SunRider: Book 1 (The SunRider Saga)

by Hohmann, Rafael

  “So?” Altin replied, his voice calm and his open eye focused forward.

  “You didn’t have to do that! He said he wasn’t part of the battle! He wasn’t even trying to attack us! That wasn’t self-defense, it was murder!”

  Altin was quiet and picked up the pace of his horse, putting one hand on Leeya’s neck to check her pulse.

  “ALTIN!” Finn shouted, nudging his horse to move faster and catch up.

  The Star-Child scowled. “We care for our own Finn! Only our own! You can’t trust people! You can’t let them in—you just can’t!”

  Finn clenched his jaw. “Your tone was a lot different a few hours ago when we fought to protect Kazma!”

  Altin spun to face him, his expression one of fury. His long blond hair swirled around him. “AND LOOK AT WHAT HAPPENED, FINN! LOOK!” He motioned to both Goblin and Leeya.

  Fresh tears left Finn’s his eyes. His friends… “We were chosen, Altin.” He spoke the words through gritted teeth, his body shaking. “We were given this power to protect Lenova, all of it. Don’t say the words. Don’t make their deaths meaningless.”

  “Their deaths are meaningless.” Altin whispered. The sentence was a punch to Finn’s heart. His mind reeled into darkness. Oh Lady Tuliah, what do I do?

  “You’re a fool and an idealist, Finn.” Altin spoke the words as if they were poison. “You have fanciful visions of heroism and bravery. Of saving Lenova? Give me a break. We can’t save Lenova. You can’t save Lenova. No one can. Focus on what we can do. Focus on bringing Leeya to a healer before she too, is gone.”

  Altin forced his horse into a full gallop, leaving Finn behind. With his best friend’s body resting against him, Altin’s words lingered in Finn’s heart.

  Within the hour they spotted EldenBurrow. It was a small city comparable to Wyrmroost, where Finn had talked to the beggar. Its small stone walls boasted no strong defense and the people inside wore humble clothing and lived in sad wooden homes with thatched straw roofs. Mud coated the streets and light rain pattered the area, adding to the gloominess of the place. EldenBurrow looked to be a city heavily taxed by the king, where only those too poor to move, stayed. It was a place that left the taste of ash in one’s mouth.

  Finn and Altin were not the first fugitives of Kazma to arrive. Already, nearly a score of Kazman civilians clustered around the center of town, shouting warnings of Mal’Bal and frightening the local populace. In a cold gray alley, Finn and Altin found a healer. The woman and her daughter sucked in their breaths, shocked at their state. They brought both Goblin and Leeya indoors while Finn assured the woman’s husband they weren’t bad Star-Children who would cause them harm. While the healer called for help from the rest of her family, Finn promised he’d pay whatever price she demanded. The healer sent off her daughter for supplies and had her son fetch clean linen, bandages, and hot water. As her husband and Altin set Goblin and Leeya onto the kitchen’s wooden table and bench, Finn did what he could to be of service.

  The healer and her family went to work, wiping away blood and mashing ingredients together to salve the wounds. Needing to focus, she sent Finn and Altin out of the house. Altin disappeared, taking their tired horses with him. Where he went, Finn didn’t know. After a long time, the healer’s young boy came out and sat beside him on the wet wooden steps. He stared at Finn’s dislocated arm where the bracer rested. The boy must have been no older than eight. His eyes were deep and discerning and Finn couldn’t tell what ran through his mind.

  “What’s that?” the boy asked, fiddling with his woolen vest.

  Finn was startled. The boy didn’t know of Star-Children. His parents must have kept the fact from him so to not scare the boy. “It’s…” Finn stalled. How to answer such a profound question? “It’s a symbol.”

  “Of what?” the boy asked.

  Of what indeed. Finn was regaining the sensation of pain in his body and he winced in agony. Both him and Altin had refused to be attended to until the healer had taken care of their friends.

  “Well, it can be a symbol for power.” Finn said.

  “What kind of power?” the boy probed.

  Finn rubbed his face with his one good hand. “A noble power or a bad power. A confusing power. It can symbolize heroism. Or a monster. Fate.”

  “So why do you wear it?” the boy asked. “What’s the symbol to you?”

