Beyond the Core (The Starborn Series Book 1)

by K. R. Cunningham

  While Owen was glad to be surrounded by new friends, the voice still lingered in his mind. The same voice that had called to him several times now, only it sounded different this time. The voice that only he could hear could belong to something bigger than himself. And now it had mentioned the Gate.

  He rubbed the hilt of his dagger, a relic of his father now in his hands. For this reason, he could not let it go. After so many years of thinking the worst of his father, now Owen desired to find him. He would die trying if he had to, now that he knew the truth.

  But the dagger, though part of his family, seemed dangerous. It was clear this strange voice was connected to it and was intent on speaking with him. He would have to endure it on his journey through Avathon and hope that fate, if it was real, would steer him in the right direction.

  Epilogue

  Candlelight flickered against the blue walls. In the pit of the hearth across the room, the fire crackled amid the sound of the falling rain outside. In the bed, Rhielle lay sleeping.

  Elian sat in a chair beside her, a book in his hand. He flipped the pages with his injured hand, taking in every word and illustration. Every time he heard Rhielle whimper, he looked her way. He watched as her face contorted and winced, and a sting hit his chest as he looked at the scrapes and bruises on her face.

  Setting down the book, he pulled back the blanket and looked at the wrapped wound in her side. Bite marks and scrapes littered her battered body, but the deep bite wound in her side was the worst.

  Elian covered her back up, his anger rising from what had happened, and got to his feet. He limped to the fireplace; he had suffered a wound in his leg from one of the cave creatures, as well as two punctures in his jaw from Owen’s female companion, which he had bandaged with gauze. He propped his uninjured hand on the mantel and stared into the burning flames, thinking of the events that had landed them here.

  He had let Owen get away again, while he and Rhielle had narrowly escaped from the things in the caves. He had heard tales of such creatures living off the waste of the sea and land, but he had never thought them to be true. Not until the mob attacked him and his assistant.

  Rhielle had been defenseless after Owen’s attack. Elian had managed to kill many of the cave people. Luckily, they were slow to attack and quick to retreat, seeming more frightened than anything.

  They had escaped through a hole in the cave where the stream was, and managed to walk back to Covehaven, where a doctor tended to Rhielle’s wounds.

  Rhielle was too stubborn to stay there, however, and on their way back to Alacor, she broke out in fever and ended up in the healing ward of the citadel grounds. The healers had cleaned her wounds and patched her up well enough to stabilize her, but she was still in recovery.

  “Eli?” she said, her voice hoarse.

  Elian turned on his heel when he heard her and went to her side promptly. “How are you feeling?”

  “A little better. What are you still doing here?”

  “I wanted to make sure your fever broke before I left.” He saw a string on his sleeve and dusted it off. “Need a tonic?”

  “No. It looks as though you could use one, though.” She half-laughed, her lips dry. “Rough night at the pub?”

  He smiled crookedly, running his hand over the right side of his face, feeling the stubble there. He had not been able to shave for weeks, a peculiar sight for him, and was now the butt of many jokes among the other Wielders.

  Rhielle groaned as she sat up and reached for a glass of water sitting on the table nearby. “I can’t stand laying here all day. When can I get up and move around?”

  “Well, your side is still in pretty bad shape.” He handed her the glass. “You need to rest as much as you can.”

  “I’ve already rested enough as it is.” She took several gulps of water.

  “You northern breeds are always so stubborn.”

  “Beats being a pompous ass.”

  He laughed softly and sat down in his chair, setting her glass back on the table.

  “Any word about the mission?” she asked.

  “No, but you shouldn’t worry about that. We have time.”

  “You mean you have time.” She fiddled with the ends of the blanket. “The masters won’t give me a full title after what happened, and I’ve made you look bad. I don’t want them to revoke your title as well.”

  Elian sighed. “I’m not worried about a title right now. I know how to pull strings, and right now, I know their whereabouts better than anyone. Both of us know what to expect. They can’t afford not to allow us to pursue this mission. If anything, they’ll fuel it and send more Wielders along with us.”

  He could only hope this was true.

  Rhielle looked at him sidelong, her freckled face shadowed in the candlelight. “I hope you’re right.”

