by S McPherson
‘That’s enough,’ Vladimir finally breathes. They set up camp behind a cluster of boulders and organise watches, though Vladimir rarely sleeps, either way. ‘I’ll go first.’
Vladimir kicks at their small sack of rations, their store dwindling fast, their clothes torn and filthy. He sighs and slumps against a rock. In all this time—however long it’s been—they’ve learnt little more than how Diez has managed to sustain his life. Vladimir looks at the others, sleeping a little way off, huddled around a smouldering fire they’ve used to cook their remaining slabs of ligat bacon. He knows they’re losing hope, though they do not voice it, but the longer they go on, the more their shoulders crumple under the weight of defeat.
Sighing, he pushes a hand through his hair. It’s longer now than when he left Coldivor and his beard has returned, a thin layer of fuzz on his chin. He wonders if Lexovia is fairing any better. He smiles at the thought of her and wonders if she’s throttled Brixen in his sleep yet. He almost wishes he was there to see how Lexovia and Brixen rule together. He chuckles.
‘Something funny?’
Vladimir jolts. It’s Javina, awake to take her watch. Her black hair is matted, heavy bags beneath her eyes.
‘Just…thinking.’
‘Well,’ and she nudges him aside to take the space beside him, ‘go think in your sleep.’
‘I’m not tired,’ he says, suppressing a yawn.
She quirks an eyebrow. ‘Nice try.’
‘No, really.’ He stretches. ‘I’d rather stay awake.’
‘This is not a negotiation,’ and as if to prove her point, she conjures a ball of fire in the palm of her hand. ‘We can do this the easy way, or…’
Though she says it with a smile, Vladimir concedes. ‘All right, all right,’ and he makes his way over to his waiting sleeping sack, one padded with cushions and equipped with a large translucent helmet to regulate the air whilst he sleeps. ‘See you in the morning.’
Vladimir is already awake, packing up supplies, when the others stir. He’d taken over Mandeck’s last watch and sent him with Javina to explore one last time.
‘We’ll leave at the next portal opening,’ he announces as he takes a cautious sip of their last dregs of water. ‘We can’t continue like this.’
Eajery arches her back with a sigh then nods. Her eyes are concealed behind her glasses but Vladimir doesn’t doubt they glisten with gratitude. The red powdered earth clings to her skin like dried drops of blood, her blond hair tangled in her crown of beads and her clothes made see-through by her sweat.
‘We’ll go back defeated,’ Baxter sighs. He’s lost weight and black hair sprouts from his usually shaven scalp. ‘No fortuitous news for our people.’
‘We will bring them ourselves, alive and fighting.’ Vladimir speaks decidedly but does not meet their gaze. He feels their failure, perhaps worse than any of them, like lead armour fused to his flesh. He said Vedark would be an answer, that they’d discover the world of their enemy and return with ways of defeating them or luring them back to their realm. But they will return with neither. There’s nothing here. Wearily, he rubs his eyes, grit grazing them as he does so.
He turns to the sound of Mandeck and Javina returning from their exploration. He doesn’t expect them to report anything but then the look on their faces gives him pause.
‘You’ve found something,’ Vladimir says as he gets to his feet, Amethyst and Baxter following.
Mandeck nods, ‘We have.’
‘Where?’
‘It’s beside the cave we visited when we first arrived,’ Mandeck announces, his eyes wild, his smile incredulous. ‘It’s the only place we saw something, so Javina and I journeyed back there. We didn’t see everything, but we saw enough.’
‘Let’s go.’
The group splits into three lines of three, just as they’d done when leaving Taratesia, Teltreporthis with non-Teltreporthis. In bursts of brilliant silver, mauve and green, and a series of clashes that crack the silence of Vedark, they’re gone.
They arrive at the cave and Mandeck takes the lead, his eyes glowing as he rounds the dome, and time rewinds around them. For a long while nothing changes, then come flashes of creatures, half-humans, and hexes rain down. The images slow, as if they’re wading through tar, until eventually they regain natural speed and the scene plays out.
Vladimir tenses, recognising the two men before him. One is thinning, his dark skin lined with age and fatigue, but his shoulders have remained broad and his purple eyes still carry undiluted passion: Tranzuta. The other is barely recognisable, once an ordinary Corporeal with un-noteworthy black hair and dark grey eyes. Now he’s lanky, his skin as pale as snow, his eyes like full storm clouds ringed by cyan, his hair long and straggly: Diez.
