Destroyed by Onyx (A Dance with Destiny Book 4)

by JK Ensley

  Three mighty Angels descended in fury upon the singing Elven people.

  Screams replaced their music as they looked upon the wrath of God, standing flesh before them.

  “Where is the Angel?”

  The guttural growl echoed around them, shaking the leaves from the trembling trees.

  Jezreel took a shaky step forward. “Are you Daichi?”

  “I am,” he roared. “Where is Naga?”

  “She was only just here. Only seconds ago she kissed me farewell and walked into the forest. Just there.”

  The giant Angels turned in the direction the new Elven Princess was pointing, just as Trelaina stepped from the trees. Munenori grabbed the shocked Elf girl by the throat before she even had a chance to blink.

  “Sons of Heaven, hear me now,” The Elven King shouted above the cacophony of terrified wails. “Who is it you seek? This is not your Angel. You now crush the neck of an Elven maid. What madness do you claim?”

  “I only wish it were madness.” Daichi turned steely eyes toward Alastyn, flames leapt within them. “I trusted you to keep her safe. I stepped aside for the sake of her heart, the heart you swore to hold as treasure. How is it I was on layer three with the Guardian Vareilious, when I felt her light go out?”

  “Her light?” Alastyn’s words sounded so tiny. “She was fine, only just. Less than a few heartbeats have passed since I kissed her farewell. On my honor, she is whole.”

  “She is not whole!” Munenori yelled as he dragged the deceitful Elf down to face her people. “I am the Guardian Angel of layer nine. I knew the very moment her soul quit singing within mine. How is it I smell her delicious scent upon this woman?” He squeezed Trelaina’s neck ever tighter.

  The entire assembly held their breath. Confusion swept over them as a plague.

  Munenori released the girl, letting her fall gasping to the forest floor.

  The third Angel stepped forward, speaking with a voice akin to thunder. “I am Uriel, Father’s defender,” he said. “The very heavens shook when the Death Angel ceased to be.” He jerked Trelaina up by her hair. “Make confession before I end your life, Elf. Make haste, for you have precious few heartbeats left.”

  The Elven woman’s voice was raspy as she choked out the treacherous blow she dealt Jenevier by her own wicked hand. She told them why she had done it—her great jealousy. And she told them how—using darkest unspeakable magic tweaked by her Elven skills. Then, before her life was claimed, she revealed her final instructions to the colorless, broken Angel.

  It all happened so fast the eye could not follow it. Uriel’s heavenly blade was buried deep within the Elven woman’s chest, the curved point sticking through the back of her blood-stained dress. It glowed and pulsed as the light slowly faded in Trelaina’s black eyes.

  When he withdrew the dagger, the angelic seraph blade shone with every color of the rainbow.

  He sheathed it, turning the hilt toward Daichi. “This is the whole of her. This is your Angel.”

  “How can this be my blessed little Angel?” Daichi asked, fighting back his tears.

  “Because, little brother,” Uriel said. “She is now a soul, minus her body. All that she is… now lives within this blade. Find the body and restore her soul before it’s too late.”

  “Too late?” Daichi sounded like a little boy, frightened, unsure.

  Munenori touched his arm. “She is only a vessel now—minus heart, minus power, and minus soul. Find the vessel and restore Naga before something else claims her place.”

  “Before something else claims her?” He looked pleadingly toward the much older Angels, his brow furrowed. “But… once I find her… how do… how do I restore her?”

  Uriel placed his hand upon Daichi’s shoulder. “Return her essence the same way I withdrew it, Brother. Plunge this blade deep within her deadened heart.”

  Chapter 2

  Gealach

  (GAHL-luch)

  She woke to the warm erratic sounds of popping and hissing. Focusing first on the small campfire she was curled up beside, her attention was then drawn to the deep rhythmic humming of someone quietly singing under their breath.

  She was overcome by a strangely comforting feeling of distant numbness, an odd sense of disassociation. As if… she were standing on the precipice of a great void and she cared neither what lay within nor if she entered it. Did not care? Caring… Yes, that’s what was lacking, and the lack thereof caused the numbness. Caring had left her, as had many other things.

