The Talents

By Carl McGarrigle

How would you react if you were suddenly pulled away from your everyday life?
How would you feel if you awoke in a new and alien landscape?
And how would you behave if you were granted new powers?
Follow the lives of seven individuals as they take that journey, whisked away from Earth and scattered across the dangerous land of Pandos. Will any of them survive there? And, if they do, how will they react when their Talents awaken within them?
With new power, the urge to be evil can easily outweigh the desire to be good...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Jan 9, 2016
• ISBN: 9781326527433

Book preview

The Talents

‘The Talents’

By

Carl McGarrigle

Dedication

Dedicated to Sean McGarrigle & Lynne Young

With Thanks

Prologue - The Harvest

Where is it to happen? asked the woman.

On the bridge below, said the man.

And when will you begin?

On your command, m’lady.

Then say the words now.

He did as she said. She watched from the balcony as the storm intensified. Her imposing frame and night-blue robes stood out against the stark white, sun-bleached stones of the tower behind her. Someone on the bridge looked up, noticing her watching. Then the first of the meteorites made its impact.

The people on the bridge responded to the erupting chaos around them with the usual survival gestures, she noticed. Some decided to run, whilst others went diving to the ground. She viewed all of their attempts with a barely-concealed boredom. Their efforts to flee were irrelevant. There was no escape from where they were travelling to next.

This world's full of skittish little creatures, isn't it? she announced lazily to her companion.

As is our own, Portia, said the man beside her. Although, he added with a smile in his voice, I think this one may have just overheard your appraisal. And I don't think he agrees with you.

It was Malbeck's smile, more than his words, which drew her focus in. Her companion didn't smile very often. And, immediately, she saw what had caught his attention. Six of the people were reacting as she expected them to, but the seventh one seemed to be playing his own game.

A man stood calmly at the bridge's centre, as all hell broke loose around him. In reaction to the surrounding fire and violence, he made no attempt to flee. Instead, he raised his silhouetted arms upwards and tilted his head back against the flames.

Arrogant bastard, she muttered. Who does he think he is?

As if in response to this, the man on the bridge turned his head towards the tower and glared directly up at her. And, despite herself, their eyes met for a moment. With a grin on his face, he flicked up his middle finger and mouthed the words, I'm coming for you before disappearing into the smoke and flame. As he turned, she noticed a plain, heavy-looking rucksack on his back.

A nice vanishing act, she commented, after her mouth had closed. He'll regret that.

He knows it's an illusion, came the telling reply. He wants to take this journey. And, if that's the case, I would recommend that you keep a mindful distance when he chooses to show himself again. Let The Trials do their damage to him first. Then either get acquainted or finish him off. In his un-ripened state though, he's dangerous. In response to Malbeck's warning, Portia didn't say a word. Instead, all that he got was a curt nod of her head, which effectively told him that the subject was closed.

I think that we're done here, she announced, her voice taking on a tuneful edge. It's time to travel back. It was a tone that Malbeck was familiar with and one usually dangerous to hear. Turning away, she left the balcony, leaving him alone with his thoughts. As he surveyed the scene before him, Malbeck saw the last of the meteorites hit. The rain, too, then stopped falling. Good. No-one on the bridge remained amongst the destruction there, he saw. At least that part had gone to plan. Crowds of the awestruck started to gather amongst the wreckage now, their smartphones held aloft.

His spell's success meant that this year's chosen were now on their way to Pandos. They were seven in number. He took a moment to close his eyes and bid his illusion farewell.

The gift you have given will be our harvest. All who take a first breath have to take a last. But your time spent inbetween was pleasing to me.

He sighed and turned towards the empty doorway through which Portia had walked. He had been surprised by the show of weakness he'd just witnessed from his companion. She had let her jaw hang open in the presence of the man on the bridge. Was she still so keen to put her fears on display, despite his teachings to the contrary?

Whoever the man was, he had clearly managed to rattle her. The appearance of her tuneful tone had told him that. But Portia's initial perception was one that mirrored his own. The stranger had the look of a potential winner about him. And that was when Malbeck knew that he was already looking forward to the next time they would meet.

It was time to make the return journey.

He allowed himself a dismissive shake of his head and then moved away from the window. Skittish little creature, he muttered coldly under his breath, as he strode through the doorway, following in the footsteps of his elegant and ruthless companion.

1 - Suzy

Suzy Bell returned to consciousness with a jump. She was lying on her back in the middle of a field, still holding a wok in her hand. She frowned, wondering why it was there. Some echo in her mind nagged at an explanation but, stubbornly, it wouldn't materialise. She had been awoken by a blasting sound in her ears. Dazed, she attempted to clear her head and make sense of her surroundings. Sunlight splashed down on her face and the air felt fresh and sweet to her. That was the first thing to strike her as odd.

