Starborn

by Lucy Hounsom

  ‘… I cannot believe it. Are you listening, Brégenne?’

  She shook herself, angry at her dreaming. ‘Come in,’ she said by way of apology. She stood aside so Nediah could move into the room, then she closed the door and leaned her back against it, hiding the dent left by Alandred.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Nediah turned his eyes on her. They were weary, she saw, but full of something he hadn’t yet said. ‘You don’t seem yourself.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ she answered coolly, wondering how he always managed to sense her underlying mood. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Alandred’s scheduled Kyndra’s test for dawn.’

  ‘What!’ She realized her calm had slipped, but didn’t bother to steady it. ‘When, how?’

  ‘Barely five minutes ago. It’s gone up in the hall. There’s no how to it. The Master of Novices doesn’t need authorization for a test.’

  ‘But he needs his volunteers. Most will be in bed by now and won’t appreciate being woken to accommodate some whim of his.’

  Nediah spread his hands. ‘You know he has friends, Brégenne. He probably called in a few favours. He can do it.’

  ‘The Council will put a stop to this. It’s not fair to spring a test on a potential. There are rules—’

  ‘Unspoken ones, yes,’ Nediah said. ‘But the Council won’t involve itself in something like this. People will mutter and think Alandred a touch cruel, but it will go no further.’

  She knew he was right. She bit her lip when she thought of Kyndra being pulled from her bed and forced up onto that cliff, still blinking the sleep from her eyes. This is my fault.

  ‘Brégenne –’ Nediah’s voice deepened – ‘are you sure you’re all right?’ He took a step towards her and she shrank back, the thought of Alandred still cold in her stomach.

  Hurt dimmed Nediah’s face. He retreated swiftly, dropping his arms to his sides. Brégenne wrapped hers around her middle, hugging the cursed nightdress to her skin.

  As if her movement had drawn his attention to it, Nediah glanced at the dress and then moved his eyes to her face. ‘I didn’t hear you ask me why Alandred has done this,’ he said softly.

  She gazed at him, her mind full of Alandred’s petty revenge, but when she opened her mouth to answer, the words stuck in her throat.

  12

  They woke her before dawn.

  She must have been too deeply asleep to hear the knocking and only struggled into consciousness when someone shook her roughly. The rude awakening was nothing to the shock of finding a dark figure bent over her, hooded against the predawn chill.

  Kyndra gasped and jerked upright, knocking her head on the wall behind. As she rubbed at the spot, the figure resolved into Alandred. Kyndra blinked and shielded her eyes from the flickering silver fire that danced above the Wielder’s hand.

  ‘Used to getting up later, are you?’ Alandred spoke in the same condescending tone as yesterday.

  ‘No,’ she answered. ‘Most of my town gets up before the sun.’

  ‘Good. Novices rise two hours before dawn.’

  Kyndra blinked, but said nothing.

  ‘Oh yes,’ Alandred said, evidently assuming he had unsettled her. ‘A Wielder’s road through life is not easy. Novices learn from an early age that a disciplined set of feet are essential. I hope you are up to it, Kyndra Vale.’

  Kyndra didn’t trust herself to speak, so she nodded curtly and pushed back the blanket. ‘I will leave you to dress,’ Alandred said, even though she had only removed her jerkin, belt and boots before sleeping. ‘You’ll not see me until the testing. Another will come and show you where to go.’

  The door closed and Kyndra scowled at it. No lock. She yawned and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. She’d been dreaming, but Alandred’s intrusion had melted the details. The only thing left was a feeling, and Jarand had always insisted that the feeling was more important than the dream itself.

  She hoisted up the long trousers Nediah had given her and belted them tightly. Wishing for a mirror, Kyndra swept her hair out of her eyes and tried to pat it into some semblance of order.

  The door opened without invitation and a man stood there, his unapologetic hand on the latch. Kyndra pulled on her boots and straightened, nerves rattling around her stomach. When would she be told what to do?

  ‘Excuse me,’ she said, ‘I don’t understand what I’m …’ Her voice trailed off. Without a word, the man had turned his back and started away down the corridor. Kyndra swallowed, gave the room a last glance and followed him out.

