ARC: Sunstone

by Freya Robertson

  His head broke the surface and he gasped air, taking a few minutes to get to grips with his situation. He was in complete darkness, the river crashing into the pool a short distance to his right, but he had no idea how big the pool was or where he should swim. He forced himself to stay calm, to regulate his breathing, and he listened carefully to see if he could tell which way to go.

  To his left the river continued to tumble, and he sensed it carried on its journey along a channel in that direction. So he should swim either forward or backwards and see if he could find the riverbank. He chose forward, knowing he had to get out of the way of the water in case the next member of the Umbra followed him down and fell on top of him.

  He kicked out and swam with strong thrusts of his arms, wincing as pain shot through his shoulder. He had done some damage striking that rock, but at least he had not landed directly on it – he could have broken both his legs.

  He was alive! Exultancy shot through him. At least he had that to be thankful for.

  He stopped for a moment and trod water. No sign of the bottom. Something brushed against his legs and he recoiled, kicking out. Probably just a turtle or a salamander, he thought, but still, who knew what creatures lurked in the darkness?

  He swam a few more feet, and then suddenly his knees bumped the ground, taking him by surprise. He lowered his feet and stumbled out of the shallows onto the river bank, collapsing onto the silty surface. He’d done it. He’d reached the edge.

  He lay there for a while, gathering his strength, waiting. His shoulder throbbed, but he couldn’t tell if it was bleeding while everything was soaking. The air was warm, but still he shivered. He would have to change into the clothes he’d wrapped in the treated leather bag – hopefully it wouldn’t have let in much water. But first he had to find out what kind of place he was in.

  He sat up, grasped his sunstone pendant and held out his hand. He imagined fire flooding him, flowing through his veins. The flame leapt to life on his palm, and he raised it to look around.

  His breath caught in his throat. The Embers consisted of a series of natural caverns that had been added to over the years by generations of its inhabitants, the irregular walls gradually polished to smooth rock, but here and there in the outer reaches, the natural surface remained. This was what he had expected – a roughly hewn cavern, untouched and irregular.

  Instead, his gaze fell on a large square room. The waterfall descended through a hole that took up a quarter of the ceiling to his left, the tumultuous water tumbling into a pool that stretched from the ground at his feet to the opposite bank some thirty feet away. The water then fed into a river that hurried away to his right through a wide corridor flanked by a walkway on either side.

  Slowly, he pushed himself to his feet, wincing at the ache in his shoulder, and turned in a circle to look around the room. The walls glimmered in the light of the flame, and as he neared them he could see why. They were covered with paintings and gold leaf, thousands of shapes, some patterns like triangles and dots and wavy lines, some that looked vaguely like figures painted in reds and oranges, and lots and lots of flame shapes filled with yellows and golds.

  “Incendi,” he murmured. He had read about them in the Quercetum. And he knew what they had done.

  Moving around the room, he reached the corridor where the river flowed away, and peered around the corner. There was no sign of the Veris, and no bodies left lying around the room. Presumably they had all made it down the Cataracta intact, and had swiftly moved onwards.

  He itched to follow them, but knew he had to wait for the Umbra to arrive. A strangled yell at that moment made him turn, and he saw a figure falling through the hole in the ceiling to plunge into the pool below. He paced to the bank, held his hand aloft to light the way, and waited for the person to rise.

  Viel’s dark head broke the surface, and he coughed and spluttered, shaking the water out of his eyes as he turned to find the source of the light.

  “Swim this way,” Comminor instructed. “The water is shallow here – mind your knees.”

  Viel swam strongly towards him, face filled with relief. “It took me ages to let go of the rope,” he admitted as he dragged himself onto the bank.

  “Me also.” Comminor helped him up.

  Viel turned and sat, waiting for his strength to return. “I thought I might land on rock. I seemed to fall forever.” He looked around, wiping his face. “Where are we?”

  “Not quite where I expected,” Comminor said wryly. He walked forward and tried to look up the hole in the ceiling, but the torrential downpour of water forced him back. “Who is next?”

  “Paronel.”

  They waited a while for her to descend, walking around the room and inspecting the pictures on the wall.

  “Who are they?” Viel ran his fingers lightly over the painted figures.

  “I do not know.” Comminor was not ready to share the history of the Quercetum. His Umbra followed him unquestioningly, and although he knew it might be useful in the future to share his knowledge, now was not the time. “I think I hear something.”

  They both walked to the edge of the river and, sure enough, in a few moments Paronel came hurtling down and landed with a squeal in the water.

  “Azorius is next,” she panted as she hauled herself to the side. “Smoke and fire, that took some courage to let go of the rope.” She looked at Comminor as she wrung out her long blonde hair, obviously noting how he held his arm. “You are hurt?”

  “It is nothing.” He did not reveal how much his shoulder throbbed.

  He let Viel answer Paronel’s questions about the room and waited for the next arrival.

  He did not have long to wait. A scream filled the room and Comminor’s body jerked towards the water automatically as Azorius plummeted down only to land flat on the rock that Comminor had struck his arm on.

