ARC: Sunstone

by Freya Robertson

  His heart hollowed and filled with grief, and he buried his face in his hands.

  They had been close ever since they were young. Julen loved all his family, but had a special fondness for his sister. He loved her innocence, her patience, her calm and her inner strength. Their mother was wrong to think Horada weak, just because she didn’t enjoy swordplay. Horada harboured their father’s warmth, wholesomeness and faith.

  And now she was dead.

  He had never before felt the hopelessness that washed over him now, wave after wave. Tears poured down his face, and he sank his hands into his hair. He had let her down – had let them all down: his family, Gravis, the Nox Aves, the Arbor, even Anguis itself. Cinereo had impressed upon him the necessity of rescuing Horada – that just like her father, she was the key to the Apex for reasons not yet clear, and that without her the future lay shattered. He should have been faster, worked harder… He should have tried more. He had failed.

  He moved to lay on his front, prone by the side of Horada’s bier, arms stretched out. What was the point in rising again? He rested his forehead on the floor, tempted to dash his brain out on the cool stone. He couldn’t swallow, could hardly breathe, a whirlwind of emotions spinning inside him. Anger, frustration, grief, despair… How could he have let her die?

  For a while, he didn’t move. The stone, although initially cool, became warmed by his body, which grew stiff and unyielding as he continued to lie there. His head ached, and his breathing laboured through his tight chest.

  It was the sensation of something touching his foot that brought him out of his melancholic stupor. He twitched automatically, lifted and turned onto his side to look down.

  A green vine had wrapped around his foot.

  He stared as the vine moved upward, and sat up, intending to move back, but the vine encircled his ankle, taut as an iron manacle, and he couldn’t move.

  Panicking now, he withdrew the dagger on his hip, but another vine snaked out and wrapped around his wrist and tightened, and the dagger fell from his fingers.

  Vines crept over his torso, forcing him to lie on his back. He turned his head and saw they were emanating from the base of the stand on which Horada lay.

  Wait a moment… Vines, underground?

  For the first time, Julen stopped resisting. Although the tendrils felt insidious as they crept over him, he forced himself to lie still. Instinctively, he knew this wasn’t the Incendi’s doing.

  This was the Arbor.

  A thrill threaded through him. The Arbor hadn’t deserted him. It still watched over him, even underground, even in this place when he was at his darkest, when his sister had left him alone…

  A shadow loomed over him. A man, dressed in a grey cloak.

  Cinereo!

  The cloaked figure extended a hand towards him and said one word.

  “Wake.”

  Julen gasped and his eyes shot open. He wasn’t in a dark cell. And the girl lying on the floor next to him stirred at his gasp and also opened her eyes. Horada was alive!

  They lay in a ceremonial room filled with elemental forms, the whole place alight with light and fire. Gold, silver and gems decorated the painted walls and the stone pedestals, and the floor was laid with gold and red tiles. Magma boiled in a channel that ran around the room.

  “Horada?” he asked urgently.

  Her face lit up. “Julen?”

  “Are you all right?”

  She nodded, sitting up, and looked around her. “Where are we?”

  He struggled to his feet, the manacles around his wrists making it difficult to rise where they were chained to the rock behind him. The elementals stirred, their voices – such as they were – filling the room with the roar of a billowing fire.

  He moved forward to the edge of his chains and stood facing them, fury blazing through him.

  “You thought you could fool me!” he yelled, straining at the chains, wanting to rip the Incendi apart with his bare hands. “You thought you could tell me my sister had died and make me give up hope? Well the Arbor watches over me, and it will not forsake me! You cannot touch me!”

  The elementals stared at him. Then they started making a strange noise. Julen wasn’t sure, but he thought it might have been laughter.

  He clenched his fists and opened his mouth to shout again, but the words faded as he became aware of a burning sensation on his chest.

  Afraid that one of the Incendi had touched him, or maybe that a fleck of the magma had landed on him, he looked down. But it wasn’t magma. The thing that was burning him was the wooden pendant – and it burned so hot it had turned white.

