Tessa notices Valarie glaring at her as the cruise director listens to Junin. Tessa bites her lip and looks up at Nate. He grins at her and she feels the warm spot too. His eyes are a deep chestnut color, like the bark of the Seattle redwood forest. Kind eyes, Tessa thinks. Nate’s skin is tanned and firm, his arms muscular, strong, and tattooed with a ship of billowing sails and other nautical symbols. Tessa does not step away from Nate’s touch, instead enjoying his warmth—different from that of the Olearons—that sets off firecrackers through her skin. Her cheeks grow rosy, but not from the sun or the heat radiating from the ruddy-colored warriors. She looks away.
Valarie kicks up dirt as she and Junin pass Tessa and Nate. “Sorry,” Valarie mutters.
Without warning, Junin darts ahead of the group, running gracefully, her fire hair streaking out behind her and sparking, the tiny bursts of flame sizzling as they are consumed in the damp air. “My love!” the female Olearon calls, beaming.
Tessa looks in the direction the red woman sprints. Several short Olearons stand at the edge of the field bordering the city. One of them turns at Junin’s call, exclaims in a little girl’s voice, and runs toward the adult that Tessa guesses is the child’s mother.
Tessa cannot look away from their embrace. She leans in to Nate, so close she can smell him, and whispers, “I know this is a lot to ask—and she’s not even your child—but, will you stay by my side and help me find Ella?”
“I will,” Nate responds without hesitating.
Tessa removes Nate’s hand from her back and squeezes it once before letting go. She increases her pace to a jog and approaches the Lord of Olearon. “We are here now, at your city, and I cannot wait any longer. My daughter is unwell. I have to find her now, before—I can’t even say it.”
“Our duty is to purge Jarr-Wya of the Bangols. Heal the land. Then, we may save your child.”
“I knew it! You lied to me!”
“Let’s go, Tessa,” Nate growls, catching up. He glares at the Lord of Olearon.
“Wait!” Ardenal also approaches swiftly, with Archie close behind, now carrying Duggie-Sky. “There are dangers here you know nothing of, Tess. Listen to the Lord. Give me a day to prepare and we will set out together.”
Tessa shakes her head. “I can’t—who knows what they will do to her, or where they will take her. I don’t trust this place, and I obviously can’t trust these people, whatever they are, whatever you are. Ella is sick. She’s getting worse by the day. Whatever happens, I don’t want her to die alone.”
“You’re a great mom, Tess. I admire how you love and care for Ella, and never give up—and I’m with you—” begins Ardenal, searching his mind for a solution. “Will you give me one hour? I’ll gather what I can, as quickly as I can, and then we’ll go? With your permission of course, Lord.”
“Tessa, it’s your decision,” Nate cuts in. “But I will go with you right now if that’s what you need. These fire-people are looking out for themselves. We—” he points to Tessa, then to his own chest, and gestures as well to the rest of the humans, “—we must take care of ourselves. We don’t need these others, the Olearons. Maybe we shouldn’t have come to their city in the first place. Who knows the real reason they saved us. I’ve done my fair share of navigating through unmapped waters. We’ll eat what we scavenge. I’ve got a knife.” Nate pulls a blade from his boot and flips it open by the handle so the razor-sharp edge flashes in the morning light. He conceals it again. “We’ll sneak up on the Bangols. Rescue Ella. Make a plan for how to get home.”
“Folly from the mouth of a fool,” the Lord of Olearon sighs.
The warriors and humans stare at Tessa. She pauses and looks between Nate and the Olearon claiming to be her husband. Her mouth is chalky and her tongue sticks to her palate. Who can I trust? she asks herself, wringing her hands behind her back. Her shoulder screams out with a pain that cuts through her thoughts.
Archie’s voice chimes in from amid the Olearons as he wedges his way through them to stand at Tessa’s side. “Trust Arden,” Archie whispers, as if reading her mind. “If anything, trust me, Tessa. I have stuck by you. The one thing I know with all my being is that this—” Archie points at Ardenal “—is my son.”
“One hour—” Tessa begins, but she is cut off.
“Halt, you!” The Maiden of Olearon shouts. A boy with a wide-brimmed hat is slinking away from the group toward the forest on the far side of the pasture. “Human, there are many dangers. Return for safety!”
“I am no human!” the boy shrieks and turns, pulling the hat from his head.