No rain, she said to herself, sweeping a hand through her dry hair. She didn't remember why she had expected it to be raining.

But what she did remember was the sound that had just awoken her. It was the sound of a horn. It had echoed throughout the landscape. And its call had been harsh and violent enough to prick at her instincts. Whatever that sound meant, she said to herself, it's not good for you.

As time went on, the thirty-three year old had grown to increasingly trust her instincts and, as it turned out, they were right again this time. The horn was, indeed, a signal. It said she'd just started to be hunted.

Unaware of any danger, she tried to take in her new surroundings. What's going on with that weird sunshine? she thought. The sight of what greeted her now in the sky unsettled her and its ramifications were huge. She tried to recall what had come before, but everything that had happened so far that morning seemed fuzzy now. Concentrating hard, she tried to remember. And slowly, slowly, her day came back to her.

The first thing she remembered was that she'd had been up late last night. She had read herself to sleep as usual but, because she was reading a biography about Madame Clemo, the great stage bon-viveur, she'd stayed up later than anticipated. The fascination she held for that wild and talented lady of the theatre meant that time and pages had passed by for her in moments. Perhaps the New York punk vinyl she was listening to - full of its three minute wonders - didn't help her to nod off early either. And so, when sleep eventually came, it had met her in the small hours. But, despite her late night, she still kept her discipline and made sure that she rose soon after the sun did.

Her first task that morning - after getting up nice and bleary-eyed from an alarm blast - had been to go to the shop and pick up the local newspaper. It was jobs day today, which was very exciting she made herself say. She'd lost her job several months earlier. She'd been told that she worked too slowly. It was an assessment that Suzy disagreed with. She'd always prided herself on working at normal speed. It was those people who worked too fast that were the problem.

Why doesn't the world slow down a little, she thought, and match the pace that I'm comfortable with? Why this insistence on running ourselves into the ground, in pursuit of things we don't care about? Her eyelashes batted a few times. It was an old habit of hers, borne out of past success. She'd often been told that she had pretty eyes, whenever she chose to draw people's attention to them.

Suzy's looks and shy demeanour had attracted admirers in the past, but she had always run away once she'd gained her suitor's hearts. Not quite understanding the reasons behind her own behaviour, but recognising its repeating cycle, she decided it was best to hide herself away for a while. This was intended as a temporary measure, but then it evolved into a lifestyle choice. So, for the past few years, she had found herself living alone in a rented flat with fewer and fewer friends to speak of. It was a circumstance that she had the wit to blame no-one but herself for. Her situation was bleak and, having been a clerk for less than two years and having no redundancy pay, money was now tight too.

Her searching spirit had gradually quietened itself as the change in her circumstances started to bite down deep. She was now surprised to find that she frequently got nervous if she just had to go outside. She dreaded any rare nights out and usually viewed them as an obligation to fulfil, often looking forward to coming back home from the moment that she left the flat. She was reaching a point in her life where change had to come in some form or other. Today's paper might give her a helping hand, she thought.

She turned towards her newspaper and opened it up. It was full of jobs she couldn't do. Reading it each week made her heart sink, as the roles advertised usually required about twenty years of specific experience or for a person to have special powers. Scanning over the posts, she saw that today's highlights included a Headmastership and a Regional Director of Social Services.

Finally, she muttered to herself, just what I'm looking for. Something nice and simple like a headmastership. She wondered why she bothered. She'd only found one role since she'd started buying the paper, a one day modelling contract for an agency, where she had to look delighted about a washing machine. She'd done a good job too. She looked really happy in the catalogue photograph as she pointed at the thing. But there was no modelling to be had in today's issue and, having reached her thirties now, she could feel the light from that particular doorway already starting to diminish.

When she reached the back pages, only trawled in detail by the desperate or the curious, she saw a small advert for a house cleaner, which paid more than the minimum, with a mobile number at the bottom. She circled it, grabbed her phone and made the call.

A man's voice answered, yes the position was still available and yes it was for a private residence. He took her details and then asked if she would come round for an interview that very day. He said that his name was Phil and he would be representing his mother, who was the owner of the house. Suzy's heart rate increased at the prospect of landing a job and she arranged to visit the address at midday. She was glad she'd got up early after all.

After ending the call, she showered and then went to her wardrobe. Her business suit looked crisp and new, as if it had never been worn. There was a good reason for that. Once dressed and made up, she switched on her laptop, entered 'interview tips' into the search engine, and focused upon the possible questions that might catch her out later.

The address was off a city centre street at 71 Lacemaker Crescent. She knew where it was already. Although she lived barely ten minutes from there, she set off walking at a quarter to twelve, just to make sure she got there on time. A breeze was picking up, she noticed. Soon, she was turning into Lacemaker Crescent, checking the house numbers and counting down to number 71. Then came her knock at the door and, seconds later, the squeak of hinges as a man in his thirties presented himself.

