Rift

by D. Fischer

  Everyone has kept her in the dark for fear they’ll be her next target or to keep her ignorant enough to control her. I don’t want to be the person she runs from. I want to be the person she runs toward. The only way to do that is to earn her trust, respectfully, and it begins with no secrets.

  Bending, I pick up a white feather next to a black puddle soaked into snow and twirl the stem between my index finger and thumb. “Sureen is building creatures of war, creatures we know nothing about. We need to know what we’re up against. Then, we can plan our next move before they begin theirs.”

  “Must have been some bird,” Kenna mumbles.

  Erma lifts a glowing hand, and the feather evaporates. I look up and scowl at her before fully standing once more.

  “Then it’s prudent we take action immediately,” she supplies.

  The sandman fidgets by rolling his shoulders, and it steals my attention from the tiny woman with red curls. “I have friends there,” he says. “We can recruit sandmen and dwarves. We can bring them to this realm.” He pauses as Tember and Jaemes shuffle back to the circle.

  Tember’s posture is more erect - shoulders pushed back and her brown curls returned to their original bounce. She’s more composed than when she left. Jaemes, whose hands are tucked behind the small of his back, puffs his chest, and his mischievous air slides back into place. Perhaps Jaemes spoke some sense into the stubborn Angel. They have an odd friendship, but I understand it completely. Flint and I share the same relationship. Sometimes friends don’t pick each other.

  “The dwarves are quite cunning,” Sandy adds, pride heightening his tone. He’s excited at the prospect of familiarity. Of someone he can talk to whom he trusts more than the group around us. It’s the first true emotion I’ve seen from Sandy since the Death Realm. Witnessing death firsthand can be a traumatic experience, and I mentally note to talk with him at a later time just to check on his well-being. He needs someone to unload on. We all do.

  Tember nods. “And Nally. Don’t forget him.”

  He swivels his head to her, and his smooth forehead wrinkles. “You know Nally?”

  “We met once.”

  I sigh impatiently and smack my lips together. This conversation can happen later. As Erma stated, time is of the essence.

  “Any more questions?” I blurt.

  “Shall the ugly duckling and I go with Erma and win back the castle of demented swans?” Jaemes asks, lifting his arm up and over his head and snatching an arrow from his quiver.

  “I almost prefer mascot,” Tember growls, her eyes a shade of murderous. For a split second, her halo blinds the group and disappears as quickly as it came.

  He pokes his arrow against the tip of her feathers as if to prove his point. “It is I who won the bet, little duck. Perhaps you can ride my matua and wave our banners before the real warriors play a game of death and blood. Is that mascot enough?”

  “You don’t have any banners,” Erma says.

  He twists his lips. “It can be arranged.”

  Tember mutters under her breath. I cross my arms and watch as she kicks her foot to the side, landing a sharp blow to his shin. Jaemes’ soft grunt is the only indication that it hurt.

  I shut my eyes, willing the throb behind them to dull, and put my hands on the back of my hips. With a sharp tongue, I give instructions to the group, catching the attention of the two bantering creatures. Aside from grouping this tribe’s elves and preparing them for battle, the angels who fled need to be found and convinced to return.

  Kicking out a defiant leg, Erma cocks her hips and crosses her arms. “You know where the angels are?” she asks.

  I nod and brush flakes from my eyelashes. She narrows her eyes, silently watching my face and expecting immediate answers. I don’t give her any.

  “I can do that myself,” she adds slowly. “I can assemble them and -“

  “No!” I pin my bottled-up emotions on her. They spill over the brim and unload the exhaustion of the entire day. “No fee will be running anything. This may be your war, but you can’t fight it alone. You need us, and I’ll be damned if I allow any of you to be in charge.” I point at her. “You all created this mess in the first place, leaving us to clean it up.”

  “Sweet baby Jesus,” Kenna mutters, uncharacteristically quiet until now. “Who is this new Dyson, and where has he been my whole life?”

  The conversation diminishes after that, and most of us depart to help clear the destruction. Sandy is the only one who disappears from the village. He leaves with the elves to gather the dead – they seem to accept him more than they accept us.

