Disobedient (Rise of the Realms: Book Two)

by D. Fischer

  Erma ignores our bickering. “What is happening to your livestock?”

  Jaemes’ face relaxes, and he glances back in front of him. His jaw clenches, rippling the muscles inside his cheek. “Theft.”

  “The angels?” I ask, a chuckle in the back of my throat.

  He doesn’t respond, his silence my answer. Perhaps I pushed too far. Stealing their necessities will surely create more problems. Angels have a dark side, and though we are all guardians of this realm, from time to time, some like to antagonize the weaker. Many angels forget how formidable and vengeful the elves can be.

  The tree trunks are larger here, protecting the ground from heavy snow drifts and the threat of impassable walking inside the village a few yards ahead. The tops of the trees intertwining to a point where few flakes fall within the village.

  Smoke tickles my nose as we enter, several fires lit outside of each teepee hut. Sticks and tree limbs are stacked vertically, meeting at the top and twined to hold them in place. Skin from animals make up the outside walls, completing the structure of individual homes.

  Children, tattooed in the same color as the bark, toddle about, giggling and playing until they notice our arrival. In quick scurries, they flee back to their mothers, the women wrapping their arms around the tiny elves. Like Jaemes, thin cloth covers their external reproductive organs. The chill of this winter has no effect on them, just as me.

  The village is larger than I expected. It’s built around the trees with expert architecture, fitting like a perfect puzzle piece. As far as I know, I’m the first angel to have stepped foot in any elf village. In the past, our battles have always unfolded in a field.

  We parade past the first hut. A large male elf sizzles raw meat over his fire. He stops and twists his torso to stare, his meat forgotten. His shrewd eyes study me before they swivel to Erma. Curiosity sluggishly replaces his disdain.

  Another, cradling a stack of arrows in his arms, spits a wad of saliva in our path as we weave between the huts. It narrowly misses me. I snarl at him, half-tempted to hiss like the wild beasts they think I am.

  “If you had your wings, I would have sent you back by now,” Erma mumbles, her head slanted in my direction. The hostility is thick here.

  Glaring at those who glare at me, I retort. “If I had my wings, we’d be unaware of the circumstances you wish to discuss with a council. We wouldn’t be where we currently stand.”

  “Now I see,” Jaemes quips, faking clarity. “You’re not a team player. You’re the mascot to your lover.”

  “Just get us to the council,” I murmur, tired of the games. If he verbally arrives to her aid, he clearly cares for Erma, choosing to use our earlier heated, hushed discussion to throw back in my face.

  AIDEN VANDER

  DEATH REALM

  Resting my shoulders against the Keep’s external stone wall, I stuff my hands in my pockets and look around, waiting for Corbin to exit. This is where I choose to stay away from the wedding. I fidget in my stance and cross my legs, concerned about this new-found sympathy I’ve been gaining. It’ll complicate things if I don’t control it . . . If I let it control me.

  The streets are empty, the shades absent. To my right, behind the Keep, the Colosseum rests in full glory. Soon, cries of battle will spill from its top, filling these streets with screams of victory and pain.

  Vampires mill in and out the oval structure, chatting amongst themselves in excitement for what’s to come. Blood is what they live for, no matter how they gain it.

  I lick my bottom lip. I understand that hunger. I was created for the same: to create and feed on the chaos. But it makes me question what purpose I have in Corbin’s eyes. I know he meant me for more, especially if he threatens me due to my disobedience. He has something to lose, and I plan to find out what it is – his weakness.

  The door slides open, stone rasping against stone, and Corbin exits with his hands in his pockets, mirroring me. The vampire, named Yaris, closes it behind him.

  “Ugly place, isn’t it?” Corbin suggests, pulling his arms up and crossing them. “Absolutely no color or imagination. Stone. Stone everywhere. You can’t even sit in the place without dust coating your ass.”

  I raise my eyebrows yet follow the trail of his gaze. “Kheelan doesn’t strike me as the type to enjoy anything but shades of death.”

  He puckers his lips. “Fair point.”

