by Lee, Nikolas
Emotion flooded through Ion, and before he could even reply, he flung himself forward to hug the mother he’d thought he’d lost forever. But his arms found nothing, and as he passed through her, he could feel only a cold mist showering his skin.
She turned to him, her smile now a frown. “I don’t think we’ll be hugging anytime soon, my son.”
“It’s...it’s fine,” he said, fighting back tears. “I just...I thought I was never going to see you again. But now you’re standing—well, hovering—right in front of me.”
She nestled her cold finger beneath the metal of his chin. “Oh, Ion, my beautiful, beautiful boy,” she said. “I’m so sorry for the way I left you. Truly I am. I fought as hard as a mother can to survive, but I’m afraid the Outerworld humans are a vicious race.” She stared into the metal of Ion’s jaw—that piece of iron fashioned for his face and his face only. “Does it hurt?”
Ion looked down to the sandy floor. “Not usually. Sometimes it gets really cold or hot. Sometimes it tingles. I-I think it responds to my emotions.” It sounded crazier when he said it out loud. “I don’t understand why he did this. He said it would save me, but I don’t know from what.”
Mother shook her head. “I don’t understand it either, Ionikus, but we’ll figure it out—I promise you. Unfortunately, I suspect your father will be the only one who knows exactly what the purpose of your jaw is.”
“Right now, its only purpose seems to be attracting weird stares and funny names. I just want it off before it starts to rust; I can’t even imagine how embarrassing that’s going to be.” Ion paused. “Othum...he says he’ll free Father if I pass the school exam at the end of the year.”
Mother eyed Ion suspiciously, as though it was the old days and she’d suspected him of stealing from the forbidden cookie jar. “Othum said that?”
Ion nodded. “He promised he would, and Oceanus says he’s a god of his word.”
“Ion, do you really think he’ll free your father?” she asked, her ghostly hands on her ghostly hips. “No matter what Oceanus says, Othum is an Illyrian and Illyrians aren’t known for their honesty.”
“Yeah, he sort of already lied about where Father was,” Ion said. “B-but I think Oceanus might be right on this one. The gods don’t seem all that horrible—at least, not all of them. I mean, Vinya is nice...was nice. She says she knew you.”
“I was there for that conversation, actually,” Mother replied. “That lazy woman slept on our couch for almost a year! Your father kept telling me to kick her out, but I just didn’t have the heart. I didn’t understand it then, but the four-winged bluebirds just loved our house in those days! Let’s see my necklace, then.”
Ion nodded and pulled the emerald and chain out of his pocket to show her.
“It always had the most beautiful sparkle,” Mother replied, her hands hovering longingly over the necklace “Well, I’m glad it’s fallen into someone’s hands. A powerful piece of jewelry, that necklace.”
Ion returned the emerald to his pocket and looked around the hall. “I can’t believe this place was just sitting beneath the courtyard,” he said. “Is...is this your home now?”
Mother cackled. “For now, I suppose. It once served as a grand altar to the heroes of the past—one constructed long ago, when the island of Eldanar had only just been raised from the sea. The Acropolis was built over it, at the order of Nepia, so she could have herself a grand fortress that towered high above the city. This place was once called the Hall of Heroes, but I think we’ll call it the Hall of Forgotten Heroes.”
A patter of footsteps echoed about the hall. “Ion,” whispered Oceanus from above. “Ion, where are you?”
Ion looked up, following the pair of feet wandering about the tiles of the ceiling.
He gasped. “We should tell Oceanus you’re down here!”
Mother came in close. If she could have grabbed Ion by the shoulders, she would have. “No. This must remain our little secret. I can’t afford to have anyone else know I’m here, especially Oceanus, understand? She’s in love with those gods, Ion, and if she finds out about me, there’s no doubt she’ll go blabbing to Othum.”
Ion swallowed. “All right. I won’t tell her.”
Mother eyed the footsteps above as though she feared nothing more. “You should go now, Ion.”
“But...when can I see you again?”
Mother brought her gaze down from the ceiling and smiled the most beautiful smile. “Whenever you want, my sweet, sweet boy. I’ll be waiting here.”
