Archie watches them jog down the hallway, which is when he notices the smoke. It is lilac in color and slinks along the floor, creeping—as if intentionally—up the walls on both sides and merging on the ceiling. As before when he was on the deck, Archie notices the sugary quality to the smoke, which is not altogether unpleasant. “Is that vanilla bean,” he wonders, “or cotton candy?” His words, like his thoughts, begin to slur.
As Archie watches the smoke, a figure with red skin steps out of the haze—walking on two feet—fifteen doors down from where he pauses to rest. The shape is familiar; two legs, two arms, a torso, and a head. It wears a royal blue jumpsuit. The figure takes another step toward Archie, then another, growing in clarity. Archie is frozen in place. His visceral reaction to the Bangol, Zeno, is instantly paled to the horror that now courses through his body in sickening convulsions as the sight of this new, more incomprehensible creature.
Flames fan out from the back of the red figure’s head. The eyes are a solid, ruddy black. Passengers scream, and Archie becomes entangled in the throng withdrawing from the creature, which Archie believes to be an Olearon, as vaguely described in Arden’s notes. Archie, never having been one to express extreme emotions, opens his mouth like those beside him. He whimpers and pleads for safety. Still, he is overcome by something, slowly, dulling his distress, making him sluggish and increasingly groggy.
“Ella,” calls Archie as he knocks his head with the heel of his hand, trying to jar his mind into alertness. He runs, his shoulders skidding against the walls and his feet tripping over debris. He struggles to focus his eyes. The drunken fatigue of his youth—after nights spent partying, fracturing his memory into oblivion—descends upon him. “What is happening to me?”
Cabin 248 . . . 249. Archie pulls himself along by the doorframes, his feet unbending and as heavy as concrete. 250. “Almost there.” His tongue trips over the words. “Must save Ella. Must save Ella,” he repeats, but his lips are tender and swollen so that his nostrils are blocked, and saliva trickles out of his mouth and drips off his chin. The fog is upon him and its sweetness has turned sickly. He brushes away its lilac clouds in a futile effort to see, but still Archie trips over a man, then a woman, collapsed along the hall. Archie cannot decipher if they are dead or only wounded. “Finally—251,” he blubbers.
Each breath is a wheeze and Archie’s head bobbles. His forehead bangs against door 251 before his hands can reach it as he tumbles forward. The hinges swing the door wide and Archie lands on his chest, his teeth cutting through his bottom lip. The blood is immediate.
“Ella? Tessa?” he moans, raising the collar of his shirt to pinch the wound on his lip. He can hear the crackle of hungry flames and the thudding splash of waves against the wall of the cabin as the boat rocks forcefully. Smoke fills the room and Archie bats at the air once more, struggling to clear it. A vehement wave slaps the Atlantic Odyssey and Archie tips and rolls across the floor. He grabs a leg of the upholstered chair, but it tips over on top of him. His hand finds the edge of the wooden desk, which is fixed to the floor, and he pulls himself beneath it. By how he hangs from the leg, Archie surmises the ship had tilted near ninety degrees
When the vessel rights itself, people and furniture tumble back into new configurations of disorder. The rocking is stable long enough for Archie to crawl to the bed. His mind tricks his eyes. The walls drip water. The bed is a pool of distorted faces. “Where am I? This smoooke . . . it makin’ me sweeee tings . . . Ello? Tessn?” Archie’s words are nonsensical and he gives up on speech. This must be what it feels like to be Ella, he thinks coherently, and that one clear thought cuts through the delusion.
“There, there they are!” Archie gurgles. The women lay on the bed. His puffy, bleeding lips do not reveal his smile. Tears of relief run into his mouth. He tries to rouse the women, but they do not stir. Tessa wears a pale pink jacket over her pearl-colored cotton dress—the one Archie saw her hang in the closet the day they boarded. Ella is in sheer-paneled black leggings, which Archie knows her mother would have grumbled over, saying they were not appropriate for Lady Sophia’s concert that night. Ella also wears the baby-blue satin bomber jacket Archie gave her for her fourteenth birthday. “Blue to match your eyes,” he had said. Tessa’s blond hair lies on the comforter like a halo around her head and tangles with Ella’s equally golden mane. They appear peaceful to Archie.
He uses the last of his strength to pull himself onto the bed. He drops his head near Ella’s feet and closes his eyes. “At least we die together,” Archie murmurs as he fades away.
