by Nikolas Lee
On the twentieth birthday of every past reincarnation of mine, Illyria would cull my life. Helia said I would become too dangerous, too uncontrollable. She said I’d do nothing but destroy. But now, I would do the opposite.
Now, I would give life.
I breathed deep as I left the bridge for the small, rail-less balcony that marked its ending, all of Sol laid out before me. The air was not as dry and hot up here, which I suspected was the reason the Serpent’s Spine had been constructed, and why the Chancellor had made it his home.
A breeze fluttered by. A small moment of relief. Hope.
I gazed upon the descending terraces of Sol that encircled the Serpent’s Spine. As the Sun set in the distance, its light waning through the Forever Clouds, I watched as the streets began to glow. Solara had bound those flowers she’d summoned with the light of the stars, just as Illindria had taught her. And as darkness set over the City Under the Sun, the flower’s blue petals began to burn with the brilliant hues of the night sky beyond the Clouds. Of the stars the humans hadn’t seen in so many years. The flowers’ smell was even more delightful—so sweet, and so strong, even from this elevation. It was a thing of beauty, and as such, not a thing you’d ever suspect from Solara.
Sol was a city once more. Its paved, black-tiled street wound through the Terraces’ beautiful buildings, the path dotted by statues and gardens illuminated by Solara’s blue flowers.
Now, Sol will drink.
I closed my eyes to the glow of Sol, and in the darkness, I spotted tiny floating specks of shimmering light. They were so tiny, and so few and far between, I couldn’t help but swallow in worry. Each one was a single drop of moisture, at least the ones tangible to me at my Class level. Othum would have no problem summoning rain in these conditions, but alas, I wasn’t yet at that level.
But there were ways around this. And thank the Triplets, too, because in order to feed Sol’s thirst, I’d need more than a few drops.
I stretched my arms out, and immediately a weight fell upon my shoulders, so heavy and intense my knees already felt moments away from buckling. But I gritted my teeth and remained on my feet. My thoughts called to all the specks of moisture my mind could find. From east to west, my voice beckoned them, angry and dark and mighty. And for miles in every direction, I felt my pull drawing them closer and closer.
To create, you must take. That was one of the most important lessons Illindria had taught me. And this rule applied to weather more so than any other element. A snow storm doesn’t just appear, its moved from place to place. Taken from place to place. And for rain to be made in the desert, it would have to be taken from a distant, faraway land.
Anger was my ultimate weapon. Illindria had taught me that, too. And now, as minutes passed, and my vision began to cloud with the drops of moisture I’d pulled from the furthest reaches of the High Heat, I recalled my worst memories. Of the last time I saw Mother at the Docks of Eldanar, her face streaked with tears. Of my time as a slave at the order of Illyria. Of Solara’s sharpened stinger piercing Vinya’s heart.
My body burned as though I’d been set on fire. And when finally all I could see were glowing specks of light, I opened my eyes and felt my pupils expand. The skin of my arms sucked inward, tightening before my eyes so that I could once again see the bones beneath.
As the braces around my forearms loosened from my shrinking skin, I raised my bony hands to the sky. I straightened my fingers, and felt a surge of humidity and moisture wash up and over me. Within moments, clouds as black as night roiled into existence directly above the Serpent’s Spine. They expanded outward in all directions, until they’d met the sloping sides of Sol’s shield. The city was deathly quiet below, and I knew the citizens had left the comfort of their homes and the toil of their work to watch one of their gods work.
The moisture collected in the clouds, as I sensed my children being born in the millions. With a roar, I slammed my fists together in front of me, and a wave of rain fell from the angry clouds above. It rushed outward over the city as though it was an earthquake and I was at the epicenter.
The rain kissed my skin, so cold but so refreshing in the desert heat. Rapturous cheers broke out below, and when I looked, the streets and bridges of Sol were packed with people. Their silken robes were soaked and heavy, their faces slicked with rain. Most had their mouths open. Tasting rain for the first time.
