The Iron-Jawed Boy
Page 5
Ion listened nervously, knowing what was coming next.
“The Skylord awaits inside,” she said, her eyes unblinking. “While I’ve come to very much like him, I’m sure you’ll have your reservations, so I suggest you remember that he is, indeed, a god. As a newbie, you should be respectful, smile, don’t talk about the Callers, and do not talk about the diamond—it’s just rude.”
“Okay,” said Ion, taking a deep breath. “Be respectful. No diamond talk.” Whatever that meant.
She went for the door handles—two eagles with outstretched wings and readied talons—but quickly snapped back around. “And no burping, farting, sneezing, or coughing! Oinker.”
And with that, she heaved open the doors, having to push with all the might in her legs. A river of cool, crisp air came flooding out of the hall and excited the hairs on Ion’s arms.
It smelled heavily of metal and crackled with what Ion knew could only be electricity.
CHAPTER SIX
THE LORD OF THE SKY
The room was about ten stories tall, give or take—mostly give—a floor or two. Moonlight poured in through the glass ceiling, washing over the black tile of the walls and floors, twinkling upon the throne of gold at the back of the room. And the nine-foot-tall god it harbored.
Ion watched with quivering knees, as the Skylord stood from his throne. His long, white beard—coiled into thick dreads, each wrapped in many turquoise rings—hung low, but not low enough to mask the giant, glowing diamond that grew out of his chest. From out of this diamond came four flat, copper wires: one pair bowing over his shoulders, the other arching under his arms to meet with the other end of the diamond protruding out his back. Small sparks of golden electricity zipped out of the jewel and streamed over the god’s body.
“So I take it that’s the diamond...” Ion whispered out the side of his mouth.
“Shush!” Oceanus hissed.
Othum opened his mouth and out boomed a deep, powerful voice. “Finally, I meet this young man Oceanus has been telling me so much about. Already summoning blizzards, I hear?”
Ion swallowed. “N-nice to meet you, sir.”
Othum laughed a hearty laugh, his gray eyes twinkling. “No need to be nervous, boy,” he said. “I’ve known you for only a minute and already I’m impressed—I’d never be caught dead with a piece of jewelry like that on my face! At least, not an iron one; gold better highlights my bone structure.”
If only I got to choose.
“But I must confess,” Othum continued, “I’ve been waiting for this day ever since Atticus Clearwater, the last Sky Guardian, sadly passed away twelve years ago. He was such a nice fellow, always helping me with the weather. Why, fifteen summers ago I fell off the top of my Eagle Tower—too much nymph’s wine, you see—and threw out my back. While I recovered on Illyria, Atticus manned the island’s weather. Straight sunshine for a whole month, they say! He was such a nice fellow. Another time, he—”
“Othum,” Oceanus said, “can we please leave the stories for later? There’s much to discuss!”
Ion’s eyes went wide with fear. He looked at Oceanus, praying she wouldn’t be struck down right then and there; he was sure silencing a god was worthy of at least a good tongue removal.
And much to his surprise, came Othum’s reply. “My apologies, Oceanus!” he said with a chortle. “Sometimes I ramble, you see. But onto business!” He collapsed onto his throne, while Ion scratched his head, not sure what he had just witnessed. “Young Ionikus Reaves, do you know why you’re here?”
Oceanus approached the throne and stared at Ion from Othum’s side. “Answer him,” she mouthed.
“We’re...G-Guardians?”
“Yes!” boomed Othum, dislodging some dust from the ceiling. “Such a lucky boy you are, to be picked out of the many, many candidates in the running to be a Guardian. Sure, they might not know they’re running, but that’s just the fun of it!” Othum leaned forward in his throne, placed one arm across his lap, and smiled goofily. He held this position for what seemed like minutes, as if he was waiting for someone to laugh at his joke, until finally he gave up and sat back down in his throne. “And you’ve agreed to stay at the Achaean Academy?” he asked.
“Well, I-I don’t really know that much about the Achaean Academy, sir,” said Ion.
