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Chapter 1: Proving a Point

‘Well there’s no need to shout!’ yelled Scortia angrily, ‘It was nothing to do with me! You always blame me for everything that goes wrong around here. Why not pick on Lee for a change? You know it was him! You know that I couldn’t have done it! I was at Caya’s house last night!’

‘No you weren’t. You were here. Where else would you be?’ her mother screamed back at her.

‘Er…’ Scortia pretended to think, ‘Caya’s house. Where else? I’m hardly ever here.’

‘Don’t you dare talk to me like that young lady! You know that you were here. Nephr would never allow you to stay in her home. You are far too much trouble. Why we put up with you … You could have…’

Fights were nothing unusual at number 13 Jurnham Drive. In fact, the neighbours were so used to it, they stopped calling round every evening, asking them to ‘be quiet and show a little more consideration for the peace of the town’. What was odd though, when anyone thought hard enough about it, was that it was always Scortia who got shouted at, not her half-brother Lee. Even though he was usually the real culprit and loved to cause trouble for his older sister. However, noone cared enough to think about it and so the fact passed by unnoticed.

On this particular occasion, knowing he would get away with it, Lee had flooded the upstairs bathroom the previous evening to try and create a wave in order to surf down the stairs. Needless to say, Scortia got into trouble for it, and the surfing simply did not work at all. Instead he had broken his leg as he tumbled down the staircase, the mattress remaining caught between the banisters near the top. The Redings believed that Scortia was simply a troublemaker and could not resist causing problems for them, and so they were blaming her for both the water and Lee’s injuries.

However, if she did have a good enough reason to cause trouble, it was the way the Redings treated her day in and day out. Well, how they would like to treat her day in and day out. They were the foulest people possible in the sixth realm, though worse have been recorded living in the eleventh realm, and they positively loathed her. Being as cruel as they were, they made her sleep outside every night and refused to give her anything to eat at mealtimes, letting her find her own meals. When she was actually there, that is, for she rarely was. She normally slept round her friends’ houses (usually Caya’s) to avoid all the hassle and only spent an average of one night a week at home at the request of her friends’ parents.

‘…the place could have flooded. We had better get one thing straight right now! As long as…’ Maytra continued, somehow managing to stay on topic even after several minutes.

Scortia stood there, listening to her mother’s furious lecture wash over her. To be more precise, she would have been listening if she had not switched off ten minutes ago, and even then she would probably have refused to listen and instead have interrupted several times over as she had in the past. Experience prevented her from interrupting her mother with her own opinions when she was on a roll; switching off was easier to cope with.

Thinking to herself, she weighed her chances. There was no way in the realm her mother would let her leave without a fight, but if she stayed and waited it out … No, it was better to leave in one piece instead of twenty pieces any day. Anyway, she had heard the whole thing before. All that had changed was the crime. Other than that, all Maytra’s lectures were identical and it was a waste of time pretending to listen to them.

She sighed. Things had been better before Maytra’s second marriage, and Lee’s birth. She turned and walked quickly to the front door, resting her hand on the cool handle, feeling as if she had forgotten something.

Maytra stopped mid-lecture. ‘Where do you think you’re going, young lady?’ she yelled, eyes popping slightly. ‘I’m not finished with you yet!’

‘I’m going out. Is that a problem?’ Scortia replied coolly and as calmly as she could, knowing what was coming. She did not look back at her mother, and thought that the whole argument was completely pointless, especially since she was innocent.

‘That most certainly is a problem. Do you not know the seriousness of what you have done? You could have …’

Here it was. Back to formality, as per usual. ‘Don’t you mean what Lee could have done?’ she interrupted, ‘I had nothing to do with it and you know that! Maybe you should yell at him for a change. It would do him some good,’ and she opened the door.

‘Get back here, you ungrateful-’

Scortia had had enough. Ignoring all the furious protests of her mother, she left the house. Then she remembered … how could she have forgotten it? Re-entering the house, she ran up to her room and grabbed her necklace, slamming the door against the wall as she did so.

The pendant was a sea horse; pale-blue in colour, yet you could almost see through it; the markings appeared to be white paint, or something similar. Normal as it was in appearance, Scortia felt safe and calm whenever she wore it; it did not matter where she was or the problems she was facing. It was on a fine gold chain, which looked so delicate, one may have thought it to be easily breakable. However, Scortia had already tested its strength and found it impossible to snap, no matter how much force was applied. The links did not even come loose from their connections, no matter how hard she tried.

