The Iron-Jawed Boy and the Hand of the Moon (Book 2, Sky Guardian Chronicles) (3 page)

“I’m here on behalf of Lady Borea,” said Vasheer, and Othum sighed.

Lady Borea, Mother of the Illyrians
. She was the only Old God still alive and the mother of the Illyrian pantheon.

“What does
she
want?” Othum asked.

“It’s not just her, Father, it’s the entire Grand Council. Lady Borea is simply heading it, since you’ve chosen to remain here on Eldanar.”

“And what does the Grand Council want of me?”

“Father, you’re a part of the Grand Council, too. The mourning period has passed, you know this. The time to decide on a new Hand of the Moon has come in its stead. Something we can’t do without you.”

Ion saw Othum tighten his hands into fists on the arms of his throne.

“It’s too soon,” said Othum, looking away.

“Father, it’s nearly too late. Vinya’s Throne was and is one of the most important of the Illyrian pantheon. If we allow the Moon to be absent much longer, the Dark of the Balance could very well take a permanent hold on the minds of this world.”

“Don’t you think I know that?” said Othum. “I just...I feel like we’ll forget her if we move too quickly.”

“Father, your sentiments are noted,” said Vasheer, “but the Throne of the Moon
must
be filled. We’re holding a meeting on the subject tomorrow morning, and it’s imperative you attend.”

Othum thought for a moment in silence, his finger twiddling with the turquoise ring around one of the dreadlocks of his beard.

“What of Lady Onyxia?” Othum asked. “What does your mother think of all this?”

“Mother is dealing with this loss in her own way,” said Vasheer. “But I’m sure she misses you dearly and would love to see you.”

Othum drew circles playfully upon the arm of his throne. “Did she
say
she misses me?”

Vasheer hesitated before answering. “Not
exactly
, no. But you know how she is, Father.”

Othum chewed on his lip, thinking some more. And then he crossed his arms and said, “I’m not going.”

Vasheer stood, quick and angry. “It is not an
option
, Father. We
must
move on, and in order to do that, we’ll need your presence, your vote. Now, I’m leaving for Illyria in the hopes that I’ll make it in time for the evening feast. I trust I’ll be seeing you tomorrow.”

Vasheer whipped around and stomped toward the doors, which Ion and Oceanus quickly opened. He stopped just before the Guardians, snatched his black robe from Oceanus’s hands, and looked them viciously up and down before storming out to the courtyard.

Ion and Oceanus closed the doors to the Sanctum, and at once the doors had shut, Othum sighed. “Pack your bags, Guardians. It seems by this time tomorrow, you’ll have already taken your first steps on the Isle of Illyria.”

THE VOICE

“This is huge!” Oceanus shouted, her voice carrying through the massive hall.

Ion gripped the Omnus Staff tight and continued walking, doing his best to ignore the prying eyes of the golden elf statues lining the corridor, but more importantly, Oceanus’s happiness.

“Don’t walk away from me, oinker!” she said, quickly catching up to him. “You obviously don’t get how important this visit is. This’ll be the first time we see Illyria,
the
home of the gods. I wonder if it’s as golden as Mother always said. If it’s as clean and the air smells as fresh.”

She sighed wistfully. The idea was nice enough. Seeing the Isle of Illyria, much less setting
foot
on it, was certainly something to wonder at. But Ion couldn’t get Vasheer out of his head long enough to do said wondering.

“I wouldn’t get too excited if I were you,” he said.

“And why’s that?”

“Surely you didn’t miss how horrible Vasheer was?” Ion asked. “What if the rest of the pantheon is exactly like him?”

“He’s harmless, Ion,” Oceanus said. “A little king-like, but he
is
the god of the Sun.”

“No Illyrian is harmless,” said Ion. “God of the Sun or not, I don’t think I like him.”

“Well, that means nothing to me, because the only Illyrian you seem to like is Othum, which, by the way, was not the case a month ago.”

“I owe Othum my life at this point,” said Ion, sliding his staff into a leather holder strapped around his back. “I don’t owe these other gods anything, Vasheer more than any of them.”

“You owe the Illyrians
everything
. Othum wasn’t the only one who gave us life. Each of them contributed. And one day, when you finally accept that, you’ll appreciate
all
of them. Just as I do.” She gave him a look and took a right down another corridor, her dark hair flowing behind her. “I’ll see you tomorrow at nine a.m. sharp.
Don’t
forget!”

The Isle of Illyria
. Ion wasn’t so sure this was going to be as fun as Oceanus dreamed. The Illyrians were a fickle group of gods, and their wrath was well known to Ion and the world. Most of them wouldn’t be nice like Othum, like Vinya...

He looked up through the glass ceiling. With the light pollution of the green, floating torches lining the corridor, he couldn’t even see the stars. It was simply a black void of space. Lifeless. Hopeless.