Suzy Bell? he asked with a smile. Come on in. Nice to meet you, I'm Phil. Phil Ryder. She shook his hand and stepped into a cool hallway as his phone went off, blaring rock music out from his jacket pocket. Do excuse me, he said, embarrassed, fumbling with the phone and hopping away into what must have been the living room. He then shut the door behind him.

As she took in her surroundings - the hallway, the living room to the side, some stairs, a kitchen at the end of the hall and then another door that led to goodness knows where - she tuned in to his phone conversation.

The cleaning position? she heard him say. Yes, I'm sorry, that position's closed now. Her heart sank. So, the trouble she had gone to was for nothing! Yes, sorry about that. Thanks for your interest anyway. Bye. After a few seconds, the living room door opened and he stepped through. Sorry, Suzy, he said. Follow me. Puzzled, she followed him to the end of the hall. He stopped by the door that led to goodness knows where. When he opened it, she saw that stairs led down. After you, he gestured politely. Something in the way her day was developing made Suzy feel uneasy.

On the phone just now, you said the job was gone. She looked down at the stone steps that led into a well-lit cellar.

Ah, that was for another job, he reassured. Head on down now. Something about his response didn't ring true. She felt that, if she walked down those stairs, she'd have a far harder time walking back up them again. Head on down now, he repeated.

No, thank you, I'd rather not, she said back to him. An uncomfortable stillness grew between them, before she felt the unwelcome grip of his hand upon her arm. Then he pushed the base of her back. She realised he was trying to force her down there.

Get down! His voice had changed now. It had turned nasty.

Suzy's primal instincts took over. She resisted his push and, instead of going down the cellar as he'd instructed, she lashed out sideways instead, hitting him hard in the stomach. As he loosened his grip on her arm, she took her opportunity, turned around and - without pausing to think - punched him on the right side of his face. Shock registered as he staggered sideways towards the front door but, still, Ryder managed to stay on his feet. Glaring now, he turned back to her, stretching out his arms to block her way out. It was then that it struck her just how tall he was, as he stood before her, licking his bloody lip slowly.

How's my fucking interview going? she spat out at him defiantly. She was as angry now as a wildcat.

Quiet, dead girl, came the response. That gave her a chill.

She could tell that he was trying to dominate her so, to level the playing field, she quickly hopped forwards and kicked him in the bollocks. A yell escaped from him, full of anger and pain. It was good to hear, she liked that sound. But still he was blocking the hallway. I'll make you pay for that! he seethed.

No you won't, she countered. I'll tear them off next time!

Although she was baring her teeth, inside she was terrified. Quickly calculating that she stood little chance to make it past him, she ran in the opposite direction and hedged her bets on the kitchen doorway. Once through there, she saw another door that led out into the back garden.

Please be open! she begged, as she threw herself upon it, slamming the handle down over and over. But it didn't give. The door was locked. Nearly sobbing now, she looked desperately for a key. There wasn't one. Then he appeared at the kitchen doorway and ran towards her. There was no time. She had nowhere left to go. So, as he lunged forwards, she reached out blindly to grab something - anything. Her fingers closed around a handle of some sort, it felt like metal, so she swung it with full force at her attacker's head. The resulting clang was sickeningly loud. His eyes switched from surprise to pain and then into oblivion in the space of a second. Next, he fell sideways and, for good measure, banged his temple against the corner of a willow table on his way down.

Good, she thought, looking down at the wok she now held in her hand that may have just saved her life.

As she turned towards him lying motionless before her, a wave of hysteria hit. The urge to get out already had her legs moving and, before she could even think to do it, she was running as fast as she could, running down the hallway, through the front door, down the road and towards the city centre. Minutes followed, where her mind was a whirl and her world a blur, but still she just kept running. Vague images of other people flew by, some stopped to look at her, whilst others pretended they'd seen nothing unusual - not until she'd passed by anyway. Then the storm stirred up. Established place names flew beside her in a whirl: 'Josie's Adventure Holidays', 'Nick and Sarah's Comedy Photograph Booth', 'The Raisin-Moss Mountain Experience', 'The Bates Theatre Complex' and 'Oscar's Eatery'. By the time her breath finally gave out on her, she didn't have a clue where she was. That's when she found herself on the bridge. And the rain was lashing down now.

Stumbling to a stop, she leant forward, her left hand on her left knee, gulping for air, gazing with surprise at her right hand and the wok still gripped within it. When she next looked up, recognition clicked in.

Oh, I'm here, she said to herself. And then the air darkened as all was thrown violently around her.

Everything had ended on the bridge. No more memories came.

