The Iron-Jawed Boy and the Hand of the Moon (Book 2, Sky Guardian Chronicles) (9 page)

Ion felt the anger twitching in his limbs, felt the metal of his jaw growing hot. Tightening his fists and curling his toes was all he could do not to explode. “Yes,
Grandmother
,” he said through gritted teeth. “I understand.”

“Good,” she said turning to him with a smile. “Now, run along. Another big day for you tomorrow. Oh, and Ion—speak of this to anyone and I
will
know. I trust you’ll find my shadows are everywhere.”

Ion looked down at the shadows cast across the floor, watching as they bent and swayed at Onyxia’s whim. He bowed, sure his jaw was steaming, and fled the room. Faster and faster, he raced along the streets of Illyria, heart pounding angrily in his chest. It was as though the wind had been sucked from his lungs, as though Sir Dread had just threatened him again. By the time he’d reached the Guardians’ chambers, his body was shaking. He slammed the doors behind him, leaning against them. He closed his eyes, took in a great breath, and felt himself calm just a tad. Another breath, a little bit calmer.

He heard the sound of distant thunder roll through the room, and he opened his eyes to the soaring mass of clouds that loomed over the ocean outside the terrace. Lightning forked through them, the flash silhouetting a man who stood at the balcony a few feet away.

Light flickered off the five diamond spikes growing out his head.

Not you
.
Not now
.

“Vasheer?” Ion asked.

“Bright One, to you,” the god replied, still staring off into the distant storm.

“My apologies,” Ion tried not to growl. “Is there a reason you’re here? In the Amethyst Manor?”

“Do I detect a tone?” he asked petulantly, turning with his nose flared.

“Of course not, Bright One. You must be imagining it.”

Vasheer sniffed. “There’s not much to imagine when it comes to you. You’re as clear as glass to an experienced god like me.”

“Am I?” Ion asked, daring to play along.

Vasheer clasped his hands together behind his back and walked along the balcony’s edge, thunder rumbling in the distance. “I must admit I underestimated you,” he said, his golden eyes nearly glowing in the darkness.

“Underestimated me? If this is about today, I swear I—”

“You might even be, dare I say it,
cunning
,” said Vasheer. “But however smart you think you are, I have grave news for you, Guardian...you won’t be taking what is mine.”

“I don’t
want
what’s yours. I didn’t even want to be in this Tournament!”

“I know that,” Vasheer snarled. “The High Illyrians simply wish to test me, to see if I’m as fit to hold the Throne as they think I am. But don’t think I’m not aware of your thirst for power amongst this pantheon. You seek the Throne of your mother, to prove yourself, to sit in her stead.”

“You have it all wrong. I—”

“It’s pathetic,” Vasheer spat. “I mean, to think the Throne should be yours when
you’re
the reason it’s empty.”

Ion stepped back. “What did you just say?”

“You heard me, Guardian. A god is dead because of you—my beloved sister. Personally, if I was in your position, I’d feel so much shame I’d withdraw from the competition. But shame is a feeling reserved for the enlightened, I’ve always said. It takes true consciousness to know when you’ve done something wrong.”

“I-I didn’t mean for any of that to happen to her,” Ion said, jaw suddenly cold.

“Lies!”

“I swear it!” Ion shouted. “I didn’t mean for it to happen!”

“Stop swearing in front of me,” said Vasheer. “You’re a god killer. Your
swears
mean nothing to me. I’d be careful if I were you, Guardian. One mistake here on Illyria and you might very well find yourself as dead as
both
your mothers.”

Vasheer gave Ion one last glare, and made his way to the exit, disappearing behind the doors of the Manor.

Ion stared blankly out into the rising columns of clouds that loomed in the distance. Lightning flashed, and in five seconds thunder boomed. Ion gritted his teeth, feeling the weight in his jaw, and collapsed to his knees.

I didn’t mean to do it
, he thought.
He tricked me
.
K’thas tricked me
.

But the idea plagued his thoughts. Of K’thas reeling him in with the spirit of Mother. Of Ion freeing him, and the battle that ensued. Of Vinya being struck in the chest by Solara’s barb-tipped vine. And how she died in his arms. Was he really responsible for Vinya’s death? For the death of his own mother? Could he really have avoided that dreadful night had he not been so
stupidly
weak? Or was the disrupted Balance just playing a trick on his mind?

The thought pounded itself angrily into his head.
So helpless
.
So useless
.
So weak
.

As the weight grew heavier and heavier in his jaw, the temperature of his skin plunged, and from out of the pores in his skin seeped waves upon waves of clouds he’d never summoned, pumping out with each breath he took. They flooded the terrace, and then it came...

