North Star Guide Me Home

by Jo Spurrier

  ‘Had it made especial in the palace workshops,’ the woman said.

  As she straightened, his eye fell on the tablet and the drawing … a pair of birds with wings outspread, swooping together across the smooth wax.

  Rasten stared at it. Those birds looked familiar. The lines of them, the way the feathers were drawn with light, delicate lines.

  He raised his gaze to her face again. ‘You made the screen.’

  ‘For the window?’ she said, and nodded.

  ‘Why?’ he demanded.

  She looked surprised. ‘Isidro asked me to —’

  ‘No. Why did you make it beautiful? It’s a cursed prison. Why put something like that in such a place?’

  She cocked her head to study him. ‘You don’t look like a prisoner to me.’

  He returned her gaze steadily. Shows what you know, he thought, but didn’t say.

  ‘Besides,’ she went on, ‘I don’t like making plain things. It’s boring.’ She looked down at her work again, incising a few more lines on the bird’s outstretched wings. ‘I saw the sketches you did for Rhia. I’m sure they’d make one of these for you. I have two. I could loan you the other in the meantime, if you like.’

  He just stared at her bowed head, not knowing what to say, what to think. Desperately, he cast around the strange scene of abandoned tools and projects. At the near end of the trestle table was a leather tool roll, worn and stained with use, holding a collection of chisels and gouges and a wooden mallet. Sitting beside them was a panel of wood with a carved design roughed out. ‘Are these yours?’

  She glanced around, and shook her head with a laugh. ‘Oh, no. No, that young fellow,’ she said, pointing at one set of tools, ‘took his little sister off for a drink of water after she bumped her head. And that one,’ she nodded towards another set on her other side, ‘went off to take a leak or something, I think.’

  Propping the crutch under his arm, Rasten ran a hand across the tools, their handles darkened by sweat and polished with use. He’d seen gouges and chisels like this before, he was sure of it. He picked one up and turned it around in his hands as a vague memory rose up from the depths: he’d held one like this, long ago, in too-small hands. He’d set the edge against smooth wood and felt the shock of the mallet.

  He felt eyes upon him, and looked up to find the woman studying him with her chin resting on her hands. ‘You should pull up a chair and stay awhile,’ the woman said. ‘Soak up some sun. I know I need it, after spending all that time locked in the depths of that cursed mountain.’

  ‘Nirveli,’ he said, ‘you’re Nirveli.’ He’d glimpsed her occasionally through Sierra’s or Isidro’s eyes in Demon’s Spire. He’d been curious about her, not quite believing such a thing was possible, but he’d given the matter little thought. Back then, there had been other concerns weighing more heavily on his mind.

  Nirveli cocked her head again. ‘And you’re Rasten, the one-time Blood-Mage. The one they call the Chainbreaker. It’s strange, isn’t it, to have everyone know who you are and what you’ve done, but you yourself don’t know them at all. I figure I’ll stop being a novelty eventually.’ She set her stylus down and folded her arms across her chest. ‘Well, don’t just stand there like a lump. Pull up a seat.’

  ‘I … I can’t,’ Rasten said. Chainbreaker. Had he heard that name before? He felt as though it should mean something, but he was too cold and hollow inside to imagine what. ‘There’s something I need to do. But …’ He struggled to find the words. He knew there was something he ought to say. ‘Thanks. For the offer.’

  Nirveli rolled her shoulders in a shrug. ‘Well, come by afterwards, if you’ve a mind to. I’ll be here as long as the sun is out. I don’t care for the noise and the crowds of the festival. I’ll have someone fetch us a couple of tankards of ale and some bread and meat, and we can sit here and draw without asking each other the same endless cursed questions about things long dead and buried. How does that sound?’

  ‘That … sounds good,’ Rasten said.

  She smiled at him, eyes twinkling in the sun, but then her gaze shifted to something behind him.

  Rasten took that as his cue. He was weary, but there wasn’t far to go now. He turned away, heading for the tower and the stairs leading to the top of the wall.

  After a few dozen paces he heard someone coming after him, closing in with an unhurried stride. Rasten did not look back. He gritted his teeth, but when he tried to lengthen his stride, his wounded leg threatened to buckle under the strain.