Archie recognizes the voice immediately. “Zeno!”
“Zeno . . .” Ardenal’s chin tips to his chest and he charges at the little creature, who is by now a fair distance away. “How dare you—how can you show your nasty face here?”
“Same as the rest of you. I am on a quest.” Zeno looks proud and indignant, and not the least bit intimidated by Ardenal as he nears. The creature laughs. “Oh Arden—yes, I know it’s you—have you forgotten? This is my world and my powers. Though I am rusty, the strength of Naiu remains in my blood.” With these words, Zeno thrusts his hand down toward the pasture. A gush of air and a swoosh rumbles the ground, spitting up dirt. Ardenal halts abruptly on the edge of a deep-forming chasm.
“How did he do that?” Valarie asks the Maiden. The humans huddle behind the Olearons.
“The Bangols can control rock and clay,” the Maiden answers. “It is a part of them, where they came from in the beginning. Like the coolness of stone, such is the heart of a Bangol.”
Ardenal backtracks, then charges Zeno again. His long legs stretch across the gaping abyss as he jumps. Zeno lunges down once more. The exposed soil and clay ripple and rise like waves, propelling the creature skyward. He crashes against Ardenal in midair with such force that the breath is smashed out of their lungs. Zeno lands with a thud on the far side of the chasm. Ardenal, knocked off his trajectory, fails to reach the edge with his foot. His right hand snags an exposed root and, for a moment, he swings wildly. The root shifts, strained by his weight. Dirt sifts down, peppering Ardenal’s face. He spits and gags.
“Zeno’s running!” Archie yells.
Ardenal hoists himself out of the chasm in one swift contraction of his biceps, his toes finding a solid edge of earth to leap from. His breathing is loud.
“Should we help him?” Tessa asks whomever is near.
The Maiden slowly shakes her head. “He will catch the Bangol. This is what he has been trained to do, primed for since he swore his loyalty to the Lord, and discovered his true identity on Jarr-Wya, as an Olearon.”
Ardenal races after Zeno, who is running for the edge of forest, far to the east of the glass city. As Ardenal runs, his dreadlocks grow into a ball of flames that he separates from himself and juggles like a child’s ball before launching it at Zeno, who is nearing the rocky ground dividing the pastureland and the starlight-blue forest. The flames erupt at Zeno’s feet, instantly igniting the grass and sending up a wall of fire ten feet tall beneath Zeno’s nose. The Bangol leaps back, patting at his smoldering camo-jacket. He turns to face Ardenal and sends another swoosh of white wind down, blowing skyward the clay beneath the pasture, rocketing clods of dirt and chunks of grass into Ardenal’s path.
The Olearon plucks an airborne blade of grass and hurls it toward Zeno. The blade ignites and glows reddish-yellow, like a slice of fire. It elongates, arrow-like, before curling around Zeno’s ankles.
“Curse you! It burns! Get it off! Please!” Zeno screams as he drops to the ground, thrashing. Tessa can feel the pasture quiver where she stands, watching helplessly.
“Enough of this!” demands the Lord. The clay calms as Zeno surrenders. “Ardenal, bring the Bangol.”
Ardenal sends another burning blade to coil together Zeno’s wrists. The creature flinches but no longer wails. “Is that really necessary, Arden, my old friend?” Zeno hisses.
Lifting Zeno by the foot, Ardenal carries him
dangling upside down over the shoulder of his blue jumpsuit, filthy with earth. Once they reach the rim of the chasm, the Lord asks, “If we loosen the cords that bind, will you talk with us a moment, Bangol?”
Zeno nods. “Please.”
The Lord of Olearon points one long finger and the fire cords relax and crumble to ash.
Azkar is at the edge of the crevasse. He launches himself across. Without Zeno to deflect him, Azkar lands solidly on the other side. Ardenal takes one of Zeno’s arms, Azkar the other, and they leap back over the gap.
“Do not drag me farther into your wretched lands,” Zeno jeers. “This is as far as I go.”
“So, should we kill you here?” Ardenal growls through clenched teeth.
“Arden, don’t,” Archie says. “He helped me transport to Jarr-Wya, to reunite us. We owe him something for that.”
