Realm Book Three - Illuminated Death

by K. A. M'Lady

  Was Lady Twilla’s death tied to the abduction of Kieran and the others? Were they next? And exactly why had Xavier come to rescue me from the police department when Adam had dragged us into their little rampaging Werewolf problem? Come to think of it, that damn Werewolf went all the way back to the beginning, when I had originally met Kieran. His girlfriend had been eaten by the pus-oozing, bone munching, gore-mongering Ogre that had been called from the Shadow Land.

  Ugh! How the hell was all of this shit tied together? My brain was beginning to whirl with the unending questions while the corporal remains bound up and down on the skeletal frames of dancing steeds in a carousel in hell. The only thing that was missing was damned music to haunt me.

  In somewhat of a daze, I watched Drae’s uneasy progression as he headed towards his office. I think if his flesh could have held a shade of green, it just might have.

  “Drae.” My voice was thick with contempt as he reached for the knob of his door. I couldn’t help but see the obvious agitation in his shoulders, the tremble in his fingers clinging to the brass handle of the door. It made me wonder who he was off to file a report with, and what exactly he would tell them.

  He had turned slightly, carefully watching me with downcast eyes; as if afraid that a head-on stare from me would inflict ill on him. Always good to keep them guessing, I suppose. Although, I truly didn’t know for certain the full aspect of strength of powers I gained from the pages of the Book of the Way that I had consumed. Nor was I sure what stripping my grandmother of her powers had done to increase mine. But one thing was for sure, Drae needed to be warned. I was no longer in a trusting mood. Especially where Xavier Drae was concerned.

  “Be very careful in your report. To whoever it is,” I told him.

  “Wha…Wha...What do you mean, be careful?” he stammered before the growl of his trollness slipped through despite, I’m sure, his best intentions.

  “I don’t know who it is that you report to.” I closed the small distance between us, contempt of the entire last few months growing in my belly like a tapeworm well fed. “But I do know this, Drae. If one more creature comes slithering up from the darkness with my death in mind and it smells the least bit like the Court, the Trolls or any sort of dark subplot with your name on it—I will kill you. Do we understand each other?”

  He stood there, gripping the doorknob, his anger overriding his fear. From the dark gleam in his eyes, I knew that for one small moment he considered whether or not I might be serious.

  So I too stood there too, looking back at him, the silent hush of lame justice settling on the polished floor beneath my feet. I stared hard into the glistening eyes of a once formidable King of the Trolls and with a small force of will, cracked open the window into my Darkness. Like a warm gust of breath from a resting, gothic dragon—pitch as night and corrupt as sin—I let it pour into my eyes so that Xavier Drae could see into the half of me where death lays waiting with zealous abandon.

  “May the Prophets protect us,” his voice quivered.

  I then felt a cool rush of air and the settling of wings.

  “Great Mother!” Gimlit exclaimed.

  I turned at his voice and caught the shadowed reflection of my body, the outline and majestic flair of arched wings spanning out and away from my reflection on the glistening walls of the Court’s hall. Hesitantly I reached up to touch them, only to have them dissolve into memory and mist.

  “What the hell was that?” Drae questioned, panic ringing in his voice.

  I looked at Gimlit and Jade, blinked once, but said nothing. I had no freaking idea what the bloody hell had just happened. Or how I had managed to grow wings. I mean, I’m a freaking half-breed, for Prophets sake. Half-breeds don’t get wings.

  What the hell are the Prophets doing to me? I thought, slowly rolling into my own state of panic. Had I stolen Lady Arwin’s power? Did consuming her Darkness allow me to obtain the image of wings with the consumptions of her mad Darkness? Or was I truly growing my own?

  There was no way Drae could know that I had no idea what was going on. He was about to send some damn report to who the hell knows where. If whoever he was reporting to knew I was obtaining Tells like wildfire, they would definitely try to destroy me. Especially since these Tells were ones I had no idea yet how to control. Cripes! This shit was so not happening to me. Was it? Bloody hell!

