Beyond the Core (The Starborn Series Book 1)

by K. R. Cunningham

  Colt was an exceptional bowman. He knew how to nock the arrow with little effort, and how to pin his aim just right, and each arrow flew through the air straight and on point until it hit the eye of the target on the dummy. Owen admired the man’s skill and looked upon him with envy.

  “You’re very good,” Owen said, coming up beside him. “No wonder you were so annoyed with me before when I went hunting with you. I held you back.”

  “I wasn’t annoyed,” Colt sighed. “I’m just not a very good teacher.”

  “You were fine the other day when we practiced.”

  “Fine until we get out in the wood and actually start hunting. Then I’ll get impatient with myself. It’s why I like to hunt alone.”

  “Wait, are you admitting you have a flaw?”

  “Shut it, mate.”

  Owen laughed, and much to his surprise, Colt cracked a smile.

  “We can practice now, if you want,” Colt said, handing him his bow.

  Owen took the bow and an arrow and stood in front of one of the dummies. He remembered what Colt had taught him about holding the bow right and not pulling the string back too hard. He loosened his stature and shot the arrow.

  It pierced the dummy in the arm.

  “How was that?” he asked.

  “That’s good,” Brom said from behind them. “But you should hold your posture straighter. It could make a world of difference.”

  “He’s already holding himself straight enough,” Colt said in defense. “He doesn’t need to be so stiff while shooting.”

  Brom shrugged as he came up beside Owen, who had straightened up uncomfortably. “I understand, but I don’t mean for him to look that way, either. Here, let me show you what I mean, Owen.”

  “No one touches my bow,” Colt snapped.

  Brom raised an eyebrow. “What about him?” He nodded to Owen.

  “Right, I’m training him. Now bugger off.”

  Brom crossed his arms and raised his chin. “Wait a minute, you still have a quarrel with me, don’t you? All because we fought. You just won’t let it go.”

  “Didn’t I tell you to fuck off?”

  “Not with as much zest.”

  Owen felt awkward standing between them. Taking an arrow, he stood straight but relaxed, took a deep breath, and shot the arrow. It pierced the chest of the dummy near the bullseye.

  The two men stopped their bickering and turned their focus on him.

  “Good enough?” Owen asked.

  “I’d say you’ve got it down,” Brom said. He looked to Colt. “It seems you have a good teacher as well.”

  “Your flattery changes nothing,” Colt said.

  Brom chuckled and gave Colt a rough pat on the back.

  When Amias finally returned to the camp, Owen came up to him.

  “Everything all right?” he asked.

  “Yes, for the time being.” Amias sighed heavily. “I think it’s time we went over our next plan to get out of here.” He looked over. “Colt, I need you in here, too.”

  A light drizzle fell as Owen followed Amias to Brom’s tent. Owen and Amias both sat at the small table, where a candle burned, while Colt stood to the side.

  The breeze from the opening of the tent made Owen shiver. From where he sat, he could make out Brom and his men trying to keep the fire going as the rain picked up.

  Amias took out his map and laid it on the table. “We need to go over our next stop.”

  “Brom told me we can follow the river down to Torke.”

  “That was my thinking. We can take the back roads to Edgewater. It’s easy to blend in there, especially in the slum areas. I’m thinking we could stow away on a ship. And if not, there are other ways around the border. Caves that run deep underground and come out in the northern shores of Avathon, near Covehaven.”

  “Covehaven?” Colt crossed his arms, his brow wrinkled. “Right, suppose I can part with you there.”

  “I’d rather you follow us all the way into the country.”

  “What for? Seeking your rebel group isn’t on my list of things to do.”

  Owen narrowed his eyes. “Wait, what? Does he know something I don’t?”

  “You haven’t told him yet?” Colt scratched his neck.

  “Told me what?” Owen looked from one to the other.

  Amias looked at him wearily. “It’s something I was going to tell you. Now is as good a time as any, since we talked about them last night.” Amias’s brown eyes reflected the candlelight. “The Alliance, they’re a group I have ties with. They can take you in.”

