by D. Fischer
Next to Mitus, is a Yoki elf, his skin covered in green, sprawling line, matching the forest they harvest.
Uji’s are red, like the sand from the waters they fish, and the Kaju elf who continues to glare at me, his top lip in a permanent state of snarl, has yellow tattoos. The yellow is light, almost matching his skin. A long knife, broad at the back, intricately etched hilt rests across his thick thighs. The knife curves, coming to a sharp, jagged point. I marvel at the knife, its make and shape fascinating. It’s not long, maybe the length of his forearm. It glints, capturing my undivided, envious attention. The light bounces off the polished metal, and a reflection hovers along the wall.
Kaju elves are my least favorite. They tend to not bend in their ways, often passing judgement before guilt is proven.
“You bring an angel?” The Yoki questions, his eyebrows pulled down toward his large, hooked nose.
Jaemes snickers and folds his arms. The quiver against his back tilts. “A wingless one.”
“Jaemes,” Erma warns.
“Yeah,” he sighs, hanging his head to hide a fraction of a grin.
The Kaju elf lifts an eyebrow, skeptical. “Show me.”
Erma peeks at me, closes her eyes in annoyance, and nods her head. Shrugging, I lift my shirt, exposing my naked body to the elf men before me, and turn.
I hear Jaemes hiss quietly. The elves observe what’s left of my wings in silence. There’s nothing to see but open wounds.
“What did you do to them?” I’m asked, by whom I’m not sure.
I slip my head back through the hole of my shirt and twist to face them. “I disposed of them for my charge.”
Mitus licks his bottom lip, his eyes focused on my stomach but his mind elsewhere. He comes to a conclusion, nodding his head as he dwells within his thoughts. “I see. And what charge warrants self-mutilation?”
Erma slips closer to the group, stopping me from answering. “The kind who is more powerful than me.”
AIDEN VANDER
DEATH REALM
Our gallery to the Colosseum’s sandpit is low to the ground. A human could jump off the ledge and safely land on his feet, if he so wished. It’s a square platform, and as a spray of red splatters the stone, I understand why it’s placed here: front row seats to an endless bloodbath.
The platform has no rails, but it’s large enough to hold a small crowd. The stone is unrealistically smooth, and a few large chairs – thrones – are situated in a row at the front, which Sureen had made by the twirl of her wrist. With high backs, they’re made of solid wood, delicately carved in swirls and undistinguishable patterns. There’s one for me, but I choose to stand behind them.
Sureen, Corbin, and Kheelan are seated, watching two shades fight to their death. They reluctantly clink their swords against each other’s with weak blows. The metal against metal isn’t a familiar sound but rather a song orchestrated by impending death. Sweat drips from their brows, dropping to the sand below their shuffling feet.
Demons and vampires line the stadium seats, some silently watching while others cheer and beg for more bloodbath. A few fights have already transpired between the vampires and demons, but they’ve quickly ended once they succeeded in killing the other. The fee isn’t concerned over the matches on the benches. They only wish to watch the weak destroy each other, to see the deaths at the hands of friends.
A contestant swings his sword through the air, slicing through his opponent’s skin across the middle of his exposed belly. The pain on his face, the fear and betrayal at his own hand’s deceit, feeds me, filling me with a sense of contentment. The sword drips blood from its edges as more sprays from the victim. Droplets land on our platform gallery, and a grin lights Corbin and Sureen’s faces while agony etches the slave’s. Kheelan, however, remains impassive, his elbow propped on the armrest while his chin rests in his hand.
It’s curious, why Kheelan is here without his new bride. Why did he wed her if he chooses to leave her unconscious in her room? I resist the urge to shake my head. If anything, Corbin was right. This man is weak. His self-absorption could be his undoing.
Corbin stands as though he’s been called and spins to me with narrowed eyes. He slides between his chair and Sureen’s, coming to stand before me. I slant my head in curiosity, untucking my crossed arms. He looks . . . caught off guard.
“What is it?” I question.
He leans in, whispering in my ear. “Katriane Dupont.”