Chapter 11
Tessa hears before she can see. A firm, feminine voice speaks above her, repeating, “Rise and fall in line.” The voice is like that of a mother who cares for children not her own. Tessa tries her eyes but they feel smeared with a translucent gloss. She pinches her forefingers and her thumbs to her pupils, and pulls. A thin film slides away from each eye then wriggles on her fingers like hyper slugs. The one on her left hand begins to crawl down her fingers. Tessa shakes her fist furiously, but the little creature suctions to the back of her hand. Tessa tears it away with a pop of flesh and flings it across the room before it can re-adhere to her skin. She does the same to the second glossy creature that has made its way down her wrist.
Tessa can now see that the fog in her brain is in fact a dense haze of smoke that engulfs the tiny cabin. Her first instinct is to cough, but she quickly realizes that this cloudy whiteness is unlike the smoke she knows. Tessa passes her fingers through it and marvels at its swelling density. What before was wispy, Tessa now pulls aside like curtains. She peers through the vapor to see who spoke.
A woman who towers eight feet tall Tessa guesses, nearly to the ceiling, stands at the foot of the bed. She has coral-red skin, jet-black eyes, and a matted weave of raven-black fire-engulfed hair. She is dressed in a faded blue jumpsuit that clings to her feminine curves, and is rolled up at the sleeves and legs to reveal more ruddy, muscular skin. Over her one shoulder, is a large decorative patch with stitches in a rainbow of colors, though they dull in comparison to the brilliance of the woman’s vibrant face.
“Rise,” the fire-woman repeats, her body unmoving.
There are heavy footsteps out in the hall, and screams. The red shadow of fire illuminates the door of 251, which hangs ajar. Tessa shrinks back on the bed, never breaking her stare with the black eyes. She pulls Ella with her.
“Ella, wake up,” Tessa begs. “Wake up!” Ella stirs and panics when she cannot see; pained squawks escape her lungs. “Wait,” Tessa orders, and she clears her daughter’s eyes as she had done her own. They are huddled at the head of the bed when Ella notices Archie at the foot. The teenager lunges forward, out of Tessa’s grasp, and pulls her grandfather toward them as far as she can manage. Tessa yanks her back.
“Rise!” The fire-woman’s impatience borders on irritation. When Tessa and Ella do not budge, the woman shakes her head. “My command is in your tongue, is it not? The young one’s language is not familiar to me.”
“Who are you?” Tessa demands, her breath stirring the purple smoke, allowing her to see the bizarre woman more clearly. Her dreadlocks are molded into a wide mohawk and though not fire itself, it is blackish—like coal—with highlights of burnt sienna and ruby hues when ablaze.
“Ah, so you do understand! I am the Maiden of Olearon. Now rise, or I will burn you where you lie.” With her words, a flame erupts out of the back of the Maiden’s spine, beginning at the curve of her neck. It curls around her cheeks and reaches for Tessa, Ella, and Archie.
Archie snaps awake with the heat. He rubs his face roughly, scrubbing his eyes free of the living obstruction. The first words out of him are the defeated drawl, “We die together.” Suddenly aware of everyone in the room, Archie turns toward the Maiden, raises his hands in a gesture of surrender he often uses when Tessa is angry, and steps from the bed. His skin flushes in the heat radiating in waves from the fire-woman. “Please don’t hurt them,” Archie says, a
s calmly as he can manage.
The Maiden of Olearon tilts her head, regarding him suspiciously. Her thick locks of hair fall onto her sharp cheekbones, distinct peaks beginning beneath her eyes and arcing out above her pointed ears. “You are the one, aren’t you?” the Maiden asks.
“Wh-what do you mean?” stutters Archie.
The Maiden pauses, studying Archie’s face with her bottomless black eyes. “It was you! The one who brought this vessel to Jarr-Wya?”
“Hold on! Jarr-Wya?” Tessa whispers furiously to her father-in-law’s back as he faces the fiery woman. “I saw that word in Arden’s notebook this morning, Archie!” she continues. “What’s going on?”
“Do you really not know?” The Maiden looks at Tessa in disbelief, tilting her head sideways. “This human,” she points a long, narrow finger at Archie, “brought you to Jarr-Wya. For what motive, we have yet to learn.”
“Please! Please do not hurt these women.” Archie takes a step toward the Maiden. “What do you want?”
