Isle of The Immortal

One

I cannot remember a time when my brother has not been ill.

From the moment he’d opened his eyes all of fifteen years ago, an odd luminosity in those pale, amber eyes, it had been evident that Hendron Srijan was not meant for the typically lengthy lifespan of most humans in our village. Though his sickness had initially only appeared in the form of scattered thoughts and clammy, alabaster skin, by the time he’d reached puberty, his lungs had been weakened, his legs nearly immobilized by brittle bones.

As I ascend the staircase, lit only by the flickering spark of the candlestick in my hand and the hope in my heart, I am certain that this is one of the last, if not the last time my eyes will gaze upon his mortal form. I ignore the trembling in my fingers and the gentle caress of my mother’s palm at my back, mustering my spine to straighten as I step into Hendron’s room, nodding soundlessly to the doctors that flank his bedside. They part around me easily, hushed whispers coming to a halt when I drop to his side, a grim smile painted on my face.

While I’d always known our life together wouldn’t be without a premature expiration date, watching him now on a bed of buttery golden silk sheets surrounded by the finest healers in all of the mortal realm, I can’t help but feel that what time we’ve been given is far too little for an otherwise unexplainable ailment. My family has spared no coin to save him, left no single table unturned, and it has been fruitless all the same.

Soon, you will have to say goodbye. My mother gingerly places her palm on my shoulder, squeezing as I hold my baby brother’s limp hand between both of my own. Though he is too tired now to crack open his eyes or to moisten his lips, I wonder if he hears the soft murmurs of the medical professionals, of the confession his own mother has just made to my back.

The time is now, she means. Fifteen years is where his short life comes to an end.

The healers near and far have prescribed every possible medicinal remedy, willow barks and mercury, bloodletting and snail slime; nothing has ever worked to cure Hendron of his disease. And now, with little left to do but accept defeat, the witchdoctors have admitted that he is not likely to last much longer than the harvest season’s blood moon, only a week’s time away. Seven dusks, maybe less.

I do not consider myself to be without hope, but it is almost too easy to come to terms with the reality that has hung above our heads for so long now. Hendron has been by my side for as long as I remember, someone to laugh at my horrid gags and listen to my tall tales, weaved only for the sake of amusing my beloved brother.

I would do anything, I whisper on choked breath, to the gods and monsters above and below that might listen. Anything to save him. I squeeze his feeble hand harder, willing some of my own livelihood to sacrifice itself for his good.

The weight on my shoulder becomes tense and my spine tingles under the sudden gruff pressure of my mother’s hand.

Anything? her voice is but a whisper behind my back, but I pull back my shoulders anyways and nod, a thoughtless gesture that requires little to no thought. For the boy who has never fully run through the markets with an apple in his hand or ridden on horseback with the wind in his hair, I would do anything. Anything, at all.

Of course, I shudder a breath and bend at the waist to plant a kiss on his forehead, wiping the sweat off his golden brow.

Shailin, my mother drops her hand from my back, but the severity of her tone makes me twist at the spine and regard her. She squats before my seat at the bed and leans her forehead against mine. Her usually optimistic mouth is set into an almost frown and her wrinkling forehead ages her, highlighting the gray streaks that have woven into the auburn of her hair. When she speaks again, it is rushed and nearly silent, the gust of her breath making more noise than the sound of her words. Would you really, truly go to any lengths for him?

Her eyes flit back and forth between her two children, a hopeful glint passing through them for a moment before it vanishes, almost as if I’ve only imagined it was there.

My eyes widen a fraction, the insinuation that I might not mean my words delivering a fitting blow to my chest. Yes, truly, I nod my head sternly, oblivious to the way her mouth twitches just slightly when she reaches for my hand and tugs, sneaking a glance at the last few physicians in the room before beckoning me over her shoulder.

Then follow me.

A silver ring lies in my open palm, twinkling against the glow of the lit hearth when I lift it up to my naked eye. The band overlaps itself, two ropes of dim metal tangling till they reach the center and twist over an engorged, shining oval emerald. At first glance, it can pass for any other piece easily retrieved from an established jeweler in Skaramaer, but upon closer inspection, the lightest shade of ember sits deep within the green jewel, dancing as though firelight resides within its gem walls.

Was this from my father? I ask boldly, knowing that though it has been fifteen years since she’d lost him, it still cut her deeply to speak of our father.

