Thoughts of an Eaten Sun

by Kyle Tolle

  Brust called out, “Dalence, are you okay?”

  “I am,” she replied. “I am. Where are you?”

  Hantle listened to the cues they gave to locate one another in the dark but maintained his own silence. When the killworks drove the wolf away from Iomesel, he had been hopeful. More so when they saw blood trailing the beast. Never had he considered the sun at risk.

  Slowly, his vision adjusted and the sight of stars faded in. A faint silhouette indicated the wolf’s position. The canine clenched his eyelids shut and flicked his tongue as he acclimated to the scorching star. When his jaws opened, filaments of sunlight burst from between his fangs. The world was again illuminated and Hantle peered around Suu-manth until darkness resumed, for the creature closed his mouth with a look of satisfaction. The jolting between day and night disoriented Hantle. He looked up and found two new orbs among the multitude of stars the wolf had not yet had a chance to devour: the fiend’s eyes blazed a solid gold. Smoke poured out of his nostrils as his fur took on a radiance. He swallowed—brightness pulsing—and grew in size. Blue flames leaked from under his lips, roiled their way over the fur on his face, and trailed up and off his ears before subsiding. Soon, the glow of his body faded, but his eyes never lost their intensity. Hantle felt more than heard a low, long growl pervade the air and resonate over the planet.

  He turned his gaze from the wolf and looked for his companions. The burning eyes gave just enough light to see by, similar to a quarter moon. Dalence hugged her brother. Brust winced, adjusted the sling, and held her with one arm. Back in Suu-manth, steam continued gushing forth from the fractured ground and billowed hundreds of feet up.

  The demon had exceeded every expectation he had. They faced a new reality, one previously unforeseen, where the wolf forgot them. Would their reprieve last? Better yet, what impact would the lasting darkness have? This was not a future they had worked toward; rather one forced upon them. A glimpse of their fate raced through his mind and Hantle staggered to his knees, breathless. The wolf blinked, immersing the already-faint landscape in darkness for a moment.

  Dalence approached Hantle. “We can gather people at the Marketplace and decide what to do next.”

  “I can’t.”

  She extended a hand. “Here, I’ll help you up.”

  He found it inexplicable but he could not bring himself to move. Instead, he shook his head. “That was it.”

  Dalence raised an eyebrow. “That was what?”

  “The last chance to redeem myself. The last possibility of making amends to my family.” Hantle pointed to the weapons. “We placed our hope,” he spat, “in those. Look at them now. Pathetic and broken.” His fists hammered into his legs. “We woke from a pointless dream to a futile end.” He gave a resigned laugh and shook his head. “Fools, all of us.”

  “Yes, the killworks were a gamble, but would you have rather done nothing?”

  “No,” Hantle conceded.

  “Then remember that and come with us now. We will find a plan.”

  Hantle slumped and a knot formed in his throat. “Here or there, it doesn’t matter. There’s nothing to do. But go on if you will.”

  Dalence stood and furrowed her eyebrows in disapproval. “Find us when your moping ends.”

  Hantle stared through the ground as she and her brother disappeared from his periphery.

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  DALENCE AND BRUST moved from the site of the killworks to the edge of Suu-manth. Rubble from ruptured streets and maimed homes cluttered their way. As she picked a path over fallen timbers, Dalence thought to the weaponry slumped behind her. The fact they did not kill the wolf did not make their plan a failure. Failure would have been resigning themselves to an end and settling for inaction. She regretted nothing. Hantle’s reaction surprised her though, him kneeling there, staring blank-faced into the eyes of the beast. Was he resigned now? Dalence had adopted Hantle’s revenge after they met in Bansuth, but she would not follow his lead this time. She had a brother to think of.

  They were several blocks away from the Marketplace when Brust spoke up. “Let’s stop by home first.”

  “Okay,” she nodded. “We can see how it fared.”

