The Opal Blade (The Ashen Touch Trilogy Book 1)

by Kristy Nicolle

  I am in constant motion; unending, rocking, rolling, churning motion.

  I’m going to be sick.

  Oh, my god, I am going to be sick.

  I open my eyes, body coated in a slick layer of sweat. I’m laid on my back, head propped on my backpack, looking up at the red sky. The motion isn’t the only thing that’s woken me either, as a sickly-sweet scent like cream soda mixed with the scent of puss, of infection, fills the air.

  I sit up at a right angle, like Frankenstein in that movie where he first wakes up and doesn’t know what year he’s in.

  I crawl on my haunches, ignoring the sound of Xion’s ragged breathing as he snoozes beneath his leather jacket, slumped against the high corner of the gondola. Making a dash towards the opposite side of the boat from that which he’s situated on, I lean over the bow, inhaling and exhaling like my life depends on it… which it sort of does I guess.

  “Please do not throw up in my boat.” The voice doesn’t come from Xion but instead, from the tall cloaked figure, who turns around, revealing herself as Char, the ferrywoman from my first visit here.

  “Huh… what?” Xion stirs at the sound of her voice. Then looks between the two of us.

  “Did you make her speak?” he asks me, stunned, and I nod.

  “She told me not to throw up over the side of the boat,” I wheeze, sucking in the air through my nose despite the fact that it’s making me feel even sicker than I already do.

  “Yes, I’d think we’d all prefer if we could avoid coming into contact with any more of your vomit today.” He scowls at me, but I’m not even sorry. I’m in too much pain to feel sorry for anyone but myself.

  “What the hell is that smell?” I gasp, leaning back over the edge as my fingers dig into the dark grain of the wood. A bead of sweat trickles down the back of my neck, falling from the damp patch at the base of my skull where my hair clings to me, and ending up right between my shoulder blades before it dissipates in the muggy heat. I shudder.

  “We’re now moving through The Plains of Ichor,” Xion explains as I heave. Nothing comes up, which I’m grateful for as my eyes turn down, finding themselves reflected back ghostly amongst the milky water, which I’m sure contains mortal souls.

  “Which are?” I ask, feeling better now that I’ve wretched and slumping back to the side of the boat. Xion hands me a bottle of water from a satchel he’s got at his feet, which I take gratefully.

  “This is the place where sinner’s bodies are returned to the soil from whence they came. When you have finished your repentance, you have a re-burial. The hourglass, which is what keeps track of how much time any given sinner has left to serve in this place, is smashed, and the soul released. From here, the body decomposes and is recycled, and the soul returns to The Crucible of Gaia for rebirth.” It’s all so simple to him, but as I take a sip of water, I realise that being sick isn’t my only problem; my head is pounding something awful, too.

  “I see,” I whisper, using my smallest voice. He smirks a little, which I guess I deserve.

  “Where are we going?” I ask him, and he sighs as my drunkenness fades and my fear begins to clutch at me once again, bone deep. I feel the stress of my situation return and wish I’d never stopped drinking for a moment before the boat takes an unapologetic twist, and my stomach threatens to heave.

  “The Icon. We have no choice but to place you in the highest security facility we have. That means surrounding you with souldiers,” he admonishes, and I sigh.

  “Great, even more freedom for me to not have,” I grumble, leaning back against the wood of the boat and feeling the chill of the water, beneath me by only a few inches, seeping up through the wood of the boat.

  “A lot of good freedom will do you once you’re dead,” Xion retorts, clearly not up for my sarcasm. I get it. I’m a pain in the ass, but if he’d met his biological father, who just so happened to be god of The Underworld and socially inept, and had then been taken to a freaking strip club with him for dinner, he probably would have gotten wasted too.

  “Well, once I’m dead, I’ll be up in The Higher Plains or whatever…” I twizzle my finger, gesturing upwards.

  “Not necessarily, you have to earn your place there. You have no idea what Hercules went through to even earn his visitation rights…” He begins to lecture me, but the thought of floating around in limbo isn’t as fun as being in some heavenly realm, so I interrupt him, changing the subject to something I can handle in my fragile state.

