ARC: Sunstone

by Freya Robertson

  “I cannot leave you,” he said, near to tears. It had been such a long journey, both literally and metaphorically, from meeting Nele, to forming the Veris, to finding out Sarra was also having the dreams, to leaving the Embers. He could not bring himself to abandon her, but equally the thought of staying out in the burnt wilderness terrified him.

  Next to him, however, the women were already getting organised.

  “Take out all your blankets,” Amabil instructed, “and we’ll make a bed for her.”

  Betune lifted the strap of her bag over her head and extracted her blanket, gathered the blankets from the others as they unpacked, and with Paronel began to lay them out in a rectangle to soften the ground. Comminor and Nele formed clothing wrapped in a blanket into a makeshift pillow, and then they moved her onto the ‘bed’. Josse and Viel took all the food and began to discuss how much they should ration and how long it could last.

  Choked at the fact that in spite of their misgivings and their own fear, everyone had decided they were going to support Sarra, Geve sat cross-legged beside her and took her hand. “We are all here for you,” he said. “I will not leave you. I promise.”

  She bit her lip and her eyes glistened as she glanced around at them all. “I am so sorry. But I cannot explain. I have to…” Her words faded out as another contraction overtook her.

  Geve saw the women exchange glances and knew it meant things were speeding up. It wasn’t really surprising considering the speed with which her pregnancy had developed. Her hand crushed his, but he bore the discomfort and spoke soothing words as he encouraged her to ride it out. Betune moistened a cloth with a tiny amount of their precious water, and he used it to wipe her face and cool her brow.

  She sank back, breathing more regularly as the pain eased. A tear rolled down her face. “I do not think I can do this.”

  “Of course you can. We will all help you.”

  “You are right – he should not be born here.” She looked around at the blackened landscape. “This is a place of death.”

  “Not anymore,” he said firmly.

  “This was meant to be,” Comminor said. He stood a few feet away, looking out across the broken rocks and scorched earth. “We have been led here, and all we can do is take our places on the stage and watch the events unfold.”

  He turned back to face them, and Geve saw that the man’s eyes were lit with a strange excitement. “Can you not feel it?” he said. “Can you not see it?”

  Geve frowned, puzzled, but as he opened his mouth to ask what Comminor meant, a sudden glimmer of the air around them made him stop. “What was that?” he whispered.

  “It is beginning,” Comminor said.

  Sarra’s hand tightened on Geve’s again and she cried out. Amabil moved quickly to her side, and they held her as the next contraction began. Amabil raised Sarra’s dress, and the men politely averted their eyes as she inspected the mother-to-be.

  An exclamation from Amabil caused Geve to look back, however, and he saw the blanket between Sarra’s pale thighs soaked with liquid.

  “Her waters have broken,” Amabil clarified. “It will not be too long now.”

  They waited for her contraction to stop and then removed the sodden blanket. Nele took a fresh one and went to replace it.

  And then he stopped and stared at the ground.

  Comminor frowned. “What is it?” He looked, and his eyes widened too. Everyone crowded round, following their gaze.

  Geve’s jaw dropped.

  A tiny green shoot protruded from out of the blackened earth.

  For a long time, none of them said anything.

  Then Nele bent closer and touched the shoot with the tips of his fingers. “It is alive,” he said, his voice filled with wonder.

  Betune cried out, her hand moving to her breastbone as Geve had seen it do regularly on their journey. She searched for the bag that hung around her neck, but couldn’t find it. She moved another blanket and found the bag there, its strap broken. “It must have snapped when I removed my backpack.” She picked up the tiny bag – its neck had loosened. She tipped it up.

  It was empty.

  “The acorn,” Viel said breathlessly.

  Geve’s heart pounded. “But why…”

  “The birthing fluid,” Amabil cried out. “It soaked into the earth, right over the acorn.”

