Redeemed by Rubies (A Dance with Destiny Book 6) (35 page)

Jenevier’s eyes went wide. She jerked her hand away from the cold marble statue.

“…A… Guardian…” she whispered, in unbelieving awe.

Ahriman nodded. “The stone ones are either Gargoyles or Vargalites. You can tell by looking at the face. Vargalites have these lower protruding tusks. See?” He touched one as he spoke. “The black granite ones are mostly the
really
ancient races: Tospians, Krendors, Lanunes, and the like. Trolls turn into hardened clay—sturdier than you might think, though.”

“I didn’t understand
half
of the words you just used,” she said, gently touching the forearm of the large sculpture in front of her. “This was once an Angel, wasn’t it?”

Ahriman approached her. “Yes. Most Angels turn into Prisalyn. Not all.”

“But… why?” She turned to him. “Why are they like this?”

“They lost in the arena.” He touched one of her curls, but withdrew immediately. “You can never leave Sheol. Once you are sent here, you wait. When these creatures were defeated in battle, their souls turned to what you see here. They will now continue their wait in
this
form.”

Jenevier bit her bottom lip and looked away.

“It’s not that bad,” Ahriman said softly. “If one must wait for eons on end, why not do so as a silent statue? The agonizing time must pass quicker this way,” he whispered, mostly to himself.

Jenevier gazed at the soul-eater’s sad profile a moment, before shaking her head and turning away.

“When was there a battle?” Jenevier looked then to Shamsiel. “When did war come to Sheol?”

“Not war, Empress…
sport
.”

“Sport?”

“Yes.” He smiled. “These were brought here from the arena. Don’t feel bad for them. They chose this. If you are not the victor, your remaining time will be spent in silence.”

“Arena? Chose this?” She shook her head. “Why would you
choose
this? What does the winner get?”

“They get to continue on… live to battle another day,” Shamsiel said.

“Yes, but why?” Jenevier turned to Ahriman. “What are they all fighting for? What is so valuable that you’d risk
this
?” She motioned toward the frozen creatures surrounding them.

“I thought we had already been through this,” Shamsiel said. “They get… you.”

Jenevier spun back to face him. “What did you just say?”

“They are fighting for
you
, Angel—the whole of Sheol. Well… fighting for the chance to get to
use
you.”

“Use me? How?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “However they see fit. Ahriman, there…” He nodded toward the other Angel. “…wishes you his eternal lover. I already told you what
I
want with you. As far as the others… who knows? Perhaps they fight out of boredom. Perhaps they just want to see who is the strongest. And then… perhaps there are a few who simply wonder what you taste like.”

When Jenevier grimaced, Shamsiel started laughing.

“The tournament started the day Rixx was sent to watch over you,” Ahriman said. “From that day until this, the arena has been open.”

“You mean, the inhabitants of Sheol have been at war… all these years? Fighting for something they didn’t even know for sure would happen?”

“Oh, we knew it would happen,” Shamsiel said. “We just weren’t sure
when
it would happen. It took a while to set all the pieces into play, as you can well imagine. Now… here you are.” He smiled. “Come, Milady. Follow me to the tournament being held in your honor. Count these many statues along the way as tribute to your pricelessness.”

Shamsiel chuckled as he went on ahead, leaving Jenevier and Ahriman to stare after him.

Chapter 22

Ardune

(arr-DUNE)

The arena was enormous, almost completely covered in witch-vine. It glowed so brightly, they could see it while they were yet afar off.

“Isn’t it magnificent?” Shamsiel said as they entered the grandstands. “Welcome to Gilbad, Your Highness, ancient arena of the old ones.”

“Well now… who do we have here?”

When he spoke, Jenevier turned to the dark-skinned man with flowing white hair.

“Seems Shamsiel has brought us a new contestant,” he said, smirking. “Will you be joining the games, my Lady?”

Jenevier looked the stranger up and down, same as he did her. The small man with grey pupils stood eye-to-eye with her. When she smiled at him, his shock was obvious.

“Nope,” she said. “I didn’t come here to fight. Well… I might kill Ahriman… eventually.”

The man glanced over her shoulder at the Angel, and then back to her. He smiled.

“So… what are you?” She almost giggled. “I’ve never seen anyone quite like
you
before.”

“And I have never seen anyone quite like you before, either,” he said. “Are you Angel?”

“Not anymore.” Jenevier shrugged her shoulders. “I guess I’m just a girl now. Just a human.”

“You are not
just
anything, my Lady.” He bowed slightly. “I am a Drowl—dark Elf warrior to the high King, Thacius.”

“Thacius, his kingdom, and all its people, have long since passed,” Ahriman said. “Eons ago they inhabited a large portion of Dimthe Leard. When their time in this universe came to an end, Father sent the Drowl here… until He decides what to do with them.”

“…Drowl…” Jenevier whispered the strange word.

“Thacius named them that,” Ahriman said. “Because of their onyx skin and those large, bright eyes. It’s short for dark owl—Drowl. Kind of looks like one, doesn’t he? Oh, and they are not Elves. They were labeled thusly because of those extremely long, pointy ears.”

