Heir to a Lost Sun: A Caverns of Stelemia Novel

by Riley Morrison

  So it had been the patriarch.

  “What are you talking about?” Aemon frowned. “Your kind? I thought—”

  “I was a monk of the Order? I am, but I’m also a believer in the teachings of Inquisitor Mariot.”

  “Who? I have never heard of him.”

  “Nor should you have. It’s a closely guarded secret that a fracture has formed in our order. I only tell you this now so you understand what is at stake. If the woman is not found, patriarch Lucien will have his excuse to condemn all of us Reformers as heretics.”

  “I’m not sure I understand what this is all about. I thought you of Ibilirith all believed the same thing.”

  “Mostly we do, but some of the things written in the old files, the Prophecy among them, are vague and open to interpretation. Some of us, like Inquisitor Mariot, have come to interpret them differently.” Minard inclined his head toward Kara’s bed. “Not all of us believe she is the threat Lucien and his kind think she is. There are other files on the Sacred Computer written about the Scion who paint her in a different light.”

  That is reassuring to hear.

  “Our numbers are slowly dwindling; it takes us longer to repair Ibilirith’s technologies.” Minard dabbed at his eyes. “One could say our order is dying. But, some of us won’t give in. Some of us think the old ways have come and gone and a new way must be found.”

  Right now, Aemon did not care if the Order lived or died. He stepped toward Minard, remembering what the healer had said. “If I had not made a solemn oath to protect human life, I’d let her slip away into the dark.”

  Kahan had called Kara a threat too, naming her as the Scion in the Prophecy of Ibilirith.

  “Tell me everything you know about Kara and of the Prophecy. What does the patriarch intend to do to her?”

  Minard grimaced. “It is not my place to speak of it. You will find out soon enough. For now, let us wait for word of her discovery.” He went to stand near the door, shoulders arched as if carrying a great weight.

  Aemon lowered himself onto the bed, unsure if he preferred Minard as he was now or when he was busy being an absurd, irritating ox.

  HALF AN HOUR LATER, they got word Kara had been found.

  They followed a breathless acolyte to a large chapel and found her kneeling before a wall covered in colored glass bulbs and metallic cogs. Aemon glanced around as he entered the room and instantly recognized it from a description in a book. The Machine Chapel. The place where the priests of the Order sang their laments to the passing of their ancient Machine Mother, Ibilirith.

  “Kara,” Aemon exclaimed as he approached her from behind.

  Several monks and acolytes had gathered around her. Most kept their distance, but some edged closer to her, weapons in hand.

  Aemon pushed past them and fell to his knees beside her. “Kara, are you all right? What are you doing here?”

  Her eyes were closed and a thin sheen of sweat glistened on her forehead. The artifact hung outside her gown, the light so intense it made it appear as if it were on fire. Aemon put a hand on her arm and found her skin cold and clammy.

  Patriarch Lucien, now dressed in regal white robes, came to stand over Aemon. “Move back, fool,” he demanded, a monk looming menacingly beside him.

  Aemon glared at him, then turned back to Kara. The patriarch would have to drag him away from her if he wanted him to move.

  The light around Kara’s neck dimmed until it was little more than a flicker of flame. Her eyes fluttered open and she stared at Aemon for a long moment, her white eyes circled by dark rings. “Aemon.” Her eyes met his. “Where am I?”

  Could she see him? The healer had said she’d been blinded by the poison.

  A little hope returned. Not only was Kara awake, but she might not have lost her sight.

  “You are in the chapel,” he said, as the weight of his anxiety and grief began to ebb away. “Do you know why you came here?”

  “The chapel.” Kara gazed at the flashing bulbs and innumerable wires running along the walls. “I don’t know why I’m here.”

  “Can you see? Your eyes...”

  “What of them?” She moistened her lips. “Are they white, like I saw...?”

  Aemon stroked her cheek. “Kara, you were gravely wounded outside the temple. What is the last thing you remember?”

  “Yes, tell us, girl,” the patriarch snarled.

  Minard grabbed Aemon’s shoulder and forced him back to allow Lucien to move in front of her.