  ‘Rasten,’ a low voice called.

  He considered ignoring it, pretending he hadn’t heard, but he was truly weary in mind and body, exhausted and beaten. He slowed, and within a few paces came to a stop. Only then did he look around to find Isidro strolling towards him.

  The metal hand emerging from the cuff of his jacket was different to the one Rasten had seen him use in the lead-up to the Akharian attack. This one was rather more finely wrought, the metal polished to a rich shine.

  He stopped a half-dozen paces away. No one else was near, save the young lad with the pups. The young dogs tumbled and tussled in the long grass, worrying at each other with small, squeaky growls.

  Rasten turned back to Isidro, and found himself dropping his gaze, as he always had when Kell summoned his apprentice to stand before him. When he realised what he was doing, he made a conscious effort to lift his head, even though it made him want to shrink away like a whipped cur.

  ‘I’m surprised you bothered trying to save it,’ Rasten said, gesturing to his wounded leg. ‘Between the break and the infection, it would have been simpler to take it off and be done with it.’

  ‘I won’t see a man crippled if there’s another choice,’ Isidro said. ‘Rhia believed she could save it, and I trust her judgement. Besides, she tells me it’s healing cleanly now.’

  They both fell silent for a long moment, until Rasten bit his lip and looked away. ‘I thought I could leave it behind me,’ he said. ‘I thought, once Kell was dead … but I was wrong. You should have let me fall.’

  ‘You’re asking too much, too soon,’ Isidro said.

  Rasten shook his head. ‘No. I’m just asking too much. I’m broken, Isidro. I know that. Some things can’t be mended. Don’t try to tell me otherwise. I’ve put enough poor wretches out of their misery to know the truth.’

  ‘I’m not going to try to reason with you on this,’ Isidro said. ‘I’ve been where you are. I know this kind of despair isn’t amenable to reason. There was no reasoning with me in the Akharian camp when I tried to end it, and it wasn’t reason that kept me alive when Cam was taken. I don’t expect you to understand, and I don’t expect you to like it. But I can’t let you kill yourself. We need you too much.’

  ‘Need me? A mad dog, a Blood-Mage?’ Rasten spat.

  Isidro hooked his thumb into his belt and regarded him steadily. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘for what you had to do those weeks ago. I know it cost you a great deal.’

  Rasten looked away, scowling. ‘I don’t care about that,’ he muttered. ‘Sirri needed me. I owed it to her. I owe her everything.’

  ‘She doesn’t want you dead, Rasten. You know that. That’s why you can’t bear to let her see you. She’s been fighting for your life for years.’

  ‘Look,’ Rasten said, ‘I’d die for her if need be. But I … I’m not sure I can live for her. Isidro, after what I’ve done, how can I make up for that? Surely the best thing I can do is to just go, to put myself beyond causing more harm.’

  Isidro shook his head. ‘There are some men for whom that’d be true, but the fact that we’re even discussing this proves you’re above that fate. Rasten, you don’t bear the whole of the fault for what you’ve done. No more are you entirely blameless. As for something within you being broken … I don’t dispute that, but whether it can eventually heal, well, that remains to be seen. Answer me this, Rasten. Do you want to make restitution?’

  Rasten raised his face to the sky. Even with his
eyes closed, the sun blazed like fire. ‘How?’ he said, and despite his best efforts, he couldn’t keep the despair from his voice. ‘I would, if I could, but I don’t see how —’

  Isidro cut him off. ‘How many mages do we have with any real training or skill? Three. We have Delphine, Nirveli, and you. From these three seeds, we have to rebuild an entire school of mage-craft. It’s our only hope to keep the Akharians from coming back, or the Mesentreians, or whoever else sees our people and lands as ripe for the taking. Three people, each from a very different school of the craft. I can’t let you kill yourself, Rasten. We can’t afford to lose you.’

  Rasten said nothing. He couldn’t think of anything to say. The words wouldn’t have come, anyway; his throat was too tight to speak.