  She stopped thinking about it.

  Let that be a challenge for another day.

  Blinking a few times before she tried to move, her arms felt weighted. In fact, her whole body felt leaden. It took a few more moments to realize she was covered with an extremely heavy… What was it? A furry pelt or rug perhaps? Or was it an entire animal?

  Her addled mind refused to focus.

  Actually, she didn’t really want to move, anyway. She simply lay still, staring at the little dancing flames. They were mesmerizing, hypnotic. When the hauntingly warm song started again, Jenevier closed her eyes and reveled in the comfort it brought her. It lulled her, hugged her, warmed her. That gentle tune battled back the icy wave looming just above her, threatening to crash against the shores of her heart.

  When the rhythmic hum ceased, she felt empty and hollow inside, cold.

  She drifted in and out of dreamless sleep as the night wore on. Her unknown company must have gone without rest, for she was cradled by the sporadic lullaby until dawn started to break.

  Brrrr… soooo c-c-cold.

  Curling into a ball, she drew her arms up close to her chest, her mind never registering the absence of her recently borrowed warmth. The extremely heavy covering had been removed at some point.

  A warm hand against her forehead eased her chills. She felt her hair being pushed back. Calloused fingertips slid across her cheek, outlining her ethereal scar.

  Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew she was being looked at, closely studied, admired perhaps. It didn’t matter, nothing did. At least, she didn’t believe it mattered. She no longer cared. Did she ever care? She knew not.

  Sleep was greedily washing over her once again.

  “So… you do live,” the deep voice cajoled her. “Will you not wake, little one?”

  She squirmed, moaned lazily, and rolled over.

  “You don’t have a fever, wee Gealach. Why do you tarry? Will you not rise?”

  She spoke not. Her eyes remained closed.

  “Do you wish never to wake?”

  Silence was all she offered in response.

  “How is it you fell, silver Lass? Were you cast down from the moon by a jilted lover? Did he steal your heart and toss your body to the ground?”

  I know not. Is that what happened to me? Still, she did not open her eyes.

  “Will you not look upon your savior?”

  She spoke not.

  “Perhaps you did not wish to be saved, wee Gealach.”

  Slowly, Jenevier’s eyes opened. Even the faint light of the glowing morning sky caused her to squint. She raised a hand to shade herself from the glare.

  “There you are, Gealach.”

  She blinked a few times before the kindly, bearded man came into focus.

  “Bore da, tiny creature. Welcome to Val Hal.”

  She looked at his long yellow hair. He needs to brush and braid it if he wishes to keep it out of his eyes and off his face.

  “My name’s Brodder Scot. My closest friends call me Brod.” He pulled a curl back from her face. “You have a name, Lass?”

  Her cold gaze was locked with his gentle one.

  Name? I know not if I have a name. Perhaps I do not.

  “So… has the cat got your tongue, little Black Curl? Hmm?” He moved his face closer to hers. “Or, do you even have a tongue?”

  At the suggestion, she moved it around behind her teeth. Yes, I have a tongue, she thought.

  “Perhaps you don’t spea
k in words, as do we.” His fingers were in her hair again. “Is that it? Can you not understand my words?” He released a warm chuckle. “If that be the case, there are many who would count you lucky. Seems I can talk pretty much about anything and never tire of it. I like to sing, too.”

  He moved even closer to her. She stared at his mouth as he spoke.

  I cannot see his lips for all the hair. But his eyes are the happiest I can ever remember.

  “You may not be able to understand my words, little Black Curl, but I know you can hear me.” He pointed at her mouth. “Every time I started humming, the corners of your snow white lips turned up.” He smiled and touched her cheek again. “You like to hear me sing, wee Gealach. I know you do.”

  Yes, please sing for me again. I’m cold inside, I chill.

  “I wish I knew what was going on in that curl-covered head of yours.”

  Did you not hear me? Perhaps I whispered.

