The Opal Blade (The Ashen Touch Trilogy Book 1)

by Kristy Nicolle

  “When are you making an honest woman of our Luce? We need this information you know Thane; it’s not easy to find something formal to wear that we all agree on,” Moira says, and Layla speaks up, crossing her ankles as Thane moves to pour them all tea out of a black china teapot with copper accents.

  “It’s not fair; you two have always had the worst aesthetic taste, and I’m the one who loses my sight. It’s typical,” she complains, causing Thane to roll her eyes. We’ve discussed marriage, of course, but neither of us have felt it necessary to make that kind of declaration, especially when the thought that neither one of our families would be there is painful to stomach, as well as the fact that we’d not be permitted to marry in the Othrysian Orchard. It’s sad, the fact that I’ve always known that’s where I’d like to tie the knot but that it will never happen.

  I blink once, then twice, as Thane looks to me, still standing in the doorway. The vial is clutched tight in my hand, and I realise I am getting off topic. Time is valuable to us, and I’m wasting it thinking about a stupid wedding.

  The Fates really have a way of making all my insecurities rise to the surface. I muse internally as Thane tilts the teapot a third and final time, delivering Hibiscus tea into the black and copper china cups that The Fates had given me as a gift upon my arrival here. They’d been for reading tea leaves, but I’ve never used them for anything except entertaining.

  She carries the copper tray across the room, setting it down on a black crystal table beside the couch and handing each of the women a tea cup. I watch them sip a moment before turning to Thane.

  “Can I get you anything?” she asks me, her face concerned. I shake my head, blonde locks bristling against my ears with their silky soft touch.

  “No. But there is something you can do for me.” I hold up the vial, and she frowns.

  “But… I thought you’d given that to Xion already?” She looks confused, and I sigh.

  “I gave him one vial. This is the backup. He won’t make it to the Fallen Kingdom or, at least, not in time to do any good. You’ll be able to make it to Sephy much quicker, and you’ll be able to drop it in from above. I don’t know where they’re keeping her though…” I look to The Fates, wondering if they might have anything to add, but unfortunately for Sephy, the Demon Lords, specifically Abraxis and Barbas, make seeing anything to do with them unreliable at best and lethal at worst. They remain silent as they sip on their floral tea, as ever, the calm within the storm.

  “You don’t think he’ll make it?” She cocks an eyebrow at me.

  “When has running off half-cocked into The Ashen Waste ever worked for anyone? I mean I know he’s half demon, but he’s also half human. His emotions are clouding his judgement; he’s bound to be reckless,” I rationalise, and Thane continues to look at me quizzically.

  “He does have feelings for the Sinclair girl. I knew it. And… you just let him go anyway?” She sounds incredulous.

  “Were you going to stop him? Besides, he’s better off out of the way. I’d rather have him off messing up demons than screwing with the political implications of this kidnapping, which are no doubt about to implode around our ears,” I sigh out, and Thane’s lips twist into a grimace; she knows I’m right.

  “I’ll go right away.” She holds out a palm, and I take a piece of dark string from my pocket, wrapping it around the vial, and then bend to wrap the vial around her ankle.

  “Be safe. I love you,” I confess, kissing her on the cheek as I rise. The Fates stir behind us as she stalks back into our bedroom, stripping as she goes before sliding shut the partition and shielding her transformation from the rest of us. I ignore the cries of my lover, the snap of her bones and the unmistakable prickling of feathers bursting through skin. The Fates continue to drink tea, looking up to me as Layla says, “So… there’s not going to be a wedding?”

  “No, Layla. No wedding, but there may very well be a blood bath if I don’t find Haedes and come up with a plan,” I curse. Anya shakes her head, her eyes saddened.

  “Well, we’ll be here should you need anything, dear,” Layla replies, and I nod.

  “I’ll lock you in,” I promise them, turning on my heel once more to leave. I’d like to rest for a moment, sit and drink tea with them, but once again, I’m in the middle of events of which the outcome affects more than anyone can digest.

  Shutting the door behind me as I step out into the hall, I lock in The Fates, hoping that if anything should happen, Beelz and Cerb will be enough to protect them.