It was the first good deed I’d done since I became the Thunder Lord of the Endari. And in spite of the anger I’d used to summon the rain, I had never felt so warm. So accomplished. Proud.
My skin was untightening, and returning to its original shade when a small voice came from behind. I turned with a snap of my cape.
“It’s so...wet,” Mearic said, his arms out to the rain, looking at it in both confusion and awe.
“Mind your footing,” I said sternly. “These stones have never seen rain. They’ll be slick as oil.”
“I’ve never felt it before,” he said, now enjoying the falling rain with his eyes closed. “Or seen it, for that matter.”
His golden curls clung to his forehead and his silken, blue tunic was just as soaked. It was hard for me to imagine: someone never feeling the rain on their skin. Eldanar had rain nearly every day, being in island and all, and Mother would always lead the charge to go play in it.
Now you are the one to bring the rain.
“What’s that smell?” asked Mearic.
I took in the heavy, earthy aroma. “It’s still the rain,” I replied, allowing a slight smile. “They come hand in hand, it always seems.”
Mearic smiled. He pushed his hair behind his ears, and started down the walkway. “This is an amazing gift, Ionikus,” he said. “The kind of power you must have to make rain in the desert. It must make you so proud.”
“Proud, yes,” I admitted. “But usually it...it scares me.” I recalled the pain my lightning had caused, my rains, my snow. How I’d struck down Spike, frozen Lillian and Vasheer. “Being a god isn’t all roses.”
“Roses?” Mearic asked, his face contorted in a way that I decided could only be the expression of a confused chipmunk.
It made me laugh. Twice in two days, I thought. What’s wrong with me?
“It’s a flower,” I replied. “You’ve never heard of them?”
“As you can imagine, we try not to talk too much about nice things like flowers here in Sol,” he replied. “Solara’s were the first I’d seen besides in history books.”
“We’ll have to have Solara grow you a rose then,” I said. “You’ll love them. They were my mother’s favorite. Even though my father always said they were a funeral flower.”
“I bet your mother is so proud to have a god for a son,” he said, walking onto the balcony.
I looked down at my feet, watching the raindrops dance lightly around my sandals. “Who knows,” I shrugged. “She passed away in the war before she could ever know.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Mearic said, his voice suddenly soft. He looked thoughtfully out at his father’s city. “Never knew my mom. Father said she was the most beautiful creature in all of the Citadels. But, I suppose, it’s better to have never known her than to know her and watch her go.”
“I suppose,” I replied.
There was a moment of silence between us, where all that could be heard was the sound of the rain clattering upon the roofs of the buildings below. It was nice, sharing the silence with Mearic.
Nice? I repeated the thought to myself. Really, Ion?
“When I was a kid, I used to come out here all the time,” he said. “I’d dangle my legs over the side and watch the people bustling around on the streets like busy working ants.”
“So you at least know what ants are, then?” I joked.
Mearic pursed his lips at me, and I laughed...again. Three times. Stop being stupid. Gods don’t laugh, especially an Endari god.
He smiled, and returned to viewing the city. “They’re so happy,” he said, smiling down
at the Solians who’d gathered in the streets. “All our life we were taught to fear and hate gods.” He looked up at me, his big, dark eyes so piercing they sent chills down my arms. “But I now know what we were taught was wrong.”
I hesitated to reply. He doesn’t know the truth. He could never know the truth. All this good we’d done...it’d been done for no other reason but a dark one.
“Never be so sure,” I said flatly.
Mearic stood. “Should I not be so sure about you, Ionikus Reaves? Or shall I call you the Thunder Lord?”
I don’t know what came over me. There was just something about this human that made me honest. “I’m no Lord. Just Ion is fine. But it’s not me you shouldn’t be so sure about. It’s life. I’ve hurt people before, Mearic. Caused destruction beyond words. Your father knows that better than anyone.”
Mearic searched the ground as he considered what I’d said. “But...sometimes you need destruction in order to rebuild something new.”
“That theory might work well with new houses,” I said. “But not with the lives of others.”
