“I said you used to pretend to be perfect. We already established that I know better. And I also know there’s something wrong.” Kalona reached out and tapped Erebus’s chest over his heart. “There.” And then he tapped his brother’s temple. “And there.”
His brother swatted his hand away and made a show of laughing. “Big bro, my heart and head are fine.”
Instead of laughing with him, Kalona simply shook his head. “Little brother, we made a promise to each other to always tell the truth. I hold you to that promise now. What is wrong?”
Erebus opened his mouth to give a flippant answer, but the expression on his brother’s face had him sighing and looking away instead.
“You can tell me. You’ve seen me at my worst and you were there for me. Little brother, let me be there for you too.”
Erebus stared at the faithful geyser that was spewing hot, sulphuric water and steam into the air. He spoke slowly, softly, as if he had to coax each word to leave him.
“I am lonely.”
Kalona nodded. “I can see that. And I owe you an apology. You’ve been withdrawn. You disappear suddenly when you accompany Nyx and me to Earth. I’ve known it for some time now, and I should have spoken to you earlier. I should have gone after you—brought you back to us.”
“I do appreciate your care for me, but bringing me back to continue watching Nyx and you fall more and more in love every day—every year—every decade—does not help my loneliness.”
“Then tell me what will help.”
Erebus’s laugh lacked any humor. “Could you conjure another goddess? This time for me.”
“Ah, that kind of loneliness. But Nyx and I thought you’ve been taking frequent human lovers,” said Kalona.
“I have. Well, I did.” Erebus finally met his brother’s gaze. “Have you ever taken a human lover?”
“No. How could I? Who could possibly compare to Nyx …” Kalona’s words ran out as he understood. “No one. No human could compare to our Goddess.”
“Exactly,” Erebus said. “Humans can be delightful. They are enthusiastic, giving lovers. But they are not divine and they are not immortal.” He gazed at the geyser as the huge plume of water and steam sputtered and died. “At first I didn’t mind not having a mate. Nyx’s realm is a place of beauty and wonder, and I love to explore it. The earth too, fascinates me. I’ve spent centuries exploring it—with Nyx and you, and also alone. But it has been centuries uncounted, and I grow weary of being alone.”
“And yet here you are—alone,” Kalona said gently.
Erebus nodded. “It is a paradox. I am lonely, and yet it is worse when I’m with Nyx and you. Big bro, I’m not sure what to do.”
Kalona clapped Erebus on his shoulder. “I know exactly what to do.”
Erebus sat straighter. “You do?”
“Absolutely.”
“Are you going to tell me?”
“I think it would be better if I showed you,” Kalona said cryptically.
“Can you give me a hint?” Erebus asked.
“I can. What I’m going to do is the right thing—just as you did for me so long ago.”
“But what exactly does that mean?”
“Well,” Kalona said as he stood and readied himself to fly away. “First it means I’m going to put things right with our mother.”
Erebus’s eyes opened wide in surprise. “After all this time? But she sleeps.”
“She certainly does, but one of the things I have learned from years of observing the Tsalagi peoples is that mothers always hear the cries of their children.”
Erebus’s brows met his hairline. “You’re going to cry?”
Kalona grinned. “Something like that. It’s my turn, little brother. And I won’t let you down.” He crouched, ready to spring into the sky, but paused first. “This might take some time. Would you tell Nyx that there is something I must do, and that I will return to her realm afterward?”
“Of course, but she’s going to want to know where you are.”
“Tell her I am repaying the debt I owe my little brother. Our Goddess will understand. Also tell her I love her with every breath I draw.”
With that, Kalona spread his mighty moonlight-colored wings and flew into the sky, heading east. His wings beat against the wind as he rode the air currents up so high that the boundaries of nations were indecipherable and the earth below him blurred into soft shades of azure, jade, and white. On and on he flew until the ocean stretched below him, at first turquoise, then changing as it deepened to navy and sapphire—and finally turning the familiar blue-gray of the waters surrounding the island on which he and his brother had been birthed.
He circled the island, searching for the perfect spot, and when he finally found a thick, verdant grove overlooking the sea, Kalona landed. It was a sunny morning, but the warmth of Erebus’s father didn’t penetrate the grove and Kalona was glad of his wings, which hugged his back, warming him. He moved through the grove until he came to the heart of it, the center of which held two rowan trees that had grown twined together, their red berries seeming to crown their joining.
In front of the rowans was a boulder of white marble carpeted with moss. Kalona sat on the rock, drew a deep breath, and began calling.
“Great Earth Mother, it is your son, Kalona. Erebus and I need you. Please awaken.” Kalona paused and listened.
Nothing.
The immortal sighed, shrugged, and repeated, “Great Earth Mother, it is your son, Kalona. Erebus and I need you. Please awaken.”
All through the day, Kalona sat in that isolated grove, calling to his mother. Huge, shaggy cows were drawn to him. They circled the spot, from which he did not move, chewing silently and watching the immortal with gentle brown eyes. Over and over Kalona spoke the same words until the sun set and the moon lifted, shedding silver-white light that trickled through the leaves, turning the grove into a fantasy landscape and the highland cows to the creatures of dreams.
Kalona called until his voice was gravel. And still he called. The moon sank into the ocean and the sun lifted above the horizon, exchanging silver light for golden—and that is when the entwined rowan trees shivered. The cows snorted, coming fully awake after their long vigilance of watching over the winged immortal. As one, they turned their shaggy, horned heads toward the two trees just as the moss that blanketed the ground around them stirred and then lifted, forming the shape of a reclining woman. Her hair was made of delicate rowan leaves, and red berries crowned her head. Her skin was moss and clothed with maidenhair ferns. Her body was lush and full. She blinked open her earth-colored eyes slowly, stretched, and yawned before focusing on Kalona.