Shadows of the Lost Sun

by Carrie Ryan

  He then glared down at Fin menacingly. “Move aside, Brother Fade. You’re in the way of my destiny.”

  Fin took a deep, shuddering breath. He’d been demolished, beaten. Resisting at this point seemed hopeless. And yet, as he cradled the body of his mother, he knew he couldn’t give up. Someone had to stand between the Rise and the wish orb. Someone had to stop the coming of the Salt Sand King. And he knew now that he could be the one to do it.

  He’d been loved. He’d been remembered. He was worth something. And tonight, he thought as he struggled to his feet, tonight when the sky slides into darkness, my star will still be there.

  If the Lost Sun didn’t pull the sky down first.

  CHAPTER 26

  Making Things Whole

  Inside the spire, the whispers from the forest were back, louder and stronger than ever before. Waves of uneasiness washed over Marrill. She took an involuntary step back and was startled to brush up against something semisolid, like a wall of thick, frozen air.

  She spun. Shadows marched toward her, filtering past as if she didn’t even exist. They were somehow solid and insubstantial, dark and light at the same time. And yet she could feel them. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end. Her skin felt heavier, burdened with the weight of them, as they passed through her on their way to the intricately carved doorway ahead.

  Marrill let out a squeak of alarm and pushed closer to Ardent, grateful at least for the reassurance of his presence.

  “Do not fear them,” he murmured as he watched the shadows pass. “The echoes are but memories, anchored to this place by its magic and the power of the events that happened here. They may disturb you, but they cannot harm you.”

  One of the shadows paused at the doorway, turning slightly toward Ardent and Marrill. Almost as if it could sense their presence.

  Ardent smiled softly at it.

  Marrill gasped as the echo’s features wavered into detail. The similarity was terrifying and uncanny. The echo man’s shoulders were broader, his back straighter. His expression was more severe, his eyes piercing, his chin sharp without the softening lines of a wispy beard.

  But the way he carried himself. The way he turned and kicked aside his robes as he entered the chamber. It was the same familiar gesture Marrill had seen over and over on the deck of the Kraken, on the Wall of Monerva, even just now, here, at the entrance to this very tower.

  The echo was Ardent. Younger Ardent, but Ardent nonetheless.

  “The memories become more distinct when someone who lived them is near,” Ardent told her. “I fear we will see echoes of the day the Prophecy was born, imprinted on this place by a magic so strong it left a mark on time and space.”

  Another familiar figure swept in behind the Ardent echo. “Oh, Annalessa,” the real Ardent murmured. She, too, was younger, her elegant features almost haughty, rather than the generous woman Marrill knew. She hesitated at the entrance to the chamber, waiting.

  Marrill’s insides squeezed tight when she saw who the echoes were waiting for.

  The figure bringing up the rear of the procession was tall and narrow. Even as an echo, she could make out the familiar pattern of stars scattered across his robes. Though Marrill knew instantly that this echo was a younger Serth, it was difficult to reconcile his appearance with the mad prophet—and now mad vessel of the Lost Sun—she knew. His features were relaxed, even happy. His skin was smooth and unlined, completely free of the black grooves carved by centuries of tears.

  He was so young. So strong and determined. “He looks… normal,” Marrill murmured. If wizards can be considered normal, she mentally added.

  Seeing him that way made her mind jump to the figure that was even at this moment walking toward them. The Lost Sun of Dzannin, wearing Serth’s body, on his way to pour all of his destructive power into the source of the Pirate Stream.

  Ardent’s eyes had fluttered shut, his chin dropped to his chest as his friends from so long ago swept forward into the chamber together. Marrill grabbed his arm as he slumped against the wall and let out a long, trembling breath.

  “Come on,” she said. “We’ve got to repair the Map before the Lost Sun gets here.”

  The wizard nodded. “Yes, of course. Of course, you’re right. I… hadn’t expected that to be quite so difficult. And it will get worse.” He pushed himself to his feet, waving his hands as Marrill tried to comfort him. “I’m fine, I’m fine. Don’t worry, I’ll manage.”

