The Sun Sword

by Lexxie Couper

  Threading her way through the crowd, she scanned the holo signs. She wasn’t looking for anything in particular, just taking it all in. Digesting the other worlds she knew so little about, doing her best not to think about Torin Kerridon and the revelation she’d unexpectedly shared with him.

  Kala shook her head and let out another sigh. As surreal as Ati’aina was, it was not enough to stop her thinking of the damn Sol warrior.

  What would be?

  Nothing. Nothing would remove Torin from her mind. He was a part of who she was now. He’d turned her into a warrior and stolen her heart in the process. She was a walking weapon with one purpose. But she longed for another purpose—to belong to a man who believed her to be something she wasn’t. Christ, could she be any more fucked up?

  A high-pitched squeal rose over the cacophony of bustling pedestrians, fear ringing through its shrill note and Kala froze. A small girl of four, maybe younger, pushed past her, her pale round face smudged with filth, her eyes wide with terror.

  “Hey!” Kala called, turning after the child.

  The little girl didn’t stop, her tiny frame swallowed up straight away by the dense crowd.

  “Where the fuck did the cunt go?”

  The harsh snarl behind Kala made her turn and her gaze fell on a massive Andovian shoving his way through the pedestrians already scurrying out of his way. He cast the busy passageway a black scowl, baring jagged teeth, before glaring at an equally large Irithian beside him. “When I get my hands on the little piece of shit I’m going to fucking wring her neck to an inch of her worthless life.”

  “There!” his companion suddenly yelled, pointing frantically past Kala. “There! I see her!”

  The Andovian’s stare swung back to the bustling traffic behind Kala and his eyes erupted with brutal glee. “Yes. Got her.”

  Without thought or hesitation, Kala smashed her fist into his ugly, scaled face.

  He reeled backward, arms pin-wheeling, head thrown back, his feet scrambling for balance. The Irithian beside him let out a loud shout and, expression both shocked and enraged, threw himself at Kala.

  She spun, slamming her foot into his chest, sending him arcing backward. He landed with an oof amongst the gasping crowd, pain and stunned disbelief turning his face into an almost comical mask.

  Kala didn’t have time to laugh however. She ducked the Andovian lunging at her, punching him in the gut before sidestepping his wild blow.

  “Fucking cunt!” he bellowed, swinging at her again. She dropped into a low crouch just as he snared a fistful of her hair. “I’m going to fucking tear you a—”

  She threw herself into a tight, hands-free cartwheel, her abrupt momentum yanking him into a clumsy forward tumble. Her heel smacked into the side of his face and with a sharp yelp, his hand gripping her hair let go. She struck out again, slamming a back kick straight into his neck before spinning 180 degrees to drive her fist into the bellowing Irithian’s chest—seconds before he could grab her from behind.

  “You want to fuck little girls?” She fixed her stare on the Andovian where he stood hunched and wheezing, his eyes burning murderous rage. “How ’bout I fuck you up?”

  He roared, leaping at her. She jumped out of his way, swinging her body into a spinning kick, her heel smashing into the base of his skull as he surged past her. There was a sharp crack, a sickening sound of bone shattering, and the Andovian fell face first to the floor.

  Kala stared at his prone form, her blood roaring in her ears, her muscles burning with barely contained fury. “That’s what you get, you sick bastard.”

  “Watch out!”

  The shout from the crowd, loud and frantic, came too late. Something hit her in the temple. Hard. Something that felt like steel.

  White agony erupted in the side of her head. Stole her sight. Her breath. She heard a gasp, followed by a sneering laugh, and then there was nothing.

  Not even blackness.

  ***

  Torin stood at the dark entryway of the last cubicle located in the most decrepit residential wing of Ati’aina, impatience gnawing at him like a ravenous beast. The old woman had commanded he wait, her violet eyes—so faded with age they were almost white—both stern and wary. Ignoring his growled protests, she’d slipped into the darkness without a backward glance, the stench of rotting meat hanging on the air in her absence like a thick cloud.

  He let out a ragged sigh, suppressing the need to fidget. He had no doubt she would be watching him from within, gaining perverse pleasure from any harried agitation she perceived.

