Page 47

Wonder

There’s a star that drifts in the sky. It wanders from constellation to constellation, exploring each celestial. It’s a curious traveler, a nomadic firefly of light that floats through moonbeams and trails comets.

This star changes its course often. Unable to stay in one place at a time, it muses from one planet to the next, from one astral location to the other. It wants to know, and it wants to ask, and it wants to see.

Mostly, it longs to think. It yearns to wonder.

Unfortunately, it moves without paying attention to where it’s going. On such an occasion, an asteroid bumps into the star and knocks it back to the place where it began, in its original position.

Stuck there, the restless star flickers. Yet at last, the five members of The Fate Court identify the celestial, discerning its nature now that it finally stands still.

Although they should know better. Harmony, the amused Guide of Wonder, thinks as much as she stands beside them.

What other future goddess would behave this way? It can only be her .

Harmony smiles with pride and extends an open palm. From the canopy of constellations, that celestial firefly sinks and settles into the Guide’s hand. It blinks with luminescence, as if glancing around, as if it’s just found a new place to explore.

***

Sitting atop the hill, Wonder crosses her small limbs, her lap swaddled in a skirt woven from petals.

An overflow of chestnut pours from the crown of her head and covers her hips.

Because the locks cascade around her, sometimes it’s difficult to skip across the grass while collecting flowers.

She’s too small, and her hair is too long, so the ends get tangled in the blossoms.

She cocks her head. At the glen’s edge, snippets of a landmark peek out of the forest. From this vantage point, towers merge with the beeches and willows.

“You’re not paying attention,” Harmony scolds affectionately, because this usually happens during morning meditation.

Wonder points to the building. Someday, she will get a favorable answer, and she won’t stop until she does. “What’s in there?”

Her Guide pats Wonder’s knee, which is tucked somewhere beneath all the tresses. “You’ll find out soon enough. Save your inquiries.”

“But what if I forget them?”

The deity laughs. “Then they weren’t that important, and you’ll have new ones. There is always something to ask.”

Wonder beams. “And something to discover,” she adds. “And something to daydream about.”

Mirthful, the mentor wags a finger. “And plenty of time to do so later.”

Dutifully, Wonder closes her eyes. She practices emptying her mind and breathing deeply, which lasts until the next breeze winnows her hair and a flower stalk tickles her bare toes.

***

When she’s a bit older, Wonder earns her bow and quiver of arrows.

Her crewmates have been anticipating this moment. But truthfully, Wonder has anticipated so many things, queried so many things, contemplated so many things, that she must have misplaced this excitement. She must have lost it somewhere between one rumination and another.

That’s why it takes Wonder longer than any of her peers to choose an element for her weapons. Love selects iron, then swaps dirty looks with Anger when he makes the same choice. Envy favors glass, and Sorrow prefers ice.

After much hemming and hawing, and fantasizing over the endless options, Wonder decides on quartz. She likes the shimmer, which reminds her of drifting stars. And when her Guide mentions quartz is a healing element, well there’s something precious about that.

There’s something crucial about it too, as though Wonder might need that power sometime in the future. Not for someone else, but for herself.

***

In addition to archery drills, lectures ensue. She and her crewmates sit in an enclave, in a misty cove of waterfalls. Gathered in a semicircle, they listen to the Guides and Fate Court explain an important fact.

Wonder’s crew is elite. It comprises the most promising deities in The Dark Fates.

Terms like caliber , ethos , humanity , and destiny get bandied about. The latter dominates Wonder’s mind because it’s such a pretty word. Wouldn’t it look magical scripted in calligraphy?

Harmony quirks an eyebrow. The silent reprimand causes Wonder to straighten and pay attention. All the while, she directs covert glances at her peers.

She likes each of them, even if they’re a fussy lot.

Anger has tight eyebrows and storm-battered hair. Envy smirks, flashing a surplus of vanity as if he’s made of chocolate. Sorrow gnaws on her lower lip, and her eyes are the silver color of tears. Love has raven hair, wings to match, and some type of hold on Anger, who routinely glances her way.

Love, who’s the first goddess in history to represent that emotion, stops concentrating on the lesson. This vexes Anger, yet it makes Wonder feel less awkward about her own restless mind, which makes her smile.