  “May they protect us indeed,” I gruffly replied with a strength of will I did not feel. I turned on my heel and started heading towards the nearest exit. I silently prayed that Gimlit and Jade would get the picture and just follow behind me. Please let them follow. Please let them follow.

  By the time we reached the parking lot, my pulse felt like it was about to burst from my chest, it was hammering so hard, and my breath was logged so tightly it actually hurt to take that first deep lungful of clean, fresh air. I could see Gimlit’s Jeep beneath the next parking light and finally felt the both of them catch up as they came alongside me, but none of us said a word while we walked those last few feet. I think we were too afraid to. Afraid of what might happen next. And what all of it might mean.

  Apparently, things were getting so bad we weren’t just having shit on toast. No, it seemed our menu definitely called for shit burgers.

  Chapter Fifteen

  When you open the door, everything falls into place —-

  From In the Lake Region by Thomas Venclova

  Translated from the Lithuanian by Ellen Hinsey

  Death’s dark coach lay in wait beneath the barren branches of an old sapling tree at the end of my drive when Gimlit finally brought the Jeep to a halt. Tonight it seemed I couldn’t escape the reaper’s eerily chilled fingers, crossing my flesh like he was tapping upon the lid of my coffin.

  “This is one Death Stalker who seeks his second death like no other creature I have ever met,” Gimlit muttered, uncurling his long limbs from the interior of the vehicle.

  I paused on my side of the Jeep, pondering his words. Gimlit and Jade were already at the first step of the porch, but I couldn’t shake the overwhelming feeling of foreboding doom that seemed to engulf me. It seemed more than just mere dèjá vu. More than the stalking horse of a wraith skipping across one’s grave.

  “What is it, Rihker?” Jade asked, his eyes concerned.

  I shook my head. “What? Oh, it’s…nothing. Never mind. Let’s see what the damn fool wants now.”

  “And what did he want when he was here last?” Gimlit asked. He stood like a sentinel on the top stair of the front porch, his hand already at the hilt of his sword, the desire for Lucien’s death gleaming brightly in his turquoise eyes.

  I waved them both back towards me with a nod, knowing that if Mercy and Lucien were both inside they would probably hear me. Vampire hearing was so much better than a mere human’s, even a half-breed, like myself. Prism’s, I wasn’t so sure of. The Changeling’s full powers were something that was unfamiliar to me. If we survived the next forty-eight hours, it was something I was going to have to remedy. Especially if this was something I was becoming.

  “Lucien came seeking my help to take back something that Jirvel possesses that he says is his,” I whispered, knowing that it probably did no good. “And, that if I help him retrieve it, he would help me to save Kieran and the others.”

  “And if you do not help him?” Gimlit asked, disdain, mistrust and a multitude of other darker thoughts I could not place rolling across the planes of his face before blankness returned.

  “There will be no helping of Lucien,” a voice exclaimed from the darkness.

  I knew that voice. I wanted to rip the voice box from the throat of its owner. Wanted to tear the heart out of her, rip her head off and watch her burn, never to hear her damned voice again.

  “Not this night, or any other.” The arctic chill of that voice floated on the tendrils of the wind through the tree branches, seeped through exposed flesh and tore at your bones. Then there was the sardonic, hateful glaze of her laughter. It pierced yo
ur ears like train spikes jabbed through your brain, only you’re still awake, waiting for the remnants of gore and blood to seep from your remaining orifices. Knowing she’s there, like a greedy vulture, ready to scoop out the gruesome remains. I hated that voice, and the bitch who owned it. I wanted nothing more than to see her dead.

  “For if Rihker does decide to try to help him… Well, if she does, then everybody dies.”

  The night took on the silence of death while we stood waiting for the rush of our aggressors, the battle to commence. I could feel the pulse in my temple throbbing with rage and the blood rushing in my veins while my limbs grew taut, waiting for the onslaught. But nothing happened. Only the sound of the wind and trepidation rang in my ears.

  “Come to think of it,” she finally stated, the hint of evil laughter dancing on my every nerve ending, “everybody is going to die anyway.”