  The question rattled Finn’s bones and he opened and closed him mouth, eyes going wide. The power the question had was overwhelming. Why had he donned the bracer? What did it stand for? He remembered one of his first talks with Piscus on the way to Pittance; Piscus had yet to trust him at the time.

  “I didn't want to be a Star-Child.” he had whispered to the man. “I only put it on to give me the power to protect my friend.” Piscus in turn replied: “Then you’re a special case, Finn. An Unchosen. A boy who wants power for righteous reasons. Words hard to believe.”

  “Why do you wear it?” the boy asked Finn again.

  To protect my friends. To protect Lenova. Altin’s words of foolish dreams were pushed away and replaced with an image of Goblin.

  “I wear it as a reminder of a dream.” he said the words with a quiver.

  “My father tells me I should follow my dreams.” the boy responded.

  “Your father’s wise.” Finn choked. “We should all follow our dreams.”

  “Are you going to follow yours?” the boy asked.

  Before Finn could reply, the house door opened and the healer stepped out. Sweat hugged her pale brow. She wiped her bloodied hands on her apron and mentioned for Finn to come forward. Finn jumped to his feet. “What is it?” he asked.

  “I’ve stabilized both of your friends.”

  “B—both?” Finn spoke the words with dry lips. Goblin…

  “Yes, but unless you can find someone who can perform miracles, they’ll perish before the end of this day. They breathe for only a while longer.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN:

  A Race to Jakitta

  —In 3,775 E.E. Lord Yuggu halted his siege of Divundar to celebrate his birthday. He invited everyone in the land and promised by the name of his mother that all those that came to revel, he would forge an alliance with. It was to his utmost surprise when the non-warlike people of Divundar, the very people he’d been sieging, showed up, holding Yuggu to his word. Soon after, Yuggu befell into misfortune, falling off his horse and breaking his neck. His people, leaderless, fell into the control of the Divundar, who without losing a single man, had defeated their enemies.—

  -Excerpt from Strange Lenovan Facts of Flight and Fancy, page 3

  The healer took Finn inside of her home and they approached Goblin together. The boy was shirtless with bandages wrapped around his chest. Upon examining his friend up close, Finn could see shallow breathing. His body trembled. There was still hope.

  “A gem shard of some sort is embedded within his heart. I can’t remove it without killing him. Each time his heart beats, the gem shifts, tearing his insides. Time, I’m afraid, is not on his side.”

  “H—how does he live?” Finn asked, choking on the emotions welling within him. “Should the injury not have killed him immediately?”

  “I don’t know. There’s something to the gem shard, some form of magic—something that gives him…life.” The healer’s words were hesitant. Even she couldn’t guess at what Mal’Bal had done to Goblin.

  Finn pointed to Leeya. “How does she fare?”

  “Not much better. The wound in her side runs deep into her organs. If she doesn’t receive some form of magical help, her internal bleeding will kill her.”

  “I have no magic.” Finn admitted. “I can’t even use my bracer.”

  “Then we must ride to Jakitta.” a voice spoke out. “The Star-Child Coalition might have someone who can help us.”

  Finn turned. Standing in the doorway was Altin. The older boy had a grave face. “I traded in our horses for fresh steeds. I swiped one of your rubies for them.”r />
  The Star-Child threw Finn his bag of jewels. Finn caught the bag, irritated. Where Altin had learned to steal from under people’s noses without being caught? Finn hadn’t even been aware his wealth was gone.

  “You must let me mend your injuries before you leave.” the healer spoke.

  Finn and Altin both were sat in chairs. The healer tended to Finn’s side and arm while her husband and daughter tended to Altin’s face and the large slash across his chest. When the healer grabbed Finn’s bracer and pulled on his arm, straightening it and turning the bone, he let out a yowl of pain. His arm popped into place and the terrible tension he’d been feeling went away, replaced with an angry soreness. It still hurt, but was far more manageable. He flexed his hands and bent his arms as instructed by the healer.

  “You’ll have full range return within a week.” she told him.

  After checking to make sure he didn’t have any internal bleeding, she wrapped tight bands around his chest, causing him to cringe and his breathing to come in gasps. He was told the cracked ribs would take longer to heal.

