Selfish Myths 2

by Natalia Jaster

  He blushes. “At which point, destiny knocked me on my ass. I don’t suppose you have answers to a million questions?”

  “When he says a million, take him literally,” Love quips, slinging her arms around Andrew.

  Her gaze travels from their huddle, traversing from the fire pit’s glow, to the vaulted ceiling, to the rocking chair. She scowls at Malice prostrate on the ground, giving him the same affection she’d give a venomous serpent just before castrating it. Somehow, she ascertains who’s to blame for her abduction.

  Andrew’s not far behind. He looks as if he wants to jam a fork into the reaper’s innards, yank out the contents, and feed them to a pack of Dobermans.

  Malice merely absorbs the scene with the detached veneer of a psychotic.

  Moving on, Love’s expression softens with fascination toward Merry, before steering elsewhere.

  She freezes, her mouth parting. “Anger.”

  Anger draws in a breath, then releases it, lets it go. “Love.”

  Merry gulps, steels herself as the pair watches each other warily.

  Then an antagonist grin slits through Love’s face as she fists her hips. “Here to make sure I behave?”

  “Actually,” he says, “you’re on your own.”

  She balks, her eyes jumping from Anger to Merry. Noting their clasped hands, surprise spasms her features, but then she gloats, impressed by the visual.

  Love steps forward and accepts his extended free hand, balling their fingers together and covering it with her other palm. They trade peaceful smiles.

  And then they release each other.

  Merry watches, grateful because the interlude doesn’t prick or pierce. Instead, she’s exultant.

  Everyone watches as Anger tucks Merry close and kisses her head. He opens his mouth, about to make introductions.

  But Merry just can’t stand it. “Goddess of Love,” she gushes. “I’m vanquished. How sublime to meet under excruciating and historic circumstances, for it gives me nothing but revelry to greet the infamous matchmaker. Did you also wear white dresses in your former life, like Eros? I’ve heard such tales, but one hardly knows what’s true. And you have the blackest hair that I’ve ever seen, like a defiant star that refuses to shine.”

  “Love,” Anger says with humor and pride. “This is Merry.”

  The goddess’s captivated eyes link with Merry’s. “I only wore one white dress. And a pair of pajamas once.”

  This last bit of information cracks a smile from Andrew. “She burglarized a store to get them.”

  “Truly?” Merry inquires, diverted. Deities can change attire as they wish, but Love had restricted herself—or she had been restricted. As to the pajamas, why didn’t she simply conjure them?

  Love gauges Merry’s thoughts. “I wanted to wear something more…down to earth.”

  Ah. When Andrew affectionately tucks his girlfriend close, Merry comprehends. Love had wanted the clothing to be human, because she’d wanted to feel human like him.

  Love and Merry exchange another look. Maybe they feel the same thing, this lovely and sudden spark of sisterhood, an instant kinship blossoming with little else spoken. Maybe Love instinctively understands who Merry used to be, and who she is now.

  Maybe they both understand. And maybe that’s why, as they grin at each other, the stars brighten.

  28

  Anger

  Midnight. They sit in a ring on Stargazer Hill. The theme park has shutdown, its bulbs glowing only for their eyes.

  It’s still not Peaks. But it doesn’t need to be.

  The Carnival of Stars encircles them from below, highlighting and shadowing them. Atop the verdant hill, its lone oak tree stands proud, and twin telescopes peek at the sky. If he were to stare into one, he would find a flashing star positioned near a winking one.

  A spring breeze fringes the ends of his hair. Blades of grass brush his knuckles. The distant tang of blueberry lemonade mingles with the crisp aura of contemplation.

  Their group is a constellation. A newly discovered one.

  Seven members. Some have known mortality. The rest have known eternity.

  All of them know uncertainty.

  A class diversified. A class of fate and free will.

  After Anger had introduced Love and Merry, more greetings had followed. When Love had presented her lunar boyfriend, Anger became the object of Andrew’s probing gaze. In short, it was the most direct stare Anger had ever experienced.