And now this. Here she was, in the middle of a field somewhere, with no explanation to help her make sense of it all and a wok in her hand. Standing up and turning in full circle, she saw two parties of people in the distance - one group to her left, the other to her right. The party to the left of her was about ten strong in number and two hundred metres away. The other party, even further from her, consisted of only a few individuals. Each group, too, was dressed very differently. The larger group wore loud metal regalia that gleamed in the unusual sunlight. They carried a variety of weapons between them. The smaller group, in contrast, were dressed more for stealth, with no obvious weaponry discernable.

The very moment that she stood up, both parties reacted to her presence. They each came racing across the field towards her. Calls rang out from the larger group and, as she heard them shouting, Suzy knew that she was at a crossroads. She had to make a decision fast.

2 - Miles

Miles Deep navigated his way through the ancient tunnels, carved through the insides of the dormant volcano. He had left The Clan’s Complex behind, with its brightly lit rooms and halls, and was beginning to realise that he was lost again. He had repeated Thorn's directions over and over in his head, but it didn't do any good. He just wasn't used to taking them.

Outside in the woodlands that bordered Ventra, the village where he had grown up, he had excelled at navigation. That had been his ideal environment and he had never got lost there. All he needed was the trees and the undergrowth and the stars and the skyscape above - they were his signposts. His adoptive parents, James and Emily Deep, had always said that he could read the land like no-one else we know.

But the volcano's interior, where he found himself now, with its spaghetti tunnels, illogical changes of direction and endless dim-glowing firebrands, often defeated him. Although he had lived here for about a month now, he was still settling in and getting used to its geography. And there were still miles of tunnels that were uncharted or unoccupied, along with the miles that were. Getting lost had turned out to be an unintentional pastime.

Usually, he would come across another occupant from the Complex, who would happily point him the right way again, but this area of the tunnel network was deathly quiet and he hadn't seen a single passer-by for at least ten minutes. The walkways were getting narrower too. Closing in gradually, there was barely enough room for two people to walk side by side now. And it had grown darker. The air had just turned stale.

Realising that he may be in an uncharted area and noticing a distinct shift in the atmosphere - which was never a good thing - he turned around to go back. And that was when he jumped. It was involuntarily. There was a figure now, twenty feet away, leaning casually against the tunnel wall, just watching him. The very thing that was never a good thing. His instincts had kicked in late and let him down this time. That too was unusual.

Lost, are you? came the lazy voice cutting the silence. Miles was instantly wary. The tunnel had been deserted. No-one had been there when he had passed by.

Erm, yes, he spluttered, eyeing the figure. I'm sorry, you surprised me.

Must be the shadows... Delivered with a smile. The sentence was left to hang in the air as the stranger just stayed still, looking at him. His eyes glinted through long, matted hair.

Must be, Miles answered unsteadily. I didn't see you until I turned around.

Oh, I saw you, came the reply. The stranger's tone was beginning to get under his skin. You did what the other people do. You walked right by without noticing me. Silly that. But then you turned around. And here I am. Miles didn't know how to respond, so he kept quiet. I thought to myself, 'Now, where's he off to, way deep down here?' A boy's got no business in these tunnels. He gave a chuckle. That's what I was just thinking.

I've been sent to find Page, came the earnest answer.

Well, you're a long way from him, aren't you? You've got lost. So, you'll be needing my help. He smiled at Miles. The smile wasn't helpful. Now, shall I help you? That's the question. I should really, as you're only a kid, after all. What are you, lost boy? Fourteen? Fifteen?

I'm sixteen years old.

And you want to reach seventeen, don't you? Well, I know these old tunnels. Not the new ones, just the old. Oh, I know the old. Follow me, I know a way. The man stepped towards a walkway, over to his left. That hadn't been there before either.

Erm, thank you, Miles said, without feeling it. His mind was turning in circles. Unsure of what to do, he hesitated. The man stopped, looked back at him, and waited. Miles couldn't move. Running away from the man would only result in him running further down the tunnel, and away from help. He was likely to isolate himself further and get trapped. But the tunnel leading back was too narrow to get past safely. Either way seemed to offer no help, so he just stayed still. And then the man's expression started to change. It wasn't good.

A call rang out and broke the silence. Miles! There you are!

The stranger stepped sideways, into a shadow.

The call had come from the top of the tunnel where Miles had just walked down - and it was the best call he had ever heard in his life. Thank goodness, a familiar voice! One that he recognised. It came from Thorn's ranger, a man called Bolt, and it had cut the atmosphere in two and snapped it back to normal.

This was the same Bolt who had been there for him ever since they'd completed their journey together a month ago. A dangerous fifty mile trek that proved mortal to some, which neither Miles nor he would ever care to repeat. That journey had marked the beginning of Miles' new life, where he was now, inside the dormant volcano, living inside The Clan's Complex, alongside the hero and leader, Wilder Thorn, and the others who wanted to overthrow Portia’s hold on the populace. Once his perilous journey had ended, new friends had awaited his arrival at the cave entrance, the same cave that served as the secret path to the volcano interior. They greeted him with wonder and curiosity. It was to be expected. None of them had seen his kind before. Lots of eye-gazing took place, Miles remembered.