  Comminor instructed them to move Sarra a little to the side so she did not have to worry about damaging the new shoot. Geve continued to hold her hand, watching as the Chief Select and Nele bent to examine the shoot again.

  “Is it growing?” Josse asked.

  “I am not sure.”

  Geve’s head spun. Sarra’s hand tightened on his, and he turned to her, thinking she was having another contraction, but he found her gaze fixed on him, her eyes alight.

  “The Arbor,” she whispered. “It is a new Arbor!”

  His heart thundered. “I do not know… It could be…”

  Her eyes drifted past him, and then fear lit her face. “We must protect it,” she said fiercely. Her hand clenched as a new pain started. “Geve…”

  “Do not think about it,” he told her. “You must concentrate on the baby now – that is all that matters.”

  “No, you do not understand!” She clenched her teeth and tried to gesture past him. “Look!”

  He turned his head. And his heart seemed to shudder to a stop.

  Because in the distance, the horizon blazed with flame as the firebird swooped down towards them.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  I

  Orsin knelt before Pyra, the Incendi king.

  The firebird hovered in the air before him, dripping golden lava, the heat scorching his face.

  “Can you do it?” Pyra asked.

  Orsin swallowed. “Can you not send your elementals in to kill them all?”

  “We cannot yet leave the mountain. Small fires are all we have been able to conjure. But it is imperative that we do our best to create chaos during the Apex. You must do this for me.”

  Orsin shook. “Of course, my king.”

  “You must go back into the world of the earth elementals, and destroy what must be destroyed. You will not fail me again?” The firebird’s hot breath scorched Orsin’s skin.

  “No! No, of course not.”

  “Your reward will be great. Everything you desire!”

  Orsin thought of the joy of the past few days. He had existed in a haze of wine, rich food and women, everything he had ever desired brought to him with no effort on his part at all. He would never have to worry about anything ever again. “Yes, please. I would like that.”

  “You think you can do this? You can fight against your family? Your countrymen?”

  The firebird’s words engendered a surge of indignation and anger in Orsin. Along with providing pleasurable ways for Orsin to pass the time, the firebird had spent the past few days encouraging Orsin to remember how his family had made him suffer over the years. Memories had floated past his eyes like puppets in a show – times when Julen had mocked him, when his mother had sneered at him and called him a coward, when his sister had been exasperated at his refusal to talk seriously with her. None of them had thought he would amount to anything, and he owed them nothing. He wanted to see them suffer as he had suffered, to know the loneliness that dwelt deep inside him.

  “I can do it,” he said, meaning it.

  “Then open yourself to me.” The firebird breathed out.

  Like flaming snakes, fire licked up Orsin’s body, crawled across his torso, slid into his mouth and burned down inside him. It ran through his veins and blazed in his eyes, shot from his fingertips and wrapped scarlet fingers around his heart. The pain was excruciating, but equally he had never felt such pleasure, and his body twisted and shuddered, his mouth emitting screams and moans of desire in turn.

  How long it lasted, he could not tell. He wanted it to stop – but he also wanted it to go on forever.

  Eventually, however, the
pleasure/pain died away and left only darkness.

  Orsin opened his eyes. His head ached, and he felt as if he stared at the world through a piece of fogged up stained glass. Days of overindulging himself with wine and women had numbed his senses, and it took a while for everything to come into focus.

  Gradually, his confusion subsided. He sat up, more than a little shocked to find himself in the middle of a forest. Slowly, still slightly dizzy, he pushed himself to his feet and looked around. Behind him, he could just see the sheer side of the mountain through the trees.

  He scrubbed his eyes then dropped his hands, wondering how he had got to the forest. Had it all been a dream? Had he invented everything, from the dancing women to the wine and food to the presence of the mighty King of the Incendi?

  As he thought of the firebird, a sudden burst of heat rushed through him. He raised a hand and stared at it in shock. For a brief moment, fire danced from the tips of his fingers.

  He squealed and immediately the fire vanished.

