by Nikolas Lee
A knock at my door called me out of my thoughts. I didn’t need to turn to know who it was, though. There was only one resident of the Five Fists who trusted me enough to exchange words. Because she needs me more than she needs the others.
“Might I come in, Ionikus?” she asked in her husky voice.
I whirled around to find a rather plump goddess contained by a dress of green silk, its train dragging the stone floor as she entered. She was heavy in jewels too: twenty gold bracelets decorating her pale arms, several chunky rings on her fingers, and a necklace that boasted a rather impressive piece of jade. Her eyes were as bright a green as her daughter’s, Solara. And her hair just as bright a red, though hers were spring-coiled and had grown to be nearly as wide and tall as she. Her curls bounced with each step she took to the balcony, the branches growing out of her shoulders going the same. But in spite all of her features, it was the white, sheer veil that hung over her mouth that caught the eye. If you stared hard enough, you could see where her mouth and chin were still cracked, having been touched by the deadly hands of Helia.
Lady Illindria, Goddess of the Seasons. But more recently known as...“My Empress, you require something of me?”
She wrapped her bloated hands around the railing of my balcony and peered down at K’thas and her children.
“You were impressive today,” she said.
I nodded dutifully. “Thank you, Empress,” I said. “Has the Chancellor been notified?”
“He has. And he’s quite pleased. So pleased, in fact, he’s invited us to meet tomorrow morning.”
My heart gave an anxious pang. “You mean...he agreed?”
“To my plan?” she asked. “Not yet, no. I sent him word of your assault on the Inventor’s troops, along with a few details of the arrangement I’m proposing, and he’s interested in meeting. Sol is in dire need of our services, of a pantheon. This has been known for a while.”
“Illyria will not be happy to hear of this,” I said.
“Of course,” she replied. “Firing upon their troops is treason on another level. And then when they hear of what we plan to do with the humans...”
I grimaced at the thought.
“But I’m not worried in the least,” said Illindria. “By this time tomorrow, I’ll have my new Throne guaranteed by the Chancellor of Sol himself, and in a week’s time, all the power I desire shall be mine.”
Yet another Throne of power to add to her first, the Throne of Seasons. Though, she’d been unable to sit upon that Throne for nearly two years now, since it was stationed in the halls of Illyria, guarded from her. Her power over the Seasons had been dwindling ever since. I can’t even recall the last time I saw her summon some magical element of the Seasons. But a god needed a Throne, so the first step was clear. And that was where her Guardians came in.
“I’ll do everything in my power to see it happen,” I said.
“Indeed, you will,” she replied. “But I’m afraid your participation in the matter is only half the solution. A Throne of power must be built by unforced human hands, every brick worshipped by each citizen of the city before being set. That is how the Throne is given its grand gifts, and that is how each Throne has been made since the first pantheons of this world were born.”
“How long has it been since the last Throne was made?”
“Thousands of years,” she said, “when the Illyrians first rose to power in place of the Old Gods. A few Thrones had stayed in tact from the ages before us: the one of the sky, and the ocean, the Darklands, etc. But a few new ones had to be built to accommodate the new gods brought by the new Illyrians.”
“Coercing Sol into building another will not be easy,” I said.
“Yes, but we have what no other god has ever offered them.” Illindria pushed her big, full hair from her face to direct a smile at me through her veil. “We have you and your jaw of limitless power, even without that staff of yours.”
The Omnus Staff. The other piece to my Connection Seal, the key that unlocked the control over my powers. It had granted me great mastery over my gifts, but Dark Training had taken its place.
“And we have two other Guardians,” Illindria continued. “Each of you brings something special to the table. Something special that Sol is in dire need of. Their city has been plagued by the iron fist of the Illyrians for too long. But we can bring them hope.”
I can bring them hope. You and K’thas bring them nothing with your dwindling powers.
“First we will gain their trust,” I said, recalling her plan.
