Beyond the Core (The Starborn Series Book 1)

by K. R. Cunningham

  “What?” Colt asked, stopping along with him.

  “I’ve never been to an actual temple before. Care to go in?”

  “You can’t be serious.”

  “Why not?”

  Colt drew in close to him and whispered, “It’s Yuna’s temple.”

  “But this one looks like it has more statues inside.”

  “Mate, I haven’t stepped foot in a temple in nearly fifteen years. It’s not my cup of tea, as Amias says.”

  Owen dropped his eyes, his shoulders slumping. “All right.”

  As silence grew between them, Colt grunted and said, “But, I mean, suppose we could just visit.”

  Owen perked up at that, and walked with Colt into the small temple. There was just enough room inside for about ten people to sit on the benches. Aside from a monk dressed in cream-colored robes who greeted them warmly with a nod, they were the only two there.

  They sat on one of the four wooden benches and looked around.

  The smooth stonework that made up the walls was clean-cut. The columns that lined the corners were engraved with vines that climbed to the ceiling. In the middle of the temple was Yuna’s statue, her head adorned with a star-like headdress. On her left were two smaller statues, which Owen recognized as Arcan and Meta, and on her right was their sister, Neti.

  He pulled out his journal and began sketching the stonework and statues, then wrote out a short prayer beside it. He stopped when he noticed Colt biting his nails, elbows propped up on the back of the bench. Owen sighed gently, hoping the monk nearby would not notice.

  “Did you want to say a prayer before we leave?” he asked, biting his lip to stave off a laugh. “You know, to help your soul.”

  Colt blinked at him. “You’re a little twit, you know that?”

  They shared a laugh, Owen’s brown eyes alight with glee. He was glad to be in good company. It was much needed after waking up feeling so lonely. The hollow feeling that had been digging its way into his gut seemed to fill up slowly.

  Keep us safe, Arcan, and please let me not be alone.

  He sealed his prayer by placing his fist over his forehead, then over his heart.

  Owen looked at Yuna’s statue. Her eyes were brown and her black hair fell to her waist. This was the image he knew to be true, unlike the one back in Emberton.

  “What do you think of her?” he asked.

  Colt glanced at the statue. He cocked his head, as if thinking. “Not much to look at.”

  “But she’s a symbol of something yet to come. The Legion loves her.” Owen leaned in close to Colt, whispering, “Do you think, if she were to come back, she’d govern all of Arcania?”

  “She wouldn’t govern it. She’d own it.”

  “Why do you think that?”

  “If she’s the only god here, she can do what she wants. She’d have free reign.” Colt tapped his temple. “Think about that, yeah? She’d have us as slaves in no time.”

  “I wouldn’t say that so loudly.”

  “Oh, what, like the monk gives a shit? He looks bored.”

  From across the room, near the front, the monk who had greeted them lit some incense and placed it in a bowl hanging from the wall. When he looked up and met Owen’s eyes, he grabbed a copper plate and walked their way.

  Owen straightened stiffly in his seat.

  “Great, he wants money,” Colt muttered.

  “Shh,” Owen started. He looked up at the monk and smiled.

  “A token for a blessing?” the monk asked.

  The air drifted hesitantly between them. Owen wondered at the man’s words until he saw the other coins in the plate he held. “Oh,” he started, his hand going to his purse. He fished out a couple coppers and placed them on the plate.

  “A good deed do the gods see,” the monk said with a smile, then he walked away.

  Colt shook his head. “What a waste, mate.”

  “He kind of put me on the spot.”

  With a laugh, Colt nudged Owen’s arm and stood. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

  They left the temple to loiter around the market for a while. Owen glanced over stalls that held silver trinkets, leather sheaths and quivers, vases and jewelry boxes made from seashells, and colored twigs. Out of everything, Owen bought a new pencil.

  “Wouldn’t waste your money on that,” Colt said. “I could probably make you something like that instead.”

  “Then do it.” Owen beamed at him.

  “Right. Just need the materials.”

  Owen crossed his arms. “I’m waiting.”

  “I didn’t say now, did I?”

