Swept Away: The Last Elentrice, #3

By S McPherson

Elev nos senaremdos: Live on in memories

Milo is gone, lost beyond the realms, and Vladimir and the others plan to go after him before he gets himself killed…if it isn't already too late. But they have no way of making the gethadrox and they are not all working as together as they think.

Secrets hushed and secrets kept are soon revealed when Dezaray gets a package that leads to her taking matters into her own hands and following a path that leads to the unimaginable.

Only Lexovia and a small band of misfits stay behind in an attempt to save the world and Lexovia soon finds herself in a position of power she never truly wanted.

There's a darkness between the waves…and it's rising.

Dive deeper into worlds & war in this thrilling third installment of a dark fantasy. Loved by fans of Cassandra Clare and Sarah J Maas

• Language: English
• Publisher: S McPherson
• Release date: Aug 18, 2019
• ISBN: 9780993360572

Book preview

Swept Away

Book 3 of The Last Elentrice series

Published by S. McPherson Books

Copyright © 2017 S. McPherson

All rights reserved.

Second paperback edition printed 2018

Second eBook edition published 2018

Swept Away is a work of fiction. Characters, names, places and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, or people, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

ISBN 978-0-9933605-7-2

NO PART OF THIS BOOK shall be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information retrieval system without written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

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Cover design by: Eight Little Pages

Cover illustration: © Eight Little Pages

Title-page art: © Ibrahim Al Saffar

Logo design: © Charlene Devismes

This book is for the dreamers and the make-believers, the ones who still play pretend, lose themselves to possibility and dance amongst the clouds.

THE BLOODY SHOE

I ROLL THE ROCK OVER in my hands, the petals of its flower still ever changing colour, from red to pink to gold, and the words—Milo’s words—stand out like an angry scar on pale flesh.

‘I did it,’ they say. ‘Maybe they’ll write songs about me.’

I close my eyes and let my fingers trace the rough surface of the rock, following the letters engraved there. I know Milo is referring to the gethadrox. He’s done it. He’s made the device that will allow people to travel the Nynthst and enter the realms that only Tranzuta was ever mad enough to imagine. A way for anyone and anything to cross worlds. Cold trills up my spine and my stomach plummets, like a ships anchor. Milo is somewhere out there, in a universe too vast to truly understand with creatures I shrink from imagining.

The vague message he carved into this stone may well be a gash cut across my heart. It tells me nothing of his plans. Nor how I can follow. My bottom lip curls between my teeth as I steady my breath and tame my thoughts.

Milo? I mindle, though even before I think his name, I realise I don’t expect him to answer. He doesn’t mean for me to follow. He blames himself for the deaths of all those Coltis—the warriors that were killed saving me on the night he came to my rescue in the Exlathars lair—and he’s gone to make sure that those who died didn’t do so for nothing. But this time his life, and only his, stands to be lost. As if this will somehow crack the weight of guilt that crushes him. I know how he feels. I wear it like a crown of stone. But the Nynthst is no place to be a hero.

My hand wraps tight around the gethamot as if I can will the portal to reopen. Pointlessly, I wait, mildly sated by the hiss of the brook as it flows past, by the distant chirrups of birds I hear above the cover of the trees and the sudden shudder of wind as it whistles through my hair.

A crunch echoes, what sounds like a branch snapping, and I race behind a tree, crouching at its trunk. R.U.O.E. are still out there, watching me, my brother amongst them. I still can’t be sure why they haven’t killed me yet. The desire to do so was practically tattooed in Drake’s eyes and yet he fled with the others.

‘Stick to the plan!’ they’d said. Whatever plan that might be.

I try to ignore the way my heart pounds like an animal caged, and the tremor of my hands as I scrounge through the earth for a weapon: a sharp stick or broken glass. But there’s nothing. I peer around the tree, the coarse bark flaking beneath my grip. I listen and hear nothing but the sound of my own breathing. Then there’s a scrape and the rustle of leaves, as if someone has slipped. And at last they come into view.

A wave of relief washes over me: Nathaniel. I forgot he was waiting for me to leave the manor and meet him by the local pub. I should have been back ages ago. His eyes are wary and he holds a sodden piece of wood between his blooded hands. His breath comes thick and heavy, hair up at angles and his sweater torn. He’s been running.

Carefully, I step from my hiding place. He swivels to face me, eyes wide and raging, a plank poised in his grip.

