by D. Fischer
He clicks his tongue once. “Only the ones who question their allegiances.”
The rocks and boulders lining our path become smaller the farther we go, our footfalls echoing off the solid forms. It gives me a better view of what’s ahead, and I grind my teeth. We, indeed, are not leaving this realm.
“What have you done?” I growl.
The surrounding lava of the place of my third birth, the once flowing expanse, has become solid ground. Orcs, many more than I thought possible, are saddled on top of their necrocorns. They wait, poised with a self-control which should be impossible for such a large towering beast.
Filed in perfect rows of battle formation, their steeds paw and scrape against the ground, impatient for orders to spill blood. Hundreds of vampires linger beside them, some hissing while others participate in a brawl like wild animals.
Above, winged people - angels - fly through the thick red sulfur lingering there, their feathers expanded as they cut through the specks. I note how the specks look oddly like the ones that fell in the Guardian Realm, delivering what they called The Red Death.
“How did you get the others to sacrifice themselves?” I ask, watching the angels.
“Haven’t you heard?” Corbin asks gleefully. “I thought your pyren friend discussed this with you.” I stiffen. Did she tell him, or does he have eyes everywhere? “A war is on the horizon, Thrice Born. A side must be chosen.”
I tilt my head, glancing at him. “How –” I begin.
“How did I know you spoke with Ferox? I have many ears. I may not be able to dwell in your thoughts, but I have many watching you.” His voice dips dangerously, shedding his handsome, charming act. “You forget who I am.”
An angel with bright orange hair swoops down and lands gracefully beside Corbin. “It’s done,” he speaks quickly, eyes darting. “But many were destroyed on the Angel’s Ground.”
Corbin quirks an eyebrow. “Destroyed?”
The angel nods his head in rapid succession, and an ache forms in my skull just by watching the action. “Erma came with elves and the angel with black wings. Those that didn’t fall by their hands fell by the disease they carried there.”
Sighing, Corbin mumbles, “I should have foreseen that. Erma may be pint-sized, but she’s the only one of us who created formidable warriors in a selfless act.” He scoffs, the sound unattractive. “No doubt she knew I’d try to overtake her realm when I all but implied she travel to the Death Realm and retrieve her lover’s charge. Instead, the fool sent only two guardians and left herself to cower behind her walls.”
The angel sneers, disgusted.
“This is why the angels attacked their own realm?” I ask. “To weaken Erma?”
“I pushed my move too soon,” he continues, a mumble to himself though we both heard him clearly.
Demons file by, marching obediently to the gathered army and finding a place among the gnarled creatures. Some hobble, and some are large enough to shake the ground beneath my feet.
He turns his attention back to the angel. “And what of Erma?”
“That plan has yet to unfold,” the angel claims in a clear voice, bowing at the waist. His white wings arch over his back at the gesture, a tinted red hue due to the surroundings.
“Very well,” Corbin mutters and carelessly flicks his hand in the air. “You are dismissed.”
The angel nods, straightens, and spreads his wings. He soars back into the sky, graceful, as though he didn’t just help murder his own kind. A humid breeze follows in his wake, tickling my solid skin with a rush of damp heat.
The sulfur aroma of this realm must be uncomfortable for the guardians, but like all troubled souls, they’ll make do. This thought doesn’t mean I don’t wish the thick air would smother them. They’ll get what’s coming to them, and by the jittery demeanor of the orange-haired angel, he knows it too.
“What do you plan to do?” I ask, eyeing Corbin suspiciously.
He huffs, crosses his arms, and puffs his chest. “It’s not a secret. If you used that thick skull of yours, you’d have figured it out by now.”
The mention of another plan yet to unfold has several scenarios of death flipping through my thoughts. Will the Guardian Realm be able to keep Eliza safe? How am I supposed to rely on information if everyone on that realm has a battle of their own going on? Who knows who’s going to survive it?
Corbin strides forward, stops in front of the puddle of black from which I was born and peers down into it. “If you’ll excuse me, Thrice Born, the dragon is loose and providing much power I cannot pass up. I have shades to resurrect.”