Her flame broadens, though her expression is fixed. “Ah, yes. I am sure of it. You are the one. We saw your face in the sky—with that Bangol. What business do you have with him, human?”
“I don’t know a Bangol. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Deception will cost you your life—and the lives of those you love!”
“Okay, okay!” Archie slouches. “The Bangol, Zeno, helped me get here.”
The Maiden nods slowly. “And are your purposes aligned?”
“What? No! I barely know him—it. He helped me, that’s all. Yes, I admit, I did accidentally bring this ship—and all these people—to Jarr-Wya—”
“Archie!” Tessa shrieks, forgetting herself. The Maiden’s fire sparks and Tessa cowers again, blocking Ella.
“But I didn’t mean to! Can’t we simply send them all back now, easy-peasy?” Archie feigns a smile.
“Zeno was banished by his kind, which is of no business to the Olearons, but for our pact with the Bangols, and our desire for peace on Jarr-Wya.”
“Archibald, what have you done? I don’t understand what’s going on,” Tessa hisses, unsure which emotion—fear or anger—takes precedent in that moment.
“I wanted to find my son, to find Arden.”
“Arden?” Tessa exhales as if the air has been beaten out of her.
“But he’s not here, Tess. Zeno, the Bangol, he told me. Arden is dead.”
Tessa’s face falls. Her eyes blossom with tears that she quickly blinks away. Ella’s gentle cry transforms into sobs and her quivering body trembles violently against her mother’s. Ella’s lips part in a wail that cuts through the air like a slow, painful death. Tessa wraps her arms and legs around her child, but she is not strong enough. The muscles in Ella’s neck—dropping from the area behind her ears to a V at her jugular—are defined and flushed, her skin turning a patchwork white and pink. Her gag reflux nearly chokes her. Ella throws up all over the bedspread, narrowly missing Tessa’s dress. Archie turns his back to the fire-being and struggles to comfort his thrashing granddaughter.
The Maiden watches coolly before speaking. “You see? Evil!” The Maiden of Olearon says evenly as she radiates with renewed heat.
“I came here to help Ella,” Archie whimpers, his eyes downcast. He turns and continues, pleading to the Maiden, “To save this child. Now, I see. My actions have hurt many. Do what you want with me, but please—send my family back to our world, unharmed.”
“Rise! Now!” The Maiden disregards Archie’s words.
Tessa, Ella, and Archie stand and huddle together on the narrow cabin floor. Ella is weak, pale, and Tessa supports her weight. With a foreboding dread, they shuffle forward, following the Maiden through the door.
“Was the Bangol successful in reaching Jarr-Wya, or was he thwarted?” the Maiden asks over her shoulder.
Archie sighs. “He’s here,” he replies, ashamed.
Archie whispers to Tessa, instructing her to keep Ella behind him, but Tessa won’t meet his eyes. The trio hasten to keep pace with the long-legged Maiden, who weaves through groups of people. The cooperative passengers are herded along the hall, while the ones that fight are incinerated by nine-foot-tall male warriors, their red chests bare and steaming through their unfastened jumpsuits that they wear as shorts with the tops tied by the arms around their waists. Their jumpsuits, unlike the Maiden’s, are not decorated with the embroidered patch. The hall is deafening with weeping, screams and the crackle of stinking, burning flesh. Blood, vomit, and feces cover the ornate hall runner and squish out from beneath the family’s shoes as they follow at a generous distance behind the Maiden.
“Eaww akeeeawww,” Ella cries, but Tessa cups her hand over Ella’s mouth.
“Shhhhh, please, my love. If they think we’re talking, they’ll burn us. Watch me, all right? When I see an opportunity, we’ll run for it.” Tessa squeezes Ella’s hand and her daughter nods. She scans the hall to make sure that no Olearon—especially the Maiden—had witnessed her exchange with Ella. Tessa’s palms sweat as she looks for a vacant corridor to escape through. “The moment’s got to be right,” she says to herself.
They pass by a long line of fearful, wide-eyed passengers with bawling children. A man steps in front of his wife and young children, barricading himself between them and an Olearon warrior, who looms over him. The man punches the Olearon across the face. The warrior cracks his neck but says nothing before blue fire consumes his red body from dreadlock to black boot—even the jumper is ablaze, though unsinged. The warrior pulls the passenger into a snug hold and the human ignites instantly, shrieking, his skin bubbling and splitting before he crumbles to a mound of ash on the carpet runner. The man’s wife stumbles backward, curling her body on the floor and hollering “NO,” again and again, while her children bury their faces into her clothes like baby birds.