  But if she doesn’t come out soon, Kerridon, you’re going in after her. You know that, don’t you? Oracle of the Sol, be damned, she will not make you wait much longer.

  Torin tightened his fists, the almost inaudible pop pop of his knuckles setting his teeth on edge. He didn’t like this. He didn’t like being treated like a child sent to the council elder. He liked being separated from Kala even less. The Old Seer had foretold the Oracle would not be cooperative in disclosing the Sun Sword’s location and every second Torin waited at her door proved him correct once more.

  “She is older than the known systems, Commander Kerridon,” the Old Seer had told him more than two decades ago, a reverence in his voice Torin never believed possible. And a fear. “The first with the sight. The first to see the Immortals’ weapon of life, the first to see its destructive force. If not for the Oracle, the Sol warriors would not be. She saw the first of the chosen Sol, those who gave their lives to procure the Sun Sword. She saw them and she commanded them.”

  Torin ground his teeth and glared into her residence. The Oracle had given birth to the Sol warriors, to their strength, and then a millennium later, destroyed them. All of them. Except Torin, who had been ordered by the Old Seer on a mission of seemingly little purpose or consequence to the distant planet of Tu. Torin knew that purpose now—to ensure his survival in the face of an undefeatable assault, an assault that left over a thousand Sol butchered, but knowing did not ease the pain and fury in his core. Nor the guilt.

  He narrowed his eyes, those same emotions threading like thick ropes through his soul now. There was no known reason to the old woman’s actions, no rationale to the word that had led to a mass execution, but by the five-hundredth year of her revelation, the Oracle had more followers, more zealots in her thrall, than all the old gods. When she’d declared the Sol’s time had come to an end, another five-hundred years later, the slaughter had begun.

  The Sol had fought back, stunned by the betrayal of their creator, but their battle had not lasted long. How did they kill those they had trained their whole lives to protect?

  Zealots however, fear nothing except the rejection and disapproval of their obsession and the Oracle had groomed those loyal to her to a frenzied point. The spilling of their own blood by the swords and disruptors of the Sol did not halt their lust to render the Oracle’s words true. Within three solar months, the Sol were no more.

  And with their demise, the Oracle had left the opulent temple in which she’d lived for over five centuries. Never to be seen or heard from again.

  The Oracle will reveal the truth of the guard and the soul. The Oracle will reveal the light and the blade. The Oracle will reveal the truth of the fire and the flame. The Oracle will reveal the beginning and the end and her children will weep blood and drown in death.

  The words of the Sol Edict were ingrained in Torin’s existence. The old woman created the Sol Order, she’d discovered the Sun Sword, she’d seen the One Who Burns and the False Fire long before he, Torin Kerridon, command warrior and keeper of the Sun Sword’s truth, had been born. The Oracle was the beginning and the end of his Sol brothers, and now here he was, on a spaceport so deep in space his ship’s guidance system could not track the constellations, awaiting the insane woman’s call.

  If she did not tell him the location of the Sun Sword, he would be forced to demonstrate just how brutal the last of the Sol had become.

  He shifted hi
s feet, a prickle creeping up his spine. The seconds with Kala out of his sight were growing. He didn’t like it.

  “The Sol have always been impatient.”

  The raspy voice of the Oracle floated from the darkness and Torin stiffened.

  “Eager to face their future. In a hurry to face their truth. It makes them what they are.” A wild cackle bounced through the door, the sound both cold and unhinged. Torin curled his fists, the disquiet in his chest turning into a heavy knot.

  “But never,” the old woman’s voice continued, “never have they been motivated by lust. Have you stuck your dick between the young thing’s legs yet? Is she tight?” Another cackle, this one low and dirty. “Have you sampled her arse?”

  Ice-hot fury flooded Torin’s veins.

  Fuck protocol.

  He stormed into the Oracle’s residence. How the old witch knew he was thinking of Kala didn’t matter. Making her regret her words did.

  Thick darkness folded around him, blinding him like a mask until, five steps in, his eyes adjusted and he found the Oracle’s skinny frame bending over a large, metal container. “Watch your tongue, old woman,” he growled, “before I remove it from your mouth.”

