by J J Marshall
He moved towards the opened columned like wall and thrusted himself over the edge. He was falling and soon he would hit the ground. Orian relished in the rush he felt from falling as he outstretched his wings feeling the air catch beneath them and opened his eyes as he began to soar upright. Lights twinkled in the dark as people settled into their beds for the night. Orian was alone, free. He took in the sight of his dying land as his body began to tremble.
I can’t be out here long, or I’ll freeze to death, he thought, flapping his wings involuntarily. It had been ages since he had flown, and if anyone saw him, he would definitely be punished. Flying was outlawed in the Midland. A silly rule of his father’s to maintain order, and to keep them away from his secrets.
Irisi was a cruel father, Orian knew this and tried to walk the line between pleasing him and doing the right things, but flying, that was his secret, his release in life. And if found out, he would be punished, severely.
He sighed, as he brought his wings in towards his back and once again plunged towards the ground, only extending his wings when the castle came back into view. He would retreat to his room when he landed, this much he knew. And from there, well he would just go with his gut.
*
Orian stumbled into his window as he landed on the ledge retracting his wings back into his back. Blood poured from the reopened scabs and dripped down his back soaking into his shirt. He would have some explaining to do with the maids doing his laundry and, for a brief moment, he halted, remembering the chambermaid he had invited back to his room, wondering if she had arrived when he was out for his flight. He breathed a sigh of relief recalling as he dismissed her from his services. Good thing, too. He needed to see Hanna, just one last time.
But will seeing her only make it hurt that much more? His heart quickened at the thought. If it did hurt, then he deserved it. He was an asshole. He sentenced her to an unknowing, unwilling death. And for what? So that he could keep the throne, or rather so that his father could. He could picture her now. Her long brown hair falling like a smooth sheer sheet around her shoulders, or her big brown eyes studying her books or her bronze skin. She has beautiful and, yet, plain. But there was something about this girl that he couldn’t move past. He had watched over her for her entire life. She was the same age as he, sure but angel’s aged much slower than humans and he had watched her grow.
Jumping from the window ledge, he landed with a small thud and gently pulled the bloodied shirt from his back. Two gaping holes from where his wings had ripped through were now stained in blood. Pain seared once more in his back as his wings settled into place, causing Orian to jolt forward. The price for his secret flight. He moved away from his window, calling forth his white light as sparks danced around his fingertips. His eyes had adjusted to the dark room as he moved silently from candle to candle watching as it burst forth with life. His room was now a dim orange as the flames cast shadows upon his wall. For a brief moment he thought about a fire, but decided against it. He needed to see Hanna, and now.
Gilding towards his desk, Orian retrieved the only book he had ever cared about. Heavy, tanned, and made of leather, the Book of Protectors was his treasure. His only link to Hanna. A thin layer of dust laid atop of the cover in a thick blanket as he pulled it from his desk. Particles tickled his nose as they floated through the air, threatening a sneeze from him. Biting at his lip, Orian held his breath waiting for the sneeze to pass before opening to his bookmarked page. The smell of must greeted his nostrils like a familiar friend as the spine crackled and popped, setting into place.
“You are a Keeper, and a Keeper you will forever be. Until death doth part thee,” Orian recited as white light filled the pages. Black inscriptions scrawled across the pages and the familiar instructions appeared into place. He was fully aware of what needed to be done and quickly read the instructions aloud so that he could move to the next phase: Hanna.
“The following pages contain every human from birth to death and their assigned Keeper. Find your name and hover your fingers above your trustee. As time goes on, you will earn the Mark of the Angels, which will grant you the powers of your forefathers. Keep your words, and we shall keep ours. Keep the humans safe.”
Slowly, he turned his gaze to his arm, watching as the familiar black lines of his Mark darkened. The Mark of Protectors. His Mark had grown quite substantially over the years, after keeping Hanna safe. His consolation prize, a tattoo he never deserved to have, especially now. Orian skimmed the page until he found her name and sighed. Guilt, shame, or a combination of both, ate at the prince as he ran through her information, watching to see if anything had changed. The Book after all, had a mind of its own.
