Cloak of Night

by Evelyn Skye

  Vespre, my lord, please hear us. . . .

  The night eventually shifted to early morning, and the dark gave way to dawn. Nothing changed in their makeshift temple except that all their eyes were rimmed in red from the smoke, and their backs hurt from kneeling in one position for so long.

  As the sun rose, they did, too. There was no point in reaching out to the god of night during the day.

  Sora had known it would be difficult—maybe impossible—to get Vespre’s attention. And yet disappointment swamped her gemina connection like the stifling mugginess of a bog, making it hard to keep their chins up.

  “We tried our best,” Sora said as they unrolled their mats and got ready for bed. She had to stay upbeat, for everyone’s sake. “But it was only our first attempt. Get some sleep. Tonight, we’ll try our best again.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  By the time everyone else woke up in the afternoon, Fairy was nearly bouncing out of her skin. “I have an idea,” she announced as she darted from sleep mat to sleep mat.

  Broomstick rubbed his eyes, still half asleep. “You’re making me dizzy by flitting around like that.”

  “Yeah, stay still,” Wolf said. “But if your idea is to magically find us coffee, I’d be all right with it.”

  Fairy laughed, but only for a moment. She’d been waiting forever for them to wake up so she could share her epiphany. “I think we need to change the sticks we use with our prayers.”

  “To what?” Spirit asked as she yawned and stretched.

  “The twigs we used last night were just chestnut branches,” Fairy said. “But I think we’d have a better chance of Vespre paying attention to us if we made smoke from night-blooming flowers.”

  “Why would that work?” Broomstick said.

  “You don’t remember the story from Spirit’s mother’s books? Mortal women who want Vespre’s attention set out night bloomers like wisteria, moonflowers, and certain types of jasmine to summon him to their beds.” It was one of Fairy’s favorite myths because it had to do with plants. And she wouldn’t admit it, but it had also been her earliest primer on how to attract boys.

  Wolf sat up on his mat, though, eyes alert with horror all over again.

  “Stars, no!” Fairy said. “I promised you I wasn’t trying to flirt with your dad, and I won’t! That’s disgusting. Besides, we’re all going to use these flowers to contact him.”

  “It’s a good plan,” Spirit said. “But where do we find the flowers? It’s daytime now, and you’re the only one who would recognize them in their unopened state.”

  “Oh, you don’t have to worry about that.” Fairy grinned and pointed to the base of one of the chestnut trees, where a mound of flowers was piled several yards wide and almost as tall as she was. “I didn’t sleep because I was too excited about the idea, so I went foraging for us.”

  Broomstick, Wolf, and Spirit blinked.

  “Wow,” Wolf said. “You did all that while we were asleep?”

  “Yup! And I also gathered some lolaro berries. They’re actually five times as caffeinated as coffee beans!”

  “You don’t say,” Broomstick said. “How many have you had?”

  Fairy stopped bouncing in place—only for a second—to stick her tongue out at him.

  “Anyway,” she said, “as soon as it’s dark again, we can start burning flowers, and the perfume will carry our prayers up to Celestae. In the meantime, who wants some lolaro? They taste like cherries mixed with apricots and a dash of sunshine!” She skipped from Wolf to Broomstick to Spirit, offering the purple berries. No one extended their hands.

  She couldn’t understand why.

  Chapter Fourteen

  A couple hours later, Daemon carefully placed a stem of night jasmine in front of him. Without water, it had wilted a bit, but it still seemed to wake beneath the moonlight, delicate petals opening and releasing their powerful perfume.

  Please work, he thought as he knelt on his rolled-up mat.

  Daemon took a deep breath and began to recite a plea, but it was very different from yesterday’s.

  Hey-o, he began. I’m going out on an arrogant limb and hoping that, because I might be your son, you’ll hear me. Kichona has fallen into the hands of a delusional maniac who worships Zomuri, who, you probably know, is also insane. The only ones who can stop him are me and my friends, but as you can see, we could use your help. Me, in particular. I switch from wolf to pathetically naked boy at random, which pretty much sums up our position. So will you do it? I could really use some fatherly guidance here. I mean, even if it’s not you, just someone up there, please help.

