They clean themselves up, enchant fresh garments, and set forth. Skirting sideways through a slot that spares them from getting drenched by the falls, they emerge into another cavity. After a while, it connects with the original secret groove—naughty Siren, keeping this from him!—and dumps them into the waterfall enclave.
At Envy’s direction, the band hikes along one of the natural bridges. From there, they cross dots of light, glistening baths, and cascades that flow from the recesses that lead to multiple niches.
Merry skateboards whenever the terrain allows her to, but mostly she clasps the vehicle to her chest and whispers with Anger. Love and Andrew play a guessing game to distract themselves. Malice and Wonder theorize on all things legendary.
During an awkward silence, Envy brushes his fingers against Sorrow’s hip, and he attempts to tease the goddess. Yet her spine goes rigid.
To the rest of the group, her attitude is business as usual.
To him, it’s something else entirely.
Fog licks around his limbs as he leads the procession. His friends crane their necks to admire the mystical scenery and scan the water trees, vigilant of an ambush.
Ascending in elevation, they travel higher into the bluffs, leaving the refuge behind. The environment changes, narrowing to a slim peninsula, an estuary snaking along its winding summit. The only way to navigate the crest is via boat or the trail of boulders running down the center. As they hop from one slab to the next, a vista greets them.
Andrew stalls atop one of the rocks and marvels at the panorama of blooming cliffs, sylvan valleys, and metallic shores.
“Welcome to my childhood,” Love tells him.
“Welcome to your history,” Anger whispers affectionately to Merry, who’s rosy-cheeked and riveted by the setting.
“Welcome back to your stomping ground,” Wonder says to Malice, who gives her an artful grin.
Envy glances at Sorrow, only to find the goddess gnawing on her lower lip. For some reason, a bad omen threads in his mind. His thirst for her attention withers to disappointment, then to scrutiny.
Something is wrong.
Stars and moons crowd the sky, pearlescent rays skipping across the water. The journey proves to be longer than he’d predicted, but they near Fortune’s Crest without incident.
The peninsula joins twin summits. At last, the estuary crosses from one to the other, and the great stargazer comes into view. Multiple stories of walkways and parapets protect the glass dome, which swells from the center at the uppermost level. Within that translucent dome, the instrument shines.
To Envy’s people, it’s a vessel between the Peaks and the stars. It’s an umbilical cord that funnels the births of deities, as well as a mighty shrine to destiny.
The estuary broadens and spills into a lake near the stargazer’s base. The archers pause on their respective boulders and stare at the edifice.
“Are we mad?” Wonder asks.
“Only one of us,” Anger says, jabbing his thumb at Malice, who sticks out his tongue in response.
“Go ahead and call me mad,” Malice says. “I like being mad.”
“Wonder meant, are we mad for doing this,” Love says.
“Depends on who you ask,” Sorrow mumbles.
“Meaning?” Envy questions with a frown.
“As the only self-proclaimed fantasy geek here, I’ll take a stab at it,” Andrew says. “In fiction, there are rules to magic: things it can and can’t do. Let’s thumb through that. What can celestial magic do?”
“Control how humans feel,” Love says, her chin perched like a parakeet on his shoulder.
Andrew snaps his fingers in the affirmative. “I knew there was a reason I love you more than my bookshelf.” Love sniggers, and he continues. “And what can’t magic do?”
“Control how deities feel,” Sorrow says.
“Not true,” Love objects. “If I scratch myself with my arrow—”
“But that would be your choice.”
“Could happen by accident.”
“But that would be your mistake.”
“It’s still control.” Sorrow swerves her head toward the group’s most erudite pairing. “Malice, Wonder, break out your dictionaries. I’m betting the definition is the same in any realm.”
“Magic can’t control nature,” Envy says under his breath.
But they hear him. And like a brushfire, they get it.
Magic can control itself, and it can defy itself. It can break its own rules, but it can’t control or defy nature.
“That’s where we all come from,” Andrew says. “Humans are of the earth. Deities are of the stars. Both are nature, so we’re alike, and we have a right to our natural selves—our choices.”
