Beyond the Core (The Starborn Series Book 1)

by K. R. Cunningham

  “Tonight?” Owen leaned forward in surprise.

  “Well, I was hoping you’d agree to leaving tonight,” Amias said.

  Taking in a deep breath, Owen closed his eyes, overwhelmed with all the information. “You want me to leave my home here, where I’m the happiest I’ve ever been, all because of a mistake you made?”

  Amias clenched his jaw, his weary eyes losing patience as he glanced up. “The Legion is suspicious of me and I left on dire terms. Yes, it was my doing, but you’re in trouble if you stay. You may not be marked, but they’ll find you. Just give it time. And when they do, they’ll Cleanse you. And I won’t be here to protect you from that. Understand?”

  “But what if I want to give up my power?” Owen’s voice had risen to the point of anger. After a short moment, he sank back into his chair with shame at his outburst.

  A long and deafening silence deepened around them, making the tension stiffen more. Amias was a calm man and not quick to retaliate. This was a trait Owen had always admired.

  It was Colt who broke the stillness in the air, whistling as he stood from his chair. “I’d love to stick around for more excitement, mates, but I have to take a piss. Point me to the chamber pot, would you?”

  “Outside, to the left,” Owen said.

  Once Colt had gone, the air grew quiet.

  Amias looked at Owen with serious eyes. “Have you practiced channeling your power at all?”

  “No, only sensing. Since mother got sick, I always felt it best to leave it alone, especially after staying in different homes. I’m trying to live a normal life without resorting to using it.”

  “So then you really don’t want it? Losing your power can be a very traumatizing thing. It does a lot of damage to the mind and body.”

  Owen’s jaw clenched. “I don’t know what I want. My whole life you’ve told me to hide my power away, so I figured it was never all that good to begin with. Why wouldn’t I take the opportunity to get rid of it, as you did?”

  “I didn’t hand my power over willingly. The Legion took it.” Amias sighed and drew up from his chair for more tea. “I suppose it’s my fault for placing such shame upon it. That wasn’t my intention. I felt it necessary to speak against it to keep you safe.”

  Closing his eyes, Owen asked, “And where would we go if we left?”

  “To the northern mountains in Avathon. The Legion doesn’t have much of a presence there.”

  “That’s a very long way.”

  “Yes, but at least we’d both be safe there.” Amias took a long gulp from his cup. “There’s a village we can stay in for a while, if things go well.”

  “You’ll be staying with me, then?”

  “Yes.”

  Owen squeezed the bridge of his nose to relieve the tension in his head. He wanted to ask Amias why it was so important to start using his power, but his mind was too heavy to continue the conversation, so instead he said, “I’ll give you an answer by tonight, after the bonfire.”

  “As I thought you would. Regardless, I must go to the village for some supplies and daily hearsay.” Amias paused and cleared his throat. “By the way, while I’m out, now would be a good time for you to get better acquainted with Colt.” When Owen wrinkled his nose, Amias said, “Look, just talk to him. For me? He needs a friend as much as you do.”

  Chapter 3

  After Amias went into the village, Owen went outside to look for his new visitor. Despite the man’s rudeness upon their meeting, it would be equally rude for Owen to ignore him. He found the man standing on the edge of the cliff, overlooking the ocean. There was a disquiet about him, as if he was overwhelmed by it.

  Owen did not know what to make of the lemony taste and fragrance of his aura—he enjoyed the smell of lemon, but its taste was another. Either Colt was a cranky person or he was up to no good.

  “Beautiful, isn’t it?” Owen asked as he walked up beside him. “I love watching the sunset when it’s not cloudy. It’s even better then.”

  “It’s all right,” Colt responded flatly.

  Owen cleared his throat. “Amias went to the village to get some supplies.”

  “So?”

  “So…I suppose I could show you around the village if you’d like?”

  At this, Colt made a face. “I think I’m going to check out the wood. Bound to be lots of rabbits and squirrels.”

  “You mean to eat?”

  “No, I thought I’d find you some pets.” Colt chuckled. He turned for the house and went inside. When he emerged, he carried a bow and a quiver of arrows.

