Chapter 40

  Elizabeth

  Skywater Citadel was made of elderstone, a pale iridescent material, cool and smooth. When touched by a living thing, such as a halfway-intoxicated Elizabeth Eddison, light shimmered out from the point of contact. When Elizabeth first set foot on the white elderstone floor of the reception hall, beyond the threshold of the monumental front doors of the citadel, she had made the mistake of looking down. Entranced by the rippling waves of color dancing subtly in the stone at her feet, she had promptly made face-first acquaintance with that very stone. She hadn’t had the opportunity to see it, but her impact had doubtless produced quite a splash of colors.

  The cold, hard, and implacable grip of Lady Chimes on her upper arm raised her back up to her feet, and the equally alien yet far more comforting appendages of the Theians steadied her. Kate only laughed. Elizabeth cursed the godsday special Kate had ordered and vowed to be more careful about what she consumed in the future. At least she didn’t have it as bad as Kate. A fit of the giggles had overcome Kate on their way here, and it didn’t seem to be clearing up. Liz worried about her, though she couldn’t say exactly what she thought might happen. Overstimulation, perhaps. That seemed like a legitimate hazard for Kaitlyn Carter even when she wasn’t high on psychosympathetic grey paste.

  The haunting music which surrounded Lady Chimes like an aural fog drifted across the great hall as Elizabeth gawked at the room. The Citadel was huge—that much had been obvious from the outside—but every glance captured some new wonder.

  The entrance hall towered above her, its many delicate arboreal columns arching and splitting into a fine latticework far overhead, through the interstices of which filtered a soft golden light. Glowing sparks like those from a crackling multicolored fire drifted down in a soft rain from above, vanishing without apparent effect on contact with skin, clothes, or elderstone floor. Kate wasted no time in strapping on her bass and giving the strings a flick. Every glowing mote in the room reacted to the sound by rippling out in a swirling shockwave.

  Doors were visible beyond the columns on either side, each different in size, shape, color, impression. The room was not entirely empty; some kind of reception desk, seemingly unmanned, waited just to their right. A number of chairs in varying sizes and styles stood ready nearby. In-between the doors along the walls nestled alcoves carved into the stone, their contents hidden by fine decorative paneling.

  The room felt strange. It gave the distinct impression of being outdoors. Scents came one after another to her nose–each poignant, each familiar, each unrelated. The rich wet-pine-and-earth scent of her woods in springtime after a rain; the scent of wood smoke and dead leaves, maple sap and pumpkin and horses; the scent of the sea.

  “Liz!” Kate tugged at her sleeve and almost pulled them both down to the elderstone floor. “Stop staring!”

  Theians fluttered overhead. Their wings stirred the glowing motes in the air as Kate and Elizabeth followed after Lady Chimes. The Lady had already vanished through an arch at the far end. They had nearly crossed the length of the entrance hall when a flash of light outlined them from behind. Frantic barking followed almost immediately.

  Their angels had arrived. Five of them, plus a sixth larger figure, were all suddenly in the center of the entrance hall. Two angels didn’t stay there long; Callie fled around the hall hissing while a happy, gangly dog chased after her. Callie was a white streak, one which rapidly altered its location and direction. She flickered throughout the room, perhaps unaware that such behavior only excited her pursuer. To her credit, Callie never once collided with a wall, a chair, a white column, a flying Theian, or another angel–none of which could be said for Hazel.

  A white stork-like bird, a species that Kate shortly informed her was called a shoebill ( scientific name: something-Kate-couldn’t-pronounce rex), watched the antics of Hazel and Callie with a placid, eyeless gaze. Curled up atop its head like a vanguard of sartorial fashion was a white dragon, wings and all, no larger than…well, a Frisbee. And on top of the apparently napping dragon, a smaller hat. This one had wings, and after only a moment they lifted it up into the air. The tiny white butterfly danced its way up to the Theians, who were having a grand time cheering for either Hazel or Callie, or both.

  Yet all of this was quite insignificant compared to the other figure which stood there beside the bird and dragon. It resembled a humanoid pile of clear icicles, sharp white slabs of elderstone, silver needles and ivory spears. It was half again as tall as Elizabeth. Its many parts moved slightly, twitching, rustling, clicking and clattering against each other: glass, stone, metal, ice, bone, crystal–all of it cold and white and sharp, alive with light and life. Its name was Arcadelt, and it was the Concierge (official title) here at Skywater Citadel, though it thought of itself as “Doorkeeper.” It was powerful, it knew everything that went on in this Citadel, and most importantly, it was on her side. It was the first of the angels, though it belonged to none. And it remembered everything.

  Elizabeth shook her head in confusion. Everything she knew about Arcadelt was obvious. Natural. Of course she knew Arcadelt! Of course. But…how did she know?

  “Arkie!” exclaimed Kate. She ran to the Concierge of Skywater Citadel and almost immediately fell forward onto her face. But she never hit the ground. Instead, Arcadelt was there. It caught her as though it had been there all along, easing her fall with an arm-like mass and then setting her upright. One word for Arcadelt was “sharp.” It looked composed entirely of razor edges and piercing points. But Arcadelt was precise and careful. Arcadelt could catch a butterfly in mid-flight without harming it. And Arcadelt would harm a dozen butterflies before it let one of the Heroes injure themselves. Not in its citadel. Elizabeth knew it.

  But how did she know?

  It was because Arcadelt possessed a direct kind of telepathy, one which conveniently bypassed the necessity of actual communication. Raw, efficient transfer of data.

  But how did she know that?

  Oh…wait…

  Elizabeth clutched at her head. “I get it,” she said out loud. “I do.” But…damn, why did she have to be on drugs at a time like this? “Please,” she said again, speaking to Arcadelt. “Don’t…just don’t. For now.”

  Kate beamed up at the beautiful spiky monstrosity of Arcadelt. She didn’t seem to be having any problems. Elizabeth wondered if that was because Kate was too far gone from “the special” or because she was Kate.

  Elizabeth focused on her ring, the thin silver ring AJ had given her. She turned it with her thumb as she gathered her thoughts.

  “Liz!” said Kate. She seized Elizabeth by the shoulder. “Did you hear that? The boys are coming! In a bubble, Liz! Hee hee!”

  “What?”

  Kate became very serious. She attempted to smooth out her blue dress. She made a fork appear in her hand and began trying to comb her hair with it. “I need to look p-presentable, Liz! Here, let’s sit down.” Kate created a large plastic ball and plopped down on it as though it were a chair. Maybe she thought it was. Either way, she was falling again. And this time, Elizabeth knew what to do. She simply reached out, not with her hand, but in her mind, and stopped Kate from falling. She just siphoned off all the momentum and dispersed it harmlessly into the elderstone floor around them. This had to be maintained continually because the pull of gravity never ceased.

  She wondered, in the brief moment when Kate was squirming confusedly in midair, whether she had figured this out herself or if Arcadelt had helped her know what to do. She snuck a glance at the Doorkeeper, who looked to be communing with Eric’s dragon angel.

  Elizabeth soon had Kate righted and both of them in actual chairs. Kate tried to demonstrate to Elizabeth her ability to make mirrors, which Kate thought was somehow special. Kate could not, however, and after a few moments of consternation, a look of understanding came over her. “Drops,” she told Elizabeth. “I need drops to make permanent things! A resource is required! Heh heh. Duh!”

  The Theians and the angels played together while Elizabeth combed Kate’s hair and Kate had a nervous breakdown about meeting Isaac and Jimothy. She was even in tears, briefly. Very briefly. Lady Chimes did not reappear, which was quite all right with Elizabeth, nor did anyone else enter the room save for a single red beetle that flew down from above, landed on Arcadelt, and then ascended again up to the golden-lit latticework far above.