  “So… what’s it like… The Icon?” I ask him, unscrewing the cap off the water bottle and taking a sip. The bland nothingness of the cool liquid is a welcome relief… if only the smell would subside for just a few moments, too.

  “Well, I’ll tell you now that you’ll have to be on your guard. Anubis and Osiris are harsh for a reason. The sinners here have committed some of the worst acts you can imagine. Don’t try them, Sephy. I mean it. They might struggle to kill you, but they can certainly cut off parts of you and make you wish you were dead, given a dark corner and a semi sharp object. Alright?” he warns me, and I’m too frightened by the terror in his stare to object. My head is throbbing, and the news of the fact I’m about to be housed in a sea of criminal psychopaths for my own supposed safety is less than comforting.

  I stare out over the bow of the boat to the Plains of Ichor. They’re glistening wet with golden spider lilies blooming sporadically. There are lines in the rich looking soil, almost like someone has used a combine harvester or some other kind of machinery to turn the metallic sheen of the soil in neat columns that rise only slightly into mounds. In fact, the entire place looks like a geometrically flawless golden sea from a distance. The sun above blazes lilac, lighter than it was before. Perhaps that means it’s dawn, or maybe not. In this place of so many still unanswered questions, I can’t help but let little things like this slide.

  We approach The Icon, and even from a distance, I can see that it’s earned its name. I’m starting to feel the worst of my hangover leave me as the journey has put the steel of my nerves to the test. With every bump, every turn in the river, and every swell of the current, I have felt the undying urge to puke my guts out, and yet, I still remain vomit free. I only wish I could say the same for Xion’s shirt, which he has cleaned up as best he can, but is still stained and probably needs to be incinerated for good measure.

  It’s an enormous pyramid, that gleams golden beneath the red of the sky, only exaggerating its regality. It’s unmistakable, iconic, and as the earth fades from gold, to an ashy white as we near it, I feel dwarfed as its shadow falls over me. The gondola comes to a halt, and grabbing my backpack, I step off the boat, feeling uneasy in my heels as they sink into the snowy looking earth. It’s colder here, and I have the feeling that we’ve been travelling north.

  I look beyond the slanted edge of the pyramid to where a gargantuan obsidian wall climbs, immovable and shadow-esque in its infinite seeming height and length. It glistens as I move, turning light at angles from its flat surface and directing it toward the pyramid as it does so, making it shine out like a beacon in the dark.

  I’m gawping at men and women who surround the pyramid, wearing jet black, unmarked military-style uniforms but with a little twist; these are covered in chains, making them heavy, making the wearer suffer.

  I continue to stare but soon have my attention caught by Anubis and Osiris, who exit from an invisible and seamlessly moving door in the base of the structure. They emerge into the light of what I assume to be early morning, looking at us both in surprise.

  “What on earth are you doing here?” Osiris asks, his long white robes sweeping the ground behind his even and graceful tread.

  “We’ve been sent for Sanctuary. There has been another attack, this time on Lucifer and Thanatos.” Xion makes our intention clear, moving to stand next to me, his satchel slung over one shoulder.

  “I see… which Demon Lord was it this time?” she queries, and he replies promptly, crossing his hands in front of him
.

  “Gorgon. We still don’t know how they got into the Exilia, but if there’s anywhere that’s safe, it’s got to be here; you have the men to protect her should she need it.” He is acting like I’m not even here, and Anubis sweeps my form with her eyes. I wish she’d stop, let me rest a while. I’m exhausted.

  “Very well. Follow me, and we’ll get you each a room.” She says this pointedly, as though we must be separated at all costs. I frown but then desist as my head pounds at an even greater frequency.

  She leads us past the wrath and pride sinners and into the pyramid, through many sliding golden doors, and down countless winding and labyrinthine corridors. The walls are spattered with rich lapis lazuli, crafted into images or hieroglyphs, and the deeper we get into the place, the more I feel like I’m being caged by its thick precious interior. Put into a safe of sorts, from which nobody can touch me and I cannot escape.

