Enthroned by Amethysts (A Dance with Destiny Book 3) (2 page)

Chapter 2

Musashi

(moo-SAH-shee)

Musashi Yomika was a warrior without equal.

He had trained and sliced his way to the very top. This unlikely Ronin was sole ruler of the entire ninth layer realm of Jinn, the second largest layer in the universe. No man, woman, demon, or Angel could boast such a claim.

An entire, vast layer sovereign to just one man, to just one will, to just one rule… bend the knee to Musashi and live.

Yet in all this he was not a tyrant, not
unnecessarily
cruel. He did what he had to do to get to the top and remain there.

There was no mistaking, Musashi had killed. He’d killed thousands, many had been innocents.

On his rise to the top, he slew all that dared cross swords with him. He left none alive and sent whole families to the Otherworld to prevent any chance of him having to answer for their father’s blood.

Musashi Yomika did not hail from one of the prestigious clans; he couldn’t even claim one of the lowly clans. He was a rogue, living by the sword alone. This mighty warrior was blessed with the strength and physique of a god. He was born in a poor village and his parents were forced to sell him at a young age for they could not feed and care for him. Their
intentions
may have been noble… but reality was far from such grandiose dreams. Musashi was worked like a beast and beaten twice as badly. He was picked on and tortured by the other village children. Looking back now, he knew it was because they actually feared his size and inhuman strength.

At the first opportunity, Musashi escaped his forced servitude and made his new home in the wilderness, far from any human contact. He ate what he could find and spent his days learning to wield the twin blades he’d stolen upon his departure.

As he grew, he had an uncontrollable desire to pit his steel against any man he caught donned with a sword. Musashi never lost, and each victory fueled his need for greatness.

He had no family. He had no friends. He was nursed by steel and comforted by death. His blade was for hire and he cared not what task he may be set to. He played the part of guard, of protector, of warrior, and of assassin. He had little use for the coin, but the blood… Ooh, sooo… much… blood. He found great strength in the blood of his slain.

And so it was, Musashi grew in power and prowess. His name alone spread fear and weakened spines. The only place he would ever be destined for, was the top. This rogue warrior would challenge every man alive until he was either destroyed, or champion of them all.

His strange sense of honor,
his code
, must’ve come from within, for noble traits had not been taught him. Even with his feral upbringing, Musashi never attacked an unarmed opponent. Yet, he would soon learn to murder children as they slept.

His conscience was dictated by the delusional idea he was doing them an honorable favor. Being a widow or an orphan… it was a
dreadfully
dark path to be set upon. He knew this fate firsthand. Musashi found that people were all the same when forced into an inescapable corner. They lie down and die, or… they come out fighting.

His
noble
intentions of sending the innocent ones on to meet their maker—instead of leaving them to a fate he’d known so well—changed into a very
un
-noble need, when a young man tried to avenge his father’s death at Musashi’s powerful hands. Watching the lights flicker out in the eyes of a child was much harder than stealing their lives as they slept. His giant heart had been calloused until that fateful day. Then… those calluses were covered over by darkness.

And as such, the destiny of Jinn became set in stone.

Musashi claimed his throne by the sword and ruled by the sword. His heart was as hard as the dual blades that never left his side. These days, he kept his skill through sparring alone. Gone were the challengers and opponents of the past. The ninth layer humbly accepted its place at the feet of the
one once scorned
.

History would never repeat itself on Jinn. Children were no longer used as coin or payment, but their fates had been sealed by their own unrighteous hands. Now, they swallowed their medicine the only way they could… with their knee bent and their head bowed.

Musashi had no heirs, for he had never known the touch of a woman, nor did he want to. Many tales floated on the wind, carried from village to village, about his claiming of virgins and prowess with the widows and handmaids. He had no such desire. Musashi could not miss, nor could he yearn for, something he had never known.

His teenage years were spent alone in the wilderness, his twenties were spent in bloody battle, and now his adulthood could spare no room for kisses in the night or for love to lay seed in a blackened heart. Many maids were drawn to his power and many swooned at the sight of his rugged good looks, but he entertained them not. Musashi was wed to razor-sharp steel and he sought no other mistress.

On occasion, a young samurai would be born with a heart of a tiger and set his eye on the Emperor’s rule. Musashi
lived
for such things. He would never extinguish the passionate flame during their youth, for he found no pleasure in dueling the weak. He would watch over the newcomer’s accomplishments and even cheer him on. The stronger his opponent, the happier Musashi was when the victory he claimed.

The people of Jinn were of one blood. No variations could be found in color or complexion. Every man, woman, and child was crowned with hair the color of midnight and their eyes closely matched the beautiful lavender growing in every field.

Only Musashi had seen and spoken with the angelic messenger who was absent color. The look of her unnerved the mighty Ronin.

Only a witch could have drained her own darkness and spun silver in its place.

Musashi Yomika dwelled little upon Valencia’s looks, and much more upon her words.

To be Master of Creation would be a great challenge indeed.

*****

Jinn was a beautifully majestic layer. The entire realm was covered with wave upon wave of fragrant lavender. The sun wasn’t brutally hot, and the enchanting night sky boasted
two
glorious moons. It was a land in which great magic could still be found…
if
you knew where to look.

Some rare people on Jinn were born with magic, they were called Shinobi. These ancient people were a peaceful clan who chose to live in the mountains, far from the fearful masses of normal Jinnites.

The odd creatures that roamed Jinn could be found on no other layer, nor could their equal. The common creatures swimming in the gray green waters of layer nine would be called monsters and nightmares in all other places. There were no
tame
animals on Jinn, the people feared and avoided or killed them.