  Anger and Andrew had seen each other once before, from a distance, at the onset of Love’s friendship with Andrew. Even back then, the young man must have guessed Anger’s repressed feelings for Love. Andrew had possessed a perceptive, unapologetic gaze, perhaps able to filter through nuance. A force unto his own.

  But they’d never exchanged words until the library vault. Down in that basement, Andrew hadn’t shown one iota of doubt or jealousy. He had studied Anger implicitly, those silver irises scanning. And Anger hadn’t known whether to set his teeth or squirm—proof that Andrew and Love had been made for each other.

  “I never got to say this before, because memory loss kinda does that to a person,” Andrew had told him during the introduction. “But thank you.”

  Anger had blinked. “For what?”

  “For growing up with her. For looking out for her. For breaking the rules for her.”

  Anger had swallowed, feeling unworthy of the gratitude but wanting it, nevertheless. He’d nodded to Andrew, unable to respond in any other way.

  And Andrew had smiled in understanding.

  Afterward, they’d all migrated from the library to the carnival. There, Envy and Sorrow had joined them.

  More hugs. More greetings. More introductions.

  A wry remark from Sorrow. A sassy flirt from Envy.

  Presently, each person takes part in recapping the last four years to Love and Andrew. The Peaks. The mortal realm. Merry’s story. Anger’s story. The legends in between, linking and dividing them. Everyone has something to say, in their own words, from their own perspectives.

  There’s shock. Learning that Merry had bequeathed her newly earned power to Love. Learning of the legendary loophole. Learning Love and Andrew can be immortal without harming the Fates, if they choose to.

  If not, they will lose their memories once again.

  There’s an intermission. A gap in time for the couple to decide.

  The group gives them privacy. For a long time, Andrew and Love stare at one another, silently deliberating, talking in low tones. Decisions like this shouldn’t be made swiftly.

  Unfortunately that gap in time has already begun to narrow, according to Wonder. They will only have between one sunrise and sunset to decide.

  Yet they don’t need that long. Rather, they beckon the group back to them. They don’t want to lose their beloved mortals back home. Andrew’s stepfather. A bookshop keeper named Miss Georgie. Their friends, Holly and Griffin.

  But they don’t want to lose their memories, either. And they won’t turn their backs on a battle to find peace between fate and free will. Love yearns to restore her calling. Andrew is selfless enough to choose this cause over living a human life, because he’ll always choose Love over anything else.

  Their faces twist with guilt and grief. Love’s eyes glisten alongside Andrew’s, revealing the clash of joy and loss. Needing time alone, the pair abandons the hill and takes a private walk through the park.

  Sorrow empathizes best of all. She predicts that it will be a while before they return. And she’s right.

  When the couple rejoins the group, red stains the rims of their eyes, but the stress and anguish have receded a fraction for now. It will take countless sunrises and sunsets until the desolation ebbs—if ever.

  They compensate for the sacrifice, the impending bereavement of family and friends, by vowing to write letters. Ambiguous but genuine words of farewell.

  It’s the best they can manage. But at least they have the choice this time.

>   Love gives Merry the tightest, most grateful hug Anger has ever seen. Andrew does the same, then marvels at his hands, his fingers splayed before him. His brows furrow, perhaps having expected a flashing light or special effect. “Shit,” he jests sadly, trying to inflict humor into the situation. “I don’t feel remotely like Adonis.”

  Love straps herself around him like a backpack. With her chest flush against his spine, she purrs a comforting offer into his ear. “Want some help fixing that?”

  Andrew twists his head, nuzzles her, and whispers, “Hell, yeah.”

  “Aww,” Merry gushes at the pair while nestled in Anger’s arms, his limbs flanking hers.

  He whispers a mirthful prompt against her temple. “Just wait. Any moment Sorrow is going to—”

  Sorrow groans. “Not aww. That’s called eww.”

  “Come now,” Envy coos. “Just because we don’t engage in public displays, it doesn’t mean they can’t. Besides, I’m finally entitled to this view.”

  “Oh, get over yourselves,” Andrew drawls, his pale flesh splotchy while Love nips his lobe, their moods temporarily bolstered. “Nobody’s entitled to anything. Ever heard of working for what you get?”