And that’s when he heard it.

A laugh. No...a giggle. A childish, innocent giggle. Ion turned to the sound, and caught the tail end of a child’s tunic and sandal as it rounded the corner and vanished down another hall.

Theo
? Ion wondered. But it couldn’t have been him. He’d still be patrolling Water’s Run at this hour.

Ion ran down the hall, his footsteps echoing through the hall. He turned the corner, and at the end of the corridor, surrounded by the prying eyes of yet another hall of elf statues, was a boy staring back at him. He was bald and skinny and clothed in one of the finest blue tunics Ion had seen. He couldn’t have been but five summers old, either. As Ion approached, the boy smiled from big ear to big ear, his eyes gray and light.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you before,” Ion said, his steps slow and cautious, eyes narrowed on the boy. “What’s your name?”

He didn’t answer. He just kept smiling.

“These halls can be dangerous,” said Ion. “You shouldn’t be wandering them alone.”

Still no reply. And still with the smile.

Ion came within arm’s distance of the child and stopped, swallowing. The boy was
still
smiling, and at this point, it was nowhere near amusing. It was creepy.

“I better not be imagining this.”

Ion reached out, and with a nervous grit of his teeth, placed his hand upon the boy’s shoulder. He was real. Well, he was solid, which meant he wasn’t a ghost, so there was a fifty percent chance Ion wasn’t imagining him.

“A-are you mute or something?”

“You killed her,” the boy said through his smile.

“W-w-what’d you say?”

“You killed her,” the boy said, smiling still.

Ion retracted his hand and took a step back. “What’re you talking about? I don’t—”

“You killed her,” the boy repeated. “You killed Vinya.”

Ion’s heart all but stopped. “N-n-no, I didn’t!”

“You killed her. You killed Vinya.”

“N-no!” Ion cried, breathless as he took a few more steps back. “I didn’t kill anybody! It wasn’t my fault!”

“You killed her!” the boy shouted through his smile. “You killed Vinya!”

“No, I didn’t! They said I didn’t! They said it wasn’t my fault!”

“You killed her!” The boy screamed, his voice mightier than Othum at his loudest. “You. Killed.
Vinya
!”

Unable to hear it any longer, Ion clamped his hands over his ears and bolted down the hall, though still able to hear the screams of the boy now echoing through the corridor. “You killed her! You killed her! It was all your fault!”

Ion looked back and saw the boy standing there, wearing that stupid smile. But when he looked forward, he stopped dead in his tracks. For there was the boy. Now standing in front of him.

Ion gripped his chest, heart drumming madly.

“You killed her,” the boy whispered through his smile. “You killed Vinya.”

“Stop it!” Ion screamed and a boom of thunder rolled through the hall. He dropped to his knees and pounded his fists to the floor, the tile cracking beneath his hands. The words of the little boy echoed once more through his head. “I didn’t kill her,” said Ion, face in his hands, tears in his eyes. “It wasn’t my fault. I didn’t mean to. I promise I didn’t.”

A cool, wet sort of feeling washed over Ion’s shoulders, down his back and legs. Great, big hands fell upon Ion’s shoulders and he jumped, only to find Father standing before him.

“Ionikus, what’s going on here?” Father asked, his small eyes dark with concern. His long black hair and even longer beard were soaked. “Are you okay?”

It was then that Ion realized there was rain falling on his face and drenching his clothes. The floor was as wet as Father, and the flames of the floating torches nearby had been extinguished. Ion hesitantly looked up, and there, churning below the glass ceiling, was a mass of clouds so dark and ominous they gave Ion a chill.

“D-did I do this?” Ion asked.

Father looked at him, confused. “Yes, Ionikus. Now, would you mind turning it
off
?”

Ion closed his eyes, thought hard, and the rain slowed until it was no more. The clouds dissipated like smoke, and Father helped Ion to his feet. The floor was slick with water, pooled in areas where it was old and sunken in.

“Quite a storm you conjured,” said Father. “Though, next time I’d advise doing it outside.”

“That’s the thing,” said Ion, staring up at him. “I didn’t call for any storm. I don’t know what came over me, but there was this...this kid, and he”—
he said it was your fault, that you killed Vinya
—“he kept saying these horrible things. Next thing I knew,
you
were here...and so was the rain.”

“The Balance must finally be getting to you,” said Father, escorting Ion down the hall and out of the wet corridor. “Thankfully for you, the gods will have this all fixed very soon. The Skylord has invited me on your journey to Illyria tomorrow.”

“Really?” Ion asked.

“Indeed.” Father nodded, then stopped and knelt. “Now Ionikus, I expect you to be on your
very
best behavior when we arrive. No eye rolling or back-talking, understand?”

Ion sighed, drooping his shoulders so his displeasure could be clearly seen. “Yes, I understand.”