  His heart pounding, he held his hands up before his face. Again, he thought of Pyra. And again heat rushed through him, and his hands leapt with flames.

  His lips curved in a slow smile. And now he knew what he had to do.

  Turning away from the mountain, he began to walk north.

  He walked all day, most of the night, and then most of the following day as well. But by the time the light started to fade, the buildings of the new town of Heartwood lay in the distance.

  The road into the town was lined with stalls and newly built houses that had not been there the last time he visited Heartwood several years before. Most of the traders had closed for the night, but a couple were still touting their wares. He bought a hot meat pie and a tankard of weak ale, and ate and drank as he covered the final distance to the centre of the town.

  The lights from the tavern beckoned him closer, but he reluctantly ignored them and headed for the stone buildings to one side of the wall, which he noted with surprise and not a little pleasure was being dismantled. Did they really think they did not need defences anymore? He could not believe they were being so foolish. It was his father’s fault – he had stuffed their heads full of nonsense about the Arbor being able to take care of itself. That hadn’t helped against the Darkwater Lords, had it? And even with all its Nodes operational, he couldn’t see how the Arbor could defend itself against an army of fire elementals when they were eventually able to leave the mountain.

  His anger growing at the arrogance of those who thought themselves strong enough to stand up to the Incendi king, he stormed up to the complex Julen had told him they were calling the Nest. To his amazement, there were no guards, no defensive doors, and no sentries looking out for possible intruders. He walked straight into the courtyard and looked around him, bewildered and laughing at their idiocy. What was to stop him using the power Pyra had given him and razing the whole place to the ground? The whole city? Exultancy flooded him, and as he thought of the King, heat roared through his veins. He would do this in the blink of an eye, without a moment of opposition – he would turn the place to ash and they would never be able to sneer at him again.

  He raised his hands, and lava poured from his fingertips and flames leapt from his fingers.

  And then something smashed into the back of his head with a crack louder than thunder. Pain shot through him, and he fell to the ground.

  When he came to, he was sitting in a chair, his hands bound tightly behind him, head bowed.

  “He is awake,” someone said, and he saw the feet of someone walk towards him. The man dropped to his haunches so he could look up into Orsin’s face.

  It was Julen.

  Orsin let saliva pool in his mouth and spat at his brother. Julen recoiled, then gave a humourless laugh as he wiped the spittle from his cheek.

  “I should have let Pyra kill you in the caves,” Orsin snarled.

  “And I should have drowned you at birth.” His mother’s voice sounded from beside him, bitter and hard.

  He turned his head to look at her, pain exploding at the base of his skull. “Was it you who whacked me?”

  “Unfortunately not.” Her eyes were icy. “I would have enjoyed that.”

  He looked around the room, realising as his vision cleared that it was filled with people. He recognised some of the faces – the Peacemaker, the Imperator and Nitesco the scholar. His sister stood to one side, her expression guarded.

  Dolosus came forward. “Why are you here?”

  Orsin just laughed.

  Dolosus struck him across the face, and Orsin shook his head, tasting blood.

  He tested his lip with his tongue gingerly as he eyed the Imperator. “I thought you had put violence behind you.”

  Dolosus’s eyes gleamed. “Oh, I never said that. I ask you again. What are you doing here? Does your coming herald an Incendi invasion?”

  “No,” Orsin said.

  The people in the room exchanged glances. “We cannot believe anything he says,” Dolosus announced in disgust. “This is pointless.”

  “I am not lying,” Orsin said. “I have no need to lie. The Incendi have no plans to invade Anguis now.”

  “But they will in the future,” Nitesco stated.

  Orsin shrugged.

  “You are here to try and stop the Apex,” Julen stated. “How did you plan to do that?”

  Orsin tested his lip again, but remained silent.

  “This is pointless,” Dolosus said again. “It is a needless distraction. We should move on.”