“You killed her.”

Ion looked up from his hands, and there, standing only a few feet away, was the boy who looked to be only five summers old. He wore his same smile, his same formal tunic. But tears were streaming down his cheeks.

“How could you do it? he asked. “How could you kill her like that?”

Rage coursed through Ion in one grand surge. It was so hot even the touch of his clothes made it feel as though his skin was melting off. But as much as it hurt, as much as it burned, the anger seemed to...to feed him. It pulsed through his veins as though traveling by blood.

And it was intoxicating.

“I didn’t kill her!” Ion screamed, and a crack of thunder, not from the distant clouds, but from his own voice, boomed there on the terrace.

But when the child opened his mouth to speak once more, another voice came instead, and suddenly Ion was staring into Lillian’s elven face, her hands placed firmly upon his cheeks.

“Calm yourself,” her voice echoed eerily through his head, though her lips weren’t moving. “Do
not
lose control, Ionikus.”

Ion shut his eyes as tightly as he could and tried to force the anger out. When he opened them, green lightning danced through his clouds, outlining the ten children standing in a circle around him and Lillian. Their eyes were black as Esereez’s charcoal skin, but their features differed from one to the next—some girls, some boys, some blond, some bald. Another flash of lightning, and Lillian reluctantly washed her gaze over the children.

They might have looked different, but they spoke with one voice. “You killed her, Ion. You killed Vinya.”

Lillian and Ion screamed, and in seconds, had bolted through Ion’s clouds and raced down the hall, shooting into Lillian’s room. They closed the door behind them, barricading themselves against the cold wood.

“Who
are
they?” Ion asked, shaking and breathless.

Lillian panted beside him, staring at him with eyes full of fear. “I...I saw into your mind, Ion.
Th
-those people...they’re your past lives.”

THE RETRIEVAL

The next morning, the Sun had betrayed Ion like so many times before, leading him into a day he’d never wanted to meet. It was a particularly humid day, too, so much so that Ion found himself sweating through his tunic on the way to the Silken Vale. And as if being betrayed by the Sun and sweating through your tunic wasn’t annoying enough, Lillian had to keep going on about the whole your-past-lives-are-talking-to-you business.

When they reached the Obsidian Steps, Lillian grabbed Ion by the arm and yanked him around. “Ion, you need to listen to me,” she said, whispering urgently, Father and the other Guardians walking in front of them. “This isn’t normal. I haven’t seen my past reincarnations, and Theo and Oceanus haven’t seen theirs. You need to ask Othum—”

“I’m not asking Othum anything,” Ion said. “Look, I understand your concern, but I’ve dealt with this past-life mess before and everything turned out fine.”

“Things aren’t fine, Ion, and you know that. You’re afraid and concerned, but your pride is and always has been louder. I can hear those thoughts falling from your head. Remember? You know this isn’t good.”

“I
know
I know,” Ion snapped in frustration. “I just...I can’t admit this is a problem, because there are...there are already so many!”

“Well that isn’t how life works—something you also already know,” said Lillian. “There’s a reason they’re talking to you, Ion. Your anger last night was unlike anything I’ve ever felt, and...and I fear it’s
that
anger that’s allowing your past lives to resurface. They’re feeding off it, which is becoming more uncontrollable by the day. When I touched you, I saw into your head, your memories. Only, they weren’t
your
memories. They were old—hundreds of years old, and they were
violent
.”

Ion tightened his fists at his side. His jaw burned with his frustration.

“But your anger was not all that I felt last night,” Lillian said. She looked out over the Silken Vale. “There was anger...and there was joy in it. Don’t let the voices win, Ion. Or there will be consequences. For us all.”

Ion watched Lillian walk down the Obsidian Steps and he followed, brooding over it all. She was right. He knew that. This was no work of the Balance, but his past lives playing a game, haunting him into madness. And he feared they were winning.

The scene before him was all that could bring Ion out of his thoughts. All around the island towered the mightiest clouds he’d ever seen, like some proud kingdom of spires and walls and turrets, gold and pink in the Sun’s morning light. He walked past the sweeping plains of the Silken Vale’s white sands, underneath the tresses of its silk trees, until he reached the crowd gathered at the edge of the island. The elves, dwarves, and giants parted as the Guardians and Father made their way to the front. The faces of the crowd were lit with a sort of intrigue, admiration even, which Ion replied to with timid nods.

The gods of Illyria waited at the front, smiling down at Ion and Lillian as they joined Thoman standing only inches from the island’s edge. He was the only Future Hand yet in attendance.

