22. ACHERON
Even rigorous hill runs through the Isle’s jungle couldn’t stop Ash from thinking about last night’s council meeting. Not even standing before the other Tienthan in the training ring lined with deadly weapons could stop him from thinking about how his knuckles felt against Sophie’s. He knew he didn’t have to, but he wanted to, in fact, something in him told him that he needed to. He wanted to let Sophie know that while his face was serious and stern, it was all for a reason. And he hoped – there was that word again – that she knew what he intended. The council was made of snakes, at least some of them were. Ares, Diafonia and Dikastis were harmless, but Ash wasn’t sure where he could place the rest of the council, least of all Vestes. Ash had to play his cards right and he didn’t want Vestes the vermin having any leverage over him.
Ever since Ash joined the Tienthan, Vestes had always voted against him. Doing everything in his power to put Ash at a disadvantage. The god had hated “half-breeds” as he coined them – children and beings born of a god and another being. Ash technically wasn’t one. He didn’t even know what he could classify himself as. His mother and father were Fae, but he had earned his wings in the Tienthan and by Zeus’s own blessing that day on Mount Gehenna, he was gifted the powers of a god – several gods. That made him an anomaly. One that Vestes despised . . . and feared.
Ash stood in front of his troops, his favourite war hammer in his hand. “Today is weapons day.” His favourite day of all days.
He surveyed his soldiers. A few of them were tired from the hill runs they’d just completed. To his surprise, Sofreya stood there looking worse for wear, but still, she stood there. Throughout the run she kept a steady pace at the back of the group, but never did she fall behind. She had grit and Ash admired that tremendously. “Those of you that have your master weapon, peel off and practise your drills. Those of you that don’t, follow me.”
All the angels of the Tienthan moved to the other end of the training ring where they unracked their preferred weapons, leaving his beloved childhood friend with her Fae ears and lack of wings standing alone. It reminded him of when he first joined the Tienthan – wingless and Fae but unknowingly powerful.
Angel wings in the Godlands were earned, not given. Anyone could try their hand at the Hrabrost Trials wingless, but only few would be able to get through and earn the illustrious angel wings. It was a test of courage, skill and grit. The last person to complete the trials and earn a pair of wings upon Mount Gehenna was him. And that was eleven years ago.
Sophie stood in front of him with her arms crossed, all her weight propped onto one hip. “If you wanted me alone, you could have just said so.” She laughed.
“I’m not sure the rest of the team would appreciate me announcing how I’d like to see you . . . alone.”
“Touché.” Sophie nodded and stalked by, completely ignoring him as she walked past. Ash shook his head. For twenty years, he missed having his best friend beside him. It still felt like a dream.
It was now months ago that he’d heard a voice he hadn’t heard in years echo down a bond that lay dormant in his heart. He heard her cries from all the way in the Godlands and he didn’t hesitate. He flew faster than the speed of light to find her. To help her.
“So where do we start? Do I just pick one and start swinging?” Sophie peered over her shoulder back at him. Her purple and silver hair, now much longer than when she’d arrived in the Godlands, was tied into a battle braid.
Ash’s wings fluttered as he watched her survey a smorgasbord of weapons from all realms strewn out across a table. “I mean that’s a great way to start if you want a one-way ticket to the infirmary.” Ash moved toward the table of weapons that had been laid out before them. Everything from shuriken to short blades, katanas and machetes lay on the table – oiled and ready for use. On the side of each table were racks lined with larger and longer weapons like wooden staffs and halberds. “Have you heard of the saying . . .” He set his war hammer down to pick up several throwing knives from the table. He turned to face Sophie and as she turned to him, he could have sworn his heart stopped for what was a millisecond. “. . . a jack of all trades is a master of none?”
Ash began idly throwing the knives in one hand.
“. . . but often times is better than a master of one?” Sophie finished off for him.
