The Iron-Jawed Boy and the Siege of Sol

“S-so the voice,” I said, “it wasn’t yours?”

  “Couldn’t have been.”

  “Th-then...who?”

  “Not a who,” they answered. “But an It. A creature who stood upright like any sentient being, but who was too tall to be a human or elf, and who spoke with a voice neither male nor female. This It appeared in our chambers and presented to us a strip of iron and a flask of blood. When we asked whose blood, the It replied: the blood that once pumped in the heart of a Triplet—Omnus the Forgotten. The It wished for us to forge veins in the iron and to seal the blood within. We did, and at once it was done, the metal began to beat with the heart of a fallen god.”

  I placed my hand on my jaw. Ba-bump. Ba-bump. “Do you know anything of Omnus?”

  “We know of the other Triplets,” they replied. “Of Atara the Fleshgiver, Mother to the Races, from whom we are all made. Of Dune the Crafter, Wielder of the First Elements, the god who forged the lands we call Earth long, long ago. But like all...we know nothing of Omnus the Forgotten.”

  I sighed. “I figured as much.”

  “When we asked what it was for, as no being should simply do without question, the It told us it was to be worn by a god who was to rule over the skies with as much vigor and power as a God of Old. A Sky Guardian, It’d said.”

  The hairs on my arms rose to accompany the hairs on the back of my neck. “And did this It say why? Why I was to be the one?”

  “Unfortunately, we cannot answer the why,” said the Scientists.

  Of course, I thought. Because that would mean finally answering questions.

  “I fear I’m only making more work for myself by asking anymore,” I said grimly.

  “How wrong you are, Sky Guardian,” they replied. “For half the work...has already been done. While we cannot answer why the It did this, or how the It came into possession of such powerful blood...we most certainly can answer the when. You are fourteen now, we understand? And the jaw was placed upon your flesh when you were but twelve?”

  I nodded, brow furrowed. “Yes.”

  “How interesting then,” they continued, “that the It came to us fifteen years ago, and that when It spoke of this next Sky Guardian, it called you by the name...Ionikus Reaves.”

  “But...for it to know my name before I was born...would mean...”

  “This It knew who you were going to be born to and what you were going to be named...before you were even conceived.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  THE HAND OF THE MOON

  Elves do not feel, it was commonly said.

  But elves knew this not to be true. It was an act for most of us—an attempt to seem inhuman, and therefore dangerous, to be feared. Who could not truly feel, after all? And as I laid in bed the night I had uncovered Borea’s horrible, deadly past, this could not be more true.

  I had not slept a minute. What did she have planned? And what could I do to counteract this plan? My nymph servants had come to my door and served me hotcakes with syrup that glittered an enticing gold, but I refused to eat. What if Borea had it poisoned with the Sickness? She didn’t want to kill me directly—it was too messy. She had her servants do it, like she’d convinced Adalantis’s guard, or told Adalantis to command his guard kill Helia.

  I stood at my balcony, thinking. The morning light had replaced the light of my Moon, but in its brilliance, I did not feel as powerful, as strong. Most especially compared to how easily Borea had subdued me in her snowy chambers. How she had pulled my skin with her very thoughts. That was not the power of a Frost Queen, of a goddess who had only ever reigned over the wrath of winter.

  When the knock came at my door, I jumped. I had been reduced to a nervous mouse by a woman as wrinkly as an old dog.

  I answered the knock with hesitation, slowly opening my doors only enough to see who had done the knocking. It was a young nymph girl, no older than ten. Her white hair was twisted into a single braid that flowed down one of her shoulders. Her eyes were downcast, afraid to look me in the eye. But I recognized her as one of Lady Borea’s servants, and suddenly, her timid demeanor made sense.

  “Yes?” I asked.

  “Lady Lillian,” she began with her tiny voice, “Skylord Othum and Our Lady of Frost requests your council in the Hall of Thrones. I have come to escort you there.”

  “Othum has returned from Eldanar?” I asked suspiciously.

  “Yes,” she replied. “He arrived an hour ago.”