  Kara glanced up at the patriarch, her eyes widening. “Who are you?”

  Lucien raised his hand to grasp a cog hanging from his neck by a twisting coil of copper wire. “I am the patriarch of the Order of Ibilirith. Now, answer me. Why did you come to our chapel?”

  It took close to a minute for Kara to answer. “I was somewhere else, then... then I had a terrible fright and fell into darkness. I was in that darkness for a time, then something stirred deep within me and I felt myself moving, but I couldn’t feel the stone beneath my feet, nor control my direction.” She shuddered, clutching the artifact close to her. “It felt like something had taken control of me, or I was sleepwalking, but I felt more awake than asleep.” She gave the patriarch such a pleading look that it broke Aemon’s heart. “What is happening to me? Why did I come to this room? It felt like... like there is something I must find here.”

  Lucien studied her, his face an expressionless mask. Aemon noticed that the patriarch's fingers were clenched around the cog so tightly his hand trembled.

  Kara began to sob. Aemon tried to rush over to her, but Minard pulled him back. “Let me go,” Aemon said. “I want to comfort her.”

  The patriarch suddenly wiped sweat from his brow, his features tightening. “This chapel is a most sacred place, for it is here that I hold sermons and pray to our Blessed Mother, Ibilirith, who is entombed nearby.”

  “I think she was searching for something,” Kara said.

  “She? What are you talking about?” Minard asked, still holding Aemon firmly.

  “I don’t know. I’m so tired...” Kara buried her face in her hands and sobbed, “What’s happening to me?”

  The patriarch glared down at her, his eyes pinpricks of darkness. “Who is this woman your spoke of? Was it our goddess, Ibilirith?” Kara did not reply; she curled into a ball and wept. Lucien stamped his foot like a petulant child. “Answer, girl.”

  “Leave her alone,” Aemon screamed, anger overwhelming any sense of caution.

  Spinning around, the patriarch bared his teeth. “How dare you.”

  Heart pumping rage, Aemon held his breath. He met the other man’s gaze and refused to look away.

  Aemon, of House Pulmard. A man who had lived in fear all his life. Now staring down the patriarch of the Order of Ibilirith—one of the most powerful men in Stelemia.

  Lucien finally averted his gaze and ordered the monks to escort Kara back to her room. Aemon breathed again. What he had just done could cost him his life, but hopefully it had saved Kara hers.

  WHEN KARA ARRIVED BACK at her room, the window was locked and a double roster of guards were stationed at the door. Surprisingly, Aemon was allowed to remain with her, but was told that if he let her leave the infirmary, he would never be allowed to see her again.

  “My name is Minard,” the monk said to Kara as he placed a bowl of soup on the table near her bed. “The patriarch is going to question you in two hours’ time. I suggest you get some rest.” He gave her a wide grin that made Aemon’s blood boil. “You know, even with the white hair and those eyes, you’re still as gorgeous to look upon as the shimmering sacred lights at the heart of our temple.” He lifted her hand and pursed his lips. “Your beauty is almost divine.”

  Aemon’s temples pulsed. How dare he touch her like that.

  Kara snatched her hand away before Minard could kiss it. “What sort of holy man are you?”

  The monk straightened his back and hefted his staff. “I serve my lady Ibilirith with my ev
ery breath. That doesn’t mean I can’t call a blind fish a blind fish. I say what I feel.”

  “Well, I’m in no mood to be touched right now.”

  Minard turned his grin on Aemon and gave him a mock salute. “Watch over her, me lord.”

  Aemon’s nostrils flared. “Do not worry. I will do a better job of it than you did.”

  To his surprise Minard just shrugged and kept his grin. “We do what we can. Now, both of you, get some rest.” With that, he spun on his heel and left the room, closing the door with a thud.

  Kara gingerly climbed into bed and said, “Rest. I feel like all I’ve done is rest.” She grimaced as she touched her bandaged chest. “By the divines, it hurts.”

  Aemon’s anger was replaced by the desire to wrap his arms around Kara and hold her for the rest of their lives. But he restrained himself. “I bet it does. You should have seen—”

  Suddenly, Kara tried to sit up and say something but fell back, clutching at her wound.

