by Kade Cook
Tynan hurries himself back inside her space and returns to her side. Reaching out across the bookshelf, he retrieves her leather-bound journal and sets it on her lap. “Now, don’t tire yourself out, okay?”
Seriously? How can writing in a book tire someone out? Gabrian mutters internally but after he leaves, she understands and swallows her sharp words completely. Her fingers ache to the bone only after a few seconds of pressing the pencil to the paper. Just writing the date is a chore. Dropping her grip on the pencil, she drops her hand and lets it rest on top of the scribbling. “What the hell happened to me?”
Grinding her teeth and letting her stubbornness kick in to take over the fight against the soreness of her digits, Gabrian begins to write.
I used to believe that everything happens for a reason, but today, when I awoke, my beliefs faltered.
Once l lived in what I thought was happiness and moderate success in life, but found it only to be a façade of the reality that was waiting for me, leaving me unguarded and vulnerable.
Being the human, I thought I was, I fought to get back up, to punch my way through the best I could, using human faith that some higher power was helping me through.
But I am not human, nor was I ever.
My existence is an atrocity to anyone who comes near.
The parents who raised me are dead.
My rightful birth parents—well, they might as well be for the convoluted mess that is.
My heart has never been so weary and without hope, and without Shane. I am the reason my shadow has fallen. I cannot even begin to express in words how much I long for the subtle scent of summer. All I have left are the torturous memories of what I have done and this shelled soul that was left behind.
I should be grateful that I am alive, but I cannot even find a fraction of that in the fact my hopes to return to a life, a body without Magik, have come true. I am buried alive too far down within a world which requires the cursed Magik to survive.
I feel cold. I feel alone.
I have become a ghost amongst the living.
Under the slow but constant pressure, Gabrian’s fingers burn. Setting the pencil down on her mental scribblings, she flexes them to ease their strife. Licking her lips, dry from mouthing the words as she writes them down, she reaches for the cup on the nightstand.
Empty.
Needing a drink, but not wanting to burden her uncle with her needs, Gabrian clutches the glass and slowly slides her legs to hang over the edge of the bed. Biting her lip, she fights through the heavy ache and soreness of her inactivity. She does not even know how long it has been since she actually moved. All she knows is that her body is blatantly rebelling against the act, sending slivers of sharp pain through her appendages and back as she moves.
Sliding forward and touching her toes to the floor, Gabrian readies herself to make the estimated ten step journey to the bathroom in search of some tap water. The absence of any kind of activity has wreaked havoc on her physical condition. Each step, calculated and slow, wrenches at her back and her calf muscles are taut, threatening to cramp. Gabrian can already see white orbs of vertigo dancing in her eyes as she closes in on her destination.
Eight. She reaches the doorway, clinging to its frame.
Nine…only one more step. Her hand braces the wall beside her.
And…ten.
Gabrian sets down the cup and grasps tight against the porcelain base. Though panting, she cheers, coughing out her victorious feat in reaching the faucet.
Turning the tap, her tongue feels heavy and thick as she anticipates the taste of the cool liquid soon to be captured. Raising the half-filled glass to her mouth, Gabrian catches a glimpse of something unrecognizable, a distorted image, and freezes, horrified by what stares back at her from the mirror.
Chapter Seven
Unveiled Deception
Buzzing whispers hiss around the walls of the High Table. Those who remain of the Elders is bleak to not only the Elders themselves but the Realmsfolk crowding into the Covenant of Shadows. Never before has such devastation occurred from within the very foundations of the Realm’s hierarchy.
“Cimmerian Cole, please rise,” Orroryn growls out. His words boom across the hall, bouncing off the marble walls encompassing them and destroying the sting of hisses that bite at his ears from the onlookers. He clutches at the large table, bearing the weight of his turmoil within his grasp, and his olive fingers pale in his conviction to stay in control.
Of all of whom he thought he could trust in this world, it was the Elders of the High Table and now two of them have been brought to stand judgement in front of their peers for unthinkable sins against their own kind.