  Owen closed his eyes. Save for the rain outside, the air was quiet. Only last night, they had spoken of the long-lost organization known as the Union. Now Amias was bringing up an active rebel group he had only heard of within the past few years. “I suppose it never stops with you, dropping me from one place to another.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “When mother died, it’s all you ever did. You wouldn’t let me stay with you. Instead, you took me from one home to the other.”

  Amias looked down, hesitating. “I . . . didn’t know you felt that way. You know I couldn’t have taken you with me. Not to Alacor. They would have found you out there for sure.”

  Owen clenched his teeth and pinched the bridge of his nose. The lump swelled in his throat. He wanted to tell Amias that he was the last remaining tie to his mother, and that made them family.

  He could have raised me. I know he loved mother, Owen thought. Perhaps he didn’t want me.

  Owen cleared his throat. “When were you planning on telling me this? Or asking me if I agreed to pursue some rebel group?”

  “They fight for a good cause. I just wanted to make sure . . .” Amias raked a hand over his hair. “Oh, for goodness’ sake, Owen. I don’t want to leave you. I will never leave your side unless you tell me to. I won’t be dropping you off. I’d be staying.”

  “I understand, but there’s no need for you to keep secrets from me. From now on I’d rather you be upfront. I’m tired of being lied to.” Owen furled his fist against the table and took a deep breath, then stood up and made his way out of the tent. “I need to think about this for a while.” If he stayed, he might say something regrettable.

  Once outside, he brushed past the trees. He threw up his hood and made his way quickly forward until the drizzle seemed to turn to swirling mist.

  He stopped, panting, and placed his hand on a tree. The rain had cooled the air so much that his breath came out in white wisps. His jaw tightened as he looked ahead. Heat ran through his veins, and his anger furled. He opened his mind to his power and felt the fibers of the bark beneath his fingers. The tree vibrated under his touch, and the yellow leaves spiraled down in response.

  I’m a grown man. I can make my own decisions.

  Amias had always made choices for him, and as he’d gotten older, Amias had encouraged every choice Owen made. Amias had made the choice to take him away from Mrs. Horace and place him in the care of a couple farmhands before they gave him to Mr. and Mrs. Gallows, who were nothing but cruel to him. And then Owen begged Amias to take him away, and Amias took him to Emberton to live on his own.

  Ever since, Owen had been free to make his own decisions, and he would.

  The leaves ruffled nearby. Owen’s heart jerked. He turned and looked around, noticing how dense the fog had become. He could not see their camp, nor could he hear any of his companions. No birds sang, and even the squirrels were not to be seen.

  It was deathly quiet. The hairs on Owen’s arms prickled all the way up to his neck, and his heart thundered like drums in his skull. Sweat built on his brow.

  “I see you,” came a whisper.

  Owen whipped back around, half expecting someone to be behind him, but found only the white fog consuming the trees.

  “Don’t be afraid. I’m here to help you.”

  The air seemed to chant to him, the words faint. He pulled out his dagger. When he looked down, the faint glowing lines in t
he steel of his blade caught his eye. He stumbled backward, feeling lost as the mist gathered around him. When a shadow appeared in the corner of his eye, he lashed out. The shadow recoiled from his attack.

  “Just talk to me.”

  When Owen bumped his wounded shoulder against a tree, he staggered and seethed in pain. He held the throbbing wound as shadows seemed to dart to his left and right, as if hiding. He found himself unable to yell for help. It was not until a dark mass, looking like a short beast, wafted through the fog that he cried out and held his ears, hoping to stifle whatever entity this was.

  He squeezed his eyes shut, closing his mind off from his power, and the chanting fell silent. He looked up to the clearing fog, and slowly the sound of birds echoed through the trees. He noticed that when his mind was opened, he could feel the vibrations of the world and the hum within his own body, but when he closed the channel off, things felt normal.

  “Not another move,” came a low voice.

  Owen whirled around and narrowed his eyes when he saw Harv. The man’s familiar scar stood out as they glared at one another, the ragged tissue starting at his lip, moving across his nose and into his hair.

