The Opal Blade (The Ashen Touch Trilogy Book 1) Page 14

  “It’ll be alright. It’s just a meeting. Don’t worry. I’m sure Xion won’t let anything happen to you.” She looks between me and him, her eyes glistening as though she’s in on some big secret we aren’t. It pisses me off, so I get to my feet, swallowing my fear and narrowing my eyes.

  “Let’s go.”

  I enter the courtroom through a single door, which seems a little underwhelming compared to the architecture I’ve seen so far. It’s made of wood, and as it swings forward, I am greeted by the sight of more monochrome. In fact, it almost looks like a giant chess board gone wrong.

  The benches, raised atop balconies on either side of the room are black on my left and white on my right, sunken into the walls between orthotic style pillars.

  As I walk down towards the head of the courtroom with more confidence than I’m actually feeling, I’m greeted by three figures. They watch my every move from the juror’s bench on my right, though upon further inspection I see that only two of them have eyes which are actually following my motion. The three old women sit together, one of them blind.

  They appear to be triplets, and are collectively knitting with insanely long needles. The one with bloodshot, red eyes holds a ball of dark wool in her too pale fingers which bend at each joint like a spider’s leg. They are, as a group, diverse in appearance given the circumstances, with identical grey suits but varied levels of neatness.

  The woman with red eyes has bedraggled hair and a skewed bun, while the middle woman with white eyes is as neat as a pin, watching her hands move with speed as it is she who controls the knitting needles. The final elderly woman, the one closest to me who is holding a pair of mean looking scissors, appears by far the most aggravated of the three and merely stares at me with her crazed, unkempt hair, freaking me out as her half-moon glasses drop down her crooked nose.

  “Is that woman angry at me or something?” I ask Xion who is walking beside me, his boots unsurprisingly heavy on the floor.

  “She can here you ya know! It’s her who can’t speak!” The blind woman with bloodshot red eyes yells at me, pointing to the scissor wielding woman I’m referring to, and I flinch, surprised that her hearing is so good. She looks only a few years off being fossilised.

  “Oh… Uh… Sorry,” I mutter, averting my gaze as silence falls and the only audible noise is the clicking of knitting needles.

  “Try not to anger The Fates.” Xion sighs, winking at me as the woman who can’t see nudges the woman beside her. She points to Xion and the knitting needles cease.

  “Hey, Xion is here! Come here for a kiss, handsome boy!” she calls out like some insane version of someone’s grandma. I chuckle to myself under my breath as Xion goes slightly flush in the cheeks, and I relax incrementally. We’re all just people, not gods, not fates, or demons. All just people.

  I try to hold on to this fact as I see where I’ll be sitting.

  Through the partition separating the back of the room from the Judge’s bench, I am seated in another chair made of charred branches, central to the room. I cannot escape focus here and wonder if a bright light might not suddenly be shone upon me and my wrists strapped to the armrests.

  However, as a few moments pass, the only activity is that of others being seated and the continuation of knit one, pearl one.

  The sound of doors opening signals that the trial is about to begin, and I’m alarmed as I see two of the most unusual looking figures, so far, proceed out into the courtroom.

  A man and a woman, or so they appear, stride out and nod to the three fates, and then Luce, before moving to begin.

  The woman, with long flowing raven hair and enormous brown chocolate eyes, purses her full lips at the sight of me. Though, her princess-esque features are not what is alarming, but rather the fact that her skin is decorated so it appears to be not flesh, but skeleton. Her eye-sockets are decorated in the traditional sugar skull designs of Mexico and her lips lined with fake stitching, elongating her grimace. She’s wearing a brown corset over the top of a white shirt and a long deep red skirt. A cloak of similar red material hangs from her shoulders and falls in a torrent to the floor before pooling at her ankles.

  I watch as her male counterpart, or ex-husband as I assume him to be, takes a few steps up to be seated as the Judge before me. This must be Yama, meaning the woman is Muerta. The judge’s skin is azalea blue and his hair is pressed against his narrow skull in golden cornrows that look like rows of actual corn due to the colour. His robes are a matching gold and so are his eyes, which shine out across the room.