  It was obvious that most of Naris still slept. A rhythmic beating reached her, not unlike the one she’d heard in Murta. It was as if a heart pounded somewhere in the body of this black leviathan. Kyndra’s guide halted outside a carved door and, in the silence, Kyndra heard her own heart thumping a counter-beat.

  The Wielder knocked twice upon the door. It opened immediately; the man standing there had been expecting them. Equally wordless, he fell into place behind Kyndra and they continued on, wending a convoluted path through the passages of Naris. Fires hung, fitfully adrift, their silver flames throwing the walls into relief. Some stretches of stone bore the marks of chisels, Kyndra noticed, while others ran straight for many yards, ledges cut into them like steps.

  The ritual, as she saw it, was repeated. Another door knocked upon, another man waiting behind it. She now had a retinue of three. The silver-clad Wielder walked out in front. Those directly behind him were members of the Solar Order, golden robes dull in the gloom.

  After two more knocks and two more men, it seemed the party was complete, for they left the corridors, crossed the huge hall – now just dimly lit – and made for an archway at the opposite end. It was smaller than the one Kyndra had walked through yesterday and the mantel carried a pattern of runes.

  The men walked in single file, following a path that narrowed steadily until it almost brushed their shoulders. The last two had fallen into step behind Kyndra, as if to stop her from turning and fleeing. When it grew so dark that Kyndra couldn’t see her feet, the Lunar Wielder sculpted a flame and sent it up to hover like a moon above their heads. She tried again to ask about the test, but was met with stony silence.

  The ceiling sloped down as the path sloped up, winding like a spiral stair, and there was barely enough room to stand. Kyndra strove to imagine herself beneath a cloudy night sky, but the rock was everywhere, solid and black in the false moonlight. It was rough to the touch, pitted like volcanic stone.

  Her legs began to tire and the feeling left in the wake of her dream strengthened. It was a strange feeling, wholly unlike the foreboding before the Inheritance Ceremony. Kyndra might have called it resignation, except for the frenzied beating of her heart. In those twin chambers arose a sad certainty of wrongness. It wasn’t a presentiment; it was a fact. The conviction pumping around her body told her the Wielders had made a terrible mistake.

  Brégenne waited until the door closed outside her quarters and the shuffle of feet faded before she peered into the corridor. It was still night and the walls of Naris gleamed silver in her eyes. She threw a cloak over the plain clothes she now wore and drew up her hood. Then she slipped out of the room.

  They’d come for Barrar, as she had guessed they would. Her neighbour was a fellow Lunar and one of Alandred’s friends. Brégenne had listened to the knocks beyond her door, thinking of Kyndra, who stood mere feet away. She had to suppress the urge to spring out and grab her. It wasn’t fair. Alandred’s spite had robbed her of the chance to explain the test, to offer what reassurance she could. The place of testing alone would terrify the girl.

  Brégenne hurried through the deserted corridors. Only four Wielders were allowed on the platform during a test – with two more to guard the passageway. It would do her no favours to be found up there and, with every step, prudence urged her back. She gritted her teeth and walked on.

  She circled the atrium rather than crossing it directly. It took a lot longer and the small archway began to flic
ker in her vision. She cursed. Morning was near. From now until sunrise, her world would gradually blur until she was once again sightless.

  The thought drove her to greater speed. She didn’t have much time; the test could only be carried out in the short windows offered by dusk and dawn. And only then – halfway between night and day – were the cosmosethic powers equal. Both energies could be channelled.

  Brégenne reached the sloping tunnel and her pace became harder to maintain. She’d taken part in the test several times, but found it unpleasant.

  It was a simple procedure. Kyndra would stand in the centre of the platform under the changing sky. Four Wielders, two from each Order, would successively attack her with destructive energy until her latent affinity with one of those energies arose to protect her. If she turned out to be of the Lunar, she would take control of the Lunar beams directed at her and use them to create a shield to defend herself against the Solar. The longer it took for that to happen, Brégenne knew, the less chance Kyndra had of surviving.

  Her breath came in short gasps. The test was brutal, but impossible to fail. Failure, after all, meant death. It was a rare outcome and none of Brégenne’s finds had suffered it. But they’d had several days to prepare themselves mentally and physically, to rest after their journeys. She herself had taught them the basic principles before they were sent up here. Alandred’s revenge could have more serious consequences than he realized.