When Jenevier didn’t speak, Ahriman leaned over her shoulder and said to the Drowl, “This one is but a babe, Ardune… hasn’t even seen her first century. You are an oddity to her.”

“I see…” Ardune took her hand and gently kissed it. “Then allow this
oddity
the honor of introducing you to some more creatures you have probably never seen before.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Shamsiel said. “When this battle is over…” He motioned to the combatants on the arena floor. “…I will make her introduction myself. You may go now.”

Ardune bowed again, then whispered, “Human girl…
if
I had a heart, I would love you.”

“Then be glad you are not burdened so, Drowl,” Ahriman said. “This
human girl
plays hell with those cursed thusly.”

“Ahh…” Ardune smiled. “So
you
are the girl who managed to get that wicked soul-eater off torture and darkness, eh? Wow. You must be a rare creature indeed.” He glanced over her shoulder, toward the smirking dark Angel. “Ahriman, tell me. Where did you meet this fabled unicorn?”

“Skipping through hell,” Ahriman said. “Where’d you expect?”

Ardune bit his bottom lip. “Skipping through hell… Pffts. I would have loved to have seen that for myself.”

“And just who the blazes are you smiling at, Ardune?” a tall, willowy man said with his approach. “Stop it. Your face looks like you just ate a sour bug.”

“…Sour bug?” Jenevier whispered, then shivered.

“I believe this is
the
girl,” Ardune said.

“The girl?
The
girl?” The willowy man laughed. “Ha! You mean, the one who prances about the universe believing in Fairies and wishes and destiny?” He laughed again.

“Fairies
are
real,” Jenevier mumbled under her breath.

“Let me get a look at her.” The willowy man bent down closer. “Hmm… Tell me, little girl. Do you ride about on a pink Pegasus… pissing magic and bleeding leprechaun tears?”

Jenevier grabbed him around his spindly neck and jerked him down to his knees. “No, tree-boy,” she hissed. “I ride about on a sapphire Dragon. And, by the way, leprechauns are a myth… idiot.”

When she shoved the stranger away, Ardune burst out laughing. “That settles it. If
you
are the prize, my Lady, I will toss my name into the box as well. Spending eternity in Sheol won’t seem quite so drab… with a maiden full of fire at my side.”

Jenevier smiled. “I am honored, Drowl. Yet, I am no one’s
prize
. I cannot be owned. Such a thing is not possible.”

“Don’t look at it like I would
own
you,” Ardune said with a smile. “We would be best mates. You’ll see. I don’t want you for anything as vulgar as what that soul-eater wants you for.”

“Vulgar?” Jenevier snorted out a chuckle and looked sideways at Ahriman. “Did you hear that, Angel? The Drowl thinks your feelings toward me are vulgar.”

“That’s because he is a Drowl,” Ahriman casually said as he continued to watch the battle below. “They have no heart, no gender, no sex. Feel between his legs if you don’t believe me—as smooth and velvety as a rose petal.”

Ardune sort of protruded his midsection as if he were giving her permission to do that very thing.

Jenevier blanched. “Umm, no, thank you. I appreciate the offer, but I must decline.”

Ahriman snorted. “Ask him, Jenevier.” He glanced sideways at her, smirking. “I know you are dying to.”

“What are you—”

“Oh, don’t act all innocent with me. Go on. Ask him.”

Jenevier nervously cleared her throat. “Umm… Ardune?”

“Yes, my Lady?”

“So… Drowls are genderless?”

“Yes, my Lady.”

Ahriman elbowed her, prodding her to continue.  The Drowl simply stared at her, waiting.

“Well, what I meant to say— I mean… what I was trying to ask was—”

“Just spit it out already,” Ahriman whispered.

“Stop it,” she hissed back at the Angel, elbowing him in return. “Umm… Ardune?”

“Yes, my Lady,” he said again, smiling knowingly.

“If you cannot reproduce, how do you… reproduce?”

“Real smooth,” Ahriman said through a soft chuckle.

“What I mean is…” She cleared her throat again. “Are you the only Drowl, or are there others?”

“Just look around the arena, my Lady. We are many.”

She glanced around quickly, then back to him. “Yes… And, how did you all come to be?”

“They pop out of dung heaps,” Ahriman said.

“See?” Ardune looked again to the surly Angel behind her. “I told you he was vulgar.”

“You didn’t
have
to tell me, Ardune.” She winked at the Drowl. “I already knew.”

Ardune smiled then. “Drowls are born in mushroom beds.”

“I told you,” Ahriman whispered.

Jenevier ignored him. “Mushroom beds? Truly?”

The Drowl nodded. “We step out fully grown, just as you see me now. We guard the royal household. King Thacius made sure there were four Drowl for every female member of his family.”

“Is that so?”

Ardune nodded again. “When you were proven worthy enough to be given charge of a Lady, you became her
everything
. I was my Lady’s servant, her healer, her warrior, and her best friend.”