She quickly put it on and ran back downstairs, slamming her door shut again. To her most pleasant surprise, her mother looked completely nonplussed. Without a word, she crossed the hall slowly and deliberately, milking the moment for all it was worth, and for the second time in ten minutes, she left the house.

Once outside, Scortia felt calmness mixed through with regret surge through her. At least she was finally out of the house, not that it was a change from her normal situation. She decided that it would be best to walk all the way to Caya’s house. She hated finding someone willing to give her a lift and hitchhiking was far too risky at this time of year anyway. Especially with the migraters. She began to think of all she and Caya would do once she got there. Not that she would be there anytime soon. Caya’s house was on the other side of town. It made perfect sense to head there, as Caya’s parents, Nephr and Pican, never asked too many questions. In fact, Scortia was more like a second daughter to them. She was rarely criticised whilst there and spent as much time as possible sleeping-over. It was full of happiness and welcoming, just the way a real home should be. The only real problem was that they insisted she see her own family for, at least, one day every week. It was the most unpleasant meeting possible for both Scortia and the rest of the Redings.

There was no love there.

She thought to herself about the problem and came up with a simple solution for it. Rather than allowing them to take her back there, she would somehow summon the courage and the words, to tell them why she had left, and (if at all possible) what she was running away from. She had never told them before. They just took it as it was and let her stay. Caya knew, but neither had mentioned it to Caya’s parents and they had never asked. Nephr had probably guessed some of it, and Scortia decided she was the better of the pair to tell. Her gut-instinct said ~go for it, ~ but deep down she knew that it was basically impossible to do so. But then again, she had to try her best or end up suffering another return to the house. If fate permitted it, they would understand… ~No matter what happens, I can and will tell them,~ she desperately hoped. She then added to herself that Caya could probably explain. She knew more and also how best to tell her parents anything.

While lost in her own thoughts, she dimly registered that a storm was brewing. Yet another thought to add to the confused jumble that only she could sort through. Why was a storm brewing at this time? It was the dry season, was it not? They never had a storm at this time of year. Just light showers here and there. At least, that was how it had worked for the past five hundred and fifty-seven years. She was vaguely aware of the rain starting to gently moisten her skin. Soothing her, and calming her. She began to walk slowly out of town to avoid any suspicious looks from passers-by, and made for the road that circled the small town.

As she walked, the unnatural storm became more intense, urged on by the unknown powers of a stranger who watched her from the shadows. The thunder rolled around her and lightning crossed her path, striking the ground in front of her. Yet she remained unaware of this. All she knew was that she had to keep on walking, walking. The storm and its creator would guide her, right to the very end of her path. And despite the danger of being out in a storm, he would never allow her to come to harm. As ever, he was in complete control.

* * * * * * * * * * * * *

When she came to her senses and out of her thoughts, Scortia realised that she’d been walking for several hours, without even realising it. She was unsure of her location and she glanced around, looking for a familiar sight.

Then she saw it – Mount Zircon. No one can mistake this awkward yet magnificent mountain for any other in the realm as it can only be seen properly at certain times. Any other time of day, or even night, causes it to only be seen as a vague outline like a child’s drawing and it almost always let the light through it, creating rainbows like a prism, or crystal, does. It is more or less translucent if one had to honestly describe its true appearance, yet it leans towards transparency. If the sun, or moon for that matter, is in the perfect position, it can be seen from one particular angle. Move slightly and it will almost disappear. It is the most peculiar mountain in the realm and the bafflement of many scientists, who will often realm-jump to get a glimpse of it and study its molecular structure with little success.

In the raging storm, there was the jagged outline of the mountain, seemingly imprinted on the grey mass of clouds that formed its backdrop. The mountain was an ominous presence and seemed to be part of the storm. As the lightning flashed, the mineral refracted the light in such a way that the entire mountain seemed to glow pink for the moment the flash occurred. Even for a few seconds after wards, it seemed to be the same dazzling pink. Anyone gazing directly at the mountain when it lit up was temporarily blinded.

Despite the normality of the pink lightning and the roll of thunder that followed, the storm still felt unnatural. It was too concentrated, and though the wind blew fiercely, whipping the rain across Scortia’s face, it did not move on. Its design was to keep others away and indeed it succeeded; the sight of the ever-present mountain framed by the wild storm was more than enough to keep people away. It was riddled with a sense of menace.

