by K.N. Lee
She stepped out of the ball onto a neatly trimmed lawn surrounding a cute suburban home. It was still gently misting here. She stood still, waiting to feel the droplets hitting her, but she felt nothing. She stuck out her tongue, trying to catch the rain, but, still, nothing. She was a ghost, and ghosts couldn’t feel. She had gone too far beyond the physical, could no longer relate to it. Her mind couldn’t even dredge up the correct corresponding memories to replay in the moment.
As she stared out at the land of the living it all seemed so… beyond words, beyond her ability to express. The trees were beautiful… and empty. They were magnificent constructions, dazzlingly brilliant in how the leaves were created and attached, how the branches grew and forked, how the roots dug into the earth looking for water. Everything about them was a miracle—and yet, pointless. She could see the rivulets of energy—the trees’ life force—flowing within the confines of bark and branch, and it made no sense that the energy should be confined to a tree shape, circulating along the same veins over and over endlessly. What stopped it from being a river or a chipmunk or a person or a ray of sunshine? How limiting it was to be confined to one shape; she could see now how limiting it had been to be human.
She looked at her own hands. The only thing that kept her human-shaped now was habit. She was energy—pure and simple—and if she tried hard enough, she could cast herself into some other shape. She could be a tree, if she wanted to, or she could be the universe.
You will be everything and you will be nothing.
Madame Majicka’s words from a lifetime ago floated up to her from the recesses of memory. The psychic had known. She’d denied knowing anything about the afterlife, but Irene had suspected the woman knew more than she let on. And Irene had been right. Madame Majicka had predicted this moment. Irene hadn’t understood then; she didn’t know how one could be both a thing and the exact opposite of that thing. Now she did.
In this moment, she recognized that she knew everything, and she knew nothing. Everything was connected, and it was separate. She could be anything, go anywhere. She had vast power—could kill with a touch if she chose—which made her powerless, because now she was too afraid to use her power. She could see everything, down to the atom, which made it impossible to actually see anything at all. She could no longer see the forest for the trees, sort to speak, only, in this case, the trees were the glittering, golden rivers of energy moving through every living thing and the forest was outward appearance manifested by that energy as it appeared in the land of the living.
This was farewell, then, to her hopes, her dreams. She would never again return to the land of the living. Irene Dunphy, as she had once existed, was dead—truly dead. It was time to accept that. She put her hand on the crystal ball and let herself flow back to the land of the dead.
Andras was waiting when she returned—this time in corporeal form. He rested his sword tip on the ground, his hands crossed on the pommel, his feet set wide apart—a soldier relaxed but at the ready. She smiled inwardly; Andras knew something was wrong, but he wouldn’t press her. He’d let her share in her own time. He was telling her, without words, that he was here to help, ready to fight whatever danger might await. Whatever the future held, they would face it together.
~The End~
About the Author
Terri Bruce has been making up stories for as long as she can remember. Like Anne Shirley, she prefers to make people cry rather than laugh, but is happy if she can do either. She produces fantasy and science fiction stories from beautiful Downeast ME, where she lives with her husband and multiple cats. She is the author of the paranormal/contemporary fantasy "Afterlife" series, which includes Hereafter (Afterlife #1) and Thereafter (Afterlife #2), and several science fiction and fantasy short stories, including "Welcome to OASIS" ("Dear Robot" anthology, November 2015), “The Tower” (Non-Binary Review # 8 “1001 Arabian Nights,” Zoetic Press, November 2015), and "The Well" ("It's Come to Our Attention" anthology, Third Flatiron Press, February 2016).
Visit her on the web at www.terribruce.net.
Also by Terri Bruce
Hereafter (Afterlife #1)
Thereafter (Afterlife #2)
Whenafter (Afterlife #3)
Read the continuation of Irene’s story in WHEREAFTER (Afterlife #4) releasing Spring 2018! And see how Irene’s adventures began in HEREAFTER (Afterlife #1), available in e-book, paperback, and audio book.