  It glowed, so dazzling he couldn’t look straight at it. He remembered the way the vines had snaked around him, and he knew this was the Arbor reaching out for him, helping him during his hour of need.

  The words his father had once told him about the Darkwater invasion rang in his head, almost as if his father were there, speaking in his ear. You think the Arbor triumphed over the Darkwater Lords through strength of its weapons? No, it was strength of the heart that made us victorious. Power comes through love and trust. That is what we can give the Arbor. That is what won us the war.

  Julen closed his eyes and let his love for the tree and for Horada and his family sweep over him. It rushed through his veins, made his heart pump furiously, and he exclaimed in shock as it burst from him in a brilliant flash of white light that encompassed the whole room. The manacles around his hands fell away, and he raised his arms, revelling in the rush of joy at the thought that his sister was still alive, and he still had a chance to save the day.

  Next to him, Horada exclaimed. The rush of light faded and he opened his eyes.

  Around him, the elementals stood where they had been when the light hit them. They had been frozen, their forms locked in place by an icy casing.

  Julen stared at them, then dropped to his knees to help Horada up. “Quick! We do not have long.”

  She got to her feet, but even as she did so, the ground trembled beneath them and she fell again. “Julen!”

  He put a hand under her arm, but the trembling increased and the whole room shook.

  “What is happening?” she whispered, looking down at her hands. They sparkled, and Julen went cold as around them the air turned thick and shone with glittering dust.

  “I do not know…” The room darkened and to his shock, the elementals faded into shadow.

  II

  Tahir’s bottom had gone numb. Standing up made his legs ache, and besides, he couldn’t move far from where his manacles were linked to an iron ring in the wall, so he ended up sitting most of the time. But he couldn’t lie down, and consequently he was beginning to feel sore. He didn’t have a lot of meat on his bones anyway, he thought, pushing his back up against the wall and crossing his legs, and he had even less now as he had hardly eaten anything over the last few days.

  Hunger gnawed at his stomach, but he was too tired and dispirited to worry about it. Standing up to the Incendi king had been uplifting and thrilling, but Pyra had promptly thrown him in a cell and forgotten about him. Nobody had come in for hours, maybe days – he had no way of telling. He had no light, no food, and no water. His mouth felt as if it were full of sand, and he was so tired he could barely lift his head up.

  Pyra might not be able to kill him directly, he mused, but he was doing a pretty good job indirectly. At this rate, he would be dead before the end of the day. And for the first time, he thought he might welcome it.

  He leaned his head against the stone and dozed.

  A muffled yell from further down the corridor snapped him awake. How long had he slept? It could have been minutes or hours. And who had yelled? Since being in the cell, he had heard tortured screams and people crying, but this sounded different – nearby, an oath, cut off quickly. He sat up, tried to get to his feet and failed, too weak to rise.

  Feet scuffed outside the door and a voice whispered, “Tahir?”

  His heart swelled. He kn
ew that voice! “Catena? It is I!”

  A key turned in the lock and the door opened. The familiar form of Catena came through. She looked tired and dishevelled, streaked with sweat and dust, odd in the clothes of an Incendi guard, but her face lit up as she saw him.

  She dropped to her knees before him and cupped his face. “Tahir? What have they done to you?”

  He tried to shake his head. “I am all right.”

  “You are not all right.” Her voice hitched. “My young prince. How could they?”

  He felt too emotional to answer, and instead turned as Atavus pushed under her arm, tail wagging furiously, and shoved his nose into Tahir’s face. The dog’s warm tongue licked him, and Tahir threw his arms around Atavus’s neck and buried his face in the dog’s fur. “Oh I have missed you,” he murmured, only then realising how much.

  A dark shape filled the doorway, and Tahir pulled back as Demitto appeared. He looked down at the boy silently. Tahir looked up, seeing the emissary’s handsome face and his dark eyes. The man also wore Incendi garb.

  A twinge of doubt made Tahir stiffen in Catena’s hands. “How do I know it is you?” he whispered.