  We’re silent for a moment, watching as a shade pokes his head through a wall. His eyes land on ours, and they widen, filled with fear of discovery. I willingly feed on him, on the sliver of fear wafting my way, before he disappears back inside.

  “Why do they hide?” I ask, raising my voice over Corbin’s chuckle.

  “They fear they’ll be human next.”

  Kheelan has the power to make them all human again, and the demon in me salivates at the thought of the large expanse of a human’s terror if they were all to be turned. Kheelan would have to tie himself to each and every one. It’d be his downfall – his demise.

  Could I do it? Could I allow him to turn every shade, making him vulnerable while I feed? My mouth salivates at the endless buffet, but the part of me, this new part of me fighting to surface, is angry this realm is ruled by a selfish fee. Death could be so much more than blankets of grey and misery.

  “What is that stench of sympathy?” Corbin growls.

  I clench my jaw, my eyes hardening around the edges. I open my mouth to respond, but we’re interrupted by a female vampire running at human speed. She stops before us, her hair whipping in her face as it catches up.

  “She arrives,” she reports, her upper lip tense.

  Corbin claps his hands once, his façade sliding back in place. “And so it begins. Come. We will gather Kheelan.”

  CHAPTER NINE TEEN

  KATRIANE DUPONT

  DEATH REALM

  The tunnel was short, shorter than I anticipated. I stand in the last foot of it, taking in what’s in front of me. It’s a city – a city made of stone. But a city should be bustling, no matter what creatures live there. A single cricket chirp would be louder than this place. Where is everybody?

  Buildings reach higher than I can see, fog swallowing their tips whole. There are no windows along these buildings, and the streets are made from the same stone everything else is. This isn’t how I pictured the afterlife, but then again, this is Kheelan’s domain. Maybe he’s as empty in the head as the realm he built.

  The fog resting in the pit of my stomach applies pressure against the inside of my bellybutton, urging me onward. It’s like an internal GPS with its own destination in mind.

  Chewing the inside of my lip, I decide to take a chance. What have I got to lose? If I die, I’ll just stay here. It’s not like I don’t know where ‘here’ is anymore. This realm doesn’t look anything like what I had pictured. Would it kill Kheelan to add a grassy hill or a rainbow?

  I chuckle to myself, picturing a unicorn prancing toward Kheelan as he strolls along his patch of grass.

  Shuffling forward, my noisy shoes grit against the stone’s dust beneath them. I gulp, and squint at the path before me. I don’t know where I’m going, but moving forward seems the best course. I bend a corner, gasp, and step back around it.

  A vampire heads my direction, leisurely strolling instead of the normal blur of speed. What is it doing? Patrolling? Is that why there’s not a single shade strolling the streets? Should I kill him?

  My shoulders sag, and I internally groan. Dyson. I’m here for Dyson. Not to diminish the population of blood-sucking dead people.

  I concoct a ball of flames within my palm and wait for the vampire to bend the corner. Muscles tense and prepared, I’m set to throw it, ready even. I squeal as the fog inside me shoves against my spine, sending me straight into the wall my back rests against and directly through the solid structure.

  My stomach rolls like I’m diving a hundred-foot drop while strapped to a roller coaster. I land with a thump and a yelp on the other side. Ra
ising my head, I look back over my shoulder, my fingers curling on the stone floor I’m pancaked against. There are no doors here, and a vampire can’t follow me in the same fashion. I heave a sigh of relief, my tense shoulders loosening. It’s a small victory, but this place is full of the unknown. I was stupid to waltz the streets like I belonged here.

  I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and perch myself on my knees. A woman stands before me, plump and frail looking, even with her transparency. She wears a hospital gown, and in our confusion, my scrunched eyebrows match hers.

  On shaky knees, I climb to my feet, stand, and clear my throat. “Hello,” I greet, fidgeting with the hem of my shirt.

  Frozen in her shocked stance, her gape flashes, regarding me and the wall behind me. “Can I help you?”

  I shift my weight, straighten my shirt, and fold my arms across my chest. “Um. Let’s keep this tiny intrusion between us.” I inspect the room, seeing no furniture, no other shades, and no death trap. “I’m . . . hiding.”

