Claire stood beside Gareth at Merriam Beach as the sun rose to its zenith, this time accompanied by Lord Maellwyn, Kress, Maen and Gwenivere. Claire had been surprised when Lord Maellwyn had led them down the same extensive cave network she’d traversed with Gareth yesterday. She looked around her. She’d sort of expected the Maellwyn secret place to be exceptional, not a boring, old beach, even if it did contain the Nereus and his Mer-people. Even as she thought of the Maellwyns elemental leader, she noticed the ancient king crest a wave.

Maen bowed low in Lord Maellwyn’s direction. “My Lord?”

At least someone else was as confused as she was.

She glanced at Gwenivere. Though the Dream Mage kept her expression schooled to reveal little, Claire wouldn’t have been surprised if she didn’t know what to expect either right now. She’d managed to catch the woman last night, but Gwenivere asked Claire to hold off on saying anything about the Beast to Maen until after today’s working.

Claire watched Lord Maellwyn walk to the shore, letting waves lap over his bare feet as he whispered something to the Nereus, who glowered at the strangers in Lord Maellwyn’s party. At last, the Mer King seemed satisfied, and Lord Maellwyn turned back to face everyone. Claire’s senses felt more alive than ever. She stepped forward, not wanting to miss a thing, not when something was finally going to happen.

“This is our greatest secret,” Lord Maellwyn said gravely. “And no matter how far you journey and how hard you’re pressed, this is one secret that you must never tell.” Claire could barely make him out as mist seemed to billow inwards from the sea, moving quickly to tower high, high above their party, enclosing them in its damp embrace and shutting out the rest of the world. “The punishment for revealing Maellwyn secrets is death,” he boomed. “No matter how far you run, my magic will find you and drown you.” His orb-like eyes locked onto Claire’s and he seemed to grow taller.

Claire shrieked as something icy pressed against her heart.

“Promise me you’ll never reveal this place. Swear it on everything you hold dear!”

“We won’t tell,” Claire gasped. “None of us will ever tell.”

His eyes bored into Claire’s. After a few moments, he turned his attention to Gwenivere and the band squeezing Claire’s heart eased.

“You too must promise.”

Gwenivere managed to nod, even as she stepped back. He then asked the same of Maen.

As though satisfied, Lord Maellwyn seemed to shrink, and the air became less claustrophobic as the mist thinned. “Then we may begin.”

Gareth and Kress stepped into the ocean beside Lord Maellwyn. The three linked hands and began to hum, making the same low and tuneless sound Claire had heard from the Mer-people. Soon, mermaids surfaced, only this time they were joyous, all waving at Lord Maellwyn and calling his name in their strange sing-song voices.

“These are my guests,” he shouted to the Mer-people. “They have the Nereus’s blessing and may cross.”

As he spoke, a great wave flung itself at the shore, then curled backwards. The ocean parted as it retreated, as though Lord Maellwyn were Moses, leaving a pathway across the ocean floor, leading to … Claire shaded her eyes with her hands but couldn’t see where the path ended. There was no time to wonder. The others had begun walking, leaving her behind. She quickly stepped forward but as soon as her sandalled feet touched wet sand, the waves rose high above her head and hurtled down. This is insane! We’ll all die!

Water closed over her head and she tumbled end to end. She’d gone surfing with Marcus at the local beach in the holidays, and the loss of control had been the same as sand had scoured her skin and she’d been sent rolling.

Claire flung her hands about her, certain she’d drown, but they struck only air and when she brought them back, they weren’t even dripping. Her mouth was open but didn’t fill with water. I’m breathing, she realised.

“Relax,” Gareth called out from somewhere ahead. “The sea takes us where we need to go.”

“But I’m not even wet,” she called back.

“If you are invited, you will arrive safely.”

Before she could reply, Claire shot above the waves, landing on all fours on something flat. Black rock. The strong smell of salt filled her nostrils and got down her throat. Sunbursts and rainbows swirled across her vision as water splashed onto a sparkling white structure rising from beneath the ocean just ahead. The building flowed and gleamed, like Lord Maellwyn’s throne.

Claire got gingerly to her feet, tugging her shirt back in place before looking back to the beach. It was barely visible, the cliffs and Manor easier to make out. She’d never have been able to swim so far from shore without help back at home. She spun around to the strange building to see milky doors open. They gleamed like the inside of an oyster shell, pearly and reflective, creating bursts of purple colour against the white. As she stared in amazement, the others entered the building, led by Gareth and Kress. Lord Maellwyn waited on the threshold, beckoning to Claire, indicating she should follow him. The doors sealed them inside as they entered. Mist cooled her face as the ocean pounded against the walls. The Maellwyn secret place was like a hidden jewel. She wished she had her paints – she could have made a glorious picture.

As she caught up to Maen and Gwenivere who were whispering to each other, Lord Maellwyn, Kress and Gareth hummed in sync with each other. The sound was loud and came from deep within. The air grew cooler.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

Claire’s skin broke out in goosebumps as the air filled with condensation. Maellwyn, Gareth and Kress closed their eyes and threw their heads back at the domed roof. As she too stared at the ceiling and wondered what was going on, it took her a few seconds to realize that the sound she was hearing was not just waves around them, but also above them, pummelling the ceiling. She guessed the Maellwyns had returned this secret place into the sea. She clutched Maen’s hand, fearful of being swallowed by the ocean, as the Maellwyns broke their concentration.

Maen’s own cheeks were pale. He stared beyond her to the far ends of the structure. Claire followed his gaze. Seven Mer-people lounged in large clam shells; the biggest was salmon pink streaked with navy blue and contained the Nereus himself, his rusty red and seaweed green tail longer than those of his brethren, his muscles sheening from the sea. His green eyes pinned to Claire’s, cold and empty and inhuman, and suddenly she was afraid.

