“I was getting there,” he replied. “Carrying on, I’m happy to announce this evening marks the night of the Lighting of the Trees, when we gather to celebrate the promise of a most glorious autumn! May it bring to us its wonderful colors and gracious weather, as it has always done in the past. Now…bring forth the Horn!”
Trumpets sounded all around. The crowd cheered wildly. Othum stepped away from the entrance hall to stand beside Mr. Poe’s tower of chairs. From out of the shadows of the hall came four Sentinels rolling a great wooden platform, and on top of it, a giant brass horn wound in four circles like an extreme version of a tuba.
“The Horn is a gift from my sister, Lady Illindria the Beloved,” Othum explained as he walked to the back of the platform. “With its cry, I shall signal the beginning of autumn. If you could please turn to face the Jovian Fields…”
The crowd of students turned, fixed on the towering trees beyond the tents. Othum blew into the Horn with all the strength of his ancient lungs, and the earth-quaking sound that rolled out of the Horn and through the Fields was one Ion had never before heard. It was so low the vibrations made every organ in his body quiver. As the sound passed through the trees, the leaves of blue, pink, and purple parted from their branches and drifted upward in a wave of oceanic light. There were oohs from the nymphs, and ahs from the giants, as the stream of leaves sailed high above the Acropolis, eventually disappearing in a dazzling display of flashing lights.
Ion looked down from the show and found himself saddened by the sight of the leafless trees. They seemed dead, like winter had already come. But then a cool wind drifted by, and the branches blossomed once more. Leaf after leaf after leaf uncoiled from their branches, folding out into the world in radiant reds, oranges, and yellows, illuminating the fields once more. Ion’s heart swelled, and all he could think about was how much he wished Mother and Father had been there to see it with him.
Father will be here soon.
“Once again,” said Othum, “autumn makes its way into our hearts and minds. I kindly ask all of you to continue your battle for the good of the Balance this new season, and to enjoy yourselves tonight. But remember: don’t drink too much hot pumpkin-chocolate. I hear it inspires most…gaseous events.” With that, the Illyrian laughed behind his hands and trotted merrily off into the fortress.
Vinya applauded, and soon everyone was clapping. It was when the applause stopped that Oceanus appeared behind Ion, and snatched him by the shoulders. She turned him around in a flash and said, “I’ve got great news!”
“It went well?”
“Of course,” Oceanus said, raising her nose. “I am Oceanus Reaves, inventor of the Oceanus Process.”
Ion rolled his eyes. “So what’d he say?”
“The Shroud was forged eons ago, long before the Illyrians even existed. For some reason—a reason Mr. Poe wasn’t sure on—the Shroud’s been losing large amounts of power by the second, and because of this, the gods have been forced to seek other means to charge it. He wouldn’t say what the new power source was, but because we know what we know, the Callers are obviously the answer. The gods were smart to do it really,”—Ion clenched his jaw—“because male Callers alone are recorded to have more firepower than nymphs or elves. They’re perfect candidates for feeding something like the Shroud.”
Ion sighed in a bittersweet sort of way. Although the confirmation that the gods had lied was definitely annoying, he didn’t expect much from them, and finding out Father was powering a Shroud was better than thinking he was off fighting in a dangerous war.
“I asked Mr. Poe what power the Shroud uses to keep the spirits at bay,” Oceanus went on, “and he said—get this—the power source is music. The Shroud is basically a perpetual barrier of random songs, which soothes the spirits into accepting that they’re dead, safely keeping them behind the Shroud, which apparently is deep within the Darklands.”
Ion’s eyes lit up. “So that means—”
“All we need...is music.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
THORNIKUS WHITE
As usual, Elemental Essentials class came on a Tuesday morning, and as usual, Ion was ten minutes late.
He hurried into the Pythagorean Coliseum, hastily fastening the belt around his tunic and patting down his hair, which stuck straight up in quite an unfortunate mess. Esereez waited in the middle of the coliseum, his burly arms folded over his even burlier chest.
“Sorry I’m late,” said Ion. “I won’t—”
“I don’t care to hear your excuses,” Esereez said, his mouth straight and grim. “One day you will see how truly useless your arrogance is, and perhaps then you will value the time of others.”
