The Iron-Jawed Boy and the Hand of the Moon (Book 2, Sky Guardian Chronicles) (2 page)

But an Illyrian god.

“If you’re our new Guardians,” he said, “then color me unimpressed.”

BUSINESS OF THE GRAND COUNCIL

In a sudden, horrible realization, Ion and a recovered Oceanus hurried to their feet, then dropped to their knees and lowered their heads.

“Lord Vasheer!” Oceanus gasped, eyes down. “I apologize, we didn’t know it was you. We—”

“Actually, Guardian,” said Vasheer, “I’d prefer you call me by my worshippers’ name.”

“Oh,” said Oceanus, trading looks with Ion. “Um, yes, Bright One. I apologize. We weren’t expecting to see you on Eldanar. We would’ve never engaged in combat if we’d known.”

Vasheer approached the Guardians until his sandaled feet were in front of Ion.

“Interesting staff,” said Vasheer, tracing his fingers along the wings of the griffon at the top, “however unpolished it might be. You can stand now, Guardians.”

Ion and his sister rose, though hesitantly.

Vasheer was the Illyrian of the Sun—the god tasked with keeping the Sun on this plane, as Vinya did the Moon. He was highly popular on Eldanar; both feared and loved like the Sun he controlled.

“It’s such an honor to be in your presence,” said Oceanus, bowing. “Your eyes are just as bright as the rumors say.”

“Some say brighter,” said Vasheer, unbuttoning his cloak.

“Oh...r-right, yes.” Oceanus tripped over her tongue. “Definitely brighter. That’s what I meant to say.”

Vasheer undid the last button of his cloak and revealed the glimmering golden armor underneath, which the rain continued to sizzle upon. He looked over at Ion and Oceanus with a perfectly plucked, raised eyebrow and held out his cloak. “Well? Aren’t you going to hold it?”

Ion looked at the cloak and raised an eyebrow of his own. “But—”

Oceanus delivered a jab to Ion’s stomach before he could finish, but the “but” had been enough for Vasheer. “Ionikus Reaves, is it? Guardian of the Sky?”

Ion swallowed. “Yes,
Va
—
Bright
One.”

“Your jaw’s just as ridiculous as
its
rumors say,” he said with a smirk.

While Ion dug his fingernails into his palm, Oceanus scurried over to the cloak and plucked it from the floor, folding it in her arms.

“Can’t you do something about this rain then?” Vasheer asked him, his hands out, rain turning to steam upon his flesh. “I’ve never been fond of it, as you can imagine, being the Illyrian of the Sun and such.”

“Ion isn’t that strong yet,” Oceanus said. “Upper atmosphere clouds are off limits to a god of his Class Level. He can conjure some of his own, though. They’re just not as powerful.”

“Thank you for that, Oceanus,” Ion growled.

Vasheer grinned at the comment. “I see. And you must be his sister?”

“Y-yes, Bright One,” she said, smiling, then giggling.

The fact that Oceanus was only two-thirds his sister soothed Ion now more than ever.

“I must say, I’m quite disappointed in your performance, Guardians,” said Vasheer. “Here Father’s tasked you with guarding his precious little island yet you can hardly handle one minor scuffle? And I wasn’t even trying really.”

“M-my apologies, Bright One,” Oceanus said. “We’ve been watching over the city every night since—”

“Vinya was murdered,” said Vasheer, so plain and harsh it was like a punch to Ion’s stomach. “She has been sorely missed. But there’s no one—or no
thing
, I should say—that misses her more than the Balance,
which
is the reason I’m here. As if I’d come to Eldanar for any other reason but obligation.”

“Do you mean to say the Illyrians have found a replacement for the Moon Throne?” Oceanus asked, hope in her eyes.

Vasheer gave her a vicious look. “It just so happens that it’s none of your business, Guardian. It’s a matter between the Illyrians and the Illyrians only. I’ve already said too much. Now, I demand you escort your Sun God to the Acropolis so that I might finish my business here. Or are you incapable of handling that as well?”

“We’d be
honored
to escort the Bright One to the Acropolis,” said Oceanus, bowing once more.

