Disobedient (Rise of the Realms: Book Two)

by D. Fischer

  TEMBER

  DREAM REALM

  “Where the hell did she go?” Erma asks, whirling to face me. The bow dissipates from her hand, disappearing, along with the arrow discarded on the rock. Her face is scarlet with unleashed rage, her hair in disarray.

  I know exactly where she is. A witch always retreats to where she feels most safe. “Home,” I murmur.

  The slick oil in the pit of my stomach churns. I saw the way she looked at me. I saw the way her eyes held me in contempt. She despises me and with good reason.

  Corbin stuffs his hands in his pockets. “Well, that was quite entertaining.”

  Erline turns to him, her eyes narrow and her nose wrinkled. “You think this humorous?”

  “I do,” Corbin begins, the smug smile leaving his lips. His face darkens, and a sense of dread overcomes the room; a thick aroma, choking and smothering all at once. I imagine this is what the Angel’s Kiss feels like.

  With quick thought, due to his overpowering threat, I call upon Ire, the electric bow tremoring within my palm. He’s been given a power boost by the fear which layered this dome moments ago.

  I bring the arch of the bow to my face, the side of my hand resting against my cheek. I pull the string back, an arrow taking its rightful place, resting on my finger.

  “Stop,” I huff. Whatever he’s doing, whatever magic this is, it’ll consume us. It’s a magic I’ve never felt; dark, thick, and slick. I don’t know what he’s doing, or his plan, but the results surely won’t end well. Not with the power boost he’s been given.

  His head swivels to me, the pits of his black eyes seemingly endless. “You think to stop me, Angel? You’re only half of what you should truly be.” His eyelids narrow. “Do you think that’s enough? To stop the King of Fear?”

  It is unnerving to watch his façade drop, to witness the snake beneath a rabbit’s skin. It’s almost a separate personality to the one I’ve grown accustomed to. My breaths are harsher and barely contained. His charming demeanor is gone, and we see him for what he truly is: the threat we didn’t see coming.

  “Enough,” Sureen bellows. She’s been quiet, absorbing knowledge like a dry sponge dropped into a bucket of water. She’s witnessed much this day. “We had a deal,” she adds, turning to Erline and Erma. “Your daughter almost destroyed my realm. You came here, begging for my help, asking me to save that thing, and now you forget your promise.”

  It takes them a moment, but they eventually remove their gazes from Corbin’s and glance her direction as one. I keep aim, refusing to back down.

  “I have a realm to run,” Corbin expresses, his charming attitude returning like the flick of a switch. I falter in my statue stance. “If you’ll excuse me.”

  Like the ripple of a finger poking a body of water, Corbin shimmers away, his body waving until there’s nothing left, and he’s gone. The deal was not his to bargain, but I can’t help wondering what matters drive him back to his realm.

  Erline nods her head, and Erma glances behind, her attention on me and Ire. “Drop your weapon, Tember. There’s no need. Not anymore.”

  Reluctantly, I do as she wishes, watching the bolts fluctuate and disappear.

  “Go wait outside,” Erma adds.

  “No.” My voice is firm and nonnegotiable, my fists clenching. “I’m not leaving your side while we’re here.”

  Her lips thin into a line, and I can tell they hold some sort of crude and hurtful remark. Instead, she carefully blanks her face. It hurts more than the unspoken words.

  “Giving Sureen strength will take a lot of power. It will fill this room and kill any living being within. Outside, Tember. Now.”

  I slouch closer to her, whispering while watching Sureen. She crosses her arms, her foot tapping, impatient. “Giving her what she wants isn’t a good idea, Erma.”

  I don’t have time to add anything, to plead my case. Erma screams a frustrated yell, rolls her hand in the air, and I’m outside of the dome.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  AIDEN VANDER

  DEMON REALM

  We stand before the Domus Timore, and the black lava flowing upward sounds like the roar of a slow-moving waterfall. There are no doors, no windows, and no obvious entrances.

  “How do we get in?” I ask my demon escort.