Esereez was always grumpy. He was also always the worst.
The Inventor walked down the line of Guardians: Spike standing in his armor with his head held high; Oceanus draped in her new scarf, all the while scolding Ion with her perfected side-eye. Esereez stopped at Ion and stared at him with his nostrils flared. Ion wanted to squeak like a frightened pig, but Spike was nearby, so it would have to wait.
“Vinya sends her most gracious regards this morning,” said Esereez, “but she had other matters to tend to. So today, I am in charge.”
“Where is she?” Oceanus asked.
The Inventor snapped around. “Birthing a forest,” he said through his tight, charcoal lips. “Not that it’s any of your business.”
“Birthing a forest?” said Oceanus. “How does that even happen? It sounds ridiculous!”
“Sounds painful to me,” Ion muttered.
“Nothing from you, Mr. Reaves!” Esereez snapped.
“But—”
“That’s it!” said Esereez. “You’re going to be the first of my volunteers for today. No argument about it!”
Ion didn’t think he could hate Esereez more.
The Inventor walked back down the line of Guardians. “While it would be an interesting pairing—brother and sister,” he said in passing Oceanus, “I think I’d rather witness something more aggressive play out on our battlefield today.”
And out the corner of his eye, Ion saw Spike’s face light up.
Esereez and Oceanus sat in the grandstands, looking upon the grassy battlefield below. Ion stood on one side of the arena, and his not-so-friendly friend Spike on the other.
“The rules are simple,” Esereez announced, his voice echoing about the coliseum. “Do what you must to detain your opponent. There will be absolutely no attempts at lethal blows, and no extra jabs once the match has ended. Any breaking of those rules will result in swift and ferocious punishment.”
A smile stretched across Spike’s face, probably debating which of Ion’s organs to rip out first, or if it’d be best to just mince him into a fine, drinkable pulp.
“Begin on three!” Esereez boomed. “One!”
Ion tightened his jaw, and then his fists.
“Two!”
Relax. Breathe deep.
“Three!”
Spike shot toward Ion, roaring like only Spike could. Each step of Spike’s grew heavier and heavier, until his weight had multiplied to five tons. Ion stood firmly in his place, waiting, planning...trying not to pee. The earth trembled with Spike’s last step. As he thrust his entire fist into the ground, a mountain of rock exploded out of the grass at Ion’s feet. He leapt out of the way, narrowly avoiding the glass-tipped rock as it pierced the air above his head.
Ion swept his hands about, and sparks of emerald-colored electricity erupted out of his arms and fingers. He whipped his hands toward Spike, and an arc of lightning snapped toward the boy, cracked like thunder as it exploded against Spike’s stone armor, and launched him to the other side of the coliseum.
Ion hissed as he rubbed his hands together in a panic, trying desperately to soothe the numbness left by the projected electricity. Spike got to his feet, his armored breastplate blackened by the lightning. Ion looked to the sky and a windstorm came to life, detonating right there in the middle of t
he coliseum. It screamed and roared, whipping the grass about and tugging at everyone’s clothes.
“Wind against rock?” Spike sneered. “You’re stupider than I thought!”
Ion flexed his arms and relaxed his legs, and the winds grew stronger. Before Spike could even take a step, Ion lunged forward. With a roar, a column of wind tore across the battlefield, pinning Spike against the stadium wall beneath Esereez and Oceanus.
“Free yourself, Spike!” Esereez roared over the winds. “You can’t give up now! Not this soon! What would your mother say?”
Spike peeled himself off the wall. His face twitched, jaw shut tight. Ion threw another wave of wind, and another, and another, beating Spike back against the wall every time he’d try to escape.
Spike folded his arms against his chest, and the earth engulfed him in a mouth of grass and dirt, receding into the coliseum floor and taking him with it. Ion released the tension in his arms and the winds calmed.
There was only silence now.
Ion imagined Spike worming through the rock and dirt below, his body swerving back and forth like a snake’s.
