by Lee, Nikolas
A pale-green sprite zipped overhead and landed gracefully on the dwarves’ table, her wings fluttering before folding against her back. The dwarves shooed her away with their giant mugs filled with sweetened pumpkin juice, and she hovered down to the elves table at the back of the Mirrored Hall, where she was given not a bit of attention. The elves just whispered amongst one another, never drawing their eyes up from their plates, where they delicately cut their cookies and cakes with knives and forks.
A boy laden in stone armor stepped in front of Ion’s view, and Ion swallowed.
“Afternoon, short stuff,” said Spike, slamming his tray of Blister Bites onto the table.
“Spike, that name is uncalled for!” Oceanus said with her mouth still blue.
“Whatever,” Spike said. “He knows he’s short.”
“I’m not that short,” Ion mumbled.
“What’d you just say?” Spike snapped. “Did you just call me ugly? I think this kid just called me ugly! Look in a mirror, freak! You have metal on your jaw. You’re the only ugly one here!”
Ion felt hot with anger, and so, too, did his jaw. He couldn’t decide who to hate more: Father for attaching the metal, or Spike for being stupid. “I didn’t call you ugly, Spike!”
“You think because you’re new and short you can just walk around the Acropolis calling people ugly whenever you want?”
“I didn’t call you ugly!”
“How dare you speak to me in that tone!” Spike shouted, a furious finger directed at Ion. “I am the child of an Illyrian, and will be paid my respects! That means Callers like you speaking only when spoken to.”
“Spike…calm down,” Oceanus urged, attempting to smile away the intrigued nymphs.
Spike stuffed two Blister Bites into his gaping mouth and swallowed them whole, all the while, glaring at Ion. Smoke rolled out of his ears, and two more Blister Bites helplessly disappeared. One more gone, and he still held his glare. He leaned across the table, inches away from Ion’s face.
“I saw how Vinya favored you today in the coliseum,” he said. “And I thought you should know…I am not as impressed, Caller.”
Spike leaned back and forced another cupcake into his mouth. “Vinya is such a freak,” he laughed around the mushed cake. “I mean, all that stupid smiling. I’ve always heard there’s something wrong with her…you know, up there. Rumor has it Othum dropped her on her head a few too many times. Makes sense—he’s as much of a buffoon as she is.”
The more Spike went on, the more Ion lost his appetite, and the more he wanted to summon another atomic air bomb—except this time he’d be aiming for Spike’s face. Vinya was nice, she didn’t vote for the Detainment, and as a Guardian, Ion had an obligation to protect her.
He looked up from the table, borrowed some courage from who knows where, and locked eyes with Spike. “I’d much rather see someone wearing a smile,” he said, “than wearing a face like yours.”
The next cupcake to be mutilated fell from Spike’s hand and plopped onto the table, frosting-side down. Spike stood and started to huff like a winded cyclops. If Ion was going to summon an atomic air bomb, now would’ve been the time. Except, before Ion could even remember how, Spike turned on his heel and stormed out of the Mirrored Hall, his steps sending small tremors through the room as he left.
Oceanus stared in as much disbelief as her brother. “I’ve never seen Spike leave a meal,” she said. “Where’d that come from, oinker?”
“Not sure,” he replied, staring at the sad, discarded cupcake stuck to the tabletop. “But I don’t think I like him.”
He picked up a Blister Bite from his plate. It felt hot in his hand, like a burning coal. Though Father was still annoying for attaching the jaw, Ion knew he’d be proud of his son for standing up to Spike, and the thought warmed him as he slipped the Blister Bite into his mouth.
By early next morning, Ion had decided that there wasn’t a cake he disliked more than a Blister Bite. His mouth had felt like it was on fire all night long, and it was still boiling the next morning, as he trailed after Oceanus in the fortress halls, searching for Outerworld History class.
When they found the right room, it was empty. “This is the Borean Study,” Oceanus explained, “where Ezra and Eos once sat for a whole month, feeding their intelligence with the words of every book ever written.” She emphasized the ever written part with an amazed whisper, like sitting down to read all those books was something she aspired to do one day.