The thought warmed Ion. He wanted to hug her goodbye, but he settled for a nod. Mother ushered him over to a stone staircase and led him up to the surface. Three taps on the ceiling of tiles, just as Mother had instructed, and Ion crawled out into the open air of the courtyard.
Oceanus was ruffling through the ivy that clung to the surrounding walls when Ion surfaced.
“Ion!” she whispered. “Ion, are you in here? Good goddess, sometimes I just want to punch you in the face!”
“Since when have I ever hid in ivy?”
Oceanus whirled around and sighed with relief. “Oh, thank Othum you’re alive! For a second, I thought the banshee had killed you!”
“Nope,” Ion said, unable to hold back his smile. “Haven’t seen it since the chase.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
KEEPING THE BALANCE
When winter replaced fall, another Tree Lighting gave way to new leaves in the Jovian Fields, ones of glowing whites and silvers. The temperatures plummeted, and every night, Ion would watch from his window as snow fell gently upon the courtyard—another layer to add to the one left from the night before.
And each night, after everyone had gone to bed, Ion would sneak down into the Hall of Forgotten Heroes, and sit for hours chatting with his mother. They talked about how awful Dread had been, and how ugly his wart was; they talked about Ion’s powers, Oceanus, and all the sweets he’d been eating. They even talked about how he’d accidentally hurt Spike. To Ion, it was just like the good old days. Except she was dead. And he was a god.
Of course, he couldn’t help but hate how cold the hall was; he couldn’t light a fire for fear of giving away his new secret, and the winter air seemed even more frigid down there, like the breath of a frost giant or a glare from Solara. It intruded upon his mother-son bonding time, and it was just another reason to hate winter entirely.
On a Tuesday in Elemental Essentials, Ion stood in the shadow of the coliseum grandstands, wondering why—even with the oversized wool blanket coiled around every inch of his body—he didn’t feel any warmer.
“I suggest you start adjusting,” Oceanus replied beside him, thick with a wool blanket, scarf, and fur hat. “You have two more months of Eldanarian winter before the flowers even think about blooming.”
Lillian and Spike fought in the middle of the field, snow up to their knees, the sounds of their clattering wood swords echoing through the stadium. Spike had healed up nicely and was heavy in his usual sandstone armor. The rumor went that Spike had a scar where the lightning had struck him, but Ion knew he’d never see it—scars meant weakness, and Spike wasn’t weak. Though his glaring had definitely stopped.
Ion turned to Theo, who wore only a training tunic, watching the battle with a childish grin. Theo rubbed his hands together, and warm, seething flames played in between them. He looked up at Ion and smiled wider still. Ion decided then, that along with winter, he also hated Guardians who could make fire.
Past the clatter of wooden swords, Solara stood on the other side of the coliseum, far from anyone she might dislike, which seemed to include anyone with a pair of lungs. Now was the only time she wasn’t being watched by Lillian, and she used her free minutes to lazily pick at her nails.
A roar sounded from the center of the field, and Spike swept his sword overhead. Lillian slid to the side, and Spike’s sword descended into empty air. In a whirl, Lillian was behind him, sword pressed against his throat.
“Well done! Real
ly well done!” Esereez cried from stands above, clapping wildly. “You are quite skilled with a sword, Lillian! Perhaps one day you could teach Spike how to use one as well.”
Lillian turned and bowed. Without a word, she trudged through the snow, back over to Theo, who hugged her for her performance. Theo had said he met Lillian while stealing from the same watch shop in the Forums, and ever since, they’d become like brother and sister.
Ion was just thankful he didn’t have a watch.
“G-good job, Lillian,” said Ion through a shiver.
She said nothing. She leaned against the wall and tried to act cool, as usual, and returned to staring at something across the field—most likely Solara, since she didn’t look too happy with what she was staring at.
Oceanus leaned over to Ion, and whispered, “Banshee hunting tonight, ten p.m., same hall.”