The two stand across from each other, Tranzuta clutching a spear in his steady hands. Diez is unarmed and seems unconcerned by this. Behind him, not too far away, the Vildacruz assemble and vampires pick at their fangs, their porcelain-white skin in stark contrast to their eyes of spooling black. Warlocks are there, too, fidgeting with eager anticipation, and Exlathars circle in the sky, their wings beating leisurely at the air. Everyone appears to be waiting.
‘Tranzuta, you’re embarrassing yourself,’ Diez drawls.
Tranzuta tremors with rage. ‘Only you are an embarrassment,’ he spits. ‘Through everything, I defended you. I took you under my wing and in return you seek to destroy me and my world.’ He shakes his head. ‘You were like my own son.’
‘Oh, spare me,’ Diez scoffs. ‘You used me to make up for the guilt you felt at having lost your daughter; what was her name? Milia?’
Tranzuta clenches his teeth, thrusting out his spear as Diez chuckles. ‘Don’t speak of my daughter,’ Tranzuta growls.
‘Then don’t interfere with my plans,’ Diez growls in return, turning towards his army.
‘No,’ and Tranzuta stalks after him. Vladimir and the others follow. ‘You deem to destroy an entire world, Daniel. I can’t let you.’
‘You can’t stop me.’ Diez halts, takes a steady breath and looks over his shoulder at Tranzuta, the man who practically raised him after the war. ‘I will not, and cannot, let what happened to me happen again.’
‘It won’t,’ Tranzuta urges.
‘How can you be so sure?’ and Diez rounds on him. ‘What happens when more self-proclaiming gods in their ivory towers decide they want to have a pissing contest and their people are the ones to be drowned? When they throw bombs and bring down nations because their ego wasn’t stroked, and ‘cause mama didn’t kiss their booboos. When all that’s good and pure and innocent,’ he now yells, ‘is ripped from this world for just being in the wrong place. It will not happen again. That day, when I forced my way into Coldivor, wasn’t just my escape, it was to find the right place—and I found it, mate.’
‘But it’s not yours to claim. It belongs to the Coltis. You will kill them for your own selfish gains?’
Diez shrugs, ‘I must think of my own, of the human race. Sacrifices must be made.’ He looks as if he might reach out a hand to Tranzuta but clearly thinks better of it, letting it fall to his side.
Tranzuta’s shoulders sag. He no doubt knows he’s no match for Diez and the army gathered behind him. ‘We were friends,’ he murmurs, almost to himself, but then roars, ‘We were friends,’ and the spear quakes in his grip.
‘You were a means to an end, old man,’ Diez retorts but something in his raging eyes, the way he speaks, somehow rings false. ‘You’re one of them, a Coltis. We could never truly be friends.’
Tranzuta staggers, as if punched by the words, his eyes wide.
‘To save my own, I must destroy your kind. You I will spare but you must step aside,’ Diez warns. ‘You can live out your days here, unharmed. You may collect supplies and all the parchments you need to satisfy your curious mind.’
‘Don’t do this, Daniel.’
Diez only snarls and turns from a stunned Tranzuta before sauntering towards his army.
‘Are you ready, my Men-and-Monsters?’ he calls, his arms thrust out to the side. ‘We will journey to a world of all sorts of creatures and there quell your appetites. All your appetites.’ He smirks at the vampires, who chuckle hungrily, their pink tongues lapping over their cracked lips. ‘In return for my kindness, you will claim their land for me. Remember: to conquer, you must first kill all those with pointed ears.’
‘Leave ‘em to me,’ cackles a vampire, his long arms as thin as pencils, his fangs like razors.
‘You do us a great kindness,’ enthuses a warlock, his face as pinched as a raisin. ‘You free us from this forsaken place. You teach us the language of the darlings.’
‘Our debt is to you,’ nods another in agreement.
Diez sneers, ‘Good to hear, lads. I will need you to run things whilst I build up my army in my own world. Once our two realms are united, we will be unstoppable. The Coltis will have nowhere to run, then they will know how it feels.’