No, she shakes her head, honey eyes just like my own, going distant and glassy before hardening a fraction. She leans against the desk at the center of our study, as if needing it to carry the weight of every burden that has arisen since his untimely death.

Then who? I close my fist around it and feel its heat settle into the sensitive flesh of my inner palm. Though it is all but metal and gemstone, its weight sits heavily in my grasp, the temperature too strong for it to be something so easily obtainable. Otherworldly, I decide without having to be told. This ring is of magic.

Her eyes shut against my words, looking to pain her more than whatever is about to leave her lips. When they open again, there is a determinacy there, a finality I had not before noticed. She pushes off from the desk, fisting her hands at her dress skirt and puffing her shoulders, reeking false confidence. "It is not of this world…from someone who is not of this world."

My head snaps back, fingers opening instinctually against the tainted jewelry in my palm. Only, as I go to drop it, it scorches my skin just before cluttering to the ground. I yelp. "What was that?" I gasp, lifting my hand to find that a ring of red is slowly embedding itself into my skin, deeper and deeper into the layers below my epidermis before finally disappearing from sight completely. Though the mark is gone, a throbbing in my hand tells me that there is more to the ring than I’ve been told.

It’s taken to you, my mother flashes a secretive grin before bending over to retrieve the jewel now a few inches from her slippers. When she rises again, the smile is gone and her face is grave. There is too little time to explain the technicalities of the diamond, but this ring was given to me by someone from our old home, before good fortune brought us here to Skaramaer.

I don’t understand, I shake my head, taking a step back towards the door, away from the room and my mother, who all of the sudden appears to be something…else. Nothing of her appearance has been altered, but the hunger in her eyes, the certainty is so unlike her that I almost stumble back. For someone who has spent her whole life raising two children on her own, she has always been unceremoniously soft. While other women of her stature turned their cheeks and held their noses up high, she was one to stop and sniff the flowers, dance along with us in the rain if she thought it would buy her a chance of winning a smile from either of us. The lady of the home before me now suggests an air of authority I have never seen or felt before.

You do, she huffs under her breath, nodding at the palm that continues to throb, pulse pounding firmer and stronger as she closes in on me with the ring between her thumb and forefinger. But that is not of the matter now. This ring is of the Immortal.

My feet plant themselves firmly on the ground at her admission, shock schooling my features.

The Isle of Immortal.

The land of vampires, merfolk, werewolves and fae…a realm so dark, that those who manage to cross through the col of the Ben Nevue mountains bisecting our village have never been seen or heard from again. The root of every mythical tale and nightmare of Skaramaer has always been that of the Immortal realm, where faeries with fingers for eyes steal babes and four-handed vampires swipe brides in the dead of night.

While none of us are any the wiser to whether the stories are true, legends are passed around generation after generation as tales of warning. Leprechauns are deemed the culprit of missing men and women in our town, mysterious deaths in sleep blamed on succubae. Children are threatened to steer clear of the cobblestone streets at night to avoid falling trap to the creatures of the night out for mortal blood, feeding into a delirium that has plagued our town for longer than I’ve been alive. I’ve no question that the creatures are real, as every story roots from some truth, but I’ve always secretly pondered whether such magical beings are all bad.

Mother, what are you speaking of? My hands tremble, itching to snatch the ring from her grasp and slip it onto my thumb with a ferocity I cannot myself comprehend.

She shakes her head against the question, as though she cannot or will not speak on the topic, and when she moves closer still, I do not stop her when she effortlessly glides the ring onto my pointer finger. Almost instantly, it molds itself to my digit, fitting it nice and tight as the throbbing in my palm finally subsides. A sigh of relief pushes through my lips when I can move my fingers freely despite the new weight on my index finger.

This will allow you to cross into their realm undetected and make it to the castle without too much difficulty. She puts her hands to my cheeks and smiles her encouragement, but I still cannot grasp just what she expects me to do with all of a magical ring and a pep in my step.

Just what would you have me do, Mama? I balk and she flinches at the defensiveness of my tone. What is this ring? And what is this talk of the Immortal?

Our family has not always been blessed by such riches, she starts, only to stop on a deep, egregious cough that shakes her entire frame. The shield around my heart cracks at a newfound worry that it may not be only my brother who is with sickness. I asked if you’d move heaven and hell for your brother—this is how you do it, Shailin. The ring will do what it can to protect you, but it is not without risk, not in that place.

