ARC: Sunstone

by Freya Robertson

  He sank his hands into his hair. “I keep seeing images. Hearing voices in my ear. It is like the dreams, although I am awake. It is driving me mad.”

  “It is all right.” Amabil stroked his back.

  “It is not all right.” He lifted his head, and his features were ravished with pain. “This place – it used to belong to our enemies. The Incendi were fire elementals, and they were the cause of our downfall. They were what drove us underground, all those thousands of years ago!”

  They all stared at him. Sarra became aware that her jaw was sagging and snapped it shut. “What do you mean?” she whispered, shivering in the cool stale air.

  He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and sank his hands back into his hair. “I do not know. I see images… Burning buildings, people screaming… I just know that they caused our doom.”

  Betune looked around, her hand unconsciously straying to the pouch around her neck. “Where are they now? Are we to be attacked at any moment?”

  “No. They have abandoned this place,” Nele said. “It feels dead. Nothing lives here anymore.”

  “Maybe they died,” Amabil suggested. “Perhaps there was a disease, or a civil war.”

  “I do not know. But this place is doing something to us. I know it feels dead, but it is still affecting us. We should go.”

  Sarra looked around the room. “I am not sure which way.” Her previous certainty had deserted her. Suddenly every exit looked the same, and the instinctive tug she had felt to go in a particular direction had vanished.

  Geve glanced across at her, his gaze challenging. “Is nobody going to comment on the fact that Sarra’s baby is getting bigger?”

  She held her breath as they all looked at her. Instinctively her hand strayed to her bump. At first she had thought she was imagining it, but it had soon become clear to her that the baby was growing much faster than it should. They had only left the Embers at the most two days ago, and the baby had grown enough for two months.

  “I thought I had imagined it,” Betune murmured.

  “I did not want to say,” Amabil added, “but I had noticed.”

  Nausea rose in Sarra’s throat. No longer could she pretend it wasn’t happening. “I am scared.”

  Nele stood and came over to sit beside her. He took her hand. “We know the baby is special. He is a bard, and he has been leading you out of the darkness and into the light. It is certain that the Arbor is behind this. The Arbor cares for your child, Sarra, and it knows he is in danger. Perhaps it is trying to bring him to term so his safety is ensured. Whatever is happening, we can be certain it is for the best.”

  Sarra nodded, although she felt anything but certain at that moment. Inside her, the baby kicked as if aware that everyone was talking about him.

  And why was she so sure it was a “him”? She had no way of telling the sex of the child before birth. There were numerous old wives’ tales about holding crystals above the mother’s belly and seeing whether the crystal swung in a clockwise or anticlockwise direction, but nobody gave any credence to them, and Sarra had never tried it. And yet she was certain it was a boy.

  Tears came into her eyes as she thought of Rauf. What would he have thought if he had known he had a son? She hoped he would have been pleased. In truth, she had not known him for very long before he was killed – just long enough, in fact, for him to have fathered the child. He had been fun-loving and impetuous, a risk taker, which was no doubt what had got him killed. They had not had enough time together to know whether they were compatible or not. She had found him attractive, had not protested when he asked her back to his rooms in the palace. But was that because she loved him, or because she had been excited at the thought of being courted by a Select, a privileged man who could give her the life she would otherwise never hope to have?

  She looked across at Geve, who had loved her since childhood: a kind, loyal man she felt a deep affection for. He must have had other partners, but she had never seen him with a woman. He was hanging onto the hope that when they reached their destination, she would give herself to him as she had promised. But again, was that out of love, or because the thought of being alone with a child frightened her?

  She closed her eyes, her chest heaving. They had to get going. Comminor was coming for them, and the thought of what he would do to her when he caught up with her sent icy fear trickling down her spine. He would kill her, she knew. He could be such a cruel man. And yet his tender touch had awakened in her something she had not known before, not even with Rauf. He had been so gentle, so considerate of her. He had told her how she had haunted his thoughts, and how he could bring himself to think of nothing else but her. Would he truly be able to kill her?

  Did she love him?

  Her thoughts whirled, her emotions spiralling. The baby moved inside her, and she felt a tug somewhere near her navel, uncomfortable enough to make her gasp and open her eyes.

  For a moment she just stared, disorientated. The Veris had disappeared and she sat alone in the dimly lit and dusty room. Alone, except for the man who stood before her.

  He was tall and slender, about her own age, with long brown hair braided and drawn back with golden clasps, and shining brown eyes. He wore a strangely colourful tunic over plain brown breeches, woven from a material finer than she had ever seen before, with gold rings on his fingers and an intricate circlet on his hair studded with sparkling jewels. His face was handsome and intelligent, and his lips curved in a faint smile.

  He held a hand out to her. Without hesitation – which struck her as strange, even though it didn’t stop her – she took it and let him pull her up.

  “Walk with me,” he said.

  He pulled her hand into the crook of his arm, and they walked across the floor to a doorway on the other side.

  “Where are you taking me?” she asked.

  He just smiled at her, his look affectionate, teasing even. “Not far now.”