Ella releases a pitiful gurgle of sounds as she cries along with the widow, with the fatherless boy and girl. She covers her own mouth this time and leans deeply in to Tessa, nearly tripping her. Tessa wants to whisper, “It’ll be okay,” and she starts to speak it, but the words catch in her scratchy throat. Instead, Tessa strokes her daughter’s tangled, singed hair. She finally meets Archie’s eyes, and scowls at him with a rage as hot as the flames that curl the wallpaper and char the doorframes. Fire burns on every side of them and finds the seams in the drywall, leaking heat in intervals and spewing ash across their path.
The Maiden of Olearon nods to her fellow warriors as she glides by them—a foot shorter but with the confidence of unconditional authority—and they bow their heads at her. She is rail-straight, yet womanly and graceful with every gesture, every word. All remaining groups of passengers deliberately, though hesitantly, follow the Olearons out onto the upper deck. The boat continues to sway stubbornly in the water though it is severely tipped after the impact with the fireball, and now water battles flame in a war for the stern. Tessa pauses to vomit at the wall beneath a melted oil painting of the Canary Islands that drips like rain down a window. Ella pulls her mother’s long tresses clear and helps her to stand.
The ship is traveling at a reckless pace. The sliding glass doors, jammed open and smashed by the fleeing crowds, funnel rapidly flowing air into their faces. Archie, Tessa, and Ella follow the Maiden out a dented and misshapen hole in the Odyssey’s flank and into the penetrating light. “It must be tomorrow,” says Archie. “I wonder how long we were knocked out.”
“There was no land in sight—not Lanzarote or any other island—when Ella and I ran to our cabin. And now, look!” Tessa points overboard to where a landmass, as tall as it is wide, weighs down on the water with sharp cliffs and a triangular glass city to the west; gold beaches ahead; and mammoth stone arches to the east. The island is abloom with emerald greens, pops of fuchsia, and tangerine hues. A carved, twisted mountain cuts upward from the island’s core. From it, many smaller fragments of land jut sideways, either supported on precariously narrow rock c
hutes, or appearing to float on their own, anchored to the mountain by the creeping vines and tangled tree roots.
“Stay close,” whispers Archie as they walk past ordered lines of roughly a hundred passengers, detained in pairs on what is left of the deck. Olearon warriors, with no weapons but their own bodies—though on their belts hang glass daggers in fabric sheaths—steer the humans. They are broad-shouldered and narrow-hipped, their red arms muscular and their backs erect and unflinching. The tallest of these, towering a foot above the other male Olearons, has the fullest weave of black and blood-red hair, braided in eight strands mixed with strips of colorful leather and rope the full length of his back. Jewels adorn his mane.
“My Lord,” the Maiden of Olearon says, bowing slightly, “I have found the one from the sky. He knows the Bangol, Zeno.”
The Lord of Olearon smolders like hot coals. “Is he here?” he asks. “Is the Bangol here? If Tuggeron lays eyes on Zeno, his madness will propagate. The stone king may choke out what health still remains in Jarr-Wya.”
“I agree, my Lord.”
“Tell me.” The Lord of Olearon turns to Archie. “Where is he? Where have you hidden Zeno?”
“I don’t know! I would tell you if I knew. I’m sorry! Please,” Archie begs, “please, leave my family out of this.”
“Detain this one. We’ll use him to draw out the Bangol,” the Lord orders. “Get Olen and Azkar. They are to stand guard immediately.”
The Maiden wraps her long fingers around Archie’s arm and jerks him forward.
“Eewooah!” Ella shrieks and dashes for her grandfather, skirting around an Olearon’s tall legs. Another huge red hand grabs her by the shoulders and yanks her back. Ella falls. She lands on her back and is winded. Tessa shoves a warrior aside to sprint to her daughter’s aid.
“Olen! Azkar!” the Maiden hollers above the breeze created from the moving vessels. Two massive Olearons appear and immediately their flames bloom and dart toward Tessa and Ella, who cower on the ash-covered deck. Archie witnesses a flash of fear sweep across Tessa’s usually brave and guarded countenance, but Ella only glares at the red bodies.
Above the Star Page 6