“I want to go home!”
“I am taking you home!”
Her name was Alana Beren. She was forty-four winters old when she was killed in a landslide near her home at the base of the northern mountains. Her spirit had wandered, trapped in the world of the living, until she found another body to inhabit. But a spirit couldn’t just bring a body to life. When they forced their way into empty bodies, those bodies became deadmen. Mindless monsters interested only in killing every living thing in sight. She had spent a good while terrorizing her old neighborhood until I found her and fished her out.
“I don’t want to go with you. Take me back.”
“So you can steal more bodies and kill more of your neighbors? Not a chance.”
“I don’t want to be dead.”
“I don’t have any control over that.”
“Sure you do. Use your magic fork and stick me back in my body.”
My “magic fork” was the pitchfork I had used as my weapon of choice in life. When I Ascended to my role as a reaper, the plain pitchfork changed as well. It was now crafted of a solid but light-weight black metal, carved with runes similar to those found on the Gates. Inset into the metal were little golden gems that glowed when I came in contact with a corrupted spirit. I could use the pitchfork to force spirits out of bodies they had hijacked. I could also use it to defend myself against the corrupt. The pitchfork was one of the only things they were afraid of.
“I can’t do that. Besides, your body has been crushed.”
“Then give me another body.” Alana reached for my pitchfork. It disappeared into the shadow pocket I stored it in before she could get her grimy hands on it.
“It doesn’t work that way,” I said. “You’re dead, Alana. You can’t go back. It isn’t safe for you to linger there or here. We have to get to the Gates.”
Alana harumphed in disdain. “You should have tried saving me when I was still alive. Maybe then I wouldn’t have been crushed!”
I groaned. We had had this same conversation about twelve times already. “Even if I had known of your death before it happened, my arrival only would have killed you faster. I couldn’t have saved you. I don’t have that kind of power. I’m not a seraph; I’m a reaper. My job is to get you from the land of the living to the Gates of Heaven. You’re dead. Your life is over. The end.”
“You are very rude,” she said. “Isn’t there some other reaper who could come for me?”
In the land of the living, it was a popular misconception that reapers ate human souls. It was spirits like Alana Beren that made me wish this were true.
“No,” I said. “There’s no one else.”
The world had once been filled with reapers and seraphim. The seraphim protected the living. The reapers protected the dead. The world was in balance. Until a seraph named Alaudrin got a little too big for his britches and decided that humanity should serve him instead of him serving them. He killed the rest of the seraphim and tricked a powerful warrior into hunting and annihilating the reapers. The world had been thrown into chaos. With nowhere to go, spirits had remained in the world of the living for too long. They had become corrupted.
I had died defeating Alaudrin. I was the first and only of a new generation of reapers. I was completely alone.
Not only was I the only reaper, I was the first reaper in over eight hundred winters, which meant I had nearly a millennium worth of spirits to guide to the Gates, all by myself. And of all those spirits desperate for my help, I was stuck wasting my time with the stubborn and ungrateful Alana Beren.
Our conversation was cut short when a bolt of green lightning flashed across the sky, narrowly missing one of my wings. It was too late. The storm had come.
“Get down!” I dragged Alana toward the ground as thunder rumbled around us, vibrating through me like a bad omen. Nowhere was really safe during a storm, but the sky was the worst of all. We had to find cover.
I landed hard on the ground with a grunt, my feet splashing into the ankle-deep water that reflected the intense orange sky. Alana squawked in indignation as she hit the ground beside me. My large black-feathered wings flapped furiously as I struggled to maintain my balance. I was still learning how to land gracefully. Alana sat up, spluttering and wiping water out of her face.
“This way.” I dragged Alana with me under the low-hanging branches of a nearby tree. Its twisted trunk was a deep blue, its leaves a prism of gem-colored leaves. The colors were all wrong on the Landing. The sky was orange with purple clouds, which were just beginning to shower the marshy ground with red rain drops. It looked like the sky was bleeding. The pure saturation of color sometimes made my head hurt if I lingered too long. Colors this vivid were rare in the land of the living.
I called this place the Landing. It was the in-between world bordering the world of the living and the land beyond the Gates of Heaven. The Landing as far as any spirit could go without the help of a Spirit Guide. It was crowded with spirits in all forms of corruption and decay. These were spirits who had waited hundreds of winters to move on. But without a reaper to guide them, they were stuck; slowly consumed by their own emotions.
I was supposed to be their savior, but I didn’t know how to help them.
All I could do was assist the uncorrupted spirits, guiding them one-by-one to the Gates, where they would pass into the care of those that waited beyond. As for the corrupted spirits, I simply had to stay out of their way. I wasn’t exactly alive, but I wasn’t completely dead either. Half-way between living and dead, I was an obvious target to the haunts and ghouls that wandered the Landing, jealous of the living.