  “Well, I like to sketch and write daily if I can. If you can’t make me something, then I’ll just have to buy it instead, and this works.”

  “Yeah? Well, don’t expect me to hand over my coin when you’ve spent all yours on writing materials.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of taking your coin. Probably blood money.”

  When they returned to their room, they found Amias inside, looking over a bottle of wine.

  “Ah, there you are,” Amias said. “Where did you both run off to?”

  “Walked around some, prayed for our souls,” Colt replied. “So are you going to drink that wine, there, or just gawk at it?” He nodded at the bottle in Amias’s hand.

  “Not until tonight. I wanted to see how Owen was faring first.”

  “I’m fine, just tired.” Owen sat on the bed and closed his eyes.

  “If we’re staying another night, then where am I supposed to sleep?” Colt asked. “On the floor again?”

  “I’ll let you have the other bed tonight, since I had it last night.”

  “How kind of you.”

  Owen looked out the window as his companions talked. He was grateful to stay in a room with a bed, but his heart ached for Emberton. The fields and vineyards of Berry Farms were a beautiful sight to behold, but they were nothing like the clifftops that overlooked the ocean. From Emberton’s highest hill, the ocean stretched both west and south as far as the eye could see. If he closed his eyes, Owen could hear the gulls calling and the crash of the waves upon the rocks. He could taste the salty air and smell the fresh fish Milo brought in from the harbor. He supposed that Emberton was where he had taken root, after all. He felt he had been plucked away, his roots still remaining there, calling to him.

  “—not sure why you want to save the bottle of wine for tonight. Let’s just pop it open now.”

  “It’s afternoon, Colt.”

  “Morning, noon, evening—all the same to me.”

  Amias snatched the bottle away from Colt and placed it on the table near the hearth. “I’ll drink it myself instead.”

  “Fine. Ale is better anyway.”

  The dining hall of the tavern was teeming with people. A woman with a tambourine sang at one end while a man played a fiddle and another played a flute. The evening sky had darkened, but the night was just beginning for the patrons who bought food and board.

  After a good washing after being in the forest, Owen sat with Amias and Colt in the mess hall. He ate a plate of peppered lamb marinated in red wine, seasoned potatoes, and asparagus, with freshly-baked bread and soft butter. He drank it down with an ale that Colt pressed on him. Though he usually did not like the taste of ale, this was the best he had tasted, and he drank it amorously. By his second pint, he had a honey roll to go with it.

  Nearby, two men clinked their mugs together roughly, some of the ale splashing on the table. Another man rose from his seat and called for his brother to sit with him. The two met in boisterous laughter, shaking the table as they sat down.

  “Very lively, these folks,” Colt said.

  Amias drank a swig of his water. “There are a good bit of tourists here, but most of these people are merchants. I talked to some of them earlier today. They come here for the wines and produce, and also set up their own shops in the square during the summer. These are the last ones who have stayed till autumn, mostly those who live farther
south.”

  “Are many of them leaving soon?” Owen asked, feeling more chipper than usual.

  “Yes. The day after tomorrow. I think it would be good for us to leave with them. It certainly will help to blend in with any crowd on the main road.”

  “Yeah. Maybe we could even see if any are headed back to Avathon,” Colt said. “We could stow you two on one of their wagons.”

  Owen smirked. “Then who would protect me?”

  Amias’s eyebrow rose curiously as he glanced at Owen.

  “I’m sure you could get any one of these fools to protect your distressed ass.” Colt downed the rest of his ale.

  Owen shrugged. “I doubt I’d find anyone half as charming as you. Besides, there’s no one else I trust, and all these people are boring.”

  “Boring?” Colt reeled back.

  “I mean they all do the same thing. They get married, have children, grow . . . things, I guess. It’s dull, they’re all dull.” He took another gulp of his drink.

  “Isn’t that what folks do back in Emberton?”

  Owen shrugged. “Yes, I suppose. So?”

  Colt smiled crookedly. “Someone sounds jealous.”

  “Am”—he hiccupped—“not.”