  He tsks, shaking his head. Without answering me, he hobbles forward, the lava parting as he does so. Looking over my shoulder once more, searching for Ferox who disappeared not long ago, I turn and follow him through.

  The sight before me would have been one I’d thought impossible, if I weren’t standing here, witnessing it myself. Demons, of all variety, roam and stroll to destinations of their choice while conversing with others. The area we occupy is luxurious and not what I expected. The features are grotesque, gothic, and darkly beautiful.

  Black leather couches occupy this room, interspersed with old, wooden chairs that creak under pressure. The room is octagon-shaped, and each corner has a fireplace with no fire. Instead, it drips black lavafalls, surely more portals for demons to travel through.

  Above the fireplaces, mantels rest with skulls as décor, and behind it a wall of skulls crawling to the top. Their jaws are frozen in a silent scream, and pillars made of charred, black wood hold up the high tin ceiling, etched with delicate swirling designs. The tin drips, from where I’m not sure, but it’s a steady stream of thick black rain. The drops don’t dribble from everywhere I realize. They follow each demon, soaking into their skin upon impact.

  “What is it?” I ask, glancing at my own arm as the first drop absorbs. Like a bee’s thorn, it stings, and I suck in a breath of surprise as sensation changes.

  I remember fasting to get my weight down for a boxing match. I remember taking the first bite of real food afterward. The sensation is like no other, a frenzy, when it slides down my throat and plops in my empty stomach. That’s what this feels like as the black drop soaks into my skin. It’s feeding a starving demon sustenance it needs to survive.

  “It’s liquid terror,” I mumble, mesmerized.

  “Very good. Come,” the demon demands, impatient.

  He begins walking, and I follow his wobbling strides, taking in the demons around me. They watch, whisper, their make vastly different from one another. One is green with grotesque features, short and plump, and hobbles past me. A gargoyle.

  Standing by the lava fireplace, a banshee holds her hand out and her long nails obstruct the flow. Her pale white skin is a contrast to the black lava, and her red eyes watch it with interest. Sharp teeth poke past purple lips even as her tongue snakes out, licking them. White hair flows down to the back of her knees and sways with each shift of her impatient hips. The silky locks float like a breeze even though there is none. Her figure would make any woman envious.

  Entering a hallway, we come across another room. It’s circular and small, the walls made of mirrors. Each mirror flashes between numerous different humans, some sleeping, some in a wakened state though their faces droop with depression.

  Stopping in my stride, I lick my lips, hungry for more. It’s like a buffet. Momentarily, my eyes catch in one mirror, and I gaze upon them. My normal irises are gone, and in their place is lava, molten and moving. I’m not allowed the time to marvel or question this conundrum before my attention is averted.

  A few humans inside the mirrors have a demon resting a hand along their shoulder. They continue along with their daily tasks, unaware they’re accompanied by a creature who controls them.

  In the middle of the circular room, a small demon - a little boy - stares at one particular mirror. I watch him, interested in the intensity of which he studies the bedroom and the sleeping human through the mirror. Slowly he shuffles, hypnotized and pulled by a force I don’t feel from where I stand. The side profile of his face comes into view as he does. His features are angelic, innocent even, but the purple surrounding the skin of his hollow eyes tells me he’s anything but an ordinary child.

  His gait is automatic and slow, a
nd the mirror ripples like disturbed standing water as he steps through and exits the other side. The mirror is nothing but a curtain I realize.

  Climbing on the end of the bed, he stands to full, unwavering height. The mattress doesn’t dip, like I’d expect, as though this child is weightless. The red patterned comforter remains unrumpled under his feet. Soundlessly sleeping, the woman he looms over rustles under her covers. She rolls over on her back, tucking a hand under her pillow to prop her head.

  Something overcomes her – an internal instinct that tells her she’s not alone. First, she wrinkles her nose, surely smelling the sulfur from our realm which wafts from the child. Her eyebrows slide higher, wrinkling her forehead, and she slowly opens her eyelids.