  She squealed, jolting upright and spinning to face him. “You are not allowed in here!” Eyes wide and rolling, she ran at him, waving something long and silver in her hand. “You cannot have it, you cannot have it! No! No! How dare—”

  He snared her bony wrists, glaring down into her maniacal face. “Give me the Sun Sword, Oracle, and I will leave you alone.”

  She squirmed in his hold. “Let me go! By the Sol Edict, let me go!”

  Torin growled. “You lost your right to invoke the Sol Edict the second you ordered the slaughter of my brother warriors.” He dug his fingers harder into her wrists and jerked her closer, the stench of rotting meat seeping into his nostrils. “You destroyed the right to command me the second you spoke with such filth of Kala Rei.”

  “Kala Rei?” The old woman gasped. “The One Who Burns!” The blood drained from her face and she stilled, gaping up at him. “The One Who Burns is female?”

  Something cold unfurled in Torin’s gut. He stared at the Oracle, his muscles so tense he felt ready to snap. “The One Who Burns is female.”

  A sudden image flashed through his head. Kala wielding the Sun Sword. Sinking its burning blade into his neck.

  His dream. His death. At Kala’s hands.

  False Fire.

  He narrowed his eyes, yanking the old woman closer again. “Give me the Sun Sword, Oracle. Now.” He slid his gaze to the shiny length of light in her hand and let out a guttural curse.

  Grasped in her gnarled fingers was a glow blade, a simple toy given to children to keep them entertained during long nights.

  Syunna, she was insane.

  He snapped his attention back to the old woman, lowering his head to glare straight into her bulging eyes. “Where. Is. The. Sword?”

  The Oracle stared back at him, tugging on his grip. “Lemme go.”

  Torin suppressed the urge to shake her. Gone was the condescending seer. In her stead sulked a petulant child. “Where is the Sword?”

  The old woman turned her head, tugging ineffectually against his grip again. “The Sun Sword is for the One Who Burns, not an honour-sick knight too dumb to realize his kind no longer exists.”

  Cold anger flowed through Torin. “This ‘dumb knight” didn’t turn his back on the prophecy when others did. This ‘dumb knight’ found the One Who Burns and trained her to be the supreme warrior she is. This ‘dumb knight’ knows just how precious she is.” His chest tightened and he bit back a low growl. “To the worlds of man.”

  The Oracle stilled. She swung her stare back to his face, her sunken lips stretching into a wide smirk. “You are in love with her.”

  Torin shook her. He couldn’t stop himself. “Tell me where the Sun Sword is, woman, before I lose my temper!”

  The wild cackle filled the room again, gleeful and spiteful at once. “The False Fire shall burn with the desire of the One and the One will fall to the Fire’s flame. The lone warrior will perish to the forbidden lust and the hearts of man will perish to the One Who Burns.”

  Torin’s eyes widened and his breath stuck in his throat. “No.”

  The old woman grinned, nodding her head. “The Oracle never lies. You know that. It is ingrained in you. Everything you are was forged by me. My word is your life. Your existence is shaped by me.” Her grin turned cruel. “Lone warrior.”

  “Enough!” Torin fixed the deceiving woman a level look, lowering his voice to a calm murmur. “Tell me where the Sun Sword is or by my word, your existence will be ended by me.”

  She shook her head, spiteful triumph burning in her eyes. And something else. Something cold dancing in the flames. “The One Who Burns,” she hissed, hate in her words. “I must see the One Who Burns. Until Kala Rei stands before me the Sun Sword is beyond your reach.” She lifted her chin, the room’s dim light catching the hairs sprouting from it, making them appear like tiny spines. “And for every moment that is so, the worlds of man suffer more.”

  Torin felt his chest grow tight. He looked at the old woman. Knew her words to be true. Dread and apprehension rolled through him like a flooding river and he ground his teeth. He did not want to expose Kala to the Oracle’s cruel insanity any more than he wanted to expose her to the old woman’s cruel truth, but he had no choice.

  It was Kala’s destiny to wield the Sun Sword and he could not stop it being so.