  Was it too up front? Possibly. Requests to the gods were supposed to be laden with deference and ceremony. But so far, the stiff approach hadn’t worked; maybe normal entreaties were just background noise in Celestae. Daemon hoped his informality would make his plea stand out.

  As with yesterday, they kept praying steadily through the night, but they took breaks when the smoke got too thick, since it was compounded with the heady perfume of the flowers tonight.

  As night gave way to early morning, Daemon began to sag on his mat. The brashness of his pleas shifted to dispirited resignation. At one point, he caught himself staring blankly at nothing in front of him, the flowers just a smoldering pile of ash.

  But at the moment Daemon was about to give up, some of the stars directly above him seemed to wink out, as if a giant cloud had blown in to cover that portion of the sky.

  He didn’t move.

  Did I imagine that?

  Daemon looked again at the spot in the sky. Where a constellation had twinkled earlier, now there was a distinct splotch of black sky.

  “I think something’s happening . . . ,” he said.

  Someone in the thicket of trees cleared his throat.

  Daemon, Sora, Fairy, and Broomstick were supposed to be the only ones in the chestnut grove.

  They turned toward the noise, half-hopeful their pleas had been answered but half-afraid they’d find a squadron of ryuu standing there. Everyone drew their weapons.

  A young man stood in the shadows on the other side of the grove. He was so still he could have been mistaken for a tree. He stepped forward into the moonlight, revealing that he wore nothing but a loincloth made of alligator hide.

  It wasn’t the ryuu. But it wasn’t Vespre either.

  “Greetings,” said the boy in an oddly formal way. He looked only a little older than Daemon. “I apologize for my appearance. Is this what a proper human looks like?” He gestured over the length of his body.

  “Hi there. . . .” Sora’s jaw dropped.

  Jealousy made Daemon clench his. But why was he feeling that way at all? Daemon was together with Fairy, and Sora was free to ogle whoever she wanted. Still, he couldn’t shake the tightness in his chest, even though he wanted to.

  “What do you mean, a ‘proper human’?” Broomstick asked.

  “I have never set foot outside Celestae,” the boy said as if that explained everything.

  “You’re a god?” Daemon asked. The boy didn’t look like any of the major ones, at least not from the descriptions they’d read all their lives.

  “I’m Liga,” he said. “I heard your prayers about an oncoming war, and I smelled the night bloomers, two things that don’t usually go together. I was curious, so I came.”

  Sora frowned. “That doesn’t explain much.”

  “It doesn’t?” Liga scratched his head, as if confused why this, too, wasn’t a sufficient answer.

  It was then that Daemon noticed Liga’s reptilian claws—at least three inches each and not “proper human” by a long shot—tucking his long hair behind his ear.

  Dark blue hair, just like Daemon’s. Faint sparks off his skin lit Liga like a distant halo.

  Daemon swallowed and took a couple deep breaths. “Is Liga short for ‘alligator’?” he asked in a whisper, because the idea seemed both inane and full of hope all at once.

  Liga nodded.

 
“I don’t understand,” Sora said.

  But Daemon did. “You’re the alligator constellation from the night sky.”

  Liga smiled. “Yes, brother. I am.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  That means Daemon really is the wolf constellation,” Sora said. “But . . . how?”

  Liga wrinkled his forehead. “What do you mean?”

  Now it was her turn to be perplexed. She tried to think through what he might be confused about. The best way, she decided, was to explain specifically what she was asking. “How did Daemon go from being a demigod in Celestae, like you, to being a taiga apprentice on earth?”

  “Aha.” A smile spread across Liga’s face. “I understand now. You would like to hear a story, correct? Because telling stories is how humans process a world that is otherwise too vast for you to comprehend.” It sounded like an insult, but he said it matter-of-factly.