  She frowned and stroked his cheeks. “It is me, Tahir. Can you not tell?”

  “I…” He swallowed. “He plays tricks on me.”

  Demitto lowered his bag from his back and retrieved his leather water bag. He passed it to Catena. “The boy’s dehydrated and probably delirious. Do not let him drink it all. Just a bit at first.”

  Pushing the eager Atavus out of the way, she tipped up the bottle and the water slid between Tahir’s lips. It was warm, but he drank it like it was cold and clear, fresh from a mountain stream, and he had never tasted anything so fine.

  She lowered the bottle and handed it back to Demitto, who sank to his haunches before the Prince.

  “We must go,” he stated. “Can you stand?”

  Tahir looked up at him. Embarrassment and shame filled him at the fantasy that Pyra had used to taunt and tempt him with. He could not shake the memory of the man’s lips pressed against his. “How do I know it is you?” he whispered.

  Demitto frowned. “If you ask me that again, I am going to slap you. Now get up. We have to go.”

  The man’s obvious impatience filled him with relief and convinced him that this was the real Demitto more than anything else could have done.

  He tried to push himself to his feet again, but his limbs shook and he fell to his knees. “I do not think I can walk…” His lip trembled. “I am sorry.”

  Demitto put an arm around his shoulders, bent and slid a hand under his knees, and hefted him into his arms. “You weigh almost nothing,” he said, gesturing with his head for Catena to check the corridor. “We need to get you to eat.”

  Tahir leaned his head on Demitto’s shoulder and let the tears trickle down his cheeks. They had risked their lives to find him and rescue him. He felt so humble he could not put it into words.

  They rounded a corner and Demitto stopped at the sight of two guards in the corridor ahead of them. Catena passed him and drew her sword. Even before Atavus could leap at them, the guards were dead.

  Tahir blinked at the speed with which she had despatched them. He had never seen her kill anyone before, had not been certain she was capable of it. He had always thought of her role as Captain of the Guard a sedentary one. Little happened down in Harlton – there had been no great invasions of the castle or local wars in Tahir’s lifetime. She practised her sword skills on a daily basis and he had often watched her putting the guards through their paces, laughing as they tripped over their swords or dazed each other with mis-hits. The thought of them fighting in battle had amused him. And now here she was, fending off the enemy with ease.

  She cleaned her sword on the guard’s jerkin, stood and sheathed the blade, and looked down at the bodies for a moment. “I wonder where they were from,” she murmured. “They were probably just farmers, brought here by the Incendi – their training could not match a Laxonian knight’s.”

  “They hope to overwhelm with numbers,” Demitto said. He nodded down the corridor. “Keep going.”

  She led the way, and the emissary followed. Tahir curled in the man’s arms, drawing his feet in so they didn’t knock against the walls of the passage. He let his hand drop, however, and felt Atavus’s nose bump against it from time to time.

  He had seen the elemental army preparing for battle, had counted their numbers. Anguis had not known a war like this for five hundred years. Heartwood had few defences. The people had grown soft and lazy after years of peace. What would happen when the Incendi rose?

  Ahead of them, Catena paused, her palm resting on the wall. She bent her head in concentration, her dark hair falling across her face.

  “What is she doing?” Tahir whispered.

  “Listening to the rock,” Demitto replied. “She is a Saxum.”

  Two revelations about Catena in the space of a few moments. Tahir watched her, seeing her hand glow with silver light. Her father was a miner, and his father before him. Had she somehow inherited a love of the rock in the blood?

  She lifted her head and looked up at them. “Something is happening.”

  “Can you be more specific?” Demitto sounded exasperated. Tahir could feel the tenseness of the man’s body, and an irritation that teetered on fear. He didn’t like being underground.

  She frowned. “Can you not feel it?”

  Demitto opened his mouth to reply, then paused.

  Tahir lifted his head. “What is it?”

