by Nikolas Lee
“Man the cannons!” came the robotic yells of the guards below, moments before a wave of tar buried them alive.
I felt the electricity building within the two cannons flanking the gates, and I threw my gaze to the skies. The clouds were already so dark and menacing, most of my job had already been done. The static accumulated in the air, the hairs on my arms rising. And when I looked down, thunder cracked above and two bolts of blue lightning crashed down from the clouds, striking the cannons. They exploded, their golden shrapnel flying in every direction, while Solara darted through their clouds of smoke, continuing to dismember any soldier in her path.
Spike roared once more, and I watched below as he threw one of his sandy fists into the front gates, shattering them like glass. I descended, landing gracefully on the sand before darting through the smashed gates. Within rose more forts than I could count, divided by a single road that shot straight for the small, stone tower in the back.
“Kill him!” a soldier screamed.
Metal guards and their gleaming, diamond swords charged toward me from all angles. I brought my hands behind my back, and with a shout, I clapped them together in front of me. A screech ripped through the hot fortress air, as from out of my clapped hands exploded a bubble of icy wind, flash freezing the approaching guards under layers of ice. The air here was humid enough here for those attacks to work.
Solara’s locusts poured in behind me, some pelting my back as she zoomed past. She swept through the frozen guards like wind, slicing through their diamond armor again and again, until her wake was veiled in their cogs and bars and bolts.
I raced down the road, hearing Spike’s sands flood through the gates, and looking back to find him enveloping the forts in more rivers of tar.
At the foot of the tower, I flipped through the air and swept a monstrous gale into the tower’s doors with a sweep of my legs. I landed and raced inside a long hallway laid out before me, its walls lined by golden columns and blazing torches. And there, standing beside a war table made in the mock of Sol...was my target. His back was to me, his fists resting quietly, calmly on the table.
“General S’vane?” I called, over the sounds of Spike’s roars and Solara’s hissing insects outside.
He turned slowly, his face void of surprise. But of course, I thought, tracing my eyes over the man’s tall elven ears. They were a faded pink, and immediately I thought of Lillian. Every elf I’d seen since I left Illyria made me think of her, most being soldiers I’d watched passing through the High Heat.
“You are General S’vane, are you not?” I asked.
His sharp, almond-shaped eyes pierced me like the tools of an Eldanarian surgeon. A gaze made for a General.
“And you are?” he asked, voice deep and calm.
“Ionikus Reaves—Thunder Lord of the Endari.”
“The Endari...” he said, thinking. “I have heard of this name before. But you could be no ordinary god. Gods do not have last names. No...you must be a Guardian. The Traitor.”
I paused. “If that is what you wish to call me.”
“Do you know who you’re fighting for?” he asked. “You are here on behalf of Chancellor Mythborne, yes?”
I clenched my jaw. “I am.”
“Those savages will use you until you can no longer be used, and dispose of you just as they did their former gods.”
“I am not unaware of a human’s nature,” I replied. “But I think you are unaware of a god’s. So the question is, General, do you know who you’re fighting for?”
I tightened my fists at my side. This must be done. For Illindria’s plan. For my plan. The air began to smell of metal, the static building around me once more. My hands numbed, my jaw went cold, and from the tips of my fingers snapped small streams of electricity, which lashed at the floors and columns nearby.
“The Dome has been captured, general,” I said. “And on orders of Chancellor Mythborne, I am to bring your body back to Sol.”
“Then why are you still talking, young Guardian?” he asked. “Surely, you are not hesitant to kill another. I would not think a Thunder Lord would be capable of such fear.”
Shock struck me where I stood. His words pierced my like arrows, as only an elf’s words could. Lillian. I missed her. In that moment, staring at the being I was to kill, I missed everything. Her, Oceanus, Theo, Father, Othum...Illyria.
But even through my own thoughts, I couldn’t miss the small object that fell from the ceiling and landed on the General’s shoulder.