  The two changed their route. A few street lamps that survived the quaking gave a faint light. Several collapsed bridges required them to wade through streams. Torches out on the lake indicated people rowing from one area to another. They passed wrecked and burning homes on either side as well as people in various states of shock or grief.

  When they approached the two boulders near their house, Dalence noticed that one had shifted. It had slumped from its standing position and leaned against the other. The pathway between the two stones was blocked, forcing them around it. Their home appeared out of the haze. Its roof had partially caved and the front wall leaned inward. It took both her and Brust to wrest the door out of its cockeyed frame. Inside, water from the earlier storm dripped through the ceiling. Her feet, in her sopping shoes, hardly registered the puddles she stepped through.

  At the fireplace, Brust lit two torches and handed one to Dalence.

  “Let’s grab warm clothing,” she said. “Then we can put together some food.”

  The wall to their bedrooms had cracked and Dalence slid through an opening. A beam stretched from the roof down to her crushed bed. In the outer wall, a hole gaped, through which she saw a neighbor picking through the ruins of her house. Dalence rested the torch against the bed frame and knelt before the trunk at the bed’s foot. Out of its interior, she pulled her warmest clothes and her father’s lorebook. Deferentially, she set the book on the bed and reached up to touch the crystal hanging about her neck. Her heart hurt. How could she hold on to the memory of someone without also holding on to the grief of losing them? The grief and the memories were intertwined.

  A shiver washed over her. Already, the air was noticeably cooler. She stripped off her wet garments, changed into dry ones, and laced up her heaviest boots. In the other room, something clattered to the ground and Brust cursed. She wrapped the lorebook and the remaining dry clothes in a bedsheet and carried her bundle to the living room. Brust rummaged through the pantry and Dalence saw a liquor bottle standing uncorked on the table.

  “I’ve got some bread and jerky set out,” he said. “Seeing what fruit we’ve got.” He jerked a thumb toward a stack of small wooden crates. “Any vegetables over there?”

  Soon, she had a head of lettuce, a few potatoes, and a bunch of carrots. Brust added an armful of apples, peaches, and lemons. Blood trickled to Brust’s elbow and Dalence dug around for a clean bandage. She unwrapped the wound and inspected it. The lighting made it difficult to tell whether the skin around the injury was infected or simply inflamed. As she bound it anew, she made a mental note to check again when they had built a proper fire.

  Dalence looked around the drafty house and then to her brother. She said, “I know things look bleak, Brust. We’re lucky to have each other though. We’ll find a place where we can keep out of the cold and figure something out.”

  “Lucky is an interesting way to put it,” he said. He reached for the bottle and took a swig. “But I’m glad we’ll do this together.”

  Dalence patted his shoulder and gathered the food into a pillowcase.

  The Marketplace loomed ahead of them, scathed like all else. Most of the structure had buckled and its form looked tenuous. A group near the entrance pulled wood out from under the roofing and placed it on a growing fire. Enticed by the heat, she took a seat and Brust joined her. They had followed a different way here to avoid crossing deeper rivers, but her feet had still gotten damp. She placed the boots closest to the fire.

  “Have you also lost your homes?” Brust said. He ran a hand over his auburn beard and mustache.

  One person nodded, a few others shrugged, and the rest ignored the question.

  Dalence spoke up next. “Can we count on any of you to help make a shelter? We’ll need that, warmth, and food.”

  Off
to their side, two men shouting caught Dalence’s attention. She watched them trade threats until one’s fist connected with the other’s jaw. They grappled and fell to the ground. The first to swing gained the advantage and repeatedly beat his opponent’s face until he knocked the man unconscious. Chest heaving, the victor toppled to the ground and spat a mouthful of blood.

  Somewhere else nearby musket shots carried through the air. A group of screams followed it and Dalence turned to see a family running from three in pursuit who carried pistols. The chase passed bystanders who shied away from the trouble.

  Dalence leaned over to Brust and said sotto voce, “Maybe we should head out of the city. Back to the weapons at least.”

  Brust’s lips pursed before he replied. “Might hole up in the Knuckles, even. That would be better than getting jumped by someone here.”

