“Come back here, Archibald Wellsley,” the Lord says coolly. “How am I to trust you when you scurry away like a Bangol?” He corners Archie between a curl of clay and a desolate stone structure. Archie’s heels back into a rock, loosening a small avalanche of dirt. “You have nowhere to go. Let us talk candidly, human.”
Archie gulps and rests his hands against the wind-cooled stones behind him. His fingers graze the surface until they find sprite bones, and he pulls them loose. He folds the sharp bones into the creases of his palms. Not much of a weapon, he thinks, but just enough if I need to startle him or pick a lock.
Archie stutters, “My Lord, I’m in your service, as promised …”
The Lord’s sharp-edged expression trembles momentarily, then his face rounds, he flushes, and his eyes widen.
“Maiden,” whispers Archie, blanketed in relief.
“Archibald.” The Maiden’s voice is hard yet smooth. “We do not have long to talk. The 29th Lord—Telmakus—is growing in strength. While the body of Dunakkus, my love, directs the Olearon warriors, inwardly Telmakus battles us. Unfortunately, I was not prepared for his strength. I grow weary in diminishing Telmakus, to stop him from overshadowing us completely. Therefore, our mission is more urgent than ever.”
Nameris was right, Archie reflects. The 29th Lord is taking over the 30th. But how?
The Maiden continues swiftly, “Telmakus lusts to wear the mantle of lordship once more, to rule not only Jarr-Wya, but the human world as well. That is why it would appear that the Lord has had a change of heart: from defeating the Star to journeying with the Tillastrion. Telmakus feels a kinship with the humans—I do not know why—and wishes to bring our two worlds together, Jarr and Earth. He is mad! Every Olearon knows this to be true, but as he lives through Dunakkus, none but us two are aware. The Olearons follow, though they do not know the wildness that lives inside this flesh.”
“We are not alone, Maiden. Nameris and Tessa know, too—but no one will believe us. You must expose Telmakus,” Archie urges.
“It is not that simple, though I wish it were. Done at the wrong moment, I would seal the death for all who witness it.”
Archie chokes on his words. “Our company?”
“Yes, Archibald. Telmakus would scorch all evidence, return to the glass city, and continue to rule.”
“Maiden, what can I do?”
“Brave human, thank you for your courage. I wish I could protect you and your family. The Olearons, too, are in danger. None are safe. Telmakus has strengthened his mind against me. Be wary. Though I sense you are loath to return to Earth, you must. Keep watch over the Lord. Question his every word and deed. Never rest your attention. The fates of our two worlds depend on it.” The Maiden pauses. “And if this is goodbye, Archie,” she says, “I do wish you to know—”
Archie shakes his head and argues, “No, Maiden. We will save you and Dunakkus, somehow.” He bites his lower lip. “I’ll talk with Ardenal—and Azkar and Junin, too—and we’ll come up with a plan—”
“Slow your breathing.” The Maiden places her large hand over Archie’s chest and the warmth calms the jitter of his heart. “I have lived, Archie. I no longer require saving. What I wish you to know is this: it does not matter what world you hail from, nor the amount of time by which you measure your life, nor the ones you have failed, the mistakes you have made. What matters is the ones you have loved. That is the spirit of Naiu. If you wonder which path to take, who to trust, let the love in you be your guide.”
The hand on Archie’s chest grows hot and uncomfortable, slowly singeing his chest. The Maiden does not withdraw it, even when Archie cries out. The hardness returns to the red face that bears down on him, no longer with compassion but with fury. Archie fiddles with the sprite bones, shifting and rolling them toward his fingers and thumbs. One drops to the ground. A wicked smile spreads over the Lord’s face. As Archie is about to stab the fiery hand with the bone, a voice calls out, startling them both.
It is Islo. The stocky Olearon lacks his usual composure. Islo’s face is pale red, almost orange, and his voice faded and weary. “The Steffanus warriors,” he whispers like a breath of smoke.
“What about them?” the Lord barks, dropping his hand. He turns sharply from Archie to storm gracefully from the interior of the maze.
“Lord,” says Islo, “the sisters are here!”
