Black Sun Rising (Order Of The Black Sun Book 3)

by P. W. Child

  Sam spluttered as he got a mouthful of Nina's drenched hair. "Dead?" he laughed. "Why would I be dead?"

  "Why wouldn't you? I didn't realize you weren't following, and then when I came back you weren't there. Where were you?"

  As always, Sam's first instinct was to tell Nina everything. It was not in his nature to keep things to himself, he enjoyed having a partner in crime. Despite his promise to Cody, he made up his mind to tell her later. It's just Nina, he thought. Telling her hardly counts. For the moment, in front of Julia Rose, he kept the secret. "Cody found me," he said, preferring a half-truth to a lie. "He took me into one of the other tents. If truth be told, I'm still a bit out of it. Excuse me a minute."

  He gulped down a deep breath and plunged under the water, where he ruffled his fingers through his hair to shake out the sand. A quick scrub down later, he was ready to pull on his clean (though wet) clothes and follow the two women in search of breakfast.

  "What the hell is this?" Sam scowled at his plate. Kneeling among the reeds on the floor of the connection tent, his bamboo plate in one hand and wooden spork in the other, he reminded Nina of a moody schoolboy.

  "Breakfast," she said. "Didn't you listen when they were telling you what was what?"

  "No," Sam harrumphed. "Enlighten me, then—because I take it you did."

  "Nope." Nina scooped up a mouthful of the alien food and shoveled it into her mouth. "I didn't listen to a thing. All I needed to know was that it's breakfast. This is the important bit." She held up her tin mug in a cheeky salute, and then took a deep draft. As soon as the liquid hit her tongue she gagged and barely forced herself to swallow. "What the hell is this?" she demanded. "That's not coffee!"

  "Nope," said Julia Rose, "it's chicory and carob or some shit like that. Look." She pointed back toward the long table where breakfast was being served. At the far end, up by the loaves of bread waiting to be cut, there hung a sign which read "All foods are organic, and free of gluten, meat, soya, sugar, milk, eggs, caffeine, and animal derivatives."

  "No caffeine?" Nina stared at the treacherous contents of her mug in dismay.

  "That's right," Cody appeared beside them, walking around with a jug to offer more of the wretched coffee substitute. "I know it's a culture shock, Nina, but you'll get used to it really fast. It's a lot better for you, and it'll help you unblock your energies. You can't connect with the divinity when you're full of caffeine! Oh, by the way—if you want your cigarettes back at the end of the Mind Meld, don't forget to reclaim them. You probably won't need them by then, but some people prefer to throw away that last pack for themselves. Sort of a symbolic thing, I guess."

  Before either Sam or Nina had time to reply, Cody had moved on, weaving his way through the cross-legged diners. Nina's face was a perfect study of horror.

  Neither Sam nor Nina was impressed to learn that the second day of their FireStorm experience would involve climbing the ancient rock that was said to have been the home of the fire giant. After their sleepless night, neither was in the mood for physical exertion in the desert heat, and Nina was still outraged by the loss of their cigarettes. She sulkily trailed along at the back off the group, kicking at the tumbleweeds that occasionally rolled past.

  "What I want to know is how he got our cigarettes in the first place," she ranted. Sam was paying scant attention by this time. He had heard these words two or three times already, and while he shared her anger, he was more concerned with sizing up the other delegates and trying to figure out whether any of them were likely to have a packet stashed away. He did not fancy the prospect of spending his remaining time out here smokefree any more than Nina did.

  Just behind them, huffing with the strain of keeping up, was Hunter. He was dragging himself up the hillside with the aid of two walking poles, his T-shirt and ponytail already drenched with sweat. "Are you talking about your cigarettes?" he asked, a malevolent smile creeping across his doughy face. "Yeah, I told Cody where to find them. He came around this morning when you were all out and said he had to collect any drugs that anyone had." He turned to Sam. "So if you're looking for those miniature bottles of Scotch, you know where they are. Nice job of not sharing, by the way."