Fabled
Kara Jaynes
Isabelle has one goal: win the tournament and become the next Fabled Hunter. But when she meets Jack and Silvan, Isabelle's life becomes a lot more complicated.
Jack is daring, kind, and shares Isabelle's passion for becoming a Hunter. Silvan is mysterious, reserved, and unbelievably gorgeous. Both men have dark pasts, and both hide secrets.
Does Isabelle have the determination and grit it will take to win? Who can she trust? Nothing is as it seems in this fairy tale world, and betrayal has dire consequences.
We could become legendary. Fabled.
Silvan
Could she be the one? The one I need? I’ve been watching her for some time. I am almost convinced. She’s kind, clever, and unrivaled with the bow; an outward manifestation of her Gift. I’ve never met anyone with this much potential since Glacia.
No. I shake my head, pushing thoughts of Glacia away. She must be dead to me, dead to my heart.
The faint rays of dawn lighten the sky and like she so often did, the young woman tiptoes out of the house, quietly closing the door behind her. She doesn't want to wake her mother. She also wants to avoid early morning chores. I grin, watching her. Was I ever so young and carefree? I can't remember, but when I watch her, I can pretend I do.
She clambers over the home’s low fence and strides confidently down the town’s small road, pulling the red hood of her cloak up, no doubt to ward off the morning chill. It’s nearly spring, and warm for late winter, but the mornings are still frosty.
I stand from where I’d been hiding behind some fish barrels and follow her on silent feet. She’s done this enough times that she no longer looks for danger. Foolish. I frown at her back. She has potential, but is still proud. Pride makes one careless. Carelessness can get one killed.
Walking down the dirt road takes us by the shore. Most of the fishermen have already left in their small boats, but a few stragglers are preparing to leave. A handful of men wave in greeting as she passes and she waves back. She is a common sight this early in the morning.
After passing the fishing vessels she pauses, picking up a shell. She looks at it a moment then throws it across the water, watching it disappear into the rolling waves. She begins walking again, quicker this time, as if eager to escape the prying eyes of the other villagers. I smile, watching her as she leaves the path and crosses across the meadow. I know where she’s going.
The forest looms before her, black in the dim light. Most of the villagers fear it, only entering it when necessary. But to her, it’s a haven.
The girl breaks into a run, as if eager to be sheltered under the eaves of the woods.
I break into a light jog. I’m not worried about losing her in the forest, but I know better than anyone that danger lurks there. I swallow, feeling a stab of regret in my chest.
I’m the danger.
I step on a branch and it cracks, startlingly loud in the stillness. I drop to the ground, hiding myself from view. The girl hears it. She turns, nocking an arrow to her bow with practiced ease.
I peer at her through the grass, holding my breath. Her chocolate-brown eyes are narrowed as she watches for danger. I grimace. If she were to see me, she wouldn’t shoot. She wouldn't see me for the monster I am. She’d see an angel.
Deciding she’s safe, she turns and ventures deeper into the woods, still holding her bow. I continue to follow her, careful not to make a sound.
She’s walking toward the river. This is different. She usually heads to her secret spot, a wooded clearing that feels sheltered and
safe to her. I chew the inside of my cheek. What is she up to?
She approaches the river. The water rushes along, its banks overflowing with the mountain’s melting snow. A rabbit scampers out of its burrow, bounding away from her. Isabelle aims, but hesitates a moment too long and it scampers to safety. I laugh silently to myself. She’s trying to hunt. This is new.
Then I hear it.
A siren.
The voice beckons from the river, lilting and eerie in its melody. The girl jerks her head up, turning to the voice. She drops her bow with nerveless fingers, her quiver sliding off her shoulder to land in a heap.
She’s caught in the siren’s spell.
No. No! I leap from behind the tree where I was lurking and sprint toward her. I have to protect her. I am immune to the siren’s voice. I am immune to the river’s rushing waters. Immune to the cold.
