Starborn

by Lucy Hounsom

  Kyndra sat up straighter on the bench as Rush continued to pace, his eyes ranging over everyone. ‘Cosmosethic energy affects all life,’ he said. ‘But only those destined to become Wielders are able to find an affinity with one of its two aspects. This is achieved through the test, as each of you knows from experience.’

  Kyndra felt a chill and turned her head slowly to the left. The little girl with the brown eyes matched her stare with an intensity that didn’t belong in an eight-year-old. Kyndra broke her gaze and faced the front, gooseflesh spreading up her arms. The test had given her scars she knew would never fade, and a sick horror seized her when she thought of the large-eyed child taking her place on the cliff. What marks did she bear from her own ordeal? What kind of people would have put her through that?

  ‘At a basic level, Solar and Lunar energy can be used to heal or harm.’ Rush turned his left palm up and his skin began to glow. A golden knife coalesced in his right fist. He gestured with it. ‘This is substantiation, meaning giving physical form to something. It is much harder to do than manipulation –’ the golden knife disappeared, the desk drawer shot open and a silver dagger flew into Rush’s fist – ‘like so.’

  With a swift, steady slash, he opened the skin of his palm. Surprised gasps filled the room. Rush observed his dripping hand dispassionately. He held it up so that everyone could see; his brow creased and the wound sealed. There was scattered applause.

  Master Rush pulled a cloth from his pocket, wiped his hand and the dagger and then tossed the bloody rag onto the desk. ‘Healing is harder than harming,’ he said and stuck the dagger in his belt. ‘One must possess a detailed knowledge of human anatomy. And the energy used requires careful handling. Too much and you could kill the patient. Too little and the wounds do not stay closed.’

  Although Kyndra was impressed, a part of her couldn’t help wondering why Rush kept a weapon in his desk drawer.

  The Wielder spread his hands. ‘But these things merely scratch the surface. Once you all have the ability to summon and hold energy, you’ll be encouraged to use your imagination. New ways to channel cosmosethic power are often discovered. If any of you are lucky enough to speak with Master Brégenne, who is blind, you might ask her how she uses the Lunar power to imitate sight.’

  It was strange to hear Brégenne’s night vision discussed so openly. Kyndra had thought it something she kept to herself. She glanced at the novices. The diligent had taken notes, their fingers splotched with ink from the speed of Rush’s lecture. Others fiddled with their brown robes or traced with a small finger the names burned into the table.

  ‘Solars, divide into pairs. We’ll work on some basic manipulation. Lunars, you’ll have a chance to practise tonight with Master Juna. For now I’d like you to define in your own words the difference between substantiation and manipulation. Yes, Cail, what is it?’

  The boy beside Kyndra had his hand in the air. ‘What about the third aspect?’ he asked, and, as one, the room sat up straight on their benches. ‘What about the Starborn?’

  ‘Starborn are not a topic for discussion,’ Rush barked at Cail. The boy closed his mouth and dropped his eyes.

  ‘But weren’t they Wielders too?’ a girl piped up.

  Rush scowled. ‘A Starborn is not a Wielder. The last Starborn aided the invaders during the war. He sneaked into the citadel and toppled it from the inside. Deservedly, he was then destroyed by the very enemy he’d helped.’ Rush stopped again. ‘But – though the cost was high – we drove that enemy back.’

  … The air is fire, ash and fire. Molten, the walls fall fast like tears and their beauty is their undoing. She’d laugh, but for the screams of those caught in the liquid glass. It clings to their skin, a sparkling, fatal embrace. The enemy is beyond count. Like a severed artery, their forces spill towards the fortress, red armour bloody in the dying rays of the sun. They are beautiful, unstoppable. They are death …

  ‘I saw them at Lycorash and at Kalast. And the crow-covered corpses of a thousand Kingswold Knights lay behind them in the dirt. Not with an army five times their size could you have driven them back.’

  It wasn’t until the lesson’s quiet became absolute silence that Kyndra realized she had spoken. She found herself back on her bench, fists clenched under the table. She uncurled them and her heart began to beat more quickly. The unknown cities left char on her tongue, as if merely speaking their names could conjure a taste of their fate. And her voice sounded deeper, assured, not remotely like her own.

