Going Under: The Last Elentrice, #5

By S McPherson

Hold your breath...

 

Twisted, overwhelmed and betrayed, Dezaray is about to make her final stand. Tangled in enemy territory, she desperately tries to stay afloat, but Diez is closing in, she can't catch her breath and any day now, she's going to drown.

Lexovia struggles to keep her own head above water as the Dawning grows stronger and his tribe attack. She's been training for this day her entire life but in the face of fire, Lexovia wonders who will blaze the greatest inferno.

 

Get ready to dive into this final, gut-wrenching instalment of the Last Elentrice series where nothing is at it seems, old hurts are rehashed, betrayal runs deep and the battle of all battles will rage.

• Language: English
• Publisher: S McPherson
• Release date: Apr 21, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393439516

Book preview

A STRANGER WAITS

It won’t be long before nightfall.

Howard glances up at the peach-coloured sky. The sun is nearly set and golden stars pop into existence, dappling the sun kissed wisps of clouds. He’d hoped to be on his way back to the Court by now, but he’s still trekking across the barren land of Melaxous. The towering spire of the Court of Coldivor looms somewhere behind him and somewhere up ahead lurks Deadwood; the outer trees hunched and gnarled like crooked skeletons.

Howard doesn’t look back to make sure Yvane’s counterpart, Chantelle, is following. Her inexperienced feet are making enough noise with the amount of times she snaps a twig or trips over a rock. He’s beginning to think she’s doing it on purpose.

They haven’t been walking long but the air is muggy and Howard dabs at the sweat on his brow. He’d volunteered to patrol the outer regions of Melaxous as an excuse to get out of the Court for a while. Away from the sorrow and despair that’s lingered there ever since the battle with Diez and his monsters. Away from the quiet and empty halls now that Jude, Trig and so many others aren’t there. It wouldn’t be so bad if Yvane had returned, but apparently, she thought she’d be more useful in Feranvil Farm. And her decision has left Howard with only his thoughts and the task of watching Chantelle. Though, he doesn’t hate it as much as he thought he would.

Chantelle is different to Yvane. More short-tempered and sarcastic. But Howard finds that that’s exactly what he needs when he’s feeling frustrated or sorry for himself. He doesn’t want pity and consoling touches. He wants to be challenged. Distracted.

‘I still can’t believe you agreed to come back here,’ he calls to Chantelle who puffs behind him. ‘You could have gone home. Forgotten all this.’

Chantelle snorts. ‘No matter where I am in the world, I could never forget all this. Besides, Diez is as much my enemy as yours. Once he’s conquered Coldivor, it won’t be long before he returns to England for more.’

Slowing so she can catch up, Howard takes a sip from his flask then offers it to her. Catching up, Chantelle grabs the drink and takes a large gulp.

‘According to Dezaray, all Diez wants is a world where people are safe from the warring whims of men in power.’ Howard sighs. Though he doesn’t agree with Diez’s methods, maybe the murderous tyrant will truly leave the corporeal world in peace once he feels safe in a new realm.

Chantelle quirks a brow. ‘Isn’t trying to destroy everyone in Coldivor so he can have their land for himself, a warring whim of a man in power?’

Howard snickers and returns the flask to the belt at his hip. ‘Good point.’ He starts walking again, slower this time so Chantelle can keep up. He gestures in a direction where shadowy trees hulk in the distance. From here only the more formidable ones can be seen, standing tall. ‘That’s Deadwood. It’s nothing as grand as Taratesia Forest.’ He indicates the prominent line of trees standing at the border of Melaxous, ‘but we’ve had some good times there. Built a treehouse when we were younger.’

Chantelle squints like she’s trying to see it. Howard is almost tempted to take her there, just so he can think of something else besides death and the coming war. So, he can be reminded of a happier time. But a trip down memory lane will have to wait until tomorrow. Tonight, they’ve been tasked with patrolling the outer perimeters of the Court for any signs of the Dawning and his minions. The group of Coltis traitors working for Diez disappeared underground a few days ago and the spies Vladimir has sent in, can’t seem to find a whisper of where they went.

‘I’m not sure how much you’ll see of Taratesia,’ Howard continues knowing Chantelle was looking forward to seeing the home the Coltis fled, the home they’re fighting to regain.  ‘The trees are thick there. Hard to see anything without going in.’

