Blessed by Sapphires (A Dance with Destiny Book 2) (24 page)

“I’m not sure. I never really thought about—”

“Do the Mermaids or the mountain dwellers oppress you in any way? Do they steal your offspring? Burn your homes? Rape your women?”

“No. No, of course not!”

“Then, I ask you again… Why?”

His pointy little face went pale, his eyes betraying a faint moment of clarity.

“Listen to me well, little one. Absolute power corrupts absolutely. This tale, your tale, your quest, is as old as time itself. Every race faces this same conflict. Have you no storytellers, history keepers, magic balls, or even television? Over and over, the tragic ending never changes… epic failure. Your quest is folly. I refuse to let you have the stone. I’ll return it to the Mermaids so that peace and tranquility can always rule Lyra. Don’t let your land fall into war, my friend. Take my words back to your people. Replace your Queen with one who is worthy. Then go. Take a wife and have many little Fairy babies. Let war and strife plague the other layers. Leave Lyra a paradise.”

Chapter 32

Lyra

(LYE-rah)

My mind went back to my homeland of Ashgard. I thought about the peace that once reigned there… and how
one
man could strike fear into the hearts of so many. I wondered if it’d changed since my exile. I thought about the wonderful things called movie theatres on layer eight, and the little boxes called televisions. They had replaced the traveling storytellers on that layer—rendering them nearly obsolete—but they were amazing in what they accomplished. On those blank screens, history came alive. Dreams were brought out into the light. Imaginations were allowed to run free. A whole layer, privy to such vast knowledge. Yet, it seemed to cause them equal parts harm
and
good. Pound for pound, dose for dose.

If we only knew then what we know now.

I knew where the odd little stone was the whole time. I’d seen it. Even picked it up, when Vittorio had first presented me with my lovely little hideaway. It was in the pool exactly under the downward torrent of my magical waterfall. Then my mind switched to Vittorio holding my hands as I stood upon his feet while we danced. I could no more temper the smile those memories caused than I could pluck the stars down from the heavens. I had been blessed. Forget all the bad decisions and misplaced intentions. I had been truly and irrevocably blessed by God.

I had known love and kindness everywhere I’d roamed. In Ashgard, I was loved by more people than I could even call to mind at the moment. In Vanahirdem, I was loved by the whole ethereal city at but a glance. On layer eight, I was loved by many more than I even knew. Children, parents, and whole families held me in high regard. Even in hell, eternal darkness, love found me. I had nothing to do with it. None of it was caused by my own actions or worth. I was simply blessed. And today, well, today I was finally thankful for it. Forget all the pain that normally accompanies it. Being loved is a glorious and just thing.

One oddly curious thing about love, it’s highly contagious. It spreads purposefully from creature to creature. It opens their hearts, steps inside, and they realize it not until it is too late. Some even try to guard themselves from it, hide from it, build walls to keep it out. But love freely goes where it will. No obstacles or power can halt its swelling tide.

I had heard it once said…
We do not claim love. It chooses each man as it will
. Truer words on the subject could not be spoken.

“I love… Love!” I laughed out loud, holding my arms wide as I spun in a circle.

“It’s a glorious thing, is it not?”

The liquidy voice was enticing. I turned toward the sea. My thought-filled journey had led my wandering feet to my destination much quicker than I had anticipated.

The strange creature speaking to me from the water blinked its oversized dull eyes with two different sets of lids. The inner ones closed from the outside corners in. And the outer set closed from the bottom to the top.

“Hello there.” I smiled as I spoke. “I’m looking for the leader of the Mermaids. Your Queen, perhaps. I have something which I believe was stolen from your kind. I wish to return it.”

The Mermaid only blinked her curious eyes again and remained silent.

“Okay, well, I’ll just keep on my way then. It was very nice to meet you. Farewell now.”

Sooo creepy
, I thought.

I was completely unnerved by the aquatic being’s eyes, but equally puzzled… since it seemed to have no mouth. Yet, I
know
it spoke.

The main entrance to the watery world of Lyra’s Mermaids was unmistakable. Two large spheres made entirely of lustrous pearls stood sentinel before a tiny walkway balanced atop the sea. It led to a simple platform, floating and bobbing with the non-ending ripples and movements of the constantly changing water. The tiny pathway didn’t look particularly safe or stable for a human. Its design was obviously intended for the diminutive races populating Lyra. I waited, but no one came.