Even the ex-Elder Caspyous was an unlikable man at times, in a million years, Orroryn would never have guessed that he would to succumb to such murderous acts—in cold blood no less—yet he did. And now, Cimmerian, a level-headed, by the book, peer and friend is rising to stand before him to be heard for his crimes against humanity, against Orroryn’s most sacred and protected world. Madness unleashes within Orroryn’s already broken heart.
Cimmerian does as commanded and lifts his eyes to the Elders staring back at him from around the table, the table he had sat by for two thirds of his life and swore to defend its honour right along with those who sat there now as his equals.
And now he stands before them in judgement.
His heart had led him to his own destruction. Pushed to deception by a venomous fiend in addition to being hell bent on getting his own way, Cimmerian became blinded of his own sworn oath to manifest the wants of the heart.
He knows all these ugly truths.
“How do you find yourself to the charges of cohering with a known Vampire, a criminal of the Realm?” Orroryn stares at him, hurt and broken from the deception, but doesn’t move from his position.
Cimmerian holds his chin high, ashamed of the company he had kept but resolute to his reasoning for committing the act. “Guilty,” he offers with a low admitted plea.
Buzzing echoes through the walls at his reply. “How do you find yourself to the charges of kidnapping a daughter of the Realm and holding said child captive until her demise due to neglectful judgment of magical misconduct?”
He swallows back the bite of remorse pinching off his wind as his mind replays the nightmare which unfolded at his hands and the resulting anguish he had caused her. Cimmerian shuffles and forces his chin to remain in place. “Guilty.”
Gasps echo in unison from the people. Orroryn gathers himself for what he is about to ask. “How do you find yourself to the charges of willingly opening an unauthorized portal to Erebus and allowing a youngling to enter into its…” His voice breaks, and a tear escapes down his cheek. He tries to refrain from leaving his post as co-holder of the table to rush forward to shake the very life out of his peer for his selfish wants and disregard for safety. This was his son, this was his life. How could Cimmerian do this? But he does not move. Even though Orroryn understands the reason why he did it, it still does not excuse the Elder’s actions. Clearing his throat, he continues. “…into its uncharted borders alone… un-warded no less?”
Cimmerian flinches at this, and his eyes search the Elders for understanding. “Guilty,” he grunts out.
Tears unleash over Orroryn’s cheeks, causing many eyes at the table to glaze over. So many lives are involved, so many undoings have been done. It is such a shame to watch the Covenant being broken apart by matters of the heart. Unfortunately, most desperate measures which cause a soul to lose its moral conviction are indeed committed at the mercy of a heart’s claim to sanity.
Vaeda wipes the dew from her eyes, thinking of Tynan—who refuses to leave his niece’s side—and resigned from his post temporarily until she is well enough. Vaeda feels the pain resonating off of not only Orroryn but Cimmerian as well in their undying devotion and love for their children. “For the love of the Realm, Cimmerian, what would make you folly in your judgement like that? You know the creatu
res that harbor between the divides of Erebus. You know there was likely no return from such a journey.”
The Elder’s weepy gaze irritates Cimmerian’s already fragile façade. He was lied to. Not only by Adrinn, who had upped the ante of the game to get him to play, but by the Elders as well. She had no right to look upon him with pity or righteousness.
“I beg your pardon, but in my defence, Lady of Zephyr, brothers of Schaeduwe and Boragen, I was not properly informed of the situation I was put under.” His eyes no longer simmer in sadness but in bitterness of their betrayal. “I was directed to do his bidding. The boy, Shane, released upon me the indisputable decree of the Guardian of the Silver Bloodline. As oath taker and Elder of the High Table, I was not at liberty to challenge him. Orders, governed by supreme chain of command, are followed orders.”
The gasps overtake the room and the hall fills with the uproar of uncoherent broken questions. This knowledge of utmost secrecy between Orroryn, Vaeda, Ethan, Ariah, and Cimmerian was out, unable to be pulled back in. All the lies that had been spoken, hiding the real truths of the skeletons kept so neatly locked in the closets for so long, had been released from their captivity—unveiled and ugly for all of the Realm to see.