The group stares at him.
Like Malice and Wonder’s knack for researching mythical legends, the surplus of fictional stories housed in Andrew’s cranium amounts to its own weapon. It gives him a vantage point that none of them have. His argument is simple yet critical.
No, they’re not mad.
They gravitate from the water. The boulder path veers to the lake’s embankment, merging with a stony outcropping. Beyond, high grasses and flowers—hyacinths, according to Wonder—sway in the breeze. Above, a troop of silver-winged travelers whoosh by, reminding Envy of the dragonfly cove that he’d shown Sorrow.
There was a time when they would have passed through the facade’s ivy-strewn gate easily. Malice withdraws a vial of Asterra Flora and smears a droplet onto the foundation.
With a shudder, the gate opens. They hesitate.
All except Malice, who skips through with an exaggerated flourish. “Move your heinies, mates,” he says on the way.
“Show off,” Anger grouses.
Wonder pinches him for that and pursues her lover, those long curls swishing around her ample hips. She’d changed from harem pants to a floor-length green gown and left her feet bare. To compliment her wildflower corsage, a hyacinth stalk coils around her headband.
Inside, lanterns pulse with starlit flames. They climb spiral stairs to the dome, where painted recreations of constellations grace the floor. Above the artwork, an elegant silver funnel aims toward the sky, supported by posts that spiral like vines at the ends.
Might as well go for ceremony. Surrounding the telescope, the group joins hands. Anger does the honors, glancing at the stars and summoning their allies.
As outcasts and deserters, they’re unable to cross boundaries without the means to break down that barrier. Thank Fates for Malice and Wonder’s supply of Asterra Flora. They’d left plenty behind in the human realm, in the safe keeping of their allies, preparing them for when the call came.
A moment passes, then another, then another.
The ground trembles. Anger’s eyes pop open. Everyone bolts, dashing from the central platform and spilling along the parapet.
In the flood of lunar rays, a swarm of heads appear, with leafy circlets, metal clips, and gems sparkling in their hair. Exiled deities and former loyals alike glide up the hill, carrying longbows and crossbows. Star-woven cloaks and liquid gowns billow from their shoulders. Moon-sewn leathers stretch across their arms and limbs. Mortal style coats jangle with buckles and chains.
At the forefront strides a female with sage hair. Her meditative gaze is akin to a certain voluptuous goddess, except this one wields arrows of ivory.
“Harmony!” Wonder squeals, racing to meet her Guide at the gate.
Minutes later, their allies sweep into the monument, greeting Envy and his peers. If ever there was a congregation equally joyous and daunting, it’s this one. Some resemble humans in their early twenties, others in their thirties. When really, their ages range between two-hundred and two-thousand years old.
Archers they’ve known in the Peaks, like Confusion, Guilt, Hope, and Joy.
Outcasts from the Celestial City, like Pity, Confidence, Courage, and Trust.
Surprise and Kindness are two of Merry’s comrades. The former is a v
eritable disco ball, her mocha skin wrapped in sequins. The latter’s dove gray hair is twined into a bun at the nape and fastened with a basket weave bow. She’s got pillows for eyes, and she’s swaddled in cozy garments: an oversized cable knit sweater and velour shorts.
The outcasts each have their own tale. In the end, they’d all been evicted from the Peaks and replaced with those who fit the Court’s so-called template of exemplary archers.
As for the ones who hadn’t been exiled—the former loyals—some resent these standards of perfection, while others never cared for assigning destiny, while others simply don’t like having their life’s purpose designated to them.
Anger speaks to the crowd, along with Wonder’s Guide. They bring everyone up to speed on the Court’s knowledge of their presence, which incites dismay. However, this was always a possibility. Therefore, the pronouncement doesn’t surprise anyone except for, well, Surprise.
“They may not know where to find us,” Anger says, his graphite eyes scanning the crowd. “But they will soon.”
“Scouts,” Harmony addresses a team of archers. “Make haste.”