Name: Hanna Marie Calhoun.
Year: Born the year two-thousand
Parents: Tessa (living) and James Calhoun (deceased)
Siblings: Adrian, age twelve.
Marital status: single
Living status: Alive.
Keeper: Orian Percival Vanderwall, Prince.
Hesitantly, Orian moved his finger until they were over top of Hanna’s name and closed his eyes. Colors flashed brightly under his lids as a scene began to form behind them.
It was dark, but warm and he could see Hanna nestled beneath heavy covers. Her room was small and a bit crowded as he stood in the corner silently watching over his charge. She’s sleeping, he breathed. Thank God. His heart rammed against his ribs harder than he had ever felt before. She was safe…for now. He moved closer, perching over top of her, watching as the drool oozed onto her pillow and her hair covered her face. Orian chuckled quietly as he began to turn away.
“I am so sorry, Hanna. I will find a way to save you. I will find you,” he whispered, moving towards her window.
Gasps erupted from the silence as Hanna bolted upright, her dark irises boring into Orian’s. Shit. Pulling his hand away from the page, Orian returned back to his faintly lit study, gasping himself.
Shit. Holy shit.
******
Four
Irisi
Irisi paced back and forth before his throne. It was late in the evening and the rest of the kingdom was likely asleep. Darkness surrounded him as the faint flickers of nearby candles casted their glow. Orange, yellows, and red flicked into view as his eyes watched the candles dance back and forth until simmering into a gentle flame.
Worry gnawed at him as silence cascaded around him. Lucius was late. He was never late. Something was off. He just knew it. He had always been on time for the nightly meetings, that was after all, why he held them so late. Bile lurched its way up the king’s throat as he thought about all the vile things the Fallen King would do to him if he showed up and empty-handed. He had his offering: Karsten.
Though he had never intended to give his son over to the Fallen King, Irisi had made his choice. He needed protection from the Council and the Renegades. They had already wanted his head and throne, but he was not ready to die or give up his birthright nor would he give up without a fight. Every possible play had to be dealt and Irisi was holding the winning card.
Fuck the Council, he thought. He had won. And would continue to. He had after all, made a literal deal with the Devil. And as much of a coward Lucius had seen him, the keepers of the Midland would never know their king’s secret. They would never know they were playing right into his hand, working for the Dark King.
Plumes of dark smoke swirled around the floor, choking the light from the sconces. Irisi was alone in the dark as Lucius appeared. Light zipped from the Dark King’s fingers as he snapped them, reigniting every sconce within the room. Though his form was ever changing, he always appeared before Irisi clean shaven and emanated power, and this time was no different.
“To show you who’s really the king around here,” Lucius cooed, reading Irisi’s thoughts. He wore an ebony-colored suit, vest, tie, and matching shined shoes. The Fallen King smiled as he unfurled his slick, metallic charcoal-colored wings, watching as Irisi’s eyes widened. He was testing
the king, pushing to see how far he could go before Irisi would snap.
Disdain pulled at the king’s face as he felt his lips curl into a snarl. How dare Lucius test him! Breaking the rules, he set. Unsheathing his wings in front of the king. But Irisi knew better than to speak of the Fallen King’s discrepancies as he buried his teeth into his tongue.
“Smart one you are,” the Fallen King teased, stepping towards the king. Lucius’s hand met Irisi’s cheek with deafening force pummeling his teeth through his tongue. Pain pelted into the king, blinding him as he clutched at his face. His ears rang with a thunderous hum as hot metallic liquid poured into his mouth. Irisi gagged as he choked on his own blood, silently wishing he could make the ringing stop. Make it all stop…
Shaking his head back and forth, Irisi cupped his ears as he clamped his eyes shut. Focus! Sandy locks whipped at his face as Irisi silently pleaded for the ringing to bloody stop…just…stop…
“Where is my charge?” Lucius asked, his tone cold and clipped. “I do not have all day to wait. We are at war. I have a militia to run. Bring me my charge,” he demanded. Shaking his head, Irisi’s ears continued to hum as rage bubbled up within him. Opening his eyes, he glared at Lucius. He wanted to beat the shit out of this Dark King. He wanted to do unspeakable things to him. Make him bend. Make him… Obey… Make him pay. He could feel his light perk at his fingertips as he struggled for control over it. Lucius laughed as Irisi pushed himself to his feet.