My heart sinks in my chest. He wouldn’t...
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
TEMBER
GUARDIAN REALM
“How many are in there?” I mutter to Erma, turning my head over my shoulder to do so. I’m still upset with her about the information she divulged a little too late, and my voice comes out harsh.
If I would have known this battle would weaken her, I would have never allowed her to come. It makes me question why Fate himself didn’t suggest it.
Our sides are pressed to a hallway wall as we listen for signs of life in a nearby room. Like every room in the Grounds, each given to an angel for their own space, a large, sturdy door tucked in an archway blocks the view from passersby.
I swivel my head further, the muscles down my neck straining, and tuck my wings tighter along my back to get a better look at the woman who hasn’t yet answered my question. Sweat beads down her porcelain forehead, and her black eyes seem oddly unfocused. Her energy is spent.
She takes a deep breath and closes her eyes. “Three fallen, and many hostages.”
Flanking Erma to protect her back, Jaemes pokes his head around her small body. “We can’t leave them in there, Tember,” he whispers.
I tick my jaw and hardened my words with harsh syllables. “Did you think I would?”
He shrugs. “You’ve been distracted. It’s my job to make sure you stay on a true path.”
“The true path is very clear, I assure you,” I say and look to Erma. “Can you create one more distraction?” I hate myself for even asking, and the unease curls in my stomach and radiates to my toes.
I watch as her throat constricts with her next swallow. She squares her shoulders and nods one curt nod.
“Ready?” I ask, placing my hand on the knob.
Jaemes curls his hand tighter around the wooden arch of his bow, arrow resting on his finger, and he slowly relaxes his shoulders. With my next breath, I turn the knob and slam the door open with my heel. The door crashes into the next wall, and a few shouts come from within.
Shoving herself from the wall, Erma quickly darts through the doorway. Her skin glows, and with a swipe of both arms, she sends the power blast into the room. It’s not a lethal blow, but it does serve as the needed distraction, temporarily blinding all those within.
Erma sags, her knees momentarily giving way. Jaemes and I rush through the doorway, releasing arrows. Erma stumbles inside after us, gripping the door frame to steady herself before resting against it.
It is immediately obvious who the enemies are. Within seconds, they’re disabled, lifeless against the black marble floor, two with arrows poking from their bodies, and the others with smoking torsos where my electric bolts hit. Jaemes quickly reaches them, stabbing each in the wrist.
The hostages slump against the far wall, beaten to a bloody mess. To keep angels in this sort of physical state, it must be repeated frequently.
In a corner, the discarded wings of the hostages have been carelessly thrown, ripped from their backs during whatever torture they endured. I grate my teeth against each other and run a hand over my paint plastered hair.
I turn back to Erma after toeing the dead, and her hand fumbles against the wall as she makes her way along it. Lowering Ire, I go to her and immediately reach, touching her cheek void of color. My blood-stained hand coats in slick sweat, and her normally chilled skin is hot to
the touch. Lips parting in an “o,” I sweep my gaze along her body, but no obvious injuries can be seen. She’s depleted of power and struggling to stay conscious.
Perhaps I asked too much of her. This war may kill her, and it is I who may have signed her death warrant. This is my fault, and just the thought fills me with dread.
“Erma?” I call to her softly.
She lifts her eyes to mine, a struggle.
I bend my knees slightly and bring myself level with her height. “Can you free them? Jaemes and I can continue without you.”
It wouldn’t take power to free them, only two hands to untie the knots twisted around their roped wrists.
“Yes,” she responds, her voice weak.
“Erma?” I lick my bottom lip, second guessing if I should leave her side.
With effort, she narrows her eyes. “I’m fine, Tember. Go.”
Slowly, and searching her eyes for acceptance, I lean forward and place a gentle kiss against her soft, feverish lips. “We’ll be back. Stay here.”
She nods, her hair momentarily tangling with mine and getting stuck in the chips of paint.