His eyes searched mine, confused by what I’d said. You’ve said too much, Stupid. Quick, change the subject...
“Did your cuts hurt?” I asked, nodding at the glowing scars that flowed down his body. They were unusually bright this afternoon.
“I don’t remember,” he replied. “They Mark us as soon as we’re born, to block the outside diseases and viruses from entering our systems. You don’t know it, but the Illyrians have filled the air of this world with so much disease we wouldn’t last but a day without the Scientists and their use of the Scepter.”
I remembered Lady Borea, how she’d taken me into the Weapons Vault of Illyria and showed me the Disease, that monster that had smelled of death. I remembered its tumors hanging from its bulbous body, and more importantly, how Lady Borea gazed upon it in wonder.
The evil of that pantheon knows no bounds, I thought, fists tightening into fists.
Anger coiled in my stomach, and thunder boomed overhead. But Mearic leapt at the sound, and in a sickening moment, I watched helplessly, as he slipped on the stone and fell off the side of the balcony.
Mearic’s scream tore through the damp air of the city, and with my heart in my throat and not a second left to act, I leapt off the balcony after him. He was moments below me, his eyes larger than ever, so full of fear as he fell backward toward the city street. I straightened my legs and aligned my arms with my body, shooting through the air faster than he was falling. In two seconds, I had him pulled into me with one arm, the other held out into the air, grasping for wind.
He held on so tight, his arms strangling my sides as though I was his only hope, his only protector. And something inside me urged me not to fail him.
He screamed louder as the newly paved streets of Sol soared up to meet us. But my hand took hold of the air like I was holding onto something solid, and in a rip of thunder, the narrow neck of a twister materialized in my palm. The twisting winds were so fast they felt sharp against the skin of my hand, like the tongues of a thousand cats grading against my flesh. But they slowed us almost instantly, until finally, we landed gently on the streets of Sol.
Mearic stared into my eyes, unblinking, and breathless. “Th-thank you,” he stuttered in awe.
I was so close, I could see the innocence in his dark eyes. And I pulled away, directing my gaze to the floor. “I was only doing as a god should.” Don’t get close to me, Mearic. You don’t understand what’s going to happen.
A crowd quickly formed around us. They were quiet and hesitant to approach. I saw a glimmer of Solara’s red hair bob through the mob, and she emerged from the audience with the Chancellor and two guards in tow. And judging by his gaping eyes and flared nose, he was not pleased.
“Mearic!” he shouted, his hands out to his son.
Mearic shuffled up to him and allowed his father a hug.
The Chancellor looked upon me, his teeth chattering with anger. “You...why did you let him up there?” he snapped at me. “When it was so slick? I told you one misstep, Guardian—”
“Chancellor, I told Mearic to be careful.”
“And I’m fine, Father,” said Mearic, his voice pleading. “Really, it was nothing. If Ion wasn’t there I’d—”
“It’s just as I remember it,” the Chancellor growled at me, his glowing Markings burning in his fury. “Disaster follows you everywhere you go.”
“Chancellor Mythborne, I urge you—”
“No!” he shouted. “I’ll hear none of it! I must not allow such offenses to go unpunished!”
I clenched my jaw. “Unpunished? What offenses? I saved Mearic!”
“Father, he did,” said Mearic, but the Chancellor wrapped his hand around his son’s mouth.
“Hush, boy, you’re delirious,” he said, his large hand so tight around Mearic’s mouth. “Guards! Take him to the Yard!”
Mearic’s eyes gaped at the word, and as he fought his father’s grasp in vain, I immediately knew I was in a serious situation.
“The Yard?” I sneered. “I’m not going anywhere! I just gave you rain, Chancellor! Do not be so foolish to forget that!”
The Chancellor turned his nose up at me. “The last being to call me a fool was a god, too. You know him as Omeer, late Lord of the Darklands. We know him as the first god to die.”