  Her lips part, fumbling over her next words. “Who are you?”

  Reaching, I hold out my hand to her. “I’m Katriane Dupont. Nice to meet you . . .”

  “Wanda Tiller,” she responds with reluctance, grasping my hand. Her grip is loose and nervous. I marvel at the fact my hand didn’t travel through hers. Can the solidity be turned off and on? “Ms. Dupont, I know it’s a scary place out there with the Colosseum and shades turning human, but you should really consider hiding in your own room.”

  I begin to respond as my stomach heaves, rolling within and contents travel up to the back of my tongue. The fog inside is fighting to get out. I grip my abdomen, my mouth forced open as the snake-like mist exits in the same fashion it entered. My eyes water, and the tail of the creature forces itself from my body, slithering into the open air.

  Wanda gasps, both hands flying to her mouth. I’m about to tell her it won’t hurt her – that it helped me – but she speaks before I have the chance, watching my body become whole instead of transparent.

  “Reaper’s Breath,” she whispers behind her fingers.

  I look over my shoulder, slight fear curling my toes. “Reaper? Where?”

  The snake-like fog slithers its way to her shoulders, caressing her like a cat. Wanda shakes her head. “No, not a reaper. This is Reaper’s Breath.”

  I double blink, remembering their stanching breath . . . “Excuse me?”

  “It’s Kheelan’s creation. Reaper’s Breath holds a great deal of power, just as its fee creator. You should know. . .” she nods her head to my solid, human body.

  I watch Reaper’s Breath. The front end of its body shifts like a head. “Is it safe?”

  Wanda glowers, her plump cheeks puffing.

  I elaborate. “I mean, if it’s Kheelan’s pet, doesn’t it have some sort of obligation to him? I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but the death realm isn’t exactly what I pictured. There are no fluffy bunnies hopping through fresh, green grass and never-ending rainbows out there. This isn’t the kind of realm I’d place much trust in anyone . . .” My voice trails off as I listen to my own advice and eye Wanda with speculation. I suppose any realm would have a list of untrustworthy people and creatures living in it.

  “I don’t know anyone, besides his vampires, who are loyal to only him, Ms. Dupont.”

  I heave a sigh and scrub my hands with my face. What am I doing? I have no plan.

  Backing up, my spine hits the wall, and I slide to the floor, placing my elbows on my bent knees. Wanda shifts her weight uncomfortably. Her fingers pull at one another.

  “Is this your home?” I ask. There are no personalized objects. It’s hard to get to know someone when they’re standing in their room, and it’s completely bare. If I didn’t know any better, and if this was the earth realm, I’d deem her insane.

  She nods her head.

  “Where’s all your stuff?” I inquire as I arch my neck, stretching the stiff, aching muscles. The small yet terrifying battle with the Reapers did a number on me.

  “We aren’t allowed belongings here. If we hold belongings, it keeps us tied to our old life. Kheelan doesn’t approve of that.”

  I chuckle, shaking my head. “What? Is he afraid you’ll cross over and haunt your loved ones?”

  She stares at me blankly, confirming without voicing.

  I clear my throat and prop my elbows on my knees. “Right. Okay. So, what do you do here, Wanda? What role do you play in the death realm?”

  Her posture stiffens, and the worry lines across her forehead smoothen. “What did you say your name was again?”

  “Katriane Dupont.”

  Reaper’s Breath glides from her shoulders to the floor and snakes its way to my ankles, swirling around them.

  “Kat . . .” she whispers.

  Has she lost her mind? “Yes . . .”

  “You’re her,” she hisses, dropping her hands to her side. “You’re the witch Dyson was looking for.”

  “You know Dyson?” I inquire, skeptical. This is a big place. I’m flattered she knows my name, but how many Dyson’s live here?

  Her body snaps from its nervous stance. “Come,” she demands, urging me to stand by waving her hands. “Up. We have much to prepare.”