  “What do you want?” Owen asked in a shaky voice. He sheathed his weapon and held his hands up helplessly. His heart beat in his ears as fear took over his senses. Was Harv the one who had whispered to him?

  “I know they sent you,” Harv said.

  “Who?”

  “Don’t play dumb with me, lad. I only went with Brom on account of he stole most of the goods from Harold before we left.”

  “I don’t know who this Harold is.” Owen furrowed his brows, confused.

  “You’re pissin’ me off. But I get it.” Harv released a long, curved knife from his belt. “You run with people like Dellum and Harold, they’ll use whatever meat bags they will, even ones as quiet and weak as you.”

  Owen tightened his jaw.

  Harv did not give him a chance to say any more. The man drew near. Owen clashed with him, gripping Harv’s arms in his hands. His limbs shook as he held the man back, but Harv was determined. Owen growled as he tried to push him off, but the man was stronger and threw him to the ground.

  Harv bent down with his knife. Owen kicked the blade from his hand and rolled away. He struggled to his feet but Harv pulled him back down. Then the man was above him, his eyes wild as sweat dripped down his scarred face. He looked half crazed as he grabbed hold of Owen’s neck.

  Owen kicked his legs, but when his attacker squeezed him harder, he could do nothing but claw at the cold, calloused hands. The ground grew harder against his back, and black spots slowly blotted out the white fog above him. This would be it for him. He would die in a wood at the hands of a devilish-looking man with only one intention: to kill him.

  Not a moment later, someone kicked Harv off him. Owen gasped for air and coughed into the dirt. Nearby, his attacker yelped and grunted before going silent. Owen held his neck, taking in quick breaths. When a hand grabbed him, he swung his good arm out, his fist connecting with someone’s face. When he looked up to see it was Colt, he blew out a breath of air.

  Colt staggered back and rubbed his jaw. “Not bad.”

  Owen closed his eyes. “It’s just you,” he breathed.

  “Thanks, mate.” Colt pulled him to his feet and smiled smugly. “I love getting hit.”

  “Like I enjoy getting—” He paused to cough and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “Choked.”

  “Right. How’s about it, then?”

  “What?”

  “Your neck. All right?”

  “No, I’m not all right.” Owen winced and cleared his throat. He placed a hand on his stitched arm and seethed, but quickly drew it away, as it had become sensitive.

  Colt looked at him in concern, then shook his head and pulled him away. “Stupid of you to go off alone.”

  Owen looked over at Harv, who lay still. Blood gushed from a deep stab wound in his neck. He looked at Colt’s bloody knife. “You killed him.”

  “Well, did you want him to kill you first?” Colt held out his hands, as if expecting an answer.

  “He thought we were after him. You didn’t have to kill him. How will we tell Brom?”

  “You don’t have to,” came Brom’s voice. He stood a few feet away, his eyes serious. He walked over to them and crouched down next to Harv. “You shouldn’t have gone off alone, Owen.”

  “Maybe this guy shouldn’t have made assumptions that weren’t true,” Colt spat.

  “You’re right, but Harv didn’t deserve to die either.”

  “Then it sounds like you’re to blame for letting an ill-minded man take watch of your camp.”

  “It doesn’t matter now.”

  Guilt washed over Owen. “I’m sorry.”

  Brom stood up quickly. “I’ll get the others out here to bury him. Then I think we should all take our leave from here.”

  It felt odd to Owen, digging a grave for a man who had tried to kill him. Brom insisted that he not do it, that there were no hard feelings and what happened was out of self-defense. But regret hit Owen’s gut tenfold, and he felt the only way to make things right was by helping give the man a place to rest in peace.

  Colt had refused to help, tightening the tension between them. Owen did not blame Colt for helping him. He was thankful for his companion’s aid. If anything, Owen was remorseful for how he’d handled the situation. He could have done something else to get the man off him. He had barely opened his mind, seeing shadows and hearing whispers. If he had kept it open, he could have tried to channel his power at Harv to get him off.