  Everything about their situation struck Elizabeth as odd. Here they were, Elizabeth herself just sitting here combing hair while glowing sparks of color drifted and swirled around them. Five indestructible eyeless white creatures (one of them a miniature dragon) chased each other around the room while Theians swooped and danced in the air. Then there was Arcadelt itself, the Concierge, who stood with Shlushluth the purple-speckled white moth. And all this, just the beginning. Nothing about it felt right. Nothing about any of it was right. Some crazy dream, most likely. She knew it was not so, but it felt that way. Maybe it was that grey paste they had eaten, the one that made her thoughts loopy and blurry, but it all seemed not to matter too much. She was at peace, for now, with the various absurdities of her situation. Maybe that godsday special had been good for something after all. And besides all this, she had Kate with her.

  “Aaaaugh!” said Kate as Elizabeth hugged her from behind. Kate waved her arms clumsily and almost toppled from her chair.

  They were here. Isaac Milton, Eric Walker, Jimothy Whyte, all just outside. And not a moment too soon, for the Lords and Ladies were waiting in the Hall of Towers, the inner sanctum of Skywater Citadel.

  Elizabeth furrowed her brows in consternation until she realized that she must know this because of Arcadelt. There appeared to be no internal differentiation between her own personal knowledge and that which Arcadelt implanted into her mind. That was somewhat alarming in itself. She knew that Arcadelt was on her side, but…

  But. If it wasn’t on her side…It was, of course, she knew it was, but…but why did she know that?

  “Everything I think I know would be compromised,” she whispered to herself with a thrill of horror. “All of it. Every thought.” A disempowering, frightening idea.

  She vigorously twisted at AJ’s ring. No! She could not afford to second-guess her every thought. She would discuss this later, with the others. When they were all away from this Citadel. Because, of course, Arcadelt could not leave the Citadel, and could not project his direct telepathy outside of its boundaries.

  The huge white elderstone doors swung open and in came the boys, along with the three remaining Theians she had not seen. Elizabeth had seen the boys not so long ago, just a matter of weeks, but already they had changed. Isaac looked even taller and lankier, Eric more muscular, Jim more…sad?

  Isaac wore a matte black jumpsuit with some blue and purple trim that covered his whole body save for hands and head. It had a sleek, futuristic look to it. The Void Suit, she recalled. It looked strangely good on him, though it did contrast a bit with those huge blue-rimmed glasses. At least he wasn’t wearing that hat.

  Eric wore jeans, a plain t-shirt, and a battered jacket all under a dirty gray canvas cloak. The hilt of a sword stuck up from behind his back, and he had a belt with a few mysterious objects tucked into it. He did look cool, she thought, but Elizabeth did not intend to allow him the satisfaction of her saying so. He met her gaze while she studied him, and he gave her a wry smile. I know, that look said. But just roll with it.

  Jimothy looked much the same as always, except that his shorts, shoes, t-shirt and all remaining parts of his body were splattered with some black substance. His cane was bright green now. He gaped open-mouthed at the entrance hall for only a second before Hazel tumbled him to the ground. Neither Isaac nor Eric paid this much mind, and for a moment Elizabeth envied them their casual understanding of when Jimothy needed their help and when he didn’t.

  Jimothy laughed and hugged Hazel on the floor. Eric and Isaac stepped slowly into the room. Although they didn’t look at each other, both raised their arms like falconers to welcome their respective angels. It was clear as day, in that moment, that they had been friends since forever. Frisby Wiser swooped down and hugged Eric’s extended forearm as Charlie, now in the shape of an actual falcon (did it understand?) settled gracefully on Isaac’s.

  Elizabeth approached them, Jimothy in particular, who was still on the floor with Hazel. He disentangled himself, accepted Elizabeth’s hand, and struggled to his feet. A futile effort, in the end, because Kate hugged him with all of her recently acquired lack of restraint. Arcadelt was there, just as if Elizabeth simply hadn’t noticed it before, and the creature gently stopped them from falling. There seemed to be a lot of falling around here lately, and most of it seemed to be Kate’s fault. Maybe it was her thing.

  “Damn,” said Eric as he and Isaac strolled up. “This place is crazy.”

  Isaac, who had been trying to catch one of the drifting sparks of light, opened his mouth to say something. He paused, and an expression of bewilderment darkened his features. He threw an incredulous glance at Arcadelt. Eric, meanwhile, was watching Kate. He leaned in closer to Elizabeth and said, “hey, is she…like, okay?” Kate at this moment was demonstrating to Jimothy the peculiar properties of the elderstone floor by rolling around on it and trying to position herself to grab Hazel, who pranced just beyond her reach. The floor shimmered in spreading rainbow auras, soft and pleasing to the eye, wherever she rolled. Kate was laughing, her carefully combed hair already a tangled mess again, and her dress was riding up dangerously.

  “She will…be fine,” said Elizabeth.

  Eric looked up at her. “You know, you look a little buzzed yourself.” A cheeky grin appeared. “What have you two been up to?”

  “It is none of your concern,” Elizabeth informed him.

  “Hmm,” he said. “Yeah, well…” He blinked, then muttered, “…the fuck?” He turned to look at Arcadelt, who stood at ease ten feet behind him, emitting a constant soft tinkling, clattering sound.

  “And what about you?” she asked. “We’ve been waiting for you. What happened to Jimothy?” She became unbalanced partly through this sentence, but Callie appeared at her side to steady her. Callie’s hackles were raised at the nearby Hazel, but she was a firm foundation nevertheless.

  “Well, I think we got some shit to discuss about that,” he said. “And also I was thinking, like not now but later, when we’ve got some time, maybe you and I, you know, also should discuss some shit.”

  “I have no interest in discussing ‘shit,’” she said. Could he just for once use actual, helpful words rather than obscenities?

  “Damn. Well we can probably find some other topics. More interesting ones, you know.”

  “Yeah,” said Isaac with a grin, “probably too interesting for the rest of us to also be there, am I right?”

  “Bro, shut up,” said Eric, at the same time that Elizabeth said, “That’s enough, Isaac.”

  “Well here we are!” Isaac declared, undeterred and still with an obnoxious knowing grin. “The gang, all together at last.”

  “Hey!” objected Kate from the floor, where she had successfully caught Hazel and was now struggling to hold him in a bear hug while he twisted and rolled. “You’re not–oof!–we’re not all here! Don’t you forget Heidi, mister!”

  Elizabeth had always known that Kate cared little for her own personal dignity, but she wondered whether a fully sober Kaitlyn Carter would condone her present behavior. Eric must have been thinking the same thing, for he pulled his phone out and began taking a video of Kate’s wrestling match with Hazel. Elizabeth offered up a silent prayer of thanks to whatever gods were listening in this world that she had not eaten as much of the special as Kate.

  “I’m not forgetting Heidi!” said Isaac. “Geez! I’m just saying, like, this was us, right? The five of us, for years, and we always wanted to meet up. And here we are!”

  “Also, does your stutter always go away when you’re blitzed off your ass?” said Eric. “Just asking. For science.”

  “FOR SCIENCE!” Her shout startled Hazel so much that he vanished, leaving her clutching at empty air. She glared around her. “Come back, you coward!”

  “Ooh, Kate, you should try some tongue twisters now,” Isaac suggested.

  Kate gasped at this brilliant suggestion.

  The Concierge hated to interrupt their reunion, but they would have plenty of time to socialize after their meeting with the Lords and Ladies of Skywater. A feast had been prepared for them.

  “Oh, thank god,” said Eric. “We’re starving. Wait. Didn’t I already know the food? Or…”

  “Just don’t think about it,” Elizabeth advised him. “Too much. Don’t think too much. About it. Shit. My words…” She made a feeble grasping motion at the air in front of her, as though trying to catch something that slipped between her fingers like vapor.

  Arcadelt began moving with a clear intent to lead them somewhere. His steps tinkled softly like glass on stone. They trailed after him in a disorganized muddle. Isaac led the way with that falcon on his shoulder, trying to take in everything at once. Eric followed, petting Frisby as he tucked the dragon close to his chest. That was cute. Kate and Jimothy were next, talking excitedly. For once in his life, it was Jimothy helping someone else to walk steadily. Granted, he was being assisted by Hazel and Shlushluth, who was halfway hauling Kate along. Elizabeth took the rear, which she shared with Callie and the rest of the Theians. The beautiful Theians kept up an excited, hushed babble. They sounded astonished that they were so honored to be here in the Citadel, as guests of the Child of Skies.

