Beyond the Core (The Starborn Series Book 1)

by K. R. Cunningham

  Brom soaked a cloth and squeezed the water over Owen’s arm. He patted softly around the injury, then prepared a needle and suture, heating it over a candle.

  Owen bit his lip and closed his eyes against the sting, telling himself he had felt worse before. He thought of his mother, of how she had looked the day she died. He remembered how pale her face was. Any pain she might have felt was much worse than the likes of this. With this thought, he pushed past the pain, drowning out the voices of his companions as he sat through Brom stitching his arm. It was not until Brom cleared his throat and patted him on the back that Owen stirred back to life. By this time, his mind was hazy from the drink.

  “Are you all right?” Brom asked. “You seem a bit dazed.”

  “I’m fine. Just tired,” he replied.

  Brom chuckled and stood from his chair. “I should think so, after the long day you’ve had. Walking, fighting, being wounded.”

  “Thank you.” Owen looked over at his stitched wound. Brom had sewn only one of the claw marks together. The others had not been as deep, and instead Brom wrapped a bandage around his arm.

  “Good as new,” the man said. “We’ve got some food outside if you’d like.”

  Owen pulled on a new shirt before following the others after Brom. Coming outside, Owen sat at the fire nearby as the other men finished cooking the fish that he’d caught.

  “I believe this is yours,” said Joren. He held out a bowl with one of the cooked fish.

  “Thank you,” Owen said. He picked through the bones and ate as quickly as he could, soaking up the smoked flavors in his mouth, and drank it down with water rather than the bitter brew. Beside him, Colt picked through the food with his fingers, while took a bowl of broth.

  On his other side, Brom sat down with an exhausted grunt. “It’s not often we enjoy the company of an Astran,” he said.

  “Or hold them up,” Colt mumbled.

  “A man’s gotta survive.”

  Joren sat beside Brom. His dark, wavy hair flowed out past his shoulders. His skin was a light shade of brown and his face was friendly. “Staying a while, are they, then?” he asked.

  “Aye, Joren,” Brom sighed, poking the fire with a stick. “Just patched Owen up.”

  “Yes, the one with the magical blade. Very fascinating.” Joren grinned.

  “Is your friend all right?” Owen asked, concerned for the man that had had his leg nearly severed.

  “Doran’s doing fine,” Brom said. “Tobias took care of his wounds. Sleep and drink will get him through the night.”

  “Are any of you Astran?” Owen asked curiously.

  “Only Joren here.”

  “I like to keep it hidden,” Joren explained. He pulled up the sleeve of his arm to reveal the symbol of the Legion under the crease in his elbow. “I have a special clay that I place over it when we go into towns. Tobias usually saves my hide if guards get suspicious. Right, Tob?” He nodded toward the tall, lanky man who sat beside him, eating hungrily.

  “Only if you cook first.” Tobias muttered between a spoonful of broth.

  Joren smirked. “That’s what happens when you take over cooking. They expect you to do it all the time.”

  “I can see why. You’re good at it,” Owen said, licking his fingers from the meat he had just eaten. “So then, are you all hiding from the Legion?”

  “Aye. Most of us are here illegally,” Joren replied.

  “You’re not from here?” Amias asked.

  “No. I come from the islands off Rii. Far away from here.”

  “I’ve heard the sea is different out that way,” Owen stated. “Can you tell me about the islands?”

  Joren’s face lit up. “Of course. The ocean, it’s bright blue from afar and clear up close. Lots of fish to be seen, and the beaches are soft. At night, when I sleep, I can still see it. And when I dream, my body floats on the waves.”

  Owen’s chest ached as he imagined the blue water of the tropical islands. “Will you go back?”

  Joren’s face fell. “No. Only dreams now. The islands are far. I can’t go back. They’ll find me.”

  “Who?”

  “The Legion. Wielders.”

  Tobias looked up briefly. Brom stared at the flames, his eyes distant. Beside him, Colt started in on another mug of ale.

  “But there are Wielders here, too,” Owen said.

  “Wielders in Rii don’t take mercy on Astrans,” Tobias stated. “They only kill you.”

