A flurry of activity ensues from behind. Her peers shout, roar, holler.
“Wonder! Wonder, stop!”
“Wonder, don’t!”
“Wonder!”
The world jolts as Envy’s arm slings around her waist. “Ah-ah-ah. Not so fast, my nymph.”
“Get off me!” she spews. “Get the fuck off! They took him! They took him from me!”
“Hun, this isn’t the way,” the god grunts, wrestling with her. “You of all people know this. Come on now, we need you.”
“I had him!” she shrieks. “I had him, and he’s gone!”
It’s pandemonium, everyone issuing declarations and lobbing warnings, all of it overlapping into nonsense. Envy secures Wonder while she thrashes, so that anyone who goes near her receives a scratch, or a kick, or glob of spittle.
Harmony skids in front of her. “Look at me,” the female instructs, grasping Wonder’s wheezing face. “Look at me, Wonder. Look at me, and remember who you are. Remember who he loved. Try to remember.”
Wonder seethes, but she looks, and looks, and looks.
And at last, she remembers.
***
Three hours later, Malice’s body rests across the wooden surface of a long study table. Flanked by bookcases, he still holds the flowers and envelope to his chest, but Wonder has surrounded him with more blooms from outside, and she has set his archery by his hip.
He needs everything close, all of it in reach, just in case he requires them. He might wish to smell the flowers or plot to steal them from her. He might ask her to reread the letter, so he’ll want that as well. Or he might crave a book, or he might wish to trace one of his hickory arrows.
She deliberates whether to change his clothes, but that would conceal the way he’d died, and he would despise that.
As for herself, she had freshened up—with the help of Merry, Love, and Sorrow—once she’d calmed down. Unable to stomach wearing his blood, Wonder had conjured a soft green gown to replace her soiled garments, and she’d chosen bare feet over boots.
At present, the anger gushes out of her, leaving blessed numbness in its wake. She perches on the table’s edge, constantly rearranging Malice’s wildflowers, unable to get them right. If only she could get the bouquets right.
Perhaps she should start again.
Bodies crowd her, a ring of stars drawing near. Love and Andrew, Anger and Merry, Envy and Sorrow. And Harmony.
They stand in solidarity with her. They stand and wait.
Burdened by their attention, Wonder glowers at them, and when she does, her eyes water. Among them, she sees memories and friendship. Beyond that, she sees compassion.
Merry, with her sentimental eyes. Love, with her steadfast chin. Andrew, with his selfless visage. Anger, with his turbulent loyalty. Envy, with his smooth tenacity. Sorrow, with her grim resilience. And Harmony, with her soothing patience.
They hadn’t known the rest of Malice. Nor will they truly know him, if Wonder doesn’t share what happened in the Archives. There’s so much to say, and they’re here to listen.
So Wonder tells them her story, his story, their story.
At the end of it, they understand a bit more. Andrew, who knows bereavement. Love, who knows metamorphosis. Sorrow, who knows deprivation. Envy, who knows rivalry. Merry, who knows alienation. Anger, who knows disruption.
Harmony, who knows her pupil.
Yes, and it had ended painfully. But it had been worth it.
Hearing the myth of Malice’s evolution from mortal to immortal, of his redemption, of his sacrifice for Wonder, the deities bow their heads, because they’d never gotten a chance to meet the person she loves. And when each archer adds a flower with star-shaped petals to the arrangement, it finally looks right.
***
A deity’s body doesn’t wither as a mortal’s does. Thusly, Malice’s complexion remains tinted with vibrancy, waiting for a ray of starlight to draw him in, to take him wherever immortals go from this point. Based on the firmament and the location where they’ve put him to rest amidst the books, a few hours remain for the light to shift in his direction.
After that, he will simply fade.
They could relocate him into a full beam and expedite the farewell, but he deserves to lull in peace, and Wonder longs for this interval. Alone, she watches over Malice, feasting on his sleeping face until then. He can rest without nightmares, without needing her to keep them at bay.
She vows to stay right here until he goes. But her ears perk at the tension coming from the religion section, where her companions have convened in a flurry of discord. When she’d told them about her and Malice’s time in the Archives, she had imparted the details of this new legend, the one she discovered prior to that lava rock arrow…prior to Malice…
She evicts the vision from her mind, yearning to rip it out with her fingernails.
Evidently, her classmates and Guide have resurrected the subject, too restless to delay. Wonder resigns herself to let them hash it out, however Envy’s growls rise another decibel and clash with Sorrow’s snort of derision, at which everyone shushes the pair. An ensuing scuffle implies that Andrew and Merry are attempting to corral the group outside, out of Wonder’s earshot.
At this rate, they shall misinterpret Wonder and Malice’s findings. Without her there to make sure, they might recall the facts wrong, mutilating and misrepresenting the details, thoroughly botching the legend. Won’t they?
In exchange for that text, Wonder has sacrificed love. If they hadn’t followed that trail, Malice would be alive.
But then, they wouldn’t have found the answer. His life had better not be in vain, starting with getting the particulars correct. Besides, he hates loose ends and inaccuracies.
Just like her.
Wonder checks the sky, assuring herself this will only take a moment. Leaning over, she toys with his golden curls, then kisses his lips. “I’ll be right back,” she promises. “Don’t go anywhere.”
She locates her friends in the two hundreds, in the mythology stacks. Envy and Sorrow have planted themselves at opposite ends of the space, wedging everyone else between them. Based on the would-be couple’s crossed arms, they haven’t taken the news well.
Anger had once made a pertinent point: Perhaps when more deities learn to love, fate will bridge with free will.
He’s right. Universal love is the answer. In all its guises and forms, in all its capacities and tropes, from each angle and root, it’s the ultimate inspiration.
The next question is this: Where does it start? How does it start? With whom?
Love and Andrew’s match had been the spark for revolution, which has since grown through Anger and Merry. And now, it thrives from the bond between a villainous outcast god and a wandering floral goddess.
How to proceed from there? That’s depends upon Envy and Sorrow.
According to this new legend, if two deities can choose love over lust, they’ll become a force of influence, along with those closest to them.
As members of the elite class, the first ring of emotions that has included love itself, the original five archers are a foundation. Initially, they’re the souls most capable of feeling love.
Envy and Sorrow are the only two remaining. If they can progress to something more meaningful, their relationship will seal that link.
Strangers to lovers, friends to lovers, enemies to lovers, allies to lovers.