“The dragon?”
I’m privy to the knowledge he and Katriane are linked in a way I can’t understand. He would feel her if she were close. It’s a useful tool, especially if she’s the only one who could be his demise. I tuck that knowledge away for later use.
Nodding, he hushes his voice. “I’ll be back.”
He shimmers, his body and scent fading with him. I look to the front in time to see the unscathed human stick his sword through the other’s torso, a quick death for a beloved friend. The look on the human’s face is easy to distinguish. The reality of his actions is eating him alive.
The demons roar, their fists pumping in the air. Saliva drips from the vampires’ mouths, their attention focused on the blood as it dribbles down the fading body and soaks through the sand at his feet. The sword is yanked back, and the dying contestant drops to his knees. Pink organs fall from the wound and into his hands, his fingers gripping them.
Sureen glances back, and long braids trickle over her shoulder. She frowns when her surveying doesn’t find what she’s looking for. “Corbin?”
“An errand,” I answer, watching the sandpits. A vampire grips the dead human’s arm and pulls him along the blood-soaked sand. He yanks once, lifting the man’s wrist to his lips. The organs which were held within those fingers drop and trail along the body. Exposing sharp fangs, the vampire strikes, his teeth sinking into the veins of the dead slave’s wrist.
CHAPTER TWENTY
TEMBER
GUARDIAN REALM
“Please! Quiet yourselves,” Erma shouts, pacing the hut. Her fingers are clenched into fists at her sides, her arms stiff. “Katriane Dupont is not a danger to us.”
Mitus’ fist thumps against the fur, his pecs rippling. “You just said she amounts to a power greater than your own,” he bellows.
“She is no threat to us,” Erma repeats, hissing.
The Yoki elf twists his body to face hers. “Says you.”
I cross my arms. “What is the meaning behind your words?”
He shrugs, and his shoulder muscles bunch. “Erma does not excel at caring for those she has created. She allows battle to rip through her lands and does nothing to end the mischief and blood bath.”
Stepping forward, I prepare an assault in the form of words, defending Erma. Jaemes holds out a hand, capturing my attention, and shakes his head. He looks at Erma then to his father. “If I may?” Mitus inclines his head. One side of his face is covered with a curtain of hair as it falls over his shoulder. “Creator, if you are so sure Katriane isn’t a threat, what is your evidence?”
“No!” The Kaju elf demands, slamming his fist on the ground. The fur muffles the sound, but the vibration reaches my feet. “I won’t entertain the notion this dragon would do us no harm. We should take swift action, assemble the tribes, and destroy her and the beast within.” Perspiration beads at his temples, his huffs and puffs a sign of his agitation and aggression.
Erma quiets her voice. “Tember almost got her killed, and she still stands before you, alive and well.” All eyes swivel to me. “The dragon may be powerful, but she is not vengeful without cause. My reason for being here isn’t to discuss the longevity of the dragon’s existence. I came to discuss my sister fee.”
“Erline?” Jaemes asks, scratching his jaw with the back of his nails.
She shakes her head, and her short, red curls rattle. “Sureen.”
Mitus juts his chin and purses his lips at the name of the fee who rules the dream realm. Perhaps he’s more aware of her cruelty tha
n I am. Have I been more arrogant than I’ve realized – as Jaemes suggested – these last few years? “What of her?” Mitus asks through pressed lips.
Erma paces once more, her eyes searching the floor as though she’s reliving her time in the dream realm. The elves follow her struts, their heads tilted up and swiveling from their seated positions on the floor.
She pulls the fur closer around her shoulders, grasping it in the center. “She’s been given the power to create life.”
The atmosphere changes, dipping further on the side of hostility than I am comfortable with. I shift my weight as the Council of Four raise their voices in uproar, arguing the same point. None wish to see her with such talents, yet they’re hysterical, closing off their ears to one another even though they speak the same words. They’re frightened for their people and what it could mean for this realm.
I knew one day they’d regret the choice to remain home instead of protecting the realms as Erma suggested so long ago. The realms have grown and suffered in the absence of protectors.
