by D. Fischer
The village quiets to blissful silence, even the children, except the tinkling of each snowflake colliding with another, a beat to their proclamation. A creak of branches vibrates the shifting air. A chirp of a creature sounds in the distance. A fire crackles nearby, and a wave of adrenaline surges through me, the cold fingers squeezing my heart as every vein and nerve lights with flaming power. It waits to be called on … waits for me to give the remaining elves orders to do my bidding, to share in a victory of blood and enemy lives lost. It’s what they wait for, too. They honor me. They see me as a savior, a worthy opponent to the fee.
Gulping, I allow my gaze to sweep the expanse of bowing creatures. And then I vibrate with the possibilities. Not once has Erma or Erline been bowed to. A shiver creeps up my spine, slithers over my shoulders, and settles cold on my collar bones.
An odd sensation coats my palm. I glance down and meet the tall green wavering form of a prenumbra, its tongue licking my skin and its saliva tingling the nerves. And then it, too, bows. As the elves, they wait for orders. They wait for the same honor and glory. They wait for battle and bloodshed. For compassion over those they’ve lost, they desire for me to lead them to vengeance.
Grinning maliciously, I stalk off, and as footfalls sound against crunching snow behind me, I know I’m not alone. I’ll never be alone if I don’t wish it.
A single tear slips from my eye. It drips to the snow from the edge of my jaw as we reach the first layer of trees.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
TEMBER
GUARDIAN REALM
My mind swirls with the information I’ve acquired from Fate. He talked mostly in riddles about my future and destiny, but his battle plan appeared flawless on the surface. It was more so than anything Jaemes or I could have mapped out. Indeed, I wouldn’t have thought of such a plan. Could it be he knows the future? Of course, he does. Fate would know any outcome. Perhaps I do not give Fate enough credit. His only wish is to side with the lesser evil - to ensure his creations’ wrongs are righted.
Despite credibility, I am not sure I like the idea of a battle strategy built on a future which has already been seen. It feels manipulative, and it’s difficult to grasp the dynamics of it.
Jaemes stands beside me, his bow in one hand. His stance is solid as the rest of the elves, and he braided his white painted hair to keep it at bay. Each muscle ripples in anticipation of what’s to come. His instinct as a warrior is clawing to reach the surface and begin the bloodshed.
A gust of chilly wind sweeps through the trees, whispering between the branches, and whips our hair. When it reaches the angel’s wings to my right, it creates a whistling sound, playing the features like a stroke of a violin. Their wings are poised and ready for flight, arms bent and angled at a running position.
Jaemes has yet to summon his matua, I note. The elf warriors, including his brothers, are already mounted on theirs. The large black beasts’ hooves paw at the snow, and their necks arch. They can feel the stiff atmosphere, the adrenaline. Puffs of heated mist gush past flared nostrils while their riders look on, surveying the green grass which will be tainted with the rift in creatures in mere moments.
“Are they ready?” I ask Jaemes.
Without looking at me, he nods his head once. I swivel my gaze back to the front, a full view of the scene. I picture the outcome - feathers, arrows, and blood meshed with the blades of grass.
“Do it,” I mumble, widening my stance and tucking my arms behind my back.
Jaemes tips his head to the elf mounted beside him - his brother Kai, I’ve learned. He had introduced himself after Jaemes barked threats to them if they didn’t learn to get along. He looks almost identical to his brother but has a lighter wit to him.
Kai turns his matua without any obvious command, and the creature takes off at full speed, kicking up snow in his wake. He travels along the edge of the forest to the appointed destination. Seconds tick by, the snowflakes tickling my cheeks and melting at a brisker rate due to the heat settling under my skin.
“You have been avoiding my question,” Jaemes says in a serious tone.
“Have I?” I ask distractedly. My gaze sweeps the trees where Kai had disappeared.
“What gave you this idea?” His voice is deep and concerned, his accent thicker than usual.
I don’t answer and, instead, run my tongue along the inside of my cheek to keep my mouth busy and my secrets prisoner.
“There,” Jaemes points.