“You are safe,” Gareth said gently as he placed a hand on her shoulder. “Your own elemental leader would be just as frosty towards us. It’s natural. I could count on my fingers the number of non-Maellwyns who’ve entered this secret place. The Nereus honours you by allowing you inside at all.”

Claire remembered the caverns beneath Dorran Manor with a pang of regret. “I never had the chance to see our own secret place.” She choked a little. “Grandfather was going to show me.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, looking sad. “But here, at least, in a place of great learth power, I do not think the Beast will follow you. We can practise with more confidence. Our Mer-people have agreed to watch over us all.”

Gwenivere’s lips were parted with wonder. “I’d still like to observe the proceedings. Is that possible in this place?”

“Yes,” Lord Maellwyn broke in. “This building won’t make it difficult to work magic.” He smiled at Maen. “Kress, Gareth and I will stand at the ready should something go wrong, but I don’t think it will. We’ll test what happens when you use magic first, then run through the whole spell.”

“Well,” Claire said awkwardly. “I guess we begin?” This was like entering Peony into a dressage competition all over again. Having loads of people watching her had been nerve-wracking, but once she’d started, she’d been too engrossed to notice anyone.

She closed her eyes and breathed in and out, images of toasting marshmallows at the back of the farm colliding with the burn of dry ice, her hand pulsing as the air moved around her fingertips, and she heard Gwenivere gasp.

Gareth, Lord Maellwyn and Kress doused her flame with their own spells, the scent of brine counteracting the burnt meat air.

Maen asked her to try again and this time it was easier. As was the next and the next and the next until she could direct the flame wherever she wanted with little effort.

“Let’s try once more,” Maen said, obviously relieved. “Then we’d best get back for a big lunch.” Now Maen mentioned it, Claire’s stomach did feel hollow.

He signalled to Gwenivere, who sat cross legged by a Mer-person. She unwound herself from the ground and headed over, smiling. “I’ve seen nothing.”

“Thank goodness,” Claire said. She didn’t know if she could handle another accident. “Where should I aim the flame for the grand finale?”

“Directly overhead,” Maen said. “You’ll need to stand right under the Rift and target the spell directly above you, as Kelt did, so that’s what we might as well practice.”

Claire took a deep breath, and did as she was asked, confident nothing would go wrong. Yet as she held the images of flame in her mind and aimed upwards, something strange happened. There was a loud click, like the noise of a stapler, and then, though her eyes were closed, she saw the white domed roof above her. Before she could snatch herself back to reality, grey clouds whirled overhead, then parted to reveal a deep rent marked by greens and reds and slashes of indigo. It was the Rift.

Like an old cinema reel, an image sketched within the crack overhead faster than Claire could keep up. Four men and women stood in a human chain. At an unspoken word, they flung hands out in unison, sparking a wildfire in the sky, then waterfalls cascaded over land, rocks fell, and wind swirled around it all. The Rift dissolved, sunshine and normal sky restored, leaving Claire with a warm feeling inside.

Before she could bring herself back to the others, a brown shadow suddenly blocked out the sky and the rest of the vision unfolding. Darkness blanketed the blue as it reached down to touch her. The shadow rearranged itself, dirty, thick and choking, with an open mouth gaping at its centre directly above Claire.

The Beast had found her, even here.

Every part of her froze. Maybe she’d destroy the Maellwyns secret place. Maybe she’d kill everyone inside and die alone. Her chest ached and there was a ringing in her ears. Things couldn’t end here. There was something she was on the edge of knowing. The vision she’d just experienced had shown four people with four different kinds of magic. She suspected they each represented the four magical Houses of Kelnarium destroying the Rift, but if that was the case, she knew it was impossible. Two of the Houses no longer existed, so Kelnarium would die and she’d never see her family again. She needed time to think, but how could she with the Beast about to strike? She was doomed.

Yet even as despair choked her, nothing happened. Instead, the hideous creature glowered at her. “Why would you murder me?”

“I … I don’t want to murder anyone,” she gasped.

“You will,” it said, in a voice so mournful she almost felt sorry for it.

“How do you know?”

“Aren’t you going to close the Rift?”

“Yes.”

“Then you condemn me, for I am its very soul.”

That wasn’t possible, was it? No one had mentioned such a thing to Claire before. Her mind raced. “If what you say is true, I’m sorry, but this world will die unless … unless …” She couldn’t go on for guilt, but she knew she had no choice. Too many people’s lives depended on her doing what must be done.

“Unless you destroy me,” it said.

The Beast rifled through her brain with a sensation like nails dragging against chalkboard. She wanted to cry out, but her tongue glued to the ridge of her mouth.

“You are determined,” it spat as the sudden probe withdrew.

It watched her as she shrank backwards, something calculated in its countenance. Then it rushed upwards. She felt its fear like a physical thing as it stretched. She could have sworn she saw pictures moving between the wisps of the Beast and from the way it stretched as wide as it could, Claire suspected it didn’t want her to see what was happening in the ongoing vision … which meant … which meant somehow, she was seeing how to close the Rift.

Claire strained to see past the Beast’s undulating mass, certain that whatever pictures scudded by were important.

Though her line of sight was unclear, she could just make out the four people once more. This time she recognised one of them. It was Marcus, wearing the grey and purple tunic of House Ushanan, standing in a wide field. He pointed his finger and air billowed in a mini cyclone. He joined hands with three others; two in blue and silver Maellwyn House attire, though one cracked the earth beneath his feet, and the third person, why, it was herself, flames crawling across her open palm. Water, flame, air and earth converged then shot into the sky.

The Beast roared, diving onto her fast. She couldn’t dodge as it lifted a long finger and touched her forehead. Knife blades drove through her skull and she was pulled sideways, spinning out of control.