‘That’s alright. I’ll be happy just to get a glimpse of this enchanted forest that smells like honeysuckle and grape wine,’ Chantelle snickers, mocking the wistful way Howard earlier described Taratesia.

He glowers and turns away.

‘That’s a first.’

‘What?’

‘That you haven’t had some snarky comeback.’

Howard goes to retort but something catches his eye and he stops. Gripping Chantelle’s wrist, he forces her to stop beside him.

She scans the quickly descending darkness. The moon now a great pearl in the sky. ‘What is it?’

Tugging her behind him, Howard taps into his Fuerté ability, and his body twitches and shifts until he is twice his original size.

‘Something’s there,’ he murmurs.

Chantelle must follow his gaze for she gasps. Something is on the ground, close to the Taratesia border. It’s hard to make out but the pale glow of the moon seems to highlight the figure of someone on their knees.

Chantelle and Howard creep closer.

‘It’s,’ Chantelle squints, ‘It’s a boy.’ Before Howard can stop her, she rushes ahead.

‘Chantelle!’ He curses as he charges after her.

Seeing them coming, the boy leaps to his feet. Dark hair tumbles around his shoulders and his luminous purple eyes are tinged with fear. He looks like he might scream.

Howard catches up to Chantelle and yanks her to a stop when they are close enough to fully see the boy but still far enough to have a head start should he and a concealed army in the trees, leap out to attack them.

Howard’s breathing heavily, his thick muscles pulsing. ‘Who are you? Where are your parents?’

The boy stands wide-eyed and tears stream down his wan cheeks. He whispers something too soft to hear.

‘Speak up,’ Howard snaps and Chantelle rests a hand on his hefty arm.

In a gentler tone than he could master, she asks, ‘What did you say?’

The boy stammers, ‘M-Milo sent me.’

Howard can’t hide the shock on his face any more than Chantelle.

He steps closer to the boy. ‘Milo told you to come out here?’

The last time the Dawning and his minions attacked the Court and killed Amethyst, they’d been looking for Milo. They wanted to use him to make them a gethadrox and a way to escape the realm. How convenient that this boy claims to have been sent by him. But the boy shakes his head and smooths back his stringy hair with fearsomely hairy hands.

Taking a deep breath, he stands taller, adjusting the satchel on his shoulder. ‘He told me to get a message to Lexovia.’

Howard is barely listening. He’s eyeing the strap of the bag the boy clutches. It’s engraved with a M.T and Howard knows the initials stand for Milo Thor. He’d bought Milo the satchel after all.

Frowning, he jerks his chin at the satchel. ‘That’s Milo’s.’

‘It is,’ the boy nods, his eyes lighting, ‘you knew him? Do you know Lexovia?’

Howard glares, tracking ever tremor of the boy’s frail frame. ‘How do you know Milo?’

‘I met him in Denurib. It’s another realm, far from here.’ He speaks steadier now, flushed with relief that his trek may soon be over. ‘He was taken...’ The boy gulps and his gaze sinks sadly to the ground. ‘But he told me to get his satchel and use this device to get to Coldivor.’ The boy’s grip suddenly tightens on the gethadrox in his hand. ‘This is Coldivor, isn’t it? I’ve been to so many realms already.’

Chantelle nods. ‘It is.’

Howard doesn’t know what to believe but the whole reason the Dawning wants Milo is for a gethadrox, which is something this boy already has. Plus, he knows about Milo’s time in Denurib and he has Milo’s bag.

Tilting his head, Howard studies the boy. He’s badly dressed, in flimsy scraps of filthy fabric. His skin is barely visible beneath his layer of filth and thick tufts of brown hair are matted on his chest, though he looks too young for it.

‘What message do you have for Lexovia?’

Now the boy glares and takes a cautious step back. ‘How did you know Milo?’ He clutches the gethadrox tighter and rocks on the balls of his feet like he’s preparing to sprint away.

‘Milo is a good friend of mine,’ Howard announces, taking a subtle step closer. Whether this boy is a trap or not, he’s a stranger in their midst and Howard intends to take him back to the Court for questioning.

The boy lifts his chin and takes another step back. ‘He is or he was?’

‘He is.’

The boy growls with more venom than Howard would have thought possible. ‘Nice try. Milo’s dead.’ Then he twists the top of the gethadrox, preparing to lunge away.

