Sunstone

by Freya Robertson

  That high-pitched cry bounced between the sunstones, gathering speed and strength, and then burst through from the pendant in Comminor’s hand until it brightened a hundredfold, making him hold up an arm to shield his eyes. The light engulfed the shoot at his feet, and with a tearing crack, the shoot exploded into life.

  Roots sunk down into the ground, deeper and deeper, spreading at an incredible speed through the land, breaking up the burnt ground and crumbling the scorched earth. And still they spread, racing beneath the surface across miles and miles of ash and blackened ground.

  Above the surface, the shoot began to grow. It surged upwards, and as it grew taller, so it began to sprout tiny, thin branches and small, waving leaves. The shoot broadened, thickened, grew strong and supple, developed a thick skin to protect its vulnerable heart. The shoot turned into a narrow stalk, the narrow stalk into a slender stem, the slender stem to a slim trunk. The trunk expanded, branches lengthening. Twigs grew from the branches, stiffened and sprouted thick, glossy leaves, which unfurled as if stretching their arms after a long sleep.

  Nele backed away, pulling the others with him, and Amabil and Betune covered Sarra and the newborn baby as the tree reared above their heads.

  The new branches penetrated the dome that had protected them, and beyond it Pyra surged forward eagerly as if certain this indicated his chance to attack, but the new tree had other ideas. Its growth quickened, and those watching gasped as it doubled in size, almost exultantly, as if overjoyed at finally being able to grow after so long in the darkness.

  Pyra swooped and breathed fire over it and the flames scoured the earth. Without the dome, he had clearly hoped to incinerate those who remained, but the tree arched its branches over them as they huddled beneath it, keeping them safe. And although its leaves curled and died and fell as ash to the floor, new ones immediately grew to replace them, growing quicker than before, and Pyra circled and hesitated in the air.

  The tree’s roots reached the coast on all four sides of Anguis, and Cinereo waited as its power built within its new, huge heart. Then it erupted forth in a burst through its roots.

  Across the land, the crumbling, broken earth cracked, and new shoots appeared. At first they were barely noticeable, only tiny green specks on the black and brown, but the shoots lengthened into blades of grass that rapidly spread in a carpet of green.

  Pyra bellowed and turned a broad swathe to ash, but they merely grew again, grass and flowers and trees, burgeoning and blooming in a riot of colour that dazzled those who watched the explosion of growth.

  Cinereo concentrated on the sunstone in Comminor’s hand and drew his consciousness along the rays of light that still connected them, away from the old disintegrating tree and into the flourishing new one.

  The old one crumbled and died, buried beneath a blanket of ash and molten rock, and lava coated the city and killed everyone it touched: the King and Queen, the shopkeepers and guards, rich and poor alike. Across the land, fire flourished. Forests burned, houses collapsed, animals and people died amidst the fire and flame. The world turned black, and the Incendi spread joyously into their new domain, ready to begin their reign.

  Pyra saw it happen through the mists of time, even as his own death loomed. He rose higher in the air with a mighty flap of his wings, hoping to escape the new tree’s rising power, but he was too late.

  The tree’s loving life-force expanded from it in a widening ring, clearing the air of the fog and ash and smoke, and letting the full, clean heat of the sun break through. As one, every blade of grass, every petal on every flower, turned towards it, and Pyra cried out as the green energy engulfed him. The firebird expired in a billow of flame, falling to the ground in a shower of ash that sank quickly into the earth.

  The new Arbor arched above the land. Its new heart beat deep within its trunk, safe and secure, the love of its followers contained in its beating form. It reached out its roots, spread its branches, turned its leaves up to the sun, and let out a shivering sigh. And as Cinereo broke into song, his voice splintered and became a thousand, thousand voices, echoing through time to the ears of those who would carry its memory through the dark years until it could rise again.

  The lava buried Demitto’s sunstone where he had dropped it on the ground as he fled the falling ash, and with its disappearance, Horada’s connection with the other timelines dissolved, and the Apex collapsed.

  She crumpled to the ground in a heap. Figures rushed to lift her, but grief and loss combined with physical exhaustion overwhelmed her, and she passed out.

  When she came to, she lay on a bed in a darkened room. It was empty, apart from one person sitting in a chair by the bed, his head in his hands.

  She turned onto her side, her whole body aching, and looked at him fondly. “Hello, Julen.”

  His head snapped up and relief flooded his face. “You are awake!”

  “So it seems.” She smiled tiredly. “How long have I been out?”

  “Two days.” He picked up her hand and pressed it against his cheek. “I thought I had lost you.”

  “It was not I who fell.” Grief rolled over her and tears trickled down her face.

  “Horada…” He moved close and pulled her into his arms.

  She cried for a while as she thought of her oldest brother, remembering the way his form had suddenly seemed to take all the fire into itself and had disintegrated into ash that blew away in the wind.

  “All those people,” Horada whispered, burying her face in Julen’s tunic. She could not shake the memory of the ash falling and smothering the bodies.

  “I know.” He stroked her back.

  “I cannot believe Orsin was responsible for it, Julen. How can we live with the fact that we let him down so badly?”