  The look in her blue irises, the dilation of her eyes, is recognizable. I’d seen it many times when I was alive. She blinks, clearing her vision, hoping that what she’s seeing isn’t real. Her lips part in dread, in consuming fear, and her nostrils flare with doom. What she’s seeing is, in fact, there. Her fear trickles from her skin like smoke from a fire with no breeze. It travels along her bed, caresses the child, and floats to the mirror. I can feel it as it travels through. I can feel it from this side of the mirror, feeding me as a small appetizer. Flaring my nostrils, I inhale a deep breath, my eyelids fluttering. My mouth waters, and I swallow while rolling my head and stretching my neck. It’s an addictive feeling, one I’ll never have enough of.

  Why doesn’t she run? Scurry? Flee?

  She’s paralyzed I realize, unable to move as she witnesses a child demon at the end of her bed. He stands there, needing nothing more than to be present for his purpose to be fruitful. He doesn’t need to scream; he doesn’t need to speak. All he does is shift his stance, and she gasps in horror, her hand flying to her mouth to cover a scream that doesn’t rip from her throat. Another wave of terror slams into me, a force of invisible smoke. It leaves her room as though a bomb exploded under her sheets. I hiss in a breath between clenched teeth, and my hands grasp my torso, feeding an unquenchable hunger while gripping the muscles which flexed on impact. I want more. I need more. Like a rabid, starving cheetah, I want to barge through that mirror and take her terror as my own – to rid the child of the scene and claim what’s mine.

  “Enslaving, isn’t it?” my demon escort teases behind me, bringing my mind back to this realm and our current errand. I drop my hands back to my side in hopes of keeping my surprise at bay. “Don’t get close to that one. Terrors aren’t as friendly as they seem. It’s games they enjoy. Games of the mind, you see. Games that drive one mad.” I glance over my shoulder, catching him tapping his temple, and I get the distinct feeling he’s been a victim of a Terror.

  “Right,” I mumble, glancing back at the mirror once more. The competitive drive fuels me, begs me to stay and conquer. I want to see what the child is made of, compared to what I’m capable, but only after I take the woman for myself.

  “Come,” the demon mumbles, leery.

  TEMBER

  DREAM REALM

  Roaring with frustration, I slam my hand against the side of the dome, catching a few sandmen off guard as they linger between the willows across the cave’s landscape. Their white eyes train on me, the noise distracting from whatever task they’re trying to accomplish.

  I push my hair out of my face with a huff, debating over ignoring her orders and charging back inside. She shouldn’t be alone. Not here.

  Resting my head against the wall of the dome, I watch the hues of yellow aurora borealis play with the cave’s spikes along the ceiling. It doesn’t take long before my distracted mind becomes uninterested, and I begin counting the pulsations to ease the tightness within my chest. No measures of relaxation techniques aid me in my quest to ease my troubled heart.

  Erma is in there, unprotected. Erline is in there, unprotected. I know I can’t protect from the threat of another fee – I’m not built for it. But what if the worst happens? What if Corbin returns with vengeance? I saw the look in his eyes. The real Corbin is troublesome and thirsty for control.

  I close my eyes, breathing deep. Kat’s dragon form floats behind my lids; the image of her breathing fire in the direction of those who care for her breaks my heart. It’s a feeling I’ve been unfamiliar with until recently. Each black scale had glittered with flames beneath, illuminating them, outlining them. I don’t recall her dragon’s scales doing that before. What happened between the night in the alley and now? What happened in the past?

  The bitter resentment, wafting from her, was thick and unforgiving. Does she have a reason for being upset? Of course she does. I mentally place myself in her shoes to find a way for me to gain forgiveness, and a voice interrupts the process, coming from beside me.

  “You’re the angel – the one he helped?”

  My eyelids pop open in surprise, and I glance around me, settling on a figure standing to my right – a dwarf. His long black hair is pulled back into a leather loop, fastened at his neck. Bushy, unruly eyebrows dangle above his eyes which have no lashes. He’s short but wide with muscle.

  “Who?” I ask, frowning.

  He nervously shifts, and his scent wafts my direction, thick with sage. “The sandman.”