  “Ah, I think he’s probably had enough,” Amias cut in, grabbing Owen’s mug before he took another swig.

  “Oh, no.” Colt stood from the bench. “He called me charming. I want to hear what else he’ll say. He’s amusing. I’ll be right back.” He winked at Owen and made his way to the bar.

  Owen’s eyes drooped in response to the alcohol. He tipped his mug back and forth when a man wearing a brown top hat caught his eye. Sitting at a table not far from theirs, the stranger eyed him frequently. Feeling a bit dizzy from the drink, he belted out, “Amias, that man keeps staring at us.”

  Amias looked down the table and narrowed his eyes.

  The stranger suddenly left his table and sat across from them, smiling. “Hello, Amias. I thought that was you. Fancy seeing you here.”

  “Lou Cadwell,” Amias said, smiling. “I should say this is a surprise. I haven’t seen you in months.”

  “And who’s this?” The man nodded to Owen. “A stray you’ve picked up?” There was something off in his grin. His dark brown hair fell right below his ears, and he looked to be in his thirties. His face was clean-shaven, his gray eyes full of something Owen could not pin.

  “I still have a few living relatives,” Amias told Lou. “Just taking my nephew here back home after a visit.”

  “Lucky lad,” Lou said, winking at him.

  “Yes, well, the winery is very nice to visit when the leaves have begun to change.”

  “I suppose you’ve had some days off, then?”

  Amias nodded slowly, his smile weak. “Yes, I’m taking some time away.”

  “Interesting. You’ve always seemed so devoted to your work.”

  “That I am.”

  Owen remained silent. The stranger across the table was sending off too many strange signals that he could not understand. He was not sure if the drink was interfering with his ability to sense the energy of others.

  “Did you hear of the quake down south, near the border?” Lou asked, leaning his arms on the table. “Heard it took down some foundations.”

  Amias looked surprised. “Huh, is that so? I haven’t heard any reports of quakes. The south hasn’t seen one in nearly thirty years.”

  “The tremor shook a few villages, but the tower they’re building near the border took a bad hit.”

  “An unfortunate event, for sure.” Amias looked genuinely concerned.

  “I’m beginning to believe some of the naysayers who spout an end to the world coming soon.” Lou’s steely gray eyes drifted to Owen as he took a drink from his mug.

  Goosebumps chilled Owen’s skin. He did not like the way the man looked at him. He turned to Amias quickly. “I need some fresh air,” he said and left from his seat before Amias could reply. He found his way to the back door, where he wandered to the side of the inn and vomited in the grass.

  He found the siding of the building with his hand and gripped a wooden beam to right himself. Wiping his mouth with his sleeve, he looked up at the night sky. He saw a blurry but shining moon, and a cold breeze ruffled his hair. Stars gleamed through the quiet air, shining blue light upon the vineyard surrounding the winery. He pressed his arms against his stomach and leaned his head against the cold stones of the wall, feeling homesick.

  “Owen?” came Colt’s voice from behind. He stopped just before he stepped in Owen’s partially digested supper on the grass. “What a lightweight you are, mate. You only had two ales!”

  “Two and a half,” Owen muttered. “I drank the rest of yours to start with, remember?”

  “Right. I was just about to bring you another.”

  Owen shook his head vigorously and moved away from the wall, but he swayed and had to catch himself.

  Colt laughed. “I was almost to the table when I saw you running out.”

  “Wasn’t the drink. The man he was talking with in there . . . he’s a bit odd.”

  “The man sitting with Amias?”

  “Yes. His name is . . . Lors?” Owen shook his head, but it was too busy spinning.

  “Want to come back in with me?”

  “No! I don’t want to go back in there.” His mind was hazy but he could still feel the uneasiness in his heart.

  “You don’t have to. Come on. I’ll help you upstairs.” Colt took his arm to help him balance himself, but Owen snatched it away.

  “I can walk,” he said.

  Colt shrugged and walked behind him instead. “Stubborn.”

  As he came inside, Owen glanced at their table. The man in the hat had gone, but Amias remained, his mouth in a frown as he ate.