Erma whips her hand through the air, swirling full circle and closing her fist at the last. A small, yellow glowing ball exits their esophagi through the skin and travels to her palm. She closes her fingers, capturing the yellow orbs. The voices leave the throats of elves though their lips continue to move before they realize what she’s done; she stole their voices straight from their cords.
The bridge of her nose twitches and wrinkles. “You need to be prepared,” she begins, her tone raspy and authoritative. She’s no longer up for negotiations. “The chances are high of Sureen creating some form of protection for herself and her realm. Like you, she’s threatened by the dragon. Do not forget the purpose for which I created you. The dragon will stand beside you – it is the nature of her human side. If you are foolish enough to believe you can do this on your own . . .” her voice trails off as she captures the attention of each elf. “The angels must stand beside you, and you must welcome it. If we are to protect this realm, and the others without absence of innocence, you must set your hatred aside. This is a feat you must overcome if our realm is to survive the near future. It won’t be long before the dragon arrives. It’s time you overcome your prejudices and take the first step.”
*****
“Do you think they’ll listen?” I ask.
Walking back through the village with Erma, I make small conversation to dull the sense of a million eyes on my back. Every elf is aware of our meeting by now, and their whispers are difficult to dismiss. We pass a group of elves huddled around a fire. They tend to a pot situated over roaring flames, and the liquid inside bubbles over the edges. The aroma coming from the contents makes my stomach rumble. I don’t remember the last time I had nourishment, and it’ll surely make me weak if I don’t eat soon.
“If they have a lick of sense in them,” she mumbles. Her strut is cocky, both feet stomping with barely contained displeasure. She’s upset about how that went though she received everything she wished. The elves have developed an abundance of disobedience toward their creator, and I believe this meeting has brought that fact to light. She’s been absent, and it shows.
Jaemes pops his head between our shoulders and wraps his arms across them. “No need to fear. The fun is here.”
I grind my teeth.
When Erma returned their voices, they were fuming. They don’t relish the idea of choices being taken from them. I waited in the corner while they discussed the fate of their tribes and weighed it with the fate of the realms. Their discontent for the angels was palpable, but they saw the bigger picture. The Council of Four came to one conclusion: Jaemes and I are to be a trial run between the angels and the elves. He will be my shadow, following me where ever I go, assisting me in anything I need, precisely as I will reluctantly do for him.
Jaemes slides his arms from our shoulders and drops them back to his sides. He sidesteps to the right, choosing to walk beside Erma. His posture is straight and confident, a strut in each stride. It’s a contradiction to his witty personality but telling about his formidable nature. His bow and quiver are strapped to his back, and there’s a slight twist of his lips. I don’t believe he’s ever left the forest, and he’s the first elf to attempt to leave this realm. My hardened face softens a bit. Let’s hope he can handle the real world.
We pass each hut, each elf, and to my surprise, they look to Jaemes in horror instead of me. However, the sway of his arms, the hard edge of his eye, remain unwavering.
“Can we use the portal this time?” I ask, glancing at Erma from the corner of my eye. There is no point in going through this village if it feels like a walk of shame. I’ve had my share of shame for a lifetime.
“Yes,” Erma responds, breathing out a large breath. Despite the glares around us, her posture relaxes. I do not believe she thought the meeting would come to anything. Meetings with the Elves in the past have proven to be fruitless.
I arch forward, catching Jaemes’ attention. “Do you know anything about the Earth Realm?”
He peeks at me and lifts a brow, contorting the skin under the tattoos surrounding his eyes. He nods his farewells to those who glare, cocky but poised. “Very little. But even if I did, I have no doubt you’ll force your knowledge upon me anyhow.”
Closing my eyes briefly, I inhale a calming breath. This is going to be a challenging experiment.
“He’s being sarcastic, Tember.” Erma rolls her eyes. “They have more extensive lessons on the human race than you did. Many of their positions – the way they live their lives – are similar to the human race.”