  The Hall of Towers, inner sanctum of Skywater Citadel and meeting place of the Lords and Ladies, was only a brief journey from the entrance hall. Arcadelt led them down an ornate hallway of lacquered wood, the floor still elderstone, the walls adorned with colorful tapestries depicting what Elizabeth assumed were historic events or notable figures, few of which she could comprehend.

  And then, over the threshold of an ornate elderstone door, they entered the Hall of Towers.

  It was a circular room a few dozen strides across. A familiar hexagon with six symbols was engraved in the center. The domed ceiling above deceived her at first, for it displayed the night sky which must have been apparent over the city outside. It was a perfect replica; the stars even moved. It gave the impression that the circular gallery below, well-lit though it was, existed roofless in some outside locale.

  The Hall of Towers had a variety of smells. Unlike in the entrance hall, these came all at once, in a confusing jumble. Something was burning somewhere; she could smell fabric singeing. She smelled oil, and the dampness of rain. Somewhere, a familiar and eerie tinkling music sounded.

  Five peculiar chairs arranged in a semicircle faced them as they entered, three of them occupied. A balcony above matched the semicircle of chairs below. Five hunched figures loomed up there and gazed down like dark gargoyles. All the room was carved of elderstone, gilded tastefully with silver and clear crystal in an aesthetic that clearly matched the composition of Arcadelt. All was lit with a warm glow that emerged in a haze from the elderstone itself. Arcadelt stalked forward until it stood at the center of the hexagon, in the center of the room, beneath the starry sky.

  Elizabeth’s four friends huddled in an awkward, fidgety cluster when she joined them. Even blitzed-off-her-ass Kate seemed cowed by the presences in this room. As well she should be, for the Lords and Ladies of Skywater were something else.

  Yet Elizabeth gritted her teeth, summoned her courage, not caring if it was just a godsday-special courage, and stepped forth onto the hexagon. The full attention of everyone at once pressed down upon her.

  She knew, with a peculiar certainty that bespoke Arcadeltian inspiration, that there were six Lords and ten Ladies of Skywater. Only half of each were currently in attendance. But she didn’t know who they were. Perhaps Arcadelt couldn’t or wouldn’t tell her. Perhaps they preferred to introduce themselves.

  She was alone under the intense gazes of these strange and powerful beings. She turned, saw the other four gawking behind her, and gestured violently for them to come join her on the hexagon. Eric came first, apparently fearless, to stand beside her. Isaac was next, his eyes searching, thinking. That was good. They all needed Isaac to be thinking. Jimothy and Kate stumbled forward, their faces alike full of wonder. The Theians had remained outside in the hall. Had someone told them to stay out? The door had already shut. Their angels lined the back wall as though unwilling to come in front of the Skywater Council. Yes, that was its name.

  Their meeting began with Lord Fool. A freakishly tall, thin, greenish creature festooned in countless knick-knacks and fluttering scraps of fabric, his face a laughing mask, Lord Fool perched monkey-like upon his chair. His chair was like a large rocking chair, except that several tall beams rose up from it, complete with crossbars like a playground for cats or birds. It was all bright colors in peeling paint, and Lord Fool roosted in this miniature jungle gym as it swung back and forth, always on the verge of tipping over and spilling its occupant to the floor. His immense purple stovepipe hat wobbled back and forth, yet likewise never quite fell off. Lord Fool laughed with a high, maniacal hooting.

  Lord Fool laughs, as he has ever done, and his laugh is a welcome. Behold, he laughs, and Lord Fool, the most adeptly christened, the most fortuitously titled, reveals new wonders: of the stars overslept and forgetting their places, of a drunken spider’s misplaced socks, of the heat of a candle flame upon the distant snowy hills, of a sea of ink but–alas!–no pens to write with, nor parchment to write upon, nor any words in all the world worth the effort of the writing. Lord Fool welcomes the newcomers with a Marvelous Dance, a line or two of Wit Most Remarkable, and a dire warning concerning the folly of foresight, the perils of perspicacity, the woes of wisdom, the throes of thoughtfulness, the lie of life and the deception of death–well though he knows that he is far from the only fool present, nor perhaps even the rightful lord, though he has no intention of relinquishing the crown! He laughs a welcome and the young humans laugh with him–for why should they not? Come, says the Sightless One, let us laugh, for we are a deck reversed, and all the cards are fools.

  Playing cards fluttered down from somewhere like confetti when Lord Fool had finished and was situating himself back onto his creaking, rocking, precarious perch. A steady jangle accompanied the movements of the chair, mingling with the faint tinkling chimes from somewhere above. Eric said something to himself behind Elizabeth. It sounded like, “All but six.”

  The next Lord addressed them from the comfort of a large leather easy-chair, partly reclined. This Lord was plump and ruddy with an expansive gray beard, a barrel of a belly, huge black boots and blue suspenders over what looked like a knit woolen sweater that matched his cap, red and green diamond pattern. Were it not for the friendly smiling mask over his face and the lack of a holly-red coat and hat, Elizabeth could have been looking at old Saint Nick himself, in the days before his beard turned white as snow. He held a long and elaborate golden pipe in his hand, which terminated in three separate bowls. Red, blue, and green smoke rose from these three bowls and braided up into the air in a shifting pattern before dispersing.

  Lord Friend smiles upon the newcomers, and his smile is as warm and jolly as a crackling fire on a wet and cold winter’s night. His eyes twinkle behind the mask, and it is the twinkling of an inn’s lantern to a tired and hungry traveler in the dark evening. He speaks, and his words are fine music on a dreary afternoon, a thrilling idea seized in a dull moment, the scent of breakfast in the sleepy morn. Welcome, he says, and thus Welcome they are–Elizabeth and the rest–for how could it be otherwise? We are here, says Lord Friend, the protector, the hopeful, the giver of peace, we are together, we are one. Lord Friend speaks, and his words are not forked lightning, nor does he grieve the sun when catching it in flight, and his deeds dance brightly indeed in a green bay, yet he rages not (what mystery is this?) and goes ever gently into the night, be it good or otherwise.

  Lord Friend’s mask smiled at them through the twining wreath of colored smoke as he settled down comfortably into his chair. Elizabeth, with a powerful effort of will, tore her eyes away from him and glanced around at her friends. Each wore their own brand of astonishment. What the hell is happening? their faces asked. And it was a good question. She knew that poem from somewhere. Lord Friend had just quoted a poem from Earth, and she recognized it.

  If Lord Fool was ridiculous and Lord Friend was comforting, the final Lord now present was threatening. He was not large, no bigger than any of the humans, though his chair was a great rough slab of chiseled black stone. Rough dark robes enshrouded him, and what little Elizabeth could see of his body, such as his one hand which grasped a silver goblet, looked like a conglomerate of sharp obsidian gravel. His mask was a sneering scowl, distinctly unpleasant. He leered down at them like a man observing that an unpleasant creature has crawled into his home.

  The words of Lord Foe grate upon the ear like an untimely compliment. He has no fanciful speech, nor expectations of those in his presence whom he views as intruders. He is not impressed. He has no faith in ancient prophecy, nor in the ability of any power to resist the tide of destruction swelling out from the Dark World. These humans are children, and Lord Friend is disastrously mistaken, and Lord Fool is a fool, though he is right in one regard: these children are fools as well. They will receive no aid from Lord Foe–indeed, do they not tread carefully, they may receive a great deal less. The eyes of Lord Foe are as cold and hard as his heart, as his seat here in the Hall of Towers, as the Dark World itself. And with this, he is finished. He has no further advice, nor even words of warning, for he cares not, believes not, trusts not in these children from another world. He was promised heroes.

  It seemed darker and colder when Lord Foe had finished. The sky above had been cleared of stars and reduced to a black void. Elizabeth’s breath misted faintly in front of her as she exhaled. She hugged herself for warmth, but already stars began to speckle the false sky again, and warmth seeped back into the air.

  Three Lords were missing; two seats sat empty. The first empty seat, fit for a giant, was of battered metal. One armrest could have served Elizabeth as a bed, albeit a narrow and uncomfortable one. This was the seat of Lord Fierce, away battling the forces of the Dark World as was his duty.