‘Dezaray!’ He drops the frail weapon to the ground and hurtles across the brook to meet me. Water sloshes, swirls and tugs at his feet but he barely seems to notice. At the sight of him, I unravel. The tightly wound chinks in my armour shatter and I let him pull me close. ‘We need to get out of here,’ he murmurs.

‘They were watching me.’ My words come muffled from under his arm and he pulls back, keeping hold of my shoulders. He studies the canopy overhead.

‘And now?’ he asks, his voice low, eyes searching, body tense.

I shrug, ‘If they are they’re hiding. They’ve been told not to hurt me, not even on pain of death.’ My mind offers me memories of the man, the member of R.U.O.E., who chose to take his own life rather than risk being captured, questioned by me. Me! I’m barely past seventeen and yet he chose death over life. Though I doubt it was me he feared. R.U.O.E. are monsters; would they believe him if he said he’d told me nothing? Or would they devour him whole?

The changing petals must have caught Nathaniel’s eye, for he frowns and thrusts his chin towards it. ‘What’s that?’

I pinch the rock, as if checking it’s real. ‘Milo.’

Nathaniel splutters. ‘You went into Storm manor to get some of your old things, and now it somehow involves R.U.O.E. and Milo?’

I simper, ‘Put the kettle on, love. This could take a while.’

As we slip out of the woods and make our way through the familiar deserted streets to Feranvil Farm, I tell Nathaniel everything. Of how members of the R.U.O.E organisation, Drake included, lurked in the shadows by the manor, surveillance equipment in hand...to survey me. I tell him how I stalked after them and he tells me he saw them the same time I did. Nathaniel had followed but lost me in the woods.

‘I didn’t know which one to follow, and in the end, I wound up following the wrong one,’ he tuts. ‘He ended up knocking me onto my arse and getting away.’

I place a hand on his. ‘I almost got one. Had him on the ground and asked why they were following me. His ankle seemed twisted. He didn’t run. But he,’ I hesitate, ‘he chose to kill himself, instead.’

Nathaniel stumbles over his feet. ‘What?’

I squint and hold up my fingers, to indicate a size. ‘With a little blue pill.’

Nathaniel frowns, drapes an arm around my shoulders and squeezes. The gesture is supposed to be one of comfort, to make me feel safe but instead it makes me feel trapped, more confined to this world and the whims of fate.

‘What now?’ he asks, lifting the boulder from the ground as we at last reach the entrance to Feranvil farm.

‘I don’t know. I need to get in touch with the Coltis. Tell them what Milo’s done.’ The earth trembles but Nathaniel and I stand firm, now used to the tremor as the ground parts. My legs barely notice the difference, quaking anyway from having raced through the woods.

‘Any idea how?’ Nathaniel asks. The mouth of the hole yawns at our feet and he gestures for me to go first.

‘That is the question,’ I note as I leap down into the abyss. Scrapes and shuffles and a sprinkle of soil let me know he’s close behind.

+

I always like visiting Barnyard Bakery. It’s not much, a small café with tarnished furniture and peeling walls. It stands in an alley to the right of Feranvil town centre, surrounded by paving stones and concrete buildings. The grassy hills leading to Feranvil farm stretch across in the distance, bosoms on which the sky rests—but it’s close to home and private enough.

The first time I came here was with Jude and Nathaniel a few months before, for my birthday and consequently, the day of the Elenfar.  It feels like a lifetime ago now, but the floral tablecloths are the same, as are the olive-green chairs aged with rust, and from nearly every white painted beam still dangles a birdcage, held by some ornate chain or simply suspended by magic, gliding through the air. Not a bird in sight.

Now I lean back, the ornate pattern of the chair pressing into my spine. Imogen raps her knuckles on the table, as if to smack me to pay attention. I turn my eyes to her.

‘This is odd,’ she seems to conclude, but then adds, ‘Why do you suppose they were watching you?’ She steeples her fingers. Her eyes crinkle with concern.

I shake my head. ‘I couldn’t say,’ and I keep my voice low, my eyes trained on the table, tracing the flower petals printed on the cloth. ‘Drake says they know who I am.’ The ‘Last Elentrice’s counterpart’ goes unsaid. ‘Perhaps they’re afraid I’ll suddenly get glowing amber eyes and start flying,’ I grumble.

Imogen chuckles without amusement. ‘If that were it, those cameras would have been guns.’