Othum’s face dropped. “You mean no one has told you about the Achaean Academy?” He looked at Oceanus. “You mean no one has told him about the Achaean Academy?”
“I only explained a little bit!” said Oceanus. “Exactly as you told me to, remember?”
Othum scrunched his eyebrows together until they looked as one. “I don’t. But I’m certainly glad you remember.” And then he whispered to Ion, “This is my favorite part, anyway.”
Oceanus rolled her eyes and the Skylord stood triumphantly, with the beads around the locks of his beard clanking together like a wind chime. “The Achaean Academy is the school for any nymph, giant, elf, dwarf, sprite, or god”—he winked—“who wishes to further the reach of their powers in order to assist in the good of the Balance.” Then he sat back down with an earthquake of a thud.
“Again, I’m sorry,” said Ion, “but…the Balance?”
Othum brought his hand dramatically to the diamond in his chest, looking quite appalled. “The Balance, my boy, is the war that has been waged since before time was time, the battle within ourselves to do what is good and reject what is bad. It is a delicate line we all walk, a constant struggle of push and pull. And it is the very foundation on which this school has been established: we breed the future of good. So, Ionikus Reaves, what do you think of staying at the academy now?”
Ion dared say something Dread would have killed him for. “W-what if I don’t...want to stay?”
Oceanus looked seconds away from murder, so Ion was thankful there was an eyewitness.
Othum ran his fingers thoughtfully through his beard. “I understand your father has been drafted into the war, yes?”
Ignoring Oceanus’s waving arms to cease all talk of this, Ion nodded and said, “He has.” All because of your stupid Illyrian family. “And my mother died in combat.”
Othum bowed his head, perhaps his godly way of showing remorse. “While I cannot reverse what war has done to your mother, I can, however, do something about your father. If you agree to train at the Achaean Academy and pass the graduation test at the end of the year...I’ll free your father.”
Oceanus’s mouth dropped open; Ion’s eyes went wide as could be.
“Do it,” Oceanus mouthed. “Do it, you oinker! Do it!”
“And...th-this isn’t a trick?” Ion asked. “You’d really free him?”
Othum nodded. “I am a god of my word.”
Ion swallowed. If Father was freed, Ion would have half his family back, and maybe—hopefully—some answers about his jaw. The thought was enough to make him smile.
“I’ll do it. I’ll stay.”
Othum’s smile grew bright as a summer’s sun. “Fantastic! Your official induction into the Achaean Academy will be held tomorrow morning at six a.m., alongside the other Guardians. By the end of the year, I promise you’ll have your father back.” The lumbering god paused for a moment, scratched his beard, and then stared suspiciously at Ion. “Now, what were we talking about? Oh, yes! Now, there’s a particular way to bake a macaroon that if done correctly really does make a perfect little treat. Would any of you like one? I think I have a tray of them lying around here somewhere…”
“Othum,” Oceanus growled, while the Illyrian looked about the room.
“What?” he asked innocently. “I’m telling the truth! I left a plate of macaroons right here, beside my throne, but now they’re gone! I wonder if one of the guards ate them...or maybe…oh yes, that’s right,” he smiled with satisfaction and rubbed his stomach. “I ate them earlier. Your chariot ride took too long and I got hungry.”
Oceanus rolled her eyes. “Well, I guess this meeting’s over,” she said, leaving Othum�
��s side. “Follow me, Ion, and I’ll show you to the Dorms.”
“But wait!” Othum shouted as Oceanus heaved open the doors to the Sanctum.
“You’ve done your job, Skylord,” she said, without even turning around. “We’ll see you tomorrow morning.”
In a haste, Oceanus urged Ion out the doors, Othum calling in the background, “But we haven’t even talked about meringues yet!” before she slammed the gates behind them.
She leaned against the doors and sighed. “I’m actually surprised he stayed on task for that long.” And then her face brightened. “I can’t believe he’s going to free Father, though! See? He’s not so bad!”
“Do you really think he’s going to do it?” Ion asked.
“Of course,” said Oceanus. “He said he’s a god of his word.”
