Enthroned by Amethysts (A Dance with Destiny Book 3) (3 page)

Chapter 4

Iga

(EE-gah)

He felt the tremors beneath his feet as he entered the mysterious Shinobi village.

“It’s the fire lizards. When the females are in season, the male’s ferocity causes the very firmament to tremble.”

Musashi looked up to see a small boy perched atop a nearby house. He’d gone there to get a better view of the distant Valley of Dragons.

“You can see them from here?”

“Yes, Emperor, and hear them as well.” The boy proudly smiled.

The Emperor hid his laughter. “Is that so? And what are they saying, boy?”

The young man simply shrugged his shoulders. “Mostly, they’re just bragging about who has the sharpest teeth, shiniest scales, or longest wings,” he replied flatly.

“Goemon! Don’t speak to the Emperor thusly.” His mother scolded him as she appeared in the doorway. “Do not take offense, Your Grace, his manners are unpolished.” She bowed low before him.

“Fret not. The boy is fine.” Musashi eased her mind with an understanding smile. “He openly shares his vivid imagination with me. That’s a rare thing.”

“It’s not his imagination, Sire. He is Shinobi, as are we all. His eyes are as an eagle’s and the animals speak to him.”

The melodious voice came from a young maid Musashi had failed to notice kneeling before him.

She took note of the shock that crossed his face. “Apologies, Milord. I should have spoken to you while I was yet afar off.”

He narrowed his eyes, examining the maiden. “Explain your words.”

“I can only be seen while I speak, Sire,” she said.

“How is this possible? I’ve never heard of such a gift as yours.”

“I was born this way. I am… Shinobi.”

“She didn’t tell you everything,” the boy yelled down from the roof. “You can see her when she sleeps, too.”

Musashi looked from the informative lad back to the kneeling maiden, she was gone. He reached to where she had been but a moment ago. A soft hand took his and materialized as her enticing voice once more begged his forgiveness.

“Is there magic in your words as well?”

“Not my words, Milord, my voice.”

“So, you can approach an enemy, completely unnoticed, unless you speak. Yet when you do, your angelic voice is a siren call to their ears?”

“Not exactly, Emperor Yomika. I am invisible, not weightless. If the ground is firm and I try to be quiet, I can. As for enemies, I know not how my voice affects them, for I have none.”

Musashi held tightly to her hand. He felt extremely disconcerted when she vanished once more with her words.

“I think I should like you to speak without ceasing, Maiden. I wish not to bruise your tiny hand from all the squeezing.” His words were spoken in jest, but there was much truth in them.

“Oh no, Sire. You’ll tire of her ramblings sooner than you would think, trust me,” the boy added. “And she’s as loud as a boar elk when she goes stomping through the woods. I can hardly hear a thing when she’s around.”

“Goemon, please.” His mother scolded him but the boy took no note of it.

“What, Mama? It’s true. It doesn’t matter if she’s invisible. Everyone knows where she is by her clumsy feet.”

The girl chuckled and her ebony-framed smiling face was before the Emperor once more.

“And that’s not even the worst part,” Goemon continued. “She forgets we can even see her at all. She traipses back from the bathhouse without a stitch on, and starts humming or singing before she’s inside her room.” He snorted. “Then we’re
all
forced to look at that.”

“Goemon, enough! Sire, please forgive my children’s atrocious manners and come inside for some hot tea.”

Musashi had to hide his laughter again. “Gratitude for your gracious offer, but I seek words with your clan’s elders.”

“Of course, Emperor. I’ll bring them at once.”

The woman bowed slightly toward Masashi before she hurried off into the village proper. He gave a little squeeze to the delicate hand he still held captive.

“Maiden, your mother speaks true. Your manners really are atrocious. We’ve been holding hands since first we met and I’ve yet to be graced with your name.”

“Apologies, Your Grace.”

She was once again on her knees with her head bowed when she came into view. He gave her hand a little tug, she rose as she vanished.

“Your name?” he asked again.

“Mika.”

Her bright lavender eyes appeared before him as her name spilled over her pink lips, landing firmly upon his frozen heart. Musashi rocked inside as she faded from view.

“Again,” he demanded.

“Sire, my name is Mika. Mika Hattori of the Iga clan.”

Musashi feverishly tried to take in her delicate features, record them in his mind before they were lost to sight once more.

“Again,” he whispered.

“Shall I sing you a song, Milord? No, wait…” She smiled, innocently. “I will recite to you a poem of my people.”

Mika orated her lovely prose. Emperor Musashi was lulled by her voice, entranced by the hauntingly sorrowful story of fated lovers and an ancient battle.

“Sire, the elders have come. Mika, tend to your affairs,” her mother urged.

“No,” Musashi said, a bit louder than he meant to. “The girl stays with me.”

Everyone froze, slowly turning toward the mighty Ronin. He was just as confused by his own demand as the others obviously were.

“Very well, then,” her mother continued. “See the Emperor to the parlor, Mika. Serve his tea as he desires.”

*****

“Why have you graced our humble village, Sire?” Hanzo inquired.

There were four village
elders
, yet Musashi would’ve guessed their ages closer to his own.