“The gods of Illyria are not to be tampered with,” Father said, stern now. “I think we as Callers know that more than most. Yes—it’s best we both keep a low profile from now on. I’ll have no more trouble falling upon this family.”

Father had returned from his enslavement in the Darklands a fragment of his former self. Perhaps it’d been the loss of Mother. Or perhaps powering the Shroud of the Darklands had sapped him of his vigor. But regardless, he no longer challenged the gods like he used to.

Ion understood, though, and so he nodded. “Yes, Father. I understand.”

“Very good,” he said. “Now, I’m going to go dry off and start packing. I suggest you do the same. Goodnight, my boy. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Father tussled Ion’s hair and down the hall he went, his burly frame disappearing into the darkness of the distant corridor.

Ion breathed deep and willed himself to turn around. The end of the drenched hall was empty. There was no little boy with a big, creepy smile, and no sounds of blame echoing off the walls. There were only puddles, extinguished torches, and the blank void of the night sky above.

The next morning, Ion raced around his bedroom, hurriedly packing his last tunic into the already over-stuffed contents of his old, leather bag. The light of dawn flooded Ion’s bedroom, casting golden bars over his bed, mirror, as Othum’s voice sang from the courtyard outside Ion’s window. Quickly, he slipped on his mother’s necklace, slid the Omnus Staff into the holder on his back and raced down to join the Illyrian.

Ion entered the morning light, greeted by an unusual chill for a summer day on Eldanar. Frantically, he patted his hair down with one hand, then twisted his tunic straight and made sure his belt was tight around his waist. But once his eyes had met with the blue, two-storied carriage stationed in the middle of the courtyard, he stopped everything he was doing.

Bags of old, leather luggage were huddled around the back of the carriage, while Amora, the Sentinel gatekeeper, tried her best to tie all the cases to the back of the vehicle. Her heavy purple armor clanked and creaked with each bag she loaded. Othum popped his head out the two doors of the carriage then, and grinned.

“Good morning, Mr. Reaves!” he said, stepping down onto the courtyard. He wore a shimmering white tunic with a high collar, buttons down the middle and a hole fashioned around his diamond, which glittered even in the foggy light of the morning. The copper wires bowing out from it looked especially fancy and polished.

“Morning, Skylord. Is this what we’re traveling in?” Ion asked, looking wide-eyed at the carriage.

“Of course!” said Othum. “This carriage was a gift from the Sea Queen a number of years ago after I voted in favor of her raising the sea level a foot or two. Never got around to using this
grand
beauty, though. This’ll be its first trip.”

Othum looked down at Ion’s bag. “Here, let me take that. Better get it tied up good or the winds will take it right off mid-flight!”

Winds
?
Mid-flight
?

In the background, Amora tried hoisting a few too many cases of luggage onto the back of the carriage and fell backward, two of the bags popping open and spraying tunics and robes all over the place. Judging by the amount of bags and clothes, Othum must’ve been planning to stay on Illyria longer than a few days.

“Oh my,” said Othum, rushing to Amora’s side. “These silks were a gift from the Gray Elves! They mustn’t touch the ground!”

While Othum did his quickest to pluck the garments from the floor they weren’t supposed to be on, a familiar voice came from behind Ion and he turned.

“I told you to leave it there and make a second trip!” a tall, elven girl hissed at the boy behind her as she walked out of the shadows of the corridor. Her name was Lillian Monroe, and she was the Blood Guardian—a goddess whose powers were an extension of anything the human mind could do. Her head was completely bald, her skin a faded pink, ears as long as ever, bouncing as she walked. Five cases of luggage floated behind her, held aloft by only the power of her mind.

Her long, thin eyes pierced Ion like an arrow as she approached. “Nice to see you could join us,” she said, her voice flat as usual. “We’ve been carrying down Othum’s bags for the past thirty minutes. Apparently it’s a
must
to have twenty back-up outfits.”

Lillian looked to the carriage, and the cases of luggage that had been floating behind her, hovered past them and landed beside Amora and Othum, who were just about finished cleaning up the mess of clothes.

“Thank you, Lillian!” Othum said without looking up.

“Not a problem, Skylord,” she replied, still flat, still uninterested.

“You mean all of this is
his
?” Ion asked, eyeing the mountain of luggage that had accumulated on the back of the carriage.

She pursed her lips and nodded. Then, Theodore Price with his big blue eyes, raggedy blond hair, and squat dwarven legs, appeared in the corridor doorway. He held two bags of luggage in each hand, all four nearly as tall as he was.

“It’s
all
his!” Theo said. “All of it!”

Ion laughed and took two cases off Theo’s hands.

“I wish I had Lillian’s telekinesis,” Theo said. “All I could do with these bags is set them on fire.” He leaned over to Ion and whispered, “And yes, I
did
think about doing it.”