A Messenger from Nephelokokkygia

In the Place of Dead Dreams

Chapter 29: In the Place of Dead Dreams

The princess and the shadow stepped out on the balcony to show themselves, and to receive one cheer more. But the learned man heard nothing of all these festivities, for he had already been executed.

--Hans Christian Anderson, "The Shadow"

Chang'e floated along the forge. Her blue aura clashed with the red-orange fires. Since her original robes ripped, she changed into a black dress, just as lovely as the previous gown, glittering with a million points arranged to mimic the constellations. "Couldn't help but notice you remolded the entire shape of this satellite. Thought as a neighbor, I should come over, on behalf of the other moon gods. Does anyone know how to work a bow and arrow?" she asked the companions, who rallied together. "I got my husband's original set back from Artemis."

"How hard can it be?" Bennu flew through the recent hole in the wall. This was clearly not rhetorical. He glanced nervously at his friends. Uncertainty, however, took a back seat to the sudden peril of a tank directed by Tecciztecatl.

The bow's quiver was made of two stag antlers bound with vines. Bennu placed it over his thin neck and across his shoulders. The simple wooden bow he held in place with his wings. His beak nooked an arrow while a leg pulled the string. He fired!

It appeared archery was never going to be Bennu's best subject. Then again, it served its intended function of causing mayhem. He accidentally caught the tip of one arrow on fire, which he afterwards kept doing. Shot into the gun, the vehicle imploding. Even Mr. Aitvaras failed to do so much damage. "Oh dear," was all the phoenix mumbled.

Tecciztecatl gestured for another panzer to cross the impromptu bridge. Its hatch opened; a rabbit lobbed a painted grenade at Goldtalon's head. The projectile was deflected by another of Bennu's arrows, though he was actually aiming at Ostara. The explosive went high enough nobody was harmed. Bennu aimed at Ostara again.

The Easter Bunny flicked her wrist. The arrow became a lollipop, which she ate whole, stick and all. Her focus, however, stayed on Chang'e. "Oh look, a pretty floating nightlight. Who cares? You're just one of an increasingly dwindling pawful of moon gods. That gravity 'theory'," Ostara made finger quotes, except she did them behind her ears like unimaginative pranksters do when posing for pictures, "basically put an end to the myth of celestial bodies being chariots driven by magical horsies. There should be even fewer gods on Earth. This time, none will stand in my way. Or sit. Or fly." She cackled, an invariably upsetting category of sound, but made much worse coming from something so outwardly adorable.

While Ostara argued with Chang'e, Anansi took Goldtalon's candy barrel, which somehow survived the crash unbroken. The griffin protested, but the spider turned the container on its side, spreading a trail all the way to the Easter Bunny's heels. "Just a little more silk," he muttered, tugging a long line from his spinnerets.

"Cowards!" Tecciztecatl screamed while running outside. He waved his peg-leg like a conductor's baton. (And just as usefully.) The battalions ignored his increasingly hysterical orders. Some broke formation, distancing in any way possible from the crescent peak. The scruffy lieutenant harangued one panzer in particular, which backed right into The leg Ridil healed remained attached, but his other one was severed. He sat complaining in a pile of dust, working out what to say to the boss once she found him.

"Will Ostara be able to breathe?" asked Grace, not much caring if the answer was "no."

"Rightly, she should drown," answered Anansi, "but Ostara's no 'mere mortal.' A barrel won't hold her long. I say we get to that hangar."

"You mean to use the goddesses' vimana?" asked Chang'e. "Good, because I stole the keys."

Upon Chang'e unlocking the hatch door, William Henry claimed the steering wheel. His smile returned. "I've programmed many, multiple, plenty machines like this!" he rattled off excitedly. "I call myself a 'ferromancer,' because steel talks, communicates, speaks to me. Like how sculptors picture what a block of marble should be even before chipping, hewing, removing their bits. Metal wants to be bent, shaped, molded, but only in certain ways. Otherwise, it gets unhappy, sullen, weepy. That's why rust exists."