  Yeah, I guess the feelings of vengeance and death was mutual. I was already moving towards the woods, towards the sound of her voice; anger and bile rising at an alarming rate when I felt the first rush of Darkness engulf my body in a massive wave. Its weight staggered me. Death, madness and abomination the likes I’d only felt once before consumed me before the greasy film of destruction swallowed me up in a bubble of immovable and impenetrable corruption. I didn’t even have enough time to react.

  I could only watch, horror-stricken, while two black stains appeared from the forest. They seemed to form out of the very night itself as they rushed Gimlit in a haze of iridescent murkiness. Blades like scimitars appeared from their shadowed appendages, swinging and hacking in a dance macabre. With unbridled skill they fought then managed, somewhat easily to overtake Gimlit in what appeared to be an effortless battle.

  Jade had already begun his change at the sound of Jirvel’s voice, his Werewolf apparently scenting the urgency and need. But the change wouldn’t be enough. It appeared that Jirvel had brought her token pack with her, led by her favorite Alpha-Were, Blaen. The great fair wolf, Fionn-Seitheach, I believe is what Kieran had called him. Blaen, with his icy blue eyes and pale, tinsel-like hair, both of which I want to rip from his skull. Blaen, who had tortured Mercy and killed most of Kieran’s Kiss. Blaen, who deserved to die as well.

  It was Blaen who led the charge against Jade. Helplessly trapped in my sphere of dark power, I watched the amazing speed and brilliance of Blaen change into a Were of staggering proportion. His fur was the color of newly fallen snow that glistened in the twilight and dusted the expanse of his well-muscled chest. When his muzzle formed from the sculpted jowls of his face, more of the downy whiteness appeared and his ears spiked from the top of his head; the whole of it haloed in an aura of white. It was then I understood his namesake. Blaen was the most stunning Werewolf I’d ever seen.

  The first swipe of his claws across Jade’s silver-gray chest made me yearn to see his fair throat torn from his neck, covered in the blaze of his crimson death.

  Jade growled and slashed back, began to leap towards him, ready to do battle, but four other Weres were instantly there to hold him back. Forcefully they grabbed his arms, quickly wrapping shackles and chains about his wrists, ankles and neck. And still Blaen kept at him, punching him in the face, slashing him across the torso, bleeding him until he hunched over in his captors’ hands, spent. All the while, dark laughter resonated from Blaen.

  “Enough!” Jirvel bellowed, swaggering forward from the darkness. She was once again dressed in a white gown that flowed behind her on the ground. A short, white fur cape circled her shoulders and head. When she pushed back the cap of it, revealing the icy storm of her blazing white tresses, she reminded me of an angel stepping triumphantly from a dark forest. Only, I knew that this angel had long been condemned.

  “Is the Chosen my judge and my jury then?” Jirvel asked, traipsing across the gravel of my drive. The gleam of victory danced in her eyes and tiptoed along the lines of her blood-red lips. It only served to destroy whatever hope at beauty she might have once possessed.

  I’m quite certain that Jirvel’s dark heart had stolen any hope at grace and loveliness the moment her desire for more entered her chilled veins. She was the type of person that more would never be enough for. She would take from and destroy anyone who stepped in the way of her path to power. Even those she once professed to love.

  “Set me free and I will gladly serve as your Executioner,” I advised, staring for the first time, directly into the utter paleness of her face, the oblique darkness of her eyes.

  Crossly she glared back at me. “Tell me, Rihker, how is it that you are able to look directly into my eyes? You are able to see into the windows of my soul, yet you are unable to set yourself and your loved ones free?”

  It was an interesting question. One I didn’t have the answer to. Seemed to be a damn trend for me lately. Best not to let the pasty bitch know.

  “We’ve all our secrets. Don’t we, Jirvel? Care to tell me how you gained the power to hold me in this sphere? I’m quite certain this is not a power a Death Stalker could manage.”

  “Do you not recognize it?” she questioned with a laugh. “Tell me, Half-breed, what does my soul speak when you view upon its Darkness”

  My consternation was growing, as were my memories. There had only been one other time I had felt this great of Darkness. One other time I’d been held in a sphere. Death and Zombies. Death and the Shadow Lands. Dead Necromancers. The Shadow Land and Ogres. The Shadow Land and Shades. Shadow and Moons. Moons and Magic.