It was small. Too small for me to make out from where I stood. But at once it landed on the General, he looked over at it in both surprise and disgust and quickly flicked it from his shoulder. But then another fell on the opposite shoulder, and three more after that. And when finally he wasn’t quick enough to flick them from his flesh, he squealed in pain as they bit his skin and their once small bodies became engorged with blood they’d sucked from him.
Ticks.
More and more fell onto his head, their blood-filled bodies expanding quickly into large, gray sacs, rising out of the hair on his scalp. He screamed and cried, and then, in a sickening waterfall, the ticks flooded down from the cracks in the ceiling, flowing over the General. From the river formed a head of blazingly red hair, then two pairs of green eyes, until finally Solara’s entire torso had emerged from the ticks. She grabbed hold of the General’s neck, and propped him in the air, his face veiled in bulbous tick bodies.
“I would apologize, General,” she said, staring into his frightened eyes. “But sometimes a goddess has to take matters into her own hands. To do what her male counterparts can not.”
She unhinged her jaw, and from out of her gaping mouth streamed yet another river of ticks. They enveloped the General until his body fell to the floor. Though, there were so many insects attached to him, you could hardly make out the shape of a body.
Solara looked up at me as the ticks that hadn’t attached themselves to the General melted down from her torso to form the rest of her body.
“I knew you wouldn’t do it,” she said.
I unwound my fists, releasing my control over my lightning. “I was going to—”
“Don’t lie to me, Ion,” she hissed. “I see right through you. And though I’m not yet sure what I see, I know it isn’t something or someone I should trust. But Triplets be forsaken if I’ll watch you undermine my Mother’s plans. So when we go back to Sol and stand before that old man, we’ll all have the same story: Ionikus Reaves the Thunder Lord of the Endari killed General S’vane.”
CHAPTER TEN
THE HAND OF THE MOON
I stood at the gleaming, copper doors to Vasheer’s chamber and took a deep breath. I knocked three times, and in only a moment, one of the doors opened just enough for a head to peek out.
It was a face heavy with white powder, with brows drawn to the skies and green eyes shadowed by bright blue eye makeup. It was a blue theme that the huge, glowing sapphires around her neck and hanging from her ears also reflected.
“Oh,” said the Queen, looking me up and down, “it’s you.”
I resisted the urge to grit my teeth, and replied, “It is. I was wondering if Vasheer was in?”
I was not expecting Onyxia after hearing her march away last night. Vasheer would most likely be my best bet for a few spills of information about the Sickness or this supposed assassin. His head was always so busy with anger and resentment, he was bound to let loose words he should not have.
“Mother,” called the Bright One in the background, “who has come to see me?”
“It’s Lady Lillian, my dear,” she called back sweetly.
“No!” he snapped petulantly. “I don’t want to see her! Dismiss her at once!”
The Queen refocused her eyes on me. “We don’t want any visitors today, Lady Lillian.”
I thought for a second, staring into the Queen’s powdered face. Perhaps—just perhaps—Onyxia was actually just the person I should speak with. She did, after all,
love a good bit of gossip.
“That is a shame,” I said, linking my hands behind my back. “Because I really wanted to discuss the tragic death of Lady Helia, and what it might have to do with...the Sickness.”
Her eyes lit up. She looked me up and down suspiciously. “The Sickness, you say? And how it relates to Lady Helia?”
I nodded. “I have heard...whispers of its possible return. I would like to make certain it has not returned, but in order to do so, I will need more information on the matter.”
She picked at one of her teeth with her tongue and opened the door. “Please, enter,” she said, gesturing me inward.
I gathered the long ends of my pink silk dress in my hands and proceeded into Vasheer’s chambers. The smell of lavender and incense hit me at once.
I scanned the room in half the time it would take anyone else. Its four marble walls were bordered by a small walkway of red tiles, which encased a small, sunken-in courtyard. It was here where three lounges sat, their suede cushions a bright red, washed in light from the domed, glass ceiling above. It was also here where Vasheer was lying.