  This mind-numbing work helps us get lost in our thoughts and spend time with the ones we will shortly depart from. I’m grateful for it, especially losing myself in a task while my mind wanders to more pleasant memories.

  Jaemes and Tember quarrel over a meticulous plan while refusing to agree over strategies. Their voices often carry, and nervous glances are flicked their direction by the villagers passing by with chunks of burnt materials. Erma has to step in several times when the disagreements sour past the point of civility.

  Erline hasn’t emerged from Kat’s teepee the entire time, and despite my best efforts, I haven’t been able to keep my eyes from the skinned walls. With this continuous distraction, I’ve bumped into several elves who were shuffling by carrying the dead from the forest.

  I’d love to know what Kat and Erline are doing in there. I feel as though I should be a part of it, whatever it is, even if Kat is still unconscious. Maybe I should be sitting by her side. Do I bring her something? What if she doesn’t want me in there?

  With a sigh and a slouched back, I resign myself to the fact that I don’t know exactly what Kat and I are now. It isn’t my place to decide for us, so instead, I work meticulously on clearing the path of debris, setting it in a pile for the elves to take to the edge of the forest to be burned.

  Finally, with most of my chores completed, I stand next to a fire pit, staring at the flames while I wait for the rest to return from their tasks. It’s a short time and half a dozen repaired teepees later when we subconsciously draw back together like each of us knows that the time is now.

  Aiden and Eliza are by the trees, huddling close together and saying their goodbyes. The touches are sweet, the kisses gentle. I hope they see each other again, but Aiden’s mission is equal parts dangerous and vital. He may not survive Corbin’s realm, even to return to tell us what he’s learned, and this causes their display of love to sour my mood further.

  “Is she awake?” I ask Erline, feeling her earthly presence behind me.

  “Yes,” she whispers. “And she’s doing fine.” She steps forward and stops beside me. “Dyson, may I ask you something?”

  I shrug, and she takes it as an invitation. “You met him, didn’t you?”

  “Who?” I ask, knowing well the him she speaks of. I make a point not to fidget under my false truth.

  “The Divine,” she says patiently. “At least one of them. You had reeked of their realm when you returned, of my home realm.”

  Slowly, I inhale a deep breath and roll the tension from my neck. It’s all the confirmation she needs.

  “Did he give you information you needed to know?”

  I nod curtly.

  “I see,” she sighs. “Please, whatever you do, do not share the information with the others.”

  Swiveling my head, I turn to face her. My eyes burn from the wind’s chill as I stare, fixed, at the side of her porcelain face. “And why not?”

  “Information given from the Divine is only meant to the deliverer.” She licks her bottom lip, refusing to meet my gaze. “Sharing the news with others defeats the purpose, and the information could soon be tainted like any secret would. The Divine doesn’t intervene unless there’s a greater meaning for it.”

  Her words are filled with hurt. Does she know Fate is planning against her race? This war could very well end the entire fee species.

  She stops speaking
as soon as Aiden and Eliza stride, hand in hand, to the fire pit.

  “I’m ready,” Aiden mumbles, ignoring the sniffling Eliza who warms her hands over the fire.

  We stare at each other for a moment, this feeling too real. He’s an impossibility. Someone like him shouldn’t exist. And what we’re asking of him may come at a great cost to the very thing he fights for. What will happen to Eliza if they kill him? What will happen to us if he dies? I feel guilty because this entire plan came from my mouth. She’ll blame me, again, for his death.

  Unexpectedly, I pull him into a hug. “Good luck, Aiden. Stay alive.”

  “Take care of her Dyson,” he says. And just like that, his body wavers and shimmers under my hands, and then he’s gone. It’s so abrupt that it makes me wonder if he’s as scared as I am for the future. A long goodbye would only prolong this fear.

  I stare at the space where he once stood, frowning at the emptiness.

  “Neat trick,” Jaemes says sourly as he approaches with a prenumbra. The sandman follows him, his strides resembling a leisurely giraffe. Upon exhale, a pent-up sigh puffs his dark cheeks, and his arms swing freely at his sides.