  The tunnel flickered regularly now – the moon was setting. Brégenne stumbled and in the moment of silence caused by her fall, she heard a scream. ‘No,’ she panted, dragging herself upright. Eyes wide against the darkness, she flew up the slope.

  Another scream reached her, louder this time. Brégenne let out a growl of frustration and pushed herself faster. Her feet slapped the rock, sending the echoes of her passage and of Kyndra’s cries down into Naris. The black walls flickered wildly now, but there was light ahead. Brégenne threw herself at it, her heartbeat thundering in her ears.

  She rounded the final corner, shoved past the two startled guards and emerged on the high, spike-ringed platform, clinging desperately to her sight. The Wielders stood in a semi-circle. Alandred wasn’t facing her, but she noticed the Lunar glow around him fading. Then Brégenne saw Kyndra and bile bubbled up into her throat.

  The girl hung several inches off the ground, kept there by two Solar spears thrust between her ribs. The Wielders that held them stood to either side of her, lances braced against their shoulders. With every second that passed, those terrible weapons grew brighter. As Brégenne watched, the Lunar beams piercing Kyndra’s shoulders faded, but the girl’s screams did not. Torn from her throat, they were wet with the blood that dribbled from her lips and ran over her chin.

  Propped up like some grotesque puppet, Kyndra raised her head. For the briefest of moments, her dark eyes met Brégenne’s and Brégenne felt the echo of a sharp pain rip through her belly, as if the lances pierced her too. She cried out.

  The crest of the sun hit the horizon and the spears blazed into white-hot fire. Kyndra gave one last, agonized, shriek and then her head fell forward onto her chest.

  She was blind. Brégenne stood in the thin air and felt the sun warm her face. The last moon-limned image lingered behind her eyes. She gasped and let out a sob.

  ‘Brégenne?’ Boots scraped over rock and an arm encircled her shoulders. She smelled Alandred and furiously shook him off. Then she stumbled forward. ‘No, Brégenne,’Alandred said. He sounded shaken. ‘Careful of the edge.’

  She was almost certain she knew where the edge was, but she let him guide her. When he stopped, Brégenne dropped to her knees, hearing her own ragged breathing, and patted the ground around her. She found a leg and moved her hands up until her fingers sank into something soft and fleshy. Horrified, Brégenne snatched them away. They were wet and smelled sharply of iron.

  ‘Brégenne …’ Alandred laid his hand on her shoulder. ‘You can’t help.’

  ‘Don’t touch me! How could you, Alandred? How dare you?’

  There was no response. She sensed the other Wielders shifting, beginning to mutter. ‘Help!’ she cried. ‘Why didn’t you stop when the sun rose? Why didn’t you stop?’

  ‘We can’t help,’ said a voice. ‘None of us are healers, Brégenne.’

  She let out a scream of frustration. ‘Go! Quickly! Find someone!’

  ‘Brégenne,’ said Alandred’s voice. ‘It’s too late. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Sorry!’ She heard her cry echo around the platform, climbing up the spire she couldn’t see. ‘This is your doing.’

  ‘I am within my rights,’ Alandred said, but he sounded unsure.

  Nediah! Brégenne screamed silently, opening herself to the bond and sending a wave of urgency along it. Then she returned tentative hands to Kyndra, searching for a wrist. When she found one, it was warm, but lifeless. ‘Why did you involve her?’ she hissed, voice pitched for Alandred alone. ‘What’s between us stays between us. Kyndra was innocent!’

  Alandred didn’t reply. Brégenne couldn’t find it, couldn’t find a pulse. Her nostrils rejected the smell of burned skin. It made her gorge rise.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Alandred said again. His voice was so quiet she almost missed it. ‘This wasn’t my intention. How could it have been? But it’s not my fault, Brégenne. I agree the girl wasn’t given the time to prepare and I regret it.’

  ‘You regret it? You are Master of Novices. Your duty is to protect and guide them, not to make them pawns in your personal vendetta!’

  ‘It’s not a vendetta, Brégenne—’

  ‘No. You don’t deserve your office.’

