CHAPTER SEVEN
THE ONE WITH THE GRAY EYES
The ring of the bell came loud yet again. Lady Helia proceeded through the gates, the ends of her smoky robes crawling across the floor in her wake, taking the smell of sadness with her. Ion’s mind was reeling. Stomach turning. Yes, that’s what we’re supposed to tell you, Helia had said, the words replaying again and again in Ion’s head. But why? What did the gods have to hide? What happened to my past lives that I’d have so many?
The god with the sewn-shut mouth—Adalantis, Illyrian of the desert—entered the Sanctum behind Helia, and Theo stopped beside Ion.
“I’m so nervous my hands feel like they’ve been licked by dogs for at least an hour,” Theo whispered, turning to watch the other gods file in.
Vasheer entered, and then Lillian joined the line of Guardians outside. Ion tried his best to contain his troubled thoughts, knowing all too well Lillian would be there to catch them when they fell from his head. Yet another power of the Blood Guardian. He watched one god after the other enter the Sanctum, counting them to avoid thinking about what he didn’t want Lillian to hear.
When everyone had entered, Othum approached. “Fantastic job, Guardians! Now, proceed into the hall after me and stand by the doors until you’re given further orders.”
Inside, a small flight of stairs led down to an oval-shaped room, where the name “Sanctum of the Deep” suddenly made sense. The room was so spectacular it pulled Ion out of his confusion and into a room that looked to be set at the bottom of the ocean. Beyond the domed glass walls of the Sanctum stretched a sprawling sea above plains of water-swept sand. A small plot of coral rose beyond the table in the center of the room, sunlight breaking through the water’s surface and painting the ocean floor in silver and white.
The gods all took their seats at the table in the center, while the Guardians flanked the stairwell.
“I can’t even remember the last time I ate in the Sanctum,” said Othum, unrolling his napkin and tucking it into the high collar of his white tunic.
A monstrous shadow cast over Ion and the other Guardians, and before anyone could react, a shriek as high-pitched as it was powerful filled the Sanctum. Ion turned quicker than lightning, only to find a massive fifty-foot whale leaping through the air and landing with a kra-koom! on the surface of the water behind the Guardians. Theo screamed, of course. At least until he realized no one else was screaming.
He turned to the weight of all those godly eyes and blushed. “Sorry.”
“Good Triplets, child, you could kill with that scream,” said Lady Borea, hand to her wrinkled neck.
“Some would call it a screech, Grandmother,” said Vasheer.
Esereez, Ezra, and Onyxia all chuckled, while Theo withered beside Ion.
“Say what you wish, I think it’s nice to know one of our Guardians can speak whale,” said Onyxia, before cackling madly.
“My Queen, that’s enough,” Othum said quietly.
Onyxia angrily slammed her goblet down, mead splashing out onto the table. “Enough? Don’t you tell me what’s enough, husband. I’m a perfectly good judge of that!”
Lady Borea rolled her eyes and pressed her finger to the table. From underneath it crept a strip of frost that crackled and hissed as it slithered its way over to Onyxia’s goblet, climbing up the side of the cup, and freezing the mead within.
“The majority of your company thinks you should slow down, My Queen,” said Lady Borea flatly, tossing one of the white tendrils of her hair of her shoulder. “At least until you get back to your room. Then, you have my permission to drink yourself to death.”
Onyxia leaned forward, and batted her eyelashes once, the many feathered eyes of her dress following suit. “That’s just silly. Everyone here knows if someone’s going to die, it’ll be you. How old are we now? Ten thousand? Or ten thousand and one? You were born around the same year as pottery, yes?”
“Oh, my dear,” said Lady Borea sweetly, “I was the one who invented it.”
Onyxia scoffed. She placed her hand over her frozen goblet of mead, burning away the frost with a bit of black energy emanating from her palm.
“Mmm...warm drink.”
She toasted Lady Borea, who remained solemn, then gulped down her mead.
There came a ding! and the floor at Ion’s feet trembled and shook. He quickly stepped to the side, watching as the blue tiles receded beneath one another, until a hole had formed in their absence. A grand cart, brimming with tiers of trays and bowls—each bright with beautifully colored cakes and cookies and puddings—rose from the gap in the floor.