“This place is disgusting!” Alana complained, shaking water out of her skirt.
“Be quiet!” I hissed.
I usually didn’t spend much time in the Landing, where my life - what was left of it - was in the greatest danger, but I had no choice now. As long as this storm raged, we were trapped here. I couldn’t shadow-step in the Landing like I could in the world of the living.
A shadow passed over us, ominous enough that even Alana noticed. She stopped complaining and peeked between the trees.
“What is that?” she gasped.
“It’s a behemoth,” I said. “Stay out of its way. They’re dangerous.”
These enormous monsters were made up of hundreds - maybe thousands - of corrupted souls. They floated like giant fish through the sky. When it rained, behemoths grew bigger … and more aggressive.
“How could something be dangerous if I’m already dead?”
I folded my wings against my back. “There are worse things than death,” I said.
A subtle movement in the shadows caught my attention. A flash of red eyes gave away the appearance of another predator. I summoned my pitchfork as the haunt leapt at me, slicing my arm with its impossibly sharp claws. I hissed in pain and jabbed my pitchfork at my shadowy attacker. The haunt skirted out of the way.
Alana screamed. But she had no reason to fear a haunt. The haunt was after me. I had a body - sort of. The body was what it wanted.
I braced myself for another attack, but the haunt was distracted by something in the distance. Holding my pitchfork between us, I followed the direction of its red-eyed gaze.
A woman stood in the rain. Her pale skin and white nightgown contrasted the vivid colors all around her. She appeared to be glowing. She stood ankle-deep in the water, her reflection blurred by the droplets of rain that she held her hands out to catch. I rarely saw uncorrupted spirits on the Landing unless they were with me. And this particular spirit, with her long dark hair and tall thin frame … was someone I recognized.
“Aerona?” I asked. She was too far off to hear, but speaking it aloud made me even more certain that I knew her. This could be no other than the spirit of Aerona, my birth mother.
Haunts never spoke, but sometimes I caught snatches of their thoughts. This haunt was definitely projecting a thought.
A body.
A body? This woman was alive? Tha
t made no sense. A living person would never survive on the Landing. And Aerona was most certainly dead. I had witnessed her death in her memories. I had nearly died at that family reunion as her possessed body tried to claw me open.
It is mine.
The haunt abandoned me for this new prey.
It moved almost faster than I could track. In the living world, haunts could only move through shadows. But here on the Landing, everything was made of shadows and haunts wandered freely.
“Look out!” I yelled.
The woman flinched. She turned toward the sound of my voice. Her startled gaze met mine. Her eyes were blue. Just like my mother’s. Just like mine. It was only moments, but the shared look seemed to last forever. Then she was gone and the haunt attacked nothing. Frustrated, it drifted away.
I stared at where the woman had been standing. I didn’t pretend to know everything. In fact, I knew very little about the Landing and its dangerous inhabitants. But I had never seen anything like the woman.
“I think you’re bleeding,” Alana said.
Leaning against the trunk, I examined the torn sleeve of my robe. My skin was sliced just deep enough for silvery blood to leak out. I wasn’t used to the new color of my blood. Then again, I did my best to avoid bleeding, so I rarely saw it. This was the worst I had been injured since becoming a reaper.
“Is that your blood? It’s so pretty.”
“Thanks,” I muttered. I ripped some cloth from one of the billowing black sleeves of my robe and wrapped the strip of fabric around my arm.
I thought Alana had been subdued by the haunt’s attack.
I was wrong.
“Is this what heaven is going to be like?” she asked, wrinkling her nose. “I hate it here. What a miserable, ugly place. You should have left me behind. I would have been happier there. Oh, why did I have to die? I so preferred to be alive.”
You would and me both, I thought, finishing my work on my makeshift bandage. It would have to do for now.
The longer we stayed here, the more likely Alana would start corrupting. If I thought she was insufferable now, she would only get worse as the Landing grated on her nerves and drove her to madness. But I couldn’t risk further injury by trying to fly in the middle of a storm. I couldn’t afford to die (all the way). I was the only reaper. The salvation of all of these spirits rested on my strapping shoulders. If I perished, no one would ever make it through the Gates of Heaven again.
None of my friends in the living world could join me here on the Landing. I was completely alone, surrounded by corrupted souls who didn’t understand that I was here to help them. To these monsters, I was the enemy.
I was in more danger dead than I had ever been alive.
Perilous adventures await Izzy in this next gripping installment of the Fatal Series. Preorder Fatal Court today!
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THANK YOU!
I want to thank you for reading Fatal Heir. As my first completed and published novel, this book will always hold a special place in my heart. I will never forget the thrill of holding my first copy of Fatal Heir in my hands, realizing that my lifelong dream of being an author had finally come true. I hope Izzy’s story brings you the same excitement that it does for me.