The guards came clanking toward me, but before I could summon a gale to blow them right out of their glittering, white armor, I caught Solara’s eye. Her stare was unblinking and forceful. She was reminding me of my duty to the pantheon, of my duty to Illindria’s cause, of my need to do as I was told for this short while. She was telling me not to resist, to go along with whatever the Chancellor had in store for me. Doing anything else would risk the failure of our entire plan.
I knew now the Chancellor wasn’t punishing me for allowing Mearic onto the balcony. But for being me: the Sky Guardian. The god who’d ripped his life to shreds. And he wanted to do the same to me. Just as I shall do to the gods who destroyed my life.
So when they brought my arms behind my back and the cuffs melded together around my wrists, I looked to Mearic and his fearful eyes...and said no more.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
THE HAND OF THE MOON
I soared through the air at a speed so fast the wind nearly screamed in my elven ears.
A thousand feet below me streamed the lands of the Outerworld. I kept my mind centered, determined to maintain the shell of kinetic energy wrapped around my body. Without it, I could not fly. Without it, I would be sent to my death below. But try as I might to keep my focus, my gaze could not help but wander to the charred lands all around me.
Clouds of ash and smoke stretched on for miles in every direction, their thick shadows casting the already blackened lands into further darkness. Soot smothered every inch of the rolling hills below. There were no trees to be seen. No water. No life. Not even an insect dared make this place its home.
But these lands were not always this barren, this bleak. They were once home to a great people and an even greater pantheon. I looked to the horizon, where a mountain range of volcanoes heaved clouds of black ash into the atmosphere, where rivers of lava spewed out of their mouths and down their sides.
Mount Olympus. Or, seemingly, what was left of it.
I was upon the mountain range in moments, and as I descended, the heat of the volcanoes smacked painfully against my skin. My Diamond contracted the same searing heat and my forehead began to burn as well. My feet touched down upon the top of the highest peak. It was the only peak where a volcano had not yet risen. And for good reason.
I approached a small, conspicuous pillar of marble, upon which sat a large stone polished into the shape of an egg. It stood out amongst the charred landscape, that much was certain. But only my eyes, the eyes of a god, could see it.
Doing as Adalantis had told me, I placed one hand to my heart and laid the other upon the egg-shaped stone. A wave of e
nergy rushed through me, and I snapped my hand away at once. A loud, monstrous rumble shook the entire valley.
The deed had been done.
The egg ignited with purple fire, and a bubble of sparkling, silver energy exploded out of it. The energy passed through me, my skin left tingling as the bubble expanded and left the mountain peak. And it was there, in the wake of the energy, that a bridge of white marble was revealed. It shot out the side of the mountain, disappearing within a distant, towering cloud of ash.
You must be patient, Adalantis’s sands had told me.
And when a second rumble from the polished stone shook the mountaintop, the entire peak began to move sluggishly to the left. The sound of grinding stone filled the thick air, so loud I could hardly hear my nervous thoughts. The bridge turned with the mountaintop, pulling out of the clouds a structure so massive, so imposing it rivaled that of Illyria. The structure broke through the clouds as they pulled up and over its sides, its façade of silver and stone finally revealed to the light. I watched, my heart in my throat, until finally the entire island had been pulled from the darkness. It continued to move to the left, rotating around the mountain like the Earth to the Sun, the bridge still connected and moving with it.
I stepped onto the slow-moving bridge and began my path down its marble floor as calm as could be. As Olympus grew closer with each step, I zoomed in on its towering sides. It was indeed a mountain of stone, though a work of art if I had ever seen one. Statues of silver stood guard at its eight sides, each sculpted in the likeness of an Old God, each approximately one hundred and fifty feet tall. The mountain was riddled with winding stairways, colonnades, temples, spires, and statues—all made of silver, though now badly tarnished.
I approached the opened black gates that were so high the many images carved into their faces were forty times larger than me. I entered the city with eyes big and struggling to take in everything before them. So many buildings and columns. Grass had forced its way through the wide street that split to the left and right, while ivy and other weeds had snaked their way up the sides of all the buildings.