Feeling a heavy wave of relief, he gave his approaching friend a smile and then flicked his attention back to the stranger, who was still standing in the shadow, who was no longer in the shadow, who was no longer there. The walkway to the left had disappeared too. Hairs raised up on his arms. And then Bolt reached him.

Bolt, oh man! I am so glad to see you!

Daft bugger. Don't you know it's dangerous down here? came the tough ranger's voice.

Why?

I dunno. They just warn everyone to stay away. Uncharted, or avoided. I've only been here a few times myself, and never by intention.

Bolt had gone on to explain how he'd found Miles, whilst they retraced his steps together and headed in the right direction towards Page's home.

Okay, so after you got the directions from Thorn, I thought - knowing you like I do - you'd probably get lost, so I decided to track you and keep an eye. I didn't hold much hope of you getting there on your own, see? But I lost your trail about half a mile back, where the tunnel splits. I made the mistake of going the right way. I wasn't following your mountain logic. So, I thought to myself, What's the worst route I could take to get to Page? And so, I went down here, where no-one in their right mind would go. And that's where I found you. In the part that's always given me the creeps.

Yeah. It gives me the creeps too. I'm glad you found me. Really glad. Thanks, Bolt. I owe you.

Bolt noticed how shaken his young charge appeared to be. You alright, lad? he asked sincerely. He didn't get a sincere answer.

Yeah, I'm fine.

Miles decided not to mention the strange encounter he'd just had with the man in the tunnel, neither to Bolt nor to anyone else. Not just yet, anyway. Experience had already taught him to hold back.

When growing up, he occasionally sensed things that other people couldn't. He could recognise these incidents as each of them began. Always, there was a palpable shift in the atmosphere, like a Deja-vu, and he had felt it again in the tunnel. But the warning had never come late before. Sharing his experiences with his adoptive parents, with whom he could discuss most topics, Except sex! his father had protested one day, Ask your mother. No, actually, ask your mates at school, they'll know... had resulted in their recommendation for him to keep quiet.

People won't understand, son, his father had said. It's a gift from your own kind. You know as well as I do, the first reaction from us Rabnas is to fear what we don't know.

The people of the villages and townships that dotted the land of Pandos, the most populous race, were known as the Rabna. But, always remember Miles, he continued. Whenever anything like that happens in future, use that gift to keep yourself safe.

Ten minutes of navigating tunnels passed, across a consistently-downwards incline. Miles found that Thorn's right-hand man made for light conversational company as they strolled together, pointing out subtle marks and features in the tunnel walls and ceilings that were used to navigate the Complex.

Why don't we just use signposts? Miles asked.

Because that would give any invading force a direct route to its target, replied Bolt. Imagine if Portia's forces got in here? Signposting the place would be like handing the enemy a map. No, young Deep. If we learn about these tunnels - their routes, their layouts - if we've got that carried up here, he tapped his finger to his temple, we will always have the home advantage. I would sooner face an invading force that doesn't know the worth of the patch of ground its fighting for, than one that knows that if it can just get from A to B, it can break us.

Learning the tunnels' routes would help in an emergency too. We'd know where to run, for a start.

Just like rabbits to a burrow, yeah, something like that. A retreat that ensures survival, Miles, is always preferable to the brave stance that'll doom you. That last statement from the ranger already carried weight for them both.

As a baby, Miles had been found by James and Emily Deep, a kindhearted, childless couple who lived in the village of Ventra. They had discovered him abandoned at the edge of Sable Forest, during one of their walks through the countryside, several miles from their home. The forest was vast and largely unexplored. It housed tribes who had few dealings with the outside world, known as the Levern. The Rabna had an instinctive territorial suspicion of their wilder cousins and opted to leave them undisturbed. So, an unwritten rule existed between the two races and the occupied forests that divided them.

None shall venture out; none shall go within.

And yet, here was this ventured-out baby, lying within a handcrafted cot, skillfully weaved together out of plants and woods and ferns. He had been wrapped in soft animal furs and sprinkled with berries. Smiling to himself as he lay there, the Deeps saw that he was accompanied by a cache of rare herbs. Were these some kind of dowry? Was this child abandoned here as a gift, or as an outcast, or for another reason? The people of Pandos rarely understood the Levern, or what lay behind the interactions they instigated with the outside.

The Leverns made use of their superior instincts to elude any who entered the forest. Indeed, their interactions with all the other races in Pandos had grown so scarce in recent generations, that some Rabnas had begun to write them off as childhood stories. The forests that they occupied now were so few, compared to the many uninhabited woodlands where the common folk still roamed.