She stops, debating whether to continue based on the state of whatever expression currently sits on my face. At the lucidity of it, I throw my head back and release a sharp laugh that startles her. You expect me to believe that I can save Hendron by traveling through the mountains and into the lands of otherworldly creatures? And then, what? What thing might possibly be waiting for me there? I ask, ignoring the searing heat that engulfs my palm as I speak. My heart tumbles in my chest, recognizing that the jewelry now somehow attached to my vessel is unhappy with the words I’ve just uttered.

The gem’s disappointment is mirrored in my mother’s own face. She has never given me a reason prior to this to distrust her. She has selflessly raised my brother and I on her own in lieu of my father’s death, and so, deep within my bones, there is a part of me, maybe the part now connected to the ring, begging me to take heed to her words and follow through with her request. I should fight harder against it, but her face only becomes that more serious as she waits for me to tame my incredulity.

I clear my throat when it becomes apparent she will not speak further if I do not show a semblance of gravity.

What do I need to do? She watches me further a few more moments before her shoulders drop and she sucks in a deep breath. I hold my own.

The Vampire King owed me a life debt, one his heir, King Ezrium, will uphold. Whatever it is Hendron needs to live and breathe like a normal human being, he will have it. She takes my hands between her own and lifts them to her lips, kissing my knuckles. Have I ever given you reason to doubt me, my love? Please, believe this. Believe the feeling thrumming through you right now, she brushes her thumb over the ring, nodding, almost bowing to it. An involuntary shiver coasts through me.

I want to rip my hand from hers and demand that she finds reason, this instant. And yet, and yet, something is begging me to placate her, to do whatever she asks if only to test out her doubtful theory. A bad dream is all this must be. I’ll wake up soon enough.

She may be wrong, senile. But if she is, it has only arisen now, tonight, because before this moment, I could think of no one else with such logic as Alista Srijan. And in a world where I have spent most of my life dreading the day my brother leaves me, this thread of hope feels like the smallest of last lifelines.

When shall I go? The words leave my lips before I truly consider the repercussions of what they give permission to, but once I speak them, a throbbing throughout my left arm and chest that I hadn’t noticed over my own heartbeat begins to subside. The ring, it seems, is momentarily appeased.

Now. We leave tonight.

Two

"Is there a reason why I will need bread in the Immortal realm?" Though I still feel doubtful of all that my mother is entrusting me with, the most absurd of all revelations is her insistence that we stop at the midnight baker for a heaping loaf and cheese to sustain me along my way to King Ezrium’s castle.

She’s traded her modest nightgown for a cloak as red as the first milky drop of blood upon a papercut, donning me in a matching cape the color of a starless night sky just after the sun has set, midnight blue and nearly invisible in the darkened streets of Skaramaer. She graces me now with a humorless smile.

It’ll take you two, maybe three days’ time to reach the castle. There’s no telling how long it’ll be till you find anything edible in the region.

My mind mulls over the details she’s shared with me, specifically tagging on just how knowledgeable she appears to be about a place that’s been riddled with such mystery in our small village.

How do you know how long it’ll take me to reach the King? Have you been there before? I squint against the shadows that seem to hover about her frame but never quite touch her, gripping the handle of the basket between my legs tight.

Of course, she regards me apprehensively. Just as quickly, she turns on her heel and continues down the path that’ll lead us out of the town and into the mountains.

I’m left standing after her in a stupor for far too long when I finally decide to put one foot in front of the other. As I lift a booted foot, I do not make it more than a few steps down the blackened alley before another body barrels into my own.

On a gasp, I reach hastily for the bread as I feel my legs fall out from under me, back careening towards the ground when I’m stopped mid-fall and lifted upright. My chest works, heart pumping in surprise as my palm throbs anew.

Luscious green eyes dress my form from top to bottom, stopping at the askew basket in my arms and filling with mirth all at once. Like myself, the figure must be in all black, because I can make out no more of their body than the rich green orbs of their irises.

Really? I huff, dusting off imaginary dirt from my silken cloak. I could have dropped my bread. I lift my arms, annoyance coating my tongue.

Soft, deep chuckling fills the whole of the alley as I recognize that I must have bumped into a male, one of great stature if the gap in height between his eyes and my own are anything to go by. Though I want to shiver at the gravelly sound, the idea that he might find humor in a woman falling to the ground has me feeling like stomping on his toes as retribution, but the rough tenor of his voice keeps me from acting on the impulse.