The giant striped cats were as beautiful as they were deadly, and the fire-breathing carnivorous lizards ruled them all. The striped tiger cats and the fire dragon lizards were the largest predators, but not the deadliest. The tiny reclusive purple spiders killed more people on Jinn than all other things combined, and the colorful belly-gliding serpents came in a close second.

The main reason for the staggering mortality stats was the
size
of the offender. The spiders and snakes hid easily and crept into homes and beds unawares. Their lethal bites were usually defensive and not meant to sate hunger pangs. The larger and more imposing beasts were easily avoided. The villages were established far away from the beastly breeding grounds and overly protected hatchling nests.

Thus the greatest natural resource of Jinn had gone untapped, and the sheer power of these massive beasts remained unharnessed. The magic wielders had tried, unsuccessfully, to lay hands upon a youngling, intending to raise it among them. The gigantic parents had proved the greatest of majestic guardians.

So, as it was, large portions of Jinn were called the badlands and inhabited only by the winged and four-footed creatures of this serenely beautiful layer. This bothered the Emperor. He set his mind upon conquering the beasts of Jinn, the same as he’d already done with its people.

Chapter 3

Valencia

(vah-LIN-cee-ah)

Valencia had been born one of the blessed. She was the youngest child of Valadrog and Vareen, little sister to Jenevier’s beloved Varick.

And as such, all the Vanir doted upon the only little girl running through the streets of Vanahirdem.

Since death was a rare thing among these majestic people, the birth of a new Vanir was a monumental occasion. One can then imagine how spoiled a young child may become in such a glorious place.

Valencia had proven to be the expected outcome of such an environment. She was fiercely loyal to her loving big brother, but only to him. She tended to act a bit superior to anyone she deemed
unworthy
or a threat to her in some way. As this gorgeous angelic woman grew and developed, no Vanir could remember any before who had been quite so taken with such a great sense of personal entitlement.

Valencia not only expected reverence, she demanded it. Yet, reverence, loyalty, and respect are not traits to be demanded… they must
always
be earned.

Valadrog spent many worrisome years throughout the millennia searching for and tracking down his rebellious female offspring. Valencia loved nothing more than darting into the clouds and popping out in all the wrong places. Her insatiable curiosity had gotten her into many compromising situations. Even though she was blessed with great charm and an overflowing, vivacious personality, there were a few situations she hadn’t been able to smile or glamour her way out of. It was during
those
times her loving father had managed to find her and save her wings.

Even though Valencia would kiss her father and praised the salvation of her hide… they were only hollow words, play acting. Valadrog and Vareen
knew
this, as did all other Vanir.

The truth was… Varick was the
only
creature in existence who the enchanting young Princess Valencia truly worshipped.

Several hundred years after her birth, she was still considered a teenager by the standards of the Vanir. It was during this time Valencia grew further and further away from her ethereal kin.

The holy Vanir have a purpose, a
specific
purpose, they all do. And, they are formed
for
that purpose…
created
to perfectly carry out their intended duty. Each Vanir was blessed with a rare talent made especially for an explicit job. Valencia was no different. Her talents lay in charm, grace, and coercion. Naturally, her heavenly obligation was that of an ambassador.

Not only was she the liaison of the Vanir, Valencia was a prized negotiator and emissary between numerous races and factions upon all layers and throughout various realms of the unseen worlds. Her rare talents had saved many people, many lands, and even many souls.

Alas, her job kept her on the move and too often in the shadows of this vast universe. Her life wasn’t the same as her brethren. Her experiences were different, her perception was different, and her personality was a blended plethora of all these things.

Her task wasn’t
protecting
innocence, no. Her responsibility was in maintaining balance and order. If innocence or love must be sacrificed to obtain a greater good, then they were sacrificed… simple as that.

One word Valencia refused to accept was
fair
.

“
Fair
is in the eye of the beholder and always within their own best interest. My fair will never be your fair and vice versa. Fair is merely a made-up word to describe a made-up world that doesn’t actually exist. Fair is never
truly
fair. Thus, it negates itself. Speak to me of fair and I shall teach you
un
fair. Bind fair within your heart and whisper it not upon the wind… lest it reach mine ear.”

So was Valencia—a vital part of a grander plan, yet heartless and unlovable at but a glance.

Was she evil? No.

Valencia is rhyme and reason and pertinence…
not
compassion and love and favor.
Those
were tasks placed upon others. She was blessed with the knowledge of
outcome
. The pain of the process towards said outcome… was irrelevant. Only the ending mattered.

Even though the part she played was an essential one, most Vanir couldn’t stomach her nonchalant air and pointed attitude.

Varick understood and accepted his little sister. Not only because he was her beloved brother, but also because his task was that of a judge. No one could appreciate her importance more than he.

And, so it was, Valencia’s unemotional and pragmatic heart took no pity on Jenevier’s punishment or plight. The truth of the matter was… the ethereal ambassador was extremely resentful of the task given to her.

Watching over this sniveling little girl and her incessant tears tries my nerves. She needs a good dose of reality.

Valencia soon put this bitter thought into action.
She
was the one who placed the enlightening little book of Jenevier’s life in that discount bin and blew upon the nearby wind chimes.

This is ridiculous
, she thought.
Now the silly human cleaves to the book I wrote and cries all the more. Its intention was to vividly paint her putrid sins, bring them foremost to her mind—show her the bitter reality she created herself and let her read the truth with her own eyes. Yet, she embraces them—holds tight to her countless flaws. I swear… I believe I hate her.