  “That’s right,” Amias broke in. “Yvora owns the Rii Islands. There are no Cleansings there, as well.”

  Tobias nodded. “Spot on. Most folks in Rii have fled to Avathon and Milarc in the past few decades in hopes that the Legion will spare them. Of course, they must get a Cleansing. Those who want to fight against the Legion flee to Arcmere. That’s a whole different story,” he muttered.

  “Milarc and Avathon are starting to sound like a picnic compared to the other countries.” Owen looked at each of them. “You’re all on the run, though. You’re all criminals, aren’t you?”

  “Simple thieves,” Brom stated. “Criminals draw first blood.”

  “The Legion has taken much from the people it swears to serve and protect,” Tobias said. “Astran folk are like anyone else, yet they’re treated as criminals more than us common thieves. Wielders are nothing more than the monsters under our beds at night. They spread fear with their words, their Cores.”

  “Let’s not dampen the mood with such talk, and hope none of us have to deal with them.” Brom threw a stick into the fire.

  Joren nodded. “My only hope lies within the Union.”

  Amias perked up at that. “Curious that you mention them.”

  Owen narrowed his eyes. He knew the rebel name well, but had seldom thought of it in years, as the last of the rebels had died in a battle long before he was born. “I don’t hear anyone speak of them anymore, either. Their last battle was, what, some thirty-five years back?”

  There was a gleam in Brom’s eyes. “It was thirty years ago. The Battle at Thorn Hill. They were the only resistance the Astran folk had going for them. Then they seemed to vanish. They’re still around, though.”

  “They’re nothing more than a shadow now,” Amias said.

  “You’re partly right,” Brom continued. “Thorn Hill lessened their numbers, but I believe many still remain. There’s been talk recently of their return. I hear they have a base somewhere.”

  Colt laughed softly and shook his head.

  “Don’t believe it?” Brom raised his eyebrows.

  Downing the rest of his drink, Colt looked at Brom tiredly and said, “I haven’t heard anything of merit they’ve done since the battle, which they lost.”

  “I won’t argue they lost.” Brom looked amused as he poured Colt more ale. Looking at Owen, he said, “I can’t say for sure what they’re up to now, though.”

  “Where do you think they dwell?” Owen asked.

  “That’s for us to find out. The Union used to recruit a variety of people—Astran, common folk, anyone willing to help fight the injustices against the Astrans or those mistreated.”

  “The Union is no longer an active group,” Amias said, his voice bold. “Most who left the cause went on to form what people are now calling the Alliance.”

  “Ah. Now that, my friend, is a new thing entirely.” Brom pointed his spoon at him. “I hear they’re more about eradicating the Legion than helping Astrans.”

  Amias shrugged and got to his feet. “Whatever their cause, something big is happening with them as of late.”

  As Amias retreated into Brom’s tent, Owen stared after him curiously. His friend had been short, his departure sudden. Feeling for the Amias’s aura, he found the usual sense of tea, but also nervousness.

  “There’s an old saying among the Astran folk, you know,” Brom said as the other men went quiet. “’Weep not, star children, for darkness is but a shadow against your light.’”

  “What does it mean?” Owen
asked.

  “I’m not entirely sure, but I like to think of it as a statement of hope, to remind Astran folk of who they truly are. Power is a gift from the gods above, and it’s yours.”

  Owen frowned, wondering if his power was truly worthy and special enough to be godly. It sparked something new in his chest. “Are you part of the Union, Brom?” he asked.

  The man smiled, averting his eyes from the fire. “No, but I am always on the watch for them. I’m not Astran, but I’ll do anything to help those who suffer, like Joren. Like yourself.” Brom paused, as if reflecting on something, and then sighed. “I’ve met with many Astrans, and I’ll fight for them. I suppose that makes me part of their cause.”

  Owen pondered briefly on how someone who was not Astran could feel so strongly about helping them, unlike Colt, who seemed in it only for obligation. He considered it noble. It made him wonder how many people in the other regions felt the same.

  “You should get some rest,” Brom said, standing. “Before your friend falls asleep out here.”

  Owen looked at Colt, who was slumped over with his eyes closed. He nudged him awake and the two of them went into the tent.