  Comminor did not have to go over to the body to know the Umbra was dead, his neck and back broken, his eyes lifeless. Anger and futility flooded him, and he tipped back his head and let out a howl.

  Josse followed not long after, missing the rock by a hair’s breadth. He surfaced and stared silently at the lifeless figure before swimming to the side.

  “Should we bring his body over here?” Paronel said, teeth chattering.

  Comminor shook his head. His throat felt thick with emotion, but his voice, when he spoke, was firm and clear as ever. “We do not have the time.” He turned away from the body. “Let us see if any of us has any dry clothes. We will get changed, and then set off after the Veris.”

  He tipped the items out of his own bag and they began sorting through. Had all the Veris made it to the bottom unharmed? It didn’t look as if anyone had died or they would probably have left the body there, too, he thought.

  He pulled on his other tunic and breeches, which were only very slightly damp. Inside, rage boiled. It was Sarra’s fault that Azorius was dead. He could not believe he had taken her to his bed, and all along she had been planning to leave.

  He would make her pay for that.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  I

  When the fire washed over Horada, Julen roared with rage. If he could, he would have turned and ridden back into the forest to try to rescue her, but his horse bolted, too scared of the flames. It was all he could do to hang onto the reins as the horse exited the treeline and fled across the fields.

  It took him several minutes to calm him and bring him under control, and by the time the gelding finally slowed to a halt, they were both trembling. Julen was sure the whites of his eyes were as visible as the horse’s.

  “There, there,” he murmured comfortingly, even though his own heart continued to pound. He slid from the saddle and led the horse over to a fence bordering the field. “The fire will not get you here.”

  He glanced over his shoulder to make sure that was the case, seeing to his surprise that the flames in the forest had already died down. Waiting a few minutes until the gelding had calmed, Julen walke
d back across the field to the edge of the forest.

  To his shock, the trees were for the most part untouched. Some of the undergrowth had been turned to ash and several trees had fallen, but it was as if the flames had picked and chosen which branches and leaves would burn, and had left the remainder. How was that possible? Clearly, it had not been a natural fire. The Incendi had snaked their way through the forest, and the only places to catch fire had been those the elementals had touched.

  He drew his sword – although what good the blade would do against a fire elemental, he wasn’t sure – and walked into the trees. Silence enveloped him, the birds and creatures having fled, even the wind dying down to a whisper. He wove through the trees until he reached the spot where he was sure Horada would have fallen.

  There was no sign of her.

  There were, however, the smoking remains of her horse.

  Julen stopped in front of the skeleton, his chest heaving with indignation at what they had done to Mara. She had possessed a sweet and gentle nature and had been Horada’s favourite for several years. Now her hair and mane had been burned away, her flesh charred, and the smell of roasting meat arose to assail his nostrils. He scanned the remains to make sure none of the bones belonged to a woman, but he had no doubt, Horada was not there.

  His gaze raked the forest, but she had vanished. The elementals must have taken her, he thought.

  He wished he had the time to bury Mara, but the forest would gradually welcome her into its arms. He did not want to waste a moment now he knew the Incendi had taken his sister.

  As he made his way back to his horse, he took comfort from the fact that they did not appear to have killed her. Although the Nox Aves had come to the conclusion that the mysterious deaths occurring across Anguis had been caused by the Incendi removing those it thought important for the Apex to occur, for some reason it appeared they wanted Horada alive. Although pleasing, that in itself was puzzling.

  He reached the horse, untied his reins and walked with him a little way to a stream where he let the gelding drink and graze for a while. Moving a short distance away, he knelt down by a clump of bushes and took the pendant Gravis had given him from around his neck.

  He stroked his thumb across the wooden oak leaf, enjoying the frisson of warmth that spread through his hand. Knowing he carried a piece of the Arbor against his chest brought him comfort and strength during this time of uncertainty. The sunstone in the middle gleamed, catching the sunlight and giving him an unwelcome reminder of the flames in the forest.

  Giving the wood one final brush, he pushed the pendant into the earth.

  For a moment, nothing happened. Then, as before, the ground began to tremble. Heat rushed through him, and briefly he was swept up in the energy from the Arbor’s roots, the channels that spread across the whole of Anguis.

  He tried to quell the wave of fear he felt at the memory of what had happened last time. A creature had appeared before him: a firebird, with eyes that had branded him with white-hot heat. He had been certain it was the King of the Incendi, and he had never been so frightened at the thought that his enemy had seen him and knew where he was.

  Afterwards, Gravis had reassured him that it was possible for him to remain out of the King’s vision – that the sunstone protected him. “We picked you for your special connection to the Arbor,” the Peacemaker had reminded him. “Now you must begin to turn that to our advantage.”

  Focus, Julen told himself, remembering Gravis’s instructions on how to protect himself while using the pendant. Just like when he used his abilities to camouflage himself, now he drew his energy tight around him, imagining himself like a shadow, unobtrusive and invisible to the untrained eye. And then he was ready to begin.

