Journey Into Nyx

by Jenna Helland

  Daxos knelt beside the girl. His hands hovered on either side of her face. As Daxos attempted to heal her, there was a keening sound, like the wind sweeping over the ocean on a stormy day. Elspeth stood by the wall, feeling helpless.

  Tense minutes passed, and Daxos sat back on his heels. The girl remained motionless. Daxos looked tired and sad.

  “When did this happen?” Daxos asked. “And who is the little girl?”

  “Her name is Pipa, and she’s been this way for several days,” Anthousa said. “Our healers in Setessa couldn’t help, so I brought her to you. I fear the Nyxborn threat isn’t isolated to Nylea’s domain. Your city needs to prepare itself.”

  “Where are her parents?” Elspeth asked.

  “Parents?” Anthousa asked.

  “She is one of the arkulli of Setessa,” Daxos explained. “An orphan raised by the mothers of the city. I was one of the arkulli, as well. I lived in Setessa for several years when I was a small boy. Anthousa was one of my sisters.”

  “She’s like his sister,” Nikka muttered under her breath.

  Anthousa turned her attention to the two women standing by the couches. She seemed to dismiss Nikka, but she stared at Elspeth with intense curiosity and mistrust.

  “Who is this?” she asked, pointing at Elspeth.

  “Elspeth and Nikka,” Daxos said. “I cannot heal this child, Anthousa. It’s as if her soul is missing. And there’s a void inside of her. It’s not a physical injury.”

  Anthousa nodded in resignation. “That’s what the healers of Setessa said.”

  “If we learn more about the nature of the attack, there might be a way,” Daxos said.

  “My warriors will take her to the Healing Ward,” Anthousa said. “And I will tell you everything I know. And you must do the same.”

  After the other warriors had taken Pipa away, Daxos motioned for Anthousa to join him on the couches. But she would only pace back and forth in agitation while the other three sat awkwardly on the edge of their seats and watched. Finally, she said, “Since the Silence, the Nyxborn are acting strangely. Are the gods sending them into the world as their eyes during the Silence?”

  “I don’t know,” Daxos said. “I have not communed with Heliod.”

  “Karametra is also absent,” Anthousa said.

  “What do you mean by ‘sending them into the world?’ ” Elspeth asked.

  “There is a singular nexus between the realms at the Nykthos, a shrine to the gods,” Daxos said. “That’s where Nyxborn creatures enter the world—with some exceptions, like the hydra, but it’s very rare.”

  “We heard news of the killing of Polukranos,” Anthousa said. “There were other rumors, too, of a woman who wields the weapon of a god.”

  “That’s Elspeth,” Nikka said. “Savior of Meletis.”

  “What?” Elspeth said. “No, that’s not true.”

  “That’s what everyone says at Ephara’s temple,” Nikka said. “They say you’re the divine protector who will keep us safe during the Silence.”

  “What gives you the right?” Anthousa asked Elspeth. She wasn’t hostile, but she had a ferocious resolve, and Elspeth decided she never wanted to cross this woman in battle.

  “Heliod claimed her as his champion,” Daxos said. “She acts with his blessing.”

  “Since when do you answer for women?” Anthousa said. “Have you so forgotten the customs of Setessa?”

  Daxos smiled faintly. “Forgive me, Elspeth,” he said.

  Confused, Elspeth asked, “What am I forgiving you for?”

  Nikka rolled her eyes. “In Setessa, men aren’t supposed to answer a question for a woman. We need you back in Akros, Anthousa. My father always answers for me. He thinks that language is simply too complex for a girl to be able to master.”

  “Who is your father?” Anthousa asked. “I’m happy to demonstrate to him what women are capable of mastering.”

  “Let’s talk about Pipa,” Elspeth interjected. “If this was done by the Nyxborn, and they are acting strangely, then where do we find out more about that?”

  “The gods are not present anywhere in the world,” Anthousa said. “We can’t even glimpse them in the night sky.”

  “Surely there is someone else?” Elspeth asked. “We can’t be helpless without the gods.”

  Anthousa stopped pacing abruptly, and Elspeth wondered if she had offended her. Anthousa didn’t look like someone who would like to be called helpless.