Apologies, his eyes lower a few inches before returning to their towering height when it hits me—he’s bowing, mockingly, of course. The bastard.

Just as I move to open my mouth and say as such, my mother’s harsh whisper reaches me. "Shai," she hisses across the walkway, oblivious to what, or whom, is the cause of my holdup.

Coming, I quickly sidestep the man and he moves out of the way easily, his chest brushing my shoulder as he wordlessly shuffles past.

I’m quietly considering the oddity of our interaction as I lift my knees to erase the distance between my mother and I when I hear his voice once more.

Goodbye, Shai, I almost swear it is accompanied by laughter.

We travel by foot in silence for what feels like most of the night, and by the time we have reached the foot of the mountains, our home village nothing but a dot of light at our backs, the moon is high in the sky. No star graces the night, and in its emptiness, it feels foreboding.

Before she can speak, the ring on my finger begins to heat, sitting firmer, heavier on my hand, and I know—we’ve made it.

As if to press the fact, Alista watches the horizon, eyes dancing back and forth across the mountains and the small col that divides them, searching for what, I cannot say. An inkling of a frown crosses her features before she shivers so minimally, I may have missed it had I chosen the exact moment to blink.

When she turns to face me, the smile on her face feels forced. I reveal a fraudulent smile of my own, reminding myself that any fear I hold in my heart will need to be swallowed and digested, kept tucked away in sake of any hopes I have of saving my younger brother. And still—it does nothing to ease the beating of my erratic heart as she dives a hand into her satchel and procures a bejeweled Celtic dagger that she holds out to me, hilt up.

This was your father’s, the words are nothing but a whisper, but they echo sharply between us and the mountains. My gasp carries into the atmosphere just the same, the wind lifting the sound and carrying it up to anything that may be close enough to listen. As if conjured by the thought, a broken howl echoes back throughout the canyons encasing us. Surely it is nothing more than a mountain dog. Surely.

Thank you, the hand without the ring wraps around the cool metal. The hilt pricks at my skin, its body scattered with silver and blue diamonds. My mother soundlessly drops to her knees and lifts my cloak, strapping a scabbard to my thigh and taking the knife from my hand to set it properly.

The wolf cries once more and I swallow back a whimper. Will I be fighting off very many opponents? I joke, hoping to make light of a situation I don’t yet fully understand. When she stretches up, back to her full height, I see that she does not share my taste for teasing.

Your mind will be your strongest weapon amongst the Immortal. Keep your wits about you and you should find little reason to use anything but your words. Reason above all else, Shai, remember that. She takes my hand and moves me forward another foot or two. The ring responds in earnest, thrumming powerfully, as if it is eager to return to its home world of otherness.

How will I know where to go? Is the King expecting me? I feel my hand shaking in hers, gripping tight enough that maybe once I cross through the realm, she’ll have no choice but to follow along. But someone has to stay with Hendron, there’s too much at stake to leave him behind. I have no choice but to take this leap for our family, regardless of any doubt swirling in my gut.

I hate to think that this may be another effort in vain to save Hendron, that my brother may not live to see another day before I return from the Isle. I should have held his hand tighter, told him how much I loved him. Instead, I left without explanation. Simply put, I now have no choice but to return victorious.

Our name is a weapon in itself, Shailin. Give it to no one or thing you meet until you are face-to-face with Ezrium. He is not expecting you, but he will know how to help you once you tell him who sent you. She moves forward and pulls me into her embrace, holding me tight to her chest even though I now stump her by a few inches. Trust the ring and yourself.

One more bold squeeze and then she’s pulling away, a single hand reaching out and spreading in the empty space next to her, feeling out for the gap between this new world and our own. All at once, her fingers still and pull back, burned by an invisible lining in the universe that my ring seems to call to, begging me to take one step and then another.

For your brother, she nods, willing me to dip my chin back. When I don’t, she pulls me close once more and leans to whisper in my ear, hands braced on either of my sides.

Mother? My voice is a soft cry in the endless night engulfing us, and her hands tense at the vulnerability.

I’m sorry, she groans, pushing me off into the dirt before I can question just what for.

And then I am falling, falling, falling, tumbling into the grass that should be just below my feet and so suddenly, is not.