Ion shuddered at the idea. “I couldn’t sit that long. Butt cramps are the worst.”
From the looks of it, the Borean Study was one of the giant spires Ion had noticed when first arriving on the Acropolis. The walls were lined with bookcases, and towered so high the ceiling seemed a mile away. Ion took a seat amongst the collection of desks in the middle of the tower beside the only window in the classroom. Rain gently washed down the tall, narrow windowpanes in a mesmerizing sort of way.
“Haven’t had rain in a while,” said Oceanus, sitting at the desk beside Ion. She wore a radiant smile as she tied a long, blue ribbon around her ponytail. “I hope it doesn’t persist—the Acropolis gets awfully muddy with heavy rain.”
“I just want my mouth to feel normal again,” Ion sighed, his head smacking his desk with a painful thud.
“Oh, don’t worry,” Oceanus clapped him on his back. “Give it a few more hours and your tongue will be back to its old, gross self.”
Powerful footsteps thundered through the hall outside the study, and in came Spike. He chose the desk closest to the door, slung his backpack over the chair, and crashed down into his seat, heavy in his sandstone armor. He spoke not a word, which Ion didn’t mind.
Oceanus turned around in her chair. “Something the matter, Spike?” she asked with a smirk. “You left the Mirrored Hall in quite a frenzy yesterday.”
He grunted and pulled three rocks out of his backpack. He sat them on his desk, glared at them with a burning hatred, and the rocks lifted from their places to spin slowly through the air.
“Earth gods,” Oceanus grumbled, before turning back around.
After Spike, a gaggle of giggly nymphs filled the other desks. Next came two female elves, silent as ever, with their white hair pulled back in tight ponytails.
“Why are elves so quiet?” Ion whispered to Oceanus.
“Lots of secrets to be shared in the quiet,” said Oceanus in her best eerie voice. “They’re always planning something, Ion. Always.” Ion frowned and Oceanus’s face broke with a smile. “I’m just kidding, oinker,” she laughed. “They’re speaking Elvish, and Elvish is only spoken in whispers—some words are said so softly you can’t even hear them.”
Another pair of thunderous footsteps echoed through the tower, and Esereez appeared, walking hastily to the front of the room. He turned to the students in an unsettling flash.
Ion scoffed at the god—though soft enough so Esereez wouldn’t notice. Since Vinya and Othum hadn’t voted for the Detainment, Esereez and his “yes” vote were going to get all the resentful scoffs and glares Ion could muster.
“Morning, Esereez!” said Oceanus, upright in her seat.
Esereez folded his arms across his chest. “Good morning, Misses Reaves,” he said. “But I’ll only ask you once to keep quiet unless called upon.”
Ion didn’t even have to look at Oceanus to know she’d just swallowed her tongue.
“Now,” Esereez said, “let us begin.”
The Illyrian threw his shoulders forward and tightened his hands into fists. The muscles beneath his skin churned like worms in dirt, and all at once, twenty arms exploded out of his back, much longer and stronger than the originals hanging under his shoulders. The students—except, of course, the elves—watched with oohs and ahs as the Inventor’s arms reached to the shelves all around him, grabbing a collection of books and piling them, one by one, onto each student’s desk.
Oceanus beamed at the tower of books before her. Spike looked absolutely disgust
ed. Ion couldn’t keep his eyes off the arms swinging over his head long enough to look at his books.
In the now dusty, golden air, Esereez withdrew his arms into his back and walked down a row of desks. “The Outerworld was once a treacherous place for our kind,” he said, his rough voice dragging through the air like wheels on gravel. “For centuries, the Outerworld humans claimed the earth as their own, and killed any nymph, elf, or other servant of nature who dared call it anything else. They denounced the Illyrians as their patron gods and expended the resources of our delicate earth until there was nothing more to expend. They drowned our seas in oil and muck, burned our forests down to fields, and pumped our skies full of nasty, yellow, putrid fumes. Unknowing of what to do, the Illyrians sat back and watched in dismay.”
Oceanus raised her hand, but certainly didn’t wait for Esereez to call on her. “But then came the Outerworld Wars,” she said with a smile, “and all of that changed, right?”