  Owen raised an eyebrow, but followed after Colt as he trudged into the woods behind the house. “I have plenty to eat in the house. You don’t have to hunt.”

  “I’m just looking around. You don’t have to come.”

  “Amias wanted me to get to know you better.” Owen walked quickly to keep up with him.

  “I prefer to be alone.”

  “You’re my guest. I insist on going.”

  Colt stopped short and shot him an icy glare. He hesitated, then sighed. “Better keep up then, and stay quiet.” He strode forward into the shadow of the overhanging trees.

  With a curt nod, Owen followed him into the woods. The cool air was not as damp within the shade of the trees. As they delved deeper, Colt slowed his pace and crouched against the trunk of a pine tree, where he removed an arrow from his quiver.

  “Sit,” he demanded. “And wait.”

  “How long do we wait?” Owen asked.

  Colt hushed him sharply with a hiss and shook his head.

  Owen was silent for a few seconds before he whispered, “But don’t you usually lay bait or something?”

  “Quiet.”

  “Sorry.” Owen paused, then said, “I don’t know much about hunting. I only fish. There will be plenty of that at the bonfire—”

  “Gods be damned, shut your mouth, yeah?”

  Owen’s lips tightened into a thin line. He knew there was a lot of waiting to be done. After a long while, he daydreamed, his eyes growing heavy with sleep. Right as he was about to nod off, Colt nocked an arrow against the bowstring.

  Owen stiffened and held his breath when he saw a rabbit bounding ahead, its nose twitching as it looked for food. Owen shrank, biting his lip. This was why he could not find it in himself to hunt. While he could get away with fishing, he found killing something as small and innocent as a rabbit hard to do. He watched until he saw three baby rabbits following behind.

  As Colt pulled back on the arrow, Owen pushed the man’s arm down, causing Colt to lose his balance on his knees and fall.

  “Shit,” Colt spat, watching as the rabbits scampered away. “Now you’ve done scared them off.”

  “It was a mother. She had babies to feed.”

  “Yeah? Well, I need to be fed, too.” Colt stood with a growl and stomped away in the direction the rabbits had gone.

  “Where are you going?” Owen asked.

  “To find that damn rabbit.”

  Owen blew out a breath of hot air, wondering if he should venture back to his home, but something tugged at him to follow. He trailed behind Colt at a distance, hoping to ease the tension between them. When they emerged into the open, he noticed Colt peering over a high cliff that overlooked the ocean.

  There was no beach below, and the drop was high. If one were to fall, they would surely plummet to their death.

  “I wouldn’t stand so close to the edge if I were you,” Owen said.

  “What, think somethin’ will just chuck me off?” Colt scoffed.

  Owen crossed his arms. “There aren’t any rabbits down there, I assure you.”

  Just as he had said it, Colt lost his balance and wavered back, looking as if he might fall from the cliff. Owen lunged forward and caught the man by the arm, pulling him back. When he heard Colt laughing, Owen ripped himself away and scowled, his lips pursed.

  Colt flashed a grin. “I had you there, yeah?”

  Taking a deep breath, Owen nod
ded, his heart still pounding. “Yes, actually. You could be a court jester.”

  “Oh, come now. That’s a bit harsh.”

  “Let’s just get back.” Owen shook his head and walked along the path north. His house was visible in the distance. Colt came up beside him, his lips still holding the last traces of a smile.

  Not long into their walk, someone laughed in the distance. Owen stopped, recognizing the voices. From where he stood on the cliff, he looked down at the beach and saw Hale and Molly walking hand in hand along the shore. His shoulders fell as he watched Hale kiss her cheek. Molly giggled before she returned it.

  “Who’s that?” Colt asked. “A girl you like?”

  “No,” Owen said quickly. “Only friends.”

  When Hale spotted them, Owen trudged away quickly, his cheeks burning with shame. “Great. Now they’re going to wonder who you are.”

  “I’d be much more worried that my friend was watching me, if I was them.” Colt came up beside him, scratched something off his neck, and flicked it away. “You nose about on people often? You look the type.”