  The effort of walking and talking simultaneously became too much for him, and with a hacking wheeze, he came to a halt and fumbled in his pockets for an inhaler. Sam and Nina walked on, picking up the pace to leave him behind. "If I get through this trip without smothering him in his sleep, I'll be doing well," said Nina. "Why did we have to get stuck sharing a tent with such a tosser?"

  Despite their objections to the hike, neither Sam nor Nina could deny that the view from the top of the hill was stunning. By the time they caught up to the group, everyone was gathered around Jefferson, who was standing on a boulder pointing out the things they could see in each direction. The Havasupai Indian Reservation lay to the east, beyond Mount Trumbull and its wilderness. To the north was Utah, and to the west they could see Nevada, where a shimmer of smog hung high in the air, marking out the location of Las Vegas. In the distance, far to the south, the craggy beginnings of the Grand Canyon were just visible.

  The ground dipped slightly toward the center of the hilltop, betraying the hill's volcanic origins and offering a little bit of shelter from the clean, chilly wind that took the edge off the desert heat. The sky was clear and blue, and the sun beat down intensely. There was little shade to be had—the only vegetation on the hilltop was sagebrush and pinion pine, nothing that grew high enough to offer an escape from the heat. The legend, according to Jefferson, stated that plants would only grow as the fire giant's heart healed, which would only happen when he saw true connections forming between living creatures. "So tonight should go some way toward covering this place in greenery!" he finished enthusiastically. "Find a place to settle down, ladies and gentlemen, and let's get started on your Vision Quests!"

  ☼

  Chapter Sixteen

  As the blue of the sky gave way to oranges and pinks and eventual darkness, Sam took hold of one end of a long, heavy log and helped to haul it uphill. The crater of the cinder cone offered little by way of substantial firewood, forcing the group to search farther down the slope where the ponderosa pines grew. Fortunately it was cooler on the hilltop, but Sam was still sweating buckets by the time he returned to the summit.

  Julia Rose had been given the task of taking care of the water bucket, filled from the stream that wound its way down the far side of the hill. A tied muslin cloth hung over the inside of the bucket, filled with herbs that were infusing into the water. "Sara says they purify the water," she explained, catching the skeptical look on Sam's face. "Well, some of them do. Some of them cover up the taste of the iodine, so it's kind of a mix of mystical stuff and good old-fashioned science. Here, smell it—I think most of it's just mint."

  She took up the ladle and poured a cup for Sam, who gratefully gulped it. He was far too thirsty to quibble about what was in the water. Besides, once he had tasted it, he had to admit that it was actually quite pleasant. The water was cool and sharp and the herbs made it sweeter and infinitely more refreshing. "Is there enough to go around?" he asked.

  "Yeah, there will be," Julia Rose took his cup and refilled it. "Cody's gone to get another bucket. Have as much as you want! It's not like the stream's going to run out."

  Sam took her at her word and drank another cup, then another, and then handed it back and went to help to chop the logs. Night was drawing in, and he had spotted a mountain lion earlier. He was not eager to find himself in the dark with predators. He knew that in all likelihood, Cody and the acolytes would have guns or tranquilizer darts—there was no way they would take the risk that one of their wealthy guests might get hurt. His little stint in the underground medical facility had begun to open his eyes to the ways in which this "back to nature" experience had been carefully sanitized. It makes sense, he thought. Who would run the risk of being sued by one of these people? Sakura Ito alone could probably buy this entire state.
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  Another hour found Sam sitting among the other delegates, cross-legged on the sand-covered stone. He was finding it profoundly uncomfortable. Already his lower back was aching, and he was yearning to stretch his legs.

  The instructions for the Vision Quest had been simple. They were to spend the night sitting entirely still and silent on the hilltop, alert but unmoving, eyes closed, and becoming familiar with the sounds and sensations that surrounded them. They were to listen to the rhythms of their own minds and bodies as they breathed deeply, all inhaling and exhaling in time with one another. They would spend the hours of darkness like this, and then as the first rays of the morning sun crept over the horizon, they were to lie down and sleep for precisely one hour, no more and no less. Cody, in his role as fire keeper, would tend to the bonfire and their security. Sam wondered if the man ever slept.