“First we will gain their trust,” she repeated. “And in time, they will build us each Thrones of Power, and temples to worship us. They will empower us, grant us use of their armies, until finally we take Illyria and the Darklands and the Seas. A new, great pantheon stirs in the darkness, my Thunder Lord.” She looked longingly out at the lagoon. “The Endari. It will take patience and a meticulous hand—both of which I know you possess.”
“As taught by you,” I replied, nodding once more.
Her grubby hand wrapped around mine and she smiled pleasantly at me, her plump cheeks suddenly even plumper. How could a smile irritate me so much? But I held back my scorn and watched as she turned and made her way across the room.
“You are not like the males I have dealt with in my long life,” she said. Illindria looked out at the sun descending upon the Boiling Sea past the Fists. “Most boys grow up and think that because they’ve reached a certain age they’re suddenly men. That a number assigned to their stay here on this earth has made them into such a thing, a man. But the idea of man is a folly. There are only ever boys, destroying and controlling and playing games at the expense of others’ lives and property and honor. The rule is the same for gods, elves, and everything in between. But now...now it’s my turn to show the boys that the only truth of this life is woman.”
A vengeful, scorned woman at that. She was vengeful as death itself, but Illindria had her wisdom. I tried imagining what it was like to grow up with powerful, beloved brothers like the Skylord and Omeer, former Lord of the Darklands. To have your her gifts and legacy cast in shadow by your male siblings...
She breathed in relief, hands folded beneath the bulge of her stomach. “Tomorrow, we ride for Sol. I want you to wear your finest tunic and the vambraces I had made for you. We will need to impress.”
“Of course, Empress.”
She smiled and made her way to my door. But she stopped beneath it, her hand on the wood frame. “And, Ion,” she said, “do not presume to question me in the future. Yes?”
I nodded, and when she left my room with a smile, another wave thundered against the cliff side. The breeze drifted up my back, kissing my neck with mist and wind. Thornikus materialized at my side as though he’d never left.
“You’re right,” he said, as I kept my eyes on the door to my room. “Her lust for power blinds her.”
“And if it’s power she wants,” I replied, “it’s power she’ll get. If we’re to take down the giant of Illyria, we’re going to need a giant of our own.”
CHAPTER FOUR
THE HAND OF THE MOON
The echoes of my footsteps bounced off the dark granite walls of the Hall of False Princes though so softly no one would have detected my arrival. That was the nature of an elf’s march. Quiet. Calm. Controlled.
Cluttering the walls around me were the portraits of the many late kings and queens of the Outerworld humans. There were old, fat men with strange beards and even stranger clothes, women seated upon golden thrones with shining scepters in their hands. They were all paintings, too, and as my Blood Guardian eyes zoomed in on the portraits as I walked, I could make out the brush strokes and fingerprints that belonged to the artists. They were grand images, ones meant to incite awe and honor. But here they were not hung to honor. They littered the walls in mockery of the humans. To shame their proud, pious ways. “These kings and queens thought they were gods among men,” the Skylord had told me once. “But all
men must die, and so we hang their portraits to remind us of their mortality.”
The Kings and Queens of the Dead. Rulers of only corpses now.
The train of my purple silk gown dragged the floor behind me, the leather belt wound uncomfortably tight around my waist and the straps of my gold sandals did just the same. The nymph servants who dressed me did all this on purpose, of course. A few of their fallen thoughts had shared their dislike of me.
She’s not a true Illyrian, they had hissed in those little minds of theirs.
There’s not a drop of god’s blood in this one.
An elf is all she is.
But they dared not look me in the eyes when they thought it.
I would have preferred to dress myself, in all honesty. I did not like being touched, much less dressed. But the Isle, its gods, and its cultures were louder than my desire for privacy. Even this morning I was forced to bow down to their traditions, invited to breakfast with Queen Onyxia of Illyria.