‘No!’ Howard shouts and holding up a hand, he ripples back down to his still muscular but ordinary build. ‘We did almost lose him when he was in Denurib. But a good friend of ours managed to find him. She brought him back.’

‘She?’

‘Yes,’ Howard nods, ‘Dezaray.’

The boy stumbles over a cluster of rocks behind him. ‘Dezaray.’

Catching the flicker of recognition, Chantelle asks, ‘You know her?’

The boy flinches like he’d forgotten she was there. He looks like he’s about to say something but instead sets his jaw. ‘I have a message for Lexovia. Do you know where she is?’

Howard presses, ‘What’s your message?’

Cool, purple eyes meet his. They’re wrought with pain and triumph, too much for a boy his age. ‘My message is for Lexovia. I’ll tell it to her.’

Howard’s gaze flickers to Chantelle and she shrugs.

Sighing, Howard shakes his head. At least this way they’ll get the boy back to the Court instead of out in the open where threats lurk at every corner.

‘Fine,’ he grumbles and turns back the way they came. ‘Get moving.’

Scrambling to his feet, the boy asks, ‘Is Milo really alive?’ His eyes are wide and hopeful as he stumbles after Howard. His thin legs look like the slightest breeze could snap them.

Howard doesn’t slow. ‘Yes. He really is.’

The Court is silent, as it always is lately. Chantelle can hardly believe that it was once brimming with people and power but Howard speaks of it so often, it must be true. The boy’s breath hitches as they step inside the great entrance hall where torches burn in brackets on the wall. Pillars flank every corner and moonlight streams in from the skylight, bathing the large stone table in a pale white glow. Gleaming atop the stone is the Crest of Coldivor; highlighting the eight symbols of the empires.

‘This is the Court of Coldivor,’ Chantelle explains, remembering how daunted she’d been when she was first brought here and just like then, Howard is being a useless guide. ‘Lexovia is here. And so is Milo.’

His little face flushes and he follows after them, attempting to take in as much as he can as they cut down a corridor and march up a stone staircase.

‘Where are we going?’ His tone is hesitant. He doesn’t trust them and this thought relieves Chantelle. Hopefully, his wits kept him from attracting any unwanted attention when traveling the realms—the Nynthst, Howard had called it.

Howard takes the steps two at a time. The xyen at his back, jumping. ‘The Senior’s Chamber.’

When they reach the top of the staircase, Howard stops outside a door marked with filigree of gold and silver vines coiled around the crest of Coldivor. He briefly knocks, then pushes his way in without waiting for an answer. It occurs to Chantelle that she has never been to this room. It’s small, almost cosy, though that’s partly due to a large stone table that takes up most of the space. It’s surrounded by opulent chairs and what looks like three thrones at its head.

Vladimir sits in one of these thrones and close beside him is Milo, his gaze transfixed on a journal. Lexovia sits on the table, her legs crossed and eyes pouring over scraps of parchment. Each of them looks to the door when Howard stalks in.

‘There’s someone here to see you. Both of you.’ He glances from Milo and Lexovia, then steps aside, revealing the boy.

All traces of fear and doubt rush from the boy’s face and his purple eyes sparkle, his face lit by a startling smile.

‘Milo,’ he breathes, racing into the room and flinging his arms around a stunned Milo.

Milo pulls back, searching the boy’s face. ‘You made it.’ His own eyes are glowing, making him more handsome than usual. ‘You escaped!’ He yanks the boy in for a hug, filth and grime coating his clothes, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

Vladimir scowls, sitting straighter. ‘Who are you?’

Milo goes to speak but the boy shakes his head, standing proudly. ‘I’m here to give a message to Lexovia,’ he says, his gaze falling on the last Elentrice. ‘Is that you?’

Lexovia’s eyes smile though her brow is creased. ‘That’s me.’

The boy clears his throat. ‘The Provolian Pair may save Dezaray when the time comes.’

Chantelle smiles. So that’s why Dezaray’s name had seemed familiar to him.

Lexovia looks from the boy to Milo and back. ‘Thank you?’

He grins, satisfied that he’s done his job.

Milo chuckles, his hand still clasped around the boy’s. ‘I didn’t think I would make it out of Denurib, so, I asked Merlin to pass on a message for me.’

‘I’m guessing, this is Merlin?’ Vladimir’s tone is gruff but his eyes betray a hint of humour.

‘Yes.’ Milo rests a hand on the boy’s shoulder. ‘Merlin Tranzuta.’