  "In your sleeping state, you are more in tune with the divinity within you than at any other time," Sara had informed them. "Such a long meditation will bring you as close as you can currently get in a waking state, and the subsequent sleep will take you deeper into yourselves, your subconscious, your divinity, than ever before. While you are in this brief sleep, you can expect to experience an intense dream. There are certain symbols that people tend to dream of, and the symbols you report help us to work out what stage you are in your own personal FireStorm and whether you are ready to progress.

  "Some dream of the hunt, which tells us that your mind is eager to find and connect with your divinity. Some experience a feeling of floating in stasis, indicating that they require a little more time, some energy work, and some more connection work, before they will feel ready to progress to the hunt. Some might see the condor and feel themselves being lifted up in its mighty claws. That tells us that they feel vulnerable and scared, but that something deep within them is crying out to connect. Others might dream of nothing but darkness. If this happens to you, it is vital that you let us know—it's not that it means anything negative, but it means that we need to give you a little extra help. That darkness is the darkness of the fire giant's grief, buried deep within layers of volcanic rock, letting them cool above him. We have a duty to care for anyone who is in that state, but we can only exercise that duty if you communicate with us."

  Sara had said nothing about what would happen if they fell asleep during the meditation rather than at dawn, but Sam thought that he might be about to find out. He half-opened his eyes in an attempt to keep himself awake, and as he peered out he could see that Dylan Thoreau, the CEO of KNCT, was sitting a little way to his left—and he was shivering. Sam, on the other hand, was finding the cool night air and the growing breeze extremely comfortable. It was the least discomfort he had been in since his arrival in America. Whatever Cody had used to treat his heat rash had worked wonders too. He had scarcely felt it all day.

  It was so tempting just to fall asleep . . . Tomorrow night we'll be back in the teepees, I suppose, he thought. And then it'll again be too hot to sleep. But this is a perfect temperature. No, come on, Sam. You've got to stay awake. If you're going to write this book you need to at least make an effort to join in and understand this stuff. And to be honest, it's not been as bad as I expected. I can sort of see why people get into this kind of thing. It is quite relaxing, and it wouldn't be a bad idea to take a little bit more care of myself. Not the whole works, I'm not going to turn vegan or anything, but maybe I should use this as an opportunity to give up smoking, or to cut back a bit, at least—nothing drastic. But I'm not getting any younger, and it might not be a bad idea . . .

  As hard as he tried to plan his better, healthier future as a means of keeping himself awake, the delicious breeze and darkness enveloping him were simply irresistible. The air was heavy with the aroma of pungent herbs that Cody had thrown in large handfuls on the fire, and the crackling of the fire was lulling him into sweet, soothing memories of childhood. Darkness began to close in, and for a long time Sam did not know whether he was asleep, awake, or in a half-dream of being awake.

  When someone pressed a cup into his hand and told him to drink, he did so obediently, not knowing whether he was in a state of reality or a dream state. As the sweet water slid down his throat and flowed through his body, a word bobbed to the surface of his consciousness from the depths of his memory . . . Lethe, the amnesia-inducing water that flowed between the words of the living and the dead.

  The hunt began with the clash of cymbals and the sound of the horns. The sound shredded the silence of the moonlit night. It was followed by the leader's single cry, which was picked up by the serried ranks of hunters, and it carried as they began to run. It was without words, a primal communication, and a frenzied ululation. It meant only one thing: the hunt had begun.

  The sand was hot under Sam's feet, and he barely felt the chill of the night air as his blood rose. His brother hunters were by his side, he could smell the sweat as they ran in a close-knit pack. Who they were he did not know, since every face around him was covered by a white mask of bone, as if the skin of their faces had been neatly and cleanly peeled away. He was one with them, united in purpose.

  They matched the pace of their pounding feet to the beat of the drums, drums that seemed to be everywhere, all around them and inside their heads. The desire to break loose was rising, to free themselves from the drumbeat and run after their quarry. Sam could almost taste the building adrenaline, the electric feeling that at any moment the pack would become an entity that could not be controlled or reined in. All they needed to get them to that point was the first sign of their prey.