I sigh and let my eyes sweep over the empty café. There are only two other people here: a couple canoodling by the display case. The man seems ordinary but the woman has a lock of gold winding through her hair; Premoniter. I watch them for a while; as they laugh, snuggle and play with each other’s fingertips...pick a cake already!

‘It’ll never last.’ Imogen harrumphs. I shouldn’t laugh but I do.

‘Imogen!’ I scold and twist my smile into a forced frown.

‘Look at them,’ she goes on to say, gesturing wildly. ‘It’s purely physical.’

I make a grab for her wayward hands. ‘It might be love.’

‘Love for a bit of skirt.’ She hoists her thumb at the man—thankfully the couple haven’t noticed us. ‘Any day now, he’ll tire and make a run for the hills.’

I shake my head and snort into my mug. I know she doesn’t mean a word of it, but she has successfully managed to cheer me up, which I feel was her intention.

+

Bleary eyed, I wake; my mind probes through thick smog, and irritation slashes my resolve.  Almost a fortnight has passed since Milo threw a rock into our world and announced he’d made the gethadrox. Nearly a fortnight of excruciating silence and stuttered sleep. No one in Coldivor has attempted to reach me and all my attempts to mindle them have yielded nothing more than static and air.

Whenever I bring this up with Nathaniel and Jude, they simper and pet me, as though I’m a wounded kitten. They tell me to relax, that the Coltis surely have everything under control but I can tell from their sideways glances and uneasy squirms that they’re as worried as I am. Our enemies span the realms and our allies lie out of reach.

Based on all I have learnt since the Elenfar, the odds are against us. Not only do R.U.O.E swell their own ranks and slaughter Coltis, cutting down all who possess magic and those who dare believe in it, but there is also Daniel Schawsmith, D.S., the one the Coltis seem to call Diez. A Corporeal from long ago, one who broke through the barriers and into Coldivor at a time when the Coltis sought to keep Corporeals out, afraid of the C.P. curse: a plague of counterparts who co-exist in one realm. But Diez got through. His brother, though, was not so fortunate.

Years later, when creatures—vampires, warlocks, Borum wolves and Exlathars—were let out of Vedark and into Coldivor, they wreaked havoc and destroyed any semblance of happiness. Their attack was deliberate, precise and calculated. They swarmed into Taratesia, but at the time, no one stopped to ask why not the barren land that was Melaxous? They targeted Elentri, targeted the strongest first. And no one wondered how they knew them to be strong. Without a gethadrox, how did they even open the portal? A part of me fears the answers all point back to Diez, the cloaked figure I saw wielding more power than anyone else, the night Drake was sent into Feranvil Farm to kill me. The half-man, half-monster.

I rub sleep from my eyes and swallow the urge to dredge up more questions. The sun hangs low in the sky, the dullest I’ve ever seen it, and I wonder if The Makers are intentionally making it rise slowly, allowing the people of Feranvil a much-needed lie in.

At last, I fling back the quilt I’ve tangled around my middle and roll out of bed. The boys and I said, if we hadn’t heard anything from Coldivor within the fortnight, we’d meet at the crack of dawn in the Bar and Grill, to strategize. I stretch, running lazy fingers through my matted hair. It’s been a fortnight.

+

When I plonk down into my seat, I chuck the rock onto the table and send Jude’s milkshake skidding off the edge. I think about apologising as pink, wet clumps slop down the table leg but scowl instead, my earlier irritation freshly peaked. The crystal ball Milo once gave me as a way for us to communicate had thumped against my thigh the whole way to the Bar & Grill, cocooned in my satchel, a constant prodding reminder of how no one is trying to reach me.

I eye the flower, still perched comfortably on top of the rock, its petals changing as often as a candle flame. It’s a harsh red now, matching my anger, and I fight the urge to yank off each curling petal, one by one. I avoid the boys stare as Jude and Nathaniel gather napkins from the centre of the table and mop up the mess I’ve made.

‘I hope you realise you owe me another milkshake,’ Jude says, coolly, and I can’t tell if he’s joking or not.

‘Gladly,’ I grumble and slither out of the booth, keen to get away from that bloody rock and its taunting message from Milo.