The ground shuddered, and Spike exploded out of the coliseum floor behind Ion, his arms closed tightly around Ion’s chest. Dirt and rock showered the field. Ion kicked and screamed, now caught in the grip of his worst nightmare. Could this have been why the banshee knew his name? Is Spike going to be my death?
“Don’t think you’re going to get out of this one so easily,” Spike growled in Ion’s ear. “You’re not leaving this stadium until at least one of your bones is broken.”
Ion yelped as Spike squeezed even tighter. Ion tried thrashing once more, and then he saw her...standing on top of the furthest coliseum wall...the banshee in the white dress. Spike’s grip doubled, and through Ion’s squinting eyes, he no longer saw a banshee, but...
Mother.
Whether she was real, or an illusion, it didn’t matter. Just the sight of her made the gears in Ion’s mind abruptly change course and turn in a way they had never. Rage coursed through every muscle, every vein in Ion’s body. He ground his teeth together and he could feel his pupils expanding until they’d consumed his eyes.
Static lifted the hairs on Ion’s arms. He roared, and a bolt of lightning exploded out of his back, flinging Spike across the field. Esereez shot up from his seat. Oceanus gasped. The air smelled of metal now, charged with static.
Ion slowly turned to face Spike, who was struggling to his feet. Ion stretched out his arms, and a mighty gale battered the coliseum like whisks beating the inside of a bowl. The winds tightened around his waist and wrists, and a funnel cloud of dirt and grass lifted him from the floor until he was fifty feet above the field.
He stared down at Spike, his head filled with thoughts—angry, unforgiving thoughts. He teased you, Ion. Made you feel small. Made you feel inferior. Show him.
Show him what you can do.
“Ionikus!” Esereez shouted from below. “I demand you come down from there right this moment! Flight is not permitted for a novice such as yourself!”
Ion’s gaze snapped toward the Inventor and a sharp bolt of wind blasted Esereez right over his seat.
“I surrender!” Spike squeaked from below, waving his hands helplessly in the air. “You win, Ion!”
But Ion didn’t care. He looked to the heavens, and the single cloud above exploded with a monstrous roar. Clouds rolled and expanded out of the original, thunder cracking with each new squall that pushed out over the Acropolis until the sky grew dark as night.
“Ion!” Oceanus cried. “I demand you stop this at once! You shouldn’t be controlling clouds at your level, either!”
But Ion unwound his fists and gripped two lots of the sky. His hands felt as though they really were wrapped around something—something invisible but as solid as rock. He pulled downward, a weight falling on his shoulders, and two whirling funnel clouds came twisting down from the clouds. The twisters groaned as they struck the coliseum floor, tearing the dirt and grass up from its place. Spike latched himself to the battlefield—Oceanus and Esereez clung to their seats.
Ion’s jaw was searing hot. So hot, in fact, it felt as though it was burning the skin underneath. It was just as angry as he was.
Show him, Ion thought. Show him his place.
Ion snapped his arm forward, pointing at Spike. With a blast of thunder, a bolt of green lightning tore down from the clouds and struck Spike where he stood.
Oceanus screamed. Rain battered the coliseum.
Ion looked to his sister, her eyes now filled with tears. They were afraid and uncertain, and the anger that had claimed Ion vanished as quickly as it had come, replaced by nothing but emptiness. The rush of power left his body, and as he fell back down to earth, his vision went black.
Ion awoke in his bed, drenched with sweat. He took a deep breath, rose from his pillow, and pushed his wet hair from his face. A nightmare, he thought with relief. It was just a nightmare. Ion walked to the window, standing in the silver rays of moonlight that poured in. His stomach felt twisted and raw, like an old piece of meat left to dry in the sun. He breathed deep through his nose, and when he caught the smell of metal in the air, Ion realized his stomach wasn’t the only stomach in the room.
He turned and the reason for the smell became clear.
“Good evening, Mr. Reaves,” Othum said, lumbering out of the shadows, wearing his usual smile. “Beautiful out tonight, isn’t it? Clear skies and a gentle breeze—couldn’t ask for better weather from autumn.”
“I-I guess,” Ion answered. “B-but why are you...here? Y-you know, in my room?”