  When both Altin and Finn were ready, they took their unconscious friends outside and strapped them to the horses Altin had bought. The black beasts were strong, fresh, and had been trained for long-distance galloping. Finn gave the healer a thumb-sized diamond, telling her to give her family a better life. With mouth agape, the woman spluttered out a thank-you, overwhelmed by more wealth than she’d seen in all her days.

  Finn and Altin took the horses and rode them hard, continuing their journey East beyond EldenBurrow and toward Jakitta, twenty kilometers away. As they left the sad muddy city, the rain picked up, soaking the land. Finn, who had Leeya on his horse this time, pulled off his cloak and wrapped her in it to keep her dry. Altin begrudgingly did the same for Goblin. Freezing and with wind biting at their skin, they charged forward, gambling the Star-Children Coalition would have someone who could mend grave injuries.

  As water slapped Finn’s skin and wormed into his mouth, he checked on Leeya’s breathing. It was shallow and harried. He swept wet strands of hair from off her beautiful face and goaded the horse to move faster. Finn’s anxiety grew, only matched by his exhaustion as the day matured, then darkened. The rainfall chilled and his teeth chattered. Altin, having not said a word to Finn since they left EldenBurrow, leaned lower and lower on his horse to a point where he was hugging both Goblin and his steed’s mane. Soon, Finn did the same, trying to share what little body heat he had with Leeya, whose lips were turning blue.

  Darkness deepened and soon Finn had to rely on his horse to continue forward as he couldn’t see anything through the rain. Holding tight to Leeya and trying to hide his face within the crook of his elbow, he didn’t notice the distant lights at first. Drawing near, he recognized them as lanterns hanging from a tall wooden wall resembling the entrance of a fort. Their horses, gasping in the weather, slowed to a stop in front of the structure. Altin’s horse approached from Finn’s left, by luck having stayed at his side the whole unguided journey. Altin was unconscious upon the beast, his body sagging and arms hanging limp.

  “Help.” Finn croaked. “Open the gates!”

  He repeated the words louder and louder, but the storm overwhelmed his voice and his vision darkened. Shivering, Finn loosened his hold on Leeya, slipped off his horse, and fell against the wooden barrier. He croaked out again and smacked his fist against the thick door—a large swinging gate. He did so again and again, his chest struggling to work. He faced the dark clouds and water washed over him, taking him into a land of gray fog. Beyond him, there was a creak as the entrance to Jakitta opened and multiple Star-Children walked out. They loomed over him, their bracers glinting in the lantern light they brought. Finn closed his eyes.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT:

  The Bite, The Sting

  —Circa 5,614 E.E. (Economic Era-The 17th Era): Fourteen-year-old Finn SunRider secretly gathers food and water to attempt an escape from the Crust. Going near hungry for two months and often passing out from weakness by his second work shift of the day, he is able to salvage enough meager supplies to last him a week. He hopes to climb the cliffs behind the Hub, where easy foot and hand-holds can be found. Two days before he makes the attempted escape, adult miners looking to tease Finn and relieve their anger kick in his hut, collapsing the walls and exposing his stash. The men forcefully steal the supplies and eat it in front of Finn. Finn holds a stoic face until after they are gone. When finally alone and only accompanied by the echo of mocking laughter, he sobs and finally releases his hope on ever being able to escape the Crust. Soon after, he moves to an empty hut at the edge of the limestone fields, where less men live and no pranks are done. He talks of leaving but never seriously considers escaping the Crust again until Goblin is brought to the camp two years later.—

  The greatest of tortures was the waiting. Wahala sat in the muck and filth that was Mal’Bal’s gore tent and listened as beyond the heavy canvas, men and women screamed. Mal’Bal was changing what had made them a people. He was creating a new race, tribe, and religion. He was ritualizing Lenovans. With her preparing for her death, Mal’Bal was forced to take on Wahala’s responsibility to graft golden limbs to ritualized bodies. She hoped he withered away his energy doing so.

  All she’d known since birth—the stories of her land, of the honor and glory brought to those who’d fought and sacrificed for their ways, her own mother a High Acolyte to the previous Queen Priestess—gone. She could say Mal’Bal was her older brother—not by blood—but by their mother’s relations. By that, the betrayal was that much stronger.

