The Lost Sun Series Box Set 1: Books 1 and 2 (Lost Sun Box Set)

by Riley Morrison

  While Imogen was busy planning, Kara used the last of her energy to attack the shell clamping shut around her. As Kara assaulted the shield, Imogen’s body jerked and spasmed. Asura flew off as the two women’s wills fought to overpower each other.

  Just die, worm, Imogen raged. Your life is over.

  You’re insane; you must be stopped.

  As they fought, Imogen clenched her jaw so hard several molar teeth broke. Mustering all her strength of will, Imogen unleashed it against Kara all at once. “Not this time,” Imogen screamed. “Not by you. Not by anyone.”

  Kara was beaten into submission and could fight no more. She became trapped in a hardened shell of psychic energy that drained her of what little will remained.

  You lost, Kara. But before you die: see the future of the human race.

  Imogen spat out blood and broken teeth, then dug her nails into the catwalk railing, the passkey as bright as the Lost Sun. “Come forth, my children. We march to war!”

  The last thing Kara heard was the clang of hundreds of metal feet marching forward in unison.

  Then there was nothing but darkness.

  Epilogue

  SEMIRA

  Semira struggled to climb out from under the rubble. Curse Erinie and her concoctions. Lucky Semira and her fellow knife, Jamina, had well-honed reflexes. Both women had dived for cover against the door the half-blood had escaped through and were sheltered from the worst of the cascading concrete. The same couldn’t be said for the other two knives, who lay crushed under tons of rubble near the center of the room.

  Jamina lit a torch, then helped Semira out from under a chunk of concrete slab. When Semira was on her feet, Jamina handed her a sword. “Thanks,” Semira said.

  Jamina’s eyes widened in surprise. Clearly she'd expected to maintain mission silence. Knives rarely spoke to one another unless they had to. All of them were mere tools for the Luddite Council, who prostrated at the feet of the great tourmaline colossus of Dwaycar.

  Pulverized concrete dust filled the air and both were covered in it, turning their black armor bone gray. It was hard to breathe and Semira felt grit grinding between her teeth.

  They picked their way over the rubble toward the exit Kahan had taken, Semira in the lead, Jamina a step behind. Semira had told him to go that way, and he had bowed to her wisdom and left. If only he had always listened to her...

  I have failed you, she said to the voice in her head. I almost died, and now the half-blood is gone.

  Yes, you failed me, but there is still time. I need you. My sister is close to entering the containment door. You must hurry.

  The voice came to her more clearly now, and sometimes when he spoke, it was hard to know if it was his voice or her own. She remembered things she’d never seen, remembered places and people she’d never known. Her own memories, like the ones of Arden and Liana, were fading.

  But the guilt was still there, feeding on her like a parasite. The guilt for all she had done.

  Wrynric...

  Where the floor wasn't cracked or strewn with rubble, Semira could follow faint, dusty footprints left by Kahan and the other knives. Had her eyes not been so keen, even in low light, she may have missed them; but like her mind, her body was changing. The other knives had seen the changes and marveled at them. Semira was stronger than Kahan and the other knives, and could outrun and outfight any of them.

  She'd become so powerful, the shadow trainer had called her the Herald of Dwaycar.

  None of them knew she had a voice in her head that told her things no one else knew. They thought it magic that Semira could track the half-blood through the endless dark of the Nether.

  It was no magic. It was the unnamed man inside her head.

  She felt invisible fingers brush her soul. You are special to me, my love. That is why I am here with you.

  His words brought her comfort. She had failed him, but he still loved her.

  Semira and Jamina’s journey led them to a vast living quarter with doors built uniformly into the walls. Many of the doors had been smashed inward, revealing small apartments with beds, tables and kitchens, all covered in thick layers of dust or broken to pieces. Above and below them were floor after floor of similar quarters.