  The lighting is dim, many Eternal Flames flickering and casting shadows, almost as though I’m in one of those movies about an ancient curse or something.

  After what feels like forever, we halt outside two doors opposing one another. Guards are stationed outside each room, and I want to protest but find myself too tired. I just want to sleep. Please, God, let me sleep.

  “Here.” Anubis gestures for me to take the room on the right. I hurry past her, feet aching, heart numb and head spinning. The inside of the place is simple. Gold floors and walls, no windows, and a lone flickering torch beside a single bed adorned in Egyptian cotton sheets. It’s not what I expect, but I can barely hold myself upright as I pull off my shoes and hear the Egyptian goddess shut the door behind me without so much as a goodbye. I’m cut off from Xion, from the outside world, in a cocoon of hard shimmer.

  I could be overwhelmed, but instead, I’m too tired to take any of it in. Dumping my backpack on the floor, I throw my jacket beside it and collapse, fully clothed, into an exhausted and all-consuming sleep.

  I am woken, pulled from the depths of unconsciousness, which has enveloped my brain like a too warm blanket, by a screeching loud enough to wake the dead… quite literally.

  I shoot bolt upright, covering my ears with my pillow. It’s dark, The Eternal Flame having been extinguished somehow, and so I hold out a palm, letting the pillow fall from me and using my fear to conjure my own flame which lights up the room.

  There are no Banshee, which I partially expect to see crouched in the corner; there is only me, in my room, alone.

  I get up, nerves frayed and paranoia creeping up my spine like a spider, long legs causing my hairs to stand on end with each passing second in a wave of instinctual arousal.

  I open the door, looking to the left, and then to the right down the dark corridor. The guards have gone.

  What is happening?

  The wailing screech continues, over and over, like a fire drill that refuses to cease, as I tread across the hallway knocking once, then twice, before entering Xion’s room.

  “Sephy?” he calls out into the dark. He’s half asleep, lying on the bed, and my terrified face is illuminated from the small flame cradled in my palms.

  “What is that?” I ask him, and he squints at me, leaning half up off the mattress. He’s topless and I notice his chest is spattered with dark hair.

  “It’s okay, it’s just the siren. There’s probably a demon attack in progress close to the wall,” he replies sleepily. I feel the chill of my own room at my back and the warmth of the one before me beckoning.

  “You okay?” He rubs one of his eyes, which is bloodshot, with an uncoordinated hand.

  “I’m just… I don’t think I can sleep knowing that’s going on outside. Plus, it’s loud,” I sigh, feeling exhausted. “I’m just so tired,” I complain, yawning.

  “Come here.” He moves over so he’s next to the wall, making space for me and patting the crumpled cotton sheets beside him. I frown.

  “I…” I begin, but he interrupts me.

  “Sephy, it’s alright,” he promises me, and I willingly believe him.

  Stepping lightly across the floor, I extinguish the flame in my palm and curl up next to him. He puts his fingers in my hair and rubs circles around my scalp. I want to protest further, telling him this isn’t friend behaviour at all, but the scent of sweet pomegranate is too intoxicating to resist. I relax unwillingly at his touch, at the warmth of his arms which curl around me protectively.

  I don’t know how he does it, but in the midst of a demon war, a blaring siren and chill paranoia infecting my subconscious, Xion, helps me find peace, and then sleep.

  I hear a knock and so stir, skin on fire from his heated proximity. I look up, then around, finding the siren has stopped.

  Within a second, the door slides open, leaving our sleeping arrangements exposed.

  Anubis is stood in the doorway, her eyes wide with part disgust, part horror. Xion stirs only slightly beside me as I stare at her, worried she’ll get the wrong impression.

  “You weren’t in your room. I thought you were dead. Breakfast is in an hour,” she announces, turning from the door without another word and sweeping, in all her godly magnificence, away down the corridor, disapproval ringing out in every strike of her heel against cold precious metal.