  “I am. Here, take this anyway.” He reached over and took a small glass vial from the table.

  “I don’t need it,” she growled.

  “You need rest, Elle. I can’t have my assistant dying on me when we pick the mission back up.”

  Rolling her eyes, she snatched the vial from his hand and drank the amber liquid inside. She scrunched up her face and shivered, then managed a smile. “It tastes awful.”

  It was good to see the color in her cheeks again. Elian noticed how her soft hair fell in waves down her back. She was still young, her face glowing with innocence, but the hollow look in her eyes suggested many ghosts. There was something about her that made his heart skip a beat. And there was something about her that made him wonder why she wanted to join the brotherhood. She was friendly and willing to learn, but she was full of too many questions.

  “I have to go.” He stood abruptly from his chair and grabbed the book from the end table. “I’ll come see you later.”

  “Eli,” Rhielle called after him.

  At the door, he stopped and looked back at her.

  “Thanks.” She smiled crookedly. “For staying with me.”

  He nodded, keeping his face straight, and left. Outside in the hall, he straightened himself before limping quietly past the other rooms of sick folk.

  Several people greeted him. He gave them only curt nods as he made his way swiftly downstairs and into the evening rain outside. The dark sky loomed overhead, and he pulled up his hood to cross to the main building in the large square of the district of the citadel.

  He opened the large door and went inside, where a scholar was turning on the lamps along the hall. Electric lights were a very new thing, and Elian was fascinated by them every time he saw them. Only the elite could afford such a thing as electricity, and within the past decade or so, the wealthy citizens of Alacor had invested in the materials for its use.

  Elian walked down the dimly-lit corridor to the main hall, where a staircase with a dark green carpet ascended to two dark, mahogany doors. Two Legion guards stood on each side, and when Elian flashed his Wielder’s medallion, one of them opened the door for him.

  Candelabras lit the room inside. The tiled floor was like a mosaic of white, black, and green colors. Along the sides of the room, ferns hung from the archways that led to the side halls, and several plants sat in big vases. At the end was a staircase that led to a platform, where a wide domed window looked out over the eastern sea. In the middle of the platform sat a throne cushioned in dark green. On the floor, surrounding the entire thing, were fifty slots carved into the floor, each big enough to fit a Core.

  This was to be Yuna’s throne once she graced the world with her presence again. All the Cores in Milarc would be given to her, and if there were not enough to fit the slots, more would be made. The throne was designed to use power through the Wielder towers, possibly allowing such a being as a god to seek out every last Astran in all of Arcania. It was a theory the Legion believed in deeply. Not many knew of the throne, and Elian had only seen it a few times.

  He ran his thumb over his bracelet, his heart drumming. Elder Auran had requested he come to the throne r
oom to talk about his mission. There were two things that could happen: either the Elder would let Elian go from the Legion, or the Elder would grant him access to Avathon to pursue Owen.

  “Since you’re out of the healing ward, I trust you will be interrogating the criminal soon?” The Elder’s voice echoed across the room.

  Elian nearly jumped out of his skin at the man’s sudden presence. He had not seen him loitering in the right-side hall.

  The Elder emerged out into the open, his face serious as he stood erect in his green robes.

  “Yes, Elder,” Elian said, pausing to bow to his head. “I have quite a few tricks up my sleeve to get him to talk. Any word from the border?”

  “It’s much too soon,” the Elder replied with a sigh. “But no doubt they have gotten away.” He narrowed his eyes, his lips curling in disgust as he gazed at Elian’s bandaged jaw. “You’re sure this could be him? I would hate to grant your party a pass into Avathon on some silly quest looking for an Astran that may or may not be Starborn.”

  “We’ll know for sure once Amias talks.”

  The Elder came closer, narrowing his eyes. “I’m giving you one week. No more. You have always been one of my favorites, Elian, and I have enough sense to trust your word. With Amias hiding this lad, and him being unmarked, well—I can see how it would add up. But I would hate to revoke your title because your instincts were wrong.”

  “Yes, Elder.” Elian bowed again. “I won’t let you down.”