The forests' rich reserves of rare herbs and minerals brought the unwelcome side-effect of Portia's attention though. She offered a substantial reward to any who could capture a live Levern for her, whom she would then subject to knowledge-mining. The danger for Miles was that all Levern were easily identifiable because of their distinctive eyes. Whilst the eyes of the Rabna changed to reflect a person's age, the eyes of the Lavern were constant throughout their lifetime, just as they were with humans. From an early age, Miles had learnt to draw attention away by growing his fringe, wearing a hood and walking with his head down.

The Rabna were proud of their inherent ever-changing eyes, sporting those fabulous metallic hues that streaked within them. Where humans were commonly born with eyes of brown or blue, with some rarer examples of hazel and green, the Rabna were exclusively born with pupils of bronze that remained with them throughout childhood. Then, as they reached their later teenage years, those eyes evolved into a silver shade, and would remain that colour through the next thirty years of adulthood. Then came the next change, usually at an age of between forty-five or fifty, where the eyes would transform into later-life gold. And finally - in very rare cases - individuals sporting eyes of blue-tinted platinum also came to be, Portia being the most famous of that limited number, although any stranger would peg her as no more than thirty in years. She was an exception. Usually, a Rabna's eye colour truthfully reflected the owner's age.

In contrast to the Rabna's continually shifting eyes, the pupils of the Levern remained a never-changing black. In addition, their tree-green eyeballs were unmistakable once seen. So, along with their rather obvious identity and the high bounty placed on each of them, it was little wonder that the Levern shied away from the lives of others, making Miles' appearance at the edge of the forest all the more perplexing.

James and Emily had protected him as best they could, until he reached the age of fourteen. By that age, all of the village's fifty-or-so occupants knew of his presence. He was treated as one of their own and even enrolled in the village school. But then someone had spoken, either with purpose or without care, and James and Emily had been killed. Two years had passed since that happened. And now Miles' home was a dormant volcano.

***

Miles and Bolt followed the tunnel’s gradual sideways path until they reached the place they were looking for. At the tunnel's end was a flat wall, housing a single door within it.

Okay, that's the door to Page's place, said Bolt, pointing at it obviously. D'you reckon you can find it from here?

Sod off.

Thought so. See you then! Turning away with a laugh, Bolt started back towards The Clan's Complex.

Miles smiled as he watched his friend disappear around the corner. He then turned back towards the door in the wall. It was freshly painted, which struck him as an odd thing for the occupant to focus upon inside a dark, dusty, dead-end walkway - bright gold, too, of all things. Clearly, Page was proud of his living quarters or, at least, its entrance. The pad itself might still be a shambles, he thought. He stepped up to the door and, just as he went to knock, the door opened swiftly inwards. Missing the door, he looked up and was greeted by the towering figure of Page who loomed at least a foot over him. Miles gave him a quick nod.

Hello, Page. I came round to see if your door needed painting but, clearly, I've wasted my time. Bright gold. Lovely. It's not camp. Sorry to disturb you.

You're here about the squonk, aren't you, lad? Thorn's already told me. And, for your knowledge, I'm proud of that door, you sarcastic... his sentence faded off. Look, it's all about details and standards, he said, before scratching his beard and giving up on the subject.

But, gold, Page. Really? Gold?

Only colour I had. Anyway, are you going to stand there admiring my door all day? C'mon in, Miles. Oh, and by the way, you and Bolt arrived like a herd of rhinophants. That's why I knew you were here.

Alright. But how did you know...

...that you were about to knock? It's called a keyhole, Miles. People say they're for keys, but they're wrong - they're used for spying. Now, for the last time I'll ask you, come in.

He stood back and extended his left arm, sweeping it back in a grandiose welcoming gesture. Miles stepped inside and flicked his gaze around the hall within. He gave an approving whistle.

Your place, it looks...

Yeah, yeah, I know - bloody magnificent. And, yes, that on the wall is what you think it is and, no, I won't take it down so you can have a closer look. Time for all that later. We've an important and rare mouth to feed. He's expecting his food and you don't want to keep him waiting. Come on through to the back here, son. And stop staring at that statue or I'll hang some clothes on her and then you'll be sorry. Back here's the Squonk's enclosure. Focus your eyes on that for a moment, will you? Anything to stop you thinking of naked statues. Pandos alive, how old are you?

As they stepped out through the back of the house and into what lay beyond, Miles gasped at what appeared around him. His neck was craning to take it all in. The world had just opened up, from the closed-in and claustrophobic tunnels into a huge vista that took his breath away. The two of them were standing within the expanse of the dormant crater, at the centre of the volcano. Its walls stretched at least a thousand feet upwards, before reaching the brilliant sky. From where they were standing, several miles separated them from the furthest walls of the crater on the other side. And what lay between was lush jungle, fruiting canopy, myriad flowers and palm trees. No-one knew what rare and undiscovered species lay within it all. The overwhelming volume of cicadas and birdsong hit Miles, providing a colourful, lively contrast to the dim silence of the mountain's grey tunnels. It was a pocket of Paradise. And he couldn't wait to explore it.