  “Are you all right?” He started stroking her face. “What happened?”

  “Gah. I shouldn’t have done that.” Her teeth were gritted. “It just came back to me. I know what it is. I saw how to use it in my visiondream.”

  Aemon leaned back. “Are you talking about the artifact?”

  “Yes. In my visiondream, I saw a robed man use one much like it to open a door. It’s a passkey, like the Priest King’s royal guards use.”

  “What is a visiondream? Who was this robed man?”

  Kara was not making sense.

  She unclenched her teeth and took in a ragged breath. “I don’t know much about visiondreams. Wrynric mentioned that my father had them. They let him see the future.”

  Aemon was skeptical that such a thing could exist, but thought it best to keep it to himself. “And the robed man?”

  “I think he might have been some sort of holy man. Other people were with him, and a man made of metal.”

  This is getting stranger and stranger. Maybe she is delirious. That could explain her trip to the chapel. “Did any of them talk to you?”

  “No, I don’t think they could see me. I was at something called the surface. It’s far above us.” She licked her lips. “I think... I think the people I saw there were like us, but lived long ago.”

  Aemon raised his eyebrows. “What makes you say that?”

  With a crash, Minard burst back into the room, followed by a man dressed in a long, flowing white robe. Patriarch Lucien.

  So much for two hours.

  The patriarch wore a large, black conical hat with a brightly lit sacred light affixed to its peak. Aemon found it hard to look at him without having to avert his eyes. He still wore the copper chain with the brass cog hanging from it around his neck. Two acolytes followed the patriarch in, each carrying a handful of scrolls, metal quills and ink.

  Lucien studied Kara with eyes far older than his years. Aemon had not noticed before, but there were bags under them, as if he had not slept in days.

  Hobbling up behind the acolytes came the old healer. She ushered Aemon away from Kara’s bed, then bowed as Lucien came to stand beside her. Once she straightened, she said, “Your Eminence, I apologize that I have not come to see this woman since she woke. I was told you were not—”

  “It does not matter.” Lucien impatiently waved her forward. “Check her over, and be done with it.”

  The healer ran her hand over Kara’s face, then peered into her eyes. “Do you see me?”

  Kara glanced at Aemon before nodding.

  “Interesting,” the healer intoned, then turned her attention to Kara’s bandages. “They appear clean, which means her bleeding has stopped.” She turned to Lucien. “Never have I seen the like of this woman before. The old files ring true. Only one such as the Scion could have survived the poison she has been afflicted with.”

  Aemon felt a chill. There was that name again. Scion.

  It struck him. Why would Kahan still be out there if the poison should have killed her? How did he know she still lived? Indeed, how had he managed to find Kara amongst the many thousands of refugees fleeing Deep Cave and then follow her to the temple? From what Kara had told Aemon back in the Limestone Caves, Kahan should not have even known she would be heading to Deep Cave. Yet he had.

  But how?

  Lucien cupped Kara’s hand in his. “I am told your name is Kara.” She nodded, so he continued. “I am Lucien, fourth of that name. I am the eighty-second patriarch of this temple, a pure descendent of Blessed Radashan and a most righteous servant of Holy Ibilirith.”

  The patriarch slowly ran his tongue over his thin lips. For some reason, that innocuous gesture made Aemon’s hairs stand on end. The acolytes watched Lucien expectantly, their quills poised over their scrolls as they waited to record his words.

  Lucien’s tongue retracted suddenly. “Tell me how you feel.”

  Kara put her hand over the passkey resting on her bandaged chest. The patriarch and the healer noticed what Kara did and shared a glance.

  “I’m in a lot of pain and it’s hard to breathe. I’m sorry I startled everyone earlier.”

  Lucien dismissed the healer, then made a hand gesture to Minard. The monk grabbed Aemon’s arm and pulled him away.

  “Hey, let me go,” Aemon snapped. “What are you doing?”

  Minard tightened his grip. “Stay where you are and be silent.”

  What were they going to do? What if the patriarch ordered her taken to the Inquisitors?