Hanzo Oni was the obvious leader of the group, but each man spoke as he saw fit.

Saizo Katou’s eyes were the palest lavender Musashi had ever seen. The thin, graceful man wore his shouzoku covering from his nose down. The curious Ronin couldn’t help but stare as the man spoke to him through the dark cloth. It was a bit unnerving.

Orochimaru Mori had a pinched face and sharp nose to match his even sharper chin. Musashi tried to glance at his defined features only momentarily, but found he couldn’t turn away from the man. The elder Mori had no eyebrows and the effect was startling. His forehead seemed to cover half his face, with only the deep purple eyes acting as a strange border.

I wonder… When he closes his eyelids, does he have a face at all? Or is it just a blank canvas, coming to life through his eyes alone?
Musashi did not retain a single word Orochimaru had said. He was lost in the curious thought of why a man would remove his lashes and brows.
Perhaps he was born minus these things. Or perhaps, they are a sign of his magical abilities. I wonder what they are.

“But enough with all this,” Sasuke said. “Emperor Musashi, how can your humble servants be of assistance?”

The fourth man’s words caught his attention, coupled with a little tug on his earlobe by an invisible Mika, pulling his mind from its fascinated musings.

Sasuke Akoi was staring at the silent Emperor as Musashi took in each man’s face once more.

“The sacred gifts of the Shinobi have not gone without my notice. I wish to know each of your talents for myself. I will admit to mild curiosity, yes, but I wish to employ those of you whose abilities could prove useful.”

“Is Jinn at war?” Hanzo showed his sudden alarm. “Apologies, Sire. We keep mainly to ourselves and the news has not yet reached our mountain home.”

“Jinn is not at war. I do not need your magic for such as that. We remain at peace while I live. No man is my equal in battle. Ease your minds and let your children play without worry. I sought your village to satisfy my own desires and no Iga is commanded follow me. If I leave here accompanied, it will be by your choice alone. No threat is implied and no denial will be met with retribution.”

All present clan members relaxed at the Emperor’s words. Slight smiles now donned a few once hardened faces.

“So, you wish a showing?” Saizo chuckled. “A magical feast for the mighty Emperor’s eyes, perhaps?”

“And to see curiosity sated,” Musashi added.

Orochimaru inclined his head. “It would be our greatest honor.”

“We are many,” Hanzo warned.

“I currently find myself blessed with time,” Musashi said.

“Good.” Sasuke clapped his hands together. “Shall we begin?”

Chapter 5

Apollyon

(ah-PAH-lee-ahn)

Apollyon had never dreamt of happiness before the fateful day he’d seen that glorious, sparkling new soul standing within his gates, all covered with golden curls and smiles.

He carried the many pictures he’d taken of her in a small pouch hanging about his neck. He could scarce keep his hands off it. This soft cloth held all the treasure in the world to him. No creature in all of hell knew what lay within, save Ahriman, and that infuriated the darkest of Princes.

He’d thought he was alone as he thumbed through his beloved pictures of her. It had become his daily ritual, the only few moments he would allow his heart to feel joy. An unhindered smile spread across his face as he looked at the one he had taken whilst standing behind her. He loved the graceful curve of her back, teasingly hidden behind all those flowing curls. There was one of her playfully skipping down the crystal street, one he’d taken as she was laughing, and he had even been able to snap one of her
almost
catching a butterfly.

Apollyon had also held the camera out and took one while they kissed. Her dazzling eyes, so intent upon his face… this photograph alone was undeniable proof of the precious love she held only for him. A gentle glow illuminated those magical pink orbs, those loveliest of eyes, the only ones he could never forget…
refused
to forget.

Remembrance. It’s the most horribly precious part of my cursed existence
, he thought.

He had taken a picture of her sitting upon the palace windowsill whilst they waited for King Merodach. He chuckled as he looked at it.

I know she’s tiny, but her feet don’t even touch the floor in this one. They’re just dangling there like a child’s… swinging back and forth while she bangs her heels on the stone wall.

He looked then at the close-up shot he’d taken of her in the doorway of the training dome… a single tear glistening upon her soft cheek, reflecting the brilliance of the waning sun.

Her memories of her training are both precious and painful. I wished I’d known her then.
He hurriedly brushed away his regretful tears.
Why did I have to defy Father? If only I had listened, if only I had put away my rancid pride, behaved as a respectful Angel, then perhaps I would have been chosen as her mentor. Perhaps I could have kept her safe, could have been her whole world… as she is mine.

But his favorite picture, by far, was the one he’d taken as she sat upon her knees near the rosebush outside her domed ethereal home.

Her radiance puts the lovely flowers to shame
, he thought.

He’d captured her striking profile as she smelled a delicate pink bloom, almost the same color of her curls. Her hair was partially tucked behind one ear and that single blue curl,
his
curl, hung down in her face. The dazzling sapphire scar sparkling there upon her fair cheek, and the faint ones showing on her neck and arms… they were the glorious marks of where he’d touched her, where he had healed her.

“She is my rare treasure, my
only
treasure,” he whispered aloud, bitter heartache nearly stealing his voice. “All creation can wither and die, yet I will never let go of this priceless moment in time with my beloved Anicee.”

