Javhonna's Arc

Chapter 1 of 2

Javhonna was one year old, and she had ten minutes to win a crown from the gods. No mortal child had ever entered their festival of joy. She sat on the marble floor of the great mansion, in a lace dress her mother had ironed twice. Above her, the gods lounged on high chairs and watched. They did not smile. One of them, a tall woman with silver hair, tapped her fingers and sighed. "She cannot walk," the silver-haired god said. "She cannot speak. Send the baby home." Javhonna's mother pulled her close. "Please. Give her one chance." But the gods were already turning away. The golden crown sat on a velvet cushion near the tall windows, and it was slipping out of reach. Javhonna understood more than the gods knew. She could not say words, but she could see the problem. They wanted proof she belonged here. Crying would not work. She needed to charm them before they left the room. So she reached for the only thing near her. A small golden butterfly rested on the windowsill, its wings painted with soft blue swirls. It was her pet, tame and gentle, and it landed on her open hand when she lifted it. Javhonna held her breath and pushed herself up onto her wobbly legs. The silver-haired god paused at the door. Javhonna took one shaking step. Then another. She did not fall. She walked straight across the wide floor, the butterfly balanced on her tiny fingers, and she smiled the whole way. It was the biggest smile in the room. The gods stopped. They stared. A one-year-old was walking toward them, offering them her own pet, and grinning like she had already won. "She gives us a gift," a younger god whispered. "She chose us over her own treasure." Javhonna reached the silver-haired god's feet. She lifted the butterfly up high. The creature spread its wings and rose into the air, circling the god's head like a crown of light. The whole hall gasped. Then, from Javhonna's mouth, came a single clear word she had never spoken before. "Joy." The silver-haired god knelt. She looked at the baby for a long moment. Then she smiled, and every god in the mansion smiled with her. "The mortal child stays," the god announced. "She has earned her place in the festival." Javhonna's mother wept and clapped. The gods lifted Javhonna onto a cushion of their own, and the butterfly settled back on her shoulder. She had won her seat. But the crown still waited on its velvet pillow across the room, and now the other festival champions were arriving through the tall doors, each one bigger, older, and hungry to take it. The contest for the golden crown had only just begun.