Sunweaver

by Ryan W. Mueller

  The wagon took forever to travel down the road, and Deril couldn't sit still.

  "Relax," Tiran said. "Daine has everything under control."

  "For now," Deril said, feeling sick. "But we'll be on our own soon enough."

  "Just don't do anything suspicious," Daine said. "My word will protect you to an extent, but you have to act the part, and I'm not sure you can."

  "Neither am I," Deril said. How could he be the same person who'd jumped off that cliff? Perhaps bravery in a heated moment was different from bravery when you had a long time to look ahead at your dangerous future.

  Eventually, the wagon made it to the bottom of the road and rumbled along flatter ground just outside Hyrandel. Deril and Tiran had shared idle conversation, but nothing could calm Deril right now. He'd spent his whole life training to be a Sunlord, not a spy or soldier.

  The wagon took them to the edge of Hyrandel, where they disembarked. Daine paid the driver, then led Deril and Tiran through the streets. It had been only a few weeks since Deril had been to Hyrandel, but it felt like a different city now. He glanced at every passerby, wondering how many of them were Fireweavers living in secret.

  Most of the city's buildings were made of stone, formed by Yellow/Green Sunweavers. In his occasional spare time, Deril had helped construct buildings. Learning to manipulate stone with such precision took a lot of work and patience.

  The edge of the city was a wealthier district, with wide cobblestone streets and people dressed in sleek fur coats. It was one of the few parts of the city Deril had seen. His father had always cautioned him to avoid the poorer areas. Deril's clothing and the way he carried himself would expose him as a Sunweaver, and the Lightless didn't like Sunweavers.

  Probably for good reason, Deril told himself. People like him enjoyed lives of comfort and security while the Lightless starved to death in the streets and on their farms. How was that fair? The more Deril thought about such things, the more he believed Aralea might be dead. If she wasn't dead, was she a goddess he wanted to believe in?

  However, Halarik was the reason for these troubles. If they had the bright sun of ages long past, food would be plentiful. No one would starve. No one would suffer.

  Or would people find another way to make life difficult. After all, it was human nature to fight, to get into wars over petty differences.

  They walked past large stone houses, then entered a district where the houses became smaller, where the people wore light fur cloaks that had seen better days. Deril was glad they'd dressed in less luxurious clothes than usual, but he still felt like everyone was watching them.

  Daine led them into a narrow alley between two old and cracked buildings. Deril glanced around the alley, feeling tense. Where was she taking them? There was nothing here.

  The alley twisted around, snaking between buildings as they walked farther and farther from the street. Eventually, the alley came to an unremarkable dead end. Daine squatted, touched the rocky ground, generated a short burst of light, then stepped back.

  "What was that?" Deril asked, moving a step closer.

  "A little Firecasting," Daine said. "The gatekeepers on the other side will open the gate soon, and we'll step into an entrance chamber where they'll make sure we aren't dangerous. After that, we'll gain full entrance to the Brotherhood's headquarters."

  While she spoke, the ground rumbled open, revealing a small hole. She ducked into it first and stepped down a steep slant. Deril and Tiran exchanged a nervous glance, then followed, entering a chamber lit by Sunlamps. A group of men and women sat behind stone desks, eyes narrowed as they watched the party approach.

  "Welcome back, Daine," said one of the women. "Who are these people with you?"

  "Zalin and Rorik," Daine said. "Young Sunweavers who hold sympathies toward us."

  "Do you trust them?" the woman asked.

  "Yes, I do. Erine Anduri has also vouched for them."

  "I miss Erine," said one of the men. "Haven't seen her in a while."

  Deril felt like everyone was watching him. He was relieved that they hadn't recognized him, that few people ever saw the Sunlord's family.

  He glanced at Tiran, who looked calm and steady. Perhaps it was that Sun Guard training. Deril had asked his father if he could join the Sun Guard, or at least train with them, but his father had refused, saying his duties as a potential Sunlord were more important. Now Deril wished more than ever that his father had realized the truth.