  Syrunna, how he hated that cursed weapon.

  Throwing the Oracle’s wrists away, he glared down into her face, the dim darkness of the room doing nothing to hide the maniacal grin she wore. “I will return with Kala Rei within the hour.” He lowered his face closer to hers, letting her see the grim promise in his unwavering gaze. “If you are not here, I will hunt you down. If you are here with stupidity on your mind, I will kill you.”

  The old woman didn’t say a word, but Torin saw her throat work in quick succession. He nodded. “Very good.”

  He turned and strode from the Oracle’s cubicle, the putrid odor of decaying meat and unwashed flesh clinging to him like oily smoke. The bright lights outside the woman’s residence attacked his eyes but he ignored the sting, heading for Ati’aina’s central commercial levels. Pulling a small silver device from inside his jacket, he studied its tiny screen, biting back another curse. Syunna, Kala had explored the spaceport further than he anticipated. According to the small locator cuff he’d insisted she wear around her wrist, she was currently standing in Skin Strip, Ati’aina’s notorious level dedicated to pleasure.

  “By the gods, child,” he growled, hurrying his step. “What are you doing there?”

  He moved through the quiet residential corridors, a heavy pressure growing on his chest. Kala alone on the spaceport was bad enough. Kala alone on Skin Strip made his blood run cold.

  You’ve trained her well, Kerridon. She can handle herself in any situation.

  The assertion did nothing to ease his worry. To the contrary. He knew Kala. Barely six months ago she’d taken him on, a man almost double her size armed with a variety of very obvious weapons, with nothing more than a steel pipe and pure hatred. A horde of spiced-up, drunken smugglers and crooks would pose little threat to her thinking after half a solar cycle of intensive training.

  “Fuck.” Torin broke into a sprint, bursting from the quiet residential wing to shove his way through the crowded commercial levels.

  Hawkers and vendors alike screeched their wares over the loud noise of the busy promenade, trying to outdo each other, trying to lure clients and customers into their establishments. The smells and sounds of each one assaulted Torin as he ran, sex, spice and liquor. His heart slammed against his breastbone, making his throat thick. What had he been thinking, letting Kala alone on such a place? Had he lost his mind?

  No, just rational thought. But she took that from you the second she smashed you t
o the ground back on Earth.

  He ground his teeth and ran faster, uncaring of the yells and shouts of protest he left in his wake. Skin Strip was but a few yards away, just around the next corner.

  He took it without slowing down, searching the packed promenade for any signs of Kala.

  Nothing.

  Fuck.

  He snatched a look at the locator device still clenched in his fingers. A tiny red point of light flashed directly to the right of where he stood.

  He spun about, expecting to see her standing there.

  She wasn’t.

  Lifting the locator device, he studied its display. His stomach rolled over. His pulse thumped in his neck. Something was wrong. Kala should be standing but a few feet away from him.

  A numb tingle itched up his spine and he took a step forward, closer to the spot Kala should be. People pushed past him, their voices sliding off him, their presence forgotten. He moved closer to Kala’s location. Closer. Closer.

  Something silver glinted on the floor. Something small and circular. He sucked in a sharp breath, his mouth going dry. The locator cuff he’d slipped around Kala’s wrist before they’d debarked Helios Blade lay on the metal floor, its locking clasp broken, its shiny surface stained red.

  Blood.

  Scanning the crowd moving around him, he grabbed a harried-looking Raavelian wearing a master-merchant’s robes by the arm and jerked him to a halt. “Has there been an altercation here recently?”

  The Raavelian tugged at Torin’s grip, his eyebrows pulling into an irritated and somewhat apprehensive frown. “You’re not port security. Let go of me.”

  Torin increased his pressure on the merchant’s arm. “Answer my question.”

  The Raavelian’s frown deepened, his expression growing more uncomfortable. “Some skinny girl picked a fight with an Andovian and an Irithian a few ticks ago.”

  A steady calm fell over Torin. His heart rate slowed, his breath grew even. “Did she win?”

  The Raavelian snorted. “She was wiping the strip with them until the Ie’en turned up.”