His mouth and nose were covered by a mask of gold lace, but it did no good in hiding his disdain for me. A curled lip always affected the muscles in the entire face, it seemed.
“Trying new fashions, Lord Vasheer?” I asked, as Onyxia escorted me down to the lounges.
“Why did you allow her in?” he growled at his mother, brushing one of his black curls from his face.
“Calm yourself, my son,” Onyxia replied, sitting beside him. “She has curiosities I am more than happy to feed.”
She looked at me sweetly, her head tilted and lips drawn into a pleasant smile. It was an odd look for her and certainly not a usual one. I preferred her to be looking at me in scorn, honestly. Scorn was easier to decipher, easier to predict.
She gestured to the lounge across from her and Vasheer, and it was there that I took my seat. Though I would not recline like they were. It was a vulnerable position, to lie down in front of others. And an elf was never vulnerable.
“What kind of curiosities?” Vasheer snarled, looking me up and down just as disgustedly as his mother had.
“About the Sickness,” I replied. “Which is why I suspect you’re wearing that mask?”
Vasheer placed his hand over the gold lace as though somehow it would make it disappear. His gold eyes stared curious daggers into me.
“Vasheer is taking extra precautions,” said Onyxia, pursing her lips before taking a sip from her goblet. “Though I am not certain the Sickness is what’s at play here, I suppose one should take any measure necessary to shield oneself from the potential evils in this current world, no?”
“Why do you believe the Sickness might not be at play?” I asked, eyes unblinking.
She took another sip, this one just as casual as the last. “Because Illyria has many enemies these days, my child,” she replied.
“So you believe she was assassinated, then?” I asked.
“It is a plausible option, yes,” said Onyxia. “But I admit, it is just as plausible as the Sickness. After all, who alive possesses a poison capable of slaying a god? It is the one sort of death no god has ever fallen to.”
“Well, I think it’s the Sickness,” said Vasheer, playing with one of the sharpened diamond prongs growing out of his head. “We don’t know where the disease originated—there’s a possibility Helia contracted it in the Darklands and brought it up here to us! Everyone knows the Darklands are home to some nasty diseases, even though they’re mostly human. But nevertheless, it could’ve been hiding out down there, waiting for this moment!”
While Onyxia patted her son’s leg as though he was ten years old instead of nearly two thousand, I allowed his words to roll over me.
I looked up at Onyxia. “So it is just as likely Helia fell to poison as to the Sickness?”
“Sadly, that is indeed the truth,” Onyxia replied. “Not much is known about either so it’s hard to say. I myself know little and less of how the Sickness operates or even spreads.”
“Is there anyone who would know more about the Sickness?” I asked.
“Well,” she said, her eyes washing over the glass ceiling as she thought, “Lady Borea and her husband, Gromil, were the only two gods who survived its wrath, though it did quite a number on both of them. He succumbed to its grip ages later. It’s because of the Sickness that she’s so small and crippled, you know. Whispers in the garden tell of her having a hard time rising out of bed in the morning from its lingering wrath. Lots of coughing, aching bones, sores underneath those shiny white robes.”
“Would she ever speak to me about it?” I asked, already knowing the answer. Not that I’d want to interact with her any more than I had to.
“She only speaks of it to her closest relatives,” said Onyxia. “You, however, are not one of those relatives.” She tapped her chin in thought. “But, if you’re truly curious, it is always important to remember that sometimes the quietest ones are the ones who know the most.”
She winked ever so slightly, and a face came to me. It was a face made of dark sand, with even darker eyes and lips sewn shut by way of thread.
Adalantis.
“Another thing, my Queen,” I continued. “Has anyone on the Isle been hearing strange noises as of late? That is, after Lady Helia’s death?”
Her eyes narrowed on me, curious and starving for more information. “I cannot say I’ve heard of such things. Are you hearing strange noises, Lady Lillian?”