  Chapter Twenty Two

  You Give Love A Bad Name

  PANDORA

  Gorgon is staring at me from across the table, drumming his long fingers against the stone. He’s sitting sideways on his seat, feet propped up on the cracked surface, scrutinising me.

  “And what makes you so sure, exactly, that Anubis won’t just completely disregard your little offer and carry on killing our Kindred?” he asks me, clearly impatient.

  “The fact she was so curious about the prospect of resurrecting Ra,” I muse, also bored of waiting. Gorgon laughs, his tight suit widening across his torso as he takes his feet down off the table, straightening upon the stone of his acutely angled chair and leaning forward across the table.

  “Yes, I meant to ask you about that part of your little trip. You know you don’t actually have the power to resurrect anyone? Let alone a god. How exactly are you planning on getting around that little hitch? The only person with powers over resurrection is Moloch, and he’s long gone to The Island of The Blessed. You know even I haven’t been blessed with such an ability.” He looks at me with dead eyes, and I stare at him with a smirk, amused by his challenge and lack of faith.

  “I hadn’t really thought that far ahead… but, if I had, I’d ask you to remember that blessing is not the only way to possess the power of a god. Which has been so recently evidenced by the very person causing this conversation.” His eyes widen slightly before he laughs as though I’m stupid.

  “I think you’re confused, Pandora. Lucifer can’t resurrect the dead; she merely works in a graveyard where the dead rise into doppelganger forms. The Resurrection Flame is responsible. I thought you would at least know that.” He cocks his head, greasy hair trailing down across his large forehead in vine like curls which cling to him.

  “And I would have thought you’d know that I would not mistake re-birth into a doppelganger for actual resurrection, Gorgon. I mean bringing them back into living breathing, aging bodies, or in the case of gods, bringing them back into a single entity, whereby their energies are fully intact.” I smirk at him, and he looks curious, his slit pupils narrowing even further.

  “Lucifer does not possess such a skill,” he scoffs at me.

  Ye of little faith.

  “How would we know? She’s not exactly well acquainted with her Ancient half,” I suggest, and he frowns, looking stupid as he brushes away this idea without second thought.

  “I see. Well, if speculation is your only foundation for making such a claim, I sincerely hope that Anubis can’t tell you’re lying,” he licks his bottom row of teeth, sighing out and looking at his knuckles with a half-bored smirk. I want to roll my eyes, to yell, bang my fists down on the table and tell him to stop being so damn closed minded.
But alas, I am far too self-contained and in control for such a plight.

  A few moments pass in silence and I concentrate on my breathing, trying to ignore the nagging feeling that every single person around me constantly underestimates my capabilities. I’m not merely a banished Titan with a box, because in travelling the lower plains unaided you must be more than that. It’s not a safe place for someone like me, someone who questioned the gods and lost as I have lost.

  “Ahhh… you are being summoned.” Gorgon twists to where in the stone of the floor beside us, a seven-pointed star, the symbol of the Nexus, is burning. I smile, content that I’ve already convinced Anubis to change her mind.

  “I better be going.” I get to my feet, and Gorgon slides something across the table to me.

  “What’s this? A parting gift, for me?” I place my hand across my heart in a faux smitten act, unable to help but give in to my feminine side, and smile. I pick it up in my hand. It’s a velvet green bag and inside, as I open the drawstrings and pull open the contents, I find something that causes me to gasp slightly.

  “Well I never… where did you get this?” I ask him, surprise pleasantly marring my features.

  “One of my children swiped it from Lucifer’s alchemy stores,” he brags, clearly pleased with himself. I stare into the vial; curious as glistening powder shifts effortlessly like fine sand.

  “It’s very pretty…” I compliment, confused. “What’s it for?” I ask him, and he leans back.

  “It’s ground fire opal. The finest powder,” he explains, and I shrug, still not understanding.

  “I don’t…” I express, and he cocks his head.

  “Pyromancers are susceptible to fire opal; it saps their powers. Thought it might come in useful. My children also tell me that the demi-goddess is convecting already, be it with limited capability,” he adds, and I feel my surprise grow further.