  Decided, they both stood, grabbed their clothes and food, and left the fire without comment.

  When they had put some distance between themselves and anyone else, Dalence spoke again. “A cave in the mountains is a good idea. That’d be shelter and warmth, away from those who are desperate and dangerous. Leaving us to focus on food.” Water squished between her toes. “And drying out.”

  Brust retrieved the liquor bottle from his bundle and took a pull. “But then what? Are our options starving to death or freezing to death?”

  “That’s not the concern right now,” she said. “We can’t control what’s happened, but we can control what we do now. We focus on staying safe. Save the worrying for later.”

  “Shall we check on Hantle once more?”

  “Of course.” After a moment’s consideration, she added, “Although don’t think his aimlessness is yours.”

  Brust shifted the bundle on his shoulder and looked to the wolf. “Without light, aren’t we all aimless?”

  Dalence’s brow furrowed as she followed his gaze. The demon-star sank toward the horizon and its dim light grew fainter yet.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  THE SPEECH LIOVA gave at his boys’ funeral replayed in his mind. He recalled her words as, “We must all remember the Mechanisms, which tell us how the world was created through the Cataclysm. The undoing of things past is not the end of all things.” She had spoken truly then and the sentiment had propelled Hantle forward. Yet he could not help feeling a new understanding as he looked to the ever-night above him. The Cataclysm created them and so it undid them. That this was not the end of all things changed not the fact it was their end. What solace could he take in that? None, perhaps, but it eased his anger.

  Hantle held the kneeling position he had taken when he dropped to the ground. His knees hurt, but he wanted to feel the pain. He pinched his eyes shut and focused on it. The ache in his arm and the grief in his chest were pains altogether different. What other distinctive sufferings would soon come? A shiver crept along his spine and he noticed goosebumps ascend his arms.

  In his mind, he was the size of a world and, instead of Romd, it was him that the wolf rushed toward. It was his body that splintered and scattered as the canine reared and pounced, time and time again. It was the powdery remains of his bones and the frozen air from his lungs that spilled outward in a cloud after the beast’s jaws pried his chest open. It was his blood that coated the wolf’s chest and further matted its fur as his essence scattered and shimmered until dawn came. But dawn no longer existed, except as a memory.

  Footsteps approached and Hantle’s dream faded. From his rear, Dalence and Brust came around each side, torches aloft. Dalence crouched before him while Brust stood. With one hand, Dalence set her bundle on the ground, reached in through a gap near the knot, and extracted an item she then proffered. “Care for a jacket?” she said.

  Hantle shifted and brought his buttocks to his heels. “No,” he replied. “You’ll need it.” His eyes flitted to hers for a second before returning to the ground; time enough to notice her look of disappointment.

  Her arm dropped to the ground and she let the jacket go. “The city doesn’t seem safe. We figure a cave in the mountains will be a good location for now. Easy to secure and heat. Far enough from the city to avoid thieves, but close enough to return when we need.”

  Torchlight cast shadows in the grass and Hantle focused on them. “I spent however many days chasing it. Had it in my crosshairs. Was moments away from firing cannons. Even landed shots from the killworks. Yet here I am, trying to account for what happened.” He mindlessly pulled up blades of grass with one hand. “Yet this moment has been undoubtedly coming. Where either the action was done and the wolf dead, the revenge behind me such that the accounting was for what’s next; or the action was tried and the wolf successful, the revenge behind me such that the accounting was for what’s left. The latter played out, and there are no further deeds or ploys to mask that reality.” He looked between Brust and Dalence, his expression flat.

  Brust popped the cork from his bottle and liquor sloshed as he brought it to his lips. He swallowed and grimaced. “Poor you,” he spat. “Things didn’t work out.” Hantle heard the slur in the words. “You’re not dead though, so stop acting like you are.”

  “Brust!” Dalence jerked and took the bottle from her brother.