  “I was wondering if he had one too many.” Amias nodded at Colt. “I suppose if we’re attacked in the night, we can be glad to have about six armed men on hand. That’s minus him.”

  “Get off it,” Colt slurred. Then he unrolled his blanket and plopped down onto his stomach. He was snoring within minutes.

  “Poor thing,” Owen said, laying out his blanket. “I think he might be the most exhausted one out of all of us.”

  “Don’t pity him. He brings about his own misery.” Amias grunted as he lay down on his pallet. Once he settled on his back, he let out a long sigh of relief, looking the most exhausted Owen had ever seen him.

  Despite wanting to discuss Amias’s abrupt leave, Owen let it go for now. With a sigh, he bid Amias goodnight and took out his journal. He sat in his blanket and turned to a blank page, sitting toward the light of the lantern on the table.

  His pencil was close to running down. He would have to write lightly for a while.

  Today we met some men in Birchwood. I think they’re a band of thieves, but they let us stay in their camp. Brom, Joren, Tobias, Doran, and Harv. They all seem decent, except for Harv. He has an edge to him I don’t like. I’m glad we get to sleep in a tent. I honestly can’t stand sleeping outside. I wake too often thinking there are shadows. I’m not sure if my mind is playing tricks on me or if something is following us. Either way, I think I’m coming to terms with my power. I don’t think I want to be rid of it, and now I’m more eager to learn how it works. Brom told me it’s a gift from the gods. I don’t feel worthy but I can at least thank Arcan for such a gift. Or perhaps Yuna? She supposedly did terrible things to Astrans, but she is the mother of the gift. Brom told me of an interesting phrase. I’ll leave it here. Weep not, star children, for darkness is but a shadow against your light.

  Chapter 11

  Owen sat up with a start, his body jerking awake. He had dreamed of his mother, and such dreams always left him heartbroken. He had come into his house in Emberton and saw her sitting in a chair, sewing a quilt. When she looked up and held her arms out, he fell into her lap and hugged her, and she laughed.

  It was bittersweet, and he shook off the tears before they could fully rise in his eyes.

  Though he had rested, his muscles ached and his stitched wound still stung from the Outrider’s claws. Beside him, his companions’ pallets were empty. The smell of food cooking flowed inside the tent.

  He grabbed his journal and tucked it under his arm, then pulled on his boots and coat and followed the aroma out of the tent. The fire was still going from the previous night, though it looked to be losing its momentum. Brom sat with Joren and Tobias, as well as Harv, who had spoken little since they came to the camp.

  “There he is,” Brom said. “I honestly thought you’d be sleeping a while longer.”

  “I’m just used to waking early,” Owen responded.

  Brom handed him a bowl of oatmeal. “Here. Eat up.”

  “Thank you.” Owen sat down and ate slowly, still waking from a rough night of sleep. The taste of the mushy oats was bland, but his stomach did not seem to mind.

  “Hungry, much, lad?” Tobias asked.

  “Aye, he could use more food. He’s a bit skinny,” Joren said, and raked more oatmeal into Owen’s bowl. There was a dark ring on his right hand that looked like strips of bark woven around one another.

  Owen tried to pull away. “I don’t want to take all your food.” His stomach rumbled in protest at his words, painting his pale cheeks with a blush. He found himself leaning down, inhaling the milky smell of the pasty meal. Never before had something so plain looked so good.

  “We have enough for now,” Brom said. “And when we run out, we hunt or we go to the market. It’s about a two days’ walk.”

  “We must not be very far into the forest, then?” Owen asked.

  “Not far, no. There’s a village northeast of here. We have to be careful we’re not followed in.”

  “By Outriders?”

  Tobias nodded. “That, or any others who catch wind of us hiding in here. We’ll need your help again should another Outrider come around.”

  Owen shrugged. “Yesterday was more of a group effort.”

  Tobias and Joren chuckled, but Harv only glared unsettlingly.

  “Well, if it hadn’t been for you, Doran wouldn’t have a leg,” Joren said.