Esereez rushed to the front of the class, smacked his hand on Oceanus’s desk with a great thwack and glowered at her with murderous eyes. Oceanus sat as stiff as a statue.
“Will you please wait until you’re called upon?” Esereez boomed. “There’s nothing more annoying than a voice that doesn’t know when to speak! That...and blue ribbons.”
With Esereez still glaring at her, Oceanus slowly and cautiously pulled the ribbon from her hair and subtly tucked it into a pocket of her tunic.
Esereez looked back up at the class. “The benevolence of the Illyrians ran dry when one night an Outerworld human by the name of Orthys Smith snuck onto the Isle of Illyria, the humble abode of your gods, and stole from us a most important technology.” His solemn gaze moved quietly, eerily, about the classroom. “Tell me, is anyone in here aware of which technology Mr. Smith stole?”
Oceanus’s hand popped up, but Esereez bared his teeth and she cautiously lowered it again. He called on a nymph with pink pigtails and a longer than average neck. “Would you care to answer, Glorius?”
“Orthys Smith, the Heathen, left Illyria with the Scepter of the First Light.”
“You’re quite right. Well done,” said Esereez. “The Scepter of the First Light was a relic, one that could give its bearer the ability to summon and control one of the most powerful and dangerous elements known to the gods—plasma. With this new element, the Outerworld humans forged great cities, weapons, and armor the likes of which rivaled the Illyrians’. Their greed and arrogance grew with each miserable month that passed, and in the year 2100, after the Outerworld humans used the scepter to slay my uncle Omeer, Lord of the Darklands, the Illyrians created the Guardians and the Outerworld Wars began. After months of tsunamis, earthquakes, hurricanes, and armies battling armies, our enemies stood defeated, seeking shelter in their few remaining cities. And for the past two hundred years, we have fought to keep it that way.”
Another nymph—one with curly, blue hair—raised her hand.
“Yes?”
“How did the Outerworld humans kill Omeer?” she asked. “I mean, I thought the rule was humans can’t kill gods.”
“Gods can be killed by either the hand of another god, or a weapon made by a god,” Esereez replied. “And since the Scepter of the First Light was crafted by a god—well, there’s your answer.”
When Spike’s hand went up into the air, Esereez eyed him rather suspiciously before asking, “Do you have question, cousin?”
“I do actually,” said Spike. “I, like most people here, have heard a lot of different things about the Outerworld humans.”
“And?” said Esereez.
“Well, I was just wanting to know if it’s true: that all Outerworld humans, and the ones that evolved from them—like the Eldanarians and the Callers—are as stupid as the rumors claim?”
Oceanus and Ion snapped around in their seats, noses flared.
“Spike!” Esereez barked, as whispers took the classroom. “There will be no talk of the Callers in this class, do you understand? One more word and I’ll have you in detention for a month. And we both know how displeased your mother will be with that news.”
But Spike ignored the warning. He looked at Ion with the most poisonous of smiles, daring Ion to defend his people. Ion’s face felt hot, his jaw the same.
Spike looked to Esereez. “So you’re saying that if I was to suggest Ion and Oceanus were as dumb as the rest of their shackled family, I’d get in trouble?”
The whispering of the nymphs and elves came to a crescendo, and Esereez looked about the classroom like an overwhelmed mother of fifteen. Ion stood, blood boiling.
“Take it back!” he snapped.
“I will not,” Spike snarled, standing as well.
“Take it back!” Ion demanded. “Take it back, or I’ll…I’ll—”
Spike grinned. “You’ll do nothing. Just like your Caller family did nothing before they were shipped away in shackles.”
The rage in Ion came to a head. “Take it back!” he boomed, and from out of his pointed finger exploded a bolt of thin, green lightning. It missed Spike by an inch, cracking against the books on the shelf behind him with a deafening blast of thunder.
The smell of fire filled the room as bits of burning paper drifted through the air. Frozen with shock, Spike stared at the smoldering, black book on the shelf. The nymphs had taken to the opposite side of the room, while the elves stared interested holes into Ion.
Ion hadn’t been this scared since he’d cut off a chunk of Oceanus’s hair. Accidentally, of course.