I hope, Ion thought. “It’s hard to believe that was even Othum. He was so—”
“Mad? I know,” Oceanus shrugged. “He’s certainly not the Skylord we’ve heard about in the stories. But he’s still the King. And he still knows best.”
Ion rolled his eyes as inconspicuously as he could.
“Anyway,” said Oceanus, “best be off to the Dorms. It’s getting pretty late.”
She led Ion across the courtyard and down a hall in what she called the Eos Wing. Obsidian statues and fountains lined the lengthy corridors, with purple-flamed candles cluttered against the walls like an infestation of locusts. Door after door after door they passed, until Oceanus stopped at a small spiral staircase at the end of a hall. Twenty stairs later, Ion entered a circular room of wooden walls, where he tried to decide which was more imposing: the overpowering stench of mothballs in his nose, or the mighty statue of Othum in the center of it all—a circle of couches at his feet, his hand raised and wielding a silvery bolt of lightning.
“So this is the Great Room,” said Oceanus. “And those doors”—she pointed at the six doors along the curved back wall—“lead to each of our rooms.”
Ion noticed the silver emblems nailed above the doorframes, and that each of them boasted a different design than the last. As he walked around the room, listening to Oceanus go on about the ten p.m. curfew and some noise ordinance that was of no interest to him, he came to one of the six doors—situated beneath an emblem of fire—and stared at where the knob should’ve been, but was most certainly not. Unless, of course, it was microscopic, which was silly, he thought, because what would be the point of a microscopic doorknob?
“Where is it?” he asked.
“Where’s what?” Oceanus replied.
“The doorknob. It’s...missing.”
“Oh, that room belongs to the new Sun Guardian,” said Oceanus. “He or she hasn’t surfaced yet, so the room won’t be accessible until he or she does.”
Ion turned to his sister, who was smiling from the other side of the room. “Hasn’t surfaced yet?”
“Yeah, he or she is still missing,” Oceanus said. “The Blood Guardian is missing, too.” She pointed at yet another knob-less door, its emblem the profile of a human head. “Their last bodies died about ten years ago, the same time as yours, but none of them have popped up yet.”
“So how do you go about finding them?” Ion asked. “Can’t you use that radiation measuring device-thingy?”
“On what?” Oceanus laughed. “The entire population of Eldanar? The guards only ran tests on the Callers, because it was a small group of people, and sending an underdeveloped Guardian into war is a dangerous thing—for the Guardian and those around him...or her. It’s hard to explain, but somehow the Guardians find their way home on their own. I mean, do you think it’s a coincidence that we’re brother and sister? And that Solara just happened to choose Sir Dread, your master, to be her next victim? Now look at us: we’re reunited.”
Ion felt sick. He couldn’t imagine calling this place home. Not yet, at least.
Oceanus walked over to one of the doors, one that was slightly ajar and set beneath an emblem of a lightning bolt. “This is your room,” she said. “The humble abode of the Sky Guardian.”
What waited inside stole Ion’s breath away. Moonlight pushed its way through the window on the other side of the room. There was his old bed, and, on top of it, the feather-filled, white blanket Mother had made for him on his eighth birthday.
“You’re kidding!” Ion gasped.
“Not a chance,” Oceanus said with a smile. “Othum had the furniture recovered from our old house. He wants us to remember where we’ve come from.”
“When did he have the time do this?” Ion asked, plopping down on his bed, watching the blanket rise around him like bread dough.
“Gods have their ways. You’ll learn that in time.”
Ion looked over at the nightstand beside his bed, the one he’d gotten after Grandpa Virgil passed away. There was a circular stain near the corner, colored a deep purple from the glass of grape juice Mother would bring him every night before bed. He could never drink it without spilling at least a little. The thought made him sad, but he was happy to see the stain again.
Oceanus walked over to the dresser in the corner of the room and rummaged through the drawers, pulling out a long, blue-and-green striped tunic. “For bed,” she said. “That thing you’re wearing smells like feet.” She tossed the tunic onto the pillow beside him and went on, “You’ll find a series of student’s tunics in the drawers as well—green ones—which you should couple with the brown belts and sandals in the bottom drawer. It’s a sort of dress code here, but don’t worry, it’s not a very strict one.”