  “She’s right, Daxos,” Anthousa said. “We have implored the gods for aid, and they have not answered. Who knows the way besides the pantheon?”

  Daxos rubbed his eyes wearily. “Medomai has recently returned and is in residence in Meletis.”

  Anthousa said, “That is a grave omen.”

  “Not necessarily,” Daxos said.

  “Who is Medomai?” Elspeth asked.

  “Medomai is an ageless sphinx and wandering prophet,” Daxos explained. “He usually comes to Meletis only at the onset of some event of great importance. But this time he arrived shortly after the Silence.”

  “Which means something monumental is on the horizon?” Nikka asked.

  “That may be so,” Anthousa said.

  “Some consider him wiser than the gods because he is more grounded in the world,” Daxos added.

  “There is none wiser than the gods,” Anthousa retorted.

  “But they are not listening,” Daxos reminded her.

  “I will not seek an audience with a godless sphinx,” Anthousa insisted. “But if you think it will enlighten you, do what you must.”

  “We’ll seek an audience with Medomai, the Ageless One,” Daxos said to Elspeth. “And let’s hope he’s less cryptic than the last time.”

  Medomai the Ageless was known as the bearer of ill omens. It was said that the sphinx dwelled in unknown lands and had an uncanny knowledge of the future. When his wings cast a shadow on Meletis, he carried with him a feeling of foreboding, though he was esteemed by the citizens of the city. Whenever he appeared, people expected that something terrible would happen. Hadn’t he arrived just hours before Heliod and Purphoros’s epic battle nearly a decade before? Hadn’t he alighted on the dome just before the giants attacked the city in the Age of Trax? Everyone had a story about a terrible thing that happened when the sphinx took up residence in Ephara’s Dome.

  In the days that followed Medomai’s reappearance, people expected some calamity to befall them in the absence of the gods. But life ticked on as usual, and people forgot that the ancient sphinx was still lodged in Ephara’s temple. Medomai was fond of Ephara’s Dome, but not because he had a particular allegiance to the God of the Polis. Inside the dome there was a replica of Nyx. When the sphinx was absent, the faux Nyx was dark and silent. But when Medomai returned to the polis, he took control of the stars twinkling on the constructed heavens under the roof. Medomai created clear constellations so visitors could see ethereal lines outlining god-forms and celestial creatures. It was less spectacular than the real Nyx, but far more orderly.

  Medomai rarely allowed visitors into the dome and was notoriously hard to please. But he granted Daxos and Elspeth entrance without question. It was almost as if he’d been expecting them. Once inside, Elspeth tried hard not to gawk at Medomai in amazement. She’d seen sphinxes on Esper and was no stranger to their majesty. But Medomai, with his indigo feathered wings and leonine body, had a charisma that was completely different from the cold arrogance of the etherium-clad sphinxes of Alara. His human eyes had a piercing gaze that felt like the pull of a magnet drawing her closer to him.

  “Daxos of Meletis,” the sphinx spoke in a deep voice that vibrated the floor beneath them. “And Elspeth of Unknown. May I see Heliod’s blade?”

  Elspeth held out the Godsend, but he made no move to take it from her. In the dome above them, the constellations shifted and tumbled into new formations, but Elspeth couldn’t tear her eyes away from the wise face of Medomai.

  “It’s more a spear tha
n a sword,” the sphinx rumbled. “It has been claimed by Heliod. Just like you?”

  “The Silence came before Heliod could claim me,” Elspeth said. She still wasn’t completely sure what being “claimed” entailed, but this didn’t seem to be the time to debate the meaning of the word.

  “Yet you are his champion, are you not?” the sphinx asked. “You’ve completed an ordeal for your god. And what have you received in return?”

  “What do you mean I’ve completed an ordeal?” Elspeth said. “I don’t understand.”

  “You seek the divine. Did you find it?” the sphinx asked. “And you, Daxos, why do you live your life in parallel?”

  Daxos and Elspeth looked at each other, unsure who should speak first. Daxos tipped his head at her, indicating that she should go first.

  “I have questions about the gods,” Elspeth said. “But even in their absence, I see the glory of the divine all around me.”

