Young Writers Society

Word count: 1642 words

The hallway was longer than it had been two years ago, and darker, and with fewer doors opening into its sides and on the ceiling. Elborn walked slowly, feet thumping on the carpet. He never dared walk fast in the hallways of the red house; it seemed irreverent somehow, and he was always afraid that if he ran, one of the doors would open and swallow him up. He scowled at Malkolm’s back—Malkolm, who was hurrying along the tunnel-like passage as if someone had pushed him.

Elborn gritted his teeth and searched for a suitable word in his head with which to describe the boy. Cunning. Proud. Frictionless—yes, that’s the word, Elborn thought, and that was how he would describe Malkolm later on, so that his wife (and soon, the village) referred to him as Malkolm Ir Frictionless, the Usurper-Ixister.

Elborn observed discreetly, as Malkolm glided along, the manner in which his cloak whooshed and flapped and struck the red-tinted brick. His nose was sticking up high in the air. Elborn wondered if Malkolm had enchanted it to stay that way, hoisted it up with an invisible string. It wouldn’t have surprised him if this were the case. He was the opposite of Kelm in every way, from his demeanour to the flippant way he used his skills. It was very irresponsible, Elborn thought severely, and privately he thought it was enough reason for Malkolm to be demoted to Sreya, the lower Ixister class.

That, and Elborn didn’t like him.

A feather tickled his throat. He coughed loudly. The sound echoed in the silence of the never-ending hall.

‘Hurry up!’ Malkolm barked to the passageway. Elborn growled.

‘Hurry up, of course I’m hurrying, hurry up he says…’ he grumbled, shaking the dirt from his cuffs. He stuck his tongue out at Malkolm’s back. At least he doesn’t have eyes at the back of his bloody head.

Elborn slowed his pace along the hall. Extending an arm, he brushed his fingers along the walls. Everything was different from the last time he had been here, two years ago. Then, Kelm had been obsessed with the sea, having visited it for Inspektion in the summer. He’d returned tanned and smiling, his eyebrows shaped like waves. The only thing Elborn had understood from Kelm’s constant rambles—over tea and biscuits, of course—was that it was very hot there. But, Elborn supposed, it must be beautiful as well. Kelm had draped the walls of the halls with seaweed, inlaid the carpet with seashells, and the black doors (that had the tendency to sprout in the strangest places) had been blue. Elborn had preferred the design, although his feet had ached terribly for days after his visit.

Or at least, he preferred it to the gaunt halls where Malkolm now claimed residence.

Not for the first time that day, Elborn wished he had kept in touch with Kelm. It wasn’t always necessary to meet the Ixister in person, because a strong Meka and a strong Ixister could share a bond without meeting for decades, and run a region without mishap.

No—Elborn was worried something might have gone wrong during the two-year silence. And he knew that if Malkolm was the new Ixister, things would not remain peaceful for long.

‘Elborn Radagel! Are you always this slow?’ A gust of wind blew down the hall and the doorknobs around Elborn all clattered and fell. He glared at the sliver of silver down the hall.

‘An Ixister’s job is not to move fast, boy, but to manage stressful situations with utmost calm,’ said Elborn, squaring his shoulders and crossing his arms in an effort to look (somewhat) intimidating.

‘The Meka’s manual, chapter four, page seventy, second line from the bottom,’ Malkolm sneered. ‘Surprised?’ he asked, when Elborn stiffened. ‘I’ve read through all the Meka scrolls in the mills and learnt everything from every book in existence. It might surprise you, but I’m a stronger Ixister than Kelm ever claimed to be.’ The silver cloak billowing once more, Malkolm walked on.

Annoyed and slightly put out, Elborn followed.

At last, they reached the end of the hall. Elborn had seen the large, wrought-iron door on his many visits … but this time it looked alien and unfamiliar, as if it had been touched by cold hands and the coldness had seeped into its every particle. Behind the door was a Door of Security, and behind that…

Kelm’s workshop. It, too, belonged to Malkolm now, Elborn realised. Walking towards the door, he gripped one of its ornamental bars. It was colder than the ice caps on the Froën Mountains.

Elborn suppressed a shiver. Malkolm however, smiled, and ran a hand across the door. It opened soundlessly, swinging outwards and hitting Elborn in the face. He yelped loudly and rubbed at his nose, which was now throbbing and red. ‘Second injury today!’ he said, indignant. ‘I am your Meka!’