  The emissary slid his arm from under the boy’s knees to let his feet drop to the floor. Tahir stood, albeit unsteadily, one hand resting on Atavus’s neck as he came forward to support him. As he did so, he felt what the others had been able to feel – a deep vibration in the ground.

  At the same time, the air about them turned crystalline, as if it were freezing cold, although the temperature and humidity remained so high that sweat poured down their faces. Tahir passed his hand in front of him, watching the sparkling dust move and swirl. “What is it?”

  “I do not know.” Demitto took his hand and moved forward. They walked to the end of the corridor and stood at the entrance to the next room.

  They were in the heart of the enormous pyramid, Tahir thought, in some kind of large ceremonial room, with high ceilings and flat, polished walls painted in bright colours, highlighted with gold and silver, studded with sparkling gems. Magma ran in a channel around the edge, and steam curled from the boiling rock, lending the whole chamber a hazy air. It was empty of Incendi, as if the room were only used for important occasions. Tahir lived in a king’s castle, but he had never seen anything as splendid as this place.

  “We should go,” Catena said, but Tahir pushed past her and, on shaky legs, walked into the room.

  The air felt thick, like walking through honey. He could remember being taken to the sea once by a nurse, and she had led him out into the ocean until he could not touch the bottom. He had played often in the local river and could swim well enough, but the sensation of being out of his depth had made him panic, and it was a similar feeling now. He moved his arms, watching the silver dust swirl around them, conscious of breathing it in, although it did not appear to be affecting his lungs. He splayed his fingers, and spirals of silver wove between them, entrancing and terrifying at the same time.

  “Tahir.” Demitto spoke firmly. “We are leaving.”

  But Tahir ignored him. He felt a strange attraction to the centre of the room, as if he were being drawn there by invisible hands. He walked down the wide steps to the tiled floor, hands brushing the elaborately carved statues and stone furniture.

  “Tahir,” Catena snapped in her best do-as-I-say-or-there-will-be-trouble voice, but he ignored her too.

  Something was shifting inside him. He stopped in the middle of the floor, heart pounding, slightly dizzy. Was that just the lack of food and water or something more? He raised his hands in front of him. They sparkled
too; in fact as he looked down he could see the whole of him sparkling.

  “Tahir…” Catena’s voice sounded as if from a long way away.

  He closed his eyes.

  The world turned. He felt as if he were sinking into the ground, into the earth, separating into a billion tiny pieces that were travelling along the energy channels from the Arbor to all corners of Anguis.

  Above him, the stars wheeled, the sun rose and set, clouds scudded across the sky and birds dipped and soared on the currents. Trees grew, and died; animals lived, and died. Their energy seeped into the channels, circled the world, joined with him in this journey from coast to coast. Men loved women, made babies; they grew in the womb, were born. It was all a circle – a cycle – and Tahir felt a part of it for the first time in his life. No longer was he a small, thin, rather insignificant young man – he was the food for the world, the breath of life.

  This can all be yours…

  The Arbor loomed large in his mind, towering over him. The rich, thick leaves rustled in the breeze. Tahir put his arms around the trunk and rested his cheek on the bark. The heartbeat sounded in his ears, slow and steady. Faces flashed through his mind, including one similar to his own, with dark hair, golden eyes. Was it someone else or was he looking into a mirror?

  Overhead, the sky rumbled. Thunder – a storm coming. He watched the clouds gather, curling, darkening, brooding. The tree rustled. Something was coming. His breathing quickened, and he stepped away from the trunk. He felt empty inside, like a mother whose newborn has been snatched from her arms. The tree faded, and his consciousness withdrew like a sailor pulling in the mooring ropes before setting sail.

  Once again, he became aware of the ground trembling beneath his feet. The air swirled around him, thick and humid. Voices whispered in the darkness, tugging at his mind. The world spun.

  Tahir opened his eyes.

  III

  Comminor walked down the steps into the large ceremonial room. He glanced around it briefly, seeing the faded paint, the beautifully carved statues, the stone furniture. Ice settled in his stomach. He hated it, hated all of it. He wished he could tear it down with his bare hands.