The room falls silent.

A KILLER IN THE MIDST

Yvane grips the pulsing stitch in her side as they race back towards the boulder that leads into Feranvil and away from the R.U.O.E. members that chased them. The members that now lay dead after choking on water that Dezaray conjured in their lungs so they drowned on land. Their eyes had gone bloodshot and glassy, their skin had turned pale and they’d clutched their throats, gasping for air. It wasn’t long before their thrashing stopped and their lips tinted blue.

Yvane has never seen anything like it...except in her premonition. The one where Dezaray turns on them and attacks Lexovia with vibrant rays of purple power. Yvane had hoped their actions would change the course of that fate but that same vision and newer ones continue to appear. The latest one involves Dezaray doing exactly what she did tonight. Drowning her opponents on land...drowning them...Mrs Edwards in particular.

‘Be ready for whatever’s down there,’ Tanks warns when they finally reach the boulder, panting and knees knocking together. In full Fuerté form, she yanks up the hulking rock and flings it aside. Then without a backwards glance she hurls herself down the hole, followed by Mops and Swift.

Shaking off the dregs of her premonition, Yvane barrels in after them. Her loose curls smother her face, grime and gravel chase after her and the glint of moonlight fades as the boulder slips back into place, sealing them below.

They skid out into Feranvil. The grass slices and clings to Yvane’s hands with the friction of trying to steady her trajectory. At last, she bounds to her feet. Mops and the others do the same. They stand in a circle, back to back, shoulders hunched, feet planted and braced for attack. None comes.

There are distant sounds of chaos, and screams of those in need, but Feranvil is considerably quieter than when they fled to get Dezaray to safety. It’s darker too. Street lamps have collapsed, the pale moon shrouded by smoke from a fire raging somewhere in the town centre. A glance across the road tells them the Bar and Grill has been obliterated, a mere husk of what it once was. Its walls are blackened and charred and stained with a dark substance leaking from the shattered windows—blood. The door is cracked and slumped off its hinges. Broken chairs and tables litter the concrete.

Horses whinny and gallop unhinged through the abandoned streets. They dodge and lunge over the bodies of the dead. Their hair whipping wildly. Yvane’s stomach turns. Whatever Diez did to his Coltis captives turned them all into bloodthirsty demons.

Swift all but whispers, ‘Where is everyone?’

They don’t lower their arms from defensive stance but they each turn their heads, trying to find a hint of life in the Farm; some sign of where they’d be useful.

When nothing stirs, Mops growls, already racing for the hill separating the farm from the town centre.

The others follow. Yvane can’t remember a time she’s run this much. Her heart is erratically pounding, her head spinning and her limbs are groaning—still weak from her time of being starved and beaten in R.U.O.E headquarters. But adrenaline and desperation keep her going.

Diez has attacked. Without even being in Feranvil, the maniac who tortured her and took her eye has found a way to come after them. Somehow, he’s infected the R.U.O.E. members, the ones he lied to and manipulated into helping his cause. Rid the world of evil, he’d said. He’d offered them cures for their abilities, a chance at a normal life, when in fact he was simply harnessing their power and finding ways to make himself stronger.

Her calves burn as they hurtle up the hillside. Swift is in the lead, but he doesn’t tunnel into his Spee’ad gifts, nor does Mops channel her Teltreporthi. They have to stick together. Strength in numbers. No matter how small that number may be. The higher they climb, the more they hear shouts over the rumble of crashing buildings and cries of agony. The sky here is clouded with plumes of thick smoke but occasionally a colour strikes through—a vibrant streak of power and the monstrous lashing of thick orange flames.

‘Quick!’ a man bellows from over the hill. He sounds furious, focussed...and frightened.

They reach the crest and peer through the dense smog of smoke, trying to make out the blur of moving silhouettes doing something by the convention hall—the large empty space used for weddings, gatherings and emergency meetings.

Covering her nose and mouth in her hand, Yvane blinks through her stinging eye. From up here, it’s hard to tell who is an ally and who is a threat. She can’t help thinking that if she still had two eyes, she might see better. But then the mass, whoever they are and whatever their intention, surge towards the hill, towards them.

Some are waving weapons as they run, others simply burst onto the hilltop in swirls of Teltreporthi magic. But none pay any attention to Yvane and those with her. Their attention is on the sky.

