CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
I pry the man’s hand off me.
“I think nearly five hundred years is patience enough,” I tell him, while Geneva, Beam, Ender, and Keshav all hurry to my side.
He looks nothing like Everest. In fact, his dark features make him appear more likely to be related to me, but the look of amusement that flickers across his face is so painfully Everest, it almost cracks my hardened exterior.
“Cyrus,” he says, extending a hand towards Geneva. One by one, the ghosts introduce themselves, until he gets to me.
I keep my arms folded. “Is it just you here?”
Cyrus scratches the back of his head. “Yes; don’t look so disappointed. I know you were looking forward to giving all eleven of us a piece of your mind.”
When my eyes widen, he says, “We know more than you think. Come, let’s chat somewhere more comfortable, shall we? It has been so very long since I’ve been here. Do the fair stalls still produce that delicious cotton candy? The lavender flavor was particularly delightful.”
“The sea-salt caramel one is my favorite,” Beam says, before Ender gives her a telling yank on the wrist.
“Is it?” Cyrus asks, bestowing her with a grin that she doesn’t return. He looks to me. “What about the constellation drinks? Such wonderful little treats you have here.”
The entitlement of this man is gratingly familiar as well – thankfully I’ve had years of practice in dealing with his kin.
“I am not a tour guide.”
“My, the hospitality here really has taken a fall,” Cyrus tuts, then turns to Geneva. “It looks like this place has been kind to you, putting years back on your life. Were you more pleasant than her?”
Geneva sticks her nose up at him. “I would have landed a well-placed kick between your legs the second you laid a hand on me.”
“In case you haven’t noticed–” I gesture behind me “–we have bigger matters to attend to, and I’m afraid there won’t be any treats until we’ve addressed them.”
Cyrus looks over my shoulder, and as if just noticing the darkened carousel, snaps his open mouth shut with a quiet “oh”.
He bends slightly to run a knuckle across the darkened string.
Where his skin makes contact, there’s a sizzle, accompanied by a fountain of silver sparks that fall to the snow-covered grass.
I trail his inscrutable movements. “It shut down after Everest collapsed.”
“Yes, yes, I heard,” he says, mildly irritated. “Irresponsible of my brother to play with the limits of our abilities. It’s not like he didn’t know what would happen.”
“Play with your abilities?”
Cyrus looks up. “So he hasn’t told you all our little secrets yet? How surprising.”
This feels like when Beam accidentally ran into my stomach during an eclipse, sending me tumbling onto the ground.
We’ve all been together so long that I believed I knew everything there is to know about Everest. Sure, everyone has some secrets, but the things that matter are common knowledge. They have to be.
You kept big secrets from him, chides a voice that sounds suspiciously like Quill’s. My shoulders deflate. I have kept large, dimension-altering secrets from him, so why does it hurt to know that his siblings, the ones who’ve kept him at arm’s length, know more about him than I do?
Cyrus must read my expression, because he tuts – and gods, I’m prepared to rip his tongue out if he does that again – and says, “Don’t look so sad, dear, he’s never been one to boast about his weaknesses.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Explain what you said.”
Cyrus grins, and the sight sends a chill down my spine. In this moment, he looks like the god he is, like I’m a fly he’s trapped under his fingers, wings pinned down. “I’ll let him handle this one. Dealing with you is not my responsibility.”
I’ve grown tired of his roundabout ways. “Fix him,” I tell Cyrus, pointing at Everest’s tent. “I don’t care about his secrets, or your responsibilities – or anything else, for that matter. Fix him and throw yourself into the river, for all I care.”
“Has no one taught you how to ask nicely?” Cyrus says.
“You wouldn’t know nice if it punched you in the face.”
He studies me, eyebrows knitted together in deep contemplation. “One thing at a time,” he says, turning his attention back to the carousel.
My skin heats up as though there’s a magnifying glass between my body and the sun. “You can make the ‘one thing’ your brother.”
Cyrus sighs. “You are exhausting.” Then, he sticks his finger into a point in the carousel – the same one I was aiming at with the rain globe – and a wave of power radiates from the strings, knocking me straight to the ground.
“What the hell?” I yell, scampering back to my feet. I feel what Cyrus has done before I see it.
A wave of warm energy blasts in my face and I close my eyes against it, letting the explosion of magic travel up and down my body. The air fills with static, and that familiar, heavy presence lands its feet on the ground around us.
When I open my eyes, the darkness of the carousel has evaporated.
The horses’ resplendent coats regain their prior color and shine, and the threads turn silver-blue, a picture of perfect health.
Some strings of rot remain, the same ones that existed before Everest’s collapse, but otherwise, it’s been restored.