  I swallow my guilt. However, I’m more interested in why a dwarf would go out of his way to hold a conversation with me. “The one Sureen is punishing for eternity?”

  He nods, his thick square jaw ticking. I find my anxiety matching his own with mild curiosity.

  The dwarves we met in the tunnels seemed absent of paranoia, driven by the work they do with their hands and their minds. Perhaps they guard their emotions carefully, fearful of their master, of their creator.

  “Yes, I suppose I am. And you are?”

  “My name is Nally.” He dips his head. The hair tied at his nape falls over his left shoulder. “Do you know where she sent him?”

  Placing a hand on his shoulder, I bend my knees, bringing myself eyelevel with him. His muscles are rigid beneath my palm, firm and sculpted from years of hard labor. “To the death realm, eternity as a shade.”

  Nally sucks in a breath and hangs his head.

  I bend a little further, trying to capture his eyes. “Were you two close?”

  He shakes his head, keeping his eyes downcast. “Sandmen do not hold emotions, so relationships cannot be built. But at the end – before she took him away – he sought help from me.”

  “Why you?” I pry, tilting my head.

  He rolls his shoulders back, forcing himself to stand upright and proud. His eyes return to mine, and I drop my hand. “I am the eldest of the dwarves,” he begins. “He wasn’t sure who to turn to when he – when he . . .”

  “When he began feeling emotions?” I supply for him.

  His nose twitches, wrinkling over the bridge. “How’d you know?”

  I lick my bottom lip. “It wasn’t difficult to see.”

  “Right,” he murmurs, glancing away at the willow landscape. “There’s another world out there you know. Many, I imagine. I do not believe this is where we’re meant to be. Not like this. This is no life.” He pivots to me, and places a large, calloused hand over my wrist. “Your heart beats here, doesn’t it?”

  Nervous that he knows such a secret, a secret guarded carefully for optimal survival, I search his face for his true intentions. I see nothing but worry, sorrow, and inquisitiveness of an intelligent mind.

  “Yes,” I answer, narrowing my eyes.

  Nally looks at my wrist, his thumb running over my heart in slow circles. “I wish I had a heart,” he mumbles.

  I don’t know how to answer him, so I remain silent. Sometimes, having a heart is the recipe for a broken one.

  He continues, “I heard the commotion from out here. I heard the roar of a dragon. Was she really here – the dragon the sandman assisted?”

  A tear wells in my eye, spilling over the edge from the reminder of my failures. “Yes,” I whisper. I angrily wipe my cheek with the back of my hand.

 
“Good,” he mumbles, nodding his head and dropping my wrist. “She will save us.”

  Dumbstruck, my question comes out harsher than intended. “Excuse me?”

  He doesn’t answer me, his attention flicking over my shoulder. The dome glows brighter and his facial features elongate.

  “What’s happening?” he shrieks.

  I close my eyes, my gut telling me how wrong this feels. “Your creator is getting a power boost.”

  His gaze shifts from me to the dome and then back again. His lips quivering. “You mustn’t.”

  “Why?” I ask as he takes a shuffle back. “What’s wrong, Nally?”

  “She will create life!” he screeches. I reach out to him, and he shakes his head. “I must leave. I must leave and tell the others.”

  Lashing forward, I grip his upper arm with firm fingers. “Wait! Tell me what’s wrong!”

  Stuttering, he spits out the words as fast as he can as if he were sharing a large secret. He continues to back up even with my grip, his eyes shifting for listeners. “The life she creates isn’t a life you’ve known. There is no love, Angel. I repair the dome when requested. I’ve heard the desires she and the demon fee have discussed. The creatures she plans to create will be built only for war.”

  I grit my teeth. “War?” I knew Corbin was up to something. Perhaps not definite, but deep down, my instinct is correct about him. Did he manipulate this situation, perhaps made it work in his favor? If he and Sureen are conspiring together . . .

  “Are you ready?” Erma asks from behind me.

  I drop my grip on Nally, turn my head, and look over my shoulder. Erma’s face is dark, exhaustion and worry taking over her once delicate features. Her red curls are in disarray, this evening’s events taking its toll.