  Love chuckles, coming up for air. “Get used to him. He’s here to stay.”

  “With pleasure, dearest.” Wonder interprets to Andrew, “It appears you haven’t inherited our immortal arrogance.”

  “Neither have I,” Merry declares, rising from Anger’s embrace and straightening her shoulders. Her departure incites a protest from him, which her caress mollifies. “Call neither selfless Andrew, nor me, arrogant. I’m a noble outcast. I’m a lion-hearted heroine amidst the brave and rebellious.”

  To Anger’s gratitude, she returns to him. Feeling sheepish and greedy, he spans her waist.

  Their group segues. Their defiance has offended the Fate Court, to which Anger suspects the rulers might enjoy the satisfaction of retribution, if this group finds the means to pose a challenge at all.

  Priorities, first. They cannot simply wage a battle; peace should be the primary goal. With both races susceptible to deterioration, they must learn how to preserve the lifecycle while also finding a new equilibrium between deities and humans.

  If they succeed, and if the Fates nevertheless refuse to compromise…well, then.

  To the Court, their lot will offer a provocative but futile fight. Another example to set before their people of what happens when their world is disrupted needlessly.

  Either that, or their group will fail miserably before they’ve even begun.

  They need time. They need allies.

  And so they begin to forge a plan. Or, at the very least, a springboard.

  A few millennia are long enough for more than a handful to get banished. Whatever they think of fate and free will, of immortals versus mortals, plenty of exiles have a unified wish: to vindicate themselves and validate their places in the Peaks. If they’re approached with tact and thusly inspired, they might help.

  As for the Peaks, there are certain residents who might like the sound of revolution. Many had ridiculed Anger for what he’d done in defense of Love. Others had been on his side, protesting his punishment, and were dismayed to see him go.

  For instance, Anger and his peers will never be able to recruit Pride or Spite. But they might sway Confusion. Definitely, Guilt.

  Their group goes through a list of plausible allies, extending from the Peaks to the Celestial City, the exiles who might be mobilized. Should they prevail, it’s also necessary to gauge which outcasts will rally against them, and who will have the stamina to tackle whom.

  Knowing that lot best, Merry provides an overview of the likely scenarios.

  Pity and Kindness can deal with Cruelty. Confidence can be on Shame duty. Courage will have dibs on Fear. Trust will take down Suspicion. Surprise can handle Shock.

  Sorrow reconsiders candidates from the Peaks. “I’ll deal with Grief, so long as Hope and Joy back me up.”

  Envy adjusts his shirt collar, a smarmy grin on his face. “I’ve got Pride and Spite.”

  “As backup, I’ve got everyone covered,” Wonder finishes.

  Andrew clears his throat. “I’m not an expert on deities, but I’m guessing the only one qualified to say that is Love.”

  The group titters. Love gives Wonder a conciliatory wink, because her beau is correct. As the most malleable of emotions, Love is the only one equipped to go head-to-head with everyone.

  “Fine,” Wonder concedes with a prim sigh. “Who’s left?”

  Silence. Uncomfortable, murky silence.

  Presently, Malice remains imprisoned in the library vault. He can’t do any harm. The erudite underworld bars his deviance from them, but whether he stays confined is another matter. Someone needs to keep an eye on him, to thwart him from plotting his way out of their grasp.

  Wonder stiffens. Like a cane, her spine snaps into a rigid, upright posture.

  Sorrow’s nose scrunches, crimping the bandage patched over her bridge. “Anger’s a more efficient warhorse against Malice. They’re both rage gods.”

  “No,” Wonder says, her face blank, her intonation as hollow as a chasm. “Malice is mine.”

  No one objects. But based on the cohesive looks, no one approves, either. And no one misses the shift in Wonder’s attitude, the decline in buoyancy. The petals of her corsage curl morosely.

  In the meantime, being banished means she has suffered a reduction of power. This includes Envy and Sorrow, who have likewise been exiled as penance for their classmate’s rebellion.

  Envy shrugs. “I’ve never liked the food in the Peaks.”

