ARC: Sunstone

by Freya Robertson

  “Perhaps to know the other is there,” Tahir said. “To know we are not alone.”

  “Maybe.” A frisson of unease ran down her spine.

  He looked over his shoulder and frowned as if he had heard a sound outside. “The other girl I saw in my dream… I think maybe she is from our future.”

  “The third part of the Apex,” Horada murmured. “I wonder if she is here, in this place in her own timeline.”

  He looked over his shoulder again, distracted. “This does not feel right. Why did they not just kill us?” He turned back to her, his golden eyes unnerving. “I have to get to Heartwood. Demitto was very clear about that.”

  The unease turned to ice in her stomach as realisation dawned. “They are trying to move the Apex.”

  Tahir stared at her. “How?”

  “By forcing the three timelines to converge earlier than they should.” Her heart pounded. “We must stop them.”

  “But how?” He looked over his shoulder for a third time, and fear lit his face. “They are coming for me.”

  At the same time, her doorway lit once again with flame. “And for me. She reached out for him, but her hand met only glittering dust, his image as insubstantial as mist. “Stay strong, Tahir. We will meet again,” she said with more determination than she felt.

  He opened his mouth to reply, and then vanished.

  The lock on Horada’s door clicked and the door swung open.

  She pushed herself to her feet. She could not allow them to move the Apex. They were all supposed to meet at Heartwood, at the Arbor, at a particular time. What would happen if they met too early? Horada didn’t want to find out.

  But as a flaming form filled the doorway, she realised she didn’t really have a choice.

  II

  Tahir blinked as the young woman before him faded away, her glowing form disappearing like the setting sun, leaving him in semi-darkness. His chest rose and fell with rapid breaths as he struggled with the knowledge that not only was he alone again, but someone was about to come through the door to his cell, and almost certainly that would not end well.

  He missed Catena and Demitto, and he missed Atavus more than anything.

  He struggled to his feet, leaning against the stone wall as his knees trembled and failed to support him. Have courage, he thought, remembering how brave Horada had seemed, her blue eyes flashing with fervour as they spoke about the Incendi. Was she truly the daughter of the hero, Chonrad, stepping through the fabric of time to talk to him? It was difficult to believe, and yet how else could he explain her appearance, and the way she had mysteriously faded from sight?

  The door opened, and he clenched his fists behind his back to stop his hands shaking, refusing to show these people how frightened he was.

  Two men came through the door and walked up to him. One looked Laxonian, tall and sturdy with brown hair and beard. Tahir thought the other might be from Komis judging by his night-black hair, but instead of the distinctive golden eyes, both men’s eyes danced with flame, indicating to Tahir they were servants of the Incendi, possessed by fire elementals. They were dressed in sleeveless tunics to the knees and wore no breeches, presumably because it was so warm, and their brown skin shone with sweat.

  “What do you want?” he demanded, hoping his voice didn’t portray his fear. But the men acted as if he hadn’t even spoken. One unhooked his chains from the wall, leaving the manacles around his wrists, and then they led him out of the cell and into the corridor beyond.

  Tahir looked around him, heart pounding. When they had attacked him and Catena, they had placed a cloth bag over his head and had not removed it until he reached his cell, so he had no idea where they had taken him.

  He found himself in a stone passageway, and as he stretched out his arms and brushed them with his fingers, the stone felt warm to the touch.

  “Where are you taking me?” he demanded, but again, they refused to reply. He thought about dropping to the ground and refusing to walk, but they would probably just lift him up and carry him. Although his heart felt as if it was going to jump out of his chest, and tears trembled on the edge of his lashes, he tried his best to gather his courage. He couldn’t give in and let Demitto down. He had to do his best to fight.

  The two men led him along several corridors and past other cells. Cries and screams filtered occasionally to his ears, presumably from prisoners being held in the cells. Were those unwitting souls about to be filled with elemental forms? Was that going to happen to him?