  “Son of a bitch,” I whispered, finally coming full circle, all of it making sense.

  “I believe,” Jirvel stated with dark laughter, “that would be daughter of a bastard.”

  I knew what I had to do before the last word left her breath. I’d already ripped the door open to my Darkness and was stepping through the bubble, blades appearing in my hands at a subtle request.

  “Shit!” Jirvel exclaimed her eyes growing round with worry for the first time since we’d met. “Master!” she hailed, and with a wave of her hand the night consumed her and her protectors, taking with them Gimlit and Jade into the darkness beyond.

  “We ain’t done yet, you bitch!” I cursed into empty darkness. “Do you hear me? Death is coming for you, Jirvel! And my father too!”

  Chapter Sixteen

  What is it to know?

  What is it to believe?

  A Craft

  That’s still only crawling?

  A gift

  What’s the world to the all powerful?

  And to the children of the earth?

  From What is it to be human? by Waldo Williams

  Translated from the Welsh by Merna Elfyn

  I ran to the house, hoping, no, praying that Mercy and Prism were inside. That they were safe. The knifing pain in my gut was so raw, twisting so deeply the thrust of it felt like it had met the bone of my spine. The bloody carnage that met me halted my progression, paralyzed me with fear. The mutilated body staked to the wall like a sacrificial offering brought me to my knees.

  My living room looked like a war zone. Furniture was shattered and torn to shreds. Pictures and vases were smashed and scattered all over the floor. Blood splattered the walls, the carpet. Blood ran in rivulets from the body that was staked to the wall with what appeared to be the legs of a wooden chair, a crimson pool of blood puddled beneath.

  I crawled, sobbing on my hands and knees towards the disfigured frame that hung lifelessly to the wall. From the small stature and, despite the tangled mass of her blood-soaked locks, I could just make out the hue of variant colors in a few strands that had somehow remained unsoiled.

  No, No, No, chanted over and over in my mind while the tears coursed down my cheeks. How could they have done this to her? Prism, who’d suffered lifetimes of peril at the hands of others. She, who had only lived to serve, to ease the suffering of so many and yet had suffered so much in their stead.

  This poor Fey creature was a gift from the earth, sent by the Prophets to tend to th
ose around her with her gifts of life and Light. Her healing snuffed out with such callousness. I had yet to learn so much about her and from her, and Jirvel had now stolen the opportunity from me, taken this gift of Light from the world.

  “No!” I screamed, kneeling beneath her mangled form, my hands resting in the cooling slickness of her blood.

  “Rihker.” The twisted pain in the whispered plea wrenched at my heart, brought my eyes upward where they latched onto the tear-filled depths of Prism’s iridescent orbs. Blood seeped from her lips, dribbled down her chin, and I knew she hadn’t much breath left to speak with.

  “Don’t talk.” I scrambled to my feet. I wasn’t sure what to do. Did I remove the wood that pierced her flesh and cause her more pain? Did I let her die where she was? What the hell did I do? I reached for the Light within me, searched for the connection of our power. Her Light flickered unevenly. Weakly, as though the sun were about to eclipse.

  “Don’t leave me, Prism,” I whispered, brushing the damp, bloody strands of hair from her face. “Please don’t leave me. You’ve yet to teach me what it means to be a Changeling.” The tears continued their hot stroll down my cheeks, scalding my flesh while her pain singed its way into the depths of my heart. Everyone I was coming to care for was being taken from me. Ripped from my life before the pages of our fate had ever had a chance to be written. Torn as though…as though…pages from a book.

  “Maebe!” I bellowed before the thought could be swept from my mind. “Maebe, get your gnarly, wandering ass here now!”

  “Such insolence. Such rudeness. Yet to learn manners, but has she learned something else? Something of great power?” she cackled from her pursed and wrinkled lips, appearing in a haze of wind and light, fog and ash.