  “I’ve never liked much,” Sorrow grunts.

  “Shall we see what we can still do?” Envy asks.

  Love is the first to hop from the grass like a pogo stick. “Is that a challenge?”

  “Rubbish. You’re too rusty to challenge—”

  A nocked arrow taps his nose before he finishes the sentence. “You were saying?” Love asks sweetly.

  “Now we’re talking. How I’ve missed you.”

  “How you’ll regret it.”

  A whirlwind begins, a synchronization of movement from centuries of training. The five archers of their original class brandish bows and set forth. Somersaulting, tumbling, twisting.

  Love dodges a shot, spinning on her knees across the ground.

  Anger backflips off a rock, shooting while inverted.

  Envy and Sorrow leap, cross paths midflight, and aim sideways. Wonder windmills into the air, evading their arrows.

  It’s natural, instinctive, like they’ve never been apart. Together, they’re a brewing maelstrom. The kind that can’t be controlled.

  The sort that Anger doesn’t fear.

  Merry wheels through the quagmire on her skateboard, a comet vaulting past the projectiles. She’ll always have her board, but if she wants Anger to, he’ll find another bow and continue to teach her. If that’s what she decides.

  Andrew has gained speed and vitality, despite the inexplicable retention of his limp. He has the makings of a brave soul, testing his immortal gait by dodging a few of the arrows, learning how to anticipate them.

  When it’s over, everyone laughs, their hope bolstered. With additional training from an inventive angle, they just might find leverage.

  Wonder removes herself from the chattering group and drifts to the edge of the hill. Tentatively, Anger shadows her, along with Love.

  “He’s right,” Wonder says to them, staring past the carnival to the library’s outline in the distance. “We’ll need him.”

  Malice. He’d warned as much, claiming their class will eventually require his assistance. His brain has curated just as many Archive secrets as potential deceptions, the riddles of which they’ll need a SWAT team to breach. To that end, the outcast’s expertise, which may actually eclipse Wonder’s, is a natural resource that he won’t give up willingly.

  That isn’t the only fact distorting Wonder’s fa
ce. She hasn’t been herself ever since she laid eyes on that conniving misfit. The mystery of it has a harsh texture and a historical reek, like feelings that have been churning inside her for ages.

  Whenever Wonder looks at Malice, it’s with recognition.

  In the observatory, Anger had broached the subject. And based on her torture well over a century ago, when she became enamored with that anonymous mortal, he has sufficient information for a hunch. “Is he the one?”

  After a long-suffering pause, Wonder replies, “I don’t know, dearest.” She swallows, her cheeks flushed with exertion. “But I’ve seen his face before.”

  Love bleats, understanding what this means. The memory of Wonder’s punishment surfaces amongst their trio. Perhaps even more details of her transgression had been confided to Love, since the goddesses have a closer bound.

  Can it be? Can Malice be a resurrection of that mortal boy?

  How? How can a mortal become a reincarnated deity?

  Love issues a delicate query. “But wasn’t that mortal a good person?”

  “Yes,” Wonder answers distantly. “Yes, he was.”

  She gives a half-hearted smile to no one in particular, then walks away.

  Anger and Love trade glances. The set of her chin indicates that she’s about to do something stupid. Something like trail after Wonder and propose to be Malice’s warden, thus alleviating her peer of that duty.

  It’s stupid because Wonder isn’t fragile. She won’t take kindly to having her task commandeered, especially out of pity. Like Love and Anger, the musing goddess has her own story to face, her own demons to cull, her own conflict to resolve.

  Anger knows the feeling. So does Love.

  Covertly, he shakes his head at Love, forcing her mouth to compress. She’s debating whether to volunteer merely to spite Anger’s order, but that would be at Wonder’s expense. So she stays quiet, tossing him a brief but petulant glare.

  Indeed, some things haven’t changed.

  Other than the most important things.

  Nearby, Andrew and Merry are gossiping. They bond instantly, striking up an effortless and endless conversation, with his inquisitive nature and her fanciful one.

  Anger feels a covetous prickle but commands himself to get over it.