The Phoenix: The Slasher of the Ruasar House Part 2

Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December; And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor. Eagerly I wished the morrow;—vainly I had sought to borrow

“This way,” Duke Cian Ruasar muttered to the three of them, turning on his heels and slowly heading back down the dark hallway. Nesma followed behind him, letting her hand dash to the endless charms of the countless necklaces. She had many different faiths around her neck, rubbing them, not thinking about it but mostly holding onto the cross.

                She wanted to ask him a question. She wanted to know the mission they were summoned here for, but the darkness whispers do not dare break the quietness. Not even their boots seem to echo in the hall, fearful the night would be enraged at them.

                They passed painting after paintings of the Duke’s family, which seemed to reach back to the start of time. The faces all stared down at them, watching and judging. Kou moved closer to Nesma. She might have grown close to Zisbuz in the area of knowing the man could handle himself in a fight, but there was something motherly about Nesma to the orphan. Nesma didn’t care for the affection from the teenager, but she didn’t stop it either, at least not in the hall.

                The master of the house led them for a bit longer before opening the door to a library filled with thousands of books. The books stood on the edge of their shelves as unopen portals to escape the sorrow filling every inch of the house. The dust set thick on them along with tiny, whispered begging to be open. There is no greater Hell for a book than never to be read. Nesma wanted to free them from their Hell.

                The door behind them shut as the master sat in the long reading chair in front of a fire. The only light allowed in the house. Zisbuz stepped to the side, circling the man. Kou stayed on the heels of Nesma as she strolled along the wall of books.

                “Do you like to read, Kuthall?” The Duke asked. His voice was long and dry from the hours of being locked in the well of his dread. The melancholy had ripped all strength from his tone, making the words low and to the grave.

                “I do,” Nesma said. Books were the only thing that freed her from the hours in the pleasure houses. They allowed her a moment of freedom before she took it at the end of a bloody knife. She kept a fair share of books on her ship.

She stopped seeing the golden text of a book she had fallen madly in love with when she was enslaved. The Ballad of Nekhbet was a sweet tale of a young warrior woman breaking free of her rank and marrying the man of her heart, only for him to die in a war. Nekhbet traveled the stars trying to free herself of the pain only to meet the God of Death himself. Then she made her way to his black sun to free the man she loved so much very.

                The book had a happy ending. The ending made Nesma cry even to this day.

                “It is the first edition,” the Duke said. “There are only six left in the Empire. I got it for my daughter. It was my daughter’s favorite book.”

                “She has good taste,” Nesma said, turning away from the book staring at the back of the chair.

                “Had,” he said softly, almost dreading the word itself. “She is dead now. Along with all my children and wife.”

                Kou glanced at Nesma and then over to Zisbuz.

                “Is that why we are here?” Nesma asked, stepping closer to the fire. The heat reached out to welcome her, and if it were any other house, the fire would be welcoming, but the weight of this mausoleum even broke the welcoming heat.

                “To take me to them?” The Duke asked, not looking over at her. All he did was stare into the depths of the fire.

                “Duke Ruasar,” Nesma said, “you sent a message to us saying you have a job for us. Don’t you remember, sir?”

                The Duke slowly raised his eyes to her, wishing they could cry, but the tears had died days after his family.

                “I did?” He asked.

                “Yes,” Nesma said, looking between her crew, unsure what to do. Kou had moved closer to Zisbuz now. “Do you wish to see the message?”

                He shook his head no moving his eyes back to the flames, and muttered, “I married my Yasmin in the snow. She was in white like the snow. It was a sign from the Father or the Lost One. Now, I do not know. God, I don’t know what happens to us.”

                “Sir,” Nesma said, forcing the word a bit more, “why did you summon us?”

                “To find the monster,” the Duke said. “The one who killed my family. I want you to find it and kill it. I’ll pay you whatever you wish.”

                “Why haven’t you gone to the Imperial Peacekeeper?” Nesma asked. “With your wealth, they would give you everything.”

                “They would not listen to me,” he said. “I told him it was the curse of my blood which killed my family.”

                “Curse?” Nesma asked.

                The word made the Duke fall more into himself as if it would be hurting him, but he stared off into the fire for a bit before rising to his feet. “Yes, a curse,” He said, handing Nesma a book. “Find the monster which done this, and I’ll pay you more credits than you can dream of.”

                Nesma stared down at the leather book's blanket cover, and there was a bookmark hanging out of it. She lifted her eyes back up to him, but the Duke dropped back into his seat.

                “Take it,” he said half-heartedly, waving them away. “Take it, and good luck.”

                Nesma held the book, knowing its words were all the Ruasar’s bloodline history. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to take it, but she needed the credits, and the mission seemed above board.