  Marrill nodded and nudged the carved door open. But as soon as she saw the inside of the chamber, her steps ground to a halt. She stared in wonder, overwhelmed by the pure grandeur that surrounded her. Stone walls rose dozens of stories into the air before curving toward a domed ceiling made of multicolored glass.

  What really caught her attention, however, was the Font dominating the center of the room. It was made of the same stone as the walls and floor, as though the room itself had been carved around it. A raised dais surrounded it, making access to the wide bowl easier.

  There was no question this was the Font of Meres. The light emanating from the bowl bathed the room in a magical glow.

  Ardent paused beside her. “The headwaters of the Pirate Stream,” he murmured reverently. “Forthorn Forlorn crafted the fountainhead as you see it today, but the wellspring, it has always been here.”

  His words were nearly lost in the cacophony of noise emanating from the echoes that filled the chamber. The crowd was so thick Marrill couldn’t move without touching them. Their cold darkness slithered across her skin, tugging against her. The murmuring echoes overlapped, making the empty room sound busier than Grand Central Station at rush hour.

  “I thought there were only eight Wizards of Meres.” Marrill had to raise her voice to be heard.

  “There were,” Ardent told her. “Most of these echoes were here already.” She stared at him, blinking. “Meres is a place of great power,” he explained. “What you see are shadows of the Dzane. This was their seat of power, where the waters of the Pirate Stream are their purest and most concentrated.”

  He spread his hands wide. “This is where they bound the Lost Sun before. And where we shall bind it again! Indeed, if we’re lucky, we might even see the shadows of that first battle while we’re here.”

  “Lucky?” Marrill asked, incredulous.

  Ardent harrumphed. “Yes, right. Not the time, is it?” He kicked at his robes and started toward the dais. “Let’s get started, then.”

  Marrill cringed as they plunged into the maze of echoes. In the midst of it, she could see that the shadows were flickering, changing. Different scenes played out and stopped, a thousand roles re-created by shadow actors, all overlapping on each other like a three-dimensional montage.

  As Ardent passed, some of them resolved, gaining features and growing vivid. Triggered, she supposed, by his memories. She recognized Margaham, though she’d only seen him in iron, chanting and weaving strange rituals. As he moved his hands, the specter of Forthorn Forlorn brought forth a stone bowl that merged perfectly with the top of the Font. She was witnessing the original placement, she realized. The securing of the fountainhead that now stood before her.

  Her eyes were drawn to the echo of young Serth approaching the Font. The shadow Annalessa carried forward a stone cup, and Serth took it, then plunged it into the Font before him.

  Now she knew exactly what she was watching. She’d heard the story so many times. “This is the beginning of the Prophecy, isn’t it?”

  Ardent’s gaze drifted to the dais. “It is,” he said solemnly. “If we’d only known,” he added in almost a whisper.

  “See how the waters do not harm me,” the Serth echo declared. He lifted the cup, holding it aloft. Water dripped over the rim, splashing his fingers but causing no damage.

  He lowered the cup to his lips. There was a moment of hesitation, when Marrill thought she might have seen the slight curl of a smile. Then he tossed it back and drank deeply from the Pirate Stream.

  This was
the point when everything changed, Marrill knew. Serth would fall and spout the words that would become the Meressian Prophecy. From this moment the events that led to now unfolded.

  As if in emphasis, a great crash like thunder echoed through the room. Outside the south-facing windows, the sky had grown black. There was a rush of wind, but no sign of rain. No dark clouds filled the sky. Just darkness, pure and endless.

  The void approached.

  “Ardent,” Marrill warned, making sure he knew how little time they had left.

  Shadow Serth writhed on the ground, the stone chalice dropping from his fingers, spilling Pirate Stream water across his robes.

  “I see it,” Ardent said. From a hidden pocket he produced the Map to Everywhere. The hole in its middle looked like someone had punched clean through it. The teardrop pinnacle just touched the outline of Meres. The Lost Sun had made landfall.

  “Quickly, now,” Ardent said, mounting the stairs to the top of the dais. “The ribbon and ink. We’ve little time.”