And when the Queens asks for your presence, you do not refuse. Of course, she was not the Queen in the usual sense of the word. She acted as such beside her King, Lord Othum. But it was just that: an act. In truth, Illyria was ruled by all thirteen deities of the pantheon and their combined votes, and it had been so for many years now. Othum and Onyxia’s power extended not much further than the others’, save but a few emergency decisions they could steal away with. But whispers from the winds of rumor told of a different story. A story where Onyxia and Othum ruled Illyria and all of the world with an iron fist, in a time where everyone knelt before them, and their thrones rose higher than all the rest. But with the death of Othum’s sanity after the fall of his brother, Omeer, Lord of the Darklands, came the birth of the political system now in place—where each god had a vote.
The Queen’s drinking had never made so much sense.
I focused ahead, taking in the light at the end of the hall. I heard voices, whispers, sounding so close though I knew the reality to be different. Another benefit of being the Blood Guardian—no conversation within fifty yards went unheard by my amplified ears.
“She’s nearly late,” whispered a scornful female voice.
“She is an elf,” another woman said, her voice much smoother.
I reached the end of the hall and the light of the autumn sun broke upon my pink skin. I passed the marble colonnade and strolled quietly down a long yard of perfectly trimmed grass. The Western Gardens were beautiful this morning, I did not fail to note, my eyes drifting over the flower beds and trees flanking either side of the narrow lawn. The flowers were of every color: rich blues, radiant pinks, daring reds. And the smell. It was magnificent. The nymphs of Illyria tended to all of its gardens and their skill was on display everywhere I looked.
A rounded table sat at the end of the grass strip, where the gardens dropped off into a five-hundred-foot fall to the Boiling Sea below. I raised my chin proudly as two pairs of eyes studied my approach.
Opaque. You must remain opaque.
Lady Nepia, the Sea Queen, sat to my right, her white robes bright against her blue skin. Her sapphire eyes attempted to pierce me as always, but I showed no flaws.
I bowed to her. “Morning, Lady Nepia.”
She nodded in return, and the flattened fin running from her forehead down her back twitched at the action. “And to you, Lady Lillian,” she said, her voice snappy and gargled as though she was speaking from beneath that cherished sea of hers.
I turned to Queen Onyxia across the table and bowed again. Her black robes were laid over her porcelain skin like rivers of tar. She wore a headdress of gold that grew around her bald head like a growing tree, its arms stretched out above her shoulders, while beads of sparkling onyx hung from them. My eyes zoomed in on her face and a smile cracked my lips. Does she never leave her palace without an inch of makeup on?
“A good morning to you, My Queen,” I said.
“It is quite a good morning,” she replied, leaning back in her chair and crossing her legs. “Have a seat, Lady Lillian.”
She gestured to the seat opposite her, and I did as I was told.
Lady Nepia picked up a silver tray of frosted macaroons and offered it to me. “Sweets?” she asked, the fin on her head giving another twitch.
“Of course,” I said, grabbing one from her tray.
Onyxia stood and lifted a silver pot from the center of the little table. “Would you have some Green Drink, Lady Lillian?” she asked, her smile so coy. Did she always have some ulterior motive for her actions? What could this move be about...
I nodded as I finished chewing. “Very much so.”
She poured the Green Drink into a porcelain teacup and placed it on the saucer before me. It was a brilliant green as always, and when I placed it to my lips my senses sang of lime and orange and mint.
“You elves and your Green Drink,” said Onyxia, sitting once more. “That batch came yet again from Genossa, your beloved elven capital. How fond they are of their new Moon goddess. Almost as fond as we are of you here, on our Isle.” She wore a venomous smile that said the opposite.
Genossa had been sending gifts every month since my naming as the Illyrian of the Moon. They had ranged from silk gowns sewn by the talented hands of hundred-year-old dressmakers, to jewels, headdresses, and this—the Green Drink, a favorite of my people. Sadly, though, I remembered little and less of the city.
“Genossa has never had an elf god to worship,” I said, placing my cup down and dabbing at the corners of my mouth with my napkin. “Their gifts will slow soon enough, I am sure.”