  Sora knew that he was probably right. Liga didn’t seem mean; he simply didn’t know how to interact with humans, which made his speech a bit awkward and, sometimes, too blunt. So she pushed away the indignation that had flared at Liga’s condescension and said, “Yes. We’d like to hear the story of what happened to Daemon.”

  “As you wish.” Liga looked up toward the sky, and the air above their chestnut grove turned hazy, as if a purple cloud had descended. As he began to speak, moving images appeared in the violet fog, like a vivid, realistic miniature of everything that had transpired.

  Celestae was a paradise, an island in the heavens that looked as if it were made of honey, translucently golden and crystalline. Sweet peaches and plums bowed the tree branches, and the air smelled of their nectar. There were lakes of such stunning turquoise, no color on earth could compete, and mountains topped with thick snow as fine as powdered sugar. Each god lived in a grand palace of their own making, with every luxury they could ever desire, and they entertained themselves with contests of strength and speed, celebrations full of music and dancing, and bountiful feasts with endless fountains of rice wine.

  But there was one denizen of the heavens who grew tired of his idle life. The constellation wolf did not know how long he had lived here—time did not exist in Celestae, and so a day could be years, or a millennium could be a minute—but he did know he was bored. He craved, for better or for worse, hardship and challenge.

  So he went to his father, Vespre, the god of night, who stood on the balcony of his palace, watching the sky below as it turned to the purplish-gray of gloaming. Vespre was seven feet tall with skin the color of midnight, broad shoulders, and muscles bulging across his chest. His eyes flickered like nebulas, bright and dark and multicolored at the same time, and his cheekbones and jawline were sharp and edged in white light, like the lines of a constellation. A trail of orange fire like a comet’s tail followed his feet.

  “Father,” the wolf said, “I want to leave the heavens.”

  “Are you unhappy?” Vespre asked. “Is Celestae not enough?”

  “On the contrary, Celestae is too much.”

  The god of night’s eyes swirled in confusion. “Too much? You would desire less?”

  The wolf tried to explain. Perhaps it was the humanity in him—his mother had been mortal—that needed a purpose in order to be happy. But Vespre did not understand.

  “You are one of my favorite children,” Vespre said. “I know I promised my human lovers that I would never deny their offspring’s requests to visit earth, but that was to be temporary, if they wanted to see their mothers. But your mother is gone. She died in childbirth. There is nothing for you among the mortals.”

  “You would keep me prisoner here against my will?” the wolf said.

  Vespre grew angry then, the color in his eyes suddenly gone and replaced with darkness, like black holes. “You are half god, and you belong in Celestae. I will not discuss this further.” With that, the god vanished, leaving the wolf standing alone on the cusp of twilight.

  But another god had overheard their argument, and she landed on the balcony beside the wolf. It was Luna, goddess of the moon and the constellation wolf’s grandmother.

  “If you wish to leave the sky, I can help you,” Luna said. “But you must be sure, for if you do, there is no return. Once your father finds out, he will banish you forever from Celestae.”

  The blue wolf nodded. “I am sure.”

  “Then come with me on the next full moon.”

  When Luna again brightened the night sky with her glorious light, the wolf slipped away from his brothers and sisters and followed Luna’s downward climb. They touched down on the soft Kichonan dirt just outside a cave in Takish Gorge.

  “You would not like being a mere mortal,” Luna said to him. “After a lifetime with magic, being an ordinary human would be torture. But I can make you a taiga. And you can, in turn, serve me in return for the favor of releasing you from the sky.”

  The wolf bowed his blue-furred head to the ground.

  Above, the clouds cracked open, pouring forth rain and lightning. The god of night had awoken to find his son gone.

  The wolf’s mane shone like the stars one last time. Then Luna cast a spell, and he was a constellation no more. His spirit, however, curled into the form of an infant and, reincarnated, began a life anew.

  “I name you Daemon,” she whispered, because the bellowing storm sounded like demons marching from the hells. “It will take you some time to find your way, but when you’re ready, you shall be a light when others attempt to bring darkness.” Luna marked her triplicate whorls on the baby’s back.