  “Yes, but did you find joy?” the sphinx asked. He looked at Daxos. “And did you find your mother?”

  “Joy?” Elspeth asked. Apparently, talking to one person at a time was too simplistic for the sphinx. Daxos sensed her confusion and spoke.

  “We need your help,” Daxos said. “The Silence is a strange time, and we’re humbled by the absence of the gods. I don’t know why it is so, but the Nyxborn have become our enemies. We need someone greater than ourselves to help us understand.”

  “Heliod’s greatest oracle seeks the mortal Medomai’s help,” the sphinx said. There was a shift in his tone, and he sounded unkind. “And not for the first time, either. Why not ask Heliod?”

  “You know we cannot,” Daxos said. “He is in Nyx.”

  “Without the gods, you are like lost children?”

  “Yes,” Daxos answered.

  The sphinx looked disappointed. His eyes were so black that Elspeth couldn’t see any pupils. But then the shifting light of the faux Nyx illuminated his face, and she could see the black orbs inside the blackness of his iris. The sphinx swung his head toward Elspeth. His eyes fixed on her, and she felt as though she’d been caught peering through a stranger’s window.

  “Is that what you believe as well, Champion?” he asked. “Do you stand before me, lost?”

  “Am I a divine protector because I wield this blade?” Elspeth said. “Am I responsible for keeping the world safe?”

  “The gods have deserted you, and yet their divine children rampage across the world,” Medomai replied. “You ask me why this is so?”

  “The Nyxborn have taken the soul of a little girl,” Elspeth said. “And no one knows how to heal her.”

  “Why does this surprise you?” the sphinx intoned. “Are you saying that the divine should not be a force of destruction?”

  “Yes,” Elspeth said. Daxos glanced sideways at her in surprise. She realized she’d said something wrong. Of course, there were gods who were destructive. Phenax, Mogis …

  “You know very little about our gods,” Medomai said. “Why wield a blade for a god who is foreign to you? And you, Daxos of Meletis, have you ever pondered the origins of the gods? Ever question the inception of the divine?”

  “ ‘What is, is, and ever shall be,’ ” Daxos said. Elspeth recognized the phrase as a one of the core tenants of Heliod’s teachings.

  “The last time we spoke, Daxos, I gave you your future: ‘You will die at the feet of the untouched city. By the hand of someone you love.’ ” The sphinx’s tone was mocking. “If you believed me, then why are you even here?”

  “What does that mean?” Elspeth interrupted. “You’re talking about Daxos’s death?”

  “Elspeth is looking for incorruptibility,” the sphinx said. “She feels a responsibility. But to whom? Heliod? What has he done for you? Or is it Daxos you feel responsible for?”

  Elspeth opened her mouth to speak, but the sphinx was addressing Daxos again.

  “There was nothing, once,” the sphinx said. “So which came first: the gods or people’s belief in them?”

  “The gods, of course,” Daxos said. “And Kruphix was the first of all.”

  “The people believed, the gods existed, and the trouble began when the gods started believing in each other,” Medomai smirked. He was laughing at them. Elspeth felt angry. A little girl needed help, and all Medomai could do was taunt them about metaphysics. She didn’t like this strange, two-headed conversation.

  “Wait!” Elspeth began.

  But the sphinx rose to his feet and stepped in a deliberate circle. As soon as Medomai moved, Daxos touched her hand. Elspeth understood his warning and closed her mouth. After he’d stretched like a cat, the sphinx reclined on his side as if he were going to sleep. As soon as his eyes closed, the constellations inside the dome disappeared. The ceiling became like a portal to another place and time. When they looked up, they saw a vision of a vast waterfall that seemed to stretch forever along the horizon. In this conjured vision, they were witnessing the actual edge of the world. The waves of Thassa’s sea cascaded off the edge and into Nyx below. On the horizon there was a gigantic tree growing right at the edge of the waterfall.

  “Behold, Kruphix’s temple,” Medomai said with exaggerated grandiosity. “The God of Time guards the secret to getting into Nyx. But it’s not the time to seek an absent god.”

  The image in the dome shifted, and now they gazed on thousands of minotaurs, both mortal and Nyxborn, charging down a mountainside onto a flat red plain. The ring shape of the mountains looked familiar to Elspeth. She recognized the flatlands and surrounding mountains near Akros.