Whenever Wonder goes off on tangents, Anger loses his patience.

Sorrow pinches the bridge of her nose. Envy whispers sinful comments, hellbent on making Wonder blush, since he adores attention and gets sulky whenever he loses it.

Meanwhile, Love either snickers—she enjoys whatever annoys Anger—or minds her own business, too busy contemplating her fingers to care.

During the instruction, it’s nice to see another crew member lost in thought. It gives Wonder permission to rebel.

***

She should be in bed. She should be home, in her house mounted on stilts above a glossy pool of water. She should be resting in her private refuge where starlit flora dangle from the ceiling, spill from the windowsills, and frame her front door.

But she’d been imagining, thinking, debating. She hadn’t been able to sleep.

So why bother? Being a renegade is much more thrilling.

Resting on her back atop the grassy hill, Wonder admires the galaxy. She greets her birth star, which flitters aimlessly through the sky, and contemplates without restraint.

From both her Guide and trips to the mortal realm, she’s been learning about the connections between sensations and feelings.

The texture of curiosity, the sound of uncertainty, and the taste of fascination.

She’s been studying the complexities of awe and astonishment.

She’s been mastering how to identify these things, how to measure them in humans, and what physical and verbal signs to look for.

But what is the actual essence of wonder? What does it mean to drift?

Is there a limit? Is there an end?

Why do flowers grow from the soil but not from the sky? What would it be like to pluck stars from their roots, the way she plucks primroses?

What’s the farthest an arrow has ever flown? What would a bow look like if it were constructed to shoot backwards?

What is fate? Does it have an opposite?

And what’s in the building at the bottom of that valley?

***

Books! It’s a galaxy of books!

Wonder halts at the threshold, her mouth ajar. The world beyond is a treasure chest of shelves and volumes with foil titles and metallic lettering. There are collections of tomes, scrolls, vellum, and so… many… pages.

It’s called The Archives. Secluded in the forest, it’s the great library of their realm.

The building is a divinity, a shrine to words, a temple of knowledge and stories. Multiple levels and offices contain study desks and reading chairs. Outside the windows, ancient branches sprout with leaves. Inside, the halls smell of parchment.

It’s as timeless and sacred as a mausoleum, yet so very alive. This haven spurs an intrinsic reaction in Wonder’s chest, coupled with a giddy tingle through her fingers.

Inside these walls dwell more questions and mysteries. The sponge of her mind soaks up the cavernous hush of voices, the flipping of leaflets, and the scratch of quills. Nearby, a librarian rotates an atlas, and a keeper strides past geography charts.

Elation floods Wonder’s mind, and her anxious feet shuffle. Oh, to be an aficionada of this environment. As much as she appreciates the preordained power to wield her bow, if she could be any goddess, Wonder would be a deity of libraries. So that shall be her second job.

Harmony leans into Wonder and whispers, “Go on. Have a look.”

Wonder’s grin splits her face in half. She has more than a look as she dashes through the aisles, losing and finding herself.

***

But not all pages are equally accessible. Some conceal messages that require ingenuity and a malleable mind to decipher their true content.

Even better. If Wonder’s anything, she’s a wanderer.

She’s a curator who appreciates the elusive.

That’s why clipping notable sentences from a page yields a surprise as Wonder leans over a desk in The Hollow Chamber.

Casting a furtive glance around, she deems it safe and then watches the leftover script rearrange itself.

The narrative reveals a secret message, which says that mixing a seed and blossom creates something called Asterra Flora, which unlocks barriers.

Wonder grins. That night, she’s in a rebellious mood. Perhaps it has to do with her new curves, which match her height, weight, and age.

Beneath the eventide sky, Wonder sneaks into The Archives. She breaches the locks by using this illicit blend of Asterra Flora, which she mixed herself. All she wants is to stroll in this repository alone, to enjoy by herself for once.

But that’s when she ambles into forbidden terrain. Returning to The Hollow Chamber, she descends upon the restricted section, with no one there to prevent her. The lone telescope points to a bookcase mural concealing the entrance.

It’s a known area, though not a frequented one. At least, not by those permitted to do so.

The Asterra Flora works. The sheer veil appears.

And Wonder steps through.

***