Page 111 of Rise of a Fallen Man

“You know I do.”

“Then fall with me, Salas.”

I stared at her, unsure what she wanted me to do, but willing to do whatever it took to erase the terror from her face and from her heart.

“Kill the man,” Lady Etah ordered.

The guards rushed us, their crossbows aimed at my head.

“Fall with me!” Ari screamed, shoving me backwards. “Now!”

And I did.

I pushed away from the floor with my feet, letting my body fall backwards against the wall with the giant frame behind the black velvet.

The fabric fell. The frame held a mirror that reflected my face when I glanced at it over my shoulder. Then a ripple distorted it as my elbow hit the surface.

Instead of shattering into pieces, the glass in the mirror turned into a pool of liquid darkness. Ripples of light and shadows enclosed us.

And we fell through it. Ari and I. We fell together.

Ari

HORROR SEIZED ME. THEplay of light and shadows disoriented me. Memories rushed me.

Once again, I was scared. Only my terror wasn’t for me this time. I felt helpless to save the man I loved, and terrified at the thought that I’d be forced to watch him die.

It wasn’t the mother’s arms that held me this time as I crashed through the mirror, but his. Salas held me tight. Somehow, he managed to keep his bearings in the chaos because he turned, hitting the floor first and keeping me on top of him unharmed.

We landed in the darkness. I glanced back at the large mirror on the wall behind me. Mother’s pale face stared back at me, her features distorted in the expression of horror. The guards’ crossbows remained aimed at the mirror.

“Don’t shoot!” Mother yelled. “Don’t break the mirror!”

Scrambling to my feet, I leaped aside, out of the line of view of anyone in the throne room. A swell of darkness flooded the mirror, washing away the view of the throne room.

“What the fuck was that?” a dry, unfamiliar voice croaked nearby.

Loud music with a hard beat boomed from a distance. Multi-colored lights from the floor below pulsed to the music, casting their glow onto the concrete stairs.

A flash of a lighter in the corner illuminated a group of young men sitting on the floor and heating something in a metal spoon held over the flame.

One of them got up from a crouch, whipping under his nose with his sleeve.

“Bitch, where did you come from?” he sniffled.

I tossed a glance around as my eyes had gotten used to the dark. It was the same mirror I’d come through to Rorrim ten years ago. The same stair landing in the orphanage. The white painted doors to the girls’ bedroom were now boarded up, the white glossy paint scratched and chipped. The wooden parkette floor was broken and filthy. But the mirror was still there—probably too plain, too old, and too heavy to move it anywhere else.

I raised both hands, taking a step away from the junkies.

“I want no trouble, guys.” The familiar fear zapped through me, as if it had never left. As if the past ten years had never happened. “I’m leaving.”

“The fuck you are.” Another one got up, his eyes glistening wild in the darkness.

“Not until we have some fun first,” the first one chuckled, shuffling closer.

Two or three more shapes lurked in the shadows, unsteadily swaying on their feet.

“Come on, baby. Get over here, warm my dick—” The last word got stuck in the guy’s throat, choked by his own shirt, as Salas lifted him by the scruff from behind.

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