  He hesitated, and then he pulled back to look at her. She pushed herself up to a sitting position, and he took her hands. “The thing is,” he said, “the Nox Aves are certain that the Apex needed to happen. Nitesco described it to me as how sometimes a field of wheat stubble has to be burned and the field rested before the crop is grown again. In the future, for whatever reason, the Arbor knew that fire would rise and it had to die. Because of this, the Nox Aves believe that it engineered for the events to happen the way they did.”

  “You mean it made Orsin betray us?” Her voice filled with horror.

  He tipped his head from side to side. “Not made him betray, exactly, but I suppose it knew he had the strange connection with fire and it contrived for him to be tempted, because it suspected what would happen. Orsin fulfilled his purpose the same as we all did.”

  She clenched her fists. “The Arbor made him kill all those people. How could it have done that?”

  “I cannot pretend to understand its reasoning. I am not a scholar.”

  “We are just pawns in its game of life,” she snapped, dashing away more tears. “If the future is so set in stone then why do we think we have any say over what happens to ourselves at all?”

  “It is the price we pay for its love,” said a new voice from behind them. They turned to see their mother standing in the doorway. Horada stared – Procella wore a simple green gown, and her long blonde hair, peppered with grey, hung loose around her shoulders. She looked beautiful, but exhausted.

  She came forward and sat on the side of the bed, taking her daughter in her arms. She kissed her forehead. “How are you feeling?”

  “I ache, but my head is clear.” Horada fingered her mother’s gown. “Why are you dressed like this?”

  “I have been holding a vigil,” Procella said.

  “For Orsin?”

  “Yes.” Procella’s eyes brimmed with sorrow, but she looked calm. “I know I failed him, and I cannot make any excuses for that. When I saw him fall, I was filled with such guilt that I did not think I could survive the pain. I spent two days and nights by the Arbor, battling with my feelings, trying to understand. I hated the tree for taking your father from me, for what it has done to us all, and now for taking Orsi
n from us. For a while I did not want to live. It hurt too much.”

  Procella’s gaze had drifted away, her eyes shining. Horada bit her lip and squeezed her mother’s hand, and Procella’s eyes focussed. She smiled. “But last night, your father appeared to me.”

  Horada’s eyes widened. “Truly?”

  “Yes. He told me I must not blame the Arbor for the events that have unfolded. Our connection with the tree is a special, holy one, and it called on us because it knew we were able to help. I thought it treated our lives lightly, but Chonrad helped me understand how much value it places on our sacrifices, and how much it loves us.”

  She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I regret not being able to see Orsin again, and to tell him that I do love him and I am sorry for not treating him better. But Chonrad assured me he is at rest now, and he will always be a part of us, here.” She touched above her heart.

  “And what now?” murmured Horada. “The second phase of the Apex – Tahir told me he lived five hundred years in the future. Can we not warn them? Tell them to prepare an army, ready themselves for the Incendi invasion?”

  Julen shook his head. “They will record much of what happened in the Quercetum for future generations. But what we must take away from this is that we cannot – must not – try to change the future. Heartwood will fall, and the Arbor will die. Nitesco has said that we must not talk about what we have seen to anyone. The Nox Aves will record what they think future generations need to know. And we have to trust in them.”

  “It is strange to think of the people we saw in the future,” Horada murmured. “Those who were banished underground – how will they fare? And the woman with the baby. What will happen to her?”

  Procella smiled. “We may never know. But we must rest assured that we have fulfilled our role in the course of history, and that is all we can do.”

  She and Julen continued to talk about future events, but Horada lay back and closed her eyes, tired again. She thought of Cinereo – of the fact that he had been formed from all those who had gone before. Orsin would now have joined them, and one day she herself would become part of him too.

  All life is a cycle…

  She yawned and stretched, turned over and settled down to sleep. She would grieve for her brother in the proper manner, but deep down, she had seen enough of death. She rested a hand on her belly as she thought of the baby that had been born beneath the new Arbor’s leaves. Perhaps one day she would get married and have children. And maybe those children would be the ancestors of those who played a part in the Apex.

  Life leads to death, and from death springs life…

  It was time to start living.

  II

  Deep in the mountainside, Demitto sat with his back against the wall of the cavern and drew Catena into his arms. She sat with her back to his chest, and where he rested his hand on her ribcage under her breast, he could feel the steady, reassuring beat of her heart.

  It had been a chaotic day. As the cave entrance had collapsed and filled with rubble, the refugees had moved deeper into the cave system and waited for the clouds of dust to clear. Sunstone pendants crafted by the Nox Aves and hung around the caves provided them with a source of light.

  As the dust settled and they went back to investigate, it had soon become clear that they would not be able to clear the cave entrance. Hundreds of massive boulders that they would not be able to move filled the way out. Manifred, Demitto and the other Nox Aves members had gone through the supplies that had been stored away for the past few hundred years, but although they had tools and weapons and plenty of building supplies, they knew they would not be able to make anything strong enough to lift the heavy stone.