  There was silence and then Alandred said, ‘I didn’t intend it, Brégenne. But it would have ended like this anyway.’

  ‘Dawn was too near!’

  ‘Only because she didn’t respond. Most potentials react at the first bolt and the rest at the second. We didn’t expect to reach three, let alone four—’

  ‘Just leave,’ Brégenne growled. ‘I can’t stand you any more.’ She didn’t know how many Wielders remained to hear them, or even if Alandred had gone. She found Kyndra’s chest and lowered her head to it, uncaring of the blood that smeared her. There was nothing, no heartbeat, though she strained her ears and tried to quiet her own breathing. A tear rolled down her cheek.

  ‘Brégenne!’

  She heard Nediah collapse beside her and gasped in relief.

  ‘Are you all right?’ His voice shook.

  ‘It’s not my blood, Nediah. Please help her.’ She edged out of the way. Nediah made a sound like retching and for once she was glad she couldn’t see what he could. She heard the small movements of his hands, as they examined Kyndra’s body. Warmth came and she imagined golden light welling up between Nediah’s fingers. He was arguably the citadel’s most talented healer, but she knew she’d never be able to master the discipline. The healing she had done in Brenwym was the most complex she’d ever attempted and it had been far from perfect.

  The warmth cut off and dawn blew cold against her face. ‘Nediah?’ she asked the wind, ‘is it done?’

  ‘Brégenne.’A hand took hers. She heard him swallow. ‘I’m sorry,’ Nediah said.

  Countless lights shone around her. Between each, it was utterly dark. If she let that emptiness take her, she would be changed forever.

  Gradually she became aware that one of the lights was moving. It beat rhythmically, shaking the others with its sound. She pushed towards it and the pounding light filled her vision, spreading to cover the four horizons. It reached over her head to clothe the spangled dark behind.

  Drawn to its incessant beat, she opened her hand, vaster even than the light, and closed her fingers around it.

  Her eyelids flew open. A ceiling crystallized, black, but clearly rock. There was no void to change her here. The air was cold and she sensed she was underground. Memories stirred slowly, each slotting into place like a puzzle. She lay unmoving, collecting as many pieces as s
he could. The picture was incomplete, but it hardly mattered. They must have put her here after the test.

  Kyndra sat up, gasping, as dried blood flaked and settled. She drew her legs into her chest, clasping them, rocking forwards and backwards, squeezing her eyes shut against the horror of her broken body.

  Except that it wasn’t broken. It took her a long time to uncurl, but when she did, she saw skin – raw and pink, but whole. And blood had left a carnelian stain over her stomach and palms. So it was real.

  Light welled from somewhere above and, in its weak glow, Kyndra examined herself. Her feet were bare, her clothes in tatters. The shirt she wore was stiff and soiled, barely decent, and her trousers had fared little better.

  Her own heart’s rapid staccato returned her fully to herself and she tried to slow her breathing. Where am I? This room had to be somewhere in Naris; it was built of the same dark rock. Kyndra shivered. It was so cold – and her boots were nowhere to be seen.

  The stone block on which she sat reminded her of a gravestone. They could have at least returned her to that tiny room, she thought. Kyndra looked over her shoulder and saw a path winding down into darkness. A musty smell crept from it and she hastily averted her gaze. Surely this wasn’t still part of the test?

  Kyndra slid off the block and almost fell. Trembling, she clutched at her chill bed, waiting for strength to return to her legs. When she felt able to move, she took a few tentative steps. The cave-like room wasn’t large, and dim light flowed from an archway, over which a single phrase was carved: May they sleep without dreaming. Beyond it, shallow stairs led upwards. Kyndra tore her eyes away from the words before their meaning sank in fully.

  A pile of folded cloth sat on the end of the slab. Kyndra unrolled it and found a black, robe-like coat. She slipped her arms gratefully into the sleeves. Although buttonless, it hung nearly to her ankles and hid most of the rips in her shirt.

  Feet stinging from the cold flagstones, she made her slow way up the steps. There were a lot of them. Kyndra clutched her tender ribs as she climbed, out of breath after only one set. It took her ten minutes to reach the top, pausing at each small landing. The stairs opened up into a solemn corridor, almost as poorly lit as the room in which she’d woken.