Ardenal pivots to face Archie. “We owe him nothing. Do not be deceived. This Bangol is trouble. When I traveled to the Canary Islands, to Lanzarote, it was almost as if Zeno was waiting for me. I had been warned about the Bangols and I soon learned why. He was banished by his own. He used you, Dad, to get here. He was not helping you, only helping himself.”
“Zeno knows about Ella’s cure,” Archie protests. “He explained to me that I needed something of Ell’s, like her hat—which I forgot on the cruise ship of course—to help me channel my focus, to help me transport her remedy.”
Azkar sneers, “What does a Bangol know of aiding others?”
“The Scar is right, Archibald, though I’m loath to admit it.” Archie’s face slowly twists with anger at Zeno’s confession. “Your granddaughter’s headpiece, it gave you hope, it fueled your desire, which is what I required to operate the Tillastrion, to bring me home.”
Zeno struggles against Ardenal and Azkar but they tighten their grip. “So what if I was helping myself? What do you care? You’re here. I’m here. No harm done. It’s true—my mission is to murder the king of the Bangols, Tuggeron. There you have it! He killed my father, the last ruler, and exiled me in your pitiful world.” Zeno points at the passengers. “Such a sad place, with no magic.”
“Your presence will start a war between factions of the Bangols—and anyone else in their path. That puts my people in danger,” the Lord retorts, his dreadlocks swaying as he shakes his head.
“You could kill me,” the Bangol hisses, his eyes pulsating with renewed malice. “But I may be of use to you.”
“And what might that use be?”
“I heard your vow to Senior Karish, to the Millia sands. If you wish to purge the evil from beneath Jarr-Wya, I know the one who poisons it.”
“Who?” the Lord steps forward.
“The same one who killed my family—Tuggeron.” Zeno spits. “I know his weakness. Let me help you find him and rip the stones from his skull.”
“What is your price?” asks Azkar stiffly.
“My life. Freedom. Peace for us all.”
“The Bangols have never been peace-loving,” Ardenal growls. “How will you atone for the innocent lives stolen by the Millia? You do not deserve to be a king.”
Zeno turns to Archie. “As I told Archibald, his love for the child was too great. The Odyssey’s presence in Jarr-Wya is his doing, not mine.”
“Let us gather what supplies and stores of food we can spare. And glass weapons for the humans,” the Lord commands. “We make two parties. One that travels east tracking the balloons, to save the child, with Ardenal and these two.” He points at Tessa and Archie. “The other will consist of Olearon warriors who will march north with Zeno to defeat Tuggeron’s army at their primary fortress.”
“Unfortunately, I cannot agree,” Zeno counters. “You see, I have no guarantee that your warriors will not slaughter me on the spot once we venture beyond your lands. I do, however, believe that this human would not harm me.” Zeno stares at Archie with wide, willing eyes. “For my compliance, Archibald Wellsley must be at my side at all times.” Zeno leans in and whispers to Archie, “I will help you build a Tillastrion to get back to your world, once you’ve helped me. Agreed?”
“I need your word, Zeno,” Archie whispers. Zeno nods. Turning to the Lord, he says, “I agree to the Bangol’s wish. I will be by his side on the quest.”
“Dad!” Ardenal fumes.
Tessa paces on the spot.
“It is done, Arden,” Zeno declares.
“One company it must be.” The Lord nods. “You have much to accomplish. One hour may be too long. You must leave and move with haste!”
Chapter 23
“No!” Duggie-Sky screams. “Don’t leave me! Daddy!” he wails. “I want my Dad!” the boy pleads to Archie and then calls out into the expanse of pastureland beside them, his eyes budding with tears. No one answers his call. The billowing smoke from Olen’s scorching ceremony—teal and smelling of sunrise dew on newborn roses—floats from the glass city to dissipate over the field.
“I’m sorry, little fella, but Grandpa Archie has to go soon. I am glad, however, to hear you using your words. I knew you had more to say than you were letting on.” Duggie-Sky frowns. “So now that we’re talking, man to man, why don’t you tell me your real name?”
The boy crosses his arms. “I like Duggie-Sky,” he pouts.
“All right, Duggie-Sky it is,” says Archie as he ruffles the child’s curly ebony hair, which instantly reminds him of Ella. Archie and the boy sit on one of the glass steps of the staircase leading into the Olearons’ citadel. They sit in silence for a time, watching the preparations below. “These nice people—er, firefolks—will take good care of you. I promise,” Archie says finally.