  Julen stayed where he was, though, his eyes blazing. “He is here for a reason – we need to find out what that reason is.”

  Horada came forward at that point and bent to look in his eyes. “Help us, Orsin,” she said softly. “Now you are here, join with us to defeat Pyra.”

  Indignation shot through him. “Why should I? What do you have to offer me that I should do as you say?”

  “What do we have to offer?” Procella looked aghast. “You are my son! You are Chonrad’s son!”

  “So?”

  Procella looked lost for words, and the room fell silent. Eventually, Horada whispered, “It is your duty.”

  “My duty?” He spat a mouthful of blood-stained spittle onto the floor. “You all treat me like an idiot, as if I had nothing to offer, as if I were something you scraped off your shoe.” He couldn’t help it – hurt rose within him at the scornful look on his mother’s face. “You have never thought me worthy of anything – even Father sent me away because he did not wish to be around me.”

  “He sent you away to keep you safe,” Horada said, but Orsin shook his head.

  “It was just an excuse.” He looked at his mother. “And you did not try to stop him. You despise me – you look at me as if I am lower than an insect crawling on the ground.”

  Procella’s expression hardened. “You cannot demand respect in this world. You have to earn it. And what have you done to earn my respect? Drunk and whored your way through life.”

  “You never loved me!” he yelled.

  “Because you took me away from what I loved most!” she yelled back. “Do you think I wanted to give up being Dux of Heartwood’s Exercitus for a life wiping arses and playing at being a wife? I am a soldier. But you took me away from all that!”

  “It was not my fault you finally opened your legs and let yourself be mounted like a mare!”

  A sharp crack sounded in the room as her fist met his jaw. She stood over him, grabbed his face in one hand and bent until her nose was only inches from his. “I have killed men for saying less than that to me,” she whispered, her fingers pinching his cheeks.

  Ice slid down inside him – at that moment he had no trouble believing she had led a whole army into battle.

  “It is not my fault,” he whispered back, and to his shame, a tear slid down his cheek.

  She looked deep into his eyes. Then, abruptly, she turned and walked out of the room.

  Orsin dropped his head. H
is chest heaved as he struggled to rein in his emotion. Around him, voices murmured and people gradually left the room. He heard Dolosus order a couple of men to stand guard before leaving.

  Eventually, only his brother remained.

  Julen sat on the table at the other side of the room and folded his arms. “I am sorry,” he said.

  Orsin glared at him. “Do not feel pity for me.”

  “She is a soldier, Orsin. She did not find it easy to adjust to a civilian’s life. She loved our father, but I think she always blamed him, too, for taking her away from Heartwood.”

  “The Militis was disbanded,” Orsin said hoarsely. “It was not Father’s fault either.”

  “I know. But she never saw it that way. She is not a scholar – she does not have the ability to reason and weigh the arguments around a subject. She works on instinct.”

  Frustration surged through Orsin. “You should not make excuses for her. She is my mother, and yet do you know that I can never remember her giving me a hug or a kiss? I can never remember her showing me affection.” Heat ran through his veins, but he kept a tight hold on it. “I swear she will regret it, Julen. I will make her pay for what she did to me.”

  Julen pushed himself off the table. “Be a man, Orsin. Take responsibility for your own life and stop blaming your failures on someone else.”

  Orsin’s gaze dropped to the pendant lying on Julen’s chest. In the middle, the sunstone glowed briefly in response to the fire in his veins, but his brother didn’t notice.

  “Go fuck yourself,” Orsin said.

  Julen said nothing. Then he turned and walked out of the room.

  II

  Tahir stood at the window of his room in the Nest and thought that really there should be a tremendous storm – there should be thunder and lightning and tremendous gales and sheets of rain to mark the fact that, today, he was going to die. People should be weeping and wailing, and everyone should be dressed in white to mark his passing. But instead, the sun shone brightly, and even through the small window, he could hear that outside the party had already begun.