The Bar and Grill is quiet today. Soft, sleepy melodies sail from the speakers and only a few tables hold customers. It’s often less crowded on Sunday mornings like this one—people nursing hangovers or running last minute errands—but today’s quiet is something else. Things haven’t been the same in Feranvil since my brother escaped, taking with him information for the R.U.O.E. organisation potentially to use against us. ‘Rid Us of Evil’ is what they say, yet they’re the only evil I see. Magic, like weapons, is not the real evil, it’s only the people wielding it. I skirt around the tables, gnawing at my bottom lip until I reach the bar.

‘Another milkshake?’ Carl, the server, asks, wiping down the counter.

I force a weak smile. ‘Strawberry, please,’ and I slump down on a stool. Too soon, Carl sets the new drink down in front of me, and pinching the straw between my fingers, I absently take a sip.

‘I saw that!’ Jude screeches from his seat.

I roll my eyes, pay Carl and head back to the booth, placing the glass in front of Jude.

‘Don’t panic. My insanity isn’t contagious,’ I soothe.

‘I’ll be the judge of that,’ he gripes but drinks the milkshake all the same. It seems I’m not the only one who didn’t have a very restful night.

‘So...’ eventually Nathaniel says, ‘the Coltis haven’t been in touch and The Makers are too concerned with tracking down R.U.O.E. to care much.’

Jude regards me. ‘What do you make of it?’

I lean forward, feeling useful for the first time in days. ‘If I know Milo, and I do, I’m the only one he’s told about the gethadrox. The Portologists are probably still stumped and no closer to freeing Coldivor than they were when I left.’

‘And you think you know where Milo has kept his findings?’

‘I do.’

Nathaniel sighs. ‘So, it falls to us.’

‘It falls to Jude,’ and I lift my eyes to his. It seems he has the same thought. No trace of confusion crosses his face.

‘I’ll cross the portal,’ he says. ‘I’ll tell them about Milo and the gethadrox.’

‘And I’ll tell you where Milo keeps his notes on stuff like that.’

Neither of them ask why I’m not crossing the portal. The Coltis may have banished me but I learnt my lesson long before they did. I am the last Elentrice’s counterpart and the last time I got myself in trouble, it almost killed us both. I won’t be crossing that threshold anymore. Like a tide coming in, my anger makes way for sadness and I long for my irritation to return, anything but this hurt. All at once, my bad mood this morning starts to make sense.

There’s a rough scrape as a pad and pencil slide across the table, stopping in front of me. I frown questioningly at Nathaniel.

‘You’ll have to draw a map.’

A knot tightens in my stomach. The last thing I want to do right now is remember the wonders of Coldivor and trace the steps I once took, but if Jude is going to have any chance of getting to the Court before the portal shuts him on the wrong side, he’ll need a map. I grasp the pencil and begin jotting down the things I remember. I try to detach myself as I sketch the many trees clustered in Taratesia’s forest, recalling the sweet smells of honeysuckle and wine, the way dew glistened and the air hung thick with a cool mist. I try not to think about the last night I was there: that sinking feeling in my gut like an anchor, as the Court members clad in black marched me to the exit. The twisting arrow of the gethamot seemed to twist my heart with every turn.

‘You’ll most probably arrive in Taratesia somewhere close to the sea,’ I say, numbly, squiggling lines to indicate waves in the ocean. ‘Like Tranzuta said: water is more powerful than all the magic in this realm and the next.’ I hastily add in some more trees, these thin and bare and beside a thick line that marks the border to Melaxous. ‘You’ll know you’re getting close because the ground will change.’ I swallow the pang in my chest. ‘The grass won’t be as thick. It will turn brittle and pale. The sweet scent saturating the air will become a harsh tang of rotten eggs for a moment, then it will seem to fade, or maybe you just get used to it.’ I half smile. The border always seemed to smell the strongest. I barely noticed it anywhere else in Melaxous.

Both Nathaniel and Jude watch intently as I draw. A sheen of excitement glistens on Jude’s face, and I realise, that as sad as this may be for me having someone other than myself cross the portal, it’s incredibly exciting for him.

I stretch my hand across the table and give his a squeeze. ‘Jude, you’re going to Coldivor.’

A smile curves his lips as he leans back and runs a hand over his cropped hair. ‘Bloody hell,’ he breathes, ‘I’m really going.’

Nathaniel grins and my own grows wider. Jude has dreamt of doing this long before I even knew it all existed. I continue to draw whilst Jude rambles on about possibly finding his counterpart and by the sounds of it, becoming best friends.

‘There is the matter of your mum,’ Nathaniel muses. ‘She won’t like this at all.’