Leaving quickly, we weave through each hallway and room, light- and sure-footed, and each one is vacant but destroyed. Papers are strewn, furniture slashed, and the dining hall’s intricately carved tables resemble splinters. I stare at the debris of wood, remembering when my young hands had first skimmed the freshly carved surface many years ago. They were built from the black trees the Kaju elf tribe uses to construct their tree homes, and their inner rings are a deep purple. The color was striking against the black marble, but this is now a catastrophic scene to behold.
“This is the final room?” Jaemes murmurs, pointing his arrow to the last door of this hall.
“Yes,” I whisper back, banishing the reminder of my destroyed home. Why would the angels do such a thing to something they once held dear? Perhaps the same question could be asked about their choice to fall from grace.
Our steps are quiet like a predator stalking its prey, and this last room isn’t far from where we left Erma and the hostages. I’m eager to return to her side and find it difficult to be stealthy.
“What do you think?” he asks, checking over his shoulder once.
I shrug subtly. “I think it’s far too quiet.” I look to him. “Ready?”
Bows raised, arrows aimed, we enter the room quickly.
“It’s empty,” Jaemes says quizzically after searching every hiding spot.
I understand his concern. This is too easy. I had expected to find many more holed up in their rooms or favorite places, poised to strike the unsuspecting.
“So observant.” I lower Ire, the electric arrow popping from position, and loosen my grip on it. “This doesn’t feel right.”
“Perhaps we are frightening to them, Mascot.” Jaemes exits the room back into the hall, and I follow him with stomping strides.
“Will you stop calling me that?” I growl, Ire disappearing in my grip.
“Come now, Angel. No need for a sour mood. We won. Take pleasure in it.”
The sensation which victory usually brings has yet to surface, and his words ring false to my own ears.
We patrol in silence, each lost in thought while returning to Erma’s side. I’ve never seen the Angel’s Ground so devoid of life. Perhaps this is why my instincts are roaring a warning of danger. These halls are always roamed, and without the rustling feathers and flung gossip, it’s eerie.
We approach the room, and I open my mouth to further voice my concern, but my jaw quickly snaps shut as I take in the situation unfolding inside.
“Jax,” I say breathlessly. He swivels his blonde head to mine.
At arrow-point, Erma is backed into a wall next to the doorway entrance, struggling to hold herself upright while Jax threatens her life with the very weapon Erma granted the angels.
Erma turns her head, her black eyes reflecting my face.
“Leave,” Erma demands, but her command slithers over my skin, slick, while my attention is solely focused on the situation at hand.
Blood drips from Jax’s hard and crazed eyes, the same infection the others had.
“The lover has finally arrived,” he taunts.
Clenching my fists, I move into the room. “What are you doing?”
Jaemes follows me in, his bow raised, his arrow ready.
Jax coughs, spraying blood from his mouth, but keeps his aim. “Are you blind, betrayer?”
“Betrayer?” I say, astounded. “From where I stand, there is only one who has betrayed us today.”
Erma flinches as she adjusts her position. “He’s been sent for an assassination.”
“A trap,” I whisper to the room, repeating my earlier thoughts.
“By who?” Jaemes asks, a deep venomous growl. “Who sent you?”
“Corbin,” I supply and then swallow thickly as I take a small step deeper into the room.
Jax fleetingly eyes my movement and then looks back to Erma. “Did you really think I wouldn’t fall, Erma? That we all wouldn’t if we found proof of this betrayal?”
“I never created the guardians for jealous rages,” Erma spits with much effort.
Jax purses his lips, blackness dribbling from the corners as though the action is squeezing it from the pocket of his cheeks. “Perhaps you shouldn’t have granted us choice then, or so you say. I’ve never seen much choice under your ruling. Mainly just orders backed with little love. Except for Tember, of course. She gets all the love, doesn’t she?” He raises his arm higher, his muscles shaking as the illness takes further effect. “It matters not. Not anymore.”