“Do you not like the gifts they send?” Onyxia asked.
“I like them very much,” I replied. “Appreciate them even more. But I do not wish for the extra attention, My Queen.”
“I’m sure you don’t,” said Onyxia before taking a sip from her teacup. I assumed it was not full of Green Drink. I was sure it was mead. It is always mead...
“Interesting trial yesterday, no?” asked the Queen, placing her cup down.
“Very interesting,” I replied. “It seems Illyria has more enemies than we once thought.”
Lady Nepia traded a glance with the Queen.
“You took to your post as an Illyrian quite well,” said Nepia. “Questioning Lady Helia as though you’ve been a part of our pantheon since the dawn of its creation.”
Opaque. You must remain opaque. “I gather from your tone that you were not pleased, Lady Nepia?”
Her skin shifted to a deep, dark blue. Angry, and so soon? This one could never contain her emotions. Her skin always gave her away. And she was unpredictable, too. One moment she was quiet, the next she was as furious as the waves she had used to swallow whole cities.
“If we’re being honest,” Nepia said, “the Queen and I are a little concerned with your behavior as of late.”
“You are?” I asked, an eyebrow raised.
“Yes,” said the Queen, her jaw clenched. “Trials such as this require a bit more...tact, and we’re worried you don’t understand that, or the severity of this trial.”
“With all due respect, My Queen,” I said, “we elves are nothing but tactful. It is practically the first word we learn as children.”
“Is it, now?” Onyxia asked, head tilted, her lips parted to bear a bit of her perfect teeth. “You elves have many customs, don’t you?”
I nodded. “Indeed, we do.”
“Is it true you were you pushed from your home at four summers old like the rest of your kind?” she asked.
I nodded again. “As a means of maturing the young, yes.”
“And your last name, Monroe—is it from your mother’s side?”
“All last names are taken from the mother.”
“A matriarchal society,” sighed the Queen, considering the thought. “I must admit I wouldn’t mind that setup. Isn’t that right, Nepia?”
She looked to Nepia and they chuckled before sipping at their cups. But the Queen turned back to me, a smile on her face b
ut scorn in her eyes. I cannot help that your son lost to me in the Tournament, Onyxia. When will you see that?
“And did your mother die in childbirth as is common for your race?” she asked.
I could not help but clench my jaw at that one, as intentionally hurtful as it was. “She did. After the third child, the risk of death is almost certain.”
“And what of your father, my darling?” she asked. “Where is he now?”
“I am unaware,” I replied. “Family is not the most important tradition to elves. Honor and intelligence, yes. But family, no.”
“Ah, then you can understand that on Illyria we, too, have our own traditions,” said Onyxia. “Ones where even my traitor daughter has a higher rank than some new elf god?”
Anger coiled in my stomach. But I said nothing, keeping my eyes on the silver pot of Green Drink, watching the beads of sweat run down its glistening sides. A hand fell upon mine, and the Queen was leaning forward in her chair, her eyes warm as she gazed up at me.
“I apologize,” she said, her voice suddenly soft. “I overstep. I fear this whole trial has gotten me flustered.” She looked down at my hand and ran her thumb over the spots on my fingers. “Ah, I see the marks of the change have taken to your skin.” She looked back up at me, her eyes twinkling in a curious way. “You’re a woman now, are you?”
I withdrew my hand and felt the heat rush to my cheeks, perhaps even a bead of sweat form on my bald head.
“It’s all right, my child,” she said, her hand raising my chin. “We must all go through the change. Embarrassing, though, that the elves have to wear it on their skin.”
She smiled, and scooted back in her chair.
“Lillian, as you might have already noticed,” Nepia stepped in, “an uneasy haze has taken the Isle ever since Lady Helia’s fall from grace. The arm of trust that the Illyrians once extended to the world has been retracted. And as two of the High Illyrians, the Queen and I must evaluate every possible crack in the foundation of our pantheon.”
“And you suspect me of being this crack?” I asked, taking a casual sip from my tea.