  He too gets a look of concern, brow furrowing as his focus moves onto my face, and I wonder why it is that, all of a sudden, I’m the cause for such anxiety. I stare right back at him, trying to appear braver than I truly feel.

  Yama is beautiful, there is no denying it even though the look of him is strange and otherworldly. Pulling his chair close to the desk, he folds his blue hands in front of him and stares down at me, a mere mortal in the face of a God.

  “You are the girl in question?” he asks, and I move my head up and down, transfixed by him.

  “I prefer woman, but yes, I am she.” He opens a black folder, which lies beneath his hands, and flips through the pages.

  “Miss Persephone Sinclair?” He reads my name aloud, and I feel myself getting angry and let my nails bite into the armrests of the chair.

  “It’s Sephy, actually,” I reply, letting the usual irritation I feel at the use of my legal name continue to irk me, despite the fact my name is being spoken by a god.

  “And your father was… Adam Sinclair?” he asks me, and I nod again, placing my chin in my palm and looking up at him, bored.

  “He and your mother, Demi Sinclair, I see as it is here, owe quite the debt… and yet, we have found no trace of them here in Mortaria.” He speaks this apparent truth, and I feel my heart deflate in my chest.

  So my parents aren’t here.

  “But… I thought everyone came here after they die… I mean there can’t be many people who haven’t got anything to atone for? Can there?” I ask, not caring that I may be out of order, or that I don’t know any of the rules here. I just want answers.

  Muerta watches me with curiosity from the side lines where she stands beside the three fates.

  “There are only two ways in which a soul evades this place… immortality through becoming blessed at the discretion of the Gods, or through destruction,” Yama explains, his eyes inexpressive of how he feels, if in fact he does at all.

  “And how exactly do you destroy a soul?” I ask him, cocking my eyebrow and trying to let the fact he is even more intimidating than Luce wash over me. I need to stand my ground with these people, show them that even though I am mortal, I won’t be pushed around.

  “The Eternal Flame.” The voice comes from Muerta this time, her tongue twisting around the syllables in a gorgeous and unmistakable Spanish accent.

  “Hmmm….” Yama looks at the file, then to Xion.

  “And you claim that this girl has the power over such a flame?” he asks him, his expression deadly serious.

  What is he implying exactly?

  Xion stands from the bench where he’s sat, watching the trial with a still stoic expression.

  “Yes, that is correct. She killed a Banshee. I saw it.”

  “And what do you make of all this, Fates?” Yama turns now to the three old women who sit on the Juror’s bench, still knitting, as though they’re not even paying attention.

  For a moment, they still in their motion, touching palms to one another before the red eyed woman speaks.

  “There… is more to this than meets the eye. I have seen,” she announces. The woman next to her smiles.

  “I have heard,” she says, even though I know she is deaf. “And our sister has spoken… spoken with the voices of the past. There is more here than meets the eye,” they explain as a twosome, and I wonder what their names are individually.

  “Layla, Moira, Anya… please do indulge an ol
d Judge and let us in on whatever it is you’re sitting on. I don’t have all day.” Yama looks irritated, and I wonder if the three old biddies try this kind of melodrama with every person who comes in here, or if I’m just special. From Yama’s reaction, I’d guess the former.

  “The girl… she is indeed Haedes’ daughter. She destroyed the souls of her caregivers.” At this inclination, I’m on my feet.

  “How dare you?! My parents died in a….” I begin to leap to my own defence, before I realise something.

  My parents had died in a fire…

  What if… what if I was the one who lit it?

  But no. That can’t be. It was an accident. I was only six years old. I don’t even know how to use whatever my powers are now. How on earth would I be able to use them as a child?

  “Bring us the eye.” The bedraggled woman with the ball of wool demands, reaching out a blind hand.

  Muerta is handed what looks to be a sphere of quartz by Yama, and passes it to the Blind Fate without breaking my gaze.