  Brust shook his head; hair fell across his face. “No.” He pointed a hand at Hantle that trembled with rage. “He doesn’t get to go through the same shit as everyone else and come away with self-pity.”

  Dalence leaned toward Hantle and softened her voice. “You wonder what’s left? We’re left, Hantle. Did we come all this way to abandon each other now?”

  “You’ve your brother,” Hantle said, nodding. “I understand that. You both ought to go on. But I won’t run a step farther.” He moved from his knees to sit on the ground. “I’ve done that and am tired of it. So damn tired.”

  Brust rolled his eyes and muttered to himself as he moved some distance off.

  “What of the funeral you promised?”

  “Burying the dead is for the living.” Hantle swept an arm over the city, scantly illuminated by fires and torches. “Do you see a single person grieving for anyone but themselves?”

  Dalence shrugged. “So then what will you do?”

  “The wolf is unlikely to take me, which is something.” He looked to the creature near the tops of the jagged Knuckles. Glowing filaments streamed from its face, and its eyes were ablaze. “I’ll accept my fate and meet the frigid end as soon as it’ll have me. Then I can join my family in rest. They lie many miles away, but my blood will seep into the world just as theirs does. When Iomesel is buried in ice, when the core of the planet is the only heat to know, our blood will mingle deep underground and the world might know family and its love doesn’t die with our bodies.”

  His gaze again fell to Dalence and her look of repulsed surprise. Dalence began, “I . . .” but she did not complete the sentence.

  “We and that beast were in different leagues,” Hantle said. “The fated and the fator.”

  Dalence gathered her belongings and stood. When she stared at him for a long while, he looked away. Finally, she whispered, “Goodbye, Hantle,” joined Brust, and walked out of his view.

  A hint of doubt crept sideways into his mind. From his breast pocket, he plucked Lorenca’s ring and turned over the deformed band in his palm. Faint light from the stars or the wolf caught its edge and Hantle smiled; the relic reminded him of a life eons ago. He shook off the uncertainty. No. He would meet the end on his own terms.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  BRUST SNATCHED the liquor bottle from Dalence’s hand as she came to a stop. He tilted his head back to drain down the remaining liquor and missed the disapproving look she gave him. He coughed at the burn in his throat and said, “I’m not sure why you want to do this sober.”

  Dalence handed her torch to him, set her bundle down, and pulled on the jacket she had offered Hantle. “If we were both drinking like you,” she replied, “we’d pass out no farther than a few steps on.” She buttoned up the fro
nt of the jacket and shivered. “Are you not even cold?”

  “Nope.” Brust listed and steadied himself on a boulder with his torch-bearing arm. “It’s summertime, you know?”

  “Not sure how much longer you’ll say that.” She brought her arms across her chest, hunched up, and looked back toward Suu-manth. “I’m surprised he wouldn’t come with us.”

  “Good riddance.” Brust kicked at a stone on the ground but missed and stubbed the toe of his shoe instead.

  “Don’t say that.” She took the torch again. “Hantle is the only reason I made it back at all.” Her vision caught on a pale, ghostly blotch. If she had not already known it was there, she would have overlooked it: Hantle’s form on the ground, staring upward. Gunshots carried from Suu-manth to her ears. The dim figure winked out as the wolf’s eyes finally dropped behind the Knuckles. She shuddered.

  “Come on,” she said. “We’ve still got a hike ahead of us.”

  The light of her torch weaved between hills and disappeared somewhere beyond.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  This novel was made possible through the support, love, and care of many people.

  Karla gave me the incredible gift of time to work on this project, as well as deep understanding and loving motivation to see my goal through to the end.

  Zach Miller gave me countless hours of feedback, many motivational kicks to the ass, and much-needed direction when I felt aimless.

  My parents introduced me to books, encouraged my creativity and education, sent me to writing camps, and put up with my favorite pre-dinner saying, "Just one more minute."

  Caleb Jacob was extremely generous in taking on the project of cover design.

  Meredith Tennant provided lots of edits and feedback and was a pleasure to work with.