  There it was! The beast broke cover. It dashed out from a thicket of sagebrush and sprinted across the open desert. The hunters shrieked and howled. They surged forward, flowing downhill like molten lava, unstoppable and dangerous. The beast could be no match for their speed, their grace, and their beauty. It howled with fear as it fled. Its gait was ungainly, its form lumpish and slow. It ran toward a pine tree and attempted to scale it, but in vain.

  The first of the hunters was nearly on the beast when it attempted to run again. It blundered through the undergrowth, whimpering as the thorns tore at its flesh. Then it fell, its weak joints giving up and sending it tumbling to the ground. A hunter pounced, her steely knife glinting in the moonlight as she raised it to strike the first blow.

  The hunters circled their fallen prey as it lay there, clutching its bleeding leg. Their senses were heightened by the thrill of the chase and the faint metallic aroma of the beast's blood. The first blow had been struck, and now they waited to see who dared to strike the second. The beast stared up at them, its chest rising and falling in short, rapid breaths. It wailed and babbled incoherently. At last it tried to drag itself along the ground in a desperate, doomed attempt to escape its fate.

  It was not clear who struck the next blow. All at once, the hunters plunged forward. They closed around the beast, obscuring it from sight. Their ululations reached a fever pitch, higher and more piercing than before, so that the birds in the pine trees rose and flew away, calling out to one another in alarm. Bare arms rose and fell in a frenzy, knives slashed, and hot blood spattered across the skin of those who were at the kill. The others, Sam included, danced around the edges, waiting for their turns to plunge in and claim a piece of the prize.

  He saw Sara, her black and gold mask singling her out from all the white skulls, drawing the beast's head back and slitting its throat, sending an arc of blood spraying out. Jefferson in his golden mask moved in and plunged his knife into its chest, prying the ribs apart to extract the beast's heart, which he presented to Sara, placing it in her elegant, tapered hands. What became of it Sam never saw, since the leaders moved away. It was time for the rest of the hunters to descend on what was left of the beast.

  ☼

  Chapter Seventeen

  Sam woke up parched. His eyelashes were matted together and all in all, he felt as though he had been gently baked in an industrial oven. He rolled his aching body over and felt around
for his waterskin. It was only half full, but it was enough to take the edge off the ache in his throat. He pushed a hand deep into his backpack, looking for the packet of cigarettes that he had stashed there. In all his many years of waking up hung over, he couldn't remember a time when he had felt quite as rough as this. Not since the last time he—

  Right. Of course, he thought as he failed to find his smokes. Not since the last time I tried to quit smoking. That'll be it. Gingerly, he eased himself into a sitting position. His back twinged in a rather disconcerting way, apparently determined to remind him that forty was not far off.

  "Good morning, Sam," said Purdue. He was sitting at the other side of the teepee, his knees pulled close to his chest. The folding tablet lay on the blanket beside him, showing the front page of the newspaper Le Monde's website. "You were starting to worry me."

  "Why's that?"

  "Because you've been asleep for the best part of twenty-four hours. It seems that something in the water didn't agree with you."

  "What are you talking about?" Julia Rose was unconvinced. "Sam was just tired. And it's not like he's the only one who slept a long time after the Vision Quest. Plenty of people did. Sara said it happens all the time. It's how some people respond to an intense emotional experience."

  Purdue peered at her over the top of his glasses. "Indeed, Miss Gaultier. It's also how many people respond to the aftereffects of hallucinogenic drugs."

  Julia Rose rolled her eyes. "Some people just can't handle the idea of an experience they don't know how to explain. You know, if all you saw was darkness, you should really talk to Sara about that. She'd be happy to help you."

  "Please, don't think that I do not appreciate your concern, Julia Rose," Purdue adopted his most dismissively polite tone. "But I am perfectly capable of managing my own 'spiritual journey.' Far from seeing darkness, I spent that hour having a most pleasant sleep, during which I dreamed that I was falling from a great height—which is, of course, one of the most common dreams known to humankind and generally indicative of the dreamer being concerned about maintaining control of his own life. You can probably imagine why a man in my position might have such a dream. Admittedly, it is one that I have infrequently, but I do not spend a great deal of time worrying about it when I do."