I did not clench my jaw, swallow, or stifle even a bit in my reaction. She could not know what she did not already. Any more information given to this one and she would use it to trap me.
“No,” I replied. “I had just heard whispers in the garden of it.” I rose slowly from my chair. “Well, I think I have overstayed my welcome. I really must be off. Thank you for your hospitality, my Queen.”
“Anytime,” she said, smile sly.
I raced for the door, my head reeling. But before I could slip out, Onyxia called once again, “Uh, Lady Lillian!”
I turned. “Yes, My Queen?”
“This might seem out of the blue, as they say, but elves always keep the names of their mothers, yes?”
I nodded, my eyebrows knitting together.
“I don’t believe you ever told me what your father’s last name was?”
“S’vane, My Queen. His last name is S’vane.”
She looked to Vasheer, and together, they traded strange glances I could not truly decipher.
“That is all, Lady Lillian,” she said. “Have a wonderful day.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
THE THUNDER LORD
The Chancellor knelt on the top floor of the Serpent’s Spine, before the motionless body of General S’vane.
Solara’s ticks were nowhere to be seen now, their existence made known only by the thousands of red markings that dotted the General’s skin.
I dared not chew on my lip as I watched the Chancellor run his big hands and their glowing, blue markings over a few of the bite marks.
He looked up at me, confused. “What are these?”
“They’re, uh—”
“Exit wounds,” said Solara. “Of Ion’s lightning. Am I telling it right, Ion?”
Her eyes pushed me to lie. “You are,” I said with a nod. “The body can’t handle the amount of voltage I summon. Those markings are the electricity’s only way to leave the system.”
I swallowed. That was almost believable.
The Chancellor creased his brow in suspicion, scanning me up and down.
“I wouldn’t put it past a god such as yourself,” he said, a bit of disdain in his voice. “God of Destruction, more like.”
I remained quiet, looking to the floor. If only it had been the first time I heard that title. The Chancellor brought his gaze back down to the General and passed his hand over the wounds once more before standing.
“Then it’s done,” he said. “By
assassinating a General of Illyria, the Guardians have displayed great loyalty to my city...their city.” He turned to Illindria, who could hardly contain her excitement. “I’m impressed, Illindria. Or shall I say Empress, now?”
“Empress will do,” she said sweetly. “The Guardians shall make you proud many times over. They are as well trained as a god can be. And what they’ve shown you now is merely a glimpse of what’s to come...should you agree to our terms, that is.”
The Chancellor turned back to his guards, regarding their faces as if to collect opinions. Then, he faced Illindria and her Guardians. He held out his hand. “I accept, Lady Illindria. From this point forward, the city of Sol shall claim the Endari as its patron pantheon.”
She beamed and slid her massive hand into his. “The Endari would be honored to have Sol as its patron city,” she said. “May this be the beginning of a grand alliance.”
He nodded. “Your first Throne shall be completed in a week’s time, at the least. As you very well know, every brick laid must first be carved to perfect measurements by our masons and afterward, kissed by each citizen of the city. But it will be a grand one, that is certain.” He gestured toward the metal snake and its opened mouth. “Placed right beneath the Serpent’s mouth and the light of the Scepter.”
“How lovely,” she said, clasping her hands together. “At the moment, my stronghold lies on the coast of the Southernlands, in the fallen city of the Five Fists. I will wait quietly there with K’thas until the Throne is complete.”
“And the Guardians shall remain stationed here in your stead?” he asked.
“Just as I said,” replied Illindria. “I expect you’ll find them proper housing and treat them as a respectable Chancellor would?”
“The arrangements are being made as we speak. And...certainly.”
The tower began to rumble ever so slightly, and the lift rose in the middle of the floor behind us. On its stone surface stood a boy who looked to be no older than myself. His blue markings glowed just as brilliantly as everyone else we’d met that day, stretching down his arms, up his neck and past his locks of curly, golden hair. His eyes were big and dark, his skin olive. Immediately I knew who he was.