  The next empty seat looked like a peculiar green tree, efflorescent with blossoms of blue and pink and gold, that had taken root in this room and grown into a vaguely chair-like form. This was the seat of Lord Fair, off on a diplomatic mission to King Basileus of the Garden Moon.

  The last seat was only an empty space on the floor, although an outline of a chair had been drawn where one might have sat. (“Looks like a chair was murdered there,” she heard Isaac whisper behind her, confirming her suspicion that Arcadelt was showing them all these things simultaneously.) This was the place of Lord Found. As for Lord Found’s location or activities, no one could say.

  Fool. Friend. Foe. Fierce. Fair. Found. The Lords of Skywater. Three present, three absent. The nouns here, Elizabeth thought, the adjectives absent.

  Now it was the Ladies’ turn. They loomed in their balcony above the Lords, and unlike the Lords they resembled each other. She recognized Lady Chimes, the source of the eerie tinkling music that tickled the edges of her awareness. The rest were more or less equivalent in shape: all tall, hunched, ominous, their forms obscured in some kind of cloak or wrapping. Five Ladies were present.

  “I am Lady Wings,” said the one on the left. Her voice, like the voice of Lady Chimes, was a hoarse, rasping whisper, yet it carried throughout the room. Lady Wings was thoroughly obscured by her several sets of large feathery wings, white as clouds. The wings rustled faintly as she spoke.

  “I am Lady Rains,” said the next. They all, Elizabeth soon realized, shared that hoarse, whispery voice. Yet it took on a unique quality for each. The voice of Lady Rains was smoother and darker than Lady Wings’. Some kind of wet leathery shroud, its surface roughly textured, covered Lady Rains.

  “I am Lady Fires,” rasped the next. Lady Fires was the source of the burning scent. Her dark cloak smoldered, glimmered faintly red in the shadows where she stood. The cloak fluttered and twitched.

  “I am Lady Chimes,” said the one Elizabeth knew. Her cloak of ringing, overlapping scales moved strangely. A sudden thought struck Elizabeth: what if Lady Wings was not the only one with wings?

  “I am Lady Chains,” grated the last, her voice deeper. She was the largest, and her cloak/wings were of chain mail–countless finely interlocking metallic links. She spoke with a rustle of chain.

  Now they should introduce themselves, Elizabeth realized. But was it actually her doing the realizing, or–No! Don’t think about that!

  Elizabeth fought the urge to turn and look back at her friends. A brief wave of vertigo washed over her, maybe a result of the godsday special. She thought she was winning this battle against dizziness, but a steady hand on her shoulder caught her as she began to tip to one side. She didn’t need to look to know it was Eric’s hand.

  Thus righted, she planted her feet firmly, took a deep breath, and thought: I refuse to write poems about making a fool of myself in front of this council.

  “Greetings,” she said. “I am Elizabeth Eddison. Of…the Garden Moon. Sisyphus.” She stalled. What more to say? She knew she was supposedly the ‘hero of movement,’ but that was simply too stupid a title for her to claim. Yet she wanted to make a good impression, although she had yet to understand why, exactly, these were important people. They had been waiting for her. Her palms felt sweaty, but she didn’t want to make this obvious by wiping them. And her contacts were getting annoying. She should have worn glasses. Anything else she should say?

  The sign, thinks Lord Friend. The medallion, the full six. He wonders, does Elizabeth Eddison have it? He knows, of course. They all know the heroes for what they are, have little doubt! But the council must have the proof.

  She knew at once what he meant. She drew it up from around her neck and displayed it to the council. They shifted, stirred, but did not speak.

  “Yo,” said Eric as he stepped up beside her to address the Lords and Ladies. “I’m Eric. From the big city. Hollow Moon.” He showed them his hexagon. It looked exactly like Elizabeth’s, and she wondered whether they were interchangeable.

  “I…” said Isaac, coming up on Elizabeth’s other side, “am Isaac Milton. The Hero of Space! From the Void Station. Formerly Icarus, I guess.” He held up an empty hand, and then it was empty no longer; the white hexagon with its six glowing symbols was there.

  Kate stumbled forward. “Hi!” she said. “I’m K-ka-k-” she swallowed. “Kaitlyn C-carter! But you can also just c-call me Kate! I’m from Theia, the C-cloud Moon, and I met Absolem, and I found the snowglobes, and I saw–I–I see the p-problem.” She shook her head sadly, then stomped her foot in anger. “There’s no s-sky! And I’m the sky person! What the heck?!” She looked ready to say more, but Isaac shushed her. She shushed him back, so loud that the whole room echoed with it. Lord Fool laughed and applauded with a jangle of ornaments.

  Jimothy came up last. “Hello,” he said with a meek little hand wave. “My name is Jimothy Whyte. From Hyperion. And…I didn’t mean to get anyone hurt.” He showed them his medallion, which reminded Kate to do the same.

  “Think nothing of it, Jimothy,” said Lady Wings.

  Yet the sagacious Lord Friend says otherwise. The young Jimothy White should think something of it–think something very much of it, in fact. The first witness of death is much to be thought of.

  Elizabeth struggled to separate her own thoughts from those of Lord Friend. Death? What? Had something happened to Jimothy?

  “Time enough to speak on all of that later,” rasped Lady Fires with a rustle of her smoldering garments. Elizabeth saw ribbed impressions in her cloak. It very much resembled bat-like wings, completely enfolding her. “Where is the last?”

  The Ladies stirred as though they had just noticed the lack of a sixth human child on the floor. Elizabeth shared their unease. Where was Heidi? She looked at the white medallion in her hand. The compass was there, glowing black. That meant nothing, as far as Elizabeth knew. She had tried texting Heidi one last time on her way here to the Citadel. Still no response.

  “We don’t know,” she said at last. “Orpheus, I suppose.”

  “The Metal Moon,” said Lady Chains. “Understandable. Few who find themselves there are able to leave again.”

  Lord Friend is certain that the heroes of Ardia will prove an exception to that unfortunate trend. But for now, they must all proceed. Proceed with what? With the elucidation of the situation.

  “Show them, Concierge,” hissed Lady Chimes with an ominous chord.

  The Lords concurred, and Elizabeth had to fight another dizzy spell brought on by their overlapping impressions. Eric and Isaac, on either side of her, propped her up as though they had practiced it. At the moment, she didn’t mind.

  Arcadelt turned to face them, his many sharp and gleaming parts glinting with the light along the walls. Above, the stars shared the sky with a spreading light.

  Arcadelt tells a story :

  Once upon a time, there is a world called Ardia. In this world is a city called Skywater. In this city is a mighty citadel. Deep within this citadel is a white door.

  Six moons orbit the world of Ardia. Far beyond these moons lie two other worlds, tracing two different paths. One is the Bright World, the brightest light in the sky, whence come the stars. And one is the Dark World, whence come the enemies of Ardia and its moons.

  Beyond these outer worlds rests the Empyrean, the shield of stars which encompasses all that is. Beyond the Empyrean lies only the Vast Abrupt, the infinite void, the outer darkness which the stars keep at bay.

  On the Dark World stands the tower of Storisende, and within that tower waits the Dark Ruler, a powerful and enigmatic figure. The Dark Ruler bears the dark key, the only means of opening the white door at the heart of Skywater Citadel. Whosoever opens that door shall step beyond it into a reality of their own design. This power is a deep mystery. The Dark Ruler desires this for himself, and has set his forces against Skywater and the world of Ardia. He seeks to overtake the city, invade the Citadel itself, and open the white door. Should he succeed, all will be lost.

  The forces of the Dark World are great, and they engage in ceaseless internecine conflict with Ardia, but there is yet hope. Six heroes will arise, one for each moon. They will set their broken moons aright, they will become Champions, they will defend Ardia from the forces of evil, and they will at last go to the Dark World and take the black key from the Dark Ruler. It is they who will open the white door.

  “Question,” says Isaac Milton.

  You shouldn’t be here.

  “Why is ‘Champions’ capitalized?”

