The Iron-Jawed Boy

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  EXILED

  After Vinya had begrudgingly returned the Rhynodon to its cage, and everyone but Lillian and Theo had hid their faces in the shadow of their hoods, the journey back to the Acropolis began.

  Lillian kept a vengeful eye on Solara the entire trip, as though one of those Cogs she was owed was going to pop out of Solara’s robes at any moment. Ion decided then, if he ever wanted to hire someone to frame another someone, Lillian would not be his girl. He didn’t even have one Cog to give away, let alone twenty.

  By the time the troop arrived at the gates of the Acropolis, Ion’s legs were almost as sore as Solara’s face was sour. And so were his ears. Theo hadn’t stopped asking him questions since they’d departed from the Forums. Questions like: “What’s wrong with your jaw? Do you have a tumor under there? I thought I had a tumor once. You have freckles, too...do they feel weird? They look weird.”

  When the gates parted and the reds and oranges of the Jovian Fields’ trees came into view, so did the towering image of Othum, who wore a blazing smile, and robes of red and gold—his diamond and wires on display for all to see (and for Theo to squeak fearfully at).

  Lillian dropped to one knee and pulled Theo down with her. “L-lord Othum,” she quivered. “W-we’re honored b-by your presence.”

  Othum smiled. “Yes? And who, might I ask, are you?” he asked, before looking to Vinya. “You leave on a field trip and bring back more children? What do you think this place is, Vinya, a school of some sort?”

  Vinya cleared her throat and forced a smile. “Father, it is a school. And these two are our newest Guardians: Lillian Monroe and Theodore Price.”

  Othum paused, dragging his fingers through the dreads of his beard. “Oh, but of course!” he said suddenly. “How could I have forgotten these precious faces?” He rustled their hair and made a face like he was trying to entertain a baby. “How did you two even escape in the first place? The Acropolis is so heavily fortified!”

  “They didn’t escape, Skylord,” Oceanus said. “They—”

  “Father,” Vinya interrupted, giving Oceanus a stern look, “it seems to me we’ll just have to better train our Sentinels to avoid such breaches of security.”

  Lillian and Theo got to their feet, looking at one another in utter confusion. Ion wondered if his face had ever gotten that twisted while hearing Othum talk.

  “I’ll see into that, Vinya,” said Othum. He bent down to Lillian, eyeing her bald head with only an inch in between them. “I like what you’ve done with your hair, Barbara.”

  “M-my name’s Lillian.”

  “I’m sure it is, Nancy,” Othum said, patting her on the head. “Now, I have some interesting news myself. Guardians, I would like you to meet a most beloved sibling of mine, the Illyrian responsible for the changing of the seasons. My sister, Lady Illindria the Beloved.”

  A gust came from behind, and Ion felt his insides lurch in a way they shouldn’t. It flowed through the trees, whistling as it plucked the autumn leaves from their branches. It spun beside Othum in a funnel cloud of glowing reds and yellows and oranges until the winds abruptly ceased. The leaves drifted to the floor, with a goddess standing where the whirlwind once turned.

  Above her plump, rosy cheeks glowed two green eyes, which sat beneath a head full of spring-coiled, radiant, red hair. Without the introduction, she would have been unrecognizable; the statues Ion had seen were always so thin and dainty, but this Illyrian could claim no such adjectives. She wore a green dress so tightly wound around her plump body she looked more like a poorly packed sausage than the Illyrian of the Seasons. But she was just as tall as Othum, with thick, gnarled, leafless branches growing right out of her shoulders, so Ion refrained from laughing.

  “Momma!” Solara cried, rushing to embrace Illindria.

  Ion leaned over to Oceanus and asked, “What about her? Which way did she vote?”

  “She was a ‘no’,” Oceanus replied, and Ion gasped he was so shocked.

  Illindria politely pulled away from Solara’s hug and bunched the train of her dress up into her hands. “It’s lovely to see you, my little Guardian,” she said, her voice husky, “but you know the rules—no stepping on Momma’s fancy dresses.” She looked up to the Guardians with a gummy smile. “It is an honor to finally meet the newest generation of Guardians,” she said. “Your vigor, talent, and”—she looked curiously at Ion’s jaw—“uniqueness are unmatched, I’m sure.”