“Gah!” I turn to find Geneva standing upright, back to her normal presenting age. Keshav mutters a quick “thank god”, and other ghosts begin cheering at the smallest victory.
“The rest of this is your work, I reckon,” Cyrus says. “We’ll need to talk about that, too, the greatest violation of our laws by a timekeeper to date. After dinner, perhaps? I really am hungry, and then we can get to your laundry list of grievances.”
Geneva and Keshav exchange a wary glance. Ender worries his lip.
“You’re staying?” Beam asks.
Cyrus scowls. “Unfortunately, this place needs at least one functioning god, and I’ve drawn the short end of the stick.”
“I don’t understand why I can’t eat first,” Cyrus grumbles.
“You can eat after you look at him,” I say firmly.
Truth be told, my stomach is grumbling as well, and I’m simply hoping it isn’t audible until we’re done with this. Cyrus may say that he’s staying a while, but now that the carousel is up and running (mostly), I don’t trust him to keep his word.
I push him inside the tent, where Valentin looks up, a bit frightened.
“Everest’s brother,” I explain as the ghosts file in behind us.
Cyrus bristles. “Everest’s brother? Why, I’ve never been introduced like that. I am a time god.”
“She’s well aware, thanks.” I steer him closer to the bed. “We’ve already got one of you here, remember? You’re nothing new.”
He touches his heart like he’s wounded, and I’m once again struck by the similarities between him and Everest. Their mannerisms are nearly identical if viewed in a vacuum, generated from an eternity of leisure and power.
It’s irrational, the anger that spikes in me at the thought, as if Cyrus has stolen something from his brother while leaving him asleep and impassive.
It’s a knuckle-splitting pain made worse by my gnawing hunger, and I’m so close to breaking one of Everest’s very precious, delicate instruments.
“Don’t touch that,” I growl, as Cyrus runs a finger along Everest’s telescope. “When he wakes up, you can ask for permission, but for now, focus on what’s being asked of you.”
“Honestly, I don’t know how he puts up with you,” Cyrus says, but he kneels by Everest’s side, studying the rot in his arms. We’re all quiet – save for the sound of Cyrus’s hmm’s and aaah’s, it really does feel like the only occupants in this room are dead.
Valentin is holding her breath just as I am, if the pinched look on her face is any indication.
My patience wears thin. “Well?”
Cyrus rocks up to his feet. “Yes, it is what I thought it would be. Good news is there’s a cure; bad news is it’s up in the mountains.”
We all look at each other. “The mountains?” Geneva asks.
The god nods. “There’s a plot of clock-vines that our mother planted up there. On every full moon, they blossom and produce the most delectable healing nectar, specifically meant for cases like the situation my brother has put himself in.”
Again, the accusation there – put himself in – is irksome, but I need the rest of the information.
“Then get it for him,” I tell him.
“No.”
“Excuse me?”
Valentin’s up on her feet, one arm gently placed on my shoulder as if she knows I’m seconds away from making Cyrus regret every word he’s ever spoken.
“Just as you are no tour guide, I am no courier,” Cyrus says sternly, and any warmth, any resemblance to Everest vanishes.
He stands up, tall and domineering. “Besides, they cannot be brought to the fair. He needs to be taken up there and fed the nectar during the full moon. It will not last the journey back.”
“How are we supposed to do that?” I ask. We’ve never been up to the mountains. They’re treacherous and hard to scale, which may be Cyrus’s exact hope. “How do I know you’re not lying?”
Cyrus laughs. “Why would I lie to you about this? Well, I suppose I would, but my brother will be able to confirm what I’m telling you when he wakes up next week.”
My heart nearly stops.
“Next week?” Beam asks, swerving over to Everest.
Cyrus nods. “That’s my estimate. He won’t be recovered until he’s given the nectar, but the coma should wear off. I’ll prepare a medicine that will help him stay on his feet for short periods. After that, it’s up to you. I’m already being generous.”
He calls this generous? I know I’m pushing the boundaries with him, so I keep my retorts to myself, coming to terms with the fact that Everest will wake up soon. That is almost enough to send me to my knees.
“I still don’t know how we’re supposed to get him up there,” Geneva remarks.
“I’d have to take him,” I say, chewing my lip at the thought of hauling Everest up the mountains. To a place we don’t know. The journey will be one challenge, but finding a small plot of flowers in the wilderness feels impossible.
“I’ll come with you,” Valentin says bravely. “You won’t be able to do it alone.”
“We’ll pack you all the food and clothes you need,” Beam says resolutely. “And I can come for moral support.”
“You’re all remarkably unresourceful,” Cyrus says, scowling. “Don’t you have a dragon?”