  Deril could never be a Sunlord.

  But he could be a fine Sunweaver. He could rescue his father. All he had to do was act a part here, perhaps defer to Tiran's experience and wisdom.

  The gatekeepers granted them entrance, and they stepped through a stone door, into a much larger chamber. Many people filled the chamber, sitting in cushioned stone chairs and carrying on quiet conversations. Some greeted Daine as she passed and asked about Deril and Tiran. Deril had to work hard to remember his name was Zalin. Tiran, however, had little difficulty.

  They walked to a corner of the vast chamber.

  "What do we do now?" Deril asked, feeling lost and overwhelmed.

  "I'm going to introduce you to our leader," Daine said. "If he has no problem with you, you should be free to examine our library. You'll surely find some answers on Aralea's death there. Perhaps you'll even find something related to the Sunlord's disappearance."

  Daine seemed kinder than usual. Deril didn't know what to think of her. The religious part of him hated everything about her, everything she'd told him. The more pragmatic side of him recognized her as the enemy of an enemy.

  But should he consider such a person a friend?

  Trying to hide his trembling legs, he followed Daine into the leader's office.

  Chapter 15: The Lost Scriptures

  Deril took a seat in the leader's office, a spacious stone chamber with little ornamentation. The leader himself sat behind a clean stone desk, watching them with narrowed eyes. Something about him looked familiar. Deril cast a quick glance at Tiran, then at Daine, hoping for reassurance.

  Neither of them said anything.

  "Good morning, Lord Deril," the leader said at last, nodding in greeting. "I'm Sondir, the leader of the Brotherhood of Fire across Tarileth." He smiled. "And a member of the Sunweaver Council."

  Of course. That was why he looked familiar.

  "There are Fireweavers on the Sunweaver Council?" Deril said.

  "Yes, there are a few of us. We're good at hiding."

  "Then why do you let the Council treat Fireweavers so poorly?" Deril asked.

  Sondir sighed wearily. "As I said, there are only a few of us, and we can't be too strong in our support for Fireweavers. We must act behind the scenes."

  "That makes sense," Tiran said, sounding at ease.

  "Now let's get to the important matters," Sondir said. "I know of your father's kidnapping, Deril, and I know who kidnapped him. Like you, however, I do not know why. And Daine is right. We can't act until we know why they've kidnapped him."

  Deril hated that part of it. How could he sit around while his father might be on the verge of dying? Was this the time for a long, involved investigation?

  "I can sense your impatience," Sondir said, "but you need more information before you act. I'm sure Daine has told you how powerful Firelord Atarin's forces are." His face twisted in disgust when he mentioned Atarin. "In a war, he would probably win."

  Deril leaned forward, his legs bouncing. "Then we find a way to do this without a war. I'm a very powerful Sunweaver. Why can't I just go in there and save him?"

  Sondir gave him an impatient look. "You don't know much about the Fireweaver world, do you? There are many Firelords. These are people whose talent is your equal, people who've trained for combat, unlike you. You need allies. You need information.

  "He's right," Tiran said, putting a hand on Deril's arm.

  "Where do I start?" Deril asked.

  "First, I think you need to understand the truth about our wor
ld," Sondir said, pushing a large key across the desk. "This will give you access to our archives."

  Deril took the key. "I guess this will lead me to those lost scriptures Daine told me about."

  "Among other things," Sondir said.

  "I still don't see why I should trust them," Deril said. "How do I know you didn't make these up after the fact? How can I trust you?"

  "I can understand why you might not trust us," Sondir said. "You've been conditioned your whole life to believe people like us are evil. You'll have to make your best judgment." He held Deril's gaze. "If it makes any difference, I think you're a good man, Deril."

  "You barely know me."

  "You have a good reputation, and your mother vouched for you." Sondir turned his gaze to Tiran. "And she said the same for you. I'm always hesitant to trust Sun Guards, but I've heard that you're an honorable man. The kind who will keep his word."