  Ion’s mind tried in vain to piece it together: how awful Solara was, how miserable Spike was, how dreadful they were going to be together. Yet their mother...she seemed so...so nice!

  “Now, Guardians, I know this might come as quite a shock to you,” Othum said, “as some of you have developed quite an adoration for my daughter, Vinya.” Ion didn’t like where this was going. “But with the tensions rising in the Outerworld, and the war not going as...well as we thought it would, our forces are in need of an Illyrian general. And Vinya is brave enough to take such a position. Unfortunately, today was her last day at the academy.”

  Ion felt hot, then cold, then a flurry of other temperatures and feelings he didn’t like. But all he could say was: “W-w-w-what?”

  “It’s true,” Vinya said, trying to smile through a frown. “I wanted today to be nice and relaxing—a good send off for us until we meet again. And look! The Guardians are a complete set now, so we accomplished even more than I thought we would!”

  “But we have so much more training to do!” said Oceanus.

  “And the semester isn’t even over!” cried Ion.

  “And I don’t even know you yet!” whined Theo.

  “I know, I know,” said Vinya, “but war is calling, my dears. And when war calls, you must answer—that’s the first rule of being a god. In my absence, Aunty Illindria will be taking over Relics class, and, trust me when I say there could be no better replacement.”

  “You will be missed,” said Illindria, bowing deep.

  Ion raced up to Vinya and hugged her. She was so warm and smelled like she’d rolled around in a pile of cinnamon scrolls.

  Her hands fell upon his back, and as they did...

  Time dragged to a halt.

  In a slowed blink of the eye, everything around Ion—from the glowing trees to the flowing grass, and all of the walls of stone nearby—collided together and shifted into complete and utter darkness. But he could still feel the hands on his back, and hear each breath filling and leaving Vinya’s lungs. Her hands grabbed him gently by the shoulders and drew him away, so she could face him.

  Her lips weren’t moving, yet her voice came to him as clear as glass. “Listen closely, my dear, for the words I’m about to speak shall only be said once, and shall be heard by your ears only.” Ion nodded, and she went on, “The Hand of Fear has reached out of the darkness and now clings to my father’s throat. Last night in the Creator’s Sanctum, he exiled me from the island and banished me to war. He believes me to be too lenient and weak to train the Guardians now, but I know it’s just the fear talking. I’m not sure exactly what’s going on yet, but something big is coming, Ion—that much is certain. And when it arrives, the might of all the Guardians will be needed.”

  Time sped up, and all of the colors and textures of the Jovian Fields returned to their usual places. Vinya ruffled Ion’s hair and said, “Train well, my dear,” before bowing to the other Guardians—even Solara—and hugging her aunt and father goodbye.

  Thick bands of light pulled across the stone just beside the Acropolis gates, and in their wake glowed a chariot of a thousand interlocking deer antlers, drawn by four six-legged stags. Vinya climbed in, smiled once more at Ion, and with a whip of her reins, the chariot bulleted through the air.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  A FAMILIAR FACE

  Othum gave the new Guardians a tour of the academy, across the Jovian Fields, through the courtyard, and into the Mirrored Hall, with Lillian and Theo—the not-so-missing Guardians—unable to
believe any of it was real. Ion followed close behind, chewing on his lip as he reeled about what had happened to Vinya, unable to believe any of it was real.

  She was gone. Exiled by her own father. He wanted to blame Othum, but Mother would have told him that was wrong, Vinya would have told him that was wrong. Maybe Illindria? He eyed the rounded goddess as she sweetly led Theo into the Creator’s Sanctum. No, she’s too nice. And she voted “no”.

  Theo squealed with glee at the sight of his dorm room—an exact replica of his old room, where everything but the wood floors was colored a blood red.

  Ion took to the couches in the Great Room. The fat, fluffy cushions enveloped him, as he chewed on what parts of his lips that didn’t already feel raw. Discussion filled the Great Room as the tour went on—from Oceanus to Theo, Othum to Lillian, Illindria to Solara—but all Ion could hear was the sound of Vinya’s voice, and all he could feel was the unnatural cold of his jaw. Something big is coming, and when it arrives...the might of the Guardians will be needed. He couldn’t decide which question should come first: what this big thing was, or where he should run and hide when it comes?