  She remembered as a small child her mother walking her through the temple halls, guiding her past the dangerous rooms where small unescorted children would be eaten, and telling her stories of older days.

  "Wahala, it was an honor to be in the Queen’s presence. Her regal stance, the way her masterful eyes roamed her people, and the necromantic power she wielded… She was a fair leader. Stern, but traditional. Ungiving to weakness. Ritualisms were made only upon initiation into adulthood and as advancement in rank. We would herd the dead into massive groves and there we’d watch as the Queen Priestess summoned purple flames, consuming the monsters by the thousands, releasing them into the void. It was an honor to walk in her shadow, Wahala. But her son… given to her as gift by the earth… he is but a curse.”

  Wahala blinked away the fever from her eyes and adjusted her bound arms. Visions of her tattoo-faced mother, marked with the symbols of an acolyte, swam about her.

  The child-version of herself tugged at her mother’s robes and half-ran to keep pace with her mother’s long strides. “Do you not like Lord Mal’Bal? I don’t like him either. He’s too tall. Also, he doesn’t participate in the ceremonies.”

  “The young lord is readying his pounce, Wahala. Be wary of him and don’t stray too near.”

  “Why mama?”

  “He reeks of rebellion. Until we’ve finished our twenty-year preparation and chosen a new Queen, don’t listen to his doctrines as so many have. His words have a blasphemous bitterness to them.”

  Wahala’s mother took her into their three-roomed chamber and put her to bed, rubbing her cheek with one finger. Her love for her daughter was only rivaled by her love of the cult.

  “Stick to the traditions as closely as I have, Wahala. Perhaps one day you’ll be an acolyte yourself.” Her mother’s words made Wahala smile. “And perhaps you’ll be the next Queen Priestess mama!”

  Her mother stiffened but the young Wahala could tell the woman had been pleased. “Perhaps.” she shushed, leaving the room. Wahala fell asleep, unknowing to the fact that an hour later, a teenage Mal’Bal, having learned forbidden secrets only meant for the Queen Priestess, ritualized his entire body and swept through the temple-city with his loyal followers, assassinating all the acolytes, including her mother, thus putting an end to a millennium-old way of life.

  The next day, Mal’Bal proclaimed himself ruler of the cult. And
who was to stop the man with the golden body? He was the son of the dead Queen Priestess, first offspring to a leader since the beginning of their history. Perhaps the earth had wanted him to lead. Perhaps it was the land telling them it was a time for change. Naïve and foolish, Wahala soon came to accept the way things were, forgetting her mother’s words, and instead believing the false lies told her by those older than her: her mother had been a heretic, had wanted to defy the land itself.

  Mal’Bal was cunning and made changes slowly, corrupting more and more. The ones who spoke out found themselves dead and only the hopeful quiet lived on to remember the old days. Wahala was entranced and manipulated like all the others. But… something changed her. Upon her moment of first ritual when she cut off her kneecaps, the memory returned—the acolytes, the traditions, the way of life stolen from them. With it came the creeping worm of thought: Mal’Bal was not their leader, never had been. And within Wahala’s heart came the flurry of emotions. Wrong, wrong, wrong. They were doing everything wrong. They had to return. They had to go back to how it was or surely the cult would perish. The culture. The history. Her people. Her mother.

  The gore tent’s flap swept open and Wahala wiped at her tears with her shoulder. She calmed her face and steadied her pose. Mal’Bal entered the tent holding his Golden Puppet in his arms as if carrying a son. Wahala shivered. For all intents and purposes, the Golden Puppet was Mal’Bal’s son, his heir. Perhaps far in the future when all life had been eradicated and the cult replaced with anti-life beasts, they would be led by the spider-like monster. The puppet itself looked badly damaged. Dings and deep scratches ran along its body and one of its legs hung limp. Its head took in the room slowly, as if the creature was tired and Mal’Bal was a father getting it to sleep. It was such a macabre scene that Wahala’s bowels clenched. A second figure followed Mal’Bal into the tent, one which Wahala didn’t recognize.