  "I have no intention of turning against you," Tiran said.

  "Good," Sondir said. "I think it's time you two got investigating." He told Deril and Tiran where they could find the archives.

  Deril nodded his thanks and rose. He and Tiran stepped out of the room, leaving Daine alone with Sondir. As they crossed the room, people watched them with interested expressions. Deril had the feeling that none of them trusted him. He wasn't sure how he'd earn their trust, but he couldn't save his father on his own.

  They crossed the central stone chamber of the Brotherhood headquarters and reached the archives on the far side. A locked door blocked the entrance. Deril could sense how the Brotherhood had used Yellow/Green Fireweaving to protect the door from anyone who might try to open it using Sunweaving or Fireweaving.

  No one guarded the door. Deril exchanged a nervous glance with Tiran, then inserted the key in the lock. The lock gave a loud click, and the door swung open.

  Deril's chest felt tight as he slipped inside. Many Sunlamps bathed the chamber in a golden glow. There were shelves and shelves of books, stretching as far as Deril could see. His stomach churned. He felt overwhelmed by the size of the place.

  "How will we ever find what we need?" he asked.

  "There must be some sense of organization to it."

  At the front of the room, a map hung on the wall, listing the general locations where they could find certain books. A large stone cabinet against that wall contained more information, and it seemed organized. Deril relaxed a little as he looked for the lost scriptures.

  After a few minutes, he found the location. He and Tiran traveled through the vast chamber, stopping eventually at the right shelf. Deril had expected there to be only a few lost scriptures, but books and books lined the shelves—more than he'd seen even in the Temple of Aralea. And he'd spent a lot of time in the library there, researching anything that might help him learn how to be a Sunlord. A useless search, he'd realized now.

  But this new search wasn't useless. He had to hold out hope that it would lead to his father's rescue. He had to cling to his belief that his father wasn't already dead.

  He had to do something that mattered.

  No one else had ever understood the feeling of complete failure he endured every day. So much had been expected of him. The world needed another Sunlord, and he couldn't be that person. Other people didn't understand how it felt to disappoint an entire world.

  His father had always told him there'd be more Sunlords, that Deril didn't need to be so hard on himself. Not to mention, Deril might still develop the powers.

  Someone needed to, for Deril's father had lost the ability to reproduce. That often struck Sunlords as they grew older. Their daily ritual of feeding the sun with their own power did something to sterilize them.

  If only the Fireweavers hadn't been killing all the Sunlords.

  After all, that seemed the most logical explanation. And if they'd killed the others, what was stopping them from killing the final Sunlord?

  "I think I found something," Tiran said, jolting Deril out of his thoughts.

  Deril turned to see Tiran holding a dusty, leather-bound book. "What is it?"

  "The Death of Aralea," Tiran said. "Sounds like what we're looking for." He frowned. "Interesting author name. Teravin Batar. I wonder if High Priest Teravin was named after him. It's not a very common name."

  "I have no idea." Deril took the book from Tiran and settled down in a nearby chair at a stone table. He turned the pages with care, worried he might tear them. His chest felt tight. A part of him wanted to read this, and another part wanted to pretend this book didn't exist.

  The book told the tale of the war between Aralea and Halarik. Much of the background was the same. Aralea and Halarik created the world together. Even in the beginning, the brother and sister gods were at odds with one another.

  But the reasons were not the same ones Deril had always known. This account spoke of an entire kingdom of gods, including many gods and many other worlds. In this kingdom of gods, there was a great war. Halarik and Aralea fought on opposing sides in this war.

  The account didn't describe the reasons for this war, though, or which group was on the side of good. That wasn't surprising.

  This was the real world, not a children's tale. Good and evil were subjective terms.

  Once, Deril might have seen everything through that lens, but he'd read a lot of history in the temple library and found accounts of many wars. Some were between Sunweavers and Fireweavers. Others were between nations, or even factions within a nation. In most of these wars, there were no true villains.