“You wish harm to me? After everything that I have done for you. You are an ungrateful brat. I should make you pay,” Lucius tsked. “As a matter of fact—”
“Fuck you,” Irisi hissed, spitting a mouthful of blood at the Dark King. Abruptly, Lucius stopped as blood spattered his face, neck, and clothes. He snarled, shifting his eyes to their black demon form.
“You have a sharp tongue boy. Such a waste, such a…pity. Now you have to pay. You know with ruining my suit and all.” With a snap of his fingers, Irisi could feel the air being snuffed from his lungs as he choked. Dark tendrils webbed their way around his throat, suffocating him.
“Are you planning on fighting me now?” Lucius yelled raising his hands into the air as his tendrils tightened around Irisi’s neck. Tears pricked at the king’s eyes as his cock twitched. He liked the pain. He relished in it. And as messed up as he knew it was, it was the only form of affection he could handle.
He was scarred from his days of abuse at the hands of his Father, king or not, the Vanderwalls had a dark history behind closed doors and Irisi knew it. Hell, he played right into it. Salty dropped flecked the king’s cheeks running like small vampant rivers down his face as his vision began to ebb from him.
“Answer me, boy,” Lucius demanded.
“No, sir,” Irisi choked out. The Fallen King smiled and once more snapped his fingers. Air rushed back into the king’s lungs. “Then put your fucking white light away or I shall snuff it from your finger,” Lucius snarled. His eyes shifted from their black form to normal, rimmed in red as the smoke began to circle around the two kings, burning Irisi's nostrils. The stench of rotting eggs filled the room as the Fallen King's anger arose.
“How dare you come into my house, demand my son from me, slap the living shit out of me, all for your pleasure. I ought to have you thrown into prison. I ought to teach you a lesson about respect,” Irisi spat, moving his neck from side to side. His bones cracked as he stretched, bringing a smirk to the Fallen King’s face. He would fight the fucker if he had to.
“Then do it,” Lucius replied, taking a step forward as if to further challenge him. “I know about what you do in the dark. The torture chamber and all of your inner demons you release when there is no one to bat on eye. I know your secrets, boy. You can’t hide anything from me. I know about your son and what he is, and do I say, Karsten’s tastes are devilishly divine. Perhaps I’ll take him for myself. Fuck him into submission. Perhaps then you will listen to me. Do as I say. Or, I’ll just kill you. You made a deal with the devil. Now follow through. Or I shall Rip the flesh from your bones and take your kingdom for myself. Your skinless head will be posted outside as an example. I am not nor will I ever be, afraid of you. I have more associates here. Your kingdom will not be hard to take.”
“I’ll deliver Karsten to you on a silver platter, Your Highness. But I need him to finish my bidding first. I need him to lead my troops into war. The humans will perish at his hands, and then the throne will truly be mine.” Rolling his eyes, Lucius turned away from Irisi and began to disappear, as tendrils of black smoke swirled around his body.
“Fine. Do as you must. But do not keep me waiting Irisi. Or I’ll kill you myself.”
******
Five
Hanna
Hanna’s eyes shot open adjusting to her darkened surroundings. She was in her room, but not alone. She sat upright, wiping beads of sweat off her brow with her bedsheet, struggling as the air evaded her lungs. He was there and yet, everything about him felt like a dream, like he was otherworldly. Nausea gripped at her stomach, threatening the bile that was creeping up her throat. This was not normal and yet…somehow, things with her were never normal.
Gnawing at the inside of her lip, Hanna sucked in a deep breath, freezing as the air pierced her lungs and burned. Her heart was pounding against her rib cage, trying to break itself free and her skin was cool and clammy. Anxiety roared through her like a mighty river through a valley.
Breathe, she told herself. Just breathe, breathe. Air rushed into Hanna’s lungs as her memory played over and over, picking up details of the boy.