  I was not using text.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  “Can I ask about our moon quests? And what’s the deal with the Bright World? You haven’t said anything about that yet.”

  I have enabled your angels to communicate with you more directly. They will explain much. As for the rest, it is up to you to discover.

  “Sure, right. Can’t unload too much plot information at once, right?”

  No. Now step out of my story.

  “Weren’t you done?”

  Not quite.

  It is they who will open the white door. So say the prophecies.

  The end.

  “Wait, that was all you had left?”

  Arcadelt’s tale from beginning to end lasted only a few seconds. When it was over, they all stood just as they had before, and gray dawn light crept through the false sky overhead.

  “I knew it,” said Isaac softly to her right.

  “Fuck,” Eric muttered to her left.

  Elizabeth rubbed at her temples and swayed on her feet. Was the aptly named special at last wearing off? She couldn’t tell.

  “Fuck,” Eric said again, louder. Then he shouted. “Damn it! What the hell? So we’re stuck here?” Eric was gritting his teeth, his fists clenched. Elizabeth had never seen him lose his cool before.

  “Whose fucking idea was it to bring us here? Why us?”

  “Hey, you opened the doors yourself,” said Isaac. “At least you had a choice.”

  “We never had a choice,” said Eric, his limited reserves of uncool angry shouting apparently run dry already. Now he just sounded defeated. “It was a fucking hexagon from the beginning, right?”

  “It was!” Kate exclaimed. “I remember! I was so curious who the sixth one would be!” She sank down to her knees on the elderstone floor and traced a finger along the smooth surface, watching the colors spread in response. “I hope she’s okay.” Now she sounded near tears again. Good lord, Kate’s moods were erratic enough under normal circumstances.

  “Well?” Eric asked, directing this question at the Lords and Ladies. “Why us? And what does all this have to do with October Industries? And what the fuck was going on with the sky?”

  They didn’t know, Elizabeth realized. None of the Lords or Ladies understood anything beyond this world. They didn’t know about Earth or its fate, or about where their heroes came from or why, and they certainly had not heard of October Industries.

  “They don’t know,” said Jimothy as though in sudden realization to himself. Elizabeth glanced around quickly and saw that the others also shared this abrupt comprehension. That meant it was the work of Arcadelt.

  Lord Friend understands that these new circumstances may require some adjustment. He is quite prepared to discuss such matters at great length, perhaps near a crackling fire with pastries and hot, sweet beverages at hand. But for the moment, he must simply inquire whether the heroes of Ardia understand their position in light of what the first of the angels has revealed.

  “We get it,” said Isaac. He stepped forward. He sounded excited. “We have to get the key, and not let the Dark Ruler reach the door.” He began pacing. “We need to do our moon quests. I’m sure there’s plenty to do on this world too, Ardia. And this city. It’s a hubworld; we can all come here.” He began ticking things off on his fingers. “The guardians. The doors. The angels. The gods. Ten, right? Hmm. Music?”

  The resources of the citadel, and to a lesser extent Skywater itself, were partially at their disposal, though the Heroes each wielded greater authority on their respective moons. Their angels could now inform them more clearly about what was to be done. And, of course, they could all avail themselves of the service of Arcadelt himself within the Citadel.

  Seeing as the heroes ‘get it,’ Lord Fool observes that this meeting has thus come to a close. And not a moment too soon! For he senses hunger gnawing at the guts of his guests, and unrest gnawing at the belly of their city, for interesting business is afoot by the docks! Is it not so, says Lord Fool slyly to the eminent Lady Chains, whose blood-spattered raiment has failed to evade his keen eye. And the eminent Lord Fool has a word of congratulations for the Hero of Light, for surely ‘twas his doing: the unforeseen and quite thorough chromatic recalibration of a significant section of the market district? The damages and reparations bear no mention, alas, or he would mention them. And Lord Fool goes so far as to doff his singular artifact of haberdashery, his immense purple stovepipe, the far end of which is not inconvenienced by its contact with the elderstone floor, and indeed creates a small crater therein.

  Lord Friend suggests that one of the Ladies lead their guests to their prepared dinner.

  Lord Foe, perceiving that this farce has come to an end, rises, turns, and departs in a swirl of darkness through a door in the back. He makes a noise like the clattering of stones as he goes.

  “Are you guys hungry?” asked Jimothy. “I’m pretty hungry.”

  “I am hungry,” Kate replied. Elizabeth was about to respond that she shouldn’t be, they just ate, when she realized that she was fairly hungry as well. Perhaps that special was not very filling. And she just remembered that she had taken only a few bites out of her fish before…

  Lady Fires arose from her chair. Her hulking form dropped with a whoosh from the balcony to the elderstone floor. The floor swirled red and pink and orange around her as she drew herself up to a formidable six feet. She slid across the stone toward them. Arcadelt stepped out of her way and bowed as she passed. Isaac stopped pacing when she approached.

  “A riddle,” she rasped when she stopped in front of them. Her smoldering leathery covering, which Elizabeth was now almost certain was nothing less than her own wings enveloping her, twitched as she spoke. Stray sparks tumbled down the dark wings and onto the floor. The scent of smoke hung about her like a shroud. “Which is more dangerous: a valiant fool, or a timid sage?”

  After a moment of silence, Kate’s whisper was clearly audible to all of them: “That’s not a riddle!” Elizabeth had to agree. A tough question, maybe, but it required clarification of terms.

  “More dangerous to whom?” she asked.

  “Which would you have at your side at the last hour?”

  Elizabeth did not know. It still wasn’t really a riddle. It reminded her of the one Jim had asked not so long ago: ‘no enemies but our friends’ and all that.

  “The sage,” said Isaac. Eric, at almost the same time, said, “the fool.”

  “Can I have both?” asked Jimothy.

  “Still not a riddle,” Kate muttered. “No chain of reasoning.”

  “Is there a correct answer?” asked Elizabeth.

  Lady Fires chuckled a hoarse laugh that sent a shower of sparks dying onto the shimmering floor. “Ask the Burning God.” With this, she moved past them, back to the door they had entered by. With a last lingering look at the Lords and Ladies behind, who were already dispersing, Elizabeth followed.

  Arcadelt came with them, and it was probably because of him that Elizabeth knew that she or any of the others could come call on any of the Lords or Ladies at any time. Except, probably, Lord Foe. Arcadelt would always know where they could be found, with the obvious exception of Lord Found.

  “More like Lord Lost, am I right?” said Isaac. Only Kate laughed.

  “Why is it obvious?” asked Elizabeth. “Is he missing?”

  “Who knows why the Laughing God laughs?” said Lady Fires.

  No one, Elizabeth understood. No one knows. Not even, they say, the Laughing God himself.

  They passed through the gilded halls of the Citadel for only a short time before arriving at their dining room. Lady Fires told them on the way that the Theians were being provided for elsewhere. This was a private dining room for the six (five) of them. They would be served by quaaliths, who had been instructed not to be overly distracting.

  Lady Fires said more in the two-minute walk to their dining room than had Lady Chimes during the whole time she’d led Kate and Elizabeth to the Citadel. And despite the burning bat-wings and the horrid scratching whistle of her voice, Lady Fires was somehow less threatening than Lady Chimes. Heat radiated from her as she led them down the corridors, and the elderstone reacted to her presence in a wide radius even before she set foot upon it. (“Foot?” Impossible to say.)

  Their dining room looked as though Lord Friend had designed it. It was cozy: wood-paneled walls, lush maroon carpet, warm glow from the candles and glowing globes of rich light hanging from the ceiling, low darkwood table with padded chairs. A fireplace stacked with wood lay cold on one side of the room, and on the other stood a bookcase flanked by golden lampstands. The bookcase, bizarrely, reminded Elizabeth of Lazaru, the apelike librarian from Sisyphus. The only strange thing about this room was the ceiling, which was made of elderstone and was shot through like Swiss cheese with big, dark holes.

  The circular table was set for six. It looked like a formal setting, with several slight variations on almost every dish and utensil. A number of colored bottles stood like lonely towers on the broad varnished plain of the table.