Yes, this picture was most definitely his favorite. This one captured everything of import, everything that’d gloriously transpired between them, it was all here. This single picture brilliantly displayed the extraordinarily magical impact they’d had on each other, body… and soul.

And that was the very image of Jenevier he was gazing upon, the one that always brought his tears, when he heard his soul-eating warrior’s sharp intake of breath. He spun around to find Ahriman peering over his shoulder, visually helping himself to the only thing in all creation Apollyon wished never to share.

He was furious. “By all that’s holy! Ahriman, I will rend your wings and toss your worthless soul into Sheol. Mark my words, Silver Eyes, if you so much as glance at her once more, you’ll meet your
true
death. I will show you darkness the likes of which you can’t even imagine.”

His right-hand commander had sworn it to simply be an accident, vowing never to mention it to another. “Milord, please forgive me. I came only because you asked to know the next time Raphael was escorting someone through the Nether. He nears, Sire,” Ahriman said, his head bowed, staring at his fierce Prince’s feet.

Yet still, the amethyst fallen Angel fled the hell Prince’s royal side that day. Choosing instead to roam about the layers for weeks, hoping his master’s temper would wane with time.

True to his word, Ahriman spoke not concerning the picture and the enchanting image it held. But Apollyon did catch him staring at the pouch dangling from his neck on more than a few occasions. The Prince of Hell’s warning growls were enough to train his dark general’s eyes not to wander anywhere near his sacred treasure again.

*****

Apollyon spent months near the closed portal that had once granted him access to Vanahirdem. He could never again look upon her, but this was the place he felt closest to her, and he was drawn here often.

“Father, have I not suffered enough? Have I not made proper restitution for my insolence? Have but a grain of mercy and cease my miserable suffering. Let me go to her once a year, a century, a millennium, it matters not which. As long as you give me but a glimmer of hope, my heart will be healed,” he begged. Yet no answer came.

They had been parted for several weeks when he was sitting near the portal that had pulled him back to hell—staring at her photographs, remembering her naïve giggles—when her voice entered his thoughts.

He smiled, thinking it to be but a beautiful memory… until she spoke to him about the babe she carried. His closed lids flew open, glorious sapphires searching the darkness around him.

He had told her about the child growing within her, only seconds before his departure.

We have never spoken thusly, never got the chance. This cannot be a memory for I am not so blessed as to even hope to be granted such experiences with my beloved.
He closed his eyes and concentrated.
Ah, it is her. I can hear my love’s voice.
He placed his hands on the closed portal.
She must be in the forest. She yet seeks me. She yet loves me. Her tormented soul calls out to mine.
Tears poured down his face as he strained to hear her faint words.

Apollyon returned to that same spot daily. Over the next few months, he heard about how her tummy was growing and of how her aching feet swelled.

Oh, if I could but massage them for you, my love, I would happily spend day and night upon the glorious task
, he thought.

He learned of her waning powers and the loss of her wings. He worried for her, wishing only to comfort and protect her.

That Guardian of hers better keep a close eye out. If he lets even one hair fall unnoticed from her perfect head, he’ll be casting aside the very treasure I surrendered everything for. He will burn if he lets anything happen to her. I swear it.

The beautiful sapphire Angel smiled happily when she told him how she longed to see the moon and of how much she needed and missed him.

I swear that tiny creature would live on the moon, given half the chance. She loves it too much.
He chuckled at the thought.
No, she couldn’t live there. For if she did, she wouldn’t be able to look up and gaze dreamily at the soft glowing orb floating on a sea of darkness, surrounded by millions of twinkling lights
. That magical thought brought a smile to his perfect face.

The vicious Prince of Hell cried tears of joy the day she spoke of hearing their son’s voice within her head, and tears of pain when she confessed having to be cared for and attended to by Varick because she could barely walk on her own and couldn’t
possibly
bend over, even if she tried.

I should be the one bathing my beloved, rubbing her sweet belly with even sweeter scented lotions. My only son and beloved wife will one day belong to another. My punishment is greater than I can bear.
His tears burned as flames.

As the months passed, she spoke to him less and less as her journey through the trees became too difficult for
her
feet alone. After that, if he was blessed to hear her at all, it was as she spoke to her attending Guardians as they helped her keep her balance along the path she’d worn for him.

It had been several days since her faint words had reached his waiting ears, when he heard the unmistakable accent of the warrior who’d been with her on Spadroon, when God let him save her from Shabriri.

“Vittorio…” His whisper was a pain-filled plea.

This Guardian bothered him more than all others, even above her beloved Varick. This Vanir, this Vittorio, she held in her heart as the rarest of any jewel.

Apollyon knew exactly how much she loved this mighty sentinel. He was privy to every feeling she’d ever known, they were blended, she and him. The two of them had once been as one, nothing was hidden from him.

At first, he started to go. He didn’t know if he could live through the pain her words to this man might bring him. Yet he determined he would rather suffer a thousand deaths than to move from this very spot when he knew she was so close.

He heard every word as it passed between them… and his shattered heart broke anew.