Starborn

by Lucy Hounsom

  Water became hard to find. They would follow a stream for as long as they shared its course before filling each of their containers to the brim and parting ways with it. Their supplies grew scanty too. One morning, sixteen days west of Jarra, hard cheese and a couple of even harder loaves were all they had left.

  ‘How much further to Murta?’ Kyndra asked, eyeing her portion unenthusiastically.

  ‘This will have to see us through another day,’ Brégenne said, nibbling on a corner of cheese. Kyndra watched her make a face. ‘By all the kingdoms, Nediah, where did you get this? I hope you didn’t pay for it.’

  Nediah chuckled. ‘One of the Set’s crew gave it to me. She said it would keep for months.’

  ‘This crew member wasn’t Yara, by any chance?’ Kyndra asked. When Nediah nodded, she groaned. ‘And you believed her.’

  Brégenne tore off a chunk of bread with her teeth and swallowed it grimly. ‘Let’s move on. I wouldn’t mind being hungry if it meant I’d never have to eat that cheese again.’

  Once they’d packed the food away and given the horses their dwindling ration of oats, Kyndra mounted Myst and Nediah helped Brégenne onto Uncle’s back. When the small woman was settled and Nediah had mounted too, she wound her arms around his waist. Kyndra watched a blush redden Nediah’s cheeks, as it had every morning since they’d left Jarra, and she smiled to herself. Then Uncle began picking his way through the rubble-strewn path and Myst followed obediently in his wake.

  The long days of riding and walking had allowed Kyndra plenty of time to think. She still had trouble believing that Wielders lived at Naris. Although she’d glimpsed the power that Brégenne and Nediah commanded, she couldn’t imagine an entire community gathered out here in secret. What did they do? Why had they hidden themselves from the world? In the stories she’d read, Wielders spent their time helping people.

  They helped you.

  She remembered the chant: a life for a life. The mob had wanted her dead in that moment and might have succeeded if it hadn’t been for Brégenne.

  It was past midday when Myst snorted and stopped, ears pricked. Uncle took her lead and paused beside her. ‘What is it?’ Nediah asked his horse. The afternoon was one of dusty silence. Heat shimmered across bare rock and the stunted trees stood perfectly still. Then Kyndra became aware of a whirring – distant at first but growing louder the longer she listened. Myst turned and Nediah whirled Uncle around. Brégenne’s hands contracted on his waist.

  A huge shape swelled out of the eastern haze and a shrill screeching reached them, as of metal scraping over metal. An airship. It was darkly impressive, silhouetted against the sky. Its shadow could have belonged to a flying castle or a beast kept aloft on bulbous wings.

  ‘Argat,’ Nediah said grimly, eyes narrowed against the glare. ‘It’s the Eastern Set.’

  ‘What?’ Kyndra frowned. ‘Why would he follow us out here?’

  Nediah cast a speculative look over his shoulder. ‘Brégenne?’

  The small woman coloured, but said nothing.

  Argat stood at the prow, Yara by his side. His bristling figure was now quite clear. At the sight of them, Argat’s lips pulled back in a snarl and he shouted something. The airship began to slow.

  ‘I don’t like this,’ Nediah murmured. ‘Brégenne, get down. Change horses.’

  ‘Nediah—’

  ‘Now,’ Nediah said firmly.

  Brégenne closed her mouth and, without further argument, slipped off Uncle’s back.

  ‘Kyndra, make for the ridge,’ Nediah said. ‘Go carefully, it’s steep. I’ll handle this.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Don’t argue,’ Nediah snapped and Kyndra swallowed her offer of help. Like Brégenne, she’d heard the warning in Nediah’s voice. And what could she do anyway? What did Argat want?

  The ship’s rear paddles slowed and stopped. The craft shuddered. Before it had even come to a halt, Argat, Yara and three crew members – armed with blades and bows – seized ropes that hung ready at the rails. Kyndra gave a shocked gasp as they launched themselves off the airship.

  The sun brightened Yara’s knife to a yellow gold. She held it between her teeth, lips pulled back from the hot metal. For the first time, alarm coursed through Kyndra. Once they were safely on the ground, Argat’s crew drew their weapons and broke into a run.

  ‘Where is it, girl?’ the captain howled as he sprinted towards them, a serrated blade in each fist. ‘He gave it to me! It was meant for me!’ The sweat of mania ran down his face and his eyes were wide with hatred.