  ‘I know it won’t be easy,’ Isidro said, ‘but when has that ever stopped you? You lasted ten years with Kell. Are you really going to give up now that he’s finally gone and you have a chance to see what life is like outside of his dungeons? You’ve earned this chance at redemption, Rasten. You’ve paid for it in blood. You’ve convinced me you’ve got the guts to fight through the Fires Below to get to your goal, and if you need help, I’ll see that you get it. You have a home here now.’

  He couldn’t speak. He couldn’t look at this man he’d tortured and crippled, who was offering him a second chance at life. Offering him forgiveness.

  He couldn’t turn to the wall, either. The grey stone wouldn’t hold his gaze. Instead, his eyes were drawn to the puppies as they came charging between them, fighting over a scrap of hide. They circled around Isidro’s feet before one of the pups abandoned the toy and flopped down on its belly, panting in the cool grass.

  At last, Rasten found his voice. He couldn’t reply to what Isidro had just said — the words weighed too heavily on his soul. Instead, he focused on the black and white pups. ‘New hounds to guard the household, are they?’ he said.

  Isidro glanced down at the puppies. ‘Not exactly. They’re yours. It’ll do you good to have something to look after. A reason to get up each day. I know how it goes, Rasten. These two will take care of you as you take care of them. It’ll be a while until you can keep up with them, so I’ll make sure you have a page or two on hand to help until you’re sound. The kennel master or one of his lads will call in from time to time to see how you’re getting along.’

  Rasten looked down again, at the two soft and fuzzy creatures panting in the grass, pink tongues lolling between white teeth.

  He sat. It was an awkward movement between his splinted leg and the crutch, but once he was on the grass the two pups bounded towards him. They crowded close, snuffling in his hair and licking his ears as he bowed his head over them and ran his hand through their fur. He’d never felt anything so soft.

  They flopped down between his sprawled legs, piled together in a tangle of limbs. The warmth of their little bodies seemed to give him strength, and he looked up at Isidro again. ‘What if they come back? I want to leave that life behind, but every time I delve into the things the old wretch taught me, it pulls me right back into the dungeons. It feels like I’ll never escape.’

  Isidro frowned. ‘I wish I could promise you’d never be called to the Blood Path again, but I won’t swear a vow I can’t keep. I will give you my word that I’ll never put you in that position if I have another choice.’

  He paused, turning away to look over the summer grass. ‘But there may be a way to break free of it. After Kell brought me to the Blood Path, and after I called on you that night in the hills … I felt the same, like I’d never be free of the tainted power. The scars will always be there, but they’re starting to fade. These last six months, I’ve felt its grip growing weaker. I’ll never be rid of it completely, but it doesn’t rule me.’ He looked down at his hands, one of flesh and blood and one of polished steel. ‘It’s like this hand. For a long time, the pain was consuming, overwhelming … but now it’s just a memory, fading a little more each day. It’ll never be like it was, but you learn to live with it. You learn other ways, other paths. It doesn’t hold me back any more.

  ‘Rasten, you have to remember that right now, this is all you know. When a problem arises, you tackle it with the tools you have. As time goes on, you’ll learn more mage-craft from Delphine and Nirveli and you’ll have a different set of tools, ones that don’t rely on blood and pain. The scars of the Blood Path will always be there, but they’ll fade, and you’ll gain other strengths. I know you’re steeped in it far deeper than me, but take it from one who can see the surface — it’ll take time, but it won’t always be like this.’

  ‘I … I wish I could believe you,’ he said, looking up at Isidro again.

  ‘You’ll just have to trust me.’

  The sun was warm upon his back, and the air full of the scent of growing things. Rasten closed his eyes to breathe it in. Trust me, Isidro had said, and with a flash of wonderment, Rasten realised he did. He trusted all of them: Isidro, Cammarian, Sierra. He had allies, now, folk who would watch his back. Perhaps he couldn’t trust himself when Kell’s teachings still poisoned his mind and his soul, but they’d steer him true. And if he went off the path of healing for good, they’d put him down before he could do more harm. It was his best chance, Rasten thought — his only chance — to become the man he was meant to be.