  “Your eyes show nothing, Lass. Never have I seen eyes as empty as yours.” He touched the tip of her nose. “Never have I seen anything or anyone quite like you, Maiden. All those silver curls, skin the color of cooled milk, and eyes like midnight.” He lifted her hand. “And these strange black markings, here. They are beautiful, but in a sad, weary kind of way.” He released her and half snorted. “Good thing there was no snow upon the ground where you landed. I fear I wouldn’t have been able to see you at all. Well, except for that hand, there, and this one coal black curl.” He twisted her once sapphire lock around his finger.

  I must look strange to him. She laughed inside her head. He certainly looks strange to me. I must seem a rare oddity indeed. He cannot stop staring at me, cannot stop touching me.

  She yawned, at least she thought she did, and stretched her arms. Rolling over, she curled back into a ball.

  “Here now, Lass. You can’t go back to sleep now, not here. If you wish to travel with me, we need to be moving on.”

  She didn’t respond or acknowledge him in any way.

  He placed his large hand on her shoulder, gently shaking her. She turned toward him, opening her eyes.

  “It’s not safe for you to stay here by yourself like this. I’m extremely glad I was the one to hear you hit the ground, Lass, the one that came looking to see what you were. There are many around, out here in the wilderness like this, that would’ve harmed you.” A shadow fell over his warm eyes. “I hate to think about what they would have done to a lovely little thing like you. I should say you would probably be dead by now.” His gaze wondered out into the distance. “Or worse.”

  Don’t be sad for me, giant Brod. She reached up, touching the tip of his nose, returning his gentle gesture. Sing for me.

  He only looked down at her and smiled.

  Why will you not sing for me? Can you only do so when it’s dark? Well, I’m dark… on the inside… until you sing. Sing my darkness away, Brod. Be an angelic balm for my absent soul.

  He didn’t answer her, acted as if he hadn’t even heard her.

  She moved her hand down, lightly running her fingers across the coarse hair covering his top lip. Curiosity got the better of her and she let her finger slide under the strange patch of bristly hair, feeling for his mouth.

  He laughed then. “So you find me as strange looking as I find you, wee lamb. Fear not, I have a mouth under all this hair. Can you not hear me talking to you?”

  Yes, I can hear you just fine. It seems you are the one who cannot hear me.

  She moved her hand from his lips, sliding her fingers under that giant mop of yellow and graying hair, touching the side of his head.

  He lightly placed his hand over hers and furrowed his brow. “What is it, Gealach? Are you checking to see if I have ears?” He pulled back the mass of hair so she could plainly see. “Why are you curious about such a thing as that?”

  Then why will you not answer me? If you can hear and you can speak, why do you ignore me? Anger began to swell within her. Am I not important enough to acknowledge with words? Do you think me dumb? Simple? Do I seem to you as an animal?

  She was yelling as loud as she could, yet he gave no hint of recognition.

  When the look on her face became strained—her dark eyes narrowing, growing ever blacker—understanding sparked to life in his tired old eyes… and the sad truth of it hurt his heart.

  “Forgive me, Lass. But if you think you speak… you do not. Nay, your lips have neither moved nor parted.” He lightly touched her mouth. “If you communicate by any other means, I know not what it is and I cannot understand you.”

  He knew she understood when those haunting black eyes filled with tears. She reached up to the place on her lips where he had just touched her, his gentle warmth lingering there.

  “Wee Gealach, I am so sorry.” He brushed her hair back again. “Fear not. We’ll find a way for you to speak. I’ll not be able to rest until I know what it is you’re trying to tell me.”

  His words were so kind… his heart, so gentle. She collapsed inside. Jenevier threw her arms around his neck and cried her silent tears until his shirt was soaked with them.

  She had no idea why, but she was scared. No, she was terrified. Her hollowed-out insides were trembling. Yet, her mind remained blank where her life was concerned.

  Brodder wrapped his arm around her tiny waist and stood up, carrying her like a child upon his hip. He effortlessly mounted his already laden horse and placed her on his lap. She never loosened her grip and her tears did not cease.