  The bowman in the Set’s crew nocked an arrow. Panicking, Kyndra threw herself sideways in the saddle, reaching for Brégenne’s hand to pull her up, but the other woman tripped over a rock in her path. Missing Kyndra’s fingers by inches, she fell to one knee. The bowman loosed his arrow.

  Kyndra yelled and threw up both arms. There was a boom like silent thunder and the arrow burst into splinters. The ground in front of Kyndra shuddered and split. Chips of rock rolled into the gap and disappeared. A hundred yards from her, Argat’s men skidded to a stop, staring aghast at the crack spidering towards them.

  The pain was worse this time. Agony blotted out everything else. Kyndra lurched blindly for Brégenne’s hand and caught it by sheer luck. With the last of her strength, she pulled the woman up behind her.

  There was a voice roaring. Kyndra heard anger and shock and something much darker: fear. Blinking rapidly, she tried to focus. Nediah’s mouth was open. The terrible sound rose from his throat. Then, without warning, both he and Uncle burst into flame. There were new screams. Caught between the earthquake and Nediah’s hellish figure, Argat’s crew retreated in the only direction they could: towards the airship, leaving their captain alone.

  Kyndra stared, horrified. Clothed in white hot fire, even Nediah’s skin was aflame. Uncle burned too with an awful majesty, hooves leaving flaming imprints on the rock. She could feel the heat rolling off the pair and smell the stench of Solar fumes. It was as if they’d stepped out of a nightmare.

  Although fear showed in his face, Argat’s gaze was shrewd and he gripped his blades with rage-stiffened fingers.

  ‘Go!’ Nediah yelled then and sent a tongue of flame to whip at Myst’s flank. The horse leapt away. Kyndra sagged against Myst’s neck and felt Brégenne reach around her to steady the reins. Her eyesight blurred and it was fortunate the horse knew the way. Your riders are as blind as each other, Kyndra thought and she began to giggle wildly, choking on her laughter.

  ‘Kyndra,’ Brégenne said urgently. It was the first time she’d spoken. ‘Are you all right?’

  Still slumped over Myst’s neck, Kyndra realized her laughter had turned into shallow, pain-filled gasps. When they reached the ridge, she looked back and could just make out Nediah’s fire as a smoking stain on the horizon. Then the steep downward trail hid it from view.

  It could have been minutes or hours before the horse finally stopped and hands lifted her down. Nediah’s skin was as unmarked as Myst’s flank, the fire gone as if it had never been.

  Kyndra dropped down to sit on a tree stump. Pine needles still lay in their rotting, winter piles and the scent of resin was sharp in her nose. She willed herself not to be sick. ‘The arrow,’ she mumbled.

  ‘Hold still a moment.’ A softer fire enveloped Nediah’s hand, this time like liquid silk. When he placed it on Kyndra’s brow, she felt warm and cool all at once. The painful fog in her head gave a last angry pulse and then subsided.

  Nediah removed his hand and Kyndra saw him clearly. Words seemed to tremble in him, on the verge of speech, words that she had a sudden fear of hearing. But all Nediah said was: ‘You saved her.’

  Kyndra shook her head. In the absence of pain, she felt her confusion more keenly. ‘I didn’t do anything.’

  ‘You stopped the arrow.’

  ‘How could—’

  ‘It’s time to leave.’ Brégenne stood just behind them, holding on to Myst’s bridle. ‘We can’t
be caught using power here, not this close to Naris. We’re in enough trouble as it is.’ When she paused and added quietly, ‘Thank you, Kyndra,’ Kyndra thought she detected a strange note of pleasure in the other woman’s voice, as if something about the last few hours pleased Brégenne in unfathomable ways. Kyndra frowned, but allowed Nediah to pull her to her feet.

  Once she was back in Myst’s saddle, the horse’s greater height awarded her an unobstructed view of the landscape. The line of the ridge fell away in a series of sharp trails and pines needled the slopes, spilling into the vast valley below. A black wall loomed in the distance: the mountains Argat so despised. They disappeared to north and south, an unbroken chain that barred the way west. She really had reached the end of the world.

  Kyndra squinted. A town lay in the shadow cast by the rocky leviathans and she thought she saw smoke curling up from its chimneys. Murta.