Chapter 29
Archie
One hundred Olearons, the young and inexperienced warriors that had remained in the glass city, are herded into the Bangols’ desolate northern fortress by an equally large assembly of Steffanus sisters. Black eyes glare at icy reds, and all weapons and flames are at the ready. The Olearons band together at the center of the commotion and form a monstrous fire, surrounded on every side by fierce women in scorched yet vibrant gowns, their antlers dripping gold.
“Command your warriors to squelch their flames,” one tall, full-bodied Steffanus demands. “We wish to speak with your Lord.”
The Lord of Olearon steps from behind a stone structure to stroll across the fortress grounds, past the gaping crater. He reaches the southern maze and faces the new arrivals, saying, “Let us begin with manners. Who addresses me?”
“I am Callisto, and I have questions for you—”
“Callisto,” Ardenal interrupts. “That is the name we humans gave to the second largest moon of Jupiter, one of the four that orbit it.”
“Yes, mother world Jupiter and one of its derivatives, Callisto,” replies the Steffanus. “And who are you that speaks out of turn?”
“I am Ardenal, or Arden on Earth, where I was born.”
There is hushed chatter amongst the Steffanus sisters, but Callisto only narrows her eyes.
“Now you know my name. Tell me the meaning of yours,” Ardenal demands.
The fierce red of Callisto’s eyes softens. “I found Callisto an inspiring planet and changed my name in its honor. Callisto’s terrain is craterous, which some find unsightly. To me, from a distance, that moon appears like its own galaxy, containing a host of stars in constellations yet unmapped by my sisters and me. It is believed to be a world long dead, lifeless, and desolate. I do not believe that to be true. Rumors in the human world say the icy planet holds a living sea at its core. One day, I hope to visit it.”
Archie watches as his son slips into his role as a scholar. Ardenal pushes up the glasses he no longer wears as he begins to speak. “I first came upon the moon Callisto in my historical studies. In Greek mythology, Callisto was the stunning daughter of King Lycaon. Callisto took up a virgin’s vow as a follower of Artemis. Unfortunately for her, she was seduced by the great god Zeus—also known as Jupiter—in disguise. Callisto became pregnant and her bad luck continued.
“Artemis believed Callisto’s pregnancy and the son she bore to be the woman’s betrayal. She was barred from the company of Artemis, to whom she was loyal, and after the birth of her child she was turned into a bear by Hera, wife of Zeus. Then, as if she had not been through enough, Callisto’s offspring nearly killed her on a hunting mission.
“I cannot recall which god had mercy on her—though in all irony I suspect it was Zeus, who began the whole fateful chain of events in the first place. Callisto was plucked from the Earth and placed amongst the stars as a new constellation: The Great Bear, or Ursa Major. She became mother of the Arcadians through the son she bore by Zeus.”
The face of the Steffanus flushes red. “You tell me what I already know, Ardenal—Arden,” says Callisto in a deep voice. “What purpose do you have with this history lesson?”
“Well”—Ardenal clears his throat—“as someone who knows the mythology, I wonder … In reality, Zeus was the deceiver, Callisto the deceived. So Steffanus who chose the name Callisto: Are you and your sisters fooled by the Star? Do you seek to mislead us as well? Perhaps you do not know the lies you believe as truth—lies like the ones revered by the Millia and Bangols, which seem like logic but are a betrayal of all races on Jarr-Wya, i
f not all of Jarr.”
“You do know your history, Ardenal, though I suspect I know more about you than you do about yourself,” says Callisto with a sneer.
The Lord, who had watched stoically until now, rages. “What knowledge could you possibly possess?”
“Our sister, Laken, has told us much.”
Archie lunges forward at the name. “Laken,” he says, wheezing. “Is she here?”
“No, human. She is not. Nor back on Baluurwa, at least not in body. Laken was murdered, despite her old and weary form, when these Olearons passed near the foot of the mountain not half a sunset past.”
Archie covers his mouth with his hands, muffling his shock and sorrow. He can see Laken’s scarred though gentle face. He remembers her voice and the shapes her lips made when she spoke, revealing the truth that still leaves Archie reeling.
“They pursued us first, my Lord,” says a red-skinned warrior. “We defended ourselves while hurrying to you.”
