ARC: Sunstone

by Freya Robertson

  “My son,” she whispered.

  He smiled. “Hello, Mother.”

  Wonder filled her. “Am I dreaming?”

  “Do I feel like a dream?” He held out his hand.

  She grasped it, and his skin was warm and firm. It grounded her in reality, and at that moment she knew he must be real.

  He pulled her to her feet and placed an arm around her waist, supporting her as they walked forward and continued down the slope.

  “I do not know where I am going,” she said, glancing around the landscape. One feature looked the same as another – everything was rock grey or lava red. The sun must be rising, she thought, noticing that the sky had lightened, although she could not see the yellow orb she had dreamed of since being pregnant.

  “You will know when you get there,” he said.

  She glanced over her shoulder again at the Broken Room, not sure if she could see a figure standing in the darkness looking at her. “He will be angry with me,” she said.

  “He will understand.”

  “I should have told them where I was going.”

  “They will follow.” He spoke with such certainty that she ceased to worry and turned her attention to the landscape ahead of her.

  The parched brown ground spread out from the mountain in a large circle. It seemed to be ringed by a collection of low boulders. As she approached them, she saw they were vaguely rectangular in shape, although they were now broken and pitted.

  “It looks like they were once a wall,” she observed.

  “You may be right.”

  “Was it…?” Her voice faded out as another contraction seized her, and she doubled over in pain.

  He helped her lower herself to the ground, and she rode the pain out on hands and knees, blowing out each breath in a long exhalation that seemed to help. When she was done, she sat back, exhausted, relieved as the discomfort abated.

  He knelt by her side and stroked her hair back off her face, murmuring calming words. She looked up at him, touched by his gentleness and obvious love for her.

  “What is your name?” she whispered.

  He gave her a cheeky smile. “You have not given me one yet.”

  She smiled back tiredly. “Are you really here?”

  “Can you not touch me?”

  “How can you be here?”

  He stroked her forehead. “I do not know.”

  Tears formed in her eyes and trickled down her cheeks. She was so tired… “I am scared.”

  “You have to be strong.”

  “I am trying.”

  “I know.” He leaned forward and kissed her cheek.

  “I miss him,” she said, and again wasn’t sure herself if she was referring to Rauf, Geve or Comminor.

  “He will come.”

  “I am so tired…”

  “Then sleep.” He stroked her hair. “Sleep…”

  Comforted and secure in his arms, she closed her eyes, and slept.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  I

  Procella hadn’t been to Heartwood in over two years. When Chonrad had felt called to the Arbor just over a year before, she had stayed in Vichton as there had been a spate of coastal raids by what had been rumoured to be Wulfian pirates, and with the first rumblings of trouble after such a long peace, Chonrad had been worried the raids presaged a full-blown attack on the towns just south of the Wall.

  She had been to Heartwood several times since she gave up the role of Dux, though, and had seen the place change gradually. After the Darkwater Lords had been defeated and the Arbor itself destroyed the Temple that had been built around it, the Militis had been disbanded and the gates on the massive Porta gatehouse taken down on Chonrad’s instructions: the tree did not need to be defended in the way they had thought. Some of the Militis had remained at Heartwood, however, and had formed the Council with the intention of looking after the holy site, controlling the flow of pilgrims and providing shelter and amenities for those who wished to travel to see the tree.

  Of course it hadn’t turned out to be as simple as it had sounded at the time they conceived the idea. The members of the Council required a place to live, offices in which to work and a place to grow food and keep livestock to feed themselves and the pilgrims. As stories of the great victory over the Darkwater Lords and the amazing growth of the Arbor spread, so visitors to the site grew exponentially, and it didn’t take long for people to realise this growth in traffic to the region granted them increased opportunities.

  Merchants began to travel from near and far to sell wares to the visitors. It began with food and clothing, and grew to include the kind of goods people required when travelling, such as cooking utensils, simple medicines in case people took ill on the journey, and tools to mend broken carts. That led to small workshops opening up for blacksmiths and carpenters to offer their services to mend the broken carts, while others set up stalls selling simple souvenirs for visitors to take back to give to their loved ones as proof that they had visited the famous Arbor, such as carved wooden pendants, clothing embroidered with oak leaves and wooden ornaments imbued with oils to make the home smell sweeter. The travelling merchants discovered they made more money when selling outside Heartwood than when they travelled to other cities, and decided to settle there permanently. They had to live somewhere, so clusters of small dwellings began to sprout around the walls.

  And gradually, Heartwood grew into a small town.

  In the last rays of the sun, Procella followed Grimbeald and the others through the streets towards the main dwellings of the Council. She fell silent as she observed how much the place had grown over the last few years. It had a good feel: everyone seemed happy, there was no sign of violence or arguments in the streets, and the place looked well-kept and thriving. But as she rode past the First Acorn – the first tavern to be raised on the site – and heard raucous singing spill out from the open doors like the lantern light that lit up the street, her brow darkened. The Arbor had informed them that it didn’t want to be defended and it didn’t want to be worshipped. Nevertheless, it continued to be a holy site. It housed the Pectoris, granted to them by Animus itself, and it remained the source of Anguis’s growth and prosperity. To treat it so… lightly seemed wrong somehow.