“That’s the one.” He threw the knife toward the target that sat a few metres out from where they stood. FWOOMP. He knew it hit dead centre without even looking. “Well, the Tienthan, as Zeus’s Aerial Legion, needs to be prepared for every case, every possible outcome in every realm.” He threw another knife toward the target while he watched amusement dance across Sophie’s face. She scoffed, knowing full well he was showing off for her. Well, he was. “We’re the jack of all trades but . . .” He threw another knife. FWOOMP. Dead centre. “We are also the master of one.”
Ash had one knife left in his hand. He toyed with it, tossing it over in one hand. “Today, we’re going to find out what that one weapon is for you and we’re going through the basics.” Ash moved toward Sophie with a challenging smirk on his face. They almost stood toe to toe.
Sophie stepped in a touch closer, crossing her arms as she did. “Then show me . . . Master of Weapons.”
Ash’s immortal heart skipped a beat. Clean slate. Clean slate. Clean slate. He threw his last knife without looking. “I like how that title roles off your tongue.”
“We’ll see if you’re singing the same tune once our weapons session is over.” Sophie smirked. She stood up taller, challenging him.
If Ash leaned forward a fraction, they could— No, he couldn’t finish that train of thought even though his body sang for her. He couldn’t. She was his friend, and she insisted on a clean slate. He needed to respect her boundaries.
Ash shook his head to clear his thoughts and moved to the other side of the weapons table. “Come. I’ll show you what’s on offer.” Using his peripherals, he spied the last throwing knife he threw. It was a hair’s width off the centre mark.
“So, it’s kind of like a sorting hat except it gives you your master weapon?” Sophie stared at the pair of leather-looking gloves that were made of the red threads of fate.
“Precisely.” Ash stood on the edge of the weapons pit beside the racks of weapons.
“What if I don’t like the weapon I get?” She gingerly put on the gloves as if she feared the power they held. They looked outright ridiculous on her small hands. Ash tried his hardest not to laugh.
He cleared his throat. “You will. Trust me. The Fates have already decided for you.”
Sophie grumbled something about the stupid Fates, though Ash couldn’t quite catch it. She shook her head and stood in front of the table and racks of weapons.
What the fate-threaded gloves did, was concentrate the wearer’s mana and send a tendril of it through each weapon. A reactive pulse would return into the gloves, if and only if the wearer’s destined master weapon was present. It was why the Tienthan always had an arsenal of weapons from all realms to work with.
Sophie stretched her arms out on front of her and breathed, channelling the mana that lived inside her.
Ash caught the wince of pain as she dived deep. It was something like resentment, anger and hurt that rang through the air. Ash had a sneaking suspicion as to the cause. He hadn’t had the chance to speak to her about the scene he found her in, covered in blood and her skin almost blackened with the exertion of power. She had been on the brink of death, but that conversation would have to wait, and it would only happen on her terms.
Sophie furrowed her brows. “I don’t feel anything.”
“Be patient.” Ash watched her as she begrudgingly pulled up another dreg of power. A white glow encased her hands and all the weapons splayed out began to levitate. Ash’s lips parted, watching in awe as she moved all the weapons with little mana exertion.
“Got it.” She smiled wide though her eyes were still closed. All the weapons she’d pulled to the air fell with a quick thump, except one. The rope dart. Possibly the most difficult weapon to master. Of course she was destined to master the most elusive, rare and complex weapon across all realms.
Ash scoffed and ordered. “Now pull it to you.”
Sophie obeyed. The rope dart’s red rope was spun from threads of fate. The darts on either end were forged in the underground volcanoes of Mount Gehenna. It was a choice weapon only few have mastered in centuries. The rope dart spun in place and flew to Sophie’s expectant hand. She opened her eyes and confusion scrunched her beautiful features.
“I’m not going to lie. I’m a little disappointed. I have zero clue as to what this is.” She held the rope dart gingerly in her hands, examining the unique sharp blades as if it were a dirty sock that would come to life and kill her.