  First, he thought of his sister. Last time, he had found her almost immediately. He had pictured her in his mind’s eye, painted her face and hair and thought of her bright spirit and teasing sense of humour, and the connection between them had sprung into place, drawing him straight to her.

  This time it was different. He imagined her standing there before him, but although he felt himself travel to the west and reach out towards the mountains, there the trail stopped as if he had run into a stone wall. She was alive – that much he could tell. But the connection refused to form.

  How was he to find her when he had no idea where she had gone?

  Looking for comfort, he reached out instead to his brother, only to find once again the connection failed to form. Confused, he deepened the search, stretching out his senses as far as he could, but all he could get was an image of fire, of burning houses, trees aflame and bodies lying charred on the ground.

  Nausea rose inside him, threatening to choke him for a moment. Did that mean Orsin was dead? He couldn’t be sure – he hadn’t been doing this for long enough. He didn’t get the same feeling he got when he thought of his father – a sensation of peace and rest, of completeness. Instead he felt unease and anger, a sense of being scattered, of being lost. His brother was alive, he thought. But not happy, and not whole.

  His throat tightened, and his concentration waned. He became aware of his hands resting atop the warm wooden pendant, and the coolness of the earth. The stream sang merrily off to his right, and he could hear the quiet munching of the gelding as it snacked on the grass.

  He went to sit back and release the pendant, but as he did so, found his hands somehow glued to the wood. He couldn’t move. He opened his eyes and looked up, alarmed to see the air before him glittering. The morning darkened as if storm clouds had moved overhead, although the sun still shone way off in the east.

  The sparkling air darkened even more, the particles drawing together to form a shape. A figure, cloaked in grey, face covered by the hood, silent and still in the semi-darkness.

  Julen froze. “Who are you?” he whispered.

  “I am Cinereo,” came the deep voice. “Founder of the Nox Aves. Do not be afraid.”

  Julen’s panic died down. Gravis had told him of the man, and he trusted the Peacemaker with his life.

  “How are you here?” Julen asked. “Are you in Heartwood?”

  “I am in many places,” Cinereo said. “The Arbor grants me the gift of travel along its roots. Our pendants connect us, young Viator.”

  Julen frowned. “Viator?”

  “It is the name the Arbor gives to its personal messengers.”

  A glow spread through Julen. The Arbor thought of himself as its messenger?

  “Can you see where my sister and brother are?” he asked. “They are both lost to me, and I fear for their lives.”

  Cinereo said nothing for a moment, his head bowed. Then he said simply, “They live. But Orsin is weak. He has not the strength to fight the Incendi. He has succumbed to temptation and is lost to us.”

  Julen clenched his jaw. “I will not believe that.”

  “Trying to change what cannot be changed is like trying to swim against the current,” Cinereo said.

  “I will not lose faith in him,” Julen said hoarsely. “He may not be perfect, but he is my brother, and all the time he lives, he will never be lost to me.”

  Cinereo said nothing. Julen swallowed, unease rippling through him at having spoken back to the obviously powerful scholar. But he refused to give up on Orsin, even though he drove him to distraction with his irreverence and flippancy at times.

  “What of Horada?” Julen asked. “I traced her to the mountains but lost her there.”

  “She lies within the rock,” Cinereo stated. “Pyra, the King of the Incendi, has taken her.”

  Julen went cold. “Is that who I saw last time I used the pendant?”

  “Yes. His spirit lay beneath Anguis for many millennia, trapped there by the Arbor and kept in place by bonds too strong for the Incendi to break free. But the elements are once again out of balance and the bonds are weakening. Fire is rising, and one day it will sweep the world.”

  Julen saw images of whole towns bursting into flames, of sheets of fire cons
uming vast forests, turning every living thing it passed over into ash.

  “Then all is lost?” he murmured.

  Cinereo held up a hand. “It is never the end while we have love, faith and hope. And you have all three in abundance, my friend.”

  Julen swallowed. What use were those emotions when the world was doomed?

  “Nothing is certain,” Cinereo murmured as if he had read the young man’s mind. “The battle will be won by those who are strongest of heart, and the Arbor’s followers have hearts strong enough to lift mountains.” He let his hand drop in a sweeping motion, and the glittering dust felt across Julen like rain. “Believe.”

  Julen’s eyes closed at the brush of dust on his lashes, and immediately he saw in his mind’s eye his mother, tall and strong, her greying hair in its customary knot at the nape of her neck. The connection formed immediately, his energy reaching out to her, linking them together.

  She was north of the Wall, west of Kettlestan, the darkness of the forest close around her. He could smell the rich loam and the green trees, and he could feel the race of her heart and her grim determination to flee, so he knew she was being pursued. The Incendi? Or was someone else after her?

  He had never known his mother to portray fear, but for the first time in his life he could sense her anxiety. She had lost her daughter, lost Orsin, and now she thought herself all alone. He thought of them – his sister, his brother, his mother – all lost, all alone.

  Cinereo’s words echoed in his ears, ringing through him like a bell. It is never the end while we have love, faith and hope. And you have all three in abundance, my friend.