  “I know you fell from the heavens, Milady. But your bitter grief seems born of the Underworld.” He gently stroked her tangled curls. “Did the devil reach up and jerk you down from the moon? You are too rare a creature to be from this realm, wee lamb.” They rode along in silence a bit longer. “Perhaps you are the Moon Goddess. Yes… and the devil beheld your rare beauty. He desired you, tried to claim you. Is that it, little Black Curl? Did the devil break you when he stole you from your home?”

  When he felt her head moving frantically against his chest, Brodder quickly pulled back on the reins, bringing the large gray horse to a stop. His tired gaze widened when she lifted her face, her dark eyes swollen red with grief, and nodded her affirmation.

  Chapter 3

  Daichi

  (dye-SHEE)

  “This universe is vast. And now you have no reliable way to track the Death Angel.” Uriel looked at Daichi as he spoke. “I know you were made especially for her, blue one, do you feel anything? Anything at all?”

  “Her essence is so powerful…” Daichi looked down at the glowing blade. “…all my attention is drawn to the dagger.”

  “I feel a humming.”

  The two Angels looked to Munenori as he spoke, eyes closed, tasting the wind.

  Alastyn approached the heavenly trio.

  Uriel met the new King of Ashgard, placing a supportive hand upon his shoulder. “This is not your fault, valiant human. I have slain the one who bore the guilt. Unburden your heart and turn your sights toward glorious future. Let the Sons of Heaven see to the Daughter of God.”

  Munenori inhaled deeply, his wings expanding to their full glory. “I can feel her weapons,” he growled. “She remains upon this layer still.”

  “No, Angel,” Alastyn whispered. “That isn’t Jenevier.”

  Three heavenly glares bore through the man who had been named King. He lowered his head, trying to stop his coming tears.

  “You sense her blades, yes. Yet, that isn’t her.” He drew in a strained breath. “They are hanging from the bedpost in her old home. She removed them before we came to the forest.”

  Daichi’s nostrils flared in anger. “Why would she do something so foolhardy? Why would she abandon her heavenly treasures so easily?”

  “It was for me.” Jezreel spoke softly as she approached them. “She came into the forest in search of me. I am her dearest friend from our youth. She did not wish to cause strife amongst my people. She did not come armed because she came in search of love and celebra
tion, not blood and war.”

  “Her weapons are for her protection. Not yours,” Munenori hissed. “She should know better. I haven’t had time to train her properly on how to reclaim them.”

  Jezreel looked sorrowfully upon the mossy lavender Angel of Jinn. “She was still master of her wings and claws. Great fire lives within her. It has seen her through worse.”

  “Not anymore, little Elf Princess.” Everyone turned toward the mighty Archangel. “She may yet don her lethal diamonds, but her fire, her great heart, it now resides within mine blade,” Uriel said. “Wherever she landed, she is absent her fire, her heart, and her soul as well.”

  “She is only the weapon now,” Daichi whispered.

  “It is as you say,” Uriel said with a sigh. “She is no longer the Death Angel. Now, she is only… Death.”

  “But… Jenevier would never—”

  “She is no longer Jenevier.” Munenori’s shouts cut off Alastyn’s words. “She is an empty vessel, boy. Do you not understand?”

  Uriel’s calming voice broke in. “Listen to me, King of Ashgard. She is a mighty weapon to be commanded by whoever shall reach her first. All reason and hope and love have been removed her. All that was Jenevier, the whole of her life, her memories, her enchanting spirit… all of this now resides only in that seraph blade you see in the hand of her mighty blue Blessing.”

  Daichi stared at the ethereal dagger while the truth of Uriel’s words sank into the breaking hearts of her childhood friends.

  “You are not your body, good King,” Daichi said softly. “That is intended for the pleasure of the eyes alone.” He spoke without turning from the glowing treasure in his hand.

  Munenori grasped the trembling Angel’s shoulder but turned to look at the remaining people of Ashgard. “What you are, resides within. What you see with your eyes is but the wrapper. What you truly are, is the soul.”

  “Yes,” Uriel continued. “And Jenevier’s body, her wrapper, is a deadly thing. Only her pure soul could restrain it, could control it.”