A team of deities hustles from the stargazer to guard every neighboring summit. Sorrow watches them leave, her face twisting. “I’ll go with them.”
Heads swerve toward her. Flummoxed, Anger says, “What for?”
“For once, I concur.” Malice examines her profile. “Don’t recall that being part of the plan.”
“Forgive me for getting antsy,” Sorrow snaps.
“You can’t,” Merry bleats, the quiver of neon arrows clattering against her lavender dress. “We lost you before. We can’t…”
Remorse crowds Sorrow’s face. “You’re right.”
Since when does this archeress waffle? And since when does she cave that easily?
Envy isn’t the only one whose gaze bears down on her. Malice’s demon eyes scrutinize Sorrow, too.
After being assigned their stations, the gods and goddesses disperse, some settling in circles on the grass, others scaling trees interspersed across the summit. Lanterns illuminate the atmosphere, including the rock walkway from the estuary to the monument.
They wait. The Court will come, along with an army of subjects. The assembly gathers in cliques, then enchant ceramic cups of tea. As starlit flames swat the air, archers trade recollections of the past and visions of the future, no longer having to keep their private thoughts to themselves.
Empathy slides into Envy’s ribcage. After making the rounds with Anger, they settle beside their friends. The three couples huddle around a blazing lantern, while Envy and Sorrow sit apart. Truly, he can’t handle analyzing why, his heart a veritable beehive of angst.
Andrew retrieves his notebook and pen from Malice, then proceeds to scribble a message to Love, which she responds to in her own handwriting. They play this little game for a while, as they usually do. But not for long.
Based on the bleak expressions, they all could use some levity.
Merry can always be counted upon. Snuggling into Anger’s arms, she asks, “Does everyone know that myth about the stars shining their greatest?”
Vaguely, Envy recalls thinking about it sometime during their voyage. “The stars will shine their greatest when a deity asks for the truth.”
“But a deity will only receive the truth if he or she is ready to hear the answer,” Sorrow adds while fixated on the grass.
“And that immortal will only be ready to hear the answer if he or she is ready to change,” Merry finishes.
Andrew furrows his brow. “Okay, but what does it mean for the stars to shine their greatest?”
“Answer, and he’ll just ply us with a dozen more questions,” Love joshes, then nips Andrew’s ear. “Years ago, I do remember telling you to—”
“‘Pick your battles, you exhausting creature,’” he quotes in a dramatic voice, kissing her back. “How could I forget?”
“Maybe it means the stars will shine in an unforeseen manner,” Wonder theorizes.
“Or just blind the shit out of us,” Malice says.
“Or cast light from an uncharted perspective,” Anger ventures.
“Can we pick a subject that isn’t ninety-nine percent random?” Sorrow nags, earning a bunch of stale looks.
“You’re a regular ray of sunshine, aren’t you?” Malice remarks.
“Leave her alone,” Envy blusters.
“I don’t need you defending me,” Sorrow pecks at him.
“Is that right? What do you need, my nymph?” He snaps his fingers. “Ah, yes. Nothing at all.”
“What will everyone do, once we’re victorious?” Merry tries again.
That does the trick. Shoulders and heads lift in contemplation while the lantern flickers.
“Go home?” Andrew jokes sadly, while Love rests her head on his shoulder, their fingers threading.
By home, he means Ever. The mountain town where he used to live as a mortal—where he and Love also basked in their happy almost-ending during her temporary stint as a human.
“How you must miss it,” Merry says balefully. “Your family and friends.”
“Everyone,” Andrew’s voice cracks. “Every day.”
“Late night talks over tea with Miss Georgie,” Love says with wistful longing. “Making a home with her.”
“Working in the bookshop with her,” Andrew adds. “And breakfast with my stepdad.”
“Coffee with Holly and Griffin. We had a good life. A really good life.”
“We still do. It just lasts a little longer.”
Chuckling, they tangle themselves up. At least they’re making a good forever. It’s not without eternal pangs, but from what Envy sees, they’re succeeding.