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About the Author
Leslie Colleen ("L.C") Ireland (formerly L.C. Hamilton) works as an elementary school Theatre Arts Specialist in Ogden, Utah, where she lives with her husband and her cat, Mystique. She enjoyed reading, playing video games, singing, and drawing.
More of L.C.’s work can be found at www.ghostlight.ink.
L.C. can be reached at [email protected].
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AUTHOR’S SKETCHBOOK
Izayik “Izzy” Jeffrey Delaren
Meleya “Mel” Holstead
Hurathschein-ki, also known as “Rath” and “Roth-Scheen”
Zarra Nalini Basak
Banish
Interview with the Author
Q: What was your motivation for writing Fatal Heir?
A: There are two answers to this question. The first is that I was tired of saying “I want to write a book someday.” One of my favorite college professors said something once that really struck a chord with me. He said, “Great writers write.” I needed to stop talking about writing and start actually writing. The second answer is more specific to Fatal Heir. Fatal Heir was once a very, very different story. In fact, it is almost completely unrecognizable from the original story I dreamed up when I was 8 years old. However, an exploration of life and death was still at its core. I wanted to explore the question “What would the world be like if death meant nothing?” I wanted to create an origin story for the Grim Reaper and make this mythical figure a much more human, more relatable hero.
Q: Do you ever take advice or suggestions from readers?
A: Absolutely! My beta readers were an essential part of the creative process for Fatal Heir. I listen closely to the opinions and ideas of my readers. I write as much for my readers as I do for myself.
Q: What was the hardest part of writing this book?
A: Honestly, writing the book was the hardest part of writing the book. It took so much time and work and dedication. It took a lot of humility to cut out whole chapters I had spent hours slaving over. Writing a book is hard work. You will curse and you will cry. But it is so, so worth it.
Q: What advice do you have for other aspiring writers?
A: Write. Just do it. Keep a journal. Write that short story. Write those poems. Keep notes. Just write! Editing and revising and publication cannot even begin to begin until you write that horrible first draft. The first draft is going to be terrible and that’s okay. You can’t fix something that doesn’t exist. So write. Write all the time. Even when you hate it. Especially when you hate it.
Q: How do you write your books? Tell us about your writing process.
A: I don’t write my scenes in order. I start with the big, important scenes and then go back and add the events that string them together. Then I revise over and over and over again. I am a strong believer in taking breaks from your own writing. Put it aside, let it sit for a month while you work on other projects, and then read it from the beginning. You’ll notice so many more flaws when you give yourself some distance. And don’t be afraid of change! Fatal Heir is vastly different from my original vision, and that’s okay. Fatal Heir went through four major revisions before I thought it was ready to be published. I use a writing software called Scrivener to help me organize my notes and my writing. I highly recommend Scrivener!
Q: What kind of changes did you make when you were revising and editing your novel?
A: There were quite a few! I ended up cutting out two major characters. One of these cuts happened the week before publication! I had to revise the entire book to make sure this character didn’t randomly show up in any scenes. This character was so major that she originally appeared on the back cover! After realizing that I didn’t need her after all, I had to commission a new back cover as well as rewriting two-thirds of the novel in a week. Fortunately, I was working with an absolutely fantastic cover artist. She whipped up the back cover (featuring Banash) in less than four days! Other changes include gender-swapping a character (can you guess which one?), reworking a couple of the fight scenes, adding the dream sequence with Banash, and changing the beast in the Old Capital from a dragon to the horror it is now.
Q:
Who is your favorite character in Fatal Heir?
A: Definitely Izzy. He was so fun to write! His charming and quirky personality is really what keeps this very dark story from being a total sob-fest downer. I am super excited to revisit him in the sequel.
Q: Did you say sequel?
A: Yes, I did! There are many questions that still need answering and a lot of the world to be explored now that Izzy has some cool new powers and fun new toys. Stay tuned for more information on the sequel!
Q: Did you encounter any surprises when writing this book?
A: Absolutely. Zarra was a big surprise. She sort of wrote herself into the book. I tossed her into one scene simply as a plot device. She took on a life of her own and quickly became one of the most important characters driving the story. I found that I had as much to learn from her as Izzy did.
Q: Why did you decide to self-publish your novel?
A: I could write a whole book on self-publishing your own novel. For the sake of space, I’ll keep my answer short. My reasoning was pretty simple: I wanted to create a book. I wanted to get my hands dirty with every nitty gritty detail. I wanted to present the world with a book that was truly mine. I did everything for this novel. I wrote, revised, and edited it all on my own. I sought out, hired, and paid the cover artist myself (and I made a truly excellent choice!). Then I hired a professional editor to really polish the writing. I started my own business and set up my own website and did hundreds and hundreds of hours of research so that I could provide a quality product. Self-publishing certainly isn’t the only way to get your work on the market, nor would I even suggest it’s the best way, but it worked for me and my goals.
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