His hair was a mess of flaxen locks, covering his forehead and tickling his ears. He had a strong jawline and light skin; much lighter than her own sun-kissed flesh. And yet, she knew all these things and not his name or why he was in her bedroom, watching her while she slept.
Hanna scratched at her arm absently as she thought back to the boy and his eyes, his oceanic blue eyes, both dark but strikingly bright. It didn’t make sense.
Turning to her side, she reached for a lamp, feeling around for the cold string of beads she knew was there and pulled. Light erupted throughout her quaint room as a slight breeze drifted through the window, ripping her curtains. Hanna scratched her head as the familiar pain pounded behind her eyes. She pushed to her feet, gripping at her head, and stumbled to the window. Cool wind whipped at her skin and stung at her eyes. Tears rolled freely down her cheeks as she looked into the night sky, black and empty. She turned and silently padded to the door, creaking it open just enough to squeeze through and bolted down the halls. The house was quiet and empty with no sign of the boy. Maybe it was all a dream, she thought again, returning to her room. She nestled back into her warm bed and curled the blankets around her face.
If you come back, I’ll see you and I will find you. She silently warned, though she secretly wished he would come back. She had so many questions she would like to ask. But her mind faded as her lids slowly became heavier, fluttering until they shut and her breathing slowed, drifting her back to sleep.
*
Bacon sizzled and snapped wafting its delicious scent throughout her house, waking Hanna from a dreamless sleep. Her stomach grumbled as she sleepily sniffed at the air. “Mmmm, bacon,” she mumbled in her half-awake state. Pushing herself up, she turned her attention to her lit lamp. The boy, she thought as she plopped to her feet. What did he want? Her mind toyed with the question, considering all the possible explanations for his sudden appearance as she readied herself for the day, pulling on an old band tee shirt over her head.
Why me? As she searched her closet for her favorite gray hoodie, Hanna froze. The boy was so vivid, and yet she had been asleep. Was it possible that she had had a vision while unconscious?
“Impossible,” she whispered to no one but herself. Shaking her head as if to dismiss the thought, Hanna’s eyes spied her gray sweatshirt, and she pulled it on and left her room, closing the door behind her. She would figure this all out. She had t
o.
Making her way towards breakfast she heard muffled noises of her brother happily chatting to their mother as they grazed their breakfasts and sighed. As if their mother really cared about them. Most nights Hanna made the meals and fed herself and Adrian while their mother worked another late night at the office.
“Good morning, sunshine,” her mother chirped. “Breakfast is all made for you two, but I have a meeting tonight with a client, the biggest one our company has seen yet. So, if you wouldn’t mind making dinner Hanna, I—” Stopping in her tracks, Hanna turned to face her mother. She raised her tanned hand in the air as if to silently choke the words from her mother’s tongue and turned to her mother, hand raised in the air.
“Yeah mom, no problemo. I’ll get Adrian fed and make sure his homework is done. Don’t worry about it…again,” she muttered, masking the irritation in her voice. Rising from her seat, Hanna’s mother rounded the table and pecked her on the cheek before placing her dish into the white farm-style sink.
“You’re the best,” she said, flashing her famous perfected smile towards her kids before exiting the house for the day.
Hanna closed her eyes, pulling her emotions back into her, bottling them up for a later time. Adrian had done nothing wrong, and he was, after all, Hanna’s entire world. Piling some pancakes onto her plate, she took a seat at the round kitchen table next to her brother.
“Hey, Kiddo, looks like it’s just you and me again,” she said before shoveling pancake into her watering mouth.
“Just once, I wish Mom would be here for dinner,” Adrian sighed, sticking out his bottom lip in a pout. “Doesn’t she love us?” he asked.
“Of course, she does,” Hanna replied, choking down the leftovers in her mouth. “She’s just busy. You’ll understand when you’re older. Anyways, Kiddo, the bus will be here soon. You ought to head on outside to wait. I’ll figure out a super spectacular dinner for us tonight. It will be great! I promise.” Adrian nodded quietly as he excused himself from the table, draping his small yellow backpack over his shoulder.