The sight of it, however daunting and threatening, comforted Scortia, and she smiled as she gazed at the bulk of it looming over her like a parent does a child, beckoning her on. She could not explain why or how this could be, but she was comforted despite the deep danger spelled in the air and she was honestly glad for the comfort. The mountain did seem to call to her and her pendant seemed to move beneath her T-shirt, almost as if it were trying to get closer to the mountain. It had been doing this more frequently than usual recently. Was it supposed to? Was it telling her something?

What was up the mountain to provoke these moments? No-one dared climb. In the past, those who did either stumbled out the Neverwood with no memory and horrific injuries, or they vanished, never to be seen again. The locals liked to tell visitors that the mountain was alive and had its own appetite. But no-one knew. The mountain was a mystery awaiting the right person to solve it.

Scortia felt her curiosity get the better of her sense of safety and awareness. She turned and began to take the mountain path, but her progress up it was very slow, as if something important were holding her back, dragging her away from whatever lay ahead. She turned again, looking away, as she decided to continue with her original plan and make her way back to the road. It was safer.

Then her mind filled with shame as realisation hit her, telling her why she turned. She was afraid of meeting the rumours face to face. Apparently, there were supernatural creatures on that mountain. Ghostlike things which swarmed all over the place. And the mountain used the creatures. The legends most probably came from the mountain’s distinct abnormality, but no one had ever proved them wrong. She stopped and asked herself the question. ~What am I afraid of? There’s nothing there, is there?~ and she wondered whether she had the answer. She needed one.

The only reply she got was the thunder, made into words by the force and power of her imagination, although she felt as though the storm was reading her mind and speaking back to her. Besides, constructs had a habit of developing their own form of free-will and the stranger, too, heard the words it boomed. ~What is this? Someone scared of a mountain? That’s a good one.~

The storm’s torments rang in her mind, like the words of a playground bully ever picking out what she feared the most. ~I’m not scared of a mountain. At least I don’t think I am. I’ll prove it,~ she thought to herself. ‘I am not scared!’ she then proclaimed to the black night, only to hear her words swallowed by the storm’s overpowering rage. The only answers she got were more taunts and dares, all from the intensifying storm, which seemed to have no end. ~Prove it!~ Upon hearing those words, the stranger fought harder to regain control of his creation. He failed.

Scortia took one last glance down a safer road, and turned to face the mountain. ~What would I gain by refusing? It’s a mountain, not a wild animal!~ She nodded in satisfaction and continued, the shadowed man unable to stop her any longer.

This time, when she put her foot forward on the uneven path, there was no backward pull. No constraining force. Just her, alone, walking on. Climbing wherever necessary, and as she walked, the hours rolled past as if they had never existed. Time meant nothing to her now. And neither did her surroundings. She just had to move on, never ceasing, never looking back.

Little did she know, a pair of watchful eyes saw her begin the trek. Those eyes were filled with hatred and interest. The owner of the eyes turned, frowning and shaking his long black hair out of his eyes. He reached into a shadow and pulled out another like him. He quickly whispered something to the new arrival, who quickly left again at the words. Satisfied, the man began to follow Scortia, keeping out of sight. But he had no need to. After all, the shadows are incredibly hard to see when in the dark. And during the black of his storm, he was invisible.

He allowed her to move on ahead before calming the storm slightly behind him, concentrating it on the solitary figure struggling up a mountain path. He tried to divert her from her course, and yet, now he had control of his storm once more, he wanted to enjoy himself. Threatening her safety amused him and he wished to make all he could of it, but another appeared by his side. Reluctantly, and fighting the Deathscent, he calmed the bulk of the storm, leaving the rain to continue and, as instructed, he began to climb up behind her, wondering why he had volunteered for the job. Surely there were others better suited to it. Espionage got very tiresome after a while. And so mumbling, he moved stealthily until not far behind her, and Scortia continued, oblivious of his presence.

Hannah S. Chacko is a 17-year-old A-level student at Chelmsford County High, Essex (UK). She wrote this novel when she was 14. For more information on Hannah and her work visit http://www.elementalists.cabanova.com.

<< The Lie by Hannah S. Chacko – Prologue

© 2009 Hannah S. Chacko

Posted: June 10th, 2009
Author: Lee