Vaeda and Orroryn bow their heads under the weight of their own guilt. He is right, and they know it—he had no other choice or risk further conviction to his crimes. “Your uncontested admittance of guilt is clearly noted and will bode well for our final judgement against you,” Vaeda hums out her speech, cupping her hands on the cold table in front her. Her eyes smoothly dart around the High Table, regarding the other Elders as they shuffle in their chairs and eye each other as she delivers her final judgement.
In her peripheral, she catches the nodding heads of the Realmsfolk mumbling their approval in the background. “Due to the severity of your crimes, Cimmerian Cole, you must be held accountable.” Vaeda straightens, willing herself to continue. “We as the Elders of the Covenant of Shadows charge you guilty for crimes against the innocent of the Realm. That being said, due to the revelation of new circumstances brought to light, another trial is necessary to be held at a later date in order to revise the severity of the sentence carried out. You will be held until further notice.”
A cloak of Guardians step out from their positions and clasp hold of the back of Cimmerian’s arms. He gasps, voicing a heart-wrenching plea, “My daughter! What about Symone? I just got her back, and I cannot leave her! She needs me.”
The sadness rings out through his broken voice, and they all sink within his desperation. “We understand your concern, but you are to be immediately escorted to the hollows of the Shadows.” Orroryn glances once at his peer and lowly utters his reply. “Rest assured, she will be housed, cared for, and taken under our protection as she is a daughter of the Realm.”
Cimmerian releases a loud sigh, aching to look at her face just once more before incarceration but will not contest. She is back, safe and sound. There will be no more lies, no more conspiracy games, and the devil he sold his soul to can rot in the deepest holes of Erebus for all he cares.
Chapter Eight
From Within the Monster
Jolted by the sight of the creature staring back at Gabrian through the mirror, the glass drops from her hand and shatters against the porcelain basin. Meeting the reflection of what is left of the body she possesses grips her in a trance.
Her eyes, clouded in a blue mist set deep within purple sockets, are fixed upon sunken grey cheeks. Her lips, chapped and crusted, are merely two chalky lines painted across her mouth. A tarnished yellow and brown hue creeps up to cling on her flesh at the edge of her collarbone. Pulling the neck of her nightshirt down, Gabrian gazes at the fading black bruises given to her by Ethan’s violent and determined efforts to start her heart again.
Her wide, unearthly eyes skate upward, bypassing the frightening horror that is her face, and freeze on the scattered clumps of hair—or what remains of it on her scalp. Each piece is connected by red, cracked scar tissue.
Tynan’s pitiful stares strike her and the way his mouth quivers when he speaks, his continuous referral to her as a survivor. Gabrian is numb. She doesn’t see a survivor. All she sees is a monster looking back at her.
Her hand lifts to touch the edge of a fallen strand of hair—one last effort to feel, to see if it is real—and she hopes it is just a nightmare she can wake up from. A hue of crimson drapes her wrist, colouring the pale canvas of her paper-thin flesh and catches her attention from the glass horror show.
Gabrian pulls her arm in close.
Blood.
A small deep gash running crossways on her wrist is the culprit of the colour works. She stares at it with dull eyes, consumed in a messy mental state numbed by the reality that is her life. Once more, she dances from one hideous feature to the next, feeling empty and undone. Dropping her eyes to the mess of glass and blood growing in the sink below, she reaches down. Her fingers gather around a shard of crimson-painted glass. Once more, she looks up and eyes the useless creation gawking back at her from the other side of the mirror. Gabrian turns her back to it and slides down to the floor, the painted shard still in hand.
Tears well up in her eyes, blurring her messy world within smeared colours. Gabrian’s heart pounds under her ribs. The sound of it drums in her ears, drowning out the world around her as she lowers her lids, releasing the levy of moisture on the edges of her lashes.