The Vildacruz jeer and grunt in approval. Neither they nor Diez notice Tranzuta step stealthily towards them, remaining in Diez’s shadow. He holds the spear loosely in his grip but as he draws nearer, his grip tightens. He thrusts the weapon at Diez’s back but Diez spins, whorls of black chasing him.
‘No,’ he roars, as fierce as a raging lion, knocking Tranzuta to the ground, his fists clench, his eyes wild, as he glowers down at Tranzuta. ‘Why would you do that?’ he bellows. ‘I offered you life. I offered you freedom. I tried to save you, old man.’
‘You tried to cage me,’ Tranzuta snarls, scuttling back on his hands.
‘And you thank me,’ Diez cries, barrelling after him, ‘by trying to kill me.’
Tranzuta leaps to his feet, his chest heaving, his fists poised for a fight. ‘I will never stop trying.’
Diez shakes his head. ‘Exlathars,’ and his voice comes out like a cold breeze, and when he looks up, his dark eyes appear to be lit by a cyan flame. The creatures circling above screech and descend. Even the other Vildacruz tremble at the power Diez wields, at how he can control the wildest of them all.
Sensing what is about to happen, Tranzuta turns and runs.
‘Ilek,’ Diez hisses—the Coldivian command to kill—and the Exlathars descend upon Tranzuta. His screams pierce the air as they rip him to shreds, fragments of his clothing flung high above the melee, the sound of his bones snapping like that of a cracking whip.
Amethyst gasps and turns away with Eajery and Javina, their eyes closed as they try to swallow the bile rising in their throats, but the rest watch, horrifically enthralled, afraid to miss something. So, this is what happened to the Mad Man. What Vladimir finds even more intriguing, though, is how the girls are not the only ones with their backs turned. Diez, too, faces away from the massacre, his head down, body rigid.
‘Enough,’ he says at last. The command is barely audible but immediately the beasts cease, lunging back into the air, awaiting their next instruction. Tranzuta hardly breathes, his caved in chest stuttering as life shudders from him, as it bleeds away.
With his head held high and shoulders forced back, Diez goes to Tranzuta’s side.
‘You will not die out here like an animal,’ he murmurs and hooks his arms under Tranzuta’s. Tranzuta cries out, blood-stained vomit tumbling over his lips, and Diez drags him into the dome.
Vladimir and the others follow, peering into its darkness within. Javina casts a ball of flame to dance upon her hand. It lights the gloomy cave, highlighting Diez and Tranzuta in its corner. Diez squats beside Tranzuta, clutching his hand. His jaw is taut, his eyes glassy and once again ringed with a dark cyan.
‘You will not die alone,’ he whispers. It’s hard to tell if Tranzuta isn’t already dead, the only evidence of life his occasional wheezing and a gurgling in the back of his throat. Barely a minute and the sound stops, the last gasp of air gliding from between Tranzuta’s lips. He is gone, ‘vanished’ for the very last time.
Diez closes his eyes. Vladimir half expects a tear to roll down the bastard’s cheek but none comes. After a lengthy silence, Diez folds Tranzuta’s arms across his chest then rummages in the pockets of his cloak, pulling out a golden-tipped leaf that he rests between Tranzuta’s hands. ‘May they find your dreams in the afterlife.’ Then he wipes his blood-soaked palms on his cloak and leaves the cave.
His army of men and monsters wait quietly, as though wary of seeing a flaw in their leader, a shred of humanity after burying his friend, but they’re met with something as unyielding as steel. Diez gazes past them, saying nothing. He pulls a gethadrox from his cloak pocket and moves fastidiously, a man on a mission. The death of his friend appears to be just the beginning, as though a plan has now truly been set in motion.
Diez taps the centre of the device and steps through the parting crowd as the disk rises. He turns it; three clicks to the left. His onlookers gasp as a thick misty arrow forms and punches a hole through the walls of the realms that crumple into swirling curls of vibrant green.
Vladimir and the others watch as Diez leads his horde of demons into their home. Then the portal snaps shut and all falls silent. Mandeck promptly stops the vision and time resumes as normal once more. He blinks, seeming to clear his head.
‘The leaf,’ Vladimir growls. ‘Did you see the leaf?’
Vladimir turns to them, confusion and fury vying for dominance on his face. ‘None can take a leaf from that tree; it must be gifted by one of their own.’