  Lady Fires preceded them and made her way to the fireplace, leaving a trail of slightly singed carpet on her way. She blocked their view of the fireplace for only a moment, but a fire crackled merrily when she turned back to them. She appeared to notice her trail of damaged carpet. “Oh dear,” she hissed. “I will leave you to your business.” She hurried out of the room. “Arcadelt will provide you with anything you require.”

  “Coffee, Arcadelt,” said Eric as Lady Fires left. No one else had any requests.

  Arcadelt vanished, leaving them and their angels alone in the cozy dining room. Alone at last. It seemed everyone felt the same, for they breathed a collective sigh.

  “So tell us,” said Isaac as he took a seat at the table, “how did Kate get so…”

  “So awesome?!” said Kate as she collapsed into a chair next to him. She collapsed so hard that her head thunked onto the edge of her center plate, causing it to flip over onto one of her bowls and roll off the table. “Ow.”

  “We ate at a café,” said Elizabeth as she pulled up another seat. “Kate ordered something without knowing what it was.”

  “And you had some too, huh?” said Eric with a grin.

  She scowled at him. “Not that much.”

  “It was AMAZING,” said Kate with her head still resting on the table, her dark hair all over the rest of her dishes. She was right about that. It had been amazing.

  “Yeah, sounds like it,” said Eric. He pulled a chair out for Jimothy before taking one of the final two seats. “Oh, this is Frisby Wiser, everyone. I didn’t name him.” He spoke as the tiny white dragon crawled up onto his shoulder.

  “So cute!” said Kate. “Hello, Frisby!”

  The dragon nodded at her as it hopped down onto the table and marched over to inspect the bottles. “A keen idea, Frisby,” said Isaac. Isaac reached out for the center of the table. His arm was not quite long enough to reach, but a bottle appeared in his hand anyway, one of those that had been in the middle of the table only a moment before. He uncorked it, poured the bright blue substance into his goblet, and took a long sip without hesitation. “What?” he asked when he realized everyone was watching him.

  “How is it?” asked Jimothy? “I’m pretty thirsty.”

  “It’s good,” said Isaac. “Tastes like…” Everyone interrupted him by laughing, for Isaac had revealed that his teeth were as blue as Kate’s dress.

  This kicked off a brief spree of testing the dozen-or-so various drinks set before them. There was a bottle of water, several of juice, and one of milk (the same kind she’d had at the Silver Green, unless she was mistaken), but half were alcoholic. Did they not care that the heroes were underage? Or did it not matter here? Or had they simply not known?

  Although aware of possible unhelpful complications with the lingering effects of the special she and Kate had eaten, Elizabeth sampled several of the liquors. She kept a close eye on Kate to make sure that she, dear adventuress that she was, did not get more than a sip of any of it.

  Elizabeth’s favorite was a rich syrupy cordial that changed colors and flavors, shifting through a dozen of them on a swift cycle. It was the most extraordinary sensation to have the tart apricot taste become strawberry cream when she swallowed, while the lingering traces on her tongue faded to a sweet butterscotch. It was delicious but strong–strong in the alcoholic sense. Dangerous, AJ would have called it. Elizabeth made sure to fill only a fraction of her crystal goblet. She swirled it, fascinated by the color-changing brew.

  The others laughed and joked, pointing out the various surprising qualities of their peculiar beverages. That was good, Elizabeth thought as she sipped the changing cordial. High spirits. She felt uneasy, and not just because of the all-too-obvious empty chair across from her. Something nudged her leg. She reached down and scratched Callie’s head without looking.

  Isaac, Jimothy, and Kate were all enjoying the antics of Frisby Wiser and Navi. Kate got a little too enthusiastic about cheering them on. Eric leaned back in his chair, the tarpaulin cape and futuristic sword piled against the wall behind him. He smiled with the others, but his heart was not in it. He gazed at the drink in his hand. It was a pale blue, and it rippled with faint green light as it turned in the glass.

  Elizabeth scooted her chair closer to his and leaned over. “Leah?” she asked, quietly enough that the others wouldn’t hear. “Your parents?”

  He sighed and took his time formulating a response. “Yeah,” he said at last. “I know Isaac’s having a great time with all this bullshit, but it’s hard for me to get into it when I don’t know what’s happening back home.”

  “I’m worried about my family, too.”

  He raised his glass in a mock toast. She reached over and clinked hers against it. They each kicked back a swallow.

  “So what happened with Jimothy?” she asked.

  He shrugged. “I guess he made a friend here, brought her over to his moon, and a giant wolf killed her. Just right in front of him.” Elizabeth gasped, but Eric continued in a flat tone. “So when he came back today, he got in trouble with the gang she was in. Only they let him off easy because he’s a Hero. Except the girl’s mom was pissed, so she dropped a hint to the Dark World or some shit, for revenge right, so then the mafia boss dude kills her too. Right in front of us. Isaac and I tried to go save Jim before we found out he didn’t need it.”

  Elizabeth leaned back in her chair, shaken. Death. Murder? Two murders? Right in front of Jimothy?

  “What’s wrong?” asked Isaac, but that was when the quaalith arrived with their food. They flourished like jellyfish down from the holes in the ceiling, bearing steaming trays and dishes suspended by thin tendrils. The quaalith fluttered slowly, elegantly, like sentient rainbows. They seemed lighter than air, yet could somehow lower down an entire tray of roast meat.

  “I’ve seen these before,” Eric said to her, the only noise as the rest of them sat entranced by the scintillating movement. “They were in the Museum. Saw them with Heidi.”

  The used bottles of drink were replaced, and platters of food soon covered every inch of space on the table. Not all of it looked delicious. It seemed to Elizabeth that whomever had prepared this meal had not known precisely for what palate they were cooking, and had thus decided to cover their bases. There was a basket of orange tulips in some kind of red sauce. There was a wheel of clay in multiple colors, cut into thin slices exactly like a wheel of cheese. Isaac tried a small bite of this and confirmed that it was nothing more than regular clay, “though in fairness, possibly an excellent vintage.” Jimothy broke off some pieces and amused himself by sculpting them into a miniature Arcadelt throughout their meal.

  But most of the food was edible. More than edible, it was amazing. A deep hunger awoke in Elizabeth at the sight and smells of the smorgasbord presented to her. This was a feast–a peculiar one to be sure, but a feast nevertheless, and for all she knew it would be her last. She partook of the roast, a beefy meat in a sweet brown gravy. It came with stewed vegetables, still crisp and flavorful. She helped herself to a dish of spicy brown noodles with a sweet peppery glaze. A stack of fibrous chewy stalks, dipped into several colorful sauces. Golden honeyed rolls, crusty on the outside but chewy within. Some kind of buttery sautéed shellfish served over blue and gold rice. She tried all of this, and yet Elizabeth was the conservative one among them in terms of culinary restraint. Isaac and Eric were trying everything. Jimothy had found something he liked and gone all-in, his plate heaped with the honeyed rolls. Kate, the vegetarian in their midst, still had plenty of options, though some foods seemed borderline. She had summoned chopsticks to eat with and mostly tried to place food into her mouth while staring up at their servers, with predictable results. Eric finally got his coffee, which he declared odd but acceptable.

  Silence reigned for a time as they were all torn between devouring their food with as much dignity as each of them cared to muster and watching their gravity-defying servers. The quaalith were never still. They descended and ascended without rest, bearing up empty or near-empty trays of food and returning with new varieties. They learned rapidly which of their guests desired which foods, so that the vegetables ended up clustered around Kate and the more exotic foods found their way over to Isaac. Elizabeth kept an eye out for a repeat of the ‘special,’ not sure whether she cared to inform Isaac of its nature should he find it in front of him. It never appeared, but that was no guarantee something similar was not present.

  “Anyway,” said Isaac after several minutes, as they began to come up for air. “Let’s talk business. That Arcadelt stuff.”

  Oh. Right. She’d been so distracted by the food…

  Isaac was looking at her, and so was everyone else. Elizabeth took a drink of water before responding. “We are in a story, correct?”

  He nodded, then shrugged.

  “So what kind of story is it?” she asked. “Does that not seem important to know?”

