision of the Orange moon, she told her parents she was joining the Courts Guard, packed her bags and left home. Her mother had bawled and begged ‘Don’t leave us Yvane. Don’t go out there. It’s not safe. Let the Court handle it.’. A pang twists Yvane’s insides. That was her mother’s answer to everything: let someone else deal with it. And her father had responded with anger, snapping and seething. He vowed to come after her, to give Vladimir a piece of his mind, but it’s no surprise he still hasn’t shown up. Her father has been little talk and no action since the Elenfar. Yvane splashes water on her face and runs her fingers through her curls. She’s doing the right thing.

  There’s a brief tap on the door before Trevor pokes his head in.

  ‘You coming, boss?’

  ‘You do know this is the girl’s room, don’t you?’

  He shrugs, ‘I’m blind.’

  ‘You’re not a girl.’ Yvane saunters towards him, the sound of her shoes on the floor tiles no doubt telling him she’s coming. ‘In case you’re wondering,’ and she stops in front of him, ‘I’m shaking my head at you.’

  He chuckles and they leave the toilet, making their way down the paved corridor. As Yvane follows after him, she’s momentarily rel
ieved he cannot see her. Over the past few days, she’s trained her mismatched group together in matters of combat—with the aid of Fuertes—and useful incantations and potions, namely Nepatin; their most powerful serum against the Exlathars. It’s their individual abilities, though, that’s got her to working with them one-on-one.

  Mops was easy. A Teltreporthi with enough confidence to believe she can travel the Nynthst without a gethadrox. After only a day, she was teleporting from one side of the room to the other. Now she can teleport from upstairs to downstairs, and Yvane is sure she’ll only continue to excel. The other Teltreporthi in the group, Darren, is also getting the hang of his gift. Though he doesn’t always teleport when he wants to, when he does, he travels a great distance. Control is his issue.

  The other two in her group are Premoniters, and Yvane has found working with them the easiest. The trick to tapping into one’s third eye is meditation; complete focus and guided breaths. Every afternoon, the girls meditate, focus on a specific date in their future and follow the strict breathing regime Yvane has set for them. Celia, the older of the two, had her first vision the previous day. Just a fleeting glance of a face and a voice she has never known. She said the experience felt like a memory, like she’d gone there, the face and voice so clear it could have been happening at that moment, and then she’d returned. Celia welled up, and Trish, the younger of the two, stayed in her meditative state for another few hours, trying to reach the same epiphany.

  But Trevor? Trevor is a Prevolid. One who is gifted with the ability to see through objects, and yet Trevor cannot see at all. The first few days, Yvane tried techniques involving touch, having him place his fingers on the ground or the wall through which he was trying to see. Once his eyes had even glowed but it had yielded nothing. The power is there inside him but of little use without his eyes.

  ‘I know I’ve said this before but,’ Yvane grimaces, ‘I’m really not sure these sessions will be any use. Perhaps we should scrap the ability training and focus on incantations and potions.’ She shoves her hair behind her ear, her eyes trained on the ground as she feels Trevor turn to face her. ‘I hate to sound like a broken record.’

  ‘Then perhaps you should get yourself fixed,’ he says light-heartedly.

  Yvane frowns. She should know by now that Trevor would say something like that. The boy with unbreakable spirit and a desire to experience as much of life as he can. Trevor is not one to admit defeat.

  ‘Yvane,’ and his tone is depthless, dragging her with it. She looks into his pale-blue eyes, obscured by his ironic black-rimmed glasses. ‘Is everyone else doing ability training?’

  She nods then belatedly adds, ‘Yes’.

  ‘And am I so different to everyone else? If you punch me, do I not bruise?’ he says, clearly amused, and Yvane clenches her fist.

  ‘Shall we find out?’ she grumbles, and he barks with laughter.

  ‘Chin up, kid,’ he says and raps her leg with his cane. ‘Don’t worry if this doesn’t work. I just like the way the power feels,’ and he turns to walk away. Yvane sighs. Though Trevor seems unbreakable, she is sure he, like everyone else, has a limit.

  ‘I’m not worried,’ she says with forced vigour that doesn’t go unnoticed. He turns, dips his head and raises sceptical brows. ‘Fine,’ she grumbles.

  They march up a flight of stairs leading to the spare room they’ve taken to practicing in. Yvane marvels at how Trevor navigates his way up, his cane now tucked under his arm, not using the bannister nor missing his step.

  ‘I see in other ways,’ he calls over his shoulder. ‘You’d be amazed what my ears hear.’

  Yvane stops. ‘How did you know what I was thinking?’

  He chuckles. ‘You were hanging back and I could feel your eyes on me. What else would you be thinking?’ He turns to her. ‘Unless, of course, you were checking out my arse, in which case I won’t spoil the view,’ and with that he turns away and continues walking up the stairs, an exaggerated swing to his hips.

  She snorts, ‘So smug,’ and is again pleased he cannot see her, though he can probably sense the flush of her skin as she ambles after him.

  They enter the room, a near replica of Lexovia’s. A bronze, button-speckled chaise longue stands by its window, a prominent four poster bed with a canopy of gold ruffles and gossamer drapes dominating the centre of the room. The floor is a mix of hazelnut wood and old carpet suggesting vague outlines of empire symbols. Trevor flings his cane on the bed.