  Owen’s mouth twitched. He turned a narrow eye on Colt.

  “What?” Colt drew out a few pecans from the pouch at his belt and popped them into his mouth.

  Arcan, help me, Owen thought, glancing at the sky as a light drizzle fell on his face.

  It was not until they came to Owen’s house that Colt cleared his throat. “Well, I was hoping to catch something before we journey out tomorrow,” he said. “With or without you. Doesn’t matter much to me.”

  Owen bit his tongue to hold back a sharp reply. “We can see if Amias is back,” he said. “I need to get started on my stew for tonight’s bonfire.”

  “Bonfire?” Colt quirked an eyebrow.

  “The village has one in the middle of the season. I’ll be telling stories there.”

  A smile crept slowly across Colt’s lips. “Stories, huh? Amias didn’t tell me you were the town bard.”

  Owen opened his mouth to say something in retaliation but thought of nothing. Instead, he marched up to his porch as Colt laughed behind him. He did not know what to think of his visitor. He seemed rude, at times playful, and sometimes overtly serious. Overall, Owen found him confusing.

  They came into the room, and Owen built up the fire in the hearth. The cauldron was bubbling slightly, ready for more food.

  “Amias is still out,” Owen said.

  Colt peeled off his leather armguards and set down his bow and quiver. “He likes to take his time.”

  “How long have you known him?”

  “Too long.” A smile curved on Colt’s face as he added, “But not as long as you have. What, twenty years, you said?”

  “That’s right. How old are you?”

  “Five years your senior.”

  Owen stole a glimpse of him as he lit the wick of an oil lamp on the table. He had figured Colt to be a bit older than himself, supposing it was the shadow on his face and the dark circles beneath his hazel eyes that made him appear so. He caught sight of the man’s faded black spade on his arm.

  When Colt glanced at him, Owen looked away and cleared his throat. “Sorry. I was just looking at your tattoo.”

  “Ah, about nine years old it is,” Colt replied. “From in my prime playing cards.”

  “So you’re a card player?”

  “That would be the gist of what I just said.”

  Owen fought back an eyeroll as he added salt and pepper to the cauldron. “So where did you meet Amias?”

  “Someplace far from here. What can I do?” Colt’s vague response was enough for the conversation to end.

  It took Owen a moment to realize that Colt was offering to help with the food. This surprised him. “Well, wash your hands first.”

  Colt raised an eyebrow, but he did as asked and washed his hands in the water basin next to the stove.

  “Um, if you could cut those fillets into smaller pieces, I’ll slice the peppers.”

  They set to work, Colt taking a knife from the drawer and cutting the fish while Owen pulled up the last of his green peppers. He sliced them small, hoping they would give the stew texture.

  “What’s with all the drawings?” Colt asked, nodding at the papers hung up on the walls. “You in some high arts village club or something?”

  “It’s just a hobby of mine.” Owen was unsure if Colt liked them or not. He changed the subject quickly. “So, are you good with a weapon?”

  “I know a thing or two.”

  “Should I decide to leave with you, perhaps you could teach me?”

  “Babysitting plus teaching you how to fight? You want to pay me something in advance for that?”

  “I know how to use a knife.”

  Colt waved his fingers in mock fear. He looked at the small tool in Owen’s hand. “What, using that knife? To gut a fish, maybe. What about if you’re up against a wild animal? Bandits? Rabid wolves?”

  “Wolves?” Owen had not thought of that. He looked down and hoped he would not encounter a pack of wolves, rabid or not, nor bandits.

  “Anyway, you’ll need more than that if you expect to journey across the country,” Colt went on. “Amias tasked me with protecting you both. He’ll have to pay me if he wants me to teach you anything.” He took a piece of green pepper and ate it as he chopped.

  Owen’s cheeks burned. He did not speak again until the heated pot was full of vegetables and fish. While they waited, they sat outside on the steps of the porch as more gray clouds gathered. The drizzle cooled the air as afternoon approached.