  Marrill was already ahead of him. She pulled out the bag with the ingredients in it and rummaged through as fast as she could. As before, when her hand closed around the dream ribbon, it sent her imagination immediately into overdrive. Her fingers itched to find a pencil and begin sketching, her mind’s eye already conjuring up all the fantastical images she could bring to life.

  She forced the compulsion down, racing the ribbon and ink up to Ardent. But as she climbed the stairs, a face appeared, scaly and red, with teeth that scintillated in the darkness. It roared, and flames washed over her.

  Marrill screamed, but she didn’t feel the burn. The flame billowed back toward the far end of the chamber. “What was that?”

  Ardent strode over and snatched the ribbon and ink from her hands. “It appears we will see the Dzane’s battle against the Lost Sun after all.” He started back toward the Font. “I didn’t expect it to be in quite that much living color. But then, I suppose someone who remembers those events has come to Meres.” He glanced toward the window and the blackness beyond.

  Marrill swallowed. All around, strange beings she’d never imagined resolved themselves out of echoes, writhing in furious conflict. Their efforts flew toward a shadow just at the edge of the room, a shadow darker than all the rest.

  The shadow of the Lost Sun. While outside the real Lost Sun drew dangerously closer, his memories were already bringing the echoes of the Dzane in the chamber to startling life.

  Carefully, Ardent set the remains of the Map on the lip of the Font beside the other objects. He stared at them, brow furrowed in concentration.

  “So… you know what you’re doing, right?” Marrill asked.

  He shot her an impatient glance. “Of course. I am the great wizard Ardent. And today, I am the most powerful wizard alive on the Pirate Stream. If anyone can command the magic of the Dzane… I can. I will. Now stand aside, and make sure I’m undisturbed.”

  He unspooled a section of dream ribbon and slid it under the Map so that it filled the hole created by the void. Then he uncorked the jar of squid ink and hesitated, glancing between the two. With a shrug he tilted the jar, letting a sludge of ink spill onto the middle of the ribbon. It fell with a splat and slowly seeped into the delicate material.

  Marrill waited, breath held, watching. Fingers of ink spread, crawling across the ribbon in a blotchy pattern that reminded Marrill of a Rorschach test. But that was it.

  Nothing more happened. The ink didn’t morph into islands or continents. No worlds appeared. No islets or hamlets.

  “Hmmm.” Ardent frowned and poked at the ribbon, pushing it until a corner drooped down into the Font far enough to touch Stream water. The ribbon disintegrated like cotton candy in a glass of water.

  Nearby, the echo of Serth continued to babble prophecy as the echo of young Ardent furiously scribbled down everything he said. All across the chamber, in an even earlier timeline, the echoes of the Dzane waged war against the oncoming shadow of the Lost Sun.

  “I can’t concentrate,” Ardent said flatly. “This place, there’s too much distraction. I need some quiet.”

  Marrill took a deep breath, searching the room for some way to help. Next to her, the echo of a catlike face she recognized as the Dawn Wizard swirled his hands together, drawing water from the Font to create an entire world in miniature. He hurled it toward the shadow at the door, who caught it effortlessly, then disintegrated the world into oblivion.

  How was she supposed to stop the howl of wind being sucked into the Lost Sun’s oblivion? How was she supposed to quiet the babble of the Meressian Prophecy, or still the warring Dzane? It was impossible!

  Ardent’s lips clenched in annoyance as he lined up another section of ribbon and called forth another dollop of ink.

  Suddenly, Marrill had an idea. “Ardent, can I borrow a scrap of ribbon and some ink?”

  The wizard gave her a withering look. “Marrill, now is not the time for doodling.…”

  “Trust me,” she begged. “This will help.”

  Ardent sighed and tore the long roll of paper in half. From the air, he conjured a small bowl and filled it with ink.

  Marrill reached for them but hesitated. “Any chance you happen to have a brush on you?”

  Ardent’s patience was clearly running thin, but he snapped his fingers and a trio of brushes appeared. She grabbed one with a “thanks,” and dipped it in the ink. Working quickly, she sketched an outline of Ardent and the Font, with a glass wall surrounding them. She paused, then added sketches of musical notes, bouncing off the wall.