  Without another word, they started down the ridge. Although Myst placed her hooves carefully, small stones still rolled beneath her, causing several heart-stopping moments where Kyndra thought she’d lose her balance. It was slow going and when finally they reached the valley floor, the sun balanced on the rim of the mountains.

  Kyndra’s thoughts turned from the mystery of the arrow to Argat. Why had the captain come so far out of his way? She remembered the mania in Argat’s eyes, the snarl that curdled his lips. What was meant for him? And who had given it to him?

  ‘Let her run,’ Nediah called, startling Kyndra. ‘It’s the last chance she’ll get for a while.’ No sooner were the words out of his mouth than Uncle’s stride lengthened into a ground-eating gallop. Myst leapt out joyfully to join him, her weariness temporarily forgotten. Kyndra couldn’t help it; she smiled as the wind turned her cloak into a billowing wing. She could feel the horse’s muscles bunching and stretching, the raw power in her stride.

  Murta approached too swiftly and both horses slowed as they passed the town’s unfortified boundary. Low buildings opened out on either side of Kyndra like the petals of a black flower. She turned her head to left and right, trying to take it all in.

  Both the houses and shops were built of dark, veined stone. Murta’s precise angles and odd, slated roofs discomfited Kyndra. The buildings she was used to sprawled around streets and squares, their mossy roofs soft with thatch. There was no sprawling here. Smooth roads neatly dissected the town, cutting it into squares.

  Kyndra’s skin began to prickle. Few people walked Murta’s streets and all were dressed in black to match the stone. One woman fell back before their horses, wide eyes fixed on Brégenne and Nediah. She mouthed something unintelligible and stood with head bent until they’d passed.

  The prickle on Kyndra’s skin changed as they neared the far side of town. It thrummed through her, as if another heart beat in her chest. She rubbed her left side, uncomfortably aware of Nediah watching. The strange low houses grew further and further apart. Those on the outskirts had gardens and some were tiny farms. Chickens clucked, scratching in their tidy yards and white goats bleated. They were smaller than the black kind reared in the Valleys. Reena and Jarand had had six goats to provide for the inn and it had been Kyndra’s job to feed them ever since she could remember. She watched the small goats frisking in their pens and felt a pang of homesickness.

  When Kyndra raised her eyes to the mountains again, she saw a circular chasm which she could have sworn had been solid ground a moment before. A conical peak soared from its depths, black like its sisters, but folded and scarred. Its sides plunged into the chasm and she could see a series of shelves that spiralled down its length. Sheets of stone that shone like glass plated the summit.

  Now that she stood in its shadow, Kyndra wondered how she could have missed it. She squinted at the crags that clawed earnestly at the sky and – just for a moment – saw battlements: a tapestry of towers and minarets, white-gold sills and windows that shone with a brilliant radiance. She couldn’t take her eyes away; there were faces looking out at her, pale faces, carved as if from ice –

  She blinked. The mountain stood dark and silent in the evening.

  Nediah gazed at the peak with something close to trepidation. And Brégenne’s face wore a tangle of feelings, until she stifled them. None of the people working on the farms spared a glance for the mountain. One man turned his gaze that way, but his eyes were unfocused, as if they looked at a distant landscape.

  Kyndra heard the patter of disturbed stones and glanced back. One of the white goats had escaped its pen and was following them. Small hooves clopped over the bare rock that had superseded the cobbles of the town. The goat picked up its feet and overtook the walking horses, trotting placidly towards the chasm.

  Kyndra whistled. The goat ignored her, as sure footed as its black-haired cousins. It effortlessly dodged boulders, heading for the cliff. She whistled again.

  With a bleat of surprise, the animal stumbled and fell over the edge.

  ‘No!’ Kyndra cried. She stared disbelievingly at the place where the goat had disappeared. Goats never hurled themselves over cliffs. They were bred to dwell on the high slopes. Kyndra swallowed against the queasiness in her stomach. The little white animal simply hadn’t seen the chasm. What had it seen instead?

  Nediah reined in his horse. Both he and Brégenne turned their faces towards her. ‘Why?’ she asked them, hands slack on Myst’s reins.

  ‘Although the fortress of Naris casts its shadow over Murta,’ Brégenne said, ‘no ordinary human or animal can see it.’ Her lips wore that strange spark of triumph Kyndra had seen earlier.