  “This war truly isn’t a place for beating hearts,” I mumble, watching Eliza’s face visibly crumble. Many will die.

  But love is worth fighting for.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  AIDEN VANDER

  DEMON REALM

  When I shimmer into the Demon Realm, the stench of sulfur stings the inside of my nose. I should be used to this aroma. In fact, it's part of who I am and should calm me, but it’s having the opposite effect. Every fiber of my being wants me to return to the realm from where I came, and anxiety curls in my chest as I resist.

  Before my body fully materializes, my feet stride along the familiar path I know to take me to the Domus Timore, home of the demons. My gait is thunderous, and revenge is the only thing consuming my thoughts despite Dyson’s request.

  The realms are not my problem. Eliza is my only concern, and I have a one-track mind. I know I’m capable of ending this if I so choose. Taking Corbin out of the game, removing him from existence, could only benefit Eliza’s safety and my future. I’d be in a fight for my life, but I believe I could manage to hold my own once I figure out how to kill him, aside from the dragon. There has to be something here that can do the job. A weapon, perhaps. Or a poison. Or me...

  Sending those angels was his idea. We all know it. He’s searching for the upper hand and carelessly so. Or maybe it’s meant to look that way.

  Either way, it is my hope Dyson and the others find a way to make him pay if I fail.

  I hear a disturbance in the black lava to my left side, bubbling goop, but I choose to ignore it instead of acknowledging the presence of another being. I already know who it is. Figures she’d come when I don’t want nor need her.

  “Aiden,” Ferox hisses, swaying her arms against the flow, swimming to keep up with my purposeful, long gait. “Aiden, stop. If you go in there, you’ll die. Do you hear me? You will die. I can promise you that.”

  Clenching my jaw, I stop, my breaths rushing through my nostrils, heavy with adrenaline and pure rage.

  “Corbin is not alone,” she quickly adds.

  I turn to face her, my top lip lifted in a snarl to match my mood. My face is pinched with stress, and the skin around my eyes strains, pulling against bone.

  “I know,” I growl.

  Her eyes widen, and for the first time, I feel and see fear secreting from the pyren’s soft, green flesh. Large, almond-shaped jade eyes roam my expression, desperate to probe my mind for what knowledge I hold and the plans that form around it. She swims back a few inches, eyes darting to my hands as they clench and unclench. “Kheelan, Sureen . . . they arrived shortly after you left. There are many formidable creatures here. You cannot charge in. You cannot take on three fee. Not by yourself.”

  Tilting my head back, I laugh a sullen chuckle. “Does a mighty pyren have a plan? Because I assure you, mine sounds pretty damn solid.”

  “You’re a madman,” she hisses. Her pointed ears flatten against the tentacles along her head, oddly catlike. Charging forward, she manages to make herself seem taller, more vicious. “It would be unwise to continue to insult me, Thrice Born. Brute force of one powerful creature will not destroy three more powerful than thee.” Her voice drops a deadly octave, and behind her, more heads emerge from the black lava. Dozens of eyes are narrowed in challenge as they fix on me. I steel myself, prepared to take on the entire school if I must.

  “There are more of us than there are of you,” Ferox warns.

  Though there is seemingly no gender, each pyren is female by looks, their hair the same identical black, their skin the same bluish-green. Their tentacles curl at the ends with irritation, and their arms sway in the lava, ready to charge. A few hiss a deep, inhuman passing of wind. I feel their fear, see it waft from the depths of their bodies, floating to me and fueling my demonic nature. But I also see courage.

  They’re determined to stop me even in the face of their own fear. It makes me question why. Is it me they fear? Or the changes occurring in their realm?

  A smile tilts the corners of my lips, and my cheeks heat when I gather my wits. “Is that a challenge?”

  Ferox’s head juts, a quick snake-ish lashing, and she screeches. “We want to be free just as much as you. You’ve been a demon for days. We’ve been in servitude for thousands of years. If you die, there is no hope for us.”