‘Quickly!’ the same deep voice hollers and now Yvane can make out who it belongs to; Fawn.

He looks savage. His pale shirt is torn and flailing around his plump stomach as he rushes up the hill. His beard seems longer and, like his skin, is marred with soot and blood. His white hair stands on end, matted on one side, wispy on the other and his eyes are wide and wild.

Spinning to follow him, she calls, ‘what’s going on?’

Fawn jumps. He clearly hadn’t noticed them standing there. But he doesn’t slow and neither do the crowd. They force Yvane and the others to run with them.

Barrelling down the hillside is considerably easier and more precarious than up. Mops yelps and slips, until she eventually decides to teleport herself to the bottom, popping up alongside other Teltreporthi’s and Spee’ads. None of them seem possessed. None of them are members of R.U.O.E.

Yvane glances back at Swift, who stays by Tanks side. His gift isn’t strong enough to carry anyone with him yet, and Yvane imagines he’s already lost enough in this war. He’s staying close to the ones he has left.

‘Fawn,’ she snaps when she realises he hasn’t answered and doesn’t look like he’s going to. The man is frantically scouring the sky and seems to be muttering to himself.

‘A shield,’ he finally puffs as they skid to a stop at the base of the hill. They slam into each other with groans. Some falling over. But everyone leaps back up and takes off, towards the entrance of Feranvil.

A shield. Yvane vaguely remembers Dezaray mentioning this once. That Diez and his minions had almost broken a shield of power that protects Feranvil. That it had been a distraction for her brother, Drake, to somehow slip through the wards.

‘We’re making it stronger,’ Fawn explains.

But that still doesn’t explain what they’ve done with the R.U.O.E. members being controlled by Diez.

The crowd stops again, at the point of grass that’s flattened and brown from people’s entry into Feranvil and instantly lift their hands, firing out all they have in magic. A rainbow of blinding colours shoots up at the sky and a yellow haze ripples above the smoke. The shield. It shimmers and shifts from translucent to opaque in some places.

Yvane notices that those without the ability to conjure magic, are filling buckets and wheelbarrows in the lake then thundering back up the hill. Probably to help tame the fire. The Makers did build a fire station in the centre but it’s not equipped for a blaze this size. Deciding that she will be better use there, Yvane chases after Mops, Tanks and Swift who are racing for the lake.

‘So, where are they?’ she hears Tanks shout.

‘They’ve managed to trap the R.U.O.E. members in the hall,’ Mops yells over the chaos and shrill shriek of the shield each time it is struck and strengthened. ‘Apparently, Trevor ran to Dezaray’s apartment and got something of hers to use as bait.’ Mops sandy brown curls cling to her brow and her caramel skin is glazed with sweat. ‘Once the members all ran in after it, Feranvil Force put up a barrier—like the one over the prison but larger, trapping them inside.’

Yvane’s heart skips and her ankle tilts to one side when she stumbles over a rock. Trevor. She remembers singing to him so long ago, to help him see her through soundwaves. She remembers his sightless blue eyes pinned on her and the way his fingers felt on her skin. She’d seen him come through the portal earlier, but didn’t got chance to speak to him.

After checking in on Jude, who was thankfully alive and well—though a little weak—Yvane had joined Dezaray and the others in the kitchen to go over the records on possible Converted Elentri. She’d planned to find Trevor and the other’s later on, but later turned into Edwin and all of R.U.O.E. trying to kill them.

They come to the lake and falling on their knees, they each snatch up a bucket or wheelbarrow and fill it with water.

‘The R.U.O.E. members seemed to calm down after that,’ Mops adds. ‘That’s why they’re now making the main shield stronger. Hopefully it will cut it off Diez’s connection to them.’

Yvane winces when the barrier over Feranvil releases another ear-splitting shriek. The crowd yell and Fawn bellows, ‘stand strong!’, ‘Hold steady!’ and ‘Just a little more!’ Every face is creased in concentration and twisted under the strain of wielding their power.

‘Where’s Trevor now?’ Yvane tries to quash the flutter in her chest at the thought of seeing him again. She hasn’t seen him in over a month. Not since she was taken from Coldivor and kept in Diez’s cage. Whatever might have been growing between them never even had a chance to bloom.

‘He’s gone with Ibrahim and a few others to round up the rest of the members,’ Mops says through gritted teeth. ‘Why are these buckets