  She reached out her other hand to trail along the corridor walls, fingers tracing the faded paintings and gold leaf, admiring the strange figures and delicate brushwork. “Who made these? I have never seen anything like it before.”

  “The Incendi.”

  “Geve was telling us about them.”

  “Yes.”

  The patterns, lines and circles seemed to move before her eyes. “Do they tell a story?”

  “Sometimes. The small pictures and shapes in a line are their language.”

  Of course, now she could see the occasional repeated symbol. “What do they say?”

  “It tells of their history. Their myths and legends. It describes of their wish to be free.”

  “We all want to be free,” she said.

  “Yes, we do.”

  He turned into another corridor. The ground began to slope up, and her heart rate increased.

  “What is that sound?” she asked, looking around to try and find the source of the strange twittering.

  “Birds,” he said.

  Joy flooded her. “Real birds? Flying in the sky?”

  He laughed. “Yes. Would you like to see them?”

  “Yes, please.”

  She felt oddly light, as if she were floating. Her legs were hardly moving, and yet the corridor seemed to be growing lighter, the air fresher.

  “Will there be stars?” she asked him.

  “At night-time,” he replied. “A million million, in a sky so large it will take your breath away.”

  “Show me,” she said breathlessly, and he smiled.

  “Nearly there.”

  The light brightened. She had lived in the semi-darkness for so long it hurt her eyes. They watered, tears streaming down her cheeks, and he stopped for a moment and brushed them free. “Do not cry.”

  She wanted to tell him she wasn’t crying, but in truth the happiness welled in her so much that the tears became real. “I have waited so long for this,” she told him.

  “I know. We all have.” He put an arm around her, guiding her forward.
“Mind your step.”

  She stumbled and he steadied her. She put out her hands in case she fell, then stopped, shocked to see the ground not the usual grey colour but instead a vibrant green.

  “Grass?”

  “Yes.”

  She bent and felt it, brushing her fingers across its furry surface. More tears joined the first. “It tickles.”

  He laughed and brought her to her feet. “Come on. Someone wants to meet you.” He turned her, and she blinked, rubbed her eyes, and then stopped, shocked.

  The oak tree rustled in the early morning breeze. It reared above her head, much bigger than she had ever thought possible, all deep brown branches and rich green leaves. She reached up a hand to touch one of the leaves, mouth open as she traced its shape with its even lobes, and nestling in them a shiny brown acorn. The acorn reminded her of the man’s eyes, and she turned to look at him to find him smiling at her.

  “It is beautiful, is it not?” he asked her.

  “It is.” She rested a hand on the Arbor’s trunk. The rough bark scraped the skin on her palm, but as she waited, she felt what she had somehow known existed – its slow, steady heartbeat.

  “It is time to go,” said the man.

  She turned reluctantly to face him. He held out his hands, and she placed hers in them. She looked up into his eyes, not surprised to find in them the shining brown form of an acorn.

  “It will not be easy,” he said. “The future is not carved in stone. There are many trials to undergo yet. You must be strong. You must have hope.”

  A shiver went through her. “Will you stay with me?”

  “Always.” He squeezed her hands. “Close your eyes.”

  She did so. “I love you.”

  “I love you too, Mother.”

  “Stay safe, my son.”

  She felt his kiss on her cheek. And then the light faded.

  Sarra opened her eyes with a jerk. The others were clustered around her, faces concerned. Geve looked almost tearful, and he knelt before her, his hand cupping her cheek.

  “Are you all right?” His expression turned to relief as he saw her gaze focus. “I thought we had lost you. We could not wake you.”

  She took a deep breath. Her blood raced and her heart pounded. “He is here,” she said.

  “Who?”

  She looked past him, and he glanced over his shoulder. Slowly, he pushed himself to his feet.

  “Hello, Sarra,” Comminor said.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  I

  Julen felt a peculiar sense of isolation in the mountain caves.

  Part of it was due to the atmosphere: hot, humid and dark. The cloying warmth closed around him like a blanket, and he wanted to rip it apart with his hands to be able to breathe the fresh air once again. Part of it was being in a place where it had become clear to him that the Incendi had been existing all along, hidden deep within the mountains, in the bowels of the land. And part of it was not being able to contact Cinereo – in fact being completely isolated from all of his kind. He was alone, and the rescue of Horada rested entirely on his shoulders. Before he entered the caves, Cinereo had made it very clear that he had to rescue Horada if they were to save the Arbor in both this time and the future. He simply could not afford to fail.

  His forehead beaded with sweat; he stopped to retrieve his leather water bag from his backpack. Why hadn’t Gravis come with him? Julen had travelled a lot and was used to acting on his own, but he had never taken on a role with such importance before. Clearly the Peacemaker had been aware of the Incendi threat, and the Nox Aves were making preparations to save the Arbor. Why had they entrusted this essential task to him when he was as yet unproven?

  He sank to his haunches and leaned back against the rock. Once he closed his fist to open his water bag, the flame that was lighting his way disappeared, plunging him into darkness. He was used to working in the shadows, however, and the darkness did not bother him, even though he disliked the humidity.