  He sat on the couch cushions until they were deflated, and everyone had gone to bed. He couldn’t even remember if he’d told anyone goodnight, or if anyone had told him. Quite frankly, he didn’t care. All he could think about was Vinya.

  Why did she have to leave? Why did everyone have to leave?

  Ion peered into his room from the couch. His bed had been replaced, his window rebuilt, and the hole in his ceiling resealed—all in a day. But he couldn’t imagine sleeping in there anytime soon. He kept envisioning Solara...and vines...and spiders, and suddenly the couches in the Great Room seemed more than comfortable.

  Ion fluffed a few pillows and blew out the withering candles sitting on the table beside the couch. The moment he stretched out, a loud, eerie creak came from Oceanus’s door, and suddenly she was kneeling in front of him, her face unbearably close. She looked like an excited puppy.

  “Are you ready?” she asked.

  Ion had gotten so lost in all his wallowing, he’d nearly forgotten about averting his own death. Priorities, Ion. Priorities. He took a deep breath, nodded to Oceanus, and minutes later, he was following his sister through the academy halls.

  The halls were an eerie quiet that evening. The kind of quiet that haunts a forest in the dead of night just before a flesh-eating zombie jumps out from behind a bush and eats off your face—a picture Ion couldn’t seem to get out of his head.

  Oceanus pulled Ion around a corner and down a narrow corridor seemingly forgotten by whoever maintained the fortress. Dusty paintings of frolicking nymphs hung lopsided on the walls. And spider webs crowded the ceiling, with giant, white-legged arachnids dotting them like stars. Really hairy, really disgusting stars. At the end of the corridor rose a weathered statue of Centaur. His right arm had gone missing, but his left was still intact, holding in its hand a small, golden harp.

  “This is the best place you could find?” Ion asked his sister.

  “We needed a spot where the music wouldn’t travel too far so everyone could hear,” said Oceanus, “and this just happens to be the only dead-end hall I could find in this forsaken fortress; apparently they’re a fire hazard.”

  Oceanus walked to the statue of the Centaur and yanked the harp from his hand.

  “Mr. Poe wasn’t specific on what type of music the Shroud plays,” Oceanus said, dusting off the harp. “But I’ve always been great at improvisation. I took a class on it once in kindergarten.”

  She shoved the harp into Ion’s hands and said, “Here. You’re going to play this. I’m going to sing.”

  “You’re going to sing?” Ion asked. “You must have forgotten all the times Mother warned you not to? The complaints we got from the neighbors, from the city guard...”

  “Shut. Up.”

  “All right. Fine,” he said, propping the harp against his chest. “Let’s just play some music, conjure the banshee, and get some answers so we can be done with this.”

  Ion strummed the instrument as best he could remember—Mother had only taught him the basics, and it seemed so long ago now. But when Oceanus opened her mouth and let out those strained, airy notes of hers, he decided that his skills didn’t matter much. You’re only as good as your lead singer.

  “Ghost,” she squeaked. “Where have you gone? What i-is wrong?”

  Ion fought to hold back his laughter, fought with all his might.

  “Ooooh ghost. Where have you gone? What i-is wrong? Ghooo-o-ooost!”

  Reining in the last word, Oceanus attempted a note much higher than the reach of her ability. Her voice cracked, and Ion threw down the harp, laughing hysterically.

  “Shut up!” she demanded.

  “I’m sorry!” he said with a snort and a cackle. “It’s just—your voice—that song! This is how we’re attracting the banshee? It’s going to run away in fear!”

  “Well, if you’re suddenly the master of all things music, why don’t you sing?”

  Ion opened his mouth to answer, but he lost all words. There, at the end of the corridor, dancing in the moonlight that poured in through the windows, was the banshee in the white dress. It waltzed down the hallway, moving closer and closer with each swirl and bow. Ion latched onto Oceanus, who was trembling at the knees. The banshee stopped before them, and hovered there in an eerie quiet.

  “G-g-g-g-good evening,” Oceanus said. “I-I-I understand y-you know m-m-my brother, Ionikus R-R-R-Reaves.”