  They had come to that conclusion with a positive outlook, however. They had suspected this would happen, and presumed that the Arbor had blocked them in on purpose to keep them safe from the volcanic lava as well as to make sure the Incendi elementals did not discover their presence as they took over Anguis. Now all that remained was to speak to the people who had followed them down into the caves, and to allay their panic and explain that they had prepared for this eventuality.

  “My friends,” Manifred began, and waited for the talk to die down. He stood atop a flat shelf that protruded from the cavern’s edge, and widened his arms to encompass the hundreds of people sitting huddled in small groups. They were from all walks of life – some were rich dignitaries who had been visiting Heartwood for the Veriditas, others were town guards or council members, some were merchants and ordinary townspeople, even some of the poorer folk from the outer districts of the town. Old and young alike, they comforted each other during this hour of need.

  “My friends,” Manifred said again as everyone fell quiet. “I think by now most of you will be aware of the events of the day. The volcano above Heartwood has erupted, and we believe the lava has completely destroyed the city.”

  Shock registered on everyone’s faces. Demitto tightened his arms around Catena and touched his lips to her shoulder, thanking the Arbor that she was safe.

  But of course, the Arbor was dead. He screwed his eyes shut, unable to believe it had actually happened.

  Manifred continued, “The cave entrance has been blocked by boulders too heavy for us to clear. We have no way of knowing what is happening outside, so for now we have to come to terms with the fact that we will be here for some time.”

  He waited a moment for everyone to digest that news. Demitto opened his eyes and glanced around, wondering what they were all thinking. The Nox Aves had come to the decision that they would not discuss the Apex with everyone. They would keep to themselves the news that they were probably the only remaining people alive in the whole of Anguis. Hope would be the single most important thing that would keep everyone alive now. Hope that one day they would make it to the surface again.

  “However, it is not all bad news,” Manifred continued. “At it happens, the Nox Aves have been using these caves for storage for some time. We have supplies, tools, materials and food. We have been investigating the plants and animals that live within these caves, and we managed to bring many things down with us as we fled.” Secretly, the Nox Aves had been working to discover what kinds of animals – from dogs to goats to chickens – would survive in the caves, and whether plants that usually flourished on the surface could grow in the dark, moist depths.

  “We are well prepared for our new life,” Manifred said. “We will survive.”

  “What of the Arbor?” someone called out. “Is it… Is it dead?”

  Manifred’s face remained impassive. “We cannot know. We need to have hope that the Pectoris is safe – that the tree will regrow. My friends, I know many of you have lost people close to you. Tonight, we will sing songs and shed tears to mourn them.”

  Catena wiped a tear from her cheek, and Demitto knew she must be thinking about Tahir. He swallowed down the lump in his throat that appeared as he thought of the young lad and how bravely he had offered himself to the Arbor. How different would things have been if he, Demitto, had joined Catena and spirited Tahir away instead of delivering him to his fate? Surely he would still have died? Manifred had assured him that the world above their heads was now destroyed – that they were indeed all that remained. Tahir’s sacrifice to the Arbor had enabled the tree to keep them safe in the mountains, and the Apex had ensured that, in the future, a new Arbor would grow. He had to hope that was the case, and the boy hadn’t died in vain.

  “So tonight we will mourn,” Manifred said. “But tomorrow, we will rise from the ashes and our life will begin anew.” He glanced across at the two volumes of the Quercetum that Demitto knew lay in a wooden box. Manifred had rescued them, determined that their history would not be forgotten, that the Nox Aves could continue to exist to guide their people.

  Someone started singing, and voices gradually rose around them, even as tears flowed down everyone’s cheeks as they remembered loved ones they had lost in the great fire.

  Catena
sang with them, but Demitto stayed silent, too overwhelmed with emotion. He leaned his head back on the cave wall and let the tears come. Sorrow for Tahir, for Atavus who had lain at Tahir’s feet and refused to move, for the Arbor, for all those who had fallen around him and who he hadn’t been able to get to the Cavus in time.

  The wave of grief swept over him, and then it passed by, leaving in its wake a lightness of heart he had not expected. He thought of the visions he had been shown of the future – of the baby being born, the new tree taking roots and the green grass growing through the blackened earth.

  Catena took Demitto’s hands and rested them on her stomach, and he understood what she was trying to say. One day, their children’s children would rise again and banish fire back to the mountain. The Arbor lay dormant for now, silent as The Sleep, but one day The Stirring would come and their people would climb out of the caves and find their true place in the world. This was a temporary state of affairs, and no matter how long it took, they would reclaim what was rightfully theirs. The part they had all played in the Apex had ensured their future, even as it doomed them to darkness. But it would come to an end.

  One day.

  III

  Sarra walked down the grassy bank and sat on a flattened boulder by the water’s edge.

  It was nighttime. The sun had set, flooding the horizon with red, which had sent them all into a panic for a while, thinking that the firebird was returning, but the red had faded to purple, then to dark blue, and at the same time the Light Moon had risen in the sky to shine its pale light down across the new world.

  She looked up at the white sphere, remembering the way everyone in the Embers had been awestruck to see it appear in the Caelum. What would they think if they could see it now? And the stars – she tried to count the twinkling forms but there were too many of them, scattered across the blackness and glittering the way minerals had glittered in the rockface deep in the caverns.