‘You mean: Diez is working with the Dreldaras Fae?’ Eajery gasps, her face creased.
‘It would appear so.’
‘How? Why?’ Mandeck splutters.
‘Well, there’s one way to find out,’ and Vladimir draws the gethadrox from his satchel. ‘Ask them.’
SILENCE
My stomach twists like a wrung-out towel and I wake, aching for sustenance. Something warm and soft is draped over me and stirs me from my dreamlike state—Milo’s wings. Milo’s bloody wings. I turn to face him. His eyes are closed, his shaggy hair falling onto his eyelids, his breaths peaceful and even. He looks to be sound asleep but I know I could whisper his name and those beautiful eyes would open. I don’t. I lay here, tracing his neck with my fingers and fantasising about what little food I have left: some snickleberry root and a few sollaballs. According to Yvane, sucking on a sollaball will fully rehydrate you. I wonder if they’re those powdered balls the repairee gave me after my stint in incubation.
As if a reflex, I look to my wrist, remembering where the Exlathar gripped it, the skin still red, a ring of raw crust that seems never to heal. I gingerly run my fingers down the tender skin at my side, feeling where the flesh was torn, the pain still prominent, but the wound seems to be healing.
My stomach growls. Giving in, I wriggle from under Milo’s wing and retrieve my bag: the world’s lumpiest pillow. I pull out a twig of snickleberry root and hungrily shovel it into my mouth, delighting in the vigorous pop of berries, the crunch of the stick and the brilliant way the two textures and waring tastes mingle in my mouth.
Milo stirs and his eyes flicker open. ‘Morning,’ he murmurs.
His horns glisten as the dazzling sun snakes its rays into our cave. It’s strange how, after so little time, his horns seem to have always been there. Though I remember him without them, they don’t seem out of place; a crown on his head. A crown for the heir to Dragonysy. I shake my head. Of all the things I have seen, and all the places I have been, this is still a hard pill to swallow.
The sunlight does not fail to highlight the healthy glow returning to Milo’s tanned skin, and when struck by the same light, I see his wings are a dark purple, so deep they can be mistaken for black. He watches as I study him, perhaps trying to piece together my thoughts as I do the same. What will he do now? As a matured Dragonysius will he be forced to join them, exiled from the empires? Surely his mother and Lexovia would never let that happen.
I study the scars on his chest, my eyes drifting to his abdomen, a slab of chisel
led rock wrapped in smooth skin. Milo has always been well-built, but I can’t help feeling the transformation has given him a few more compartments to store his muscle. His skin is sun-kissed, a mix of gold and bronze, and for a moment, I imagine running my mouth across it.
‘What is it?’ he asks. It’s only then that I realise I’m still staring.
‘You don’t want to know,’ I flush and take another bite of snickleberry root before I say anything I wish I didn’t. He raises an eyebrow and sits up, his face only inches from mine.
‘I most certainly do.’ His fingers glide up my neck to cup my chin in his hand. He leans in, biting the end of the root still held in my mouth, and then our lips collide. His hands roam across my body, tease my hair and play around the edges of my clothing. I fling my arms around him. Any hunger the snickleberry didn’t quell is instantly slaked by my overriding ache for Milo. I lie back and he follows, climbing on top of me, pulling my legs around him. I gasp, raking my fingers down his back as he moves against me. My fingertips brush his horns, as smooth as marble in some places and as rough as tree bark in others. His wings are as wide as they can be in this confined place and I’m awed by their shades of purple, mauve and magenta.
Milo brings his face close to mine. ‘You’re distracted,’ he observes, still gently stroking me.
‘No,’ I lie, admiring the patterns the sunlight seems to swirl on his wings.
He chuckles and kisses me again, dragging me back to the moment, tingles radiating through every shred of my being. I am blissfully aware of Milo pressed between my legs, the heavy weight of his body on mine and of the way he does that thing with his tongue that makes my toes curl.
‘Liar,’ he murmurs against my ear, his breath heating the length of my neck. I tilt my head back, shuddering when he plants a kiss at the base of my throat. I lay, powerless, as his hands trace my curves, as they stroke my tummy and slip between my thighs. His other hand trails the outline of my mouth and I open it, welcoming the salty and earthy tang of his fingers.