“Ah, our trusted Guardians have arrived!” said Othum, smiling proudly. Oceanus and Theo took their places behind him and Lady Borea. “Now we’re waiting on...”

Just then, the crowd behind the Illyrians parted once more, and Esereez and Vasheer appeared, joining the line of Future Hands. Vasheer was heavy in gold armor that twinkled in the sunlight, Esereez keeping it simple with a leather jerkin, boots, gloves, and skirt.

Ion looked at Queen Onyxia, clad in a silver dress that shimmered like the scales of a fish. She tipped her goblet of mead at him and winked.
A toast to cheating
, Ion thought. Her words echoed through his head then.
Vasheer must win
.

“Now that the princesses have arrived, we can begin,” said Lady Borea, leaning against her staff. She turned to the crowd behind her. “Citizens of Illyria! On this day, we gather to hold the second event in the Tournament of the Moon. An event we Illyrians have named the Retrieval. Those who seek victory in this event must retrieve one item placed at the center of an Outerworld city of our choice. Retrieve what, you ask? Why, the most important weapon in the arsenal of the late Lady Vinya—the Bow of the Moon.”

A gust of whispers passed through the crowd, and Lady Borea turned her attention back to the contenders. “This second event is also special in that our Future Hands are allowed to choose
one
ally to aid them in the Retrieval for Vinya’s bow—an ally we call a Watcher. Esereez, Vasheer, and Thoman—you must choose from your fellow Illyrians, while Lillian and Ion must choose from the two Guardians. Vasheer, since you won the last event, you may go first.”

Vasheer nodded and without a second’s thought, said, “Adalantis.”

The silent Illyrian of the deserts, whose sewn-shut mouth looked extra disgusting today, bowed and walked over to stand behind Vasheer, his long, earthen-colored robes dragging the floor behind him.

Lady Borea looked to Thoman, and the god of war replied, “The Unseperated Ones.”

Eos and Ezra smiled at one another, and when they’d taken their place behind Thoman, Esereez said, “I won’t be needing a Watcher just as a true god of the Moon wouldn’t.”

“Very well, my child,” Lady Borea replied, though not looking as impressed as Esereez had clearly wanted her to be. “Lillian, you’re next.”

Lillian thought for a second—well, Ion
assumed
she was thinking—you could never really tell what she was doing with that expressionless, elven face of hers. “Theodore.”

“Yes!” Theo said, flames igniting upon his shoulders when he punched the air.

And so, with no other options, Oceanus became Ion’s Watcher.
A wrench in the plan
, he immediately realized. There was no one who liked to win more than Oceanus. With her at Ion’s side, helping Vasheer retrieve the Bow was going to be even harder.

“Future Hands, let us now turn to the edge of Illyria, and watch as the Lost City of the Wastelands unfolds before us.”

The Future Hands turned, peering over into the abyss of clouds below.

A great moan like the sound of a hundred singing whales rushed over the island, and either the clouds were suddenly growing taller...or the island was sinking. A violent breeze rushed upward through everyone’s robes and hair—except, of course Lillian’s—as the island descended. Through the clouds it sank, until they’d come out the other end, and the Lost City of the Wastelands came into view.

Ion’s jaw dropped. He’d never, ever seen anything like it before. There was an entire city spread out before him, nearly seven times as big as Protea.

Poisonous gray and green clouds stretched on for as far as Ion could see, even washing over the mountains that seemed to encircle the many miles of the Lost City—just like the Isle of Eldanar. It was a valley, Ion could tell, with millions of charred, crumbling houses in the outer reaches, while in the center of it, beneath the floating Isle of Illyria, stood buildings that reached for the skies, all lining a
very
long strip of road. Ion was breathless at the sight of the towering structures—they were massive, rivaling anything on Protea or even Illyria. But they, too, were blackened like the houses in the outer reaches, charred and left to rot by whatever had happened here.

The mighty groan that had passed through the island when it’d begun its descent sounded once more as it came to a slowed halt. The Isle of Illyria now hovered above the middle of the long strip of road at the city’s heart.

“The Lost City was once a mecca for the humans of the Outerworld,” Lady Borea said. “It was a place of leisure and sin for the humans, an oasis in the middle of the desert. A blight on the face of Earth. The humans brought water and electricity, and so the city boomed. That was until they’d taken the life of my dear son, the late Lord of the Darklands, Omeer. This city was among the first to fall—an easy target, if you will. The drought from Lady Nepia came first, and the heat of Vasheer’s Sun came second, and after that, a great fire and a nuclear meltdown to poison the air. Though, there’s no need to worry—the poison has long settled, and gods remain immune to such things anyway.