  The corridors grew warm and hazy, and sweat broke out on his forehead and ran down his back beneath his tunic. The air became thick and cloying, almost as if he were breathing underwater. He realised the haziness was due to ash floating in the air. It stung his throat and lungs.

  They rounded the corner, and to Tahir’s surprise the corridor opened up into a vast chamber. It had high ceilings, and the upper half of the chamber was filled with ash and steam curling up from a scarlet liquid that moved slowly in a wide channel around the edge of the room. Magma, he thought, his skin already pouring with sweat from the heat. He had never seen it, but he had heard the miners speak of its presence in the mountains.

  Was that where he was? Deep in the Spina Mountains, miles from Heartwood and his home?

  Holy Arbor, protect me.

  A bridge crossed the channel, leading to a huge raised rock in the centre of the flowing magma. Atop this rock perched a wide seat with a high back similar to Tahir’s father’s throne.

  And sitting on the throne was a man.

  Tahir’s knees trembled, but before he could fall, the men holding his chains led him across the bridge and up the roughly hewn steps to the flattened portion at the top.

  They brought him before the man and jerked Tahir to his knees before chaining him to a huge iron ring embedded in the rock in front of him.

  Then the men withdrew.

  Tahir stared at the man’s feet, unable to stop himself shaking with fear. The man wore brown, soft leather slippers and a simple scarlet tunic to his knees that looked as if it could have been made of linen. His light brown skin shone like polished oak.

  Gradually, as the man remained silent, Tahir raised his gaze to take in the rest of his appearance. His bare arms bore numerous gold bracelets, and a golden circlet rested on his red hair. His face was handsome but unremarkable – straight nose, heavy brows, square jaw, but his eyes blazed with scarlet flame, and the imperious look on the man’s face made him cower.

  The man raised one eyebrow. “You are the Arbor’s Selected.” He spoke flatly, unimpressed.

  Tahir’s mouth went dry. “Yes.”

  The man’s eyes burned into him. Tahir couldn’t look away.

  “Who are you?” Tahir whispered.

  It seemed as if the eyes were hot brands, boring through his pupils into his brain, as if the man was searching inside his mind to read his thoughts. “I am Pyra. I am King of the Incendi.”

  Tahir could only stare. He knelt in front of the King of the fire elementals. “But you are a man…” he stuttered.

  Pyra laughed. “I have taken the body of many men over the years. This is but the latest in a long line.” Power radiated from the King, hot and fierce as the magma bubbling in the channel. Sweat poured down Tahir from the heat and the fear.

  “You think you are a challenge to me?” mocked the King.

  Tahir shook his head. “No, sir.”

  Pyra leaned forward, elbows on his knees, to glare at the young prince. “Do you think you are anything to me but an ant crawling on the ground? I could shrivel you to ash with a flick of my fingers.” His voice seemed to make the air rumble like thunder, and Tahir was sure he felt the ground tremble.

  He said nothing, bending his head so low it almost touched the rock. However, deep inside him, something struck like a hammer on a bell. If the King was so powerful, if he could remove him from the world with a blink of an eyelid, why hadn’t he killed him?

  “Get up,” the King snapped.r />
  Tahir lifted his head and sat back on his heels. Terror made him shake, but still he nurtured the small seed of light within him that repeated the words, why hasn’t he killed me?

  “You were being taken to Heartwood,” Pyra said. “To the Arbor.”

  “Yes.” Tahir’s teeth chattered, but he made himself lift his chin and look the King in the face. He was a prince, the son of a king, he reminded himself. He was neither this man’s minion nor his slave.

  Pyra studied him, eyes narrowed. “What will happen when I kill you and the Arbor has no sacrifice?” His voice held a hint of scorn, as if he knew the answer and was mocking the Prince.

  Tahir’s hands tightened into fists, but still he met the fire king’s gaze. “They will find another. My death will mean nothing to them but an inconvenience.”

  Pyra’s eyes gleamed, dancing with fire. “That is not what I have been led to believe. The Selected are not just individuals chosen at random. They are distinct and unique. They are written in the fabric of time, their names are fixed points we cannot change. You lie by pretending they are meaningless. You think you can fool me?” Again the ground trembled beneath Tahir’s feet.