A thunder rumbles the ground below our feet despite the distance, and the thrill of it travels up my legs and centers in my gut, sparking my nerves with exhilaration close to nausea. I suck in a deep breath, and as planned, a herd of oxtra stampede through the tree line, flattening the wild bushes within it.
Their size never ceases to amaze me, and my breath exhales with a whoosh. The surrounding blanket of snow quakes with the tremors. They bellow in fear, having been chased from the woods by the wild prenumbras on their heels, and it carries in the gale. A herd of angry, frightened oxtra can be dangerous and deadly. This I know firsthand.
The fallen angels protecting our stolen territory take notice, and Jaemes scoffs his dislike to their wavered loyalty. A few on the ground conjure their Ires, drawing the strings and releasing blue, crackling electric arrows.
From here, nestled in the protection of the trees, I can hear the sparks sizzle as the arrows soar. With a resounding boom, they strike the herd. The few oxtra who are hit stumble along the ground only to regain their footing and continue the same path. The angels try again and again, and in time, they change their targets to those who give chase. The prenumbras can’t be taken down so easily. The arrows soar directly through them, their forms built on auras rather than solidity. It takes much more than lightning arrows to bring down an oxtra, too, especially from that distance.
A small smile lifts my cheeks, and Erma’s bright form glows beside me as she arrives through a portal. She’s come from where the prenumbras chased the oxtra. It was she who called those who gathered and asked they lay down their life for their creator.
“It’s working,” she says with a smile, her body breathless and huffing with effort.
I nod my head to her, giving her the signal to commence the next portion of Fate’s plan. As she lifts her arms, I look to the sky.
The angels who are soaring above swoop, their attention focused on the angry creatures heading their way. So far, they suspect nothing besides a hungry pack hunting for their next meal.
If we would have gone in without Fate and the creatures’ help, too many would have lost their lives. Our plan is working.
White light forms around Erma’s fingers, expanding in the shape of perfectly rounded orbs. The hairs on my arms stand on end as I observe her power gaining in intensity.
This next portion of our plan will take much out of her and make her an easy target. However, I trust her to protect herself, even weakened. After all, she’s the creator of guardians – of warriors. Surely, she’s a formidable one herself.
Squinting her eyes, she focuses her power and directs it to the Angel’s Ground. The floating island shakes and rumbles. The clouds quiver. Wind gathers speed, slapping my hair into my eyes, and a deep unearthly groan reaches my ears.
“It’s working,” Jaemes proclaims with excitement. He side-steps closer to me.
“Indeed,” I pledge, watching my home lower.
My nostrils flare as the fallen angels feel the change in the air and notice the island’s descend, dividing their attention from the hunt to the Ground.
“Save themselves or save their falsely claimed territory,” I mumble grudgingly, hanging on my own words. Pick one.
“We fight for our home,” I say to the group, shouting above the wind. “For equality and justice.” My gaze sweeps all the warriors, and my voice raises with each following word. “Dying is not an option. Disloyalty is not an option. A rift has begun, and yet, here we stand as brothers and sisters. As Guardians.”
&nb
sp; My words visibly charge the group, and many smile wickedly. When the Angels’ halos wink and hover above their heads, I add, “As one!” while pumping my fist in the air. As I do, Ire appears in my grip. Pride swells the heart in my wrist.
“Now!” I yell to the angels.
They spread their wings to full expanse and grip their own Ires tight. It only takes moments for them to shoot from the snow like rockets, leaving a trail of cold flakes behind, and hurl themselves to the sky.
Once above the tips of the trees, they release electric arrows, lighting the somber clouds in brilliant hues of blue. Unaware, many enemies fall, plucked from the sky with precise aim.
My balance precariously teeters as the descending Angel’s Ground slams into the soil. Chunks of dirt hurtle from the destruction. The matua’s shriek. Oxtras roar. Prenumbras bark. Booms of electric bolts rock the atmosphere.
“Ready?” I scream to Jaemes.