“Mermaids of Lyra, hear my words,” I called out. “I am here to return your sacred stone of power. I know it calls to you. Yet you remain hidden from me. I will not play your games nor will I obey your customs. Show your face and claim your treasure. Cower in your watery hovels and do without. It’ll be
your
grave, not mine.”

“There is a secret buried within these depths. You will see it exhumed and set to purpose, Angel.” The voice came from no visible creature.

“Then I fear we are both forsaken, little fish,” I snapped.

“From whence comes thy fury? Are thine wings such a heavy burden? Does compassion and love not reside within granite heart?”

“No games, no riddles, little fishy. I bear heart’s desire within granite palm. Fetch it and be satisfied. Tarry and be damned.”

“Your speech is foreign to us.”

I laughed. “It’s a plethora of many voices and times. As is my appearance. Hinder me no further. I am here for peace, not war. You will not draw me further into your vain political disturbances. My act alone serves to display soul’s intent. Patience is another matter. Mine is spent.”

A curious creature appeared from the lapping waters and rested upon the floating platform.

“What has changed within you, Angel? We heard your thoughts of joy and love as you neared our tranquil sea. Yet bitterness and rage are our welcome.”

“I came only to do you a favor,” I said. “Yet you hide from me and dance within my head. This is the source of mine anger. If you wish something of me, speak the words and see your desires sated. But play not within my mind and glean untold ghosts from proper tombs. Your attempted violation is unforgivable.”

“But… how did you know? No one has ever—”

“That’s what you say to me? How did you know of our deceitful treachery? You’re absent apologies and demand only more answers? Perhaps you no longer desire my gift. Then I shall keep it as proper reward for kind deed.” I turned to leave.

“Apologies. From the heavens, apologies, kind warrior. Please accept in return for your noble benevolence, this bauble. I have seen you will have great need of it upon your travels.”

Another Mermaid appeared at the water’s edge, holding up a delicate shell, milky in appearance but translucent in the light. I exchanged stone for shell and saw then the creature did indeed have a mouth. The Mermaid smiled, showing hundreds of ebony needles for teeth. She spoke not, only flipped her head. Causing the slimy seaweed that was her hair to fall over one bulbous, waxy green eye.

“Umm… Gratitude, Mermaid.”

My stomach turned as the familiar word rolled off my tongue toward the unfamiliar, almost scary looking head bobbing along with the calm waves. The look of a
real
Mermaid was unnerving and foul to my thoughts. But I kept them closely guarded against their siren call, which still begged to be let loose within my mind.

“My gratitude to you and your kind. I hope peace will forever reign in Lyra,” I said with a bow.

I couldn’t possibly walk away fast enough to still my racing heart. So I took to the sky in but a breath.

“You hold a great treasure, Angel. Guard it and it will serve you well.”

The liquid words stuck with me as I escaped the most uncomfortable place I’d ever
chosen
to visit. I had no intention of returning. My only response to the warning was the cold chills now pulsing through my gliding body.

The familiar nausea hit me moments before I popped back out of the clouds, blessed with a view I’d only seen in my dreams for so long now.

Chapter 33

Ashgard

(ASH-gahrd)

Placid green fields below me, jaunting mountains to my left, quaint signs of civilization to my right. My heart had brought me home. My wings had flown me to the only place I’d ever truly belonged. My Ashgard.

I glided toward the tranquil little town of Tamar Broden. Glided toward my old friends, my old home.

I cannot recall if it has been fourteen or fifteen years since I first left. Perhaps it’s sixteen by now. A naïve young girl departed. A hardened demon-Angel now returned.

Will they even be able to see me? I’m far from human. Even my skin is new. I’m more alien than girl.

Landing softly just before reaching the Trinken’s aging barn, I once again walked barefoot upon the soft, tickling grass. The sound of hammer and saw led me through the door as Mrs. Trinken’s terrified voice once again met my arrival. She ran toward her beloved husband. They had both aged so much. This vision alone was confirmation of just how long my absence had truly been.

I was leaning against the outer wall when Margy ran to Wynford, causing his tools to cease their rhythmic cacophony. I slid the door closed and remained there. Two paling sets of eyes slowly turned toward me and froze.

I smiled. “Ahh, so you
can
see me.”

“Wynford?” Her voice trembled. “Can you see it, too?”

“Yes, Margy. I can see her.”