  This place was called Annbar. Once, tens of thousands of people made their homes here. Mothers, fathers, sons, daughters. In the end, all of them were grist for my sister’s mad plan. His voice became quiet, almost as if he was speaking to himself. I witnessed so much horror, so much death, so much depravity. And for what? Her cowardice? How could she have sunk so low?

  Semira had no idea what he was talking about, but she listened, for she liked it when he spoke to her. They made their way along a broken balcony, following Kahan’s footprints. The prints led them toward a set of stairs. When they arrived, they found that one of the above levels had fallen and brought down dozens of floors below it.

  Kahan had used a grappling hook to make the ascent up the broken stairwell. Climbing the rope, Semira and Jamina found themselves on a balcony, three floors above where they'd started. The apartments on this level were larger than the ones below; suggesting the people who'd lived there had enjoyed a higher social status.

  Huge sections of the wall and floor had been blasted into ruins and dozens of support pillars had been shattered. Seeing the destruction of the supports, Semira was surprised the roof hadn't collapsed.

  Kahan’s footprints led them to a mangled metal door. It appeared as if something had broken through it from the other side. What could have smashed through a five-inch thick metal door like that?

  This destruction is the work of my sister’s creations. There was a battle here, and those that fell were harvested and placed into her machines.

  They climbed through the hole in the door and made their way through passages strewn with rubble. Soon they heard noises in the distance, the sounds echoing along empty corridors. They began to sprint, leaping over craters and broken pillars until they burst into a large antechamber.

  Kahan was there, battling a tall, dark-skinned monk who swung his staff, driving Kahan back toward the dark shaft at the center of the room. Their leader was injured, and the other knives with him were dead or missing. Behind the monk, a woman scrounged through a bag while another man pounded his fists against a large metal door. Then the man at the door saw Semira and shouted a warning to his two companions.

  Semira and Jamina charged forward. When Jamina hurled her last javelin at the monk, he ducked under it, then shouted for his friends to flee. Semira got a better look at the woman standing at the base of the ramp and slid to a stop.

  Erinie! You wretched husk.

  Semira noticed the librarian’s hands digging into a pouch. What was she up to?

  You are too late, the voice inside her screamed. My sister has entered the manufactory.

  Burning hot fingers clenched around her soul, the pain causing Semira to collapse to her knees, the scar on her lower back throbbing. The man inside her was livid with rage and he was taking his frustrations out on her. Erinie was so close, but the maelstrom inside prevented her from moving to kill the librarian.

  When Erinie saw Semira, her mouth fell open. “You...”

  All Semira could do in return was let out a pained gasp. You let her in, he raged. You let her in. How can we stop her now?

  Sneering, Erinie hurled something on the ground in front of Semira. It exploded into a thick cloud of acrid smoke that began to fill the chamber. “Stay there and die, traitor,” the librarian hissed from somewhere in the haze.

  Semira coughed and spluttered and realized the smoke was toxic. Pain and rage continued to buffet her, making her unable to flee. Kahan was wheezing and coughing too, but Jamina made no sound.

  No, I can't die. Semira coughed up blood. Not after all I have been through, all I have suffered, all those I've had to kill... It can't have been for nothing.

  To her surprise, she suddenly stopped coughing and was able to breathe the noxious ga
s as if it was normal air. When the smoke dissipated a few minutes later, she found Kahan curled into a fetal position near the edge of the shaft.

  He must die for his failure, the voice said. He must be punished.

  The rage simmered still, the scar ached, but the fingers let go of her soul and she was able to move again. Jamina tentatively peered into the chamber from a nearby corridor, evidently having escaped before the poisonous gas could overwhelm her.

  Semira and Jamina were the only survivors of the twenty-five knives who had stood in the ruins of Sunholm. Since then, Kahan had led the rest to their deaths along with dozens of reinforcements brought in to assault the Temple of Sacred Lights.

  They had lost. He had failed them.

  Climbing to her feet, Semira padded over to Kahan. He was gravely wounded and wouldn't live long. His armor tattered and bloody, one arm broken along with his jaw and his left eye socket, the eye itself hanging by the retina against his cheek.