“And without any offending
parts
,” Ahriman added. “The King was ensured that his daughters not only stayed safe, but that their maidenhead was intact upon their eventual marriage.”

“So… there are only boy Drowls? No girls?”

“There are no boys
or
girls. Only Drowl.”

“But Ahriman referred to you as
him
.”

“It’s just easier for the non-Drowl that way.” Ardune shrugged his shoulders. “I guess it’s because we don’t have breasts.”

He touched hers when he said that. Jenevier slapped his hand away.

“Apologies, my Lady. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

Ahriman sort of snorted. “Believe him. He didn’t.”

Jenevier looked back at the Drowl. “You grow alongside mushrooms?”

Ardune nodded.

“But… people
eat
mushrooms.” She furrowed her brow. “Could someone actually pluck up a Drowl and toss it into a stew?”

Ardune nodded again. “When they are just starting out, yes.”

“But that’s… That’s horrible—accidentally eating a baby Drowl.”

“I hear they taste like unripened blueberries,” Ahriman said, keeping his gaze fixed on the arena floor.

“I have heard that as well.” Ardune sighed. “Ahh… the brutal indifference of life. Eh, my Lady?”

Jenevier didn’t speak, only swallowed hard before turning her attention to the ongoing battle below.

Yes
, she thought.
The brutal indifference of life.

“My Lady, if I could be so bold as to ask…”

Jenevier turned back to the Drowl.

“Are you hungry?” He brushed her curls back behind her shoulder. “You look a bit peckish. Have you been sleeping well?”

“I am fine.” She blushed slightly. “I
could
do with some rose tea, though.”

“Here, my Lady. Take a seat.” After Ardune had dusted off a spot for her, he turned to Ahriman. “Did you truly bring her to this place just as she is? Without anything proper to eat or drink?”

“I didn’t bring her here,” Ahriman said. “I
lured
her. There’s a difference. I knew not how she would show up, only that she would. Worry not for her, Drowl. Jenevier is a fighter. She can take care of herself.”

“Perhaps if she were yet Angel, she could,” Ardune snapped.

Ahriman furrowed his brow as he glanced at Jenevier’s profile.

“She is still among the living, Angel. I can hear her heartbeat from here. Do you expect her to live as do the rest of us? You may have
lured
her here, but you didn’t think it through. She is a human girl again, Ahriman. Her Grace was taken. You
had
to know that would happen.”

Ahriman didn’t speak, but the worry began to show on his face.

“Get that whole
beautiful little Angel
thing out of your head, and know this. She may yet be beautiful, but she is obviously no Angel.” Ardune glanced down at the continuing battle, then back to the soul-eater. “Who knows how many more years this will go on? The girl needs somewhere to sleep and bathe and dress.”

“But this is Sheol,” Ahriman said. “Where am I supposed to find a place like that?”

“You should have thought of that before you
lured
her here. Or at the very least, waited until the final battle had been set.”

“I couldn’t wait that long,” Ahriman mumbled.

“You are as selfish as you are arrogant, Angel.” Ardune tsked and shook his head. “You’ll need to bring her food to eat on a regular basis. And by the old gods… bring the Lady some rose tea.”

They both glanced back at her just as a large Gargoyle sat down beside her, generously offering to share his cup of bugs. Jenevier gagged.

“Look at that,” Ardune said. “You don’t even have to be a Drowl to know the Lady is in distress. Even that cretin of a Gargoyle is trying to feed her.”

“But…” Ahriman glanced toward Shamsiel. “I don’t want to leave her here, alone. And it is impossible for me to take her with me.”

“I will see to the Lady in your absence, Angel. But hurry… before she starts throwing up all over the place. Or, heaven forbid, faints right where she is sitting,” he mumbled.

*****

The large brownish-green ogre only grunted when he was finally run through.

With his spear still protruding through his opponent’s chest, the winning Gargoyle lifted his arms and shouted. Cheers rained down on the victor while the newest statue was carried from the arena. When the cries had finally died down, Shamsiel made Jenevier’s formal introduction to the crowd and combatants alike. She then noticed a rush of creatures head toward the far side of the arena floor.

“Seems the look of you has garnered even more interest than before.” Shamsiel pointed at the gathering crowd. “It will take poor old Terral hours to sort out all the new warriors now tossing their tile into the box.” He chuckled. “Not like it will matter. You are mine, little girl.”

She cast him a sideways glance. “You truly believe you can defeat Ahriman?”

“I know I can.”

“Have you ever seen the Angel fight?”

“Of course I have.” Shamsiel snorted. “Unlike you, I am no babe.”

“Babe or not, I was breathless next to his grace in battle. He moved like the wind… like a silent, deadly shadow. He danced. I’m not even joking, Shamsiel. That Angel swept over the battlefield as elegantly as if he were gliding a lover across the dance floor. Even though he glows like a newborn star, those demons never saw him coming.” She snorted out a sardonic laugh. “If I were you, Red, I would think long and hard before I drew my blade against the soul-eater. Wicked is too gentle a word for
that
warrior Angel.”