  Between each blink, she could still see the doom that awaited Solinaris. She’d seen it before in Market Primus. She’d watched the red-plated army advance up the valley, their weapons of war powered by something other than cosmosethic energy. The Wielders had underestimated that power. She’d tried to warn Solinaris and now it was too late. She couldn’t save them, but there was still a chance to save—

  The pain was like a spear to the head, sudden and stabbing. Suppressing a gasp, Kyndra clenched her teeth and pulled her mind back to the classroom. Rush was looking at her. So was everyone else. Finally, the Wielder said, ‘I will speak to you afterwards,’ and his voice shattered the spellbound room. Whispers grew and lapped at Kyndra’s back like the oncoming tide. She stared straight ahead, dimly aware that Rush had resumed his lecture. There was no Solinaris and no war, and she hadn’t been there to witness the last and greatest march of the Sartyan Empire’s army.

  No, Kyndra thought, trying to rid her mind of the strange words. She didn’t want to know what the Sartyan Empire was, or why it had laid siege to the citadel five hundred years ago. None of this had anything to do with her. What would Rush ask? The golden-robed man returned to his desk. Their eyes met briefly and Kyndra looked away. How could she explain what had just happened when she didn’t understand it herself?

  The end of the lesson arrived and Master Rush crooked a finger, beckoning Kyndra up to his desk. Once the room had emptied, he said calmly, ‘Contradict me again in front of my class and I will submit a disciplinary note to the Council.’

  His mild tone raised hairs on the back of Kyndra’s neck. ‘You are not yet one of us,’ the Wielder continued, ‘and I tolerate your presence here because I have to. You should be setting an example for the younger children instead of interrupting my lesson with things you know nothing about.’

  Anger returned, but it wasn’t all hers. She felt a pressure in her head, as if it lay against solid stone and a force were pushing down on it, trying to force it through. How has the truth become so distorted? Is there no one alive who remembers? And then on top of those strange thoughts came one of her own: Remembers what?

  Rush opened a drawer and drew out a smooth sheet of paper. He scribbled down something she couldn’t see, folded the paper and sealed it with wax. ‘Give this to Master Alandred,’ he said shortly.

  Kyndra reached for the scroll. As she took it, her fingers brushed against the Wielder’s palm.

  Rush tore his hand away, as if her skin were heated metal. He cradled it to his chest and his eyes were wide and unfocused – but only for a moment. The Wielder blinked and lowered his hand, looking at it peculiarly, as if he’d forgotten why it was curled into a fist. Then he said, ‘If you find yourself in this room again, you will keep your tales to yourself. Do you understand me?’

  Uncertain what had happened, Kyndra nodded and beat a hasty retreat to the door. When she looked back, Rush was sitting at his desk, staring fixedly at the backs of his hands.

  There was no sign of Alandred and Kyndra wondered whether she ought to wait for him. She leaned against the wall outside and let go of a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. The air was cool in the passage and had a whispering chill peculiar to caves. It reminded her of the ones back home, about a morning’s walk east of town. A series of grottoes riddled the feet of the Feenfold Mountains, filled with stalagmites and their hanging sisters. The hollow darkness fascinated her, but Jhren and Colta weren’t so comfortable in the caves, where only the slow dri
pping of water broke the silence.

  Kyndra began to walk back the way Alandred had come, keeping one hand on the wall. She relished the rough stone beneath her fingers. It held secrets of a time before people, a time when the elements themselves were at war, and the war was one of reasonless nature. Something about that appealed to her.

  She barely registered the feet standing in her path before she tripped over them. Kyndra faltered and raised her head. A young man stood there. She recognized his haughty look from yesterday, when he’d tried to stop her entering the council chamber. He watched her with blue eyes the same colour as Jhren’s and his curling hair fell to the side as he tilted his head.

  ‘Who are you?’ Kyndra asked guardedly.

  ‘My name is Janus.’ The young man crossed his arms over his chest. Only then did Kyndra register the colour of his robes, golden like his belt. Yesterday they’d been brown.

  ‘Yes,’ he said, anticipating her question. ‘I was raised to the gold this morning. That means I’m a master now.’

  ‘Good for you.’ Kyndra tried to step around him, but Janus blocked her. ‘Do you want something?’ she asked.

  He smiled. ‘Only to make your acquaintance.’