But there is one thing I am not immune to. In one way I am laid bare.
Isabelle.
I cannot lose her.
1
The voice called to her, melodic and haunting in its song. It compelled her to follow. To obey. To refuse was as unthinkable as trying to hold her breath indefinitely. She had to follow it, regardless of where it took her.
Isabelle walked to the river, heedless of its roar, ignoring the jagged clumps of ice that were propelled along in its current. The voice was in the river. It called to her, commanding her to jump. She had to obey. She had to.
“Isabelle. Isabelle, wait!” a male voice cried out, voice cracking with urgency.
Isabelle leaped into the river, plunging into its icy depths.
She gasped as the freezing cold water flooded her vision, her mouth, her nose. She kicked and flailed her limbs, trying to fight her way back to the surface. The river swept her along, heedless of its captive, the current impossibly strong with an early thaw.
A female swam beside her, a thin woman with midnight-black hair. She grabbed Isabelle, her smile revealing fangs.
A siren.
Isabelle struggled against the siren’s grip, trying to get away. The siren pulled her underwater.
Isabelle saw a flash of silver in her peripheral vision as something massive hit the river, entering the frigid waters. The siren released Isabelle, swimming away.
Isabelle’s head broke the surface and she gasped, gulping down air before the water yanked her under again. I’m going to die.
Why? Why was she here? Why had she stepped into the water? She couldn’t remember. The only thing she could recall was a voice that called to her. Ignoring it had not been an option. The siren was gone now, but Isabelle was alone, unable to swim to safety.
Her red cloak tangled about her body, becoming heavy as it soaked up water, dragging her down as she tried to swim to the river’s edge. The current pulled her back to the center of the flow. A large chunk of ice hurtled past her, causing Isabelle to flinch away from it, temporarily pulled under the water once more.
Isabelle’s heart hammered in her chest, as she broke surface and paddled once more. She was exhausted. Her limbs felt as heavy as iron and her body began to weaken from lack of oxygen and the cold.
A strong arm gripped her around the waist. Isabelle thrashed against it, screaming. Cold river water poured into her mouth. She tried to twist around, to see her captor as she was pulled to the riverbank. Turning toward the bank she reached out, desperately grabbing at fistfuls of grass to pull herself out of the river. It turned out to be unnecessary as her captor hauled her out of the water, only releasing her waist once the two of them collapsed on the riverbank.
Isabelle coughed, spewing water as she lay on her side. She felt frozen with the wet cold that clung to her like an icy shroud. Whoever had saved her had moved to a sitting position and was leaning over her.
Turning to lie on her back, Isabelle froze, staring up into the bluest eyes she’d ever seen. Bluer than the sky, bluer than the sea in the harbor on a summer day.
“You’re lucky to be alive,” the young man said sternly, still watching her. “Sensible folk know to stay out of these woods.”
“You saved me.” Isabelle knew it was rude to stare, but couldn’t tear her gaze away from him. Long silver hair framed his face, glinting in the sunlight that filtered through the forest’s branches. “Are you an angel?” He was beautiful.
The man smiled, and Isabelle’s heartbeat quickened. “Maybe,” he said. The smile faded as soon as it’d come. “And maybe not.” He stood, offering her a pale hand. Isabelle took it tentatively, goosebumps spreading up her arm as his long fingers closed around hers. He definitely wasn’t from her city. He didn’t look like anyone she’d ever seen before. Isabelle’s head barely came to his chest. She tilted her head back as she studied him. He was as drenched as she was, water dripped from his hair, his white shirt plastered to his body, emphasizing his broad shoulders and chest. Isabelle’s face warmed as her gaze wandered over his body.
She coughed, looking away. “Thank you for helping me, sir.”
“No problem.” The blue-eyed stranger lifted an arm, pointing behind Isabelle. “Your home is that way. You need to get back and change your clothing before the chill sets in.” He turned to leave.