Despite the fact that he sounds like a desperate man, though his words do sting, if we can get him to keep a flowing conversation, we may be able to get him to see reason before he strikes Erma. All he seems to want is compassion. But as the thought crosses my mind, as I take a step forward to get him to see reason, his blood-smeared fingers uncurl from the string.
Several things happen at once in seemingly slow motion and perfect detail for how quickly everything truly occurs. A cautioned “be brave,” vibrates my skull in tune with the whip of a bowstring, the voice of Fate. My body coils and springs, lunging in front of Erma to take the bolt for myself.
But I never make it there.
Jaemes grabs my wrist and yanks me back, my body slamming into the floor, and my wings bend at an odd angle underneath.
Using only his hand, Jaemes hurls an arrow at Jax like a titan with a spear. It hits Jax square in the eye, slamming his head backward while Jax’s arrow hits Erma in the chest. In a normal, intentional incident, this would do her no harm. But with every death today and her energy completely depleted...
Jax and Erma fall to the floor at the same moment, a synchronized thud, and the Grounds fall quiet.
Be brave, the voice whispers again.
I breathe once, twice. I blink, observing past the hair fallen over my face like a curtain trying to save me from the view before me.
“No!” I scream.
Scrambling on my feet, running and skidding across the floor, I collapse at Erma’s side. Her face is relaxed, and her black eyes are aimed, unseeing, to the clouds above as though they’re beyond them and seeking the stars.
“Erma,” I beg, placing my hands on her shoulders and shaking her small frame. I gather her into my lap and cover the smoke emitting from her chest with a flat palm. “Erma!”
Jaemes bends, hovering over us, and the hostage angels shuffle to their feet for a closer look.
I pat her cheek, searching for any sign of life. Tears well in my eyes, warm.
“She’s gone, Tember,” he pleads.
“Erma!” I shake her again.
“Tember!” Jaemes shouts above me. “She’s gone!”
“No,” I grit. “No, that’s impossible.”
I look up to Jaemes. His drapes of black hair shroud his crumpled face. His grave expression is pinned on his friend, his creator, and he ticks his
jaw to banish his own unshed tears. If she’s gone, we’ll quickly follow. Our lives are tied to hers.
“It’s fate,” a familiar voice echoes in the room.
Jaemes lifts his bow and takes aim, swiveling his posture throughout the room, searching for the body to the voice. He will find none. Fate doesn’t have a body.
A halo forms around my head, and I grip Erma tighter to me as his be brave echoes as a memory. “You knew this would happen,” I say to Fate, my voice cracking with rage.
“Who?” Jaemes asks.
“I did,” Fate confirms with genuine sorrow.
I slam my fist into the marble floor beside Erma’s hip and half curl my body around her to shield her from the enclosing hostages’ sight. “You knew she’d die.”
“I did,” the voice repeats.
Jaemes peeps at me through the thin string of his bow, confused. “What’s going on, Tember?” His question is harsh, thick with grief.
“This is Fate,” I growl the introduction. A hot tear trails down my cheeks, and many more follow, fueled by sorrow and fury.
“The Fate?” Jaemes cocks his head to the side and lowers his weapon. He nods to Erma, hopeful. “Can you heal her?”
“I am the Fate, but I cannot bring back my dead children. It is against our ways.”
I gently lower Erma from my lap and stand, searching the room though I know I won’t see Fate himself.
“What was the point of all this,” I demand, throwing out my arms. “You manipulated me. Why?”
“You are destined for greater things, Angel.”
I huff, the breath full of emotion. “By your decree, yes?”
Fate doesn’t answer for several moments. “Let it begin,” he says.
I open my mouth, prepared to deliver the lashing he deserves, when my heart in my wrist thuds an incorrect beat. I lift it, examining my wrist, and a blossoming pain begins there.
Pain. So much pain.
A roar, beginning as a weak whimper, grows in intensity and volume, ripping from my throat. Agony snakes up my arm to my shoulder and ripples down my spine. I drop to my knees, gasping for air when it clutches my lungs.