  ‘Same drill as the last times?’

  Yvane lifts a listless hand. ‘Sure.’ She tries to sound positive but these sessions are breeding discontent. She can’t dispel the hope that tremors in her when they begin or ignore the disappointment when they finish and she finds nothing has changed. She flops onto the bed and watches as Trevor struts over to the door of the bath chamber. He slips off his fake glasses and as usual places his hand on the door, eyes closed. A few moments later they spring back open, their icy blue irises alight like azure candle flames. He caresses the door, his hands gliding over it, as he comments on each bump and scratch.

  ‘I think my sense of touch is heightened,’ he grins.

  Yvane attempts a smile. At least one of them is enjoying themselves. ‘Any idea what’s on the other side?’

  ‘Well, given that we’re in a bedroom, my powers of common sense would tell me this leads to the bathroom.’

  Yvane harrumphs and he chuckles, the way he always does.

  ‘But otherwise, no. I don’t know what’s on the other side.’

  ‘Try your eyes,’ Yvane suggests, curling her legs up beside her and wriggling under the duvet. Trevor enjoys training his ability, and given he’s her last trainee for the day, as always, he tends to take his time.

  He tuts. ‘Still so fond of me using my baby blues,’ and before she can wonder, he adds, ‘My mother told me what colour they are.’

  ‘Actually, I was going to say that maybe your eyes and hands combined will lead to something.’

  He shrugs and presses his forehead to the door whilst still running his hands over its wood.

  He stays like this for so long Yvane feels her eyes start to close. Would he mind or even notice if she fell asleep? The bed is incredibly soft and she’s been at this training thing non-stop for over a week now.

  ‘What’s that?’ he murmurs.

  ‘Hmm?’ she says, her eyes now closed.

  ‘What’s…What’s that?’

  Something in his tone forces Yvane to open her eyes . He’s still by the door, pressed up against it.

  ‘What’s what?’ she yawns.

  ‘That sound.’

  ‘What sound?’

  ‘Like…Like running water.’

  They remain silent as they listen, then Yvane says, ‘I don’t hear anything.’

  ‘Looks like my ability is spreading to my sense of hearing now, too,’ he gasps, cupping his ear to the door.

  Yvane yawns ‘Awesome’ and allows her eyes to shut once more.

  ‘I can see.’ The words come out in a low burst of air.

  Yvane opens an eye, and there Trevor stands, his ear against the door and his own eyes wide with wonder.

  ‘I can see,’ he repeats.

  Yvane leaps off the bed and cautiously hurries over, afraid to get her hopes up. ‘What do you mean “See”?’

  ‘Not well and not like you,’ he shakes his head, ‘but I think I can see the sound waves: bright streaks swirling around the edges of a toilet, a great ostentatious thing with a drawstring flush, pale coloured waves rippling over a basin—no, two basins, side by side. His and hers?’ and he listens more keenly, ‘and…and whirls of something… Water?’ he guesses. ‘Rushing through pipes beneath the tiles.’

  Yvane gapes at him, her words strangled in her throat. The moment is pregnant with words she cannot find to say. He’s still blind and yet his ability to see through objects has simply morphed to suit him.

  ‘I knew I could do it,’ he barely whispers, his eyes cl
osing. Yvane hears a hint of relief in his murmur and is struck by a pang of sorrow.

  ‘I’d be lying if I said “Me too”.’ Yvane gulps. ‘I hoped but I never really believed. I’m sorry.’

  Trevor makes a sound like a huff and a chuckle. ‘Don’t apologise. People have been apologising to me all my life.’

  Yvane grimaces. ‘I… I don’t know what to say.’

  He shakes his head, pinning his pale blue eyes on her. Yvane shuffles. Though he may not physically see her, she feels sure he can see her soul. ‘Be a friend and give me a hug, woman. I can see!’ and he throws open his arms. Laughing, Yvane runs into them, tears swimming in her eyes. Trevor folds his arms around her, and she can hear him inhale her scent.

  ‘I can see you, too.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Only when you speak; the waves.’ He pulls back slightly, forcing her to look up at him.

  Yvane considers and then starts to hum. It’s random at first, but then slips into the melody of an old Coltis lullaby. Trevor smiles.

  ‘You have curls,’ he twirls a finger in her hair, ‘two elegantly shaped eyes, a nose,’ he runs a finger down the length of her nose and over her lips, ‘and two soft lips.’

  Yvane closes her eyes, willing herself to keep humming though her body is in a tizzy.

  Trevor trails his fingers down her neck, cupping it in his hand. He leans in so close she can feel his breath on her skin. ‘Sing.’

  Yvane swallows and then starts to sing the lullaby:

  ‘Oh, weary one,

  the sun has gone,

  to bed.

  Now it’s your turn.

  Tomorrow, you will learn,

  and you will thrive,

  but tonight, just close your eyes.’

  ‘And a beautiful voice,’ he sighs as it glides out of her like a ringing bell. Yvane smiles.

  ‘Well, we didn’t do this in my training,’ comes a voice.

  Trevor and Yvane leap apart at the sound of Mops’s teasing.