‘That’s all right,’ I say. ‘Mrs Edwards won’t know a thing.’

I finish off the map, and folding it, hand it to Jude. ‘If we’re lucky, the Rijjleton Guards will find you and you’ll be at the Court in no time.’

Jude takes a long draught of his drink. ‘And if we’re not lucky?’

‘The Exlathars will find you...’

‘And I’ll be dead in no time.’

+

The impenetrable shield around Feranvil was thankfully lowered a few weeks before, when people decided they needed to get back to normal—well, as normal as could be—and the boys and I easily slip out and into Islon.

We enter the farmhouse through its chimney, still spotless from when Jude and I enchanted the house, and make our way out onto the grassy field that surrounds it. Jude’s eyes are alight and the air around him reeks of anticipation. I hope he knows what he is getting himself into. Apparently, Lexovia taught him a trick or two on dodging attacks but I doubt any Corporeal could withstand an attack from an Exlathar.

We follow the winding arrow of the gethamot into the woods. I wriggle tension loose from my shoulders as Nathaniel carries my bag without me having to ask. He leaves me the torch to guide the way though, Jude is a few steps ahead, his own torch in hand as we descend deeper into the woods, the shade of the leaves blotting out the last remaining sunrays as the sun sinks into the horizon.

‘How are you feeling about this trip?’ Nathaniel rumbles, and it takes me a minute to realise he’s talking to me.

‘Fine.’ I force a tight-lipped smile. He meets it with a knowing look. I sigh. ‘It’s not me you should be worrying about.’ My eyes shift to Jude who leaps about and practices moves I assume Lexovia has shown him.

Nathaniel’s eyes follow mine. ‘He’ll be all right. I bet he has the map memorised and will reach the Court in no time.’

Before I can reply, the arrow stops. ‘We’re here,’ I announce. Now all that’s left to do is wait and keep a watch out for members of the R.U.O.E. organisation.

Jude joins us, dabbing sweat from his brow, a grin on his face that fades when he sees the expression on mine. ‘Say the words you think, lest they eat away your soul.’ He prods me with his elbow and my face crumples. Normally his peculiarity makes me want to cringe and sock him in the head, but today it makes me want to cry and I fold my arms around his middle.

‘Don’t get caught,’ I whisper.

He returns my embrace, letting, for the briefest of moments, his playful nature take a backseat. ‘I won’t,’ he murmurs, solemnly, but we all know it’s not a certainty. The only thing certain in life is how uncertain it turns out to be.

‘What’s this?’ a high-pitched voice screeches. We turn, meeting the ravenous inky eyes of a woman in a familiar uniform; dark grey, almost black, a royal blue line runs along the sleeves and trouser legs. Red hair peeps out from beneath her peaked cap and she blows it from her eyes as she steps closer, hand on hip. I know her weapon is close, tucked in a holster at her side. She doesn’t have to say anything for me to deduce she is a member of the R.U.O.E. organisation. I haven’t seen a female member before but something tells me she will be no kinder than her male cohorts.

My eyes flicker to the gethamot, still cradled in my palm; the denomatrix is pale, the portal set to open any minute, but I doubt we have that minute to spare. The woman’s eyes linger on me, a trace of recognition souring her already bitter stare.

‘I oughta kill the lot of you,’ she seethes through clenched teeth, ‘cavorters of the otherworld, of evil.’

Instinctively, Nathaniel and I step ahead of Jude, barring him behind us. He’s the one who has to make it through tonight. Whatever happens on this side will be worth it, for the sake of the worlds. I wring my hands, my heart spooked into a gallop. Panic licks my chest and leaves behind a wet coldness. I consider trying to reason with the woman, to explain how the Vildacruz are far from the Coltis and that the evil they wield has simply infested Coldivor, as it might one day infest us all, but I know my arguments will fall on ignorant ears.

I wait for her to make the first move, the more time we waste sizing each other up, the better. My eyes drift again to the gethamot; there isn’t long now.

‘Hand it over,’ she growls, having followed my gaze. I hesitate then carefully slip the chain from around my neck. She tenses. ‘That’s right,’ her grin is malicious, ‘nice and easy.’

My gaze is trained on hers, my expression revealing nothing, save for exaggerated fear. I am afraid, but less so of her than of the idea that Jude won’t get into Coldivor tonight, or worse, that he won’t get back out.