“Oh, thank the Triplets,” said Lord Soldune. “I’m starving.”
“Of course you are, brother,” said Vasheer.
“Guardians,” said Othum, “would you please serve your Illyrians their food?”
The Guardians traded glances and immediately took to the table of trays. Ion grabbed a plate heavy with bowls of weird, golden pudding and approached the table of Illyrians. He lowered the tray to Lady Borea, who urged him—with very pushy eyes—to place the bowl on her tray. But when he did, she smacked him on the wrist and whispered, “Serve from the left, boy.” Nervously, he did as he was told, before walking to the next god, Adalantis. He smelled of earth, and while Ion served him his bowl—from the left, of course—he saw the tiny, nearly unnoticeable grains of dark sand that made up his skin.
While Theo and Lillian went around the table filling everyone’s goblets with a slushed, coffee-colored sort of drink—except Onyxia, she was good with mead—Oceanus made her rounds with a tray of cakes spewing a steaming red lava, gleefully placing one on each god’s plate with a pair of tongs.
“Thoman, my child,” said Lady Borea, “what of the war efforts in the Outerworld? There are whispers in the garden that speak of slowed progress?”
“Mother, I think that topic could be saved for another less sensitive time?” said Othum, gesturing toward Ion, who was placing a bowl of pudding on his plate.
“Oh, no, it’s fine,” said Oceanus. “We’re fine with it, really.”
“Speak for yourself,” Ion murmured, immediately realizing he’d said it too loud.
Lady Borea eyed him disapprovingly and slipped a spoonful of pudding past her thin lips. “Your tone is noted, Sky Guardian,” she said. “But sacrifices must be made in a time of war, military drafts included. I’m sure the Achaean Academy has at least taught you that.”
“Yes, Lady Borea,” Ion said through his teeth.
“Very well then,” she continued. “Thoman, what news do you have for us?”
The hovering lenses around Thoman’s head slowed as he dabbed the corners of his mouth with his napkin. “Progress has slowed, yes. Ten human citadels remain, the last conquered four months ago. But with their numbers concentrated now, they’ve been able to better defend against our invasions. The destruction of their Wonders has surely made a dent in their morale, however. We’re just waiting to see the results.”
“Their Wonders?” Oceanus asked quietly, pouring a cup of the coffee-colored liquid into Eos’s goblet.
“Yes, their Wonders,” said Vasheer. “Grandmother, here, brought to our attention the pride the humans share over the great structures they’ve built in the past: the Parthenon, the Great Pyramids, so on and so forth. And then suggested we destroy them.”
What Vasheer said must have sounded just as harsh as Ion had imagined, because the look on Oceanus’s face was just as horrified as his.
“Just to wipe those rotting mounds of brick and sand off this earth was enough to make me happy,” said Lady Borea. “Great Pyramids, my godly behind.” There was a moment of uncomfortable silence, where everyone flicked their attention to Onyxia. “Apologies, My Queen. Did I offend? Let it be known, Guardians, that the Queen here is a long-lost descendant of the mighty Old Gods of Egypt—the last one of their bloodline. Of course, I’m sure you could tell that by her gaudy choice of dress.”
“No offense taken, Lad
y Borea,” said the Queen, eyes half open. “You know—” Othum placed his hand on Onyxia’s wrist and she tore her arm away. “Don’t touch me, you oaf! Ugh! And now you’ve made me forget what I was going to say!”
Ion looked over at the other Guardians—everyone was shocked at Onyxia’s words. She seemed to...to hate him. While Ion placed a bowl of pudding in front of Esereez, it now made sense to him why Othum had chosen to live on Eldanar instead of Illyria.
“Tell me, Thoman,” Queen Onyxia continued, “what of the situation with the Unspeakables?”
There was silence.
The lenses all but stopped around Thoman’s head. “K’thas’s whereabouts are completely unknown. We suspect he’s hiding underground, knowing all too well we’d be able to detect his presence were he to surface. He has no access to the Darklands, however, as every entrance is heavily guarded and armed with powerful spells.”
“And of the Twins—Solara and Spike?” Onyxia asked, lips pursed.