  ‘In fact,’ Nediah said, his eyes alight, ‘the only people who can see Naris are Wielders.’

  Kyndra looked back at them, feeling the mountain’s heart pound in her chest. ‘I can see it,’ she said slowly.

  PART TWO

  10

  ‘And you say you knew this from the start?’

  ‘Almost immediately,’ Brégenne replied. ‘Gifted children are often found at the centre of dramatic events. Sometimes they are the cause.’

  She stood in the Council’s second-largest chamber, conscious of the stares she could not see. There were two men and one woman, she concluded, after hearing three sets of voices. And Brégenne knew exactly who they belonged to.

  ‘But it’s not a child you have brought us,’ Lady Helira continued. ‘She is – what?’

  ‘Seventeen.’

  ‘Too old to fit in easily. And you tell me she is wilful.’

  ‘Stubborn … a little naïve perhaps. The Far Valleys are superstitious lands. If I didn’t know better, I’d say they brought the Breaking on themselves.’

  ‘The Breaking strikes by chance.’ It was Lord Gend who spoke now, his voice husky from pipe smoke. ‘Yet you felt it necessary to come to the girl’s aid.’

  Brégenne kept her voice level. ‘I did.’

  ‘You drew down Lunar power in front of an entire town.’

  ‘I did,’ she said again. ‘I had to intervene. Kyndra would have died that night at the hands of her own people. I couldn’t let that happen.’ She clenched her fists, holding them stiffly at her sides.

  ‘Of course you apply your own rule of justice.’

  Brégenne shivered at the honeyed voice and strove to keep her face impassive. Lord Loricus. She straightened her back. ‘I did what I believed to be right.’

  There was a sigh. ‘You always do, Brégenne,’ Helira said in a tone that betrayed her reproach.

  ‘When will you test Kyndra?’ Brégenne asked. ‘You do believe she merits it?’

  ‘Absolutely,’ Loricus answered, but she sensed an undercurrent beneath the smooth word. ‘Anyone who can see our city must be tested.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘But your actions remain a cause for concern. I am surprised at you, Brégenne. I would never have marked you down as reckless.’

  She could feel the rest of the Council’s agreement. Chair legs creaked. She stayed silent, sensing the emptiness above and behind her. The
chamber was long and narrow with an unusually high ceiling.

  ‘Should you be mistaken in the girl’s abilities,’ Helira chimed in her clear, wintry voice, ‘appropriate steps will be taken. Do you understand?’

  Her breathing shallow, Brégenne nodded. ‘But you will find, I’m sure—’

  ‘That you are right? I hope so, Brégenne, for your sake.’

  Chairs legs again, scraping over rock. The interview was over. ‘Wait!’ she called and the scraping paused. ‘What about the man in Market Primus? Nediah examined him and found—’

  ‘You should have concentrated your efforts on a swift return instead of wasting time in the capital,’ Helira said. ‘Not only are you weeks late, but you also failed to submit a comprehensive report.’ She paused. ‘I wonder, Brégenne, if you fully understand your situation. You and Nediah were dispatched to monitor the Breaking, to record its location, its intensity and the number of dead. I need not recount your list of responsibilities—’

  ‘Potentials are found so rarely,’ Brégenne interrupted. ‘I thought their safe retrieval was more important than—’

  ‘You thought wrong,’ Helira said sharply. ‘The Breaking is the one force in this world Naris cannot understand or control. That must change. Until it does, spilling our secrets to save one potential remains a most serious breach of conduct.’

  The words brought with them a silence that closed around Brégenne, suffocating her. She tried to speak, but found nothing more to say.

  ‘I urge you to give it some consideration,’ Helira told her. ‘In the meantime, you are dismissed.’

  Silently fuming, Brégenne walked down the passageway, one hand on the stone wall. The Council didn’t believe a case of such serious and unexplained injury in an ordinary person – however alarming – warranted their attention. She couldn’t say she was surprised. From the moment she’d entered the chamber, every question had been about her actions in Brenwym. And rightly so, she reminded herself. I knew what I was doing. I knew I was breaking the law. But Kyndra’s smoke-stained face was in her thoughts too, wild-eyed and disbelieving. If the girl had died that night and Brégenne could have stopped it, how would she have lived with herself?