“The Moon Bow has been placed atop the Tower at the heart of the long road below called the Runway. The competitors must scale the Tower
without
flying. You shall be scattered equally about the flanks of the Runway, so that everyone’s certain the event will be fair.”

Ion looked to the other competitors and their allies. All but Lillian wore the hungriest of grins, each mapping out the scene below.

“Future Hands and Watchers?” Lady Borea asked, “are you ready to begin the Retrieval?”

Everyone nodded, Ion doing so only after a nudge from Oceanus.

Lady Borea looked to the Skylord, and when he clapped his hands together, thunder shook the island. With a burst of blinding light, heat surged through Ion’s body and when his skin began to feel like it was burning, the light cleared and he stood at the end of the Runway with Oceanus at his side.

Ion shook away the heat, realizing he’d just ridden his first lightning bolt. He looked around, taking in the sight of the city now towering all around him. The Runway was much wider than it had looked from Illyria, with a great structure rising to his left—one that, beneath the grime and decay that had stained its walls, was plated with what appeared to be gold. Beside it rose a grand black pyramid, and beside the pyramid, a massive castle from what Oceanus explained looked to be from the Dark Ages.

“A mysterious city, to have so many eras in one place,” she said.

Then, Lady Borea’s voice rang through the air: “Future Hands, the ten second countdown to the start of the Retrieval begins...now!”

“Lady Borea said the Bow’s at the heart of the Runway,” said Oceanus, focused ahead.

“
Nine
!”

“So we run to the middle.”

“
Eight
!”

Ion saw the hungry look on Oceanus’s face. She even licked her lips at the thought of winning the Bow. He wanted to tell her of what Queen Onyxia had told him, the words resting on the end of his tongue. But he glanced down at his own shadow—something that until this point he’d always been able to trust—and knew telling was not an option.

Vasheer must win.

“
Two
!
One
!”

A horn sounded from the floating isle above, and Ion and Oceanus raced down the Runway, wind powering Ion’s steps, Oceanus riding atop a small, but no less raging wave of water.

They raced down the Runway, passing the pyramid and the castle on the left, and a colossal, yet crumbling lion statue to the right, until the Tower Lady Borea had spoke of came into view. It stood upon four iron legs that convened as a single spire soaring toward the heavens, though blocked by the rocky underside of the Illyria hovering just above it. A building stood beside the Tower, a sad fragment of itself with a massive chunk of it long blown out.

“We’re the first ones!” Oceanus shouted over her raging water, her face bright and determined.

But when they’d come within a few yards of the Tower, Esereez slid in front of them, his twenty arms at the ready. All at once, he slammed his fists to the floor, and from out of the collision shot a fault line of violently rupturing stone, shrieking as it tore through the street toward the Guardians.

Ion swerved to the left, while Oceanus leapt to the right, dismounting her wave. In midair, however, she threw her arms out, and in almost slow motion, Ion watched as the mass of water Oceanus had been riding exploded upward beside her, taking the shape of a massive whale leaping out of the ocean. She spun in her place, and so, too, did the whale. She landed, the whale crashing down upon Esereez and washing him to the side in a torrent of roaring water.

Ion thought he’d only looked for a second, but when he turned to see where he was running, an arm appeared out of nowhere and struck him in the throat. He flipped through the air, landing with a thud on the cold, unforgiving street. He coughed uncontrollably, grabbing at his neck, which felt as though it’d been strangled by Oceanus at her angriest.

He looked up and there was Thoman, the lenses hovering around his head clinking and clanking as they moved about. “I must confess,” said Thoman, “you, Sky Guardian, are a much more impressive fighter than I thought you’d be.”

And then, the fifty lenses circling Thoman’s head quickly shifted, sliding until all fifty of them were stacked in front of Thoman’s big main eye. A great whistling filled the air as a bright, red light began to accumulate at the end of the lenses, Ion scrambling to his feet.

The ground rumbled, however, and the whistling was replaced by a roaring. Just behind the Overseer raged a column of twisting, whirling, howling wind, its walls made of golden desert sand. The winds pulled at Thoman’s arms and legs until they’d sucked him into their rotating walls, pummeling him before spitting him out the side, into the windows of a yet another towering building across the street—this one made of silvery, glass-like metal.

Ion backed away, fighting the pull of the twister. He watched as a hole formed in its side, and through the violent desert winds, Ion saw Adalantis hovering in the middle of the vortex, his sewn-shut lips stretched into a contemptuous smile. But when the gap in the wall of winds closed, the twister let out a great howl and barreled toward Ion.