Ion sighed. “Oceanus, I’ve already told you: I’m not looking for that thing again. It obviously didn’t have anything to say the first time, a second time isn’t going to change that.”
Ion never really liked lying, but these days it just seemed so necessary.
“But don’t you want to figure this out?” Oceanus asked, incredulous. “I mean a banshee knew your name. Death could be waiting around every corner!”
“Have you ever thought maybe she knew my name by mistake?” he asked. “Even banshees can be wrong, Oceanus.”
“Well what about the Shroud?” she asked, fists tight at her side now. “We need to find out why the gods are lying about it—though I’m sure they have a good reason. Still, you should want to know! At least for Father’s sake.”
“Father’s going to be freed either way,” Ion said. “And besides, it doesn’t matter what we found out. Don’t the gods know best? Why would you question them?”
Oceanus gasped, but Ion refused to look at her. If there was one thing Oceanus utterly loathed, it was people using her own statements against her in an argument.
“A lying god isn’t new,” Ion went on. “So why would it bother me?”
He felt awful, horrible, disgusted with himself for not telling her their mom had returned—Oceanus would have told him. But Mother said not to tell, so that’s exactly what he was going to do, even if it meant death when Oceanus found out.
“Mr. Reaves!” Esereez called from above. Ion looked up to find the Inventor leaning out over the grandstands. “I want you in the middle of the coliseum. Now.”
“But—”
“Now!”
With all eyes on him, Ion waded through the heavy layer of snow, equally annoyed and embarrassed, trying to ignore the cold biting through his three layers of socks and extra thick sandals. Once he reached the center, he turned to the Inventor and cleared his throat.
“N-now what?” he asked, tightening the blanket around his shoulders.
“Winter is a perfect time for a god such as yourself to push themselves in training,” said Esereez. “There’s always snow, or sleet, or fog falling from some part of the sky, and the winds are constantly whipping about. You have all the weather ingredients set in front of you, now I want you to harness them and complete one simple task for me. I want you to fly.”
Ion looked at Esereez liked he’d heard him wrong. “But—”
“What is it with you and these buts?” Esereez snarled. “Do you think the Class Verification Exams are going to care about your buts when some eight-hundred-armed giant is chasing you across the Acropolis, ready to strangle the life from your puny little body? They won’t!
“Flying is just about conjuring enough wind in one localized spot to support your weight,” said Esereez. “Straighten your back, constrict your calves, fly up ten feet from where you’re standing, and then lower yourself without falling flat on your face...or killing any of us. Do that, and class can be cut short for the day. Fail, and the Guardians will get to run fifty laps around the coliseum.”
He didn’t dare look at Spike or Solara, because Oceanus and Lillian’s glares were enough to make his stomach turn.
“If you want to be a Guardian, you’ll have to man up!” Esereez barked. Lillian’s eyes narrowed dangerously on the Illyrian, and he quickly added, “I mean woman up! Er—just do it, boy!”
Ion took in a gulp of winter air and felt the cold bite at his insides. He brought his shoulders back and clenched his toes, wind and snow kicking up at his feet. He constricted his calves, and the winds coiled around his ankles. Ion clenched harder and the winds snaked around his thighs, then his waist. Snow was sucked into the funnel cloud twisting around him. Ion looked up, and the whirling mass of winds hoisted him into the air, higher and higher. He felt weightless, as light as a four-winged bluebird and as powerful as a Rhynodon. Ion smiled, looking down upon the funnel of snow glittering beneath him. Here, on top of the world, he didn’t feel cold, and he didn’t feel like the Iron-Jawed Boy. He felt like Ionikus Reaves, the Guardian of the Sky. And the cold was his to control.
“Impressive!” Esereez shouted. “Now, dazzle me some more and return safely to solid earth.”
With only a thought, Ion descended, the winds bending, flattening, and howling. And as they settled, his feet once again graced the battlefield, and pride burned inside him.
When night took the Acropolis, Ion took to the Hall of Forgotten Heroes. Three taps on the same part of the glass-tiled courtyard he’d fallen through—just as Mother had said—and he was walking down the stone staircase to the sandy floor of the hall.