  And yet she had been brought up a Militis, trained since the age of seven to venerate the tree. Twenty-two years had passed, and men and women much more dedicated and wise than herself had formed the Council that maintained the new town. Perhaps she was being overcautious and old-fashioned.

  They approached the old walls that circled the site of the Temple, and to Procella’s surprise and shock, she saw they were in the process of being dismantled. Most of the eastern part of the wall had already vanished, and the western section had large pieces missing.

  “What in Anguis’s name…?”

  Grimbeald heard her and followed her startled gaze. “Dolosus has instructed the removal as they are starting to build new houses and they need the stone. The wall is irrelevant anyway as it is not supposed to be needed for defence. They are going to build a wooden fence, I believe, mainly to control access to the tree.”

  She noted his used of the word ‘supposed’. Chonrad had written down in the Quercetum what the Arbor had passed onto him, and instructed that the defences not be rebuilt, but even though he was her husband and they had discussed it many times over the years, still she felt a tremor of fear at the thought of the Incendi threat and the knowledge that they could no longer defend the holy tree with a physical presence.

  Not that it did much good last time, she thought. The Darkwater Lords had merely risen above the walls, although it was true that the Temple had held them at bay long enough for Chonrad to activate the final node, deep in the labyrinth beneath the tree.

  Her head ached and she was too tired to think on it further, so she kept quiet as they followed the main road around to the west where the Council buildings now nestled against the base of the mountain.

  She dismounted and left
her horse in the hands of one of the young stablehands, and then followed Grimbeald and the others into the small complex of buildings that housed the Council members and those scholars she now knew to be members of the Nox Aves.

  Even as she walked into the courtyard, a man emerged from one of the buildings with outstretched arms, smiling broadly. “Procella!”

  “Dolosus.” She came forward and received his hug, smiling as he stepped back. He didn’t seem to have aged much since the last time they met, although his once-dark brown hair had lightened with grey, as had his trimmed beard. “You look well.”

  He tipped his head. “I am not sure I can return the compliment,” he teased.

  She looked at her arms and remembered she had covered them and her face with mud to camouflage herself in the darkness. “Ah, yes. I think maybe a bath is in order.”

  “I barely recognised her,” Grimbeald stated. “I thought she was a Komis at first.”

  Dolosus snorted at the mention of their brown-skinned neighbours. The Komis had sent an army to invade Heartwood at the same time as the Darkwater invasion, but the majority of their soldiers had been washed away in the floods. Politically the two countries had been at peace for over twenty years, but for those who had seen friends wounded in the original Komis attack – like Dolosus – forgiveness still did not come easy.

  “Is there any news of my children?” she asked hopefully.

  He shook his head. “We have scouts trying to find their location. As soon as we hear anything, we will let you know. Please, come in and we will let you have a very brief bath. But then you must join us – there are many others here who wish to greet you.”

  She pondered on his words as she soaked in the bath in one of the guest rooms. Her curiosity made her get out quicker than she might otherwise have done, as the hot water soaked into her aching bones, and it was tempting to stay there all night. But eventually she forced herself out, dried and dressed, and then left her room and walked along the corridor to find the source of the voices that echoed further along.

  It turned out they came from a long room with tables laid end-to-end: a dining hall. Most of the tables were empty, but one was filled with half a dozen people who all seemed to be talking at once.

  She stopped in the doorway, unnerved by the noise. She had never been comfortable with social gatherings, being much more at home on the battlefield than at court, and although she had forced herself to play the role of the wife of a Laxonian lord and entertain with Chonrad when the need arose, since his death she hadn’t socialised at all.

  But as she looked along the line of seats, she realised she knew all the people present. Joy radiated through her, and she walked into the room to a chorus of cheers.

  “I did not know you were all coming,” she exclaimed, walking across to the blonde-haired couple of Hanaireans who rose as she approached and kissed her on the cheek.

  “The Peacemaker asked us to come but suggested we did not announce it,” said Fionnghuala, still beautiful and elegant even though ten years or so had passed since Procella had travelled with Chonrad to Hanaire to visit them.

  “It does not pay to declare one’s actions at the moment,” her husband, Bearrach, said as he kissed Procella also.

  “Indeed.” Procella turned to greet Gravis, the Peacemaker, then moved past him to kiss her old friend from Heartwood – Nitesco, now a great scholar. She nodded to Grimbeald and then took a place at the table next to Gravis.

  “So why are we all here?” She helped herself to some of the cooked meat and bread on the platters before her, realising she was ravenous. When was the last time she had eaten a full meal?