  When Owen lost his balance on the stairs, Colt helped him the rest of the way to their room. He looked out the window between the two beds, his heart pounding.

  “Who was that man?” Owen muttered aloud.

  “I’ll ask Amias when he gets up here. Just sit down a minute.” Colt patted the bed.

  Owen shook his head. “No, no. I need to talk with him.” He looked up at the ceiling and blinked a few times. “Gods, I don’t like feeling this way. Everything’s moving around fast.”

  “That’s the idea.”

  Despite trying to stay afoot, Owen ran into the bed and fell onto it. When Colt turned away, Owen grabbed his hand. “You’re not leaving, are you? Please stay with me.”

  Colt grabbed Owen’s wrist gently, hesitating as they stared at each other. “Just getting you some water.”

  “Oh, good.” Owen let his arm fall away, his head swirling as he watched Colt pour a cup of water from the vanity table. “I hate being alone. I won’t lie, you intimidated me when I met you.” He paused and belched low in his throat. “But now you’re being rather nice to me. I like your company.”

  Making his way back to the bed, Colt gave Owen the cup and looked at him curiously. Owen brushed his lips against the cup and sipped at the water. Then he giggled and closed his eyes.

  The door opened suddenly, and Amias stepped through. He looked pale in the firelight.

  “Who’s the man downstairs?” Owen slurred. “Why’d you tell him I’m your nephew? Is he someone to worry about? Is he a . . . uh, Entity?”

  Colt raised an eyebrow at Amias, who hesitated.

  Owen waited for him to answer. His mind was sluggish.

  “His name is Lou Cadwell,” Amias said. “He was an acquaintance of mine in Alacor.”

  “Are you in danger?” Owen asked, his eyes drooping.

  “It’s possible Lou could send them a letter with my location if he knows of my status. I’m . . . honestly surprised that word hasn’t gotten down this way yet. Fortunately, he doesn’t seem to know anything. We can spend another day here and rest. Then we’ll take our leave with the travelers.”

  The room fell silent, the only noise coming from the dying crack
le of the fire in the hearth and the watered-down music from below.

  A hiccup escaped Owen. “I’m trying to sober up but I can’t. It’s so cold. I want my other blanket.” He tried to stand but stumbled.

  “Whoa,” Colt said, catching him. “You’re not going anywhere like that. Just lay down. Here.” Colt opened Owen’s bag and pulled out a colorful quilt. “This?”

  “Mm. That’s it.” Owen took it and inhaled its smell. It was very thin and worn out, but he had been keeping it in his bag as an extra.

  “Gods, you’re an odd drunk.” Colt half laughed.

  “It was his mother’s,” Amias whispered.

  Owen said no more. Instead, he took off his boots and lay down on the bed, wrapping himself in the quilt before getting under the covers. He watched Amias as he sat by the fire and talked with Colt. Then the remaining drink in Owen’s body pulled him into sleep.

  Chapter 15

  Elian looked up at the dark sky through the gnarled branches of the trees and sighed. Though they had starlight to guide their way, the night was too cold to idle for long. They would need to find a place to stay or keep moving.

  His horse, Tuck, grunted and moved back, spooked by the sounds of coyotes in the distance.

  “All right, boy.” Elian patted him.

  The rustle of leaves tore through the air, and Rhielle marched toward him through the trees. She gestured him forward.

  “Did you find something?” Elian asked.

  “Another dead Outrider.”

  Elian tugged Tuck’s reins forward and walked with Rhielle until they reached the bank of the river. They had crossed over hours back in hopes of finding Amias, but their search had taken them through Birchwood Forest with no luck.

  He left Tuck at the water’s edge alongside Rhielle’s horse, and walked with her until they came to the fallen animal. Flies buzzed around the carcass. Its organs lay half strewn but intact, as if the buzzards had started to pick at them and decided against it.

  Elian took out a cloth and held it to his nose to ward away the stench. The sight of the organs disturbed him. They were gray and black; they’d been dead for a long time, much longer than a few days. The animals that became Outriders were always killed before their Core reactivated them. Their organs were essentially useless, as the Core was the only thing keeping them alive.