  “I think it’s like a fairy tale!” said Kate, pointing her chopsticks at Elizabeth. “I have a palace!”

  “Not much of a fairy tale over on the Hollow Moon, I can tell you that,” said Eric. “More like some post-apocalyptic sci-fi shit.”

  “But if this is a story,” Kate declared, “it was written by someone with no understanding of fundamental theory! Time? Space? Gravity? Theydon’tevenreallyexist!” She brought an outraged fist down upon the table, making her plate jump. She jumped too, as though she had startled herself.

  “I was thinking of what’s happened to Jimothy,” Elizabeth said. That got their attention. She met the wide brown eyes of Jimothy as she continued. “Senseless murder. Is that the kind of story this is? Does that sound like a fairy tale?”

  “Yeah, I’ve been thinking,” said Isaac. “Just from what you’ve all told me so far about what your moons are like, and then seeing this place, I think I get it.”

  “Do explain,” said Kate with an elaborate permissive wave of her hand.

  “So it’s not a fairy tale,” he pointed at Kate. “Not some pulp science fiction or D&D fantasy,” he pointed at himself. “Not an anime [Eric], or an opera [Elizabeth], or a horror novel [Heidi’s empty seat], or whatever you contributed, Jim. It’s this big monster mash-up of all of that.”

  “Monster Mash,” said Kate. “Heheh. Hey how do you go to the bathroom in that suit?”

  “Hey how do you not stutter when you’re drunk?”

  The glass teleported across the room before it hit Isaac in the face, but its contents splashed all over his black spacesuit. Isaac didn’t seem to mind, even when it steamed in complex double-helixes up to the ceiling.

  “So you believe,” said Elizabeth slowly, “that this world is the way it is because of us?”

  He nodded. “I think if it were six different people, it would all be different. Or at least some of it. The moons would be different. It’s pretty obvious that our moons are custom made, right? Just for us. I mean, what are the odds Kate just happened to get a moon full of butterflies?”

  Eric nodded. “I got a city. And I have to admit, it’s badass as fuck.”

  “Of course,” Elizabeth agreed. “Mine is the ‘Garden Moon.’ I need to make a flower grow. I don’t quite understand the ‘hero of movement’ bit, but…”

  “It’s your dancing, Liz!” said Kate, reaching over to take Elizabeth’s arm. “You move so beautifully!”

  “It’s not just our moons,” said Isaac. “I think maybe other things are affected.”

  “But what about Michael?” asked Jimothy. “And everyone else? On Earth?”

  “Jim, what does the Line say?” asked Isaac. Judging from his expression, he considered Jim’s answer important.

  Jimothy looked embarrassed. “We’re real. Just us. Nothing else here.”

  “‘Cause it’s a dream,” said Kate, slumping back onto the table. “We came here through the Museum. Dream Museum. But it’s real.”

  “That doesn’t make sense,” said Eric.

  “It kind-of does, though,” said Isaac. “It is like a dream here. I feel like I react differently to things here. Like, I’m not afraid of things I would normally be afraid of. Like the ghosts on my station. And I just kind-of know how to…” He squinted at his plate, concentrating, and it changed. It was, in fact, Elizabeth’s plate. The remains of her unfinished meal lay scattered upon it. Elizabeth looked down. Isaac’s plate, right where hers had been. “Can’t you all kind of tell that something’s different? Don’t you feel a little different?”

  A moment of silence as they processed this. For her part, Elizabeth wasn’t sure. She certainly felt a bit peculiar at the moment, but that was not because of being here in this world.

  “So what do we do now?” asked Jimothy.

  “Simple,” said Isaac. “We win.”

  “Win?” said Eric.

  “We do our moon quests. We explore Ardia. We protect it from the Dark World. We beat the Dark Ruler, take his key, open the door. And,” he said, forestalling another comment from Eric, “we do all of this while keeping an eye out for plot holes and shortcuts. Maybe there’s an easier way out of here. Maybe we don’t want another way out.”

  “Why the hell wouldn’t we want another way out?” asked Eric. “What if this shit takes months? Years?”

  “Remember what was happening on Earth? When we left? Jacob said it was basically the end of the world.”

  “Elmer and Amelia said something similar,” said Elizabeth.

  “Uncle Riley what are you doing?” moaned Kate from the tabletop.

  “What if opening that white door is how we fix it?” said Isaac.

  “So what, we just fucking save the world?”

  “Obviously. Haven’t you been paying attention? This is a save-the-world kind of story, bro.”

  “The kind of story where we can die, too,” said Eric.

  “We were in that kind of story already,” Isaac replied. They both laughed at this. Elizabeth rolled her eyes. What was with all their macabre inside jokes?

  “Um. I meant,” said Jimothy, “what do we do right now?”

  “Oh,” said Isaac. “Hmm.”

  “Is it not obvious?” said Elizabeth. She stood slowly and stretched. Everyone looked at her. She stared back in surprise. “We’re going to Hyperion, of course,” she told them. “If there is a giant murderous wolf haunting Jimothy’s moon, he’s not going back there alone. And once we’ve made sure of Jim’s safety, on to Orpheus.”

  The agreement was almost unanimous once they understood. The objector, surprisingly, was Jimothy. He shook his head emphatically. “Maugrim might kill you! I don’t think he will try to kill me. Um. Maybe not yet, anyway.”

  Eric shook his head. “Not good enough. If Albino Clifford tries to mess with you, we fuck him up.”

  “Yeah!” said Kate.

  “We’ll do it together,” said Isaac.

  “Yeah!” said Kate.

  “We’ll go with you at least for tonight,” said Elizabeth. “It will be good to see your moon. It sounds intriguing.”

  “Yeeeaaugh!” Kate slipped off her chair and onto the floor. The sound of giggling rose from her empty seat.

  “Arcadelt!” said Isaac. Arcadelt was behind him, a towering shape of shining crystal, razor-sharp edges, shimmering elderstone. Isaac didn’t appear to notice, but continued regardless. “How can we get to Jim’s moon?”

  At the height of the central tower of Skywater Citadel was a hexagonal platform, which should be familiar to them. Six doors stood already in place at this platform. Their medallions could be calibrated to any extant door of theirs, including these. There were several locations throughout the Narrative where their doors were already in place and did not need to be created.

  Lady Rains could take them up there to that platform. She was waiting just outside.

  “Cool,” said Isaac. “One more thing. Can you show us the white door? Where is it, exactly?”

  The white door at the heart of Skywater Citadel was underground, behind a deadly and comprehensive array of security measures. The most significant of these security measures was standing behind Isaac. This white door stood alone in a vast chamber of white elderstone, among a forest of columns that supported the weight of the Citadel above. The white door was carved of elderstone itself. It was ten feet tall, without knob or keyhole, and no force in existence could damage or displace it. Should all else burn to dust in the light of a thousand Bright Worlds, that door would remain.

  Even the Lords and Ladies could not enter that room. Only Arcadelt, the Angel of Skywater, could enter. Should the heroes wish to see the door, they must all six be present, or else bear the dark key.

  “Okay,” said Isaac. Only then did he become aware of Arcadelt right behind him, clanging faintly. He jumped as he turned around.

  Lady Rains entered the room as they stood and collected their belongings. Their angels, who had mostly been dozing by the fire after partaking of their own specially prepared dishes, stirred themselves to wakefulness.

  Lady Rains was wet; her leathery cloak gleamed in the flickering firelight. Beads of moisture collected on her rough, gray shroud and slid down when she moved, dampening the carpet. Shark skin, Elizabeth realized. It was shark skin. Like all the other Ladies she was hunched, still rather tall, and her ‘cloak’ looked more and more like wings folded up around her the longer Elizabeth watched. A small dark aperture for her face watched them as they prepared to leave. Elizabeth thought she could see an actual eye in those depths glinting in the red light of the hearth.

  But there was one more thing they should know before they left. Arcadelt, besides enabling their angels to communicate with them more clearly, had activated within them the ability to grow in power and utility by bonding to something. Their angels would acquire many properties of that to which they bonded, a process which was somewhat unpredictable. This bonding could take place only once, and the change would be significant and permanent. Care should therefore be taken.