  Still plagued by the headache, Kyndra stared at him irritably. She wasn’t in the mood for this. If only she could find her way back to her room, she could lie down awhile.

  As if she’d spoken her thoughts aloud, Janus said, ‘I could show you around the citadel, if you like. And you could tell me all about your journey here with Master Brégenne. She and I are going to be attuned later this evening.’

  Kyndra frowned. ‘But I thought Nediah—’

  ‘The Council saw fit to separate them,’ Janus said with a careless shrug that only increased her irritation. ‘It’s a turn of good luck for me, though. I’m sure I can learn a lot from Master Brégenne.’

  Kyndra didn’t care much for his tone. ‘If you’ll excuse me, then,’ she said sharply, ‘I ought to go and talk to Nediah.’ She edged around him and took a few steps down the corridor. Suddenly Janus was in front of her again. She pulled up short with a gasp.

  ‘Kyndra,’ he said silkily, ‘do you want to pass the test?’

  She gazed at him, nettled. ‘No. I don’t want to stay here.’

  Janus’ handsome face grew serious. His features were delicate, almost feminine, Kyndra found herself thinking.

  ‘The first test nearly killed you,’ he told her softly. ‘The second will be worse. I hope you haven’t used up your luck, Kyndra.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Janus moved closer, but she held her ground. ‘The second test will be different,’ he said, his blue eyes full of concern. Kyndra wasn’t sure whether it was genuine. ‘Since you didn’t respond to the level of force used in the first test, the Wielders will increase it. They will draw down more power against you.’

  She shivered. ‘I’m not afraid,’ she said more to herself than to him.

  ‘You ought to be.’ His eyes dipped to her midriff, as if he could see the bandages under her shirt. ‘But I would like to help you.’

  Kyndra swallowed. ‘Sounds more like you want to scare me.’

  ‘I do,’ Janus said and stepped back. There was something in the way he moved that reminded her of Jhren too. ‘You’re in great danger. Unless you find your affinity, the second test will kill you.’

  Kyndra tried to ignore the fear that slithered down her spine. She didn’t want to remember the high cliff or the terrible lances piercing her body, but most of all, she didn’t want him to see that she was frightened. ‘You can’t be sure of that,’ she said more confidently than she felt. ‘The first one didn’t.’

  Janus shook his head, seeming exasperated. ‘It should have,’ he said. ‘And you are in more trouble because it didn’t. You attracted the Council’s attention.’

  She looked away. As much as Janus resembled Jhren, he wasn’t her friend and she couldn’t afford to trust him. He was one of them – a Wielder. He’s the enemy. ‘If you really want to help me,’ she said, ‘you can show me how to get out of here.’

  ‘I can’t do that, Kyndra.’ This time, Janus’ regret did seem genuine. ‘I can’t go against the Council.’

  Kyndra released her breath in a sigh. ‘Then I don’t need your help, Janus.’

  ‘What’s going on?’

  Janus spun at the new voice, a smile ready on his lips. ‘Nediah. What are you doing here?’

  ‘I could ask you the same question,’ Nediah said, his face darkening.

  ‘I’ve come to show Kyndra around the citadel.’

  ‘No you haven’t. Why are you really here?’

  Janus frowned. ‘I don’t know what you mean, Nediah.’

  Kyndra stood uncertainly between the two men, as they eyeballed each other. Nediah’s eyes were narrowed in suspicion, Janus’ wide and innocent. Finally, Nediah said, ‘Go ahead and play your game, Janus. But don’t expect me to join in. And leave Kyndra out of the stakes.’

  Janus gave an airy laugh. ‘You’re so dramatic, Nediah. There is no game and certainly no stakes.’ He paused. ‘Rather, you should be glad you don’t share Brégenne’s punishment.’ Then his smile turned crooked. ‘Or perhaps you do.’

  ‘She’s Master Brégenne to you, novice.’

  Janus flushed a deep red and Kyndra noticed little flickers of light escaping his clenched fists. Nediah glanced at them and raised an eyebrow. ‘Don’t be foolish, Janus. You and I both know the Council didn’t raise you to the gold for your abilities.’

  For a moment Kyndra was sure that the young man would take it further, but he drew a few deep breaths and the fire faded. ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘But, starting tomorrow, you’ll find that Kyndra becomes my responsibility.’ He flashed Kyndra a hot glance and then he was gone.