“I was born ready,” he growls the familiar phrase. He conjures his matua, the creature appearing in puffs of smoke, and easily glides on the back of the two-headed horse with a single graceful swing.
AIDEN VANDER
DEMON REALM
Staring, his shredded body completely still, my demon escort considers me with a blank expression. He waits for me to cave and answer the question he’s been repeating over and over again.
“Be I ask one more time,” he says, his voice shaking. “Shall I inquire again, I be not able to stop what next.”
I ponder his words and consider his threat mumbled in a merciful air.
Corbin fears me, or I wouldn’t be sitting here, confined and subjected to the beginnings of an interrogation. That’s what the demon is telling me - what happens next won’t be pleasant. I already knew it wouldn’t when I woke stuck to this chair.
“Doesn’t Corbin have his Oleum?” I ask. “Why doesn’t he pull the information from my mind like he does with everyone else?”
Unless he can’t. Unless I’m too powerful for even him. The thought thrills me, and goosebumps raise over my skin. If I remain silent and get through this interrogation, I can kill the man who can’t kill me himself.
The demon bends his knees, lowering himself with difficulty just to peer into my eyes. The skin dangles from his thighs and slaps against the glass floor. “Remember? I told you to trust no one?” he asks, a parent speaking to a toddler. I nod once and grind my jaw. “He could pull your thoughts, but this be more entertaining.”
Lie, I growl inside my head. The odd turn of the question to the conversation is his way of telling me I’m correct in my wordless assumption.
He straightens back to full height and continues. “This be a lesson more than a search for information, Thrice Born. Trust no one, I said. There be no humanity or mercy here. You did not listen.”
Wincing once, he grips the exposed bone in his thigh and yanks, popping his hip back into place. “Two options. Speak, or endure?”
“Endure,” I say, tilting my head with a wicked grin and peering at him from under my lashes.
The demon sighs, and his one eye lowers to the glass. “So be it,” he states, his voice foreboding as if sealing my fate.
I frown when he doesn’t do anything else but instead watches the lava, transfixed and mesmerized. I nearly jump when he finally does.
“Filii Noctis,” he calls.
Laughing without humor, I recognize the Latin words filtering into my mind. “You plan for children to interrogate me?”
“Oh, they not be children, Thrice Born,” he murmurs with wonder. “They be Children of the Night.”
In three short points of the hexagram, three beings shimmer and fully materialize: the child demon I remember from the room of mirrors, a shadow in the shape of a tall man, and a large demon whose face is half monster, gnarled and contorted with knobby warts which ooze. His features are oddly gargoyle-like.
The demon points to the child. “Do you remember Terror?” he asks and then chuckles as though he’s sharing a private joke among friends. “Timore Venandi be his true name.”
I eye the child in question and hide a smile threatening my scowl by tucking my top lip between my teeth.
“Umbra Malum,” the demon continues, moving his hand to point at the shadow lurking a few inches from the ground. The shadow isn’t still but, instead, shifts like mist in a breeze.
“And Chao Mortis,” he adds, pointing to the oozing wart demon. Chao growls his greeting, exposing pointed teeth, and the vibrations of it search the pores along my skin for points of weakness and fear. It finds none.
“Should I be afraid?” I ask, shrugging and quirking a brow.
The scrappy demon narrows his one eye. “Any being, be demon or otherwise, should be afraid. The Filii Noctis are Children of the Night, Thrice Born. Each represent their own specialty of terror.” He dips his voice to a haunting tone. “Things which make the sane-minded sour to mad.”
He limps his way past my chair, and as he passes, he bends to my ear and whispers. “Tell me, Thrice Born. What be you fear most?”
The demon doesn’t give me a chance to answer. Not that I would. He shuffles his way and leaves my sight. The child, Timore Venandi, steps forward.
I glare to the tiny demon, and he giggles musically. His face darkens, the humor whipped away as fast as it came, and he stares, soullessly, back into my eyes.
“What was your errand?” he asks with pure innocence.
I smirk and bend closer to him, as much as my invisible restraints allow. “I took a trip to Wonderland, little buddy. If you’re a good boy, I’ll take you with me next time.”