  The others gradually settled, and Gravis pushed his plate away and sat back in his chair. He didn’t seem to have aged at all, Procella thought, hiding a smile at the way his hair continued to curl on his forehead the way it had when he was in his twenties all those years ago. Then, he and his twin brother Gavius had been mischievous and permanently cracking jokes, and Gravis had been so unsure of himself and his abilities. Now when he spoke he did so confidently, wearing his authority with obvious ease.

  “I think by now we have all heard of the rising problems,” he began. “And I think I have personally spoken to most of you about the fact that Nitesco has created the Nox Aves, a group of scholars whose focus has been on trying to understand and make sense of everything that happened in the days of Darkwater, and to try to fathom what is happening now.”

  Nitesco nodded. “You will all have heard of the rise of the element of fire. The Nox Aves do not believe that at this time the Incendi pose the same threat as Darkwater did twenty-two years ago. I do not believe we are under the threat of an imminent invasion. But equally, I believe the time is fast approaching when an event will occur that will be crucial for the survival of Heartwood, the Arbor, and indeed the whole of Anguis in the future. We have named this event the Apex.”

  Murmurs arose around the table, but Procella remained quiet, thinking of what Julen had told her about the strange fires that had been springing up around the country. “When will this event occur?” she asked.

  “We are not sure,” Nitesco replied. “Soon. Unfortunately we have no way of knowing exactly when.”

  “Julen told me that you think the Arbor’s roots conduct not only energy but also time,” she said.

  “That is true. In this way, it seems the Arbor has seen something in its future – possibly even its own death.”

  Everyone fell quiet, digesting that.

  “Well, we must stop it,” Procella said, appalled. “We have done so before. We can do so again!”

  Nitesco poured himself a cup of wine before continuing. “Actually, we believe that the event in the future that the Arbor has foreseen – whatever it is – is fixed in time. It cannot be changed. In effect, it has to happen the way it is supposed to happen. It is our role to ensure that it does occur, and that the Incendi do not change it.”

  “They wish to stop it happening?” Procella said, confused.

  “Maybe they want to change the way these events occur and thus change the future. We cannot know. But we do know that they have been eliminating people who they think could have played a role in the Apex. They have come after many of us, and some of us have barely escaped with our lives.”

  Procella thought of how close she had come to death and nodded. “Who has fallen?”

  Nitesco named two Laxonian lords and one Wulfian one; some dignitaries who had risen to prominence over the past few years; and then sadly he told her of the death of Niveus and Terreo, two Militis who had helped on the quests all those years ago, and of the passing of Silva, the Komis woman who had been in charge of the Arbor for many years.

  “That is terrible,” Procella said, her fists clenching as sorrow swept over her.

  Nitesco exchanged a glance with Gravis. Then he said, “There is one more…”

  She held her breath as coldness filtered through her. Not my children… “Who?”

  Nitesco ran a hand through his hair. “I am sorry, Dux, but we think it was the Incendi who killed Chonrad.”

  Procella stared at him as her heart seemed to shudder to a halt. “What makes you say that?”

  “We think that when the Arbor called for him, it might have tried to inform him what was going to happen during the Apex and ask him for help. The Incendi would no doubt have been aware of Chonrad’s part in defeating the Darkwater Lords and that he had a special connection with the tree. And I think they managed to use the Arbor’s roots to stop the tree communicating with him. We are not sure if they brought about his demise, or if he sacrificed himself to the Arbor.”

  She opened her mouth, horrified to think of what he might have gone through before he died, but at that moment someone burst through the door and announced, “Imperator!”

  Dolosus stood. “What is it?”

  Procella recognised the messenger – he had once been a Militis and like many others, he must have stayed behind after the Militis wer
e disbanded in order to work for Dolosus. He looked across at Procella and his face now broke into a smile, his words confirming their previous relationship. “The Dux’s children – Julen and Horada – they are here!”

  II

  Demitto poured himself another cup of ale and sat back in his chair, longing once again for the end of the day so he could remove his ceremonial armour and relax.

  The large hall was incredibly hot and stuffy, even though they had opened the doors, and about two dozen children stood behind the tables attempting to cool the guests with large fans of peacock feathers.

  He looked up at the dais where King Varin of Heartwood and his queen sat with a number of visiting dignitaries, kings and queens from other lands and important officials. Tahir sat at the end as if he had been added as an afterthought. Clearly Varin knew he had to accommodate the Selected – supposedly the most important figure in the coming Veriditas – at the high table, but equally as clearly the fact that he had placed the boy at the far end and ignored him for the entire evening emphasised what little importance the King placed on the ceremony.

  Tahir had accepted his fate with grace, however. To Demitto’s relief and admiration, even though he’d been separated from the only people he knew in the city, the young prince hadn’t made a fuss when shown his place, had eaten quietly with one hand buried in Atavus’s fur and answered any questions asked of him, and generally acted more like royalty than any of the other pompous fools sitting along the table from him.

  Demitto stifled a sigh, aware of his cynicism and knowing it was unfair. He had met many of the other kings on his travels and none of them were really that bad. Most of them would be respectful during the ceremony, and he thought that privately they all admired Tahir for his sacrifice.