  “What’s happening in Nyx that its children are leaving in droves?” the sphinx asked. “The world has been tipped on its side and shaken. Flailed and abused so much that it’s scarred with voids.”

  The vision showed a vicious-looking minotaur growing in size until he was hundreds of feet tall and towered over Akros’s walls. He slammed a divine hammer down on the city and obliterated it from existence.

  “Is that Mogis?” Daxos asked. He looked shaken by the vision. “Has the God of Slaughter broken the Silence?”

  “Whatever you wish for yourself, my lost children, the foundations of the world are in danger,” the sphinx warned. “Mortals must band together to stop this carnage. You can no longer be carried by the currents of your existence. The gods have deserted you, and the mortals must stand alone.”

  “When will this happen?” Daxos asked. “How long do we have to warn Akros?”

  In answer to his question, a bell began to toll nearby. In the distance, they heard another bell, as if answering its warning. Soon, all the bells of Meletis began to peal in a desperate, discordant symphony.

  “Your city fathers just received a messenger who told them that Akros is under siege,” the sphinx said. “The time is now.”

  The vision above him focused on a black mountain looming against the sky. Suddenly the mountain exploded into a plume of fire. Both Daxos and Elspeth whirled away and shielded their eyes from the bright light. The dome went dark. Medomai opened his eyes.

  “ ‘What is, is, and ever shall be,’ ” the sphinx reminded Daxos. “Are our destinies written in stone? Why don’t you tell her what she’s been asking you all along? Will the gods keep her safe?”

  Daxos lifted his face to the blackness of the dome, and the sadness that Elspeth saw in his expression was overwhelming.

  “Elspeth is a divine protector of Theros,” he said to the sky. “She is champion of our father, Heliod. She is destined to be the hero who saves us all.”

  “What’s happening?” Elspeth cried. She felt as though Daxos and Medomai were speaking another language. Although she had understood every word, there was a layer of meaning that escaped her comprehension.

  “A unified army of minotaurs has struck Akros,” Medomai said. “If Akros falls, so will all of human civilization.”

  “We’ve been called to battle,” Daxos said. He grabbed Elspeth’s hand and pulled her toward bronze doors.

 
“Called by whom?” Medomai called as they retreated. His voice followed them as they ran down the stone steps to the exit. “Poor two-faced boy, blind, mute, and lying. You’ll never learn.”

  Hordes of minotaurs surrounded Akros at nightfall. Heavy clouds obscured the night sky, and no light from Nyx illuminated the flatlands. In the darkness, Anax’s advisors misjudged the number of enemies that surrounded their walls and recommended a counterattack. When Anax sent a contingent of soldiers out of King’s Gate, they were fighting blind, overwhelmed and slaughtered in seconds. Anax ordered all the gates barred until they could better assess the situation in daylight. All night long the strange sounds of industry continued just beyond the walls. The ringing of hammers stopped just before the sun rose.

  In the dim light of morning, the Akroans finally glimpsed what the invaders had been doing under the cover of darkness. They had turned Akros into prison by building a mirror image of Akros’s intimidating walls. Akros was built on the edge of the Deyda River, and the minotaurs’ wall was shaped like a massive U from one edge of the gorge, around the city walls, and ending at the gorge on the far side. The builders left open ground between Akros’s wall and their new wall, and this is where the invaders sheltered. They finished the sturdy fortification with terrifying speed, and by morning they were building protective shelters and catapults.

  By midday the minotaurs began to taunt the city. First, they launched stones over the wall. Next, it was maggot-infested corpses. Akroan archers had to retreat from the open wall. They were easy targets for the hordes and their siege machines. The archers hid behind the slotted windows in the towers, but their arrows inflicted little damage on the teeming mass below them.

  The people of Akros were stunned and trapped. Minotaurs didn’t even build houses. How in the name of the gods could the simple-minded brutes be organized enough to create such a fortification? King Anax hurriedly called a war council and demanded answers. His oracles wrung their hands. His strategists babbled about the “circumvallation” and trembled in their chairs. Because anyone who knew the history of the world knew this was unprecedented.