Ollie MacQuoid and the Journey To Rubius

Chapter One

He was stupid. He was absolutely, completely, positively stupid. He was so stupid, in fact, that he hoped the incessant bumping of the train would be enough to rupture something in his brain and kill him before he'd have to face the inevitable humiliation of being returned to his parents like some sorry lost puppy. He should go back. He should wait until the train stopped again, then get off and find a phone and face the wrath he knew he deserved. It was the right thing to do.

The train rumbled to a stop in front of another busy station; Oliver didn't get off.

It had all started the morning before. The morning of his thirteenth birthday. The morning Oliver himself found to be quite important. He'd always liked his birthdays; his brother would be forced to be at least moderately nice to him, the cooks would bake a cake, and his parents would shower him with expensive gifts he probably didn't want but was happy to get anyway. Turning thirteen was something Oliver thought very highly of. His brother, Bax, had spared no one of the exciting news when he'd turned thirteen almost three years ago. Oliver barely remembered the day, but he did remember the fuss his parents made about his brother, the brand-new toys and shiny vials of who-knows-what he received, mostly because Bax had a tendency to throw whatever he had in reach when he was angry.

Oliver thought he'd be entitled to the same treatment. His parents had always paid a little more attention to his brother, but only because he was older and interested in the same things they were. Oliver had no interest in being a politician. He didn't really know what he wanted to be at the moment, but it certainly wasn't that. He didn't really mind not always being paid attention to, as he'd always managed fine on his own. But that day, the day of all days, he expected something special. Or at least for them to be there. But when he woke, he was told by the round-faced earth spirit maid he'd never really liked that they'd gone on a business trip and wouldn't be back until early the next morning. They'd not told Oliver of this business trip in advance (not that they told him much of anything at all) and had left without so much as a word while he slept. Oliver threw a well-deserved fit and slammed the door in the maid's face. After sulking in his room for a few hours he went downstairs to retrieve his gifts from the nervous-looking servants in the kitchen. Even they were not incredibly special. Oliver felt insulted. So insulted, in fact, that he threw on his favourite coat — the one birthday gift he actually liked — and marched straight out the door without a word.

Running away had always been something Oliver thought about. It was something his mind would fantasize about almost every day, after each failed attempt to teach him magic, after being forced to watch his brother pass every exam — Fire Magic III, Water Magic IV, and the blasted Enchantment I lessons — with flying colours, all the while Oliver remained incapable of summoning or manipulating a single drop of water. But that's all it was: a fantasy, nothing more. In his head, it looked so easy — sneak out the window, walk to the train station, and get on a train. The wheres and hows didn't matter, because none of it was real.

Now that he sat at the back of a cramped train, trying to make himself as inconspicuous as possible, the wheres and hows and especially the whys felt much, much more real.

"Sir?"

Oliver jumped in his seat, clutching his coat tightly. A kind-looking attendant had a hand on his shoulder. "Sorry for waking you," she said, her golden eyes twinkling. A wind spirit. "Could I have your ticket, please?"

Oliver plucked the crumpled piece of paper from his pocket and thrust it in her direction. "Here."

The attendant smiled, ignoring his curt answer, and pressed a blue stamp to the face of the ticket before handing it back to him. As she turned to leave, she stopped and scanned Oliver's features a little closer. Oliver's stomach dropped.