Ion put his nose in the tunic and inhaled the smell of cotton and lilac. “Everything smells so amazing here! It’s so different than living in Protea.”
Oceanus laughed and sat beside him, staring out the window. “It sure is. The Acropolis is a world you have yet to experience. The sights, the smells, the food—you won’t find more beautiful and delicious things.”
Ion looked at his sister, still in disbelief. Her hair had gotten so much longer than when he last saw her; her face looked so mature and her posture even more refined.
“I’m glad to have you back.”
Oceanus smiled. “And I’m glad to have you back. I wouldn’t have wanted to do this with anyone else. Even though you are a hopeless oinker.” She walked to the door. “Time to get some sleep, brother. Tomorrow is the first day of school, after all.”
And just like that, she was gone—off to her own room, one headed by an emblem of a crashing ocean wave. Ion looked out the window and gazed upon the Emerald Peaks, those grass-covered stone behemoths that loomed so far in the distance, encircling the island to protect the Eldanarians within. Father had always said the gods had made them to protect the Outerworld humans from stealing Mother’s pea soup recipe. Ion never believed it, though—Mother’s pea soup was gross at best.
But what he wouldn’t give to taste that nasty soup now.
Exhausted and still reeling, Ion changed into his new tunic and cuddled up underneath his familiar bed sheets. The pillow felt as comfortable as it did five months ago, and pushed Ion’s anxieties from his mind.
Father is going to be free. And all because of me.
CHAPTER SEVEN
GODLY SECRETS
The voices came from all around. They were soft and intrigued, creeping through Ion’s room, inching closer and closer to his bed. They grew louder, near shouting as they crowded his ears. He tossed and turned under his blankets.
The whispers stopped, and then came a moan like splitting ice. “Ion!”
He awoke with a flash, standing on his bed, swinging his pillows and screaming at the top of his lungs. When finally he realized how ridiculous this was, he settled, and so, too, did the storm of feathers his pillows had puked up. Wait, he thought, his eyes upon the opened curtains of his window—the ones he had closed before bed.
Ion approached the window with tentative steps, the floorboards creaking with each step he took, and peered down at the courtyard...and saw light.
Ion chewed on his lip, thinking horribly curious thoughts. Horribly curious thoughts about being where he shouldn’t be.
And minutes later, Ion was in the courtyard.
He tiptoed to the opened doors of the Sanctum, slunk behind one of them for cover, and craned his neck around the corner to see what waited inside.
Othum sat in his normal spot: the throne of gold at the back of the room. But there were two more thrones now—ones crafted of pure marble, with high, triumphant backs, filled by two more gods. At Othum’s left sat a deity no more than five feet tall, his chunky legs dangling over the edge of his throne. His blackened skin looked exactly like coal, and chunks of glimmering diamonds protruded out his shoulders. He was Esereez, Ion was sure—a son of Othum—who Father had always called the Inventor.
A woman a whole head taller than Othum sat in the third throne. Though, it wasn’t just one woman. It was two. For from out of only one waistline sprouted two torsos—both slender, both topped by heads with long scrolls growing where hair should have been, scrolls that glowed with wispy, blue text. These were the Unseperated Ones: Ezra and Eos. They were goddesses of art and knowledge.
And the creepiest thing Ion had ever seen.
“Where in the name of Illyria is she?” Eos, the head on the right asked.
“It’s as if she thinks we don’t have other places to be,” said Ezra, the head on the left.
The women crossed their arms, and fought for elbow space in the middle.
“Calm yourself, my daughters,” Othum said. “She’ll be here any moment now, I’m sure of it. You know Nepia always likes to be fashionably late. Speaking of which, did you hear about red being the new white? Sad, really—now I have to change my whole wardrobe.”
“This is no time for jokes, Father,” said Esereez, his voice deep and gravelly. “Nepia said an emergency meeting was very much in order, yet she’s nowhere to be seen.” He scoffed and folded his arms, too. “Very much dramatic, is what I say.”