  “This will show you… you will see, child,” she promises, dropping the ball of wool carelessly so it falls and rolls across the room, taking up the orb in both hands like it’s a baby bird.

  After a few seconds, what appears to be a mythical projector powers up, showing me what I think is a memory.

  I’m there, small and wide eyed with chubby arms and legs. My hair is the only thing that distinguishes me from any other child as it stands out, wavering auburn as the misty projection shimmers in the air. I’m in my mother and father’s suite, the place I no longer venture, playing by the fireplace.

  My mother calls out to me, her face coming like a stab in the gut as I’m taken back to what I’ve lost full force. Her voice comes crashing down over me like the saddest lament you’ll ever hear.

  “Come on little Firecracker. Time to say goodnight to Daddy. He’ll be gone by the time you wake up.” She looks sad as deep chocolate locks fall across her face and the green eyes I miss so much sparkle with tears. She looks miserable, which is amazing to me because that’s not how I remember this at all.

  “Come here, Firecracker.” My father puts out his arms to me, but I move away.

  “NO!” I scream, my cognac eyes burning with naïve rage. I don’t understand he has to leave for business. I just know I don’t want him to go.

  I back up toward the fireplace, trying to put off the hug for as long as possible, thinking it’ll stop the inevitable.

  As I reach the raised marble ledge of the grate, I scream out again, tears in my too innocent eyes.

  “NO!”

  In a flash, the fire within the marble hearth explodes forward, burning scarlet to orange in an ombre I’ve seen only once before.

  I watch on in horror, but I’m powerless to stop it. I feel my terror at what I’ve done rise and attack, destroying the walls I’ve built so carefully over so many years.

  I fall to my knees, eyes wide now as they had been then, and flame explodes from my palms. This time though it’s from my adult palms, and not from that of a child, causing gasps to emit from onlookers.

  Muerta’s voice can be heard screaming, “That’s enough!” as I close my eyes and wish that everything would just stop, that I could just go back to ignorance.

  The sound emitted from the orb ceases and the room goes silent.

  I begin to cry, harrowing sobs wrenching my body as my heart is ripped so open that I cannot fathom even trying to appear cocky or brave.

  I killed my parents.

  I killed them.

  It takes but a single touch of Xion’s hand on my shoulder to turn my anguish to rage. I don’t look at him, leaning forward on my knees as I let my hair fall around me. The curtain of fiery red shields me from his concerned stare, making my rage all the more unmanageable.

  “Don’t touch me.” I spit, furious. Why did he bring me here? Why did he have to expose this and turn my loss into unmanageable guilt? If it weren’t for him, I would be back at Retropolis, finding someone to lose myself in. Having fun. Being Sephy again.

  I just want to go home.

  This desire surprises me, especially when for the last month I’ve hated feeling so cooped up in the estate and tried to leave every single chance I got.

  Wiping my eyes, I know I cannot dwell on my guilt now. I need to finish up here and get out of this place, and I can’t do that sobbing on the floor.

  I need to appear strong.

  I stand up tall, throwing my hair back over one shoulder and glancing at Xion’s expression as it turns surprised.

  I take a deep breath, I calm myself, and I look Yama straight in the eye. I am not the kind of person you fuck with. Especially not now.

  “So, what now?” I ask, placing a hand on my hip and ignoring the fact that my heart is still racing in my chest. I’m in shock, I know I am. But as usual I’m excellent at compartmentalising, and so I put my emotions away in a tiny box, knowing I’ll have to deal with them when I’m alone and in the company of fine whisky.

  “Judging on what I’ve just seen, I can say with confidence that your parent’s souls were destroyed. This is why their debt has fallen to you,” Yama concludes and I nod.

  “However, as it is, you’re not actually the descendant of Adam Sinclair, perhaps legally in the mortal world, you are his heir, but biologically speaking, you have no connection with him at all it would seem.” He presses his fingers together again and looks to Muerta who is watching us both with interest.