  Of course, Gravis would not have thought twice about sending him on the journey. He and his twin, Gavius, had been Quest Leaders at the time of the Darkwater invasion, and they had undergone severe trials to activate the Nodes even though they were only a few years older than himself. Gavius had died shortly after completing his Quest. Gravis wouldn’t have even considered that Julen might not be ready to handle such a role.

  And yet the twins had been Militis, trained from the age of seven to handle a sword and to defend the Arbor. Julen may have been Chonrad and Procella’s son, but he had been raised in a very different world to the twins. He had only ever known peace in Anguis, and although Wulfian lords stirred from time to time and young men hungered to prove themselves in battle, the odd skirmish was nothing compared to the way the four countries of Anguis had come together to defeat the Darkwater Lords.

  He tied the top of his water bag and placed it in his backpack. Then he tipped his head back on the wall.

  He must not give in to fear and doubt. He thought of his parents and what they would say to him now, were they standing before him. Chonrad would have knelt and looked him in the eye, told him to be strong of heart, told him he was his son and that together they could save the world. His father had had an innate goodness and belief in the triumph of good over bad, of righteousness over evil, as if a beacon of light had shone from him to illuminate the darkest parts of men’s souls. Oh, he could be bad-tempered and grumpy as much as the next man, when he was tired or hungry or exasperated from the trials and tribulations of the day. But deep down he had a heart of gold, and even though he was gone, Julen felt his love enshroud him like a cloak every day of his life.

  And his mother? Julen smiled wryly in the semi-darkness. Procella would have given him a whack and told him to stop being such a baby. Emotions, she would have said, were for other people and had no place in battle. Sympathy for the enemy, guilt over one’s actions, sorrow for a slain friend, anger over a soldier’s death – none of these should be entertained in wartime. For although emotions could give a person a reason to fight, it also gave them a vulnerable point, made them weak.

  With his father’s staunch support and his mother’s sometimes harsh but astute guidance, he had grown into an able member of the Peacemaker’s team. He was kind but never gullible; fair but never weak; strong but never overbearing; ruthless but never cruel. He had killed those the Nox Aves considered a threat to the Arbor, and was relentless when given a task to complete. He had a wisdom way beyond his years and had thrown off the fears and daydreams of childhood a long time ago.

  So why was he doubting himself now?

  He pressed his palms against the rock floor, aware of the way his heart beat faster than usual, the race of blood around his veins. He was just nervous about being discovered. Worried about Horada, and fearful that the Incendi had already decided she was not worth keeping alive, that his journey into these caves was all for nothing.

  It couldn’t be due to the faint thrumming he could feel through his hands that vibrated all the way up to the base of his skull.

  Wishing he could contact Cinereo, he pushed himself to his feet, shouldered his bag, conjured up the flame and started walking again.

  He held the sunstone pendant in his left hand, and he rubbed his thumb across the wood. The thought that it came from the Arbor itself sent a warmth through him that had nothing to do with the humidity in the caves. It will guide and protect you, Gravis had said. Julen pondered on the words as he walked. Well it was definitely guiding him – his feet turned at corners without him having to think which way to go. He had yet to establish whether it would protect him. He had not yet had to fight any Incendi – although he had sensed their presence in the woods, he had managed to evade them and so far hadn’t come across any in the caves.

  In fact, where were they all? His feet slowed. He had expected to be challenged when he entered their kingdom, but apart from the rumbling beneath his feet, he had not heard or seen anything except dark, rough rock. It felt
as if he had been walking for hours, although he had no way of telling. At first the tunnels had been long and meandering, but now they were shorter and straighter, almost like corridors in a castle. In fact it was a bit like a castle dungeon, he thought, noting that cells opened off the passage he walked down. They were all empty, though.

  The pendant warmed in his hand as he approached the door to another cell. He edged to the wall and moved silently to the door, then peered through the grille, holding up his lantern.

  His heart seemed to stutter to a halt. In the middle of the cell, Horada lay on a stone block. She lay on her back, legs straight, arms crossed over her chest. Her eyes were closed.

  She looked dead.

  Julen inhaled and leaned back against the corridor wall, looking up and down to make sure he was alone. But there were no guards, no sounds and no lights further along the passageway. He waited for a few moments, took a deep breath, and then looked through the grille again. His gaze searched the four corners of the cell, but there was nobody inside it but his sister.

  He tried the handle of the door. It was not locked, so clearly they were not worried about her escaping.

  She’s not dead, he thought desperately. She can’t be dead. I would have sensed it.

  He went inside, pushed the door almost shut and moved quietly up to his sister.

  Even before he reached her, he could see he had been fooling himself. Not an ounce of life remained in the young girl. Her face was bleached white, her lips dry, her blonde hair limp, and when he rested a hand on her arm, her skin was cold.

  Finding it hard to breathe, he reached out to touch her face. She could not be dead. Cinereo would have seen it – the Arbor would have warned him.

  But maybe they did not know? Maybe the Arbor’s power did not extend into the mountains, where the Incendi had obviously staked their claim.

  What did it mean for Anguis? Could the Apex still take place? Was Anguis and the Arbor lost?

  He sank to his knees beside her. He didn’t care about all that. His sister was dead.