“I think I’d enjoy drinking that dark bean beverage,” he contemplates, pursing his lips while ignoring Erma’s comment.
Erma bites her bottom lip. “Coffee,” she supplies.
Scowling, I glance back at Jaemes. “Why didn’t you just say yes?”
“Then where would I get my entertainment?”
Erma conjures her portal, calling upon it by a simple thought. Bright yellow rays form like glimmers of the sun prodding through lavender rain clouds, an entrance to our destination.
I sigh, my brown curls whipping in the wind and catching in the corners of my mouth. I can do this.
*****
“Oh, look at this décor. It’s lovely. It’s ancient. You haven’t changed a thing,” Jaemes comments as we step through a portal. He spins full circle, observing the furniture delicately placed throughout her room before plopping himself on one of the maroon, handstitched couches. He points at the fireplace to his left. “The mantel is still broken.”
Erma runs her top teeth over her bottom lip, releasing it with a pop. “So, you’ve told me once before. Possibly twice. Maybe more. It’s hard to keep track.”
A large canopy bed, detailed with swirling designs carved in cherry wood and hand-painted, gold flowers, is the focal point of her bedroom. A ruby red comforter is laid across, and an assortment of gold pillows are at the head of the bed.
A fireplace, as tall as I am, is nestled into the wall, hot flames licking the bright red, charred brick inside. Two couches are placed in front of it, facing each other. The trim of the couch is wood, matching the canopy bed, and the button accented fabric is a light cream, emphasizing the gold accents scattered throughout her bedroom.
Above, no ceiling holds us in. Not on the angels’ ground. Instead, a black sky expands from corner to corner, as far as we can see. Many stars shine and sparkle the most brilliant shades of yellow, blue, and white. They look to be moving and mingling.
It’s a room I’ve been in many times, but I wasn’t privy that Jaemes had. Elves do not visit the Angels’ Ground, or so I had thought. Perhaps he visited many times in the past. Erma did convey they had a great friendship once before. It’s probable they met in secret, enjoying their friendship behind closed doors and cruel, prejudice eyes.
“Jaemes,” Erma begins. His hand caresses the gold flower along the arm of the couch, but his head tilts in her direction. He waits for her to speak.
“Do you mind waiting here for a moment? I have a few things to discuss with Tember before I send you two to the Earth Realm.”
He inclines his head, distracted with outlining the carved wood. “I make no guarantees about resisting the urge to rifle through your possessions.”
Erma rolls her eyes. “You wouldn’t be you if you practiced restraint.”
She swings out her arm and gestures for me to enter her office. My shoes pad along the marble, and I turn as the doors softly click shut behind her.
“Is it safe?” I nod to the door. “To have him in there unsupervised?”
She points a finger at me, her black orbs boring into mine, and she curls her top lip in disgust. “Stop. Jaemes and I were close once upon a time. He’s one of the good ones, Tember. You would do well to hold your own judgments.”
I rake a hand through my hair and stretch out my neck. “So much hostility. Will you always hate me?”
Sighing, she shuffles to the front of her large, wooden desk and places her rump against it. Her shoulders slump as she grips the edge of the desk. “No.”
“Oh?” I incline my head, considering my next move carefully. Crossing my arms, I glide forward, stopping a foot away from her. Close enough to smell her inviting scent; sweet chocolate.
She sighs, grasping my hand from around my middle and lifting it to her face. Placing her thumb over my heart inside my wrist, she rubs it back and forth, feeling the beat while conflicting emotions rapidly cross her face. I can’t determine what they are.
“Erma?” I call, bending my knees to capture her downcast eyes. “What is it?”
She licks her bottom lip, thinking of the best way to explain herself. “I created the angels to be merciful, passionate, and considerate, yet they try so hard not to be.” She lifts her head, black eyes meeting mine. “There’s a reason I gave you wings, Tember. I wanted the Angels’ reach to be farther than my first creations.” She holds up my wrist. “Your heart lies here. It’s to be a constant reminder of what sins your hands could do. You wear your heart on your sleeve, yet you forget its purpose.”