“We’ll ride a carousel,” Merry says to Anger, who cradles her tighter.
“And listen to a record,” Anger replies.
“We’ll rebuild the Archives. And I’ll show you my house in the Astral Sea,” Wonder says to Malice, while resting her head in his lap. “Remember? I promised you that I would.”
He combs through her marigold blonde curls. “Will I be jealous of your bookshelf, Wildflower?”
“You can count on it, Demon.”
“Ugh. All this sap,” Sorrow grumbles. “Excuse me.”
She collects her weapons, struggles to her feet, and flees the scene. Because that attitude isn’t out of the ordinary, no one blinks.
Envy’s not deceived. She had looked about to cry.
He goes after her. And now he’s certain the group is staring after him. Because lust partners or not, Envy never has to chase a female, especially not this goddess.
He stalks past clusters of archers. At the edge of the cliff, a crevice of rocks shrouds her from the encampment, where she stares at the distant crests.
No, not at the crests. She gazes at the stars.
She gazes at them with concentration, as if…calling to someone?
“Hey,” he demands, storming toward her.
She whips around, a string of hair batting her chin. “Hey, yourself.”
“What is this? What are you doing, Sorrow?”
“If I told you I came here to pee, would you go away?”
“What’s going on with you? In the grotto, I thought—”
“That was a mistake.”
“Which part? The part where I came inside you, or the part where you came around me?”
“For Fate’s sake, get lost! For once, let me be!”
Fury doesn’t become him, so Envy changes tactics. He backs Sorrow against the cliff wall, one hand plastered above her head, the other beside her hip. Leaning in, he cages her there. “Oh, hun. If my proximity is too overwhelming that you needed a breather, all you had to do was say so.”
“Quit the swagger. It doesn’t work on me.”
His feline grin drops. “Then tell me you don’t want me.”
“I…,” she falters. “I don’t…”
“Go on,” he dares, speaking against her lips. “Tell me
what happened in the enclave meant nothing. Tell me you’re not still thinking about it.” His timbre lowers to a scant whisper. “The way I felt. The way you felt. How we watched each other the whole time.”
His voice breaks a little. Worse, his heart commits a similar crime.
When Sorrow’s fingers drift to his waist, Envy takes that as permission and runs his palm along the side of her breast. “Tell me you don’t want this right here, right now. Say that you don’t want me, hidden from view but with everyone less than fifty feet away—”
On a snarl, her mouth snatches his. The next thing he knows, they’re pawing at each other, his tongue flicking with hers as the kiss goes wild. And then next thing he knows, he’s hoisting Sorrow against the foundation, her skirt flapping open. And then next thing he knows, she’s ripping into his trousers, the material giving and slumping around his hips.
Her eyes sear into his. That alone sews the gash in his heart. Triumphant, he finds her entrance and thrusts. A rapturous cry lurches from Sorrow’s throat, obligating him to cover her mouth with his hand.
Envy’s body gyrates, his length surging into her with deliberate, even strokes. They gasp to the solid pump of their bodies, her legs flaring around him, her passage narrow and damp. The lovemaking takes on a measured yet delirious rhythm, equally bereft and irate.
As her pelvis rolls and meets his, he hisses into one ear. “That’s right. Ride me like I’m yours.” He switches to the other ear. “Ruin me like I’m yours.”
When Sorrow’s moans grow louder, his mouth replaces his hand, tasting her pleasure. They kiss, they kiss, and they fucking kiss. With each throb, they chase that blinding light, chasing it, chasing it.
And the next thing he knows, they’re falling into oblivion, disheveled and spasming against one another. Their mouths cling, holding in the cries that tear from their lungs.
Slumping into the cliff wall, they catch their breaths. Envy’s first inclination is to touch her face, to lavish her with an endearment, to make her laugh. Unfortunately, Sorrow wiggles from him so fast that it’s déjà vu all over again.
He’s so nonplussed that he doesn’t bother to stop her. They shuffle their clothes into place while gearing up for another…whatever this has become.
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