  I considered her words. What do they want of me? Has Lady Borea made up some lie? A lie to send me to the Darklands like Lady Helia?

  “Give me a few moments to get ready,” I said.

  I closed the door and leaned against it, closing my eyes and breathing deep. What did Lady Borea have up her sleeve? Of course she would not have just let me go. Not with what I know now.

  I slipped into a gown of shimmering purple silk and tied it at the waist with a wide brown leather belt. I ran my fingers over the designs of running stag in the belt, over the gold of the buckle, my heart beating so powerfully in my chest. I could not recall the last time it had beat like this.

  If she has planned something, I thought, I must be prepared to tell the whole of Illyria what I know. But would they even believe me? I recalled their jealous, unimpressed faces upon my crowning as the Hand of the Moon. And those faces never changed.

  The nymph girl escorted me to the Hall of Thrones in silence, her small, nervous steps bringing me out of my thoughts for only a moment. Pray you will never know what being truly nervous feels like, girl. We walked up the stairs to the Hall, past the sleeping cyclopes who stood as living columns, the Hall’s roof propped upon their blistered shoulders. And as I breathed one more deep breath, the nymph girl heaved open the doors and gestured me in.

  She closed the doors behind me. Opaque. You must remain opaque.

  I walked to the center of the Hall, the thrones passing by me on either side before I stopped at the back row. There, I bowed deep, the Skylord’s piercing eyes staring down upon me from his chair. Lady Borea sat beside him, a coy smile stretched across her old, wrinkled face.

  “Welcome back, Skylord,” I said, leaving my bow.

  “I suppose,” he replied, his deep, ancient voice grating against the walls and floors of the Hall. The diamond in his chest seemed dimmer than usual. “But I’m sad to report I’ve returned for quite an unfortunate reason.”

  My tongue dried in my throat. “And that would be?” I asked, trying to ignore Borea’s presence altogether.

  He sighed, long and deep and more depressed than I had ever heard him sigh. “It has come to the attention of Illyria that the Endari are attempting to build a Throne.”

  Relief washed over me, though I held any sign of that back. This has nothing to do with me, I thought. I hoped.

  “A Throne?” I asked. “But, that would mean they have—”

  “Forged an alliance with the humans, it is true,” he said. “For the past week my skies have broiled over the city of Sol, irritated by the power that grows with each stone the humans place for this new Throne. Though, I did not know this was what was going on, until now—a now that I believe is too late. If nothing is done to stop its completion, the Endari will be one step closer to undermining the rule of Illyria. Even now, they help the humans, reversing all the damage we have done to them in the hopes that they’d surrender and see their wrongdoings.”

  “Do we have a plan, Skylord?” I asked.

  “I”—he looked over at Borea—“we, do, yes.” My heart dropped. “You see, at the beginning of the week, I received a report that the High General who had been stationed at the Dome outside of Sol was assassinated.”

  “Assassinated? By whom?”

  “Word has it...Ion was behind the killing.”

  My eyes grew big as eggs. Ion? He was stupid, yes, but no killer... “Othum, he could never—”

  “He continues to surprise me, and I believe you should feel the same,” said the Skylord. “Alas, it was no ordinary Gen
eral either. For Lillian...it was your father.”

  Time froze. I was sure of it. Father, I thought, recalling my earliest memories, however few they were. All I could make out were his eyes. Those gray-blue eyes so cold to everyone else, but so warm to his daughter. Ion, what have you done?

  I clenched my jaw, hiding all of my feelings, emotions, and memories. Opaque. You must remain opaque. “I am sad to hear this,” I finally said.

  The Skylord nodded understandingly. “But, you will get your chance for revenge, Lady Lillian. Illyria cannot sit back and allow such treason to be committed. The Endari must be ended. Their Throne must be destroyed. And once and for all, Sol must fall.”

  “And you want me to do all of that?”