Ion trembled beneath his heavy robes and tightened the scarf around his neck. He scanned the walls around him as he shuffled to the middle of the hall, and quietly called, “Mother…”
She hovered out of the shadows, like every night before. “Ion, what did I tell you?” she asked. “You should wait until ten when everyone’s asleep. If we’re not careful, someone will catch us. And I’m not going back to the Darklands.”
“I know, I know,” he said. “But I just couldn’t wait to show you what I learned today! Watch.”
And just like before, Ion clenched his calves and straightened his back, and in no time at all, he was riding atop a column of roaring winds. The bottom of the funnel cloud weaved about on the sands, all the while maintaining a steady and balanced throne for Ion above.
“Why, Ion, it’s magnificent!” Mother gasped, hands over her heart. But a frown began to weigh on the ends of her smile, and she went on, “I only wish your father could be here to see this.”
She lowered her head, and when Ion caught the sound of her whimpers, the funnel cloud collapsed beneath him and he rushed to her side. “Mom? Are—are you all right?”
She held her head in her hands. “He’s just rotting down there! Being used like...like machinery!” She looked up with trails of silver ghost tears streaming down her face. “Don’t you miss him, Ion?”
“Of course I miss him,” said Ion. “But I’m working to free him. If I pass the CVEs—”
Mother waved her hand about as if to shoo away the rest of his sentence. “How much do you know about the Shroud, Ion?”
“Not much.” Ion shrugged. “I know only male Callers are powering the Shroud, while females fight in the war. But Oceanus and I never found out what happened to the Shroud to even need the Callers.” Ion stared at his mother for a moment. “Do...do you know?”
And then Mother smiled a sly smile, one Ion had never seen her wear. She turned her back to Ion and said, “The Darklands have three floors, each separated from the other by a magical barrier. Of the three barriers, the Shroud is the closest to the surface of Earth.” She turned back around, no longer wearing a smile. “After Omeer was killed by the Outerworld humans, the gods of Illyria voted to determine the next Lord of the Darklands. Many gods vied for the vacant throne, but only one prevailed. His name was K’thas the Fearful, the second son of Thoman.”
“How do you know all this?” Ion asked.
“Books, my boy,” she said, waving her hand again. “Now, focus. K’thas was a nasty god who u
sed fear as a weapon, which won him the throne. He could taste fear in people, and used it to sway others to do as he wished. More importantly, K’thas was a god full of hate, and what he hated most was the Blasphemers. He wanted them gone, so the gods could live in peace.”
“Blasphemers?”
“Outerworld humans,” she said. “But K’thas did not want peace, and Othum knew this. You see, K’thas wanted the humans killed for another reason. If the humans were wiped out, where would their spirits go, and whose army would be the most impressive? And who then could lead a revolt against Illyria?”
“K’thas,” Ion breathed.
“So Othum had him imprisoned,” Mother went on. “But without a god like K’thas to keep the Shroud strong, the barrier can’t hold back the dead—something the gods know all too well.”
“That’s who the gods were talking about!” Ion gasped. “Nepia was angry Othum extended K’thas’s sentence!”
Mother nodded. “That’s why I woke you. I needed you to hear that conversation, for the Darklands are in chaos, and the gods don’t want you to know.”
“Why don’t they just find another ruler for it?”
“They’re afraid. If another rotten god wins the Darklands Throne, who knows what’ll happen. So they’ve taken the Callers and are using their abilities to give the Shroud strength. As we speak, your father is being drained of all his power.”
“But not for long!” Ion said. “I’m going to pass my CVEs. I just know it. And when I do, Othum is going to free Father.”
Mother looked to the ground, and Ion’s jaw weighed his face down.
“Ion, Othum is not going to free your father,” said Mother. “He’s an Illyrian. He lies to get what he wants. Always has.”
Ion shook his head. “No...no...he said—”
“What he said means nothing,” Mother snapped. “Don’t you see? He’s already lied to your face about Father’s whereabouts! When you pass your exam, he’s just going to lie again and say he couldn’t find Father, or Father was too important to be freed.”