“War disguised as peace!” says Callisto with scorn. Her wildly flowing gown is blue, silver, and earth brown, as Laken’s had been. Callisto’s face bears no similarity to the wise, kind Steffanus who sat and talked with Archie on her crumb of earth high above the blue forest. “Before she died,” continues Callisto, “Laken spoke of beings from the human world. Ones who would save us all. She told us to look for the one named Archibald Wellsley, and that he would help us regain peace in all worlds.”
“Archie?” says Lillium near one of his ears. “Is this true?”
“However, the wind carried a disturbing story up to our ears. A story about this very man, who plotted a war between the Bangols and my sisters, all to gain advantage over the Star,” Callisto finishes.
“It’s true,” Archie mumbles, “but that was before I went back in time and spoke with Laken.”
“Dad, are you delirious? What are you talking about?” asks Ardenal, all confidence flushed from his ruddy face.
“I did hit my head, but that’s besides the point. I don’t know how it happened, but it did, Arden. I believe it as much as I believe in the ground we stand on. I spoke with Laken, but it wasn’t now; she was young and alone. Oww—”
The Lord rests his gloved hands on Archie’s shoulders, squeezing tightly. “There is much for us to discuss, Archibald, in private, before you divulge too much that may be used against us. What use is there in wasting breath on a dead Steffanus? No, we must focus on the living and how to keep them so.” Releasing Archie, the Lord steps forward until he is face-to-face with Callisto. “I agree with my loyal warrior, Ardenal. Why would the Steffanus sisters wish to protect the Star, which has poisoned our world since its arrival, driven mad the Bangols, and formed the Millia sands?”
“Dim your warriors’ flames, and I will tell you what I know,” answers Callisto.
The Lord looks to Ardenal, without words, for his estimation of the trustworthiness of the Steffanus. Ardenal nods briefly. The Lord turns to his warriors, the ones equipped with provisions from the glass city and weary from their travels. He raises his hands and lowers them gently. All crimson skin is extinguished, and flames return to the napes of the warriors’ necks. They push out of the circle of Steffanus sisters and join the company.
“Gestures of peace. Thank you. Now I will begin,” Callisto says, more kindly than before. “My sisters and I were birthed from the fusion of the creature Naiu and a human girl, right there”—she points at the towering mountain of warm black rock—“on Baluurwa. Because of this, we experience Naiu’s emotions through our collective beings. We feel the heartbreak of Naiu, of its laments in response to what it has made—the hatred amongst the love, the evil amongst the good.
“Over five hundred thousand sunsets ago, when Naiu created all the worlds and their derivative dimensions, it unknowingly expended its power. Along with it, Naiu gave its magic, love, creativity, joy, and light. Those were its true gifts which, it believes, have become corrupted. Naiu created time and life from nothing, but over many sunrises and sunsets, that spark of curiosity has morphed into what Naiu is not: greed, lust, distrust, dishonesty, fear—and greatest of all, hatred.
“Naiu, alive in its creations, mourns what it has made, wishing to undo it. It withdraws those disparate parts of itself back to where it throbs and pulses the loudest in any universe: here, in Jarr, on the island of Jarr-Wya.
“Our island is where Naiu crashed in exhaustion after creation. Its impact formed the mountain at my back, though it was not always called ‘Doomful.’ I believe that was a name given by the Olearons many sunsets ago.”
The Lord’s face is enveloped in flame. “The Lords before me bestowed that name out of respect for the Olearon blood shed on its stone and as a promise to those who spilled it.”
Callisto inhales sharply. “As the Naiu in me withers, I wish to pierce you through the eyes, slicing away your smug stare with my daggers.”
All Olearon flames crackle and simmer.
Callisto continues, “But being aware of why I feel so prone to hate has lessened its grip over me.
“Naiu wishes to die, to cease, and in doing so, remove its enchantment, its life force, from the worlds it has formed.” Callisto pauses. “In Naiu’s heartbreak, it desires to abandon these worlds, leaving them to consume themselves with malice and greed, to eventually wither away, to crash out of their orbits and destroy the unique system of time Naiu fashioned for each one.