Solara. Ion clenched his jaw—that green-eyed, red-haired goddess who’d taken Vinya from the world flashing before his eyes. All those locusts of hers, hissing as they stormed all around. And Spike. That stupid, thick-necked, thick-headed brother of hers. A shiver rushed down Ion’s spine at the thought of them.
“Our spies report the Twins seeking shelter in the streets of Sol, the human citadel of the Southernlands,” said Thoman.
A frustrated growl came from Othum, a fist to the table from Esereez.
“As we all know,” said Thoman, “Sol is the home of the Scepter of First Light—the relic of the Old Gods the humans stole right from underneath us. They’ve used its power to infuse their weapons with god-killing magic, and have been the primary distributor of said weapons to the other citadels since the War of 2100. They’ve channeled the Scepter’s power into creating an impenetrable force field, manipulated its technology into giving them longer lives, and—”
“So you’re trying to say the Twins are unreachable?” said Lady Borea.
Thoman swallowed. “I am. Though my spies are keeping good track of them.”
“How comforting,” said Vasheer.
It was then that Ion came upon the last Illyrian at the table he had to serve—Lady Helia. Her fingers sat folded in her lap, gold bands of armor sweeping over them. She sat there, quiet and refusing to look at him, as though she’d never said anything to him at all. The iron of his jaw burned, the metal reacting to his emotion as it always had.
But as Ion reached for the last bowl of gold pudding to place in front of Helia, Ion saw him. The gray-eyed, bald-headed boy he’d seen in the halls of the Academy was now half-hidden behind Soldune’s chair. His arms were straight at his side, eyes bright and smile creepy. Ion looked around. Is no one seeing this? But Oceanus passed right by him to serve Soldune, and Ion knew he was alone.
Then, the boy placed a finger to his mouth, twisted in place, and with a sweeping kick, sent a gale of howling wind around the table before striking Ion in the back...and sending the bowl of pudding into Helia’s lap.
Ion gasped, frozen in place, staring at the goddess who was sitting there shocked all the same. He flicked his eyes over to where the boy had been standing, but was no longer. An illusion of the Balance, like Father had said? Or something much worse?
“I-I-I’m so sorry, Lady Helia!” Ion said, looking around for a napkin as though it’d do him any good.
Ion plucked one from the table, and when he went to wipe the pudding off her dress, she stopped with a “No! I’m fine, Guardian.” She took a deep, calming breath and rose from her chair, a puddle of pudding falling to the floor with a sickening plop. “I think it’s time for me to return to my chambers, Illyrians. Father—it’s a pleasure to have you here on Illyria again. I look forward to seeing you tomorrow as well.”
Now more than ever, Helia refused to look at Ion. She nodded to her fellow Illyrians and walked stately out of the Sanctum.
“Well, I don’t know about everyone else,” said Lady Eos, “but that was probably the most exciting thing to happen on Illyria in months. Helia needs a good pudding bath every now and again. Always so glum that one.”
“Here, here!” said Soldune, raising his goblet, the slabs of extra skin from his arm hanging down to the table.
While the gods chuckled amongst each other, Ion did his best to ignore the sudden burning of Oceanus’s glare. He was ruining her visit to Illyria. Already. First impressions are everything, is what she’d say now. Before, of course, unleashing a torrent of water upon him. But she didn’t see the boy. She didn’t know that it wasn’t Ion’s fault.
After the gods had finished with their pudding and cake, Lady Borea raised her goblet and tapped it thrice with her spoon. Silence fell among the gossiping Illyrians.
“I suppose now is as good a time as any for the High Illyrians to discuss matters involving the Tournament. I must request the Sanctum be emptied beside Onyxia, Othum, Nepia, and I.”
Vasheer, Esereez, Eos, Ezra, and all the other Illyrians nodded and rose from their seats, bowing to the High Illyrians before proceeding out of the Sanctum.
“Guardians, we must ask that you, too, leave the Sanctum,” said the Skylord. “A minor precaution, you see. You’ll be staying in the Amethyst Manor, to the west. Take a right outside, and travel down that road until it ends. There will await your chambers.”
The Guardians bowed and left the dinner hall to the High Illyrians.
Though it didn’t seem like they’d been in the Sanctum for long, when the Guardians left the hall, the Sun was setting in the distance, its final rays cast over the gleaming, golden city of Illyria.