“Wait!” Isabelle reached out, grabbing his arm. Her memory was returning. “What if the siren calls me again? What will I do?”
The stranger smiled at her, his blue gaze soft. “She won’t. I killed her.”
“You?” Isabelle stared at him. “A siren? How is that possible? Her call should have trapped you, too.”
The stranger shrugged, looking away. “I’m a man of many talents.”
“Come with me.” Isabelle knew she must look awful, with her hair and clothes soaking wet, but she smiled at him anyway. “My parents will want to thank you for saving my life.”
His arm stiffened beneath her touch. He pulled away. “I don’t mix well with most people.” His tone was lighthearted, but his expression was troubled. “And I don’t need thanks for doing the right thing. Valor is its own reward, is it not?” He turned and began walking away.
“Who are you?” Isabelle called.
The man kept walking, not even looking back. “It’s not important. Be careful, Isabelle.”
Isabelle frowned after his retreating figure. How did he know her name? She was sure she’d never seen him before.
She turned and walked in the direction he’d pointed out to her. She looked around, frowning. She didn’t see her bow or quiver. She checked her skirt pocket. Her skirt was soaked like everything else but the little drawstring pouch she kept inside it was water repellent, the spare bowstring inside it still dry.
Isabelle looked over her shoulder. The strange man was gone. She frowned, biting her lip pensively. Where he’d come from or who he was, Isabelle hadn’t the first clue. Perhaps he was a woodland spirit, or an elf. Isabelle couldn’t recall whether he’d had the tell-tale pointed ears of an elf though, however beautiful he might be. Regardless, he had to be powerful; she’d never heard of a man going toe-to-toe with a siren and winning. Still, he’d saved her.
“Such blue eyes,” she murmured, smiling. Beautiful eyes. The people of her city had dark eyes, herself included. Blue was a rarity, and those she’d seen had always been the pale blue of the wanderers. His were a deep blue.
She hoped she’d see him again, but who could say? She paused; her bow and quiver of arrows were lying on the ground. She must have dropped them when the siren’s song began. Picking them up she continued home, thinking about the morning’s strange events. Mother always said the forest held strange and impossible things never beheld by the eyes of man.
Mother. Isabelle hastened her step. She’d have to keep her run-in with the siren a secret. Mother already didn’t approve of Isabelle’s forest escapades. If she knew Isabelle had almost died…
Isabelle broke into a run, hoping the late winter sunlight and wind would dry her clothes. Mother wouldn’t learn of the siren from her.
2
Th
e late winter day warmed quickly as the sun broke over the horizon. Still wet, but no longer cold, Isabelle made her way out of the woods, walking back to her village. The town of Stormview was almost part of the city Seabound, Stormview just a couple miles south from it, both located along the northwest coast. Most people from the village earned their living by fishing, but her father was a fairly wealthy merchant. Mother kept asking to move to the city, but Father loved the fishing village he grew up in. It was home to him.
Isabelle sighed dejectedly as she walked home. Seabound was one of the few things she and her mother agreed on. The village was too small and cramped for her. She wanted to experience life away from the confining town. She wanted adventure. She knew it was a childish dream, but she wanted it just the same.
“Isabelle!” She turned, hearing her name, and saw her friend Raesco running toward her, bare feet slapping against the rocks. His dark face was flushed with excitement, a bow clutched in one fist, several arrows held in the other.
“The boys are setting up some targets. Wanna shoot?”
Isabelle grinned back. “Do I ever not want to shoot?”
He frowned at her a moment, his expression puzzled. “Why are you wet?”
“Never mind that right now.” Isabelle motioned toward the village. She didn’t want Raesco blabbing about her struggle with the siren to everyone. “Let’s go. We don’t want to be late.”
She followed her friend away from the forest’s edge, walking across the rocky shore toward the village. Raesco glanced back toward the green leafy canopy of the forest. “So you went in the woods again? You know it’s dangerous.”