  If only he’d let Semira off her tight leash, she would have killed the half-blood long ago. Instead he had talked and tried to make deals, like he had at the bridge before the temple of the machine worshipers. Had he just attacked and killed the half-blood back then, so many lives could have been saved. He knew the human race was at stake, yet he bantered words. Semira snarled. Words! What a fool.

  Kahan got what he deserved.

  He looked up at her and groaned, “Dwaycar... I have failed you.” The effort of speaking brought blood to his mouth as the poison burned through him. “I did all I could... We all did. Now... the world is doomed.”

  Semira yanked off his mask, ripping the retina out of his skull. She stamped her foot on the eye, splattering it on the floor. He screamed and held his uninjured hand over the empty eye socket.

  Kahan was younger than she'd expected, no more than thirty, handsome, with a perfect mouth and square jaw. No wonder the shadow trainer had killed all her other sons and chose him to lead the knives. Had it not been for the swelling, bruises and empty, bloody eye socket, any woman would lust for a face like his.

  He must die. He is useless to me now. My rage must be sated.

  Kahan tried to roll onto his back but the effort became too much for him, so he gave up. He cried out in agony and spat blood. When he could speak, he said, “I am sorry.”

  Semira felt nothing for him or his suffering. The boiling rage was all she knew. But it wasn’t her rage.

  Jamina came up beside her, staring down at their leader. Kahan looked up at her, uncovering his eye socket to reach up to her. “Help me.”

  Before Jamina could assist him, Semira motioned her back. The other knife hesitated until Semira swung to face her, then backed away hurriedly.

  Kill him. Kill him now. Lest my rage overwhelm you.

  Semira took hold of one of Kahan’s legs. “What are you doing?” he gasped, as she dragged him toward the edge of the shaft.

  “You failed.”

  When she reached the edge, she dropped his leg. He tried to grab her. “Wait. Stop. Please...”

  Ignoring his mewling, she pushed him off the edge with her boot. His scream echoed long off the walls of the shaft until it faded to nothing.

  Semira spun to face Jamina, as the knife dropped her torch. The two women stared at one another for a long time. Then Jamina bowed her head and walked backwards until she disappeared into the darkness.

  My rage is sated, for now, the man inside said. You and I must go on a long journey. We will bring no light, nor food, nor water. We will not need them.

  Semira left her dead companions to their eternal sleep and followed the guidance of his voice out of ancient Annbar, with its lost secrets. Arriving back in the Nether, she journeyed through endless dark, dripping passages, jagged caves and cold underground streams, passing dangerous, twisted beasts that saw her but kept their distance. Days blurred as one, and she neither ate nor slept, walking or sometimes crawling, as though she were in a dream.

  As she ventured deeper into the Nether, her mind was slowly replaced by an ancient being that had lived inside her for her whole life. Hour by hour, pieces of him were put together like a child’s puzzle until an almost complete picture of him had appeared in her mind’s eye. She now knew his name, but he would not let her speak it.

  Soon, we will be as one. But do not be afraid, my love. I am who you were born to be.

  Semira arrived at a choppy lake lit by a blinding white beam of light, shining through a large crack in the rocky chamber roof. A cold wind tousled her hair and sent wisps of gray mist swirling over the water.

  We must be near the surface, the man inside said. That light belongs to the Sun. The world is no longer shrouded in darkness, which means the ice that covers it should begin to thaw.

  You mean the Lost Sun?

  Yes, my sweet, your Lost Sun. You are likely the first person in many, many years who has seen its light. One day, when my sister is no more, I hope humans can live under it, like we once did.

  Following the light beam downward, Semira’s eyes settled on a small island at the center of the lake. Chunks of ice floated in the water and the flakes of snow falling through the crack settled on its surface and floated there like trade ships in Crystal Lake.

  He made her walk to the lake’s edge and wade into it. She would have screamed as her body sank into the icy water, but her mouth no longer obeyed her.