  Owen perked up at that. “Is he all right?” As he swallowed a thick mouthful of oatmeal, his stomach churned at the memory of Doran’s leg trapped between the Outrider’s yellow teeth.

  “He’s doing much better now.”

  “Must be some powerful blade you have,” Tobias remarked. “Something that special should be hidden well.”

  Harv roused himself and grunted. “Brom, when you gonna give these fools the boot? You gonna let ‘em hang around and eat what’s left of our food?”

  The mood instantly turned sour. Owen was taken aback. He could sense the man’s aggression, the gray of his aura turning a darker shade.

  Brom turned to the man. “Come now, Harv. That’s no way to talk to our guest.”

  “Haven’t seen much of anyone in these parts at all. Now suddenly three mysterious strangers are just out for a stroll through the woods.” Harv’s voice was low. He glared at Owen, eyes full of malice. “Can’t help but think someone’s followed ‘em in here. We’ve had our own troubles with Astran folk. No offense, Joren”

  “None taken, I guess,” Joren muttered.

  “What are you talking about?” Brom looked at Harv curiously.

  “You know what I’m talkin’ about.” Harv caught his eye and raised his chin.

  “Take a walk, Harv,” Tobias said. “Your head’s gettin’ fogged again.”

  Harv nodded and chuckled darkly. “Sure, I’ll take a walk. And see to it these meatheads haven’t been schemin’ with old ghosts.” He stalked away to scour the perimeter, bow in hand.

  “Don’t mind him,” Brom said, getting to his feet. “Can’t blame him for being paranoid.”

  Owen stood up and followed Brom around their camp. He saw only Colt practicing with his bow nearby. “Do you know where Amias has run off to?”

  “He went for a walk.”

  “Alone?”

  Brom shrugged. “He said he would be right back.”

  Owen scanned the area. There were a good many rocks strewn about. Overhead, a canopy of trees blotted out most of the sky. The air was quiet. When the breeze rustled the leaves, Owen shivered, for there were not many birds out. Autumn was settling, and with it came a deepening chill. Owen could not help but feel something impending, as if they were being followed. Perhaps by another Outrider, or something else.

  “Where are you headed?” Brom asked, making Owen jump. “Cutting through Birchwood off-path can be dangerous, and to be honest, you look nothing like
a criminal.”

  “Oh. Well, the same as you, I suppose.” Owen hesitated, wondering if he should refrain from telling him more, but the aura the thief exuded was good, and so he said, “Avoiding the Legion. I’m . . . not marked.”

  Brom’s eyebrows rose high. “That is a big risk you’re taking.”

  “I know, and I’m not sure what to do, but Amias seems to believe leaving the country is best. They don’t have advanced Cores down in Avathon like they do here.”

  “Not yet, at least.” Brom sat on a boulder nearby, and Owen joined him. They watched Colt shoot at a straw dummy in the distance.

  “Perhaps I can be safe there for a while, though? Avathon is a very big country.”

  “That it is, and also home to more Wielders, but there are many places you can hide as well. It is harder to keep track of marked Astrans there.”

  “Good to know. Should we be able to come right out of the forest to the main road if we keep on through here, then?”

  “Oh no, I wouldn’t suggest you going the main road. Not after what you just told me. You should follow the river down to Torke, then cut through the back ways. It’s much safer than up here where the Legion is more prevalent.”

  They went silent. Owen realized Brom was more rounded in his speech than his comrades. He spoke with an eloquence that did not fit the life of a thief. The man had some sort of history hidden deep within him. There was not an ill bone in his body. If he had parted ways from another group, Owen wondered if the reason was that Brom was too soft to carry out any meticulous plans.

  Warding his mind from it, Owen pulled out his journal and pencil to get a quick sketch of Colt with his bow. After a few minutes, Brom craned his head over and looked at his drawing.

  “A nice hand you’ve got there,” he said.

  “I’ve been recording some places on my travels,” Owen replied. “It helps keep my mind off disheartening things.”

  “Such as?”

  Owen hesitated. “Nothing,” he said.

  After he was finished with his sketch, he stood and made his way to Colt, eager to practice with the bow. His companion liked being left alone. It had not been hard for Owen to sense Colt’s tension around other people.