  “Not just you,” said Othum. “Today, an army of Illyria’s finest will march upon Sol and ensure these bugs are exterminated. Lady Borea thought it’d be a great idea for you to march with them.” Of course she would. “You see, Sol is protected by a shield of great power, fueled by the Scepter of First Light. It is said that because of this shield, the city is impregnable. Only, they do not have the weapon we now have.”

  He stared hard at me, and I cocked an eyebrow. “Me?”

  Othum leaned forward anxiously in his chair. “Never before has there been a Guardian-Illyrian hybrid. But here one stands before us. The column of lenses used to empower the Moon has already been dismantled to blast that dreaded shield to shattered bits.”

  I swallowed. I didn’t know what to do, what to say. All the while, Lady Borea smiled coyly from her throne. You did this, you old wench. You wish to see me off to battle in the hopes that you will not see my return. And the one who could bring the truth down upon all of Illyria will be dead. The dirty work would be done for you.

  But I could not refuse. Not the Skylord. “I...would be honored, Lord Othum.”

  He clasped his hands gleefully together. “I knew you would! The thirst for revenge pumps through every beat of an elf’s heart, it is said.”

  “Many things are said of elves,” I replied.

  “Othum, do not forget about the other one,” Borea finally spoke.

  “Oh, yes! I almost forgot! Lady Lillian, you will also be pleased to know we have replaced your General father with just as an inspiring warrior.”

  He gestured toward the front doors, and when I turned, they opened with a moan. She entered the Hall, quiet and solemn, her face as unmovable as stone. Her long brown hair was tied into two braids that hung over the large, gnarled, blue plates that sat upon her shoulders, past the warrior’s tunic of white silk that she wore. Her arms were heavy with gnarled gold plates as well, her calves and thighs too. To my ears, her steps were unfamiliar, as though I had never met this person before. But my eyes told me different.

  She stopped before the Skylord and bowed, her eyes never moving from him, not even to acknowledge me.

  “Behold the new High General of Illyria!” proclaimed Othum, his voice echoing off the monstrous walls around him. “Oceanus Reaves, Guardian of the Seas!”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  THE THUNDER LORD

  The doors to the Scientists’ Temple closed behind me, their doors giving an eerie shriek once more.

  I felt so heavy, heavier than I’d been before I entered the Temple. How? How in the Triplets green, godly Earth could all of this be? That this It had come to the Citadels to have my jaw forged with the blood of Omnus, that It’d known who I was and who was to bear me before my last incarnation had even been killed.

  I thought and thought as I walked over the Temple’s walkway, moonlight twinkling upon the pools flanking either side. Atticus Clearwater had been my last life. He’d been killed at the age of twenty by Lady Helia, as part of a ceremony held for all my lives before they became too powerful. Unstoppable even. So if only Illyria knew when and where I was going to die...only Illyria could plan for my birth.

  And my jaw.

  I turned the corner at the end of the bridge, and was met by two cold, green eyes.

  “Solara,” I couldn’t help but grumble.

  “I’m glad to see you, too, Caller,” she returned, crossing her arms. “Mearic told me you’d be lurking about the streets tonight.”

  The gold feathers flaring up from her headdress seemed somehow even more magnificent tonight, sparkling under the moonlight. Her red hair flowed over her shoulders in waves¸ stark in contrast to the white silks of her dress.

  “I see you’ve recovered well from your tryst with the humans’ whips?” she said, eyes unblinking as they dissected me.

  Surely, she could see the pain present on my face, though I was masking half of what I was actually feeling. The salve Mearic had applied seemed to be losing its magic.

  “Come,” she said, “let me see the damage.”

  I narrowed my eyes on her. For a moment, I was suspicious, as anyone would’ve been. Turning your back to the God-Slayer was not a terribly smart idea, especially for a god. But she needs me, I reminded myself, and reluctantly, I turned around.

  Her dainty hands pulled my robes up just enough to examine the burns beneath the bandages. “Nasty things, burns,” she said, the disgust apparent in her voice. “Even through your dressings, I can tell you’ll have a time fully recovering. But...I suppose that’s why it’s good to have a goddess like me around, now isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” I replied. “You’re just always so useful.”