Within the whirling chaos of her mind, a familiar voice whispers to her from the darkness—a faint, familiar voice from the shores of Erebus, calling her back, filled with a promise to ease her pain, to end this suffering. Gabrian’s fingers tighten around the glass dagger, its edges pressing into her skin.
She remembers the beauty within the depths of Erebus, the peace she felt walking along its shores. No pain, no stares of pity, no helplessness and hideousness to deal with, just soft words and unrelenting waves of love and kindness from beyond. Her cheeks glisten with the bounty of her pain as it escapes from within her soul. Gabrian hears another murmur of encouragement, a sweeter song of beckoning, and a subtle nudge to leap toward what she knows awaits on the other side of that blade.
This is not about the loss of her beauty, nor the absence of her Magik. It is deeper than that. She has become something weak, a burden on the hearts of those who love her even more than she had been before. Gabrian’s heart plummets to the edge of no return, lingering in despair as she pictures her uncle’s face, remembering the empty caskets of her parents, clutching to the pain on Shane’s face when she pushed him away.
No more.
She pinches her shaky hand on the bloodied glass. There would be no try, no cry for help, just an end to this silent misery. Opening her eyes, she wipes the blur from her vision enough to see the crimson tell of her opening to the other side. Gabrian’s lips tremble but the decision is made. Inhaling a slow deep breath, she presses the glass into the wound. Angling it a way that will ensure the deepest and deadliest cut, she bears down and readies to set everyone free from her curse.
“This is not who you are.”
Gabrian gasps, and hurriedly wipes the tears away, clearing her vision.
She is not alone.
Chapter Nine
Heart to Heart
Still clutching her means of escape tightly in her hand, Gabrian whips her head around. The embarrassing sting of being watched in her darkest hours jars her back from its depths and interrupts the call from the dark side of her mind—muting Eva’s sweet beckoning.
Blinking away her tears, she swipes away the remainder of the blurry film distorting her view with the back of her bloodied arm, leaving a streak of rouge to stain her face. Gabrian pinches her eyes in search of the intruder. From the corner of the bathroom, leaning against the wall, stands the tall blond-headed Rhada wearing a narrowed gaze of worry.
Gabrian snuffs at the moisture running from her nose and stares at him blankly. The depth of her despair numbs her concern for her blood-soake
d appearance. “What are you doing here? Am I dead again?” she drones out, confused.
Lowering, Rhada clutches her bleeding wrist and points it to face her so she can see it clearly then raises his eyes to meet her dismal stare. “Is this really what you want?”
Gabrian looks away from him and the bloodstained skin. Trails of her sins run onto the floor in front of her and what she was about to do. Her fingers still clutch to the glass in her other hand. “I…” she whimpers and tears return to wash down her cheeks, rushing to her trembling lips. “I just want to stop the misery my existence seems to cause everyone I love. And this pitiful excuse of a body.” Her voice spikes, trembling as she waves her bloody hand over her form. “Just look at me. I am nothing, useless to help anyone. I have no Magik. My return is causing more suffering than if I would have just let go.” Her voice trails off into a mumble.
“My dear child.” Rhada twists his lips to curl into a gentle smile and softly grips her hand. “Your last breath on this Earth was taken weeks ago. That Gabrian has walked upon the shores of Erebus. The girl I look upon now has been reborn, a child of the Universe untangled and stripped clean from the mess you were first brought under and made whole again, untainted and pure. Your return from the mist changed things, surely you must have felt it. You and your gifts, would not be as they once were before.”
She nods, remembering the pain, and hears her Uncle’s cries as he held her along with her own screams as it all came undone. “I know, but I didn’t think it would be like…” She lets her head fall back, inhaling a quivering breath. Tears fill her eyes, distorting the sharp edges of the reality around her. “…like this.”
She lifts her head and peers through her blurry eyes to look at Rhada’s form still kneeling in front of her. Even through her blurred vision, she still sees the pity in his stare. “I can see what I am in your eyes. Even Uncle Ty can barely stand to look at me.”
