The Sun Sword

by Lexxie Couper

  Hot wire curled into a knot in Zroya’s gut and he stiffened. Close. His balls grew heavy, his fists clenched. He flicked a glance at the thing on the floor at his feet. Close.

  A hot hiss sliced the air and he jerked his stare back to his master, stepping back a step at the expression the prophet wore. Fury. And fear. “Master?”

  “She is not alone.” His master’s tongue flicked past his lips, his white eyes fixed on the space directly above Zroya’s head. The seams in his leathery face etched deeper, and he hissed again, the sound unlike any Zroya had heard him make. “She is with—” He stopped and spun about, robe swirling, the cloying stench of the rotting rabbits rolling from him in a thick wave as he walked up the temple steps.

  Zroya blinked, his master’s behavior surprising him. Did he follow? Did he wait?

  “Kill the female,” the prophet’s shout rose above the hiccupping sobs at his ankle. “And bring her heart. There is much to be learned before we find the False Fire.”

  Zroya watched his master hurry away, an uncomfortable tension twisting in his belly. Who or what would make his master scared?

  “Wh-what are…” the bleeding thing at his feet gurgled and he blinked, turning his stare from his master’s back to the female on the floor.

  “What am I going to do with you?” he finished for her with a grin. “Well, now the fun begins.”

  For some reason, the bleeding, broken thing began to scream.

  ***

  It wasn’t enough. Torin’s sweat stung his eyes like acid, his body ached with fatigue, every sinew, every muscle worked beyond their physical limit and still it wasn’t enough.

  He stood in the centre of the training room, head bowed, perspiration dripping from his chin, the tip of his nose, turning the mat at his feet a dark metallic stain of old blood.

  He didn’t know what to do next. For the first time in his life, he didn’t know what to do. Go to Kala? Beg her forgiveness? Leave her alone? Hand her a gutting blade and tell her to sink it into his stomach?

  He closed his eyes, the pain in his body was nothing compared to the torture in his soul. He didn’t know. He just didn’t—

  The soft hiss of the entryway door behind him made him freeze.

  Silence followed the mechanical sound, nothing audible indicating Kala had entered the training area. But he knew she had. Not just because the room’s still, artificial air shifted about him, not just because the almost imperceptible vibrations from her feather-light footfalls rippled up though his legs, but because he was more aware of her than he had any right being.

  He didn’t move. If she’d come to kill him…

  Silence stretched. Grew thicker. Suffocating.

  Look at her.

  He lifted his head and turned, the knot in his gut twisting tenfold, the icy energy in his muscles at breaking point.

  Kala stood but a mere stride behind him, her face composed, her eyes unreadable. In her hand, gripped loosely by slender fingers marred with calluses from countless training sessions, hung the long blade he’d given her in preparation for the Sun Sword, its cold silver length parallel with her right thigh, its pointed tip brushing the bone of her ankle.

  He studied her, every molecule in his body straining for her touch, her heat, every atom of his soul despising that craven response. After everything he’d done to her, everything… “Why are you here?” he asked, his voice flat. Unwelcoming.

  Kala didn’t move. Her expression didn’t change. But the knuckles of her right hand, the hand gripping her sword, grew white.

  Torin’s chest tightened, his body preparing for her attack.

  And what, Kerridon? Kill or be killed?

  He grit his teeth, staring at her.

  The One Who Burns will be your undoing. And your end.

  Was this the end of which the Old Seer spoke? He had trained her well. She was an instrument of death, a natural warrior in the deceptive guise of a young, vulnerable woman. With hate in her soul, powering her blows and strikes, he doubted the fight would last long. He would be dead before the sweat beaded on her forehead.

  Syunna, I welcome it.

  “Why are you here?” he repeated, a sense of calm acceptance flowing over him.

  “To train.”

  Her answer, spoken on a steady breath, filled his heart with elation. And dread.

  She was letting him live.

  By the gods, how was he to survive?