  “I hope not. Your job is on the line. You’re dismissed.” The Elder nodded at him and turned away.

  As Elian made his way for the door, he clenched his jaw tight. Every time he saw and heard the Elder, he could picture nothing but his false smile and deep chanting.

  An ass if there ever was one, he thought.

  He made it all the way to the east wing of the citadel without anyone stopping him. He descended a set of spiral stairs to the bottom, where two guards stood beside a heavy iron door. They nodded at him, and Elian took out a key and opened it.

  The stagnant air beyond was cold and smelled of musk. Down the narrow passage, Elian passed the prison cells that lined the left side. Someone cried out at him to let them out, while another vomited from sickness. He ignored them all.

  His lip twitched. Thoughts of his last Cleansing ritual flooded his mind. Each time he closed his eyes, he saw her blood. Her screams plagued his dreams. The horror of it all—that he could not help one child—it was a heavy burden that haunted him every day since.

  He kept his eyes straight ahead, his face unaffected by the pungent smell and noise. At the end of the passage, another door led him to a small room. Inside, Lou Cadwell grinned from a table.

  “Is he ready to talk?” Elian asked, locking the door behind him.

  “Oh, I think he’s willing now,” said Lou. “But if he isn’t, we’ll put him through another round of Effie.” He held up the Core he’d named in his hand and smirked.

  At the lone table in the middle of the room was Amias, the man who had once been Elian’s brother of the Core, the man who had denounced the Legion and fled on his own. The man, Elian now knew, who had managed to hide a key that the masters of the Legion and Wielders had been trying to discover for centuries. A key that, when paired with the dagger the lad held, would be able to open the Gate and release Yuna from her tomb.

  Amias’s hair had grown slightly since his capture. His lips were etched in a frown, and wrinkles ran deep around his eyes. Dark splotches bruised his face, and dried blood crusted in his unkempt beard. He twitched slightly as Elian approach, but it would take more than physical torture to get to him. Finally, the Legion was breaking his mind. He would spill the information they needed to make a sound journey into Avathon.

  While Elian did not wish to torture his former friend, Elder Auran had insisted. So far Amias had been dry-drowned, burned with iron, and strung up by his arms with no food or water. And still he had not talked. Though Elian was never the issuer of such abuse, he was always there to follow up.

  No, he did not want to think about those things. Instead, he silently willed Amias to speak to him, to tell him where Owen could be. It would only make things better for the both of them.

  Elian reached into his pocket, pulled out a leather-bound book, and tossed it onto the table, causing the man to look up. The book opened to a drawing of a house on a cliff, and with it the words of a poem titled the orange lights of Emberton that he had read a dozen times now.

  “Now, Amias, let’s try again.” Elian leaned on the table. “Tell me more about Owen Greene and where he may be going.”

  End book one

  Acknowledgments

  When the idea for Beyond the Core came to me four years ago, I didn’t think it would end up as a full-length book in a series. After undergoing a complete rewrite, several rounds of beta readers, an editor, and more revisions than I can count, the first book of The Starborn Series was born. I cannot give enough thanks to those who helped shape this story into what it is now.

  Thank you to my husband, Cory, for seeing this story as it is and encouraging me not to change the truly important things that make it what it is.

  To Kathleen Bednar, my first critique partner, who has patiently listened to me about all the ruts I’ve gotten stuck in with this story. She has endured many late-night chats about characters and scenes, as well as encouraged me along the way.

  To the countless beta readers and writer friends who have given wonderful support: Beck Michaels, for giving invaluable feedback and creating stunning book covers; to De Sims, Emily Devereux, Al Hess, and Naomi Stoltzfus, for reading through it all and helping me figure out the things that needed changing. I’m very grateful.

  To my mom, who has read up to book 3, and has listened to me talk about this series endlessly for the past four years; to Susan Cunningham, who has given me unwavering support; to other friends and family who have given me encouragement and praise, thank you from the bottom of my heart.

  About K. R. Cunningham

  K.R. Cunningham is the author of the high fantasy, Beyond the Core, the first of four books in The Starborn Series. K.R. lives in Georgia with her husband and three boys.

  www.krcunninghambooks.com