  ELIZA PLAATS

  DEATH REALM

  This is a dream. I know it is. It’s dark here, wherever here is. It’s not a room but an all-consuming blackness. There is a small amount of light and it forms around me like a spotlight.

  I blow out a breath, and my frizzy hair tickles the edge of my chin. I’m frustrated that my brain keeps playing tricks on me during my sleeping state. Am I a beacon, such as this spotlight, for all things dream-related and supernatural?

  Am I dead? Is this the void?

  Memories surface, suffocating me with reason and conviction. I had fainted during the marriage ceremony, the binding of our souls. That’s what this is. It’s my brain resetting for my new path – my future.

  “Eliza Plaats?” A voice calls behind me.

  I whip around, spinning on the balls of my bare feet, and I almost lose my balance. A woman stands there, long brunette hair, slender, beautiful eyes. Her face is set in a stern, determined expression, and her short-sleeved, black dress blends with our surroundings. A separate spotlight from mine hovers over her.

  “Who are you?” I peek around once more. “Where am I?”

  She takes a step forward, confident. “My name is Janine Dupont. I’m a witch who belongs to a coven called Demi-Lune. This,” she waves a hand around. “This is a portal between minds. A conjure, if you will.”

  “What?” I frown, tucking my chin and scrunching the skin along the bridge of my nose. “A portal – what am I doing here?”

  “I called you here.” She sighs. Her patience is impossibly thin, and she crosses her arms. “We don’t have much time. I can’t hold this link for long. It’s difficult, you see, because you aren’t dwelling on the earth realm.”

  I stare at her, my mouth agape and my arms limp at my sides.

  She momentarily sucks on her bottom lip, our eyes locked. “I see the future. It’s part of my gift. I’ve seen your future, Eliza. I’ve seen what you become - what the effect of your union has and the impact you’ll have in the near future, regarding the safety of the realms.”

  Tucking my hair behind my ear, I reach up and scratch my forehead. “I still don’t understand.”

  Janine advances once more. “My daughter is traveling to your realm. She may already be there. I need you to help her. To prove my visions wrong. Can you do that? Can you keep her alive in the face of the oncoming grief and devastation you’re about to endure?”

  TEMBER

  GUARDIAN REALM

  Jaemes hops off his Matua in a graceful leap. “Wait here,” he demands, pulling back the skin of the hut we stand before, and heads inside.

  This hut – this teepee - is massive, much larger than the ones we’ve passed while hiking through the village. His Matua stomps a
nd paws at the ground, shifting the snow beneath its foot. It stares at me with all four eyes. I look to Erma, but she’s remained unaffected by all of this around her. I regard the animal, choosing to study its bone structure and build instead of focusing on the group who has gathered around us. They stare, and it makes my skin crawl.

  I open my mouth to cluck, hoping to gain a positive reaction from the beast, but I’m halted as the flap opens to the hut. Jaemes pokes his head through. “Creator,” he says, dipping his head to Erma. He turns his head to me. “Wingless Mascot. They’re ready for you.”

  Erma’s strides are poised as she ducks inside the hut, Jaemes holding the skin open for her. He drops it as soon as I step forward, forcing me to slide it aside myself.

  Jaemes is enjoying himself; I can tell. If we were of the same make, he and I may get along. I enjoy those who live life on the playful side. Perhaps we’ll always be destined to disagree, simply due to our make.

  Inside, four elves sit on the ground, cross-legged. The floor is covered in fur of a variety of colors. One elf runs his long, nimble fingers through the strands, using their texture for comfort I imagine.

  The elves are younger than I expected, each built with an impressive stature, each as menacing as the other. They’re intimidating, and their stares pin me to my spot inside the door. I twitch my fingers at my sides, feeling unwelcome here.

  “Erma,” a male elf greets, tearing his sharp, murderous eyes from mine, and squints at Erma to my right. His voice is deep and rumbling.

  “Mitus.” She dips her head.

  Like Jaemes, Mitus has dark tattoos. The resemblance between them is uncanny though Mitus is large with a wider frame and a sturdy, square jaw. The sculpted muscles lining his body leave me no doubt as to why he’s the head of the Igna elves.