Oceanus looked at Ion with an expression that clearly said “you better do what I say, or I’m going to pound your face in” so Ion obliged, and while Oceanus took to Vasheer’s right, Ion took to his left. By this time, the rain had relented to a sprinkle, but Ion was still soaked from head to toe.

They started down the street, walking at Vasheer’s side, their backs straight and their heads high—proper Guardian stance, just as Othum had taught them. Not that they’d learned through experience, though. Othum had never asked to be escorted anywhere, or guarded in any way. He barely used the Guardians to begin with.
It was a formality of Illyria I was desperate to escape
, he’d explained. In fact, the patrolling of Protea’s districts had been the first Guardian task they’d ever been given.

Halfway to the Acropolis, after enduring an uncomfortable and long silence, Oceanus asked, “How is Illyria this summer? Is it really as perfect as they say?”

The Isle of Illyria was the massive, glittering island home of the gods. They said it floated across the earth, an ethereal paradise never attached to one place and always heavily guarded. Ion’s mother had seen it when she was a little girl.
 
It was as
golden as the Sun and as large as a mountain
, she’d said, her voice so full of awe.

Vasheer cleared his throat as he continued walking. “I take it my father hasn’t taught you the proper etiquette of escorting an Illyrian, has he?”

“N-no, Bright One,” said Oceanus. “This is actually our first time.”

“Clearly. Now, let me educate you,” said Vasheer, eyes straight ahead. “When escorting an Illyrian, a Guardian only speaks when
asked
to, understand...
Guardian
?”

Oceanus placed a hand over her mouth, and Ion couldn’t help but feel bad for her. She loved the gods more than anyone he knew. Probably more than the gods loved themselves.

“While escorting an Illyrian, it is your task to remain alert and at-the-ready,” Vasheer continued. “When the Guardians were created two hundred years ago, the Outerworld humans were a constant threat. After all, they could kill gods with the technology they stole from us. And as Guardians, it was and is your duty to protect us at all costs. Ah—here we are.”

Finally, they’d reached the road that wound up the plateau of the Acropolis, and soon the shiny, black obsidian walls of the fortress appeared before them. The Acropolis sat in the middle of Protea, and from the road that wound up to its gates, Ion could see the city in all of its entirety—a beautiful sight of meandering streets, flickering torches, and buildings of every size and shape.

They reached the Acropolis walls, where out of the shadows clanked a woman—eight feet tall and clad in chunky, purple armor. Her eyes were dead, as lifeless as the non-existent beat of her heart and the absent inhale and exhale of her lungs. She was a Sentinel, a long-dead nymph hired by Othum to secure the walls of the Acropolis. This one’s name was Amora, and Ion could still remember the first time he’d met her, after Oceanus had taken him from the clutches of the warty Sir Dread to meet Othum, here. Ion didn’t like Amora then, and he was fairly certain that feeling hadn’t changed, especially now as she clanked forward and knelt before Vasheer.

“Bright One,” she said, her voice as dead as everything else about her.

“Stand, Sentinel,” said Vasheer, refusing to look at her, “and open the gates.”

Amora stood, nodded, and walked to the Acropolis gates, which looked to be just another section of the extensive walls. Amora ran her long, bony finger down the middle of the wall, the stone separating in the wake of her touch. As the two sections of marble disappeared into the turrets on either side, Vasheer entered the Acropolis grounds, head held high. The Jovian Fields, which took up half the land of the Acropolis, were alive with color. The leaves of the trees here were enchanted, glowing purple, or blue, or pink, each as bright and smoldering as the stars above.

But as entrancing and beautiful as the Jovian Fields were, Vasheer paid them no mind, and in no time at all, he’d led the Guardians past the Fields and into the giant fortress that rose out of the other half of the Acropolis. It was the Achaean Academy: a grand structure of glassy, black obsidian walls with roofs of copper, windows numbering in the thousands, and spires that twisted toward the skies in the most menacing of ways.

They marched in silence through the echoing entrance hall, passing the floating lanterns that blazed a ghostly blue, until they reached the rectangular courtyard in the middle of the fortress. Memories played with Ion’s head as Vasheer continued across the glass tiles of the courtyard. A month ago, there was a hole instead of this floor—a hole K’thas the Fearful had made, where he’d sucked in his first breath of fresh air since the Illyrians had imprisoned him below, in the Tomb of Forgotten Heroes. It’d since been filled with sand, but that had not filled the hole K’thas had carved into Ion’s heart, his life.