Ash flew to her with one big beat of his wings. He loved how she did not cower or quake at the presence of him and his wings. His stature, standing six foot four, was intimidating for many. Add the height of his wings, it was a wonder he could fit anywhere.
“Let me demonstrate,” he reached out his hand as she placed the weapon in his.
He released one end of the rope, swinging it casually as he walked into the centre of the weapons ring. Clashes of swords and spears echoed in the distance. With the grace of a leopard, the Godlands’s master of weapons sprang into action. He sent the dart flying before him with a quick flip of his arm, his leg kicked up altering the dart’s trajectory. He butterfly-kicked low, sending both sides the darts of the rope flying out, piercing the necks of his invisible enemies. Quickly standing, he wrapped one side of the rope around his arm and the other side around his neck, building up momentum for his final killing blow. He swung his neck forward and kicked back at the same time – releasing the full length of the rope on either side of his body. If he were engaging armed combatants, they would have darts jutting out of their necks . . . several metres away. With swift rotations of his arms and a few spins around the body, he latched the rope dart by his side.
A slow clap sounded.
“So, um . . . can I pick another weapon? There’s no way I can do that.” Sophie grimaced from where she stood on the sidelines.
“If you want to argue with the threads of destiny by all means go ahead.” Ash laughed. He knew no sane person would defy the Fates. But something in his heart told him Sophie would. She was crazy like that.
Sophie rolled her eyes. “I’m seriously considering having a word with these Fates. They’ve got a sick obsession with making everything hard.” She groaned, stepping into the centre of the ring, stopping just before him. “Alright then, show me.” She gestured to the rope dart that he held in his hands.
And so he did.
Sophie donned the rope dart. While she expressed her concerns about such a rare weapon, she took everything he showed her in stride. A growing smile panned across her face as she mirrored his simple dart strikes with ease. Flow. Strike. Flow. Strike.
She moved with ease, determination and skill. It took him hours to learn what she did in a few moments. There was a reason the Fates had chosen this weapon for her. She was a natural, and Ash was thoroughly impressed.
The next move would be the test. It took Ash weeks to perfect it.
Sophie moved to wrap the rope around her arm and tried to swing out both darts like he showed her, but she failed. “I can’t get them to swing out like you did. They just fall . . .” Sophie screwed her face in frustration.
“You just need to twist more at your hips.”
She tried but failed again.
Ash stood before her, analysing her stance. Her feet were too close. He kicked her front foot out a touch as she held onto the rope dart. He twisted her shoulders to face him. His hands tingled where their skin made contact and it felt like his head had been dunked into water. He wondered if she felt the same. Her purple iridescent eyes watched him carefully and he could hear her heart beat faster the closer he inched.
He softly pivoted her hips so that they were more in line with her feet. Electricity flitted through him at the contact. Ash noticed the bobbing of her throat. They watched each other carefully. It was like they had fallen victim to a spell that they both wanted but neither of them needed. At least that’s what he tried to convince himself.
“Oi! Get a room!” A familiar male voice broke the dizzying spell they had both fallen victim to.
Eros.
Ash’s entire troop turned to face where he and Sophie stood, unnervingly close to each other.
Thunder struck as Ash turned to face the god of love from across the training ground. He crossed his arms, made eye contact with Eros and shouted, “This entire training ground is my room!”
“Yeah, sure it is,” Eros brushed him off, laughing as he walked away to get refreshments.
Ash felt his face turn red. He mustered enough courage to turn and face Sophie. “Apologies about Eros. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about.” Ash kneaded the tension that had built up in his neck, waiting for his childhood friend to say something.
She didn’t.
Instead, Sophie turned, placed her destined weapon on the table and stalked off to the refreshment table.
An emptiness started in Ash’s heart. He wanted to say something, but he couldn’t discount the tendrils of hurt and despair – guardedness even – that she left in her wake.
He knew she was hurting and deep down he wanted to be the one who would stop it.