  “Haven’t met many Astrans before,” Colt said, propping his arms up on the step behind him. “There was a young boy in my village who was marked, but the Legion dragged her off to Alacor to be Cleansed some months back.”

  Owen winced, feeling a pang of guilt. “I’ve only known a few, and they were all marked. I only ever saw one use their power, and he was imprisoned for it.”

  He thought of the young boy named Brolin who had lived in his village in Torke. Brolin had been marked, but when he’d used his power to channel rocks, calling the movement magic, the town squealed on him, and a Core Wielder took him away the next day. The memory was forever stained upon Owen’s mind—Brolin crying to his mother, and his father being beaten when he tried to intervene.

  “So what can you do?” Colt asked. “Your power, I mean.”

  Owen broke out of his stupor. “Well, I don’t really use it, so I don’t really know.”

  “You’re Astran and don’t even know how to use your own power?”

  This irked Owen. “I have good reason not to. I’m not marked, so I have to be careful.”

  “Well, I’ve heard Amias talk a good bit about the power. Was wondering if I’d be able to see you channel.”

  Owen raised an eyebrow. “Channel what, exactly?”

  “Dunno.” Colt paused for a moment, then sniffed. “Oh, right. Got it. Say, that bird sitting right there on the edge of the cliff. You could stretch your hand out to it and bam.” He chuckled, then cleared his throat as he caught Owen’s look of contempt. “But you probably couldn't do such a thing. You couldn’t even kill a rabbit.”

  “But I would…if that bird attacked me first, that is.” Owen scoffed, and stood. “I’ll be right back.”

  He checked the pot on the stove and stirred the soupy contents. It was boiling beautifully, the combination of brothy spices, potatoes, green peppers, and fish filling the air with a delightful aroma.

  He glanced briefly at Colt sitting on his porch. Owen contemplated the energy that emanated from the man. Along with the sour taste came a strange warmth, like sun rays, and a flow of something sweet. Or maybe the sun itself was warm as it streamed into the room and he was smelling the honeysuckle wafting in from his window. Perhaps his energy readings were silly. Either way, he still had a choice to make.

  As evening approached, Owen dropped off his stew on one of the food tables set up in the field and made his way to Milo’s
house. The man had brought up most of the fish but was in need of more help. Together, Owen and Colt carried the baskets of fresh fish and dropped them off in the field, where several women readied them in large skillets near the fire.

  “A regular festival it is,” Colt said. “When do they start drinking?”

  “About right now,” Owen replied.

  “Good. I’ll grab a pint and leave you to it here, then.”

  “You’re going to leave before it starts?”

  “This ain’t my town, mate. I’ll stick around long enough to get a bite to eat.”

  Owen shrugged, then went with Milo with the last of the baskets of fish and helped the man clean up the leftovers to give to the pigs and dogs. The bonfire started as the last of the light touched the horizon. The fire blazed high, set in one of the wide fields behind the houses. They’d set up picnic tables, and torches lined the field. Rows of garland weaved from one pole to another, enclosing the area in an array of autumn flowers. Woven loosely around the garland were strings of hard candies, and children cracked them off with their teeth whenever they had a hankering for a sweet.

  A small group who often played at the tavern half a mile down the road struck up a hearty song with banjos, flutes, and drums. Before long, people were dancing and laughing.

  Owen sat on a log, telling a story to a group of mesmerized children.

  “The shapeshifter would drift in and out of the trees in the daytime to warm his skin, and would steal away to the ocean at night to feed upon raw fish,” he told them.

  “Was he a mermaid?” A girl with blue eyes and a dirty face looked innocently at him.

  “No.” Owen smiled. “He wasn’t human, but he was not a fish either. Simply a shifter, but no one ever knew it, because he put the disguise on well. At night, he would often sing to the maidens in the village, only to lead them out of their homes. They would walk quietly, as if in a trance, their white shifts blowing in the breeze.” He motioned his hands as if they were a dress waving in the wind. “They would walk upon the cold grass until they hit the soft sands of the beach. When they came into the water, they wouldn’t even gasp at its iciness.” He pretended to shiver.