  “It is as I thought,” Lucien said. “You, Kara, are the Scion. An heir to a forgotten past. Your presence at this temple spells the beginning of the end of Stelemia.”

  Silence smothered the room. Then, after long, tense moments, Lucien let go of Kara and steepled his hands. “The ancient records on our Sacred Computer here at the temple were translated from the old and now unspoken language of our ancestors. Many records are fragmented, corrupted or missing, but each surviving file is painstakingly recited to memory, for they contain wisdoms handed down to us from a distant golden age of the past. In one of these damaged files, titled “The Prophecy of Ibilirith,” an ancient warning is written:

  “‘The Ancient Enemy shall return and with them the Scion who shall wear a glowing...’ That part is corrupted but the next part reads: ‘The Scion shall use it to unseal the wards and unleash that which must not...’ Again more is lost, then the file finishes with: ‘Harvesters the Scion will use to destroy...’ Words missing, ‘human life...’ more words missing, ‘forever.’”

  “So sayeth Divine Ibilirith,” the two acolytes intoned.

  The sacred light over Lucien’s head seemed to grow brighter. “That prophecy was written by our most beloved Ibilirith. In her blessed words, the Scion is a harbinger of doom.” He gripped the side of Kara’s bed. “This makes you—a threat to us all.” He motioned for one of his acolytes who handed him a scroll.

  Kara looked at Aemon, her hand clutching the passkey, eyes wide with terror. Aemon strained against Minard. “Let me go to her. She needs me. Please.”

  “Shut up, fool,” Minard hissed into his ear. “The patriarch will make me drag you from the room if you keep making noise. Don’t make him do it.”

  Aemon’s chest felt like it was being compressed under a ton of rock. The Order were going to send Kara off to the Inquisitors and it would be his fault.

  He had brought her here.

  Ilimdalis’s book and his subsequent exile should have been enough of a warning. The author spoke about the rigid ways of the Order, their adherence to ancient customs and of how rapidly they would condemn one for heresy. The Order were zealots, just like the Priest King, the Inquisitors, and the Covenant of the Shield that worshiped Lydan.

  Yet that had not stopped Aemon bringing her here.

  What a blind fool he had been. He had failed her. I am sorry, Kara. You would have been better off if you had never met me. I should have listened to your reservations about coming here, back in the Limestone Caves. He
felt his lower lip tremble. Please, Kara, please forgive me.

  Lucien unwound the scroll. “This letter came to me some days ago. The messenger braved the blockade of the road leading to the temple by those murderers who took our brethren from us the day you arrived. It was by Ibilirith’s divine will that he made it through alive.”

  Aemon wrenched away from Minard, in a final attempt to reach Kara’s side. The monk caught him before he could make it more than a step. Lucien frowned at the interruption and curtly motioned Minard to let go.

  Finally free, Aemon raced over to Kara and put his arms around her. She cried into his shoulder, her tears reigniting his rage. He would defend her from these zealots with his life if need be.

  The patriarch waited a moment, then began to read. “The first part of this missive says that Deep Cave is destroyed, the Iron Tower of Jharman toppled and his holy remains desecrated. Not only that, it also states that all the sacred lights in the cavern have been extinguished and that our noble soldiers could do nothing to stop the desolation.”

  He paused to let his words sink in, the sacred light over his head surrounding him in a golden nimbus. “Unfortunately, there is more.” He turned the letter over. “The town of Amana Falls and the Covetous Sisterhood at Obsidian Precipice are cut off from aid and without light. The people there cannot leave the cavern because the enemy scours the ruins of the city of Deep Cave, preventing their retreat.”

  Lucien lowered the letter and glowered at Kara, his features hardening to iron. “Our weapons have no visible effect on this enemy. They threaten us all.” He crumpled the letter in his hand. “It is my belief that it is not coincidence that you and these beasts have appeared all at once. The time of the prophecy is upon us.”

  Kara pulled away from Aemon and wiped tears from her face. “Kahan, the man who is out there blockading your road, said much the same as you.”

  Easing back on the bed, she closed her eyes, her face wet with fresh tears. “All I want to do is rid myself of this light-forsaken thing around my neck and forget any of this ever happened.”