  The Sun Sword

  Chapter Three

  The sword swung in a wide arc. Its long blinding-gold blade carved the blackness of the night in two, leaving behind concentrated fire and infinite energy. It sang as it did so, a thrum so deep and elemental, so powerful and potent, Torin felt the veins in his body quiver.

  He dived away from its lethal trajectory, crashing to his shoulder and rolling across the cold, granite floor, hot pain engulfing his neck and torso as he snapped to his feet and spun about.

  She came at him again, hate in her green eyes, the gold circling her pupil aglow with the contemptuous emotion. The sword blurred in her confident grip, a deadly extension of her smooth, brown arm and, before he realized what she was doing, its blinding point sliced up his chest, cutting him open from nipple to shoulder.

  He flailed backward, scalding agony searing through him, his stare locked on her face, her beautiful face, the face he would kill for. The face he would die for.

  She threw herself forward into a cartwheel so quickly he didn’t see her move before her heel smashed into the bridge of his nose.

  No.

  He went down to his knees, blood oozing from the gaping wound in his chest, blood gushing from the shattered protrusion on his face. His own sword, the one he’d used since he was twelve, dropped from his hand, sliding across the floor. Out of his reach. Lost in the shadows. Useless.

  “I thank you, Torin Kerridon, last command warrior of the Sol Order.” Kala Rei looked down at him, her eyes cold and merciless. She leveled the point of the blade at the base of his throat. “For training me so well.”

  He lifted his chin high. “You are welcome, False Fire,” he replied. Seconds before the woman he loved plunged the Sun Sword into his—

  Torin jerked awake, eyes wide, heart pounding. By the gods, what was that?

  He studied the dim surroundings of his quarters, his hands curling into fists, his chest heaving. Syunna, a dream, just a dream.

  He swung his legs over the side of his bunk, planted his feet on the floor and stood, slamming his palm against the control panel beside his head as he did so.

  Instantly the small room flooded with harsh light, stinging his eyes and burning his retinas. He moved to the mirror above the tiny washbasin on the far wall, curling his fingers around the basin’s icy rim, his stare coming to rest on his tormented reflection.

  False Fire.

  His throat squeezed tight and he gripped the basin harder. No. He didn’t believe that. It was just a dream. His head was so fucked up, his self-contempt so absolute, his psyche was finding new and more heinous ways to mess with him.

  False Fire.

  He lifted his hand to the base of his throat and pressed his fingers to the soft flesh just above his collarbone.

  The place the Sun Sword had separated his head from his body.

  He gazed into the basin’s shallow depths, struggling to control his heart rate. Syunna, he was in trouble. More trouble than even the Old Seer had foreseen.

  A slight noise—barely audible—pierced Torin’s ears and he jerked up his head, his stare locking onto the sight of Kala reflected in the mirror behind his left shoulder.

  Her eyes met his in the glass. “I…heard you shout.”

  He gazed at her for a long second before returning his attention to the basin. “It was nothing.” He spun open the hydro release, watching a stream of cold water splash against the metal bowl. “Return to your quarters. We will be making port at Ati’aina in less than two hours. You will need to be well-rested.”

  Silence
followed his command and his skin prickled. The weight of Kala’s focus on his back was like a physical force. He ignored it, bending slightly at the waist, scooping his cupped hands into the icy water in the basin and bringing them up to his face.

  “Ati’aina?” There was a pause. “Is that where we collect the Sun Sword?”

  Torin squeezed his eyes shut. Syunna, how did she know the Sun Sword wasn’t in his possession? He pulled in a deep breath, cold water dripping from his nose and chin. “The Sun Sword is not on Ati’aina,” he answered, keeping his voice level. She didn’t need to know he didn’t know where the Immortal’s weapon was. If everything went to plan on the remote spaceport, if the damned Oracle agreed to co-operate, he would. Once he knew the sword’s location nothing else mattered except retrieving it.

  Nothing. Not his guilt, his self-contempt, his flagging control.

  His desire.

  “Will I be allowed to leave Helios Blade?”