  Rasten looked away, turning to glance at the wall. The sun was shifting, slowly, the shadows of the trees and walls inching across the grass. The tower and the rocks would still be there tomorrow. Perhaps, after the pups were fed and watered and had run themselves to exhaustion in the grass, he could try again. He lay back on the ground, the blades of grass tickling his neck, feeling the sun against his face as one of the pups laid its chin on his lax hand.

  I’ve come home, at last.

  ‘How did it go?’ Cam asked as Isidro strode across the grass to meet him. The women were there too, now — Delphine with Illiana watching the sun stream through the trees with bright and curious eyes. Mira was sitting with Cade on the grass and blowing raspberries on his bare belly while the lad giggled, and Sierra held Eshta by her two tiny hands as she stood unsteadily, grinning with delight at her accomplishment.

  ‘Well enough, I think,’ Isidro said, as he gave Delphine and his daughter both a kiss of greeting. ‘The pups seemed to take to him, at least.’

  ‘Animals always liked him,’ Sierra said.

  ‘They’re sweet things, those pups,’ Cam said. ‘I hope they give him some comfort.’ He straightened, then, and stretched. ‘Alright, shall we go?’ He stooped to pick up Cade as Mira stood, brushing off her clothes, and Sierra scooped Eshta up and settled the babe on her hip.

  ‘By the Bright Sun, it’s been so long since I’ve been to a festival. I think the last one was the year I turned twelve,’ Sierra said as she fell into step at Isidro’s side.

  ‘Mine was the year the old queen died,’ Isidro said. He glanced back at Delphine and slowed his stride until she and Ilya caught up.

  ‘I just hope there’s someone making chimney cakes. I haven’t had one in an age.’

  ‘Oh, there’s bound to be. And those fried syrup cakes, with raspberries and cream … and Delphi’s never had any of them. We’ll have to get some of everything, and make a feast of it. We never really had a chance to celebrate being together again, did we? I think we’re due.’

  ‘More than due,’ Delphine said. ‘And from what I hear there’s talk of a betrothal, too.’

  Isidro glanced at her. Her voice was light, but he knew Delphine could use a light tone to disguise how she truly felt. It hadn’t exactly been her choice to stay here, and she’d never expected to share her man with other women. But she met his gaze with a breezy smile, while Ilya cooed in her wrap. ‘I used to think it was impossible to truly love two men or women at once … but then it occurred to me, surely that’s like saying that a mother can only love one of her children.’

  Sierra looked across at her, her storm-blue eyes glittering in the sun. Her hair shone with
a deep gleam, so inky-dark that it glinted blue. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘That’s exactly what it’s like.’

  ‘I remember when I first saw you all together, down in the Spire. I wished I had a family like this; folk I could rely on, come hell or high water, and now I have it. Having everyone here, safe and well, and seeing the two of you …’ She gave Isidro a sidelong glance between lowered lashes. ‘I always thought I’d be jealous … but I’m not. It still surprises me, but I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy.’

  Sierra turned away, looking over the city. ‘When I left the Spire, I just hoped that what we won would be worth what I was giving up … I didn’t dare believe that it could be rebuilt.’

  ‘All scars fade,’ Isidro said, ‘and there’re few wounds that can’t be healed.’

  The cobbled streets shone, washed clean by the rain, and as they passed over the bridge and into the city, Isidro felt Sierra’s hand brush against his. He caught it in his own, and raised it to his lips for a kiss.

  Acknowledgements

  Thanks to Jade, Trent and Katie for sharing their expertise.

  Thanks to Simon, Mum and Jan for helping me find the time.

  Thanks to everyone who’s supported me through writing Children of the Black Sun: readers, reviewers, friends, family and everyone at HarperCollins.

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  About the Author

  Jo Spurrier was born in 1980 and has a Bachelor of Science, but turned to writing because people tend to get upset when scientists make things up.

  Her interests include knitting, spinning, cooking and research. She lives in Adelaide and spends a lot of time daydreaming about snow.

  Books by Jo Spurrier

  CHILDREN OF THE BLACK SUN TRILOGY

  Winter Be My Shield (Book One)

  Black Sun Light My Way (Book Two)