Page 148 of Styx

of the sky.

‘The lava stone,’ Asteria said. ‘Why did

Metis go all the way to Tartarus for it?’

It was a question that had

also crossed my mind.

A dark thought ran through my head

but I shook it clear. ‘I do not know.’

My words were slow in formation.

I did not add the rest aloud:

And I am not sure I want to find out.

The Orchard

At the top of the sky, beyond the clouds, just before the azure meets the midnight of Chaos, there lies an orchard. This is not an orchard like the ones mortals know. The trees are not quite trees, and the fruit is not quite fruit. Instead, it is an orchard where the trees are stardust and the fruit is the stars that we have come to know so well. It is said that the father of these stars, the maker, is the great gardener of the light. He sits in the middle of this strange orchard, his large loving hands gently picking up star after star to examine it, halfway between the heavens and Chaos, in this liminal nowhere place where he plants stardust tree after stardust tree. This orchard is one of many, but it is his favourite, because it is the first. His name is Atlas. Father of constellations and stars, the great gardener of the universe.

As We Got Closer, Atlas Turned to Look at Us

‘Young Zephyrus,’ Atlas, the giant

in the middle of this strange

orchard of light and darkness, acknowledged.

Zephyrus bowed ridiculously low

and said, ‘I bring you visitors, uncle.’

Zephyrus’s cloud dissipated

as we landed on the azure top

of the skies. We stood there,

unable to understand how

we could stand in such a place.

‘It’s the stars.’ Atlas read our minds.

His voice was a gentle rumble.

Kind-eyed with silver curls,

Atlas was known for his placid ways.

To nurture stars awake,

one must know how to sing

lullabies, and lullabies are not loud.