  Oceanus gave Ion a quick side eye, and all he could think to do was curtsey.

  “E-e-evening,” he said. “I—w-we—wanted to know w-why y-you knew m-m-my name.” He looked to Oceanus for courage, then back to the ghost. “Am-am I g-going to die soon?”

  The banshee said nothing. She just hovered there in silence, staring at them with eyes she didn’t have.

  Ion swallowed. “P-p-please, I n-need to know if I can stop it. I...I have to live. I have to-to free my F-Father.”

  The head of the banshee lowered to Ion and his sister.

  “Ion?” Oceanus asked.

  “Y-yes?”

  A fissure started at the tip of the banshee’s chin and slowly ran up her nose like a zipper an Outerworld human would use.

  “W-w-what’d we do?”

  The banshee’s face split apart, but before it could stretch its gaping, vertical mouth all the way open, Ion screamed, “Run!” and he and his sister bolted down the hall. They turned the corner, and dashed down another hall. The banshee wailed behind them. Ion glanced back, horrified at the sight of the banshee only yards away, the ends of her dress whipping about as she pursued. They raced past the War Room and another scream tore through the air. Ion’s heart pounded in his throat.

  A split in the corridor reared upon them, and while Ion went left, Oceanus went right.

  Ion charged through an opened doorway, and when brisk air met his skin and bright moonlight lit his eyes, he slowed in the safety of the open courtyard. Panting, he turned to the doorway. Beneath its marble frame hovered the ghost, still and quiet. He took a cautious step back, and the tiles shifted at his feet. The earth groaned, and Ion dropped through the floor. Darkness came from all around. And the window of glass tiles he’d fallen through disappeared, sealing itself up before Ion could even reach the bottom of the chasm. He landed with a painful thud on a sandy floor. Darkness all around.

  Ion cringed as he struggled to sit up. The sand was cold, but he was thankful he hadn’t landed on solid stone. He squinted, adjusting to the darkness. Only a trickle of moonlight had made its way through the ceiling of glass tiles, which only moments ago had been a floor of glass tiles.

  Ion found himself in the middle of a grand hall, surrounded by high, triumphant walls and fat, monstrous columns—both made of weathered sandstone like Spike’s armor. Hundreds of archways were built into the walls, too, tiers upon tiers upon tiers of them—each home to a single statue.

&
nbsp; “Beautiful, aren’t they?” asked a voice—a kind and loving voice.

  A voice that could only belong to a mother.

  Ion snapped around in his place, heart beating hopefully in his chest. Could it be? A white, flowing dress hovered slowly out of the darkness, and Ion stepped back. For a moment, he was certain this was the banshee and that his days as the Sky Guardian were about to end. When finally the dress floated forward, there wasn’t an eyeless, earless, lipless face.

  No.

  There was only the face of his mother.

  “This...this can’t be!” Ion said, ignoring the excited tingle in his jaw. “Y-you’re supposed to be...dead.”

  She smiled and the abandoned hall seemed to brighten. “Do I look alive to you?”

  “I...I’m not sure,” said Ion, shaking his head. “That dress...it’s—it’s the banshee’s—”

  She hovered closer, and Ion took another step back.

  “Ion, there’s no need to be afraid,” she said. “Outside this tomb, I change into a banshee. Something about the academy air only allows me that form—I suspect it’s the work of an enchantment of some kind. I’ve been watching you since you arrived. I woke you your first night here, I followed you through the halls, watched you in the coliseum. I even coerced the banshee in the War Room into saying your name. My plan was to lead you down here so you could see who I really was, but as a banshee, you can’t speak more than someone’s name, so communication was...an issue.”

  Ion stared at her in disbelief. “So...I’m not—”

  “No, you’re not going to die.”

  Phew!

  She came even closer, but this time Ion didn’t step back. So near, he could see right through her teeth, her eyes, even her strands of black hair.

  “You escaped through the Shroud?” said Ion.

  “It’s become quite weak,” she said with a nod. “Many spirits have already escaped. But you and Oceanus probably already knew that—my little detectives. I’m just thankful I’ve found the two of you in one piece, and doing so well! Who knew I was raising a couple of Guardians?”