Vasheer stopped at the mighty golden doors on the opposite side of the courtyard, where Ion and Oceanus pulled them open with a great heave. The gates moaned as if they hadn’t been opened in years, and the light from within the Creator’s Sanctum poured out into the courtyard.

“My son!” boomed a voice as ancient as it was loud.

Vasheer entered the Sanctum, the two Guardians at his side, and bowed to the Skylord. “Evening, Father.”

Skylord Othum rose from his throne of gold with a big, goofy smile, the lines of his face being lifted and pulled like some wrinkly dog’s. All eight feet of Othum bounded across the black tiles of the room to greet his son, the turquoise rings around the long dreadlocks of his white beard and hair clanking about like bells. He wrapped his mighty arms around Vasheer and squeezed him tight, lifting him off the floor.

“Father,” Vasheer grunted, “your diamond’s hurting me...”

“Oh, yes,” said Othum, quickly pulling away.

The massive diamond growing out the center of Othum’s chest gave a sparkly wink, and Ion took a second to trace his eyes over the four copper wires that sprung out of the diamond and met with the other side of the gem protruding out his back. Together, they created the Skylord’s Connection Seal—like Ion’s jaw and staff did his.

“It’s such a special occasion having you visit,” said Othum, his hands around Vasheer’s shoulders. “I can’t even remember the last time you were here!”

“Well, to be fair, Father, you don’t remember much.”

Othum laughed. “Ah, how unfortunately right you are!”

“I can’t stay long, Father,” said Vasheer, “so I think it best we get right to business. I have some urgent matters to discuss.” Vasheer eyed Oceanus and then Ion. “
Private
, urgent matters.”

“Yes, well, I’m sure it’s nothing our Guardians can’t hear,” said Othum, wrapping one arm around the top of Vasheer’s back, escorting him toward the golden throne at the back of the room. “We’re in mysterious times, my son—mysterious times, indeed. It’s now my belief that what the Illyrians know, the Guardians should, too.” Othum turned and sat mightily upon his throne. “I learned that one the hard way.”

“That’s all very well,” said Vasheer. “But...they’re not just Guardians. Surely I don’t have to remind you of their Caller blood?”

Othum waved a dismissive hand. “I’ll hear none of that nonsense in this hall,” he said. “Oceanus and Ion are Guardians first. Isn’t that right, my children?”

Oceanus and Ion nodded.

“Guardians first,” said Oceanus.

“But Father,” Vasheer whispered urgently, “their brothers and sisters still power the Shroud in the Darklands, still fight in the war in the Outerworld. Don’t you worry they could be scheming against you?”

“Vasheer,” Othum snapped, suddenly serious. “I said I will not hear of that nonsense in this hall.”

Vasheer closed his lips shut, though his eyes burned with rage.

“Now,” Othum went on, “how was your patrol tonight, my Guardians?” he asked, now with a smile.

“Quiet, My Lord,” said Oceanus.

“Quiet,” Ion agreed.

“The disruption of the Balance has driven some of the humans to the Darkness,” Othum said to Vasheer. “Crime rates have skyrocketed ever since Vinya’s passing. Burglaries, fires, fighting. If it weren’t for my trusted Guardians, and more particularly, these two—them with their Caller blood and all—the city would be in ruins.”

“Yes,” said Vasheer. “I witnessed their skills earlier. I was hardly astonished.”

Othum chuckled. “Ah, how surprised I am by this. But please, Vasheer, have a seat and let’s get to this urgent,
private
matter of yours.”

Othum clapped his hands twice, and the tiny black tiles of the walls and floor shifted. Three columns of black tiles shuffled down from the walls and slinked and clinked across the floor, building a structure behind Vasheer. Up and up, the tiles climbed one another, until a throne had been constructed in the middle of the hall.

Othum held his hand out to the new chair. “Please.”

Vasheer sat, while Ion and Oceanus kept to either side of the Sanctum doors.