  When they were done digging a hole, they wrapped Harv’s body and placed it inside the earth. They piled the dirt back on until there was a mound. Joren and Tobias left the scene, while Brom stayed behind with Owen. He gazed at the dirt with blood-rushing memories of the fight that ensued between them.

  Brom’s hand gripped his good shoulder gently. “Don’t beat yourself up over this, Owen. If it hadn’t been Colt, it would have been one of us. It was only a matter of time.”

  Owen nodded and left with Brom back to camp. The sky was dark now, and the fire was dying. Their kindling was damp and would not feed the flames enough to keep it alive.

  Joren and Tobias talked quietly, while Doran limped around the camp with a bow in his hands as he took first watch. Brom sat silently, his eyes tired, while Amias and Colt ate the last of the broth from their bowls.

  “Where will you go now?” Owen asked.

  “You know, I’ve heard Edgewater is a good place to get lost in,” Brom replied.

  Tobias perked up at that. “Edgewater? How?”

  “I don’t know. I just thought I’d start a rumor. I’ve always wanted to visit.”

  “Then perhaps we’ll see you there,” Amias chimed in. “If we take the river as you suggested, we should arrive in Edgewater within a week or so.”

  Brom smiled weakly. “I would hate to endanger your group even more. But should our paths cross again, you may consider me a companion.” When Owen’s face fell, he reiterated, “We’re a band of thieves, and we have a rather bad history with another clan who wants us dead.”

  After their sullen talk, they all went to bed early. Early the next morning, Owen bid Joren, Tobias, and Doran farewell before packing up and making for the river. Brom walked with them until they came to a boat resting on the bank.

  “We only use this for fishing, so I suppose we can part with it now that we’re leaving,” he said. “The river should take you down southwest. We haven’t gone down too far, so I’m not sure what to expect, but be mindful of the rapids.”

  “Thank you,” Amias said, “for your hospitality.”

  “And the food,” Colt said, bringing up a small bag of provisions into the boat.

  “Oh, Owen. Here.” Brom gave him a wooden bow and two arrows. “I hope it’ll help while you’re on the road.”

  “Don’t you need it?”

  “No, I have m
y own. That one belonged to Harv. Don’t let it go to waste.”

  “I . . . don’t think I deserve this.” Owen held the bow hesitantly.

  “A dead man harbors no anger, Owen. It’s nothing more than an item. Just take it.”

  Colt turned an eye to Brom and scratched his neck. “Right. Appreciate it all, what with the boat and food. You ready, Amias?”

  “Whenever you both are.”

  The coldness in Colt’s actions made Owen’s head ache. How could he not bestow any apologies or show any regret for killing one of Brom’s men?

  Before Owen turned to leave, he asked, “Will you and the others be all right?”

  “We’ll be fine. We may even see you in Edgewater. Until that day, here.” Brom took Owen’s hand and placed a coin into his palm.

  Owen unfurled his fingers. It was not a coin, as he had thought, but a medallion, smooth to the touch. On its surface were the three spiraling half-circles of the Astran. He glanced quickly at Brom, his eyes wide. “Are you Astran as well?”

  Brom chuckled. “No, but I do consider them allies, and you can consider me a friend. I haven’t come across an unmarked Astran in nearly ten years. I won’t pry, but I’ll admit your journey has me curious. But . . .” He closed Owen’s hand around the medallion. “You remind me of someone, and I want you to have this.”

  “Thank you. I won’t forget you.” Owen smiled.

  “May the star of Neti guide you. Until fate has us meet again.”

  Owen nodded, thinking on his words, before he turned and sat in the middle of the boat behind Colt. Amias took the seat nearest the stern. The boat was bigger than Owen had thought when he first saw it. There would be enough room for them to store their bags between the seats.

  As they flowed down the river, Colt and Amias working together to row at a steady pace, Owen looked back at Brom, standing on the bank.

  He closed his hand around the medallion and looked ahead. He wanted to talk with Amias about the shadows he saw while out in the fog. It had not made sense to him, hearing whispers and seeing shadows, and then the voice again. This time outside of his dream. Was there something in Birchwood that had tried to lure him? A nymph, perhaps?