  Her question cut him to the core. “You are not my prisoner, Kala Rei,” he growled, straightening from the basin to stare at her in the mirror. “If you wish to move about the spaceport, you may. All I ask is you do so with extreme care and wear a locator cuff on your wrist when you do. Ati’aina is not forgiving to those who relax their guard. It makes your Earth seem like the highest level of Heaven by comparison.”

  The angry look that flickered across her face made his stomach twist, though whether her anger came from his mention of Earth or the locator cuff he could not tell. The last thing he wanted was Kala roaming the spaceport. Ati’aina was dangerous, filled to the brim with criminals, smugglers, slave traders and spice runners. A young female, alone, seemingly unprotected… She would be a fantasy in the flesh. Waiting to be plucked and devoured.

  But you can’t confine her to your ship either. Not after—

  He cut the thought dead. They had not spoken of the events in Helios Blade’s shuttle bay. She’d come to him, they’d trained with the sword, she’d left and he’d returned to his quarters. Not a word had been uttered by either of them. That she still stayed with him, even in this strained, nerve-wrenching capacity, was enough. The worlds of man needed her to do so.

  And your dream, Kerridon? False Fire? What did that mean? The Old Seer never told you the One Who Burns would be a female. He never mentioned the all-consuming desire you would feel for her—a pretty gods-cursed important piece of information, don’t you think? What if he was wrong? What if—

  “I think I can take care of myself.”

  Kala’s soft statement jerked his attention back to the mirror. A small smile curled the corners of her lips and Torin blinked, his heart immediately leaping into rapid life at the sight.

  He gave her a level look, wanting to smile back, wanting to turn around and look at her, not just her reflection. Wanting to, but denying that want all the same. He lowered his gaze to the basin instead, dipping his hands into its chilly water. “I know you can. But Ati’aina has a very strict no-weapons policy. You will not be able to carry your sword on the spaceport, nor any other weapon you have trained with.” He splashed water on his face. “And do not be fooled by anyone. The most innocent of children can turn out to be the most savage of assassins.”

  And who are you speaking about now, Kerridon? The corridor urchins on Ati’aina? Or Kala Rei?

  He scooped more water into his hands. “I shall let you know when we are about to dock. Return to your quarters and get some more sleep.”

  Silence followed. Long silence that told him Kala had left. He closed his eyes, curled his fingers around the basin’s rim and slumped forward, the battle to keep his distance, to stop himself begging her forgiveness more exhausting than the longest session spent in the Sol training pits. Gods, he felt adrift. For the first time in his life he was questioning everything he held true. His faith, his purpose, his motivation.

  “I’d never had an orgasm before.”

  He snapped upright, Kala’s calm declaration jolting him to the core. Syunna, she was still there. Still behind him.

  He turned, his pulse smashing against his neck, and stared at her standing in the entryway of his quarters.

  “I remember little of my life on Earth,” she continued, her voice still calm, almost detached, her eyes unreadable. “I have no memory of my childhood years at all, just sensations, ghosts in my head. My earliest memory is of a man holding me to the ground, one hand crushing my neck, the other tearing at my clothes. I have no idea how old I was. Maybe ten.” She turned her head away. “That was my life. I had no one to care for me, no one to protect me, and so I protected myself.”

  She paused, and he saw her eyebrows pull into a slight frown. “That isn’t easy when you are a young girl. I lived with an old couple for a while, on an abandoned farm away from the dying cities. They were kind. She read to me, taught me how to read. But then the men came and…” Her frown deepened and she closed her eyes. “I got away after a few days and stayed hidden in the dead buildings, but the men would always find me. Eventually—if I was clumsy stealing into the camps looking for food or clothing to shield myself against the bitter cold, or if they just wanted the sport of hunting me down—they would find me.”

  She stood silent for a long moment, her face emotionless. Torin drove his nails into his palms, the violent need to tear apart those of whom Kala spoke scorching through his veins. He looked at her, something inside his chest breaking. Something deeper turning black. Dangerous. “I will return to Earth and kill them if you ask.”