Slowly, Timore shakes his head, his thick brown hair waving, and he clicks his tongue like a child chiding his parent. Cocking his slim hips, he crosses his arms over his chest. “I’ve heard about you.”
“Have you now? Do I give you bad dreams, peanut?”
He giggles, the sound of insanity. “Quite the opposite.”
I pucker my lips in mock disappointment. “Shame.”
We dwell in silence before he mumbles, “Last chance, Thrice Born.”
I pop my puckered lips. “I was sucked down the rabbit hole.”
With barely any time to finish my sarcasm, my back arches and a gasp rushes up my throat. An intense wave of pressure pushes along my spine and settles at the base of my skull, bulging my eyes. My body slumps against my will, and I’m cast into complete darkness, awakening to a different scene.
Now standing, I frown at the room he took me to, and the scent of freshly washed laundry tickles my senses with familiar pleasure. Everything is blurred and wispy - the deep purple curtains, the white carpet, the black leather couches which make the living room’s decor. Nothing hangs on the white walls.
I bring my hands to my cheeks and touch my fingers to my skin, trying to grasp if this is reality or not.
“I am the mind of the three,” a child’s voice says behind me.
Failing to mask my surprise, my muscles bunch in my shoulders, and I slowly swivel my head. Timore takes a step and stands beside me, his head reaching the height of my elbow.
Without looking at me, he adds, “It’ll be interesting to see if you can withstand me. Will it not?”
He nods to the curtains draped in front of what can only be a window. I follow his gaze and choke back a gasp. Eliza stands in front of them, robotic and eyes unseeing with limp hands dangling at her sides. Just as the objects in the room, she doesn’t look completely solid but, instead, more Dream-like.
“Is this a dream?” I ask hesitantly, my voice deep.
The child demon doesn’t answer me, and my attention flickers to the kitchen knife as it poofs into her hand, gleaming in her slender clutch.
“Eliza?” I call to her. She gives no notation of hearing my voice, not even a twitch in her eyelids. “What’s going on?”
“I know what you fear most, Thrice Born,” Timore goads. “Fear is what drives us to the edge. It can do a great many heroic things, or a great many disas
trous.”
He pauses, letting the words sink in. “When someone is frightened, it is then we can uncover the weak. Fight or flight mixed with nature verses nurture. There is one exception, and this is if the fear is forced upon us. There’s no way to control or stop it, no way to swipe it aside, and when there is no escape, fear blossoms insanity. Insanity is the most delicious emotion to feed from.” He jerks his torso to me, the gesture quick and unnatural. “Shall we begin, or do you wish to save yourself and explain your whereabouts?”
“I do not fear you, Fear Hunter.” But my words belie my actions, my thumbs counting the tips of my fingers.
“An ego serves only ignorance,” he growls in his tiny voice, displeased at hearing his true name in English. Sighing, he turns back to Eliza’s still frame. “Do it,” he barks to her.
I begin to doubt if she’ll listen because she didn’t acknowledge me. But I’m painfully wrong.
My eyebrows pinch, and I watch as Eliza raises the knife. With a calculated, robotic movement, she settles the blade at one side of her neck, sharp edge against soft skin.
“No,” I demand. I attempt to take a step forward, to stop Eliza from a certain death, but I can’t move an inch. My feet are cemented to this very spot. Desperate, I reach for her by outstretching my arm, my eyes pleading. “Eliza, don’t.”
Her eyes finally flick to mine, and I breathe an exhale of relief. She sees me.
With a swift pull, she swipes the blade across her neck, leaving an open wound in its place. It’s deep and exposes the white spine nestled in severed muscles.
“No!” I scream in the room and yank at my legs. “No!”
Blood pours from her neck and her mouth gapes, gasping for air which can no longer pass a severed cord. Crimson foam gathers at her lips. Tears shed from her eyes. Her shirt soaks with black cherry red, staining as it flows rivers down her torso. The carpet is marred with a spray of blood to each beat of her heart. The laundry scent is replaced by a thick aroma of iron and musk.