  Wishing for Thane’s safe return, like a wife waiting for the return of her soldier from yet another unholy war, I spin on my heel and begin my quick descent down the spiral staircase in search of Haedes.

  I can only hope I find him in an agreeable state. Though, for Sephy’s sake, I’m also sort of hoping I don’t.

  The sound of a saxophone’s hollow call travels throughout the hallways of the Exilia Multum, bouncing from the walls and floors and surrounding me in a hurricane of spontaneous jazz. Haedes must be upbeat, because I haven’t heard him play something like this in a long time. I listen carefully, smiling; he’s playing Isn’t she lovely, by Stevie Wonder. I don’t halt in my tread, giving my steps a small but jaunty rhythm as I enjoy the melody of the song, sad that I’ll soon be completely ruining the mood.

  I slam both palms into the double doors of the grand hall and find Haedes hopping on one leg across the room in the middle of a saxophone solo and with eyes glistening. If I was the kind of person to make assumptions, I’d say he was playing in honour of his relationship with Sephy, but then again with him I never can tell.

  He takes his mouth from the Saxophone, licking his bottom lip and cocking his head at the intrusion as he waves a hand, silencing the soulful accompaniment that’s hovering overhead.

  “Luce? What is it?” he asks, not as grumpy as he would usually be about me interrupting him mid-tune.

  “Sephy. She’s been kidnapped,” I announce, not pausing to try and break the news softly. He drops the Saxophone to the floor, letting it clatter and not even trying to save it. The tips of his hair, which today is spiked straight up in a fauxhawk, turn scarlet.

  “I’m going.” He turns, but before he can convect, I grab onto his elbow.

  “No! You can’t just go in there! That’s what they want you to do!” I hiss, and his entire head finishes the move from cobalt to fire-engine red in a matter of seconds.

  “Luce! I’m fucking going! Let go of me!” he spits, feral in his desperation.

  Sephy got to him faster than I thought.

  “No! You’re not! Or… Or…” I begin to threaten him, but I don’t know what to threaten him with. The man clearly has one thing he cares about, and it’s already under threat.

  Shit.

  “Look, at least take the Furies with you!” I plead as he moves to pull away from me. He stills in the middle of motion, the deep navy cotton of his suit crumpling as my grip comes loose from his arm.

  “Good idea,” he breathes. I sigh out too; at least, he still has some sense of mortality about him.

  “Alright. Let’s summon them.” I swallow hard, trying to stay calm, scared that he’ll convect out of here any moment and all will be lost. We have more to lose if he’s murdered at the hands of the Demon Lords, so much more than is worth thinking about.

  I follow him, the only sounds our steps and the audible drag of my silk skirt against the floor. I push my pale hair behind one ear, biting down on my bottom lip and wishing Thane was here. She’d comfort me, know what to say to make Haedes heel.

  “Do we know how she was kidnapped?” he asks me as we make our way over to the golden door of his vault. He lets his palm heat against the magically activated locking mechanism, and after several audible clicks, the door swings open. I clear my throat to explain.

  “She was taken from within The Icon. Something was slipped into the food or drink at the dinner. Anubis, Osiris and Xion were all rendered unconscious also. When they woke, she
was gone,” I explain as Haedes leads me into the vault.

  “That makes no sense. You’re telling me that they got in and out of the pyramid and no-one noticed? Nobody?” he asks me, and I shrug.

  “I don’t know… maybe the Abraxians…” I suggest but he rounds on me.

  “Yes, but even then, how the hell would they be able to haul out a five-foot eight red head without anyone noticing?” he continues to interrogate me, and I shrug yet again.

  “I don’t know. It’s terrifying. That’s all I do know,” I admit, and he sighs.

  “Why hasn’t she convected out of there?” he asks, cocking his head.

  “I don’t know that either. Why? You think she chose to go with them?” I ask him, and he shrugs.

  “I don’t know, if I was her, I might be curious. I’m not exactly the most hospitable host…or father. I don’t even remember what happened that night we went out.” He visibly shudders, and I smirk.