“Naiu longs for the greater expanse to return to peace, silence, blackness, to meditation and hum and possibility, without the corruption of impetus.
“During this removal of magic, which has already begun, whole orbits of the worlds and derivative dimensions will be thrown beyond themselves, bursting, fracturing, crashing together. Races of the most exquisite beings you could ever imagine will be destroyed forever. Stars and moons will crumble into the dust of dreams. The moon Callisto may one day soon cease to be.
“What once was, will be no more. Laughter will die along with sorrow. Lovemaking will perish with disease. All that was once beautiful will be lost.”
Ella chokes on a sob, releasing a scattering of green birds that fly gloriously from her lips, chirping merrily in contrast to her gloom. Archie shuffles through the crowd to Ella’s side, where she leans on Luggie. He helps support his granddaughter, sensing her weakness despite her will. She looks up at him with imploring eyes as he and Luggie bear her weight. Archie rests his lips on her forehead, kissing a vow of protection upon her.
Archie collects tears from Ella’s cheeks. “We’ll figure this out, Ell,” he manages to whisper. “Somehow …” He is left with the weight of his promise and Callisto’s words, feeling as if the enormity of all life balances unsteadily upon his shoulders. How can we possibly figure this out? he wonders.
“But hope is not lost,” continues Callisto, as if knowing Archie’s fear. “While my sisters grow hypnotized to the longing of Naiu—as Callisto was to Zeus—they have not, nor have I, given over to despair. We fight the withdrawal of Naiu within and around, choosing goodness.”
“This is much to receive,” says the Lord, skepticism cut into his face in the subtlest creases. “Nameris, you are the wise historian of Jarr amongst the Olearons, as Ardenal is amongst the humans. What is your estimation?”
Nameris scratches his ruddy chin. “We have believed all manner of speculation about the poisoning of Jarr-Wya, first that the Bangols were to blame. But as this human helped us to understand”—Nameris points to Ella—“that idea was incorrect.”
“We Bangols are of the land, its soil, rock, and clay,” adds Luggie. “It is a part of us, in our blood. We would do anything to protect it.”
Nameris nods respectfully to Luggie and continues. “The other theory is that the Star is the culprit, leeching into our lands an evil that weakens our crops and corrupts our minds. To be honest, Lord, I have never considered Naiu, or I should say, the lack of Naiu to be what is to blame. We have only known Naiu to imbue our crystaliths with power that
floods our fields, nurturing our crops. We have only ever known it to give, not to take.”
“This sounds to me like the foolish deception Ardenal proposed,” Azkar says with contempt. “The Star has deceived the Steffanus race, as they seek to do to us.”
“It is not a deception, my friend, if I might call you that,” says Callisto, gesturing to Azkar and requesting his name.
He answers her cautiously.
“Azkar,” she repeats. “As I have said, we Steffanus sisters are battling the same war within us I see mirrored on your divided face.” She approaches the hulking Olearon, who wears a scowl that scrunches the black scar twisting from his left eye to his collarbone.
As Callisto nears, Azkar bristles, but then she touches him. Her long silver fingers trace the scar so tenderly that Azkar shivers and moisture simmers on his eyelids.
Archie watches the bizarre embrace as the deep scar smooths and brightens. The black flesh glows to a pale orange. Though it cannot return to the fullness of red, it is far less gruesome.
Azkar raises his hands to his face and neck. “No one has touched me here,” he says, marveling quietly, “since I returned to the glass city, and the healer cauterized my wound, which was so badly separated that it could not be properly rejoined.”
“This is the power of love, when we fight for it, against all odds, against the convenience of apathy and the evil of hate that seeks to divide us,” answers Callisto.
Ardenal lays an apologetic hand on Azkar’s shoulder. “I did not know your pain, my friend,” he begins, his words for Azkar alone. Then to all gathered he says, “Without love, what are we fighting to save?”
“Ardenal is right,” Callisto says. “We Steffanus sisters have hope based on fact. We have traveled to Earth, searching and learning. We have ventured even farther—drawing on the Naiu in us to operate Tillastrions of our own making—to places from which many Steffanus sisters have failed to return. The ones who survived those unimaginable places brought back knowledge. They discovered a way.
Below the Moon Page 24