  Kala returned her gaze to his face. She shook her head, the same small smile she’d worn earlier playing with her lips again. “No. They are living their own death. Every minute spent on my dying home planet is punishment enough.”

  Torin remained silent. His body felt like a taut cable on the verge of snapping. And yet, he couldn’t move.

  Why was she there? In his quarters? Was it for him?

  Don’t, Kerridon. That path is fraught with hollow pain.

  He swallowed.

  Kala’s eyes narrowed and she scraped her hands through the black tumble of her hair. “I’ve hated you for six months. For six months I’ve wanted nothing more than to see you dead.”

  A cold fist reached into Torin’s chest.

  “Six months of despising you for the physical pain you’ve put me through.” Her green gaze flicked to him, away and back again. “Six months of…of…” She stopped. Shook her head again. Closed her eyes and rubbed at her face with her hands. “Damn you, Torin Kerridon,” she muttered into her palms. Jerking her head up, she glared at him. “I’d never had an orgasm until yesterday. Until you touched me. And then you left me alone. Deserted me.”

  Torin’s heart stopped. His breath caught. He stared at her, his blood roaring in his ears, his heart hammering in his throat. Did she…? Was she…? He took a step forward.

  For the third time, Kala shook her head. “I will see you when we dock on Ati’aina, Torin.”

  She turned and left the entryway.

  Torin stared at the empty doorway, the skin behind his neck prickling, his nostrils flaring. He curled his fingers into fists with agonizing pressure. It was the only way. The only way to stop himself going after her.

  He’d never wanted to do anything as much as he wanted to claim Kala for his own. To scald away her hideous past. Fill her with the rapture of true pleasure. Show her what the pure pleasure of absolute trust and selfless need truly felt like.

  Giving her that would give him pleasure. Unlike any he dared dream.

  He turned back to the basin and the mirror above it, staring at his tortured reflection. He wanted to go to her. Syunna, he wanted to go to her.

  But he didn’t.

  Honour kept his feet still. Kept him in his quarters, blood thick with hope, groin thick with longing. Honour kept him from going to Kala.

  Cursed, torturous honour.

  Damn it.

  ***

  Ati’aina spaceport was unlike anything Kala had ever seen. Spra
wling common areas made of metal and filled with iridescent lights advertising various businesses, most of them, as far as she could tell, relating in some way to self-gratification. Strip clubs, sex dens, spice bars, all overflowing with patrons, all dimly lit and smelling of sweat, piss and God alone knows what else.

  Branching off said common areas, like sinuous limbs, were long passageways, some wide and brightly lit, some narrow and dark. Life forms of every kind moved along their lengths. Kala had never seen so many varied species in the same place. She tried not to stare, but this world was far removed from the insular nightmare of her existence on Earth. Humans freely strode beside aliens she’d never imagined, creatures that looked like they’d just stepped from her nightmares, her fantasies. Creatures of breathtaking beauty and hideous visage. Reptilian beings, cyborgs, beings part-human part-animal. Even creatures that defied description walked beside each other, conversed with each other.

  She swiveled her head, doing her best to see it all. She should be scared—she’d never seen anything like it. The only aliens she’d seen on Earth were far more humanoid than most of those moving around her now. She should be at least hyperventilating a little, made nervous by what she saw. But she wasn’t. A strange little thrill tickled in her belly and she couldn’t stop the grin stretching her lips. A spaceport. She was on a spaceport.

  And could you be anymore obvious? You may as well walk around with a sign saying “tourist”.

  The cynical rebuke made Kala snort and she grinned wider. She’d never stepped foot off Earth until Torin found her, let alone travelled beyond the derelict planet’s system. She was allowed to be excited.

  But not stupid. Remember what Torin said. This is not a safe haven. This is a dangerous place and you are completely unarmed. The way you’re carrying on, you’re asking for trouble.

  Kala let out a harsh sigh and removed the smile from her face. It was true. She was behaving like a child. She needed to grow up.