  “I’m going to ignore your tone and choose to take that as a compliment,” she said. “Now, hold still. This will only take a moment.”

  I was shocked. I had no idea she was serious. But as her hands lightly fell upon the blooded bandages on my back, and the warmth coursed through the damaged skin, I realized that for the second time that day, Solara had actually helped me.

  I hadn’t forgotten how she’d spared me from the Chancellor’s whippings, though forgetting would have made the issue much less complicated. But I couldn’t just not say anything. Not now, as the sound of stretching, undulating skin slowly crept through the empty streets.

  “Why did you do it?” I asked, begrudgingly. “Why did you save me?”

  She paused. “We—I—still need you alive for all of this to work. Four gods is quite a lot of firepower, but I am no fool. It would never be enough to fight off Illyria, should they respond to our new alliance. The Endari need your storms...for now.”

  “No,” I said, relief now washing over my wounds. “You didn’t save me from death. You saved me from punishment. That makes your decision a very different one.”

  “Don’t think you’re detecting empathy in me, Caller,” she replied, her hands gingerly trailing over my upper back. “I’m void of it, I assure you. Sometimes it even scares me.”

  “I don’t believe that.”

  “You’re a stupid, boy, Ion,” she said, though sweetly. “I killed your mother.” The words stung more than my actual wounds now. “You will never forgive me for that. And I will never seek forgiveness for it. Attempting to find the good in your enemy will only lead to bad.”

  I clenched my jaw and looked to my sandals. I’d never spoken to her about it. About how it all felt. How could you, after all, talk to a murderer? The one who stole another’s life, and one so important to you?

  “There,” she said, her hands withdrawing from my back. “You’ll be pain free from now on, but your scars will remain.”

  I fastened my cloak once more, and replied, “Thank you,” without turning around.

  “You know, you’re harder to crack than you used to be,” she said, voice dead-panned as I turned to her. “But regardless, I think you hate Illyria as much as the Endari do, and so I will extend my hand...in trust. Come, I want to show you something.”

  She whirled around on her heel, and hesitantly, I followed her down the streets of Sol. As we walked, the black tiles passed beneath my feet, the falling tendrils from the overhead bridges sailed by overhead. Before long, we came upon a small, dangerously-thin man walking slowly through the street
s. Of course, the fact that he was holding a brick the size of his chest certainly didn’t speed him up any.

  “That is one of the city’s masons,” said Solara. “And that brick in his hands is a Stone of Promise, chipped and shaved into being by meticulous hands. By itself, it is useless. But together with many others, it is a Throne.”

  The man hobbled up to one of the apartments along the street. The door opened as though it had been waiting for him all night.

  “Watch,” Solara whispered.

  An incredibly round woman with rosy cheeks answered the door and gazed upon the stone with duty. The mason raised the brick to her, and without a single word spoken between them, she bowed, and kissed the side of the brick, her eyes kept closed.

  “Each kiss is a mark of love and power,” Solara explained. “A promise to worship the god whose Throne is to be created. That stone must grace the lips of every Solian before it is ready to be laid with the others.”

  I looked to the top of the Serpent’s Spine, where the glow of the Scepter illuminated the skies. “In a month it’ll all be done,” I said, my voice full of awe.

  But she looked at me, and said, “Sooner. Shall we go see the progress?”

  I nodded, and after a very long, very quiet trip through Sol and up the Serpent’s Spine, we arrived at the top of the tower.

  The cold aura of the Scepter was the first to greet me, followed by the outline of yet another old man carrying a brick, walking toward its light. He hobbled under its reach, beneath the mouth of the Serpent, and it was there that I first laid eyes upon the Throne.

  Its base had already been laid, its arms set too, with half of its tall, imposing back all that was left to complete. It looked to be a piece of solid stone, as though it was made of one single block of rock instead of many hand-chiseled ones.

  The old man stopped at its side and hoisted the brick over his head, grunting as he edged it onto the top of the Throne’s back. He slid it over to mark the end of that row, and I watched in awe as the stone melted into the Throne, no lines to be seen.