  A second later, the drawing jumped from the paper into life. Marrill caught her breath as the walls walked themselves around Ardent. The wizard stopped, looking at her through the inky outline of the newly drawn chamber. His mouth opened, but no sound came out.

  Marrill laughed. It worked! She’d drawn a soundproof chamber, and it had come to life!

  Ardent smiled hugely, gave her a thumbs-up, and bent back to his work.

  Marrill let out a sigh of relief. Now she just had to sit back and enjoy the show while the wizard saved the world. It felt nice to have the pressure off. Beside her, a shape-shifting Dzane changed from a living rock into a tiger made of ice, throwing frost at the echo of the Lost Sun.

  But as she watched, the Lost Sun’s shadow seemed to split apart. As its dark hands raised to deflect the blast, another set of arms slid into place behind them. These arms, though, were not hollow or faded. They were solid, filled with color. Silver sleeves draped down around the wrists.

  The faceless vision flickered. Beneath it, a porcelain visage emerged from the formless depths. The shadow wasn’t becoming clearer, she realized. Something was moving through it.

  “I have arrived,” a voice that wasn’t Serth’s pronounced, stepping through the echo of the Lost Sun.

  CHAPTER 27

  What Is Real and What Is Not

  Fin pulled himself to his feet. His limbs felt like they’d been cast in lead. The deck of the Enterprising Kraken may as well have been a yawning abyss, its gravity pulling him down to the body of his mother. Lost to him now, forever.

  Vell—his Rise, the boy whose existence defined him—had just murdered their mother. And now he would free the Salt Sand King, unleash the Iron Tide, and send the whole Stream to its doom. As if the Lost Sun of Dzannin wasn’t enough for the job.

  If he ever needed proof that the Rise were ruthless and unfeeling, this was it. They may look the same and have come from the same whole, but he and Vell were nothing alike.

  “Sister Fade,” Vell said, his voice cold and emotionless, “bring me the wish orb.”

  Fig hesitated, looking between the two identical boys. Uncertainty played across her features.

  “Don’t, Fig,” Fin said calmly. “He doesn’t control you.”

  Vell rolled his eyes. “Sister Fade, that was an order.”

  Fig’s hands trembled around the shimmering wish. “I can’t resist him,” she said. “He’s Ris
e. We have to obey their orders.”

  Fin’s entire body vibrated with fury, but he bit back the scream of rage clawing at his throat. “You don’t have to do anything, Fig,” he growled. “You’re a person. You make your own choices.”

  She shook her head. “No, Fin,” she whispered. “We’re not. Neither of us is. From the moment we come into existence, we’re nothing more than the cast-off remains of someone else’s weaknesses. We’re not real.”

  “Fin,” Vell snorted. “Fig. You’ve even given each other names. How absurd.” He shook his head and looked at Fin. “She’s right, Brother Fade. You are everything weak, to my strength.” His eyes fell back to Fig. “The orb, Sister Fade. Now.”

  “Kick him in the face, Plus One!” Remy yelled from the quarterdeck. “Show him who’s weak—mrphh !” A tall Rise clapped his hand over the teenager’s mouth, silencing her.

  But it was too late. Remy’s words were enough. Suddenly, everything clicked in Fin’s mind. He finally understood exactly what Vell’s weakness was. What all of the Rise’s weakness really was. Now, he just had to show them.

  And he was going to enjoy every moment of it.

  Placing his body between Vell and Fig, he looked to his Rise, a huge smirk squirming its way across his face. “Go ahead and take the orb,” Fin said evenly. “All you have to do is kill me.”

  Vell sneered, stepping backward.

  “What’s the matter?” Fin laughed. “I’m just a Fade. I’m nothing but weak weakness that’s weak. You’re super strong. Just stab that dagger straight through me, like you did our mother.”

  Vell’s nostrils flared. His hands dropped to the dagger at his side. But he didn’t draw it. He couldn’t. And now they both knew it.

  “Come on!” Fin chided. “I mean, of course, you would end up like our mother. With me inside you. With all my doubts and fears and insecurities, clawing at your mind. Able to bleed, able to suffer, able to die.” He shrugged. “But it’s no big deal. I do it every day.” He waved a hand across the deck. “All the Fade do!”