“Apologies for not knocking. You looked so busy. I wanted to enjoy watching an artist engulfed in his craft.”

“Much obliged, Ma’am,” he answered.

“Ma’am? Hmm, the years may not have been very kind to me, I suppose. But the formality cuts my heart.” I smiled and winked.

He gasped. “By the gods… Miss Jenevier.”

I bowed low to the bewildered couple then cautiously approached them. Poor Margy grabbed her loving husband’s hand and stepped behind him.

“Do not fear me, Margy. My words to you were unnecessarily harsh when last we met. Please forgive a foolish girl her fiery passions. I am no longer full of the anger I once fed upon.”

“Th-that’s okay, child.”

“You were innocently beautiful when ya left us, little lady. You were terrifyingly angelic when ya returned—”

“And what words would you use to describe me now, Mr. Trinken?” I interrupted.

“The prettiest little thing I ever saw,” answered Margy.

I laughed out of shock and relief. The precious older couple jumped.

“Apologies. That’s not exactly what I was expecting to hear,” I admitted.

Margy released her husband and approached me, awe and wonder upon her face. “How’d you come by all these beautiful colors, child?”

“God painted me.”

“That He did,” she whispered.

“I sure wanna hear the story behind those curls, and them there eyes. And curiosity’s just eatin’ me up over your skin a-glowin like that,” he said.

“Yes, Wynford speaks true. But what happened to your cheek, child? May I touch it?”

She didn’t wait for my answer. I remained perfectly still as her trembling hand found the place where my husband had covered my blackened scar with the sparkling azure of his glorious coif.

I chuckled. “Well now,
that
one’s going to be a little hard to explain.”

“It feels like tiny sapphires. Does it hurt?”

“No, Ma’am. It doesn’t hurt. It rarely even comes to mind—”

“Unless somebody points it out,” she finished.

“Yes, until then.”

“Are you home now, little lady? Have your Angel wings brought our tiny lass home to stay?” Wynford asked.

“My wings brought me here, yes. I’m not sure how long I’ll get to stay. Does Jezreel yet live?”

Margy smiled. “Oh yes, child. She remains in the cottage still, waiting for you to come back to her.”

I sighed. “Well then, my story isn’t an easy one in the telling. I should like to do it only once. You’re both more than welcome to join us for some delicious tea and a journey into the past.”

I entered the familiar back door to my beloved Aunt Marlise’s old rose-covered cottage and breathed in the wonderful scents that sent my mind back in time twenty years. I wiped joyful tears from my cheeks as I added more wood in the little stove. Filling up the same old teakettle, I placed it there to boil.

“My eyes are forsaking me… You cannot be real. Alastyn said you turned into a winged demon and flew away. I knew that was his way of telling me you’d died and was now in the Otherworld.”

The shaky old voice came from an even shakier withered form. But the twisted hands and gnarled features couldn’t hide Jezreel’s sparkling eyes as they filled with joyous tears.

“I did, and I was. But that’s not the whole of it. Nay, not even the crumbs.” I chuckled. “Bad decisions usually make for good stories. And I always seem to have a few lying around—good stories, that is.”

I walked to my childhood friend, tenderly placing my glowing hands upon her wrinkled cheeks. No matter what we now displayed to the seeing world,
our
eyes knew better. Our tears and hugs were simultaneous and abundant. I never wanted to let go of her again. The whistling teapot was quieted only by the kindly old couple who’d slipped in and was shedding their own tears at our long overdue reunion. The enchanting smell of Aunt Marlise’s rose tea pulled me from Jezreel’s embrace, drawing me to the steaming little cup.

“Oh, it’s been sooo many years. I’ve longed for this precious nectar to pass my lips more than I’ve longed for breath in my lungs. Many have tried to mimic Marlise’s recipe. Even my
own
doesn’t taste like this.”

“Well now you can drink your fill.” Jezreel smiled as she took the seat beside me.

“I love you, dearest friend.” I grabbed her ancient hand.

“And I you.”

She sighed heavily and cut me a sideways glance. Her bright eyes looked so out of place inside that withered form.

“Margy told me she let slip my curse and its cause. Don’t hold ill in your heart towards me over yet another careless decision. I’ve waited so very long just to look upon you once more. Pray, tell me your story, Jenevier. If it’s half as colorful as your curls, it’ll be a song for the ages.” She positively beamed.