Esereez directed a stern glare at Ion, but then thundered over to Spike and latched his hand around the boy’s wrist. “I suppose you’ll be my first detention for this semester, cousin. Everyone—class is dismissed.” And in a furious rush, Esereez dragged Spike out of class and disappeared into the halls beyond.
A hand wrapped around Ion’s arm and he turned to Oceanus.
“Nice job!” she said, beaming.
He looked hard at her. “Nice job? I just shot lightning from my finger, and you think that deserves a ‘nice job’?”
“Of course!” she said, her eyes big with excitement. “Ion, you’re a sky god, and that was your first bolt of lightning! This should be a proud moment for you, especially since you didn’t kill anyone!”
Ion looked down at the finger that had sent the bolt. It tingled now, like it was falling asleep. He could feel everyone staring as the nymphs and elves slowly left the classroom.
“I feel like a freak,” he whispered to Oceanus.
“Oh, Ion,” said Oceanus, placing her hand on his shoulder, “that’s because you are one. But this happens to every sky god—you’d know that if you took the time to actually read a book. The exciting part is, now that you’ve unlocked that power you’ll be able to train it in Elemental Essentials class!”
Ion thought he should have been as excited as Oceanus was, but all he could do was swallow.
“Well, just be careful about using anger to summon new powers,” Oceanus went on. “Emotions are the keys to unlocking powers, but severe ones like rage and sorrow weaken our control. You just wait, Ion! There’s so much more to come!”
Oceanus slipped her books into her satchel, gave Ion a smile, and followed the last of the nymphs out of class. Ion stared at the book he had burnt black.
It was the second time Ion had felt like a god that day, except this time he definitely didn’t feel warm inside.
CHAPTER TEN
A LESSON IN RELICS
After lunch (which was really just an hour of Ion eating away his fears in the form of twenty Glow Cakes), Ion and his sister followed a group of dwarves and giants to their next class.
They entered the Jovian Fields with their backpacks hoisted over their heads to shield them from the pounding rain. The earth was muddy and unsure under Ion’s feet as he followed the dwarves and giants through a cluster of radiant, purple oaks, where the canopies of glowing leaves above danced in the rains that showered them.
Over the
shoulders of the lumbering giants, Ion saw a great dome ahead. Rain clattered against its pointed roof and washed down its four meaty columns. Though, Ion could hardly believe what he was seeing, since he wasn’t sure he was really seeing anything at all. The rain flooding over the roof and columns was the only thing to indicate there was even a building there; without it, the dome would have remained completely invisible to the ordinary eye.
Over the patter of rain, Oceanus elbowed Ion in the shoulder and said, “It’s an invisibility charm—probably from nymph’s magic, too. Amazing, isn’t it?”
Ion nodded, rubbing his shoulder, sure he was going to have a bruise.
Once inside, Ion lowered his backpack and eyed the massive anvils before him. Each anvil was as big as two desks, arranged in three rows of two, shimmering under the blue light of the candles floating overhead.
A sweet voice cleared its throat at the front of the class, and there was Vinya, standing behind a marble podium, wearing an orange tunic nearly as bright as the sun. A four-winged bluebird was perched atop her shoulder.
“Welcome, my dears!” she said with a smile. “Please, please—if you’d pair up in twos and pick an anvil. I believe we have just enough for all of you to share nicely.”
Everyone made a mad dash for the nicest anvils, with the giants bulldozing their way to the ones in the back, which Ion was happy with—he couldn’t imagine having to look over their shoulders for the entire class.
“It’s so nice seeing so many new faces,” Vinya said when everyone had settled. “It’s come to my attention that some of my students this year are actually children of students I had many years ago.” She searched the crowd with squinted eyes. “Gertrude Stoneheaver, is that you, my dear?” she asked a giantess, whose blond beard was braided with strings of pink thread. “Why, it is! Such strong shoulders, you have—just like the rest of your clan. A fitting last name it has come to be.”
Vinya winked and the giantess nodded nervously. “M-my father can throw a stone over a coliseum field and a half, m-ma’am,” Gertrude said, rather hushed.