  As she swam, a school of silver fish nibbled at her clothes. Sometimes their sharp teeth bit into her skin and tore off small, ragged chunks of flesh. As she bled, more fish came to feed until they were all around her, biting and snapping, then darting away so others could move in to feed.

  It took Semira twenty minutes to reach the island and when she emerged from the water, her now-naked body misted in the hazy light. Blood oozed from a hundred bite wounds and ran down her legs to freeze on the gravel shore. A small, crude, snow-covered stone building was all that stood on the otherwise featureless island.

  His cold rage filled Semira, as cold as the icy waters she had swum. This is where the ungrateful laid me to rest? Far from their homes and their fires? I saved them, and this is how they repaid me!

  Semira walked over to the building and found there was no way to enter. It was as if those who built it had not wanted what was inside to ever be set free.

  You must dig, my love. Dig with your hands.

  So she dug and dug and dug. When she was done, her hands were bloody and two fingers were broken. The pain was unbearable but the force that compelled her was powerful, and now had almost complete control over her body.

  By the time she unearthed the burial chamber, there was little left of the woman that had been Semira. She was still conscious of her body and could make sense of what she saw, but no longer remembered her own name and had little memory of what had brought her to this forgotten tomb. She felt guilt, sorrow and pain, but little else.

  The only thing in the burial chamber was a plain stone sarcophagus in the center of the room. Semira limped over to it and found the lid cracked with age. Using her mangled hands, she pushed the stone slab until it fell to the floor and shattered into dust. When the dust settled, she saw a set of intricate black armor laid in six pieces inside.

  My armor. After all this time. Now, my love, you will be mine.

  Piece by piece, Semira put the armor on. It was heavy and cold, but fitted perfectly. The final segment was the helmet. When she lowered it onto her head, sharp metallic barbs shot into her back and dug their way into her spinal cord.

  The pain was excruciating.

  The man, now in control, walked her from the crypt into the beam of sunlight. It was under that light he finally let her scream.

  So she did, long and hard, letting all her rage, guilt, pain and sorrow out until her voice broke. By the end of it, her consciousness had faded to almost nothing, having been replaced by the ancient male presence now made whole by the armor.

  “I make one final demand of you, my sweet,” he said with the v
oice that once belonged to her. “Say my name.”

  He looked up so Semira could see the light of the Lost Sun. You’re Dwaycar, the Betrayer, she whispered in his mind.

  “Betrayer!” he roared. “It was I who was betrayed. Go to the light of your Lost Sun, and be gone. I no longer have need of you.”

  Dwaycar let her soul float up the beam, toward the blessed light. She was halfway up when something stopped her ascent.

  The light of the Lost Sun flickered once, then died, plunging Semira into darkness.

  THE END

  BOOK 2

  DAWN OF A LOST SUN AVAILBLE NOW

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  OTHER BOOKS BY RILEY

  THE CAVERNS OF STELEMIA

  Fall of a Lost Sun (The standalone prequel)

  Heir to a Lost Sun

  Dawn of a Lost Sun

  THE CAVERNS OF STELEMIA SIDE ADVENTURES

  Ruins of a Lost Sun

  About The Author

  Riley Morrison is an Australian writer who primarily writes in the fantasy, science fiction and post apocalyptic genres. Because it is hard for him to write in only one genre, it would be easier to say he writes Speculative Fiction.

  An avid reader of all things doom and gloom, Riley enjoys reading about how our civilization is close to collapse and how we are all going to have to get used to living in caves again. A dull and gloomy cave with no Internet, Twitter or cats.

  Other things Riley likes include history, bush walking, cats, vegetable gardening, procrastinating, oddball slapstick comedies (Bruce Campbell FTW!), video games, and countless other things. And cats.

  Riley is old enough to have written some semblance of a story on a Commodore Amiga 500 but not old enough to have used a typewriter. Sadly, it has taken him around 25 years from writing his first story to sit down and actually finish something. While hardly unique in this, Riley can at least boast he has actually finished writing something.