  “What do you see in her?” he asks, and Muerta squares her shoulders, taking purposeful strides and getting closer to me than I’d like. She seems to have no gauge for personal space, so much so that I can feel her breathing on my face as her warm breath dries the salty trails left by my tears.

  She looks into my eyes with her enormous chocolate brown irises, and I feel myself vulnerable, like she’s giving me an x-ray.

  I turn away from her, trying not to feel awkward, and spot Luce up in the gallery above, watching me with interest. She smiles and is beautiful in this expression no doubt, but rather than finding her grin comforting, I’m unsettled. She looks like an angel on the outside, but for some reason, call it listening to too many bible verses on Sundays, I seriously doubt she is one.

  “She is proud, her heart is filled with lust for certain… and… there is vanity, a dash of wrath…” Muerta lists off my sins, frowning for a moment.

  “But… she is a demi-god no doubt. Her mortal half may be riddled with the start of sins the likes of which we have never seen, and yet… her Godly half is pure. She cannot carry the debt of her namesake. She is not a viable candidate.” The words spill from her lips, and suddenly the blind Fate gasps as I smirk at the list of my sins, or as I like to call them, best qualities.

  “Layla, what is it?” Muerta demands, moving back from me and over to the three women as the clicking of knitting needles ceases and they grab each other’s hands.

  “The Phoenix… A Chimera of all souls. Will rise from her ashes…” Layla speaks, her hands shaking as the scissor wielding fate points to me with her shears. I shake my head in automatic protest, not understanding, and worrying that I’m going to be thrown into some kind of torture chamber or something.

  “What does that mean?” I ask, looking up to Luce and calling out to her. She frowns a second.

  “I don’t know,” she calls back from above, shrugging. I sigh out. Well, at least if it’s rising from my ashes, then I won’t have to worry about it; I’ll be long gone by then.

  “Well, I think it’s pretty clear that we can’t let you leave here Miss Sinclair. You’ve been attacked once already, and you’re clearly untrained with your powers, understandably so,” Yama decrees, and I scowl.

  “I’m not staying here. I don’t care if you’re the god of the entire universe. You can’t make me stay here.” I’m speaking as though I think it can make an inch of difference. I know I’m no match for him, for anyone in this room, maybe not even The Fates. Well, I’m pro
bably a match for Xion, but that’s not much good when he all of a sudden seems to be the only person on my side.

  He clears his throat, stepping forward so he’s stood beside me.

  “Yama. She cannot just disappear. She is well known in the mortal world. It will cause a stir. I will teach her how to use her powers. I will take her home.” He looks at me, and my heart skips a beat. He might not be punching the crap out of someone, but this is definitely the most heroic thing he’s ever done.

  “You? You cannot teach her how to wield the Immortal Flame… Only Haedes can do such a thing. You are completely unqualified!” Yama exclaims, looking upset that someone has questioned his rule.

  “Haedes does not even wish to acknowledge he has a daughter. It is my belief that as long as Xion is protecting her, she should be allowed to go and live her life as normal.” This comes from Luce now, and Yama continues to frown. Muerta and Luce share a look, and I wonder what it is they’re thinking.

  “If anything should happen, it is on your head, Xion.” Yama sighs and warns him through gritted teeth, raising his arm toward the black mallet on his left. He lifts it before bringing it down upon the black wood of the bench, striking a sound that signals the trial is over.

  I’m so exhausted I want to just collapse, and as Xion comes toward me, my anger for him, which had raged earlier, quells. Fatigue takes a hold of my body, and my muscles unclench; my legs feel like jelly, and my heartbeat continues to pulse rapid in my ears.

  “Let’s get you home,” Xion whispers to me, guiding me out of the room.

  This entire thing has left me raw. Left me exposed and vulnerable.

  As we leave the courtroom, I realise it’s the first time since I lost my parents that I feel like what I really am.

  An orphan.

  PANDORA

  I shrink back behind the alabaster pillar of the right hand upstairs gallery. I knew I had chosen my spot well because everyone was too busy watching The Fates, those ridiculous old crones, to notice me above in the shadow cast by the black walls.