“Well that was embarrassing,” said Ion. Theo and Lillian walked at his side, but it wasn’t until he realized that Oceanus wasn’t with the group that the ground began to tremble.
Ion whirled to see a wave of watery steeds twenty feet high stampeding toward him. Lillian and Theo leapt to the side, but before Ion could do the same, the wave crashed into him, the roar mighty in his ears as he was washed violently the road. In its dissipation, he was left coughing and heaving for air, and completely soaked.
Sandals appeared at his side, and when he looked up, Oceanus’s piercing blue eyes stared down at him. “Embarrass me like that again, and you’ll be more than soaked,” she said, though trying to seem calm.
Then, she flipped her hair back and started down the road.
“I didn’t mean to do it!” Ion shouted at her, Theo and Lillian helping him to his feet. “It’s the Balance! There was this—” But Ion looked at Lillian, her eyes suddenly suspicious, and didn’t finish the sentence.
He didn’t want her to know about the boy. At least not before he knew who the boy was.
“I’m so glad I don’t have sisters,” Theo whispered, watching as Oceanus disappeared over the hill, into the light of the evening torches.
Ion wrung the water from the ends of his tunic. “Sometimes I wish I didn’t have one.”
“Give her some time,” said Lillian, crossing her pink arms. “Oceanus loves these gods. And elven truth be told, she desires the things that have fallen into your lap, Ion. Your Illyrian blood, however diluted it might be, the attention you’ve gotten for it...even your jaw. You’re connected to the gods in a way she could never be. Your embarrassing her is simply an excuse, a fog, a smokescreen to hide the truth that—”
“I think I get it, Lillian. Thanks.”
Lillian had to have been telling the truth. She always did. But he couldn’t believe Oceanus wanted what he had, what he didn’t even want to begin with. My jaw? My Illyrian blood?
The sound of Ion’s soggy sandals squished about the streets as the Guardians passed several shops, villas, temples, and baths on their way to the new chambers. The Amethyst Manor stood three stories tall, a building of white marble with a colonnade of purple, crystalline columns in the front made of sculpted amethyst.
Inside lay a great domed room, its walls built around massive growths of sparklin
g purple crystals—more amethyst. The furthest wall served as a balcony that overlooked the Illyrian cliff side, which Ion and Theo immediately took to. With the last glimpse of the Sun melting beneath the ocean in the distance, Ion leaned over the railing and drew his eyes over the many palaces built into the side of the cliffs, some so old they were months, weeks, days away from crumbling into the sea.
There were footsteps behind them and Ion turned to find Father. “What’s going on with Oceanus?” Father asked. “She stormed in, asked where her room was, and now she’s locked inside and won’t come out. Wait...why are you all wet?
“She’s jealous,” said Lillian.
Ion gave her a look, which she didn’t acknowledge.
“Jealous?” Father asked. “Ion, what’s she talking about? But more importantly, how was your day with the gods?”
“Nothing, Father. She’s just being Oceanus. The day was...interesting, but I’m feeling a little tired—know where my room is?”
“Of course. Just finished unpacking for you. Left a plate of sweets beside your bed.” He pointed to the left, where a hallway also overlooking the cliffs led to four different wooden doors, each banded in iron. “You’re the last one.”
Ion nodded and wished everyone a good night before starting down the hallway.
His room was big, maybe even bigger than his room on the Acropolis. His bed sat, soft and welcoming, at the back wall, situated beneath a small window looking out at the turquoise streets of Illyria.
Ion closed the door behind him, and without even removing his soaked tunic, fell back onto his bed, which was as soft as what he’d once thought clouds felt like. But now he knew better. He sat up, extended his arm and opened his hand. He felt the temperature around him drop as he molded the atmosphere of the room. Moisture accumulated on the stone walls, while the water heavy in Ion’s tunic was leached from the fabric, pooling into droplets before evaporating into clouds.
He ran his hand through them. They weren’t soft. They were cold, nearly freezing. Did Atticus ever play with clouds like this? Did Thornikus? What about all the other lives? The ten other lives he wasn’t supposed to know about. Ion scrunched his opened hand into a tight fist, and sparks of green electricity leapt, raced, and arced through the clouds.