  Behind Ferox, another pyren takes charge. Her voice is raspy compared to Ferox, and she lifts a hand from the lava and points it at me. “He’s feeding from us,” she mumbles to her sister.

  Ferox tilts her head over her shoulder, glances at her sister, and returns her eyes to mine. “Corbin has starved him, throwing snacks his way here and there. He knows nothing of a true feeding.” She inclines her head. “You need a true full feed, Thrice Born, or you will never be strong enough for what’s to come. You can’t deny yourself your nature. This isn’t a place for warm, beating hearts full of love and revenge. This is a place of Terror, and you must heed to it.”

  I cross my arms and widen my stance. “And what’s to come?” I already know the answer, but I’m curious to her conclusion.

  “A war,” she pledges.

  “That ship has sailed, princess.”

  She shakes her head. “You cannot be the only army. Thinking you can kill them yourself is foolish. At least feed and gather your strength. You must be an asset, not a hindrance.”

  My nostrils flare, agitated, and I stand there for a long while, holding Ferox’s eyes in a silent battle of stubbornness. Eventually, I do as she says without another word, and shimmer to the Earth Realm. She’s right. Taking on the pyrens just to deny myself sustenance is foolish.

  With a purse of my lips, I shimmer away. It didn’t take long to find the perfect prey. In fact, it felt all too easy like a moth pulled to a light.

  A middle-aged woman vacuums her couch cushions, humming a tune above the suction. Black hair streaked with white strands are tucked into a messy ponytail at her nape, and a few pieces curl around her damp forehead.

  The house is small, dank, and shadowed by piles of newspapers. It’s void of other signs of life at this time of night, aside from the mice scavenging for crumbs. The vacuum doesn’t pick up the crumbs, and the hose whistles, clogged.

  Dirt and old food chunks litter the paths between magazines, and as the woman moves to the next couch, I get the feeling she’s not all right in the head, aside from the hoarding. Who would clean at this hour? If cleaning is even the right word for it.

  I have chosen to remain unseen, invisible while I watch her. She lives alone in a house too small to hold a family, and if she had children or a husband, they’re long gone. She turns again, displaying her face for my full view. Stress lines are prominent with age, and her eyes swirl with madness. A hooked nose takes up most of her face, and deep pores are greased over with a layer of filth. Wha
t has she gone through to get to the state she’s in?

  Her faded clothes are tattered with holes. She isn’t of wealth, and what can be seen of her décor is aged beyond what’s been popular since at least thirty years ago. She reminds me of myself when I was human – alone, poor, without love. I hit people for a living, which was probably the only thing that had kept me sane, but I also provided the mercy due. I wasn’t a killer, and sadly, that’s no longer true.

  She has nothing, no one besides the papers reminding her of each day she spends alone. Whereas, I have Eliza, the only reason I’ve killed. And I’ll do it again if I must.

  I stand in the archway of her living room, the inner wall exposed, the outer crumbling. My stance is wide with my hands fisted in my pockets. I’ve never fed before, not like this, not actively hunting. I don’t know how to begin.

  The invisibility came as an instinct, to remain hidden until the right moment. But is there truly a right moment for what I’m about to do? For what mind frame I’ll need to slip into just to do it?

  The woman moves to the green and broken reclining chair, yanking on the vacuum hose. A gold framed decorative mirror hangs on the wall behind the seat, miraculously dust free and completely intact. My need drives a knife into my chest, and it takes all I have to not double over. I press each finger against an aching rib instead, easing them with a wordless promise. This pain, this hunger, is consuming - driving - my inevitable actions a slave to an internal master. It can’t be helped, and it can’t be stopped.

  I inhale and dip my chin, feeling my eyes burn inside their sockets. I can see myself in the mirror though I know I remain invisible, and I watch my eyes molten. Manipulative emotions sting my pores as they exit the ache within, traveling to the oblivious, aging and lonely woman. I tilt my head, my shoulders bunching as I watch it seep into her back, through the tattered shirt. Slowly, her spine stiffens, and goosebumps visibly raise along her skin.