Wow! he repeated, over and over, as his senses overloaded. This place is massive!

This is the reason you keep getting lost in those tunnels, lad. Thorn chose a bloody giant volcano to live in, so there's hundreds of tunnels to get lost in. I remember having to learn their layouts for myself! Welcome to the jewel in the crown of the resistance, Miles - for this is the volcano's jewel, in my humble opinion. This here, this open crater that you're looking at, that your lucky feet stand within, this pool of sunlight...

I get the picture.

...is the exalted home of the squonk. It's the highlight of the whole Complex, and few people in the clan ever get to see it. Count your bloody blessings, son.

He then gestured to the only part of the crater's floor that wasn't entangled in undergrowth, the part that they were standing closest to. It was a large fenced off enclosure, its open space contrasting with the rest of the lush interior floor. This pastureland was dotted with several tunnels that ran into the ground, leading off into the trees and underbrush and surrounding landscape. Sunlight splashed warmth upon Miles' tunnels-cold face as he surveyed what lay before him. The enclosure should have contained the squonk. But it was empty.

Here's his enclosure, said Page. Now, watch yourself, Miles, he could be anywhere. And you want to make sure that you see him first. That is, if you care about your survival, which I presume you do. The squonk, my brave forest friend, is - hmm, how best to describe it? It's, erm, deadly.

Deadly, Miles responded flatly. His day was beginning to take a turn that he'd rather not indulge.

Yes, deadly, Miles. Tell me you know its other name? Miles shook his head. They call it the land-shark.

I'm delighted to hear that. He wasn't. Who exactly are 'they'?

Oh, I dunno. Everyday folk, I guess. Rabnas. Suspicious buggers, like me. But there's a true foundation in their fear, I can't knock them for that. There are more fangs on that thing than anything else I've seen. And the squonk'll stalk you too, so efficiently that you won't know until it's too late. So, he paused a moment, my job, Miles - as well as being The Groundsman of this place - is to be your lookout and to keep you alive.

Miles had gone very quiet. His earlier sense of wonder had escaped him. He now eyed the enclosure with a very different attitude. It may as well have been a snake pit.

You're the Groundsman?

That's the most important part of my job. I have to maintain the quality of the pasture. The ground must always be level, there can be no potholes, no pits in the ground where pools of water can form. And no puddles. And not just here in the enclosure, Miles, but throughout the entire crater floor. Believe me - every rainstorm is a bloomin' nightmare!

What are the tunnels for?

The squonk uses them to move to and fro, from enclosure to jungle. Or it'll use them for ambush. The tunnels are fine if it rains because they're in the dark. And any rain soon soaks through into the ground. It's any patch of ground exposed to the sky that's a worry.

Why?

I'll tell you later, kid, but for now, time passes. We need to get this creature fed. We don't want to get its back up. The last person to feed the squonk died by feeding the squonk, if you get my meaning? He lasted a month here. Six others came before him. The first of which started six months ago. So, try to do a little better, huh? Keep your instincts sharp and I'll promise to pay more attention this time.

Page? said Miles.

Yes?

I don't think I've ever faced anything like this before. I've got my skills, I've got my instincts. And I've discovered I can also be a little bit deadly, Bolt can vouch for that. But what in Pandos am I dealing with here?

I thought they had a school in your village? Didn't they teach you Denizenology?

Yeah, some. But I was clearly off when they covered bloody squonks.

Then let's presume you picked a bad time to be off and, just so that you know, don't curse its name.

Are you going to answer my question? A pause. Page glanced sideways at him. A sigh escaped his lips, his mouth sank.

What did Thorn tell you?

Nothing. He just said that I was to report to you and I was to tell you that my job was to feed the squonk. He looked up at Page and heard the sound of air being sucked through teeth.

Can you think of anything you might have done to anger Thorn?

What? No, I've done nothing!

Then I suppose our only option is to concentrate on keeping you alive, eh? His tone switched to feign some brightness. C'mon, now's as good a time as any. You ready, Miles?

No, I'm bloody not!

Then bite your lip and pray for the mercy of Pandos. I'll open the door to the enclosure. You go in. Remember, the squonk could be anywhere. Watch the tunnels. Take this food to the middle of the pasture. You see? Way over there? You could use the food to distract him if he surprises you before you get to that bit. And then head back across to me. With luck on both our sides, we'll both live to see another day!

Miles saw Page reach for the crossbow on his back whilst he gave this speech. A mean-looking arrow was now notched. With the bow cocked, he pointed it out across the empty green. The tall Groundsman also wore a sword at his side.