She extends her hand, the other still poised over her weapon. ‘I didn’t think you’d be this easy.’ Her smile is so broad she’s practically giddy. ‘What Diez sees in you, I’ll never understand,’ she grumbles. I jolt. Diez: Daniel Schawsmith, the greatest evil either world has ever known. As suspected, he is alive, and somehow through the Exlathars and R.U.O.E. he is fulfilling his plan—whatever that plan might be. I want to scream. The stupid cow doesn’t even realise she’s working with the very evil she’s trying to stop.

She snarls, as though realising she may have said too much. ‘Just give me the device and get off home. There’s nothing stopping me from putting a bullet between his pretty brown eyes.’ She glowers at Nathaniel. If he’s afraid, he doesn’t show it, and a rush of relief washes through me. It seems our hope of keeping her focused on us and off Jude is working.

‘Alright.’ I hold up my hands in surrender, the chain of the gethamot swinging idly from my fingers. Any minute ‘NOW!’ I turn, tossing the gethamot to Jude as the portal springs open. He catches it in one hand and dives at the opening, but the woman is fast. Like a brick wall slamming into me, she barrels past, knocking me to the ground. She lunges at Jude, grabbing his ankles, and he stumbles, half in this world and half in the next.

I’m wild with panic; this scene is all too familiar. It’s the same thing that happened to Diez’s brother, leading him to being sliced right down the middle, and it cannot happen to Jude. Nathaniel quickly recovers and bounds onto the woman, wrestling her as she fights for her gun whilst keeping one hand firmly wrapped around Jude’s ankle. Wedging her feet in the earth, she pulls him back and he squirms and kicks as the opening shrinks around him, her grip too solid.

I scramble to my feet, ignoring my bruised shoulder, and rush to help. But how? Are we just to be a chain of humans stretching between worlds until it snaps shut, ending Jude’s life?

‘Nathaniel, let go!’ I call.

He looks at me, like I’ve gone mad, but does as I ask. I try to stay focussed and ignore the walls of the portal folding in, Jude still firmly stuck between. He’ll be cut in half. There’s no coming back from that. I channel my energy, the little power I have, and feel it surge, stronger than anything I’ve ever known. It dives into my hands, drenching them in an icy cold, my fingers stiff as lead. I hope what I’m about to do is right.

‘Exlarvus!’ I howl as the portal grazes Jude’s side. I see the fabric of his shirt sizzle and then the incantation catches. He and the woman are flung onto the other side just as the portal vanishes, as if swallowed by the light that raged from it. I wish I could see what’s happening, but all I can do now, is hope.

Nathaniel is bent over, palms resting on his knees, his breath ragged.

‘I hope that was the right move,’ I wheeze.

Nathaniel nods, slowly standing. ‘She won’t be much harm to him now.’ I’m about to ask why when I see what he’s looking at: a bloody boot, tilted and crusted with mud and clotting scarlet smears, lies where the entrance to the portal had been, the owners foot still inside.

‘Oops?’ I offer, trying to make sense of the delight and horror squirming in my gut. Nathaniel snorts.

‘Oops she says,’ and he chuckles, shaking his head. I shake my own then settle on the ground and lean against a tree, one as far from the bloody shoe as I can get without losing sight of it. It’s going to be a long night.

BORN OF ICE AND FIRE

JUDE BOUNDS TO HIS feet. Adrenalin courses through him, as blind and determined as a driverless train. He swivels, fists raised as Lexovia had shown him, expecting to see the woman snarling at his back, but instead a scream drags his eyes to the ground. There the woman lies, as a snake writhing in the dirt, her face creased like a dried-up lemon as she clutches her leg. Jude swallows bile, seeing blood gushing from where her foot should be.

Hastily, he rips off his jacket and crouches at her side, making to swathe the wound and stem the bleeding.

‘Get away from me!’ she hisses. Spit sprays and bubbles from her lips.

‘Shush!’ he urges, glancing at the sky. They aren’t in England anymore. The enemies here have weapons far greater than guns. Once again, he goes to grab her leg but the woman lashes out, teeth grinding so loud he can almost hear them.

‘Don’t touch me,’ she growls her brow percolating with sweat.

‘I’m trying to help you!’

The click of a gun is all Jude needs to still his hands. He feels its cold steel pressed to his temple, and he waits for the click of the safety being lifted, but the weapon trembles, unsteadily. The woman is clearly weak, too weak