  “I think that might be for the best.” I give him an amused smile. “Anyway, we can stand here guessing all day, or we can actually summon The Furies and go and find out.” I remind him of the plan, and he nods, moving across the floor in suave motion and over to the shelves housing urns where dangerous or volatile souls are housed for safe keeping.

  I look upon the urns, one in ruby, one in sapphire and the final one in amber upon the top shelf.

  They stand, the promise of power noticeable from here as the air around me becomes statically charged. Haedes removes each one in turn, carefully placing them upon the floor. Deemed as too dangerous for The Higher Plains, especially after the brutal ways in which each of The Furies had lost their mortal lives under the crushing weight of patriarchy back when they had lived, they were banished here long ago.

  Haedes steps back, looking at the urns and narrowing his eyes.

  “Right, so… Erin, Ericka, Erlea?” he asks me, pointing to the ruby urn, then the amber, and finally, the sapphire.

  “Yes, I think that’s right,” I agree, looking at him quizzically.

  “They hate it when I mix them up, something about me not seeing them as objects… I dunno, some feminist spiel.” Haedes flutters his fingers in the air.

  “You know, for someone who is a great lover of women, you surely must support the idea of their equal rights…” I whisper, and he shrugs.

  “Oh sure, equal rights are great; being beheaded by a pissed off Fury… not so much. They’re easily offended. Hence the title,” he elaborates, and I nod. I haven’t had many dealings with The Furies; none of us have. They’re only brought out when absolutely necessary, and that hasn’t been in eons.

  “Do you want to do the honours?” he requests, gesturing to the urns. I roll my eyes.

  “Don’t tell me you’re scared?” I scoff at him.

  “Hey, if you’d seen what these women can do with a set of testicles and an iron vice, you’d be terrified too.” I cock an eyebrow at him. Does he even hear himself speak? “Or… maybe not. Look, just open the damn jars,” he exclaims, tapping his foot impatiently. I give him a mock salute and kneel down, slowly taking the crystal lid from each urn in turn. Stepping back, we watch as dust rises from each one in serpentine succession, curling and fading in different coloured streams. They intertwine, gold, red and blue, twisting and turning like a vice, before separating out and billowing forward. Once they have moved free of their crystal containers, each different colour stream of dust moves forward in the air and into the form of a woman.

  They solidify, inhaling sharply in a cacophony of expanding lungs trapped within narrow ribcages. Standing before us, they bow their heads to me before turning to Haedes and staring at him without blinking or greeting. He straightens under the scorch of their feminine gazes, surprising me, considering he was acting like a complete coward not five seconds ago.

  “Erin…” he holds out a hand to the first Fury, a woman with dark skin, lush full lips and wild curly black hair. Her body is voluptuous, clad in brown leather, which folds around her, making her look primal and ready for bloodshed. Her eyes are round and dark, made only more apparent by a slash of red war paint that’s been smeared over the bridge of her nose and around her eyes like a mask. She takes Haedes’ hand, shaking once, then twice, and I watch as her free hand brushes the handle of one of many vicious looking knives that are stashed in the belt of her short skirt.

  “Erika,” he greets the second Fury in line. She has glossy black hair that falls in two long braids down past each of her shoulder blades. Her skin is tanned and her features Native American in origin. Tangerine war paint is slashed between her thick eyebrows and her body is coated in a similar leather wrap with a skirt, but this has thick and noticeably dark stitching around the hems. It is more makeshift than Erin’s attire, but beautiful nonetheless. A sword hangs down by her side, short and broad, perfect for her height. She’s slender, but her arms give away dense muscle as she grasps Haedes’ hand.

  “And Erlea.” Haedes holds out his hand one last time to a woman with brown eyes and pale skin. Her hair is dark and her features fiercely Asian. She’s got an angry look about her and refuses to take Haedes’ hand as the other two women smirk. Her body is wrapped in brown leather, the same as her comrades, and her body spattered all over with sapphire blue paint. Her stance is broad, her posture stiff, and Haedes merely brings his hand back, not one to be left hanging, brushing it through his spikey hair and spinning around to face me as he rolls his eyes.

  “Right, well, the reason you’re here,” he begins, but suddenly his voice is no longer the loudest thing in the room. Another voice, belonging to Osiris is shouting over him.