  Still the Prince remained upright, drawing his courage around him like a cloak. “That is what I believed. My father paid the most money. He bought my place as a Selected.”

  Pyra’s lips curled. “You are the most foolish child I have met since I became flesh. You think because it appears the sacrifice is a game of chance, the tree has not chosen you?”

  Tahir stared, speechless. The King’s words echoed Demitto’s, The Arbor knows your worth. And to it, you are more precious than gold. Could it be true that the Arbor had in fact chosen him? His heart swelled.

  And then he blinked, his brief euphoria dying. It could not be true. He was not special, or brave, or clever, or anything exceptional.

  But maybe once a person was Selected, the Arbor saw them as belonging to it. Maybe being Selected had made him special, and now the Arbor knew of him, it did not want to let him go.

  The King of the Incendi had brought him and Horada here, somewhere in the mountains, because he wanted to control the convergence of the timelines. Maybe the third line – the young girl he had seen in the darkness with the man with the silver hair – was on her way there too. The easiest thing would be to destroy them, to change history, to make it impossible for the Apex to take place.

  But although his eyes flamed and his temper shook the room, the King had not killed him.

  Maybe he couldn’t.

  Tahir’s heart pounded and for a moment he thought he might faint from fear. He couldn’t believe he was about to do what he was about to do. He expected his life would end here, in this pit of molten rock. His life back in Harlton was over – he could never return there. If the King raised his hand and turned him to cinders, he probably wouldn’t feel a thing. He had nothing to lose, and for the first time in his life, he felt a flutter of faith that maybe he was special, perhaps he did have something to give to the world.

  He pushed himself to his knees, then his feet, and stood before the King.

  “If you truly believe I belong to the Arbor, then kill me now,” he shouted.

  The King’s eyes widened, and he stood to face the young prince. He was tall – taller than any man Tahir had ever met – and he towered over him, his power and anger as imposing as his physical build. His eyes spat sparks and around them the magma bubbled and smoke filled the air.

  “I can fell whole forests with one breath!” boomed the King. “I can melt glaciers and turn gold and rock to rivers. I can change the very fabric of this world!”

  Tahir shook so hard his manacles rattled, but still he stood his ground. “But you cannot kill me,” he guessed. “The Arbor will not let you take me.”

  Pyra struck him across the face. Tahir had never been hit before, and he collapsed with a cry, his cheek throbbing with pain.

  “I can kill you,” the King snarled. “Do not mistake me. I let you live because crushing you now would not be as powerful as waiting for the right moment. Let me elaborate.” He reached down, put a hand under Tahir’s arm and hauled him up. Half-leading, half-dragging him, Pyra led him across the bridge, through the doorway and along the maze of corridors. Tahir stumbled beside him, tearful and frightened. The King could not kill him, but he could hurt him, and he feared pain beyond almost anything else, even beyond death.

  They walked for what seemed like miles, and then they turned a corner and passed through a large doorway. Tahir blinked, confused by the sudden change in atmosphere. He stood in a large open space, and although still obviously underground, the ceiling was much higher, what seemed like miles above his head. He stood on a small platform overlooking the huge cavern. On one side, blacksmiths forged iron into weapons, the water used to cool their metal adding more steam to the fog-filled air. On the other, soldiers marched or practised swordplay, the immense army stretching as far as the eye could see.

  Tahir looked over his shoulder, only then realising what sort of building he had been in. He stood about halfway up a huge pyramid formed from solid blocks of stone. The base seemed miles wide, and the three walls narrowed to a point that almost reached the ceiling, which was filled with carvings, inlaid with gold, jewels and coloured paints. Many had faded, the carvings worn almost smooth, and Tahir gained the impression that the pyramid was ancient. The Incendi had been there for millennia, he thought, gradually growing in power and size. Horada had mentioned that the elementals hadn’t been able to take human form in her time. Over the last five hundred years, Pyra had developed a way for his followers to possess men so he could enter the earth elementals’ realm, and now he was building an army to take over the world.