You always this well-armed?

I'm always ready kid, he answered gravely, handing a bag of what must have been squonk food to Miles. It just looked like kitchen rubbish to him, a bag of leftovers and peelings. Page had never removed his eyes from the pasture throughout. Go now! An urgent shove on his back sent Miles on his way, pushing open the gate that was then swiftly shut, whether he liked it or not. He was now in the squonk's enclosure. Survival urges took over and Miles started to run, resulting in a shout of alarm that came from behind him.

Don't run, Miles! Oh, Pandos forgive me, I forgot to say! Always walk, lad. Never run!

3 - Suzy

Suzy made her choice and jogged towards one of the two approaching parties. She decided that she didn't like the look of large flashy weapons, they reminded her of too many blokes she'd met with expensive cars. So, she took her chances with the stealthy-looking squad instead. And as she came towards them - yes, there were definitely three of them now - one of them raised a hand, as if to greet her. Then all three turned in the direction they'd come from, darted away, and beckoned for her to follow. Their interaction was wordless throughout.

She could hear shouts coming from the group a couple of hundred yards behind her though. They sounded angry, barking out commands, both amongst themselves and across the field at her. So she enjoyed ignoring their orders and sped away from them. As she ran in the opposite direction, she watched the smaller lithe party in front of her leap nimbly over the fence at the field's edge. All three of them went over in unison, like Olympic hurdlers in a closely-fought race. It led them on to the base of a small hill. She was still two hundred yards away from that fence and the angry voices behind her had begun to sound a little louder. She noticed her breath was starting to get heavy and she was panting already. A sheen of sweat formed across her body. She began to wonder if she'd made a mistake and how long she might be required to keep this up.

Bloody hell, I'm not used to this! The group that she was following were now streaking up the side of the hill, but there was always one of them keeping an eye on her. They had it synchonised too, she noticed, turning their heads back one at a time in a well-timed chain. She allowed herself to stop running, just for a moment, leaning forward to catch her breath, hands resting on knees, staring at the grass and - What's that bloody thing still doing there..? - her wok still in hand, gasping long gulps of air. She glanced behind her, to see how long she could risk a pause and what she saw got her legs moving immediately.

The chasing group were virtually upon her. Only another hundred yards or so and it'd be over. She could see their strange angry eyes now, glaring out above barred visors, and weapons raised, as they continued to charge towards her, tearing up the field in great clods. They were wearing heavy armour too, she saw, that shimmered away, looking all pretty in the sun. In truth, the armour looked just as cumbersome as it was pretty. But, although it was wholly impractical for engaging in charged pursuits across fields, the group still managed to move faster than she did. She realised that their choice of body ware may have been her saving grace because, had they been dressed like the squad in front of her, streaking with ease across fields, up hillsides, over fences, they'd have certainly caught her by now. Whoever wore it was certainly a lot fitter than Suzy was.

So, as she glanced back at the variety of weapons they held - broadswords, pikes, longbows and something nasty that looked like a scythe - she continued running towards the fence. She could hear some of the words being shouted now too, but what she heard was disconcerting.

What are you doing with that thing? Put it down! said one.

I'm gonna slow her to a crawl with it. Suzy certainly didn't like the sound of being slowed to a crawl.

You'll miss her or you'll kill her, fool! came another. Suzy hoped he'd miss.

She reached the fence and leapt it with one go, vaulting with her free left hand, wok sailing overhead in her right. As her feet touched ground on the other side, the fencepost that she still held shattered out a shower of splinters. A large flint arrow had thudded home there, sending a jolt up her arm as it hit the wood inches from her fingers. Suzy yelled, prompting some unpleasant laughter from behind her and, changing gears now, gave whatever was left of her tired body to charging up that hillside.

It'd better be good on the other side of that thing!

She looked up ahead. One of her party - she had decided now that they must be 'her' party, considering the treatment being dished out from behind her - was watching silently at the top of the hill. The other two had disappeared on ahead. The chasing group reached the fence, clanging and swearing as they clattered over it. She focused on the figure up above, silhouetted against the light in the sky, and laboured on upwards. Then she saw the figure slowly, casually, reach behind themselves before raising an arm out. Whoever it was now held something. And then, in one single balletic movement, the figure at the top of the hill hurled the object gracefully towards her. Suzy gasped and ducked down, hearing the powerful sound it made as it sliced through the air close by...chocka, chocka, chocka.

Whatever that thing was, it was bladed and spinning fast. Her head jerked back to the base of the hill as it shot past her and into the chasing group, swishing away amongst them and instantly casting two objects up into the air. It was two of the soldiers' helmets, she saw, with the soldiers' heads still inside them. At the same moment, two bodies dropped in unison to the floor, as blood and chaos exploded