  “Haedes!” he barks.

  At this derogatory tone, the three women leap into action, moving in front of both Haedes and me before shoving us backward. We both narrowly miss one of the shelves stacked high with delicate hourglasses, and I frown, irritated. Maybe Haedes wasn’t so stupid to be afraid of these maniacs after all.

  “Woah, woah, woah!” I call out, putting my hands up as Osiris walks into the vault, his hands coming out immediately as Erlea moves forward to strike him with a Katana she’s pulled from seemingly nowhere.

  “Do you know who I am?” Osiris squeaks indignantly as Haedes convects between The Fury and the Titan made flesh, an unimpressed look plastered on his face.

  “Easy there, Tiger,” he purrs, grabbing the sword from Erlea and cutting his hand in the process. He winces, looking increasingly annoyed with each passing second.

  “Who… who this?” Erlea asks, her English broken.

  “This is Osiris. Son of Anubis. Member of The Nexus Council. Aka. Your Boss. No slicey. No dicey. Got it?” He lets go of the sword, and she scowls at him, turning on her heel and returning to her two partners, who have relaxed in posture, putting away their weapons.

  “Can we wait for some kind of actual threat before attacking just anybody? It’s so hard to find good help these days, and the last thing I need is you hacking up my staff. Capiche?” he asks them all this time, and they nod, collectively sour faced and lacking in reply.

  “Right. What is it Osiris?” Haedes asks, looking to me and rolling his eyes yet again.

  “The Nexus Council has assembled. We need to speak with you; it is about your daughter,” Osiris decrees. Haedes doesn’t argue, which surprises me. He simply leads the party out of the vault and out into the hall where Muerta, Yama and Anubis wait, eyebrows rising on each of their faces in turn as they catch sight of The Furies.

  “Right, let’s get this over with. Sephy’s been kidnapped. We’re going to stage a rescue,” Haedes announces, gesturing to himself and The Furies.

  “Excuse me? Are you utterly mad, Haedes! You can’t just go galivanting off to The Fallen Kingdom! You’ll be murdered… and then, what? Mortaria will lose its Resurrection AND Eternal flames… you know, the flames you keep up and running? Without them, we have no defence against the demons at all, and no way to resurrect sinners. You can’t just leave!” Yama is furious, h
is blue skin turning a light purple as his blood comes closer to the surface. His glistening gold cornrows display that his skull is masked in a light sweat as his body stiffens within his gold and emerald robes.

  “She’s my daughter. What the hell am I supposed to do?” Haedes exclaims, the tips of his hair turning scarlet again.

  “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe not care, like you were not caring when you announced her location with a giant flashing neon sign?” Muerta barks. I’m surprised; usually she’s one of the more sympathetic members of the group.

  “Why are you being like this?” Haedes asks them, sounding like a teenager as his shoulders rise in two jagged hostile peaks.

  “Because we got screwed enough being stuck down here with you to rule because you were too proud to accept our help all those years ago Haedes. We won’t be screwed again so you can go off and get yourself killed. We’ll be overtaken by the demon armies in days, maybe weeks if we’re lucky, and then what? We die? The scales tip, and the walls of this dimension and every other bleed into nothingness? No, thank you,” Muerta continues, crossing her arms over her chest which is covered in a black and white corset that looks like a ribcage. She brings a thin hand to her face, brushing her long raven hair back behind her ear where a dying poppy is placed, withering.

  “So, what do you expect me to do? Negotiate with them? They’re demons!” He implores them to see his side.

  At these words, a blinding light explodes throughout the room. The Nexus members leap back from its source and The Furies leap forward as I stumble back, lifting my skirt with one hand and shielding my eyes with the other.

  Where before there was nothing but thin air, a woman now stands, a wooden box clutched in her hand and two enormous Banshee at her side. She fiddles with the box, and the light which had flooded the space is captured within it, disappearing and leaving her for me to inspect. The Banshee cling close to the sides of her wide skirt, baring their teeth. She’s wearing a black leather ballgown with a high pointed collar. Her eyes are lilac, and I swear I’ve seen her before.