  “I will crush you,” the King snarled, thrusting him forward to the balcony and holding him there. “And then the element of fire will be in the ascendancy once again. I swear on the souls of every Incendi under my rule.”

  And Tahir believed him.

  III

  Comminor had reached the bottom of the rope.

  He hung there for a while, exhausted, the tumbling water weighing heavy on his shoulders like a thick cloak.

  He had reached the Magna Cataracta just as Geve – the curly haired friend of Sarra he hated so much – disappeared over the edge. Comminor had rushed up in time to see Geve’s look of alarm as he lowered himself down the waterfall, and the Chief Select’s first thought was to hack away at the rope and let Geve plunge to his death. Nothing would have given him greater satisfaction than to hear the screams of the man who had dared to dance with Sarra, the girl who haunted his dreams.

  But if he wanted to stand any hope of catching the rebel party before they reached the Surface, he had to follow them over the falls, and as they didn’t have any rope themselves, it meant using the one they had tied to the lantern.

  Comminor had reached over to try and pull the rope up, but even with the five of them it had proved impossible against the weight of the water. And then the rope had gone slack, so he knew Geve must have reached the bottom – or fallen. Either way, it was time to follow them down.

  “We are going down there?” Josse, the youngest Select, stared at the mass of tumbling water with wide eyes.

  “We are.” Comminor climbed onto the edge of the slippery rocks. “I will go first. I will try to send you a signal or tug the rope, to let you know when I am at the bottom. If I cannot and the rope goes slack…” He hoisted himself up onto the middle of the rocks and held tightly to the rope. “It is up to you whether you follow me.”

  “We will follow,” Viel said, and the three others with him nodded.

  Comminor nodded. “I will see you at the bottom.”

  His stomach had flipped as he lowered himself over the edge into the black tunnel, but once he disappeared into the darkness he had settled into a rhythmical movement. It had seemed to go on forever, descending hand over hand, one leg wrapped around the rope to try to keep himself stable. It had
proved difficult, the weight of the water thundering onto his shoulders, and he was half blind with it most of the time; not that it mattered as the light faded quickly above him, and soon all he could see was the faint shine of the water around him from the last remnants of the lantern’s light.

  But he had kept going, and then all of a sudden his foot slipped off and he realised he had reached the end.

  He hung there, swinging a little from side to side. How far was left until he reached the bottom? Should he just let go and hope it was only a few feet? Would he fall onto rocks or into a pool? Perhaps the members of the Veris had all fallen and perished, and his body would join theirs and float away into the darkness.

  What alternatives did he have? To climb all the way back up to the top? Even if he could do that, and he was not sure he had the strength, it would mean admitting failure. He would never know what had happened to the Veris, and that was unacceptable. He had to pursue them and stop them trying to escape. He had made that solemn vow when he joined the Nox Aves, had promised to keep the population of the Embers safe, and after a life of dedication to that cause, he could not now go back on it.

  Plus, deep down, he could not bear the thought of letting Sarra go.

  Reluctant to release the rope, he threw his head back out of the force of the water and reached out a hand. As he swung, it just brushed the other side of the tunnel. The water had obviously carved out a channel for itself over the thousands of years it had plunged through these caverns. But it gave him no idea how much further the water had to fall.

  He strained his ears. Was it his imagination, or did it seem as if the already deafening noise of the water increased somewhere below him? He was sure it did, which suggested the bottom. But was that bottom water meeting rock, or the churning of water meeting water?

  There was no way of telling. He had no choice but to take the plunge, literally.

  His heart in his mouth, he let go of the rope.

  He fell about twenty feet, the weight of his bag pulling him so he landed on his back in the water, and plunged beneath the surface. His arm struck rock on the way down and pain shot through him, and an involuntary gasp forced water into his mouth and gave him a moment of panic. But he had swum often in the Great Lake as a child and in the palace pool since becoming Chief Select, and he was used to the water. He kicked hard and ignored the pain to swim strongly upwards.