  And now that Deril had learned the truth about his mother, now that he'd seen Fireweavers living peacefully in Tarileth, he knew they were not evil.

  Still, the vagueness of the book frustrated him. It felt as if the author knew a bunch of information he wasn't writing here. But why would he describe the war in such general terms? What did anyone stand to gain from a vague history?

  Deril returned his attention to the book, reading of how Aralea had given the world Sunweaving and Halarik had given the world Fireweaving. For a time, the two groups coexisted despite the animosity between their gods.

  But eventually Halarik grew to resent the fact that he'd been painted as a villain in the war between the gods. There was no victor in that war, and this account wasn't clear on any of the war's events. Perhaps the gods had not shared that information with the author. That had to be the answer. The author had probably been just as frustrated as Deril.

  Over time, the account read, Halarik convinced most Fireweavers that Aralea was on the side of evil. Soon most of the world's Fireweavers hated Sunweavers, and Sunweavers felt that same hatred toward Fireweavers. This culminated in a war that lasted more than ten years.

  Most of this information was familiar, or at least not that different from what Deril had always known. But now he was getting to the interesting part.

  The stories Deril knew told of Aralea imprisoning Halarik, but they never specified how Aralea did it. To create this prison, according to this new account, Aralea had to sacrifice herself. It was the only way to protect the world from Halarik.

  Deril didn't know what to think of that. A part of him believed this tale. After all, he'd never felt as if anyone were answering his prayers.

  But it also conflicted with everything he'd ever believed. If this was what truly happened, then the Church of Aralea had to know. And if they knew, that meant they were deliberately hiding this information from the people.

  How could Deril believe in the teachings of a church that would do that?

  Deril cleared his throat. "You won't believe some of these things, Tiran."

  Tiran looked up from his book. "Yeah, mine says some pretty odd things, too. Let's tell each other when we finish. Get as much of the information as we can first."

  But should we trust this information? Deril thought. This was an alternative account, and an interesting one, but that didn't mean it was true.

  Regardless, he continued reading. The next part of this scripture foll
owed the story he'd always known, though there were a few differences. Foremost among them was that many Fireweavers stood behind Aralea, which angered Halarik. So Halarik weakened the sun, trying to prove that the world could survive on his powers alone, that Fireweavers didn't need Sunweavers or Aralea.

  As much as Deril didn't want to believe this account, it seemed more logical. It established a motive for Halarik beyond pure evil. Halarik had been jealous that some of his people had chosen to follow Aralea.

  Deril read the next part with great interest. This was where the supposed sacrifice would show up. He had to decide if he believed this account.

  In the war between Aralea and Halarik, Halarik struck the blow that weakened the sun. He drew on the powers of the Core, using all his talent in combination with every Firelord of the age. Aralea couldn't stop it because she had no idea it was going to happen. Afterward, though, she did everything she could to help the world survive.

  She transferred her Sunlord powers to a select group of people. Giving the people the powers of Sunlords wasn't enough, however. Aralea had to do something about the threat of Halarik. If he could weaken the sun once, he could do it again. She was powerful enough to create a Sunweaving prison around Halarik with a modified Sunlord's weave.

  Deril had never encountered anything resembling this account. The official scriptures said that Aralea used her great powers to imprison Halarik. They never specified how she did it.

  The weave Aralea used drained her so much that it killed her, according to this scripture. But in doing so, she imprisoned Halarik and kept him from weakening the sun further. However, the legacy of the war remained in the form of Sunlords and Firelords, and thus began the conflict that had lasted for six hundred years.

  And Deril had the feeling that conflict was about to explode.

  Chapter 16: The Secret of the Sunlamps

  Kadin tried his best to adjust to life on the plantation. The work itself wasn't bad, but that feeling of being imprisoned remained. Even back with his father, he hadn't felt so trapped.