  A pack of wolves emerged from the cave. The alpha and his mate bowed low to the goddess.

  “Care for this child as if he were your own,” Luna said. “And one day, his people will come for him.”

  Sora tried to catch Daemon as his legs gave way beneath him, but she wasn’t fast enough, and they both fell to the ground. The earth smacked against their knees, but he seemed to hardly feel it. Their gemina bond was a daze, Daemon completely bewildered by Liga’s story.

  “I—I don’t remember any of that,” he said.

  “Because Father was angry after you left,” Liga said as he waved away the purple haze hanging over them. “He did, in fact, banish you from ever entering Celestae again, and he buried your memories of it where you could not find them. If you didn’t want to be there, he didn’t think you deserved to remember it either.”

  “That’s horrible,” Fairy said.

  “Our father is passionate,” Liga said. “For better or for worse.”

  “I suppose that means he’s not coming tonight,” Sora said.

  Liga sighed. “Or any other night. I’m sorry.”

  Daemon wasn’t listening to their conversation, though. He had huddled into himself on the ground. “I was foolish to leave Celestae,” he said.

  Even with their gemina bond still frazzled from his shock, Sora knew what he meant. For eighteen years, he’d felt inadequate. Daemon had wished for a better command of magic. He’d prayed for something that would make him stand out from the other taiga apprentices. And to think he’d already had all that when he was a demigod. Now he was thinking it was his fault, that he’d gone and chosen an inferior life.

  “You weren’t foolish,” Sora said, crouching and putting her arm around him. “You wanted something different, and you were brave enough to chase it, even though it cost you everything.”

  “You can be brave and stupid at the same time,” Daemon muttered.

  “Maybe so,” Sora said. “But regardless, you’re our brave and stupid.” She sent him a wave of pride and loyalty, hoping he’d understand how much she meant it.

  It seemed to at least wash away some of his bewilderment over what Liga had told him.

  Daemon let out a long exhale. Then he looked up to face his half brother. “I’m sorry for the offense I caused our father—and you and all my siblings—by leaving Celestae. But I’m a different person now than the wolf you knew before. It sounds like I was spoiled and naive an
d ungrateful then.”

  “And now?” Liga asked.

  “I’d like to think I’m a better version of myself.”

  Liga nodded thoughtfully.

  With the break in their conversation, Broomstick rose and approached Liga. “I have a question. How were you able to leave Celestae if Wolf needed Luna’s help years ago? Do some demigods have permission to come and go, but others don’t?”

  “I could come because Wolf invited me just now in his prayers,” Liga said. “Eighteen years ago when he wanted to leave, he had no such invitation from someone on earth.”

  “Oh,” Broomstick said. “That’s it?”

  “Indeed,” Liga said.

  Fairy joined them. “I have a question, too. You said you came because you heard our pleas and you were curious?”

  He arched a brow. “Yes?”

  “We need to know where Zomuri’s treasure vault is.”

  “Why?”

  Fairy looked to Sora.

  Sora tried to sound persuasive. “Because Prince Gin gave his soul to Zomuri as part of a bargain, and we have to steal it, reunite the soul with the Dragon Prince, murder him, and save Kichona.”

  The corners of Liga’s eyes crinkled in amusement. “You want to steal from a god?” He turned to Daemon. “Brother, I see you’re keeping similar company to your friends in Celestae. You always were attracted to mischief.”

  Sora’s cheeks reddened. Luckily, no one else seemed to notice. They were all focused on Liga.

  “Unfortunately, I cannot help you to the vault,” he said. “Zomuri has fortified it with protections that repel gods, because he is paranoid that we want to steal from him, as if we care about human trinkets. No offense, of course.”

  “None taken,” Fairy said. “But let me understand—are you saying that the vault is in Celestae?”

  “Goodness, no,” Liga said. “Zomuri wants to keep his precious treasure as far away from all of us as possible. Just like he chose to live on earth, he also buried his vault here, although in an even more remote location than the sulfur caverns that he calls home. The vault is beneath what he calls the Lake of Nightmares.”