  The options for such a bonding were nearly limitless. Angels could even bond to sentient beings, though in this case the consciousness and knowledge of the angel would subsume into that of the sentient being, rendering this option inadvisable in most cases.

  That was all. Arcadelt disappeared from their midst, leaving only Lady Rains. Without a word, she turned and led them away. Elizabeth went first, and she mulled over what Arcadelt had told them. They turned a corner, then another. They passed through a room full of maps, in which brown-robed men hunched over parchments on tables, and on one wall a holographic projection displayed the slowly rotating planet of Ardia.

  It was just past here that Lady Rains took them through a silver door and into a warm ghostly half-light, dispelling all thoughts of angels and bondings. Beyond the door stretched a balcony of elderstone that shimmered under their feet. A white railing several paces ahead separated them from the starry haze beyond. Elizabeth stepped to the balcony and gasped. The city spread out below her, a sea of colored lights not so much different from the stars above. Luminous clouds traced the horizons, but the skies were dark save for stars and moons. The crystalline spires of the Citadel, below her, radiated their own false twilight and cast a flickering glow over the entire structure.

  “We never went up, though,” muttered Isaac behind her, sounding both annoyed and intrigued.

  They had indeed never ascended so much as a step. Yet here they were, higher than everything else in sight. Higher, for all she knew, than anything else on this planet.

  Lady Rains joined them on the balcony. There was plenty of room; the balcony was several paces wide and encircled the entire top of this white tower. Stairs cut into the elderstone led up to the summit where Elizabeth knew their doors stood.

  “Kate!” said Jimothy in alarm. Kate had been leaning out over the railing to get a better view. She had overbalanced, but a cage of green light stopped her before she tipped completely over.

  “Don’t worry, guys!” said Kate. She adjusted her guitar and stepped unsteadily back from the edge. “Falling is totally my thing!”

  Elizabeth became aware of a strange whispering. It echoed through the air around her, stirring the rippling light within the elderstone and the misty haze around the Citadel. It was almost like music, if rain and mist and whispers could be woven into the subtlest melody.

  A drop of water splashed against her wrist; Elizabeth glanced down in time to see the tiny glint of violet light wink out. Another struck the stone at her feet. She saw it come down, a minute point of red that struck an equally miniscule ripple of color off the elderstone. And then another, deepest blue, right beside her boot.

  Lady Rains had her hands raised to the heavens, and the whispered chant reached a climax before she fell silent.

  Elizabeth had just enough time to extract her umbrella from her bundle of belongings and pop it open over her head.

  The rain came softly, in a quiet rush that blanketed the city. Elizabeth had never seen a luminous rain before. Its shifting and overlapping curtains were visible as ghostly folds of light, a grounded aurora drawn like thick sheets over the city, reaching as high as the top of the Citadel where they stood. The elderstone of the Citadel luxuriated in the rain. It sparkled with light, struck by a million stimulating pinpricks.

  Elizabeth sighed, awestruck by yet another remarkable spectacle. This was getting exhausting, honestly.

  To her left Isaac, Kate, and Jimothy grouped together beneath a leaf-shaped construct of blue light. It hung unmoving and unsupported in the air. It reminded Elizabeth vividly of Amelia Shape, conjuring a yellow umbrella out of nothing. Eric, to her right, muttered some private joke about radioactive fallout. He was getting soaked by the rain, including the red headphones around his neck, but didn’t seem to mind. It tapped loudly on the tarp across his shoulders.

  “Hey,” she said to him. She held out her umbrella a few inches in his direction. He took the hint and huddled next to her under its shelter. He smelled like mud, like an old musty thing getting wet. That was probably the shred of old gray tarpaulin he was wearing as a cape.

  There was something she needed to talk to Eric about. Her heart beat faster contemplating it. Was this the time? There might not be a better one. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She did it again.

  Then she said, “So.” She kept her voice cool and neutral. “There was something you wished to speak with me about?”

  Eric scoffed a laugh. He didn’t look at her. He kept his gaze out on the city. “Gonna play it like that, huh? What I’m thinking is, if you can’t already tell me what I’m gonna say, then the whole point is moot.”

  That made her smile. Oh, Eric. “You have…” she wanted to say it easily, to have it roll carelessly from her tongue, but despite all her intentions, the words got caught up. She forced them through. “…feelings for me.”

  He laughed again, a wry grunt. He started saying something, then stopped and muttered, “Sounds right.”

  “Well,” she began. A good start. But what to follow? Best to get things right out in the open, exactly as they were. “As for me…you are a good friend. But beyond that, my feelings are…unclear.” Very descriptive, Elizabeth. Her heart raced.

  “Well that’s okay, they’re pretty fucking scuffed over on my end too,” said Eric. Was he upset? Relieved? Disappointed? Hard to tell. He was trying so hard to play it cool, as always. But inside, were his emotions in turmoil like hers?

  “We should leave it at that for now,” said Elizabeth. She wished she could give him a better answer. This was the first time in her life that someone had expressed an interest in her whom she would actually consider responding to in kind. And it had come at the worst possible time.

  “Agreed,” said Eric. “But when we get some time, like when we’re not all tired and you’re not half-stoned and we’re not all about to go confront a wolf god or some shit…let’s talk.”

  She nodded. “Agreed.” What was she feeling? Relief, mainly, that the moment had passed without undue drama. Relief that Eric was still Eric, even if he maybe had a crush on her. Thinking of it in those terms (‘crush’), admitting it to herself in those terms…it gave her flutters in the pit of her stomach.

  “We could hold hands, though,” she said, surprised at her own words even while she spoke them. She didn’t disagree with them, though, once they had left her lips.

  Eric thought for a moment. “Yeah,” he said. “That’s good.”

  She transferred the umbrella to her other hand and reached down for his. Both of their hands were clammy, but his was warm, too. And he was right. It was good. They stood together, watching a blurred city of running watercolors.

  Her job done, Lady Rains departed without a word. Eric glanced around as she left. “You hear something?” he asked.

  “No,” she said.

  “Huh. Just…worried about Leah, I guess.”

  Elizabeth nodded. She understood, and he knew that.

  “By the way,” said Eric with a grin, “I can totally sense your heartbeat. Like, all the time. That’s my thing. Just thought you should know.”

  Elizabeth had no response to this.

  The Theians joined them after a few more minutes of rain-gazing, and that was their cue. It was time to go.

  They hiked up the exterior stairs and onto the broad hexagonal platform at the summit of the Citadel. Six doors. Elizabeth spotted her own at once, the pleasant white door with windows. Isaac’s was a silvery metallic arch. Eric’s was of heavy, dark wood. Kate’s was colorful and bright. Jimothy’s was an intimidating block of black granite. That left the metal door, the one that looked like it protected a vault. Elizabeth tried that door, but she already knew, somehow, that it wouldn’t work. Only Heidi’s medallion could make that door open.

  Kate first let the Theians back through her own door. She simply had to touch her medallion to it, and it was calibrated. As simple as that. She opened it onto her moon, which was just as rainy but substantially windier. The moths and butterflies filed through, and she said goodbye to each one by name, instructing them to make themselves at home in her palace, except for maybe the lab. One of them, the striking white one with a name that had ‘slush’ in it, gifted them with a pouch of a hot sweet drink, similar to honeyed hot chocolate, that they shared between them. Isaac could not resist taking a peek onto Kate’s moon for a minute just to see what it looked like, and he also could not resist making sure that everyone heard his joke about rain being “sky water.”

  “One more thing,” said Jimothy as they drank from mist-made mugs after the Theians had gone, “before we go. Can we…we should take a picture. Or something. For Heidi. Since she’s not here.” So they did. Isaac summoned a drone from his space station to take pictures of them and their angels, the city and the rain as a backdrop. On Kate’s suggestion, they also each sent her an encouraging message of their own via CHIME.

  “Let’s do it,” said Elizabeth once it was just the five of them and their angels, in the shining rain on top of the world. “We get Jimothy home. We figure out the rest from there.”

  Jimothy tapped his door with his medallion and pushed through into a deep darkness. The rest of them followed close behind.