Malkolm gave Elborn a condescending glare, the tips of his yellow hair burning pink. Instead of replying, he busied himself with the Door of Security, tapping at it in certain places. Elborn noticed that the Door had also changed: it was a blazing purple with silver specks dotting its length. The only thing that hadn’t changed about it was the fact that it didn’t have a doorknob, and the Ixisters’ Council’s insignia burnt on its surface, brightly as ever. A black rent entwined with a gold dragon—it was beautiful and frightening at the same time. Bending down, Malkolm puffed his cheeks and blew at it. Then he stepped back. Elborn stepped back, too, eyeing the Ixister warily. Who knew what new enchantment he had added to the Door?

Nothing. Elborn relaxed. The Door shimmered and disappeared just as it always did with Kelm. Malkolm swept inside, flicking his fingers at Elborn in a gesture to follow.

Once inside, Elborn’s mouth fell open.

‘You’ve destroyed it,’ he hissed, horrified. ‘If Kelm knew—if—he’s not here is he?’ He turned to Malkolm, who was perched on a tabletop, observing Elborn coolly. His lips curled upwards, like Elborn’s antics amused him. Cocking a head at Elborn, he said lightly, ‘Why would he need to be absent for me to redecorate?’

Elborn bristled. ‘You’ve destroyed it,’ he repeated vehemently. ‘Kelm’s workshop—it’s—it’s not supposed to be like this. I refuse to work with an Ixister that doesn’t respect his predecessors. I refuse—‘

‘Then don’t work for me,’ Malkolm said, staring Elborn down with his slate-blue eyes. Elborn’s hands curled into fists.

‘It’s not that simple,’ he growled.

‘Oh, but it is,’ Malkolm said, almost cheerfully. He stood up and walked towards another door set beside the one they had entered, a dull grey creation that was almost invisible in the granite walls. He opened it, revealing a series of wooden steps that led upstairs.

‘Stay here,’ Malkolm commanded. ‘I’ll take you to Kelm … after I check up on him.’ His tone was nonchalant, dismissive. Elborn could not detect even the slightest hint of smugness, or hesitance, and he knew that Kelm, whatever—however he was right now—was not being tortured.

It made him feel a little better to know that. Elborn nodded at Malkolm quietly; the latter raised a pale eyebrow at the Meka, but said nothing. Perhaps he was surprised that Elborn had submitted so quietly, but the truth was that Elborn just wanted to be left alone.

Malkolm left. The door snapped shut behind him. Elborn heard a lock click.

He stuck his tongue out at the door. Twice he had done that that day.

Arlene would be proud of me, he thought, smiling wanly. He wished his niece had agreed to accompany him up the Mountain; he could have used her spunk and quick tongue just then. Elborn sighed heavily and sat on the flagged floor. He looked at the workshop sadly.

‘Destroyed,’ he said to the empty room.

It did not reply. Under normal circumstances, it would have. The bricks had all been very sensitive while they were under Kelm’s care, and were prone to bursting out in song. Elborn remembered how irritating he had found their constant humming at times, but now he sorely missed it. He sighed again, to fill in the silence. The bricks seemed to stare at him, in their dull brown-and-grey hues. Everything about the room was dull brown-and-grey; it was no longer Kelm’s bizarre, wonderful workshop, blinking with the oddest of creations. Where there had stood Kelm’s latest project—the WAGON Elborn had crafted and brought for him to enchant—there was now a square sheaf of hardboard, all-too-ordinary and commonplace. The tapestries in royal colours, bewitching greens and yellows, lay in a tattered heap in the middle of the room. Elborn felt furious at the way Malkolm had piled them so carelessly—those were century-old tapestries, for goodness’ sake—and they were touching the dome. The dome was what Kelm used as a multi-purpose blackboard; sometimes it was a chimney, depending on the nature of his experiment.

Now, it was covered with dust, a thick layer that had wrapped itself on the empty tabletops and chairs that were scattered across the room. A mourning, heavy dust. It seemed to sigh.

‘Dust, dust,’ Elborn said to himself. ‘If Kelm is not reinstated, the Meare will be dust.’

Already, he could feel the Ixistence-Meka bond breaking. This was not good, Elborn thought, not good at all. Soon, things would start to go wrong. Machinery would break apart, the village’s defenses would weaken…. It scared Elborn Radagel more than he liked to admit, and Elborn never liked to admit anything as lowly as that.

He hugged his knees, feeling old and withered. Slowly, he began to sing.

‘Elborn Radagel forty two…’

But his heart was not in it.

‘I wish you were here, Arlene,’ he said to the bricks. ‘I wish you were here.’