Three

"Oof, my body hits the ground in slow motion, catapulting into dirt and twigs where there should be wisps of grass. Mother?" I pull myself up to my knees and glance behind me, finding nothing but a copse of trees that have long lost their leaves, bare branches bending and twisting like mangled bones above my head. A filthy fog hovers through the air, coating it in thick heat.

"Girl," a whisper just under my nose, a breath on my chest sends me scrambling backwards.

Mom? I swivel my head left to right, in search of the culprit. Had it truly sounded like her, or had I only imagined that she’d followed me through the ley line? Alis— I choke back the rest of the word, remembering what she spoke of weaponizing identities.

I’m right here, my love, the voice comes from behind me, words slippery in my ears, a cross between a slur and a hiss but unmistakably my mother’s.

A tentative glance over my shoulder sends me to my feet, legs shaking beneath me as I steel myself to run. This is not my mother—it is other.

Something wrong? The creature before me moves its mouth in imitation, almost as if it has only ever watched a human speak but has never once tried the act of it themselves. It is vile, wrong, and makes me feel as though I may retch all over the ground at my feet.

You aren’t her, my own voice trembles, slowly backing away from the sagging skin on the thing attempting to disguise as my mother. Its clothing is a tattered replica of the red cloak she’d only just been wearing, and its fingers are skeletal, the skin having slowly fallen to the ground below it as it reaches up to point an accusatory finger in my direction.

Of course, I am. You’ve been gone so long, and now I’m sick. Just like your brother was. It takes a step toward me, the sound of bone crunching underneath it unmistakable. The scent of rotted flesh hits my nose in a reeking waft that has me choking on my tongue when the thing drops to its knees, wrists popping out of place as it crawls. It shuffles through clumps of pig-like skin as it crumbles.

Was? I whisper darkly despite the growing seed of doubt in my mind that I may very well be having a nightmare.

The creature begins to shake under its ripped robe, form heaving up and down on a choking noise until it lifts its head and opens a mouth revealing no teeth. He was dead before you left. It’s too late. Surely you did not think that traveling to the Isle of Immortal could save him? You wouldn’t know where to begin, the sacrifice required. The voice coming out of its mouth changes, becoming too clear, coherent for it not to warp some, revealing a voice much too husky to be Alista’s.

Reason above all else.

Her true voice hits me all at once and I steel my back against the thing as it claws at the end of my cape.

You tell lies, I arch a brow, the ring on my finger flashing a thick, algae green light across the forest in satisfaction. This isn’t real. I feel it at once, the trees blurring in form, the creature beginning to gurgle inhumanely. It is nothing but a ruse.

Not real? An echo of another voice shouts from above, so familiar in nature that I’m certain my own blood freezes in my veins as I recognize it. My own voice dies out into laughter so cruel I almost expect to come face-to-face with my maker when I glance up into the sky. Just as it was before I left the mortal realm, only the moon sits high in the atmosphere, twinkling wickedly without a single star for company.

I shut my eyes, overwhelmed and confused when the sound of a feral snort brings my chin down to my chest. Small, bulbous gluttonous beats crowd around me, bleating animals with red eyes and black, scraggly coats. I can barely contain the scream that threatens to rip out from my throat. As they begin to paw at the ground, preparing to charge with long, yellow fangs bared, I shut my eyes in prayer. Breathing deeply, in and out, willing the scene to disappear.

And like magic, upon opening my eyes, it has. As a hearty sigh leaves my chest, the ghost of a breath on my neck has me going rigid all over again. A moment later, the breath is on the back of my knees.

Stop this, I nearly growl when phantom talons brush over both arms at my sides. "Now."

The air seems to suck itself out of the atmosphere at the aggression of my tone, the forest stilling unnaturally before all at once, a gust of air passes through me so violently it knocks me into a nearby tree.

An ungodly curse passes through my lips as I shut my eyes against the tears pooling at their corners from the mix of shock and uncomfortable dryness. Before I so much as move, I know that a new terrifying image will greet me upon opening my eyes once more. But this one, I am not nearly prepared enough for.

The forest is gone. All that is left is darkness, eternal and never-ending. And eyes, murderous and calculating. Hundreds, thousands of prying eyes before me and behind me, watching without so much as blinking. Hungry.

Let me out of this at once. I tire of these childish games. My words are bold in theory but fragile as they cross my lips.

Invisible mouths open and chortle at my attempt of negotiation with the vile creatures attempting to rob me of my sanity, and I grumble under my breath at the