“No, they won’t,” Duggie-Sky whines. His bottom lip juts out.
Archie pulls Duggie-Sky into an affectionate squeeze. He remembers the cries of the passengers before the Millia cut through them, and shudders. Duggie-Sky wipes tears from his face on Archie’s shoulder.
“You don’t have to leave him,” says the Maiden from below as she walks by with a satchel of food.
Archie frowns at her. “Don’t say that! You’ll get the kid’s hopes up.” Duggie-Sky stops whimpering. “I wouldn’t put his life in danger again. He needs a safe place. It’s nice here, peaceful.” Archie takes in his surroundings. Olearon children skip along the grassy paths that weave around their angular glass homes and peculiarly shaped gathering places. There is a sleepy quality to the city, as if Archie finds himself in the fog between dreams.
“The boy needs a family.” The Maiden smiles faintly. “It is as dangerous here as anywhere in our world. The safest place is in the arms of love.”
Archie nods at the Maiden. “I just now came from the infirmary,” she adds. “The healer has successfully reinserted Tessa’s shoulder, and the warrior Eek has pried her arm free of the black flyer’s claws.”
“Thank you.”
The Maiden nods and walks on. Did I see a hint of emotion on her face? Archie wonders. Her eyes had been somber—but also merry. How could those two emotions exist simultaneously? Has the ability to express feeling been there all along, or am I seeing these creatures anew? Maybe there is hope for Arden!
Archie considers Duggie-Sky’s eager face. “Do you want to stay with Grandpa Archie?” Duggie-Sky laughs and jumps to his feet. His round cheeks spread wide in a toothy grin. “You’re a handsome young fella, aren’t ya! Well, if you’re going to come along, you’ve got to walk more. Deal?”
“Deal!”
Duggie-Sky, satisfied that he will not be left behind, points to a rowdy group of warriors preparing satchels of supplies—and goofing off. Archie recognizes them. Azkar and his brothers, Nameris, and Kameelo—as they had been introduced to Archie—argue over the contents of their bags and elbow each other out of the way. Their youngest brother, Eek, joins them from assisting Tessa.
“Just like human brothers,” Archie chuckles. “Pestering each other to no end—but don’t mess with one, or look out! The others will getcha.”
“I’m
gonna go see,” says Duggie-Sky, his tears forgotten. “Please, Grandpa Archie, please!”
“Eh, I don’t know . . . I guess it can’t hurt—only be careful, all right?” says Archie as he watches the little boy smile mischievously and dart away. “I’m too old to do this little-kid-thing again,” Archie says as he leans back on the steps of the citadel. The sun is warm on his trousers and flushes his face. Archie nearly falls asleep, but rouses himself and stands. Stretches. “That’s funny. My arthritis, it’s nearly gone. May well be completely gone,” he marvels aloud. He signs the alphabet he learned in Ella’s American Sign Language class, finger lettering fast and fluidly, which had always defeated him. Now, his fingers form each letter so quickly that his mind is only saying one while his gestures are onto the next.
Archie turns away from the pastureland—where Olearons and humans prepare—and looks up to the tall glass doors of the citadel. They are clear and reflect the sunlight into his eyes. He squints and takes a deep breath, then sprints up the twenty-five steps to the flat landing at the top, where the angled triangular dome begins.
“Huh,” he says and shakes his head. “Barely winded.”
Archie peers over his shoulder to ensure none on the ground below are watching him before he steps beyond sight of the preparations and approaches the citadel’s doors. He leans in so close that his nose presses up against the warm glass. A foreboding, tingling sensation seizes the muscles in his shoulders and neck, but he shrugs it off, his curiosity greater than his fear. “I’ve made it this far . . . For Arden’s sake, let’s see how peace-loving these Olearons really are,” he whispers. The building appears deserted inside. Archie knocks quietly, then loudly. When no one arrives, he pulls open one of the two angular doors wide enough for his body to slip through, then shuts it quietly.
Colorful glass sculptures—of a ship on a tumultuous sea and an ever burning, never consuming flame, which rises from an island as tall as it is wide—greet Archie on either side of the doorway. Sharp tables are piled with maps and large, dusty, ornately-decorated books. The citadel reminds Archie of a greenhouse. The heat is thick and Archie takes off his jacket and folds it over his arm.
Above the Star Page 13