The knot in Ion’s stomach grew as Othum’s smile faded. “Why, I had nearly forgotten.” He scratched the back of his head, as if trying to gather the courage to say what he had to say. “Ion, something happened today in the coliseum—something we must talk about.”
Ion sat down on his bed, shoulders heavy. “The nightmare,” he whispered. “It was real?” He swallowed and looked to Othum. “Spike—is he okay?”
“Spike will be back to his old self in a week or so,” Othum replied, “may the Old Gods bless him. He has been badly burned, Ion, and by the vengeful hammer of your lightning, no less. It seems you’ve experienced your first bout of what we gods call Consumption.”
“Consumption?” Ion asked, the very word giving him chills.
“When a god loses control of their powers,” Othum replied.
“I can’t believe I did that to someone,” Ion said, shaking his head. “I...I’m a monster.”
The Skylord walked solemnly over to the window and gazed out at the courtyard. Moonlight traveled through the diamond in his chest and bounded out the back, decorating Ion’s room in rays of rainbow light. Othum stood in silence for only a moment, and with a squeal like an injured goat’s, he began sobbing against the windowpane.
“It’s all my fault! I should have been more careful!”
Ion watched nervously as the nine-foot-tall Illyrian threw himself back and forth against the window, crying, and whining, and mumbling indiscernible things.
“Um…Skylord?” Ion asked. “A-are you okay?”
Othum stopped immediately and looked over at Ion with big, surprised eyes, apparently having forgotten there was someone else in the room. “Well,” he said before clearing his throat, “I’m sorry you had to see that. It’s been ages since I’ve cried like a human. Refreshing, though, I must say. No wonder they do it all the time.”
Othum walked over to Ion’s bed and sat, the springs in the mattress giving a shriek. “You are a special deity, Ionikus Reaves. You are as volatile and angry as the lightning you create, yet just as loving and caring as the first rain of spring. It’s a trait most sky gods share—a nature that is both unpredictable and passionate.”
“I saw that today,” Ion said. “The anger...it consumed me in seconds. I couldn’t think clearly, yet I-I knew how to fly...and I summoned a storm. We haven’t even discussed those things in class.
”
Ion caught Othum’s gaze—a tired one. And for some reason, Ion got the feeling this wasn’t the first time Othum had heard this story.
“For gods, emotions aren’t just feelings,” said Othum. “They’re the keys to unlocking our powers. When I was a boy—maybe a hundred years old—I first learned how to summon blizzards after I buried my first pet. He was a miniature wiener dog named Frankie. The sadness I felt that day, in experiencing his passing, triggered a blizzard that cast the earth into what the Outerworld humans refer to as the Ice Age.” Othum looked wistfully out the window. “The skiing was fantastic in those days.”
“So...my anger unlocked my ability to control storms?”
“Oh no, no, no, no, no,” Othum replied, his hand flapping about the air. “It’ll take more than a bit of anger to control a storm at your level. I was actually just sharing a story. I really miss Frankie.”
Ion flared his nose. “No offense, Skylord, but does your visit, you know, have a point?”
“Your anger comes from the Nether.”
“The Nether? And that is?”
“It’s the Prime Ingredient, the First Element, the most powerful thing in existence.” Othum paused and looked at Ion with solemn eyes. “It’s what the Illyrians used to create the Guardians.”
“I’ve never even heard of it,” Ion said.
“The Nether was once the only thing in existence,” Othum said in the deadliest of whispers, his voice now tainted with fear. “Its clouds were a bitter red and ominous black, folding into one another—collapsing, then expanding, collapsing, then expanding. But with a spark of luck, the Nether gave birth to the Triplets, our Creators, who later forged our universe and the many creatures within it. They used the Nether to create time, the planets, the stars, and even used it in the molding of their children, the collection of pantheons we refer to as the Old Gods, whose thrones became the Illyrians’ after their eventual demise. The Nether, in its gaseous form, is easily pliable, but unpredictable and powerful enough to obliterate whole planets if not properly handled. By the time we figured out how to concentrate the substance into a more controllable, liquid form, the Outerworld humans had killed my brother, Omeer, and the Illyrians were anxious to avenge his death.”