  Kyndra spun to see him at the end of the passage, leaving a wisp of gold as he vanished around the corner. ‘Won’t he go to the Council?’ she asked Nediah. The Wielder’s eyes were fixed on the spot where Janus had just been standing.

  ‘Probably,’ he answered. ‘And I don’t doubt he will get what he wants. What were you talking to him about?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  Nediah gave her a searching look.

  ‘He was offering to help me with the test,’ she admitted. ‘But I told him I wasn’t interested.’

  The Wielder scowled. ‘Just be careful around him, Kyndra. He’s not to be trusted.’

  Kyndra hesitated. ‘He said that you and Brégenne … Is it true?’

  Nediah’s green eyes blazed. He took her arm and marched her back down the passage, away from the one Janus had taken. Kyndra let herself be led, unwilling to have that emerald fire directed at her.

  When they’d made enough turns and crossed enough intersections for her to have become utterly disoriented, Nediah relaxed his pace. There were fewer people here, Kyndra noticed. She wondered how Naris’s citizens found their way through this black maze. True, not all passages looked the same and the hollowed-out chambers varied dramatically in size, but traversing the mountain must be like sailing without the stars. The black stone gave nothing away.

  Nediah removed his hand and curled it into a fist. ‘What gives him the right to speak as if this Attunement is some sort of victory?’

  ‘He didn’t really—’ she began, but stopped at the look on Nediah’s face.

  ‘A novice!’ the Wielder continued. ‘You have no idea of the insult, Kyndra. Brégenne has worked all her life in the furtherance of Naris. She has brought more potentials to this citadel than anyone else and this is her reward?’

  ‘It’s because of me,’ Kyndra said quietly. She forced herself to meet Nediah’s stormy gaze. ‘This is my fault.’

  Nediah jerked to a halt. ‘Don’t you ever think that,’ he said harshly. He grasped her upper arms. ‘Brégenne risked so much to bring you here. And look how Naris has treated you.’ He released Kyndra and added quietly, ‘I’m ashamed to be part of it.’

  �
�So you agree I’m not a Wielder?’ she asked hopefully. ‘That it’s all a mistake?’

  Nediah turned a fresh glower upon her. ‘I’ve already told you. Brégenne never makes mistakes.’ His voice lost some of its fierceness. ‘You have the ability, I’m sure of it.’

  He ignored Kyndra’s sigh and began walking again. When Kyndra didn’t follow, he glanced over his shoulder. ‘Come on. I seem to remember you like books?’ When she nodded, he smiled and reached into a large pocket in his robes. ‘I’m sure Hebrin, our archivist, would like to see this. Why don’t we go and show him?’

  When Kyndra saw what he held, a lump rose unbidden in her throat. She’d last seen it lying on a table in another life. Holding Acre: Tales of the Lost World tight to her chest, she followed Nediah down the passageway.

  15

  When imagining the archives, Kyndra had pictured a soaring, vaulted ceiling and a chamber so vast that a small army could comfortably fit inside it. There’d be row upon row of shelves, books and scrolls stashed in strict bibliographical order, circular mantels grasping the walls, lined with the spines of fraying tomes and a marble floor scuffed by the heels of eager scholars. And sunlight would be streaming from high windows, motes of dust hanging in the beams.

  There was no sunlight here.

  The archives of Naris were, in fact, so dark that Kyndra had trouble seeing at all. She also had trouble standing upright. The roof dipped often to brush her head and was studded with nubs of rock. She’d already bumped into several of these and now stood next to Nediah, rubbing her forehead while her eyes searched out the rest of the antechamber. It was about the size of The Nomos’ common room, filled with square reading tables. Shelves ringed the dark walls, home to dozens of parchment bundles tied loosely together.

  ‘Those are the archival catalogues,’ Nediah told her.

  ‘Why aren’t they bound like proper books?’

  ‘Because pages are constantly added.’ Nediah eyed the low ceiling before taking a few steps to his right to point at a dark archway. ‘That leads down into the spiral galleries. To give you an idea of the size, there are nine levels below us and only around two thirds of the books housed there are recorded in the catalogues. Finding and shelving them correctly is an ongoing task.’