Starborn

by Lucy Hounsom

  He was lying. Kyndra could tell by the way he refused to look at her. She ground her teeth. She’d come here for answers and it felt as if all she’d received so far were more questions.

  ‘Kait told me about Janus,’ the Yadin said before she could press the issue. ‘She also gave me this.’ He reached into the high-collared coat and pulled out a small object. Kyndra recoiled. The white akan sat on Anohin’s palm, both as innocent-seeming and as sinister as she remembered it.

  ‘A treacherous thing,’ Anohin commented mildly before returning the akan to his pocket. ‘Lucky you dropped that book and Kait worked out what you were planning. Otherwise we wouldn’t be having this conversation.’

  So Kait had found Tools of Power. Kyndra stared at the Yadin, hearing an edge to his voice that she didn’t much like. Time to try another question. ‘You might pretend to know nothing about Medavle’s interest in me,’ she said boldly, ‘but what about the visions I keep having – and the Madness?’

  When she caught a glimpse of the Yadin’s grey eyes, they were opaque. ‘What about it?’ he asked.

  So he’d make her work for every word. ‘Where does the Madness come from?’ she asked, frustrated. ‘Can it be stopped and –’ she steeled herself – ‘is it linked to my visions?’ She thought of the vision – the memory, she corrected herself – that she’d witnessed tonight and how a huge wave of force had tumbled the Nerian, as if they were leaves in a gale. That same force had struck the Wielders during the test. ‘Has anyone here been affected?’ she asked.

  ‘As long as we remain in the Deep, the Madness cannot touch us,’ Anohin said.

  ‘Why? Is there some kind of protection here?’

  The Yadin looked at her. ‘Kierik.’

  Kyndra almost didn’t catch his answer, for a drum started beating somewhere up ahead. Resonating through the stone, it was joined a moment later by a fiddle, which spun out a frenzied tune to the patter of feet. When the crowd in the meeting hall caught sight of her, they surged forward, dancing and clapping. Before Kyndra knew what was happening, they’d swept her up, encircled her. Someone stuffed a cup into her hand and Kyndra had to close her fingers or drop it. Her eyes began to smart from the smoking torches that were now the room’s only source of light.

  Confused by the feverish celebration, she tried and failed to extricate herself. Anohin had melted away from her and the crowd seemed intent on preventing her from reaching him. People came to clasp Kyndra’s black-banded arm as if it were somehow talismanic, but Nediah – who was trying unsuccessfully to reach her through the crowd – received no notice at all. There was an edge to the Nerian’s excitement, an undertide that flowed through the gathering. Kyndra could see it in their eyes and smell it in acrid air. It was anticipation; it was readiness. They circled her until she began to feel like a rallying point on a battlefield, the last hope of fading victory. What was going on? Surely all this wasn’t just to celebrate her initiation into the sect?

  Kyndra made a concerted effort to break free of the melee and managed to reach Nediah, who was standing seemingly forgotten against a mural. This one depicted a shining structure, afternoon light blazing on its glass spires. Kyndra recognized it at once; she had seen it so often in Kierik’s memories. It was Solinaris, the fortress of the sun. Looking at it, ephemeral on the ragged stone, she could hardly believe that such a place had existed, that she was standing deep beneath the ground from which it had once risen.

  ‘Do you know what’s going on?’ Kyndra asked Nediah in a low voice. ‘Anohin wouldn’t tell me anything and now they’re stopping me from getting to him.’

  Nediah looked at her, green eyes sharp despite his clear fatigue. ‘If I didn’t know better, I would say revolution.’

  ‘Revolution?’ Kyndra repeated uneasily. ‘Meaning what exactly?’

  Nediah unfolded his arms. ‘I don’t know, Kyndra. The Nerian have never tried to force their way into the citadel. They’ve never been violent, as far as I know. But this –’ He paused, scanning the rhapsodic crowd. ‘I didn’t realize the sect had grown so large.’

  Kyndra watched them. The crowd showed no signs of weariness. As they banged their cups together, she heard her name more than once on their lips. ‘Why would they invade Naris?’

  ‘I didn’t appreciate until I came here tonight what life must be like in the Deep,’ Nediah said pensively. ‘It is always dark. The only form of sunlight they have is Solar energy. Every day, if you can call it day, is spent surrounded by stone. These corridors are airless and stuffy and they never feel the wind on their faces.’ Nediah shifted his gaze to her. ‘To live like this for years would drive anyone mad.’

  ‘Then why have they?’ Kyndra asked, feeling Nediah’s words open a gulf inside her. ‘Why haven’t they risen up before now?’

  Nediah didn’t answer for a moment. He stared at her until Kyndra began to feel uncomfortable under his close scrutiny. ‘Perhaps because they didn’t have a reason to do so,’ the Wielder said slowly.

  ‘And you think they have a reason now?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Kyndra spotted a small knot of people coming towards them. ‘What reason?’ she asked quickly.

  ‘You.’

  At a loss, Kyndra stared at him, but before she could respond, they had company. Five members of the Nerian stood in front of them and amongst their number was the man who looked like Alandred. Impulsively she asked, ‘Are you related to the Master of Novices?’

  Disgust darkened the man’s face. ‘My brother,’ he growled and spat on the floor. ‘A sanctimonious fool who pretends he has no sibling. The shame I brought upon Alandred is too great for him to bear.’

  ‘Sorry,’ Kyndra said hastily. ‘I only asked because you look alike.’

  The man dismissed her apology. ‘My name is Caendred,’ he said. ‘I sense you are no friend to my brother either.’ His lips pulled back in a grin. A few of his teeth were missing.

  ‘You could say that.’

  ‘I’m glad,’ Caendred replied. ‘You belong here with us, with the true people of Naris.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Kyndra said cautiously, feeling awkward under their stares. Nediah remained silent beside her.

  ‘We wanted you to know that we stand with you,’ a woman next to Caendred spoke up. ‘You have taken the vow and are now our sister.’

  Her words raised hairs on the back of Kyndra’s neck. Could Nediah be right? What were the Nerian planning? And why did her presence make the slightest difference?

  ‘Thank you,’ she said again when she realized her silence might sound rude. The five Nerian gazed at her without speaking. Then each touched the black band on her arm and melted back into the crowd.

  ‘What was that about?’ Kyndra whispered to Nediah when they were once again alone.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Nediah said slowly, ‘but I don’t like it.’

  Kyndra didn’t either. She had the sense of something overlooked, something just on the verge of being realized. First Loricus with his speech about taking sides, now Anohin with his evasive knowledge of her visions and the Madness. Both men knew something she didn’t and they seemed to be going out of their way to ensure she didn’t find out what.

  ‘It must be late,’ she muttered. Though her mind constantly turned over the conversation with Anohin, her body felt heavy, still healing from the last test. She wondered whether she should tell Nediah everything – that the Nerian’s version of history, labelled by the Council as delusion, was in fact true. Would Nediah believe her? He had been schooled to see the Nerian as an unstable cult, one whose preposterous ideas must be confined underground.

  What Kierik had done was in the past, Kyndra decided. It could not be changed. Finding a way to stop both the Breaking and the Madness was, however, essential. And Anohin knew far more than he was willing to tell.

  ‘Nerian!’ Kait’s voice sliced through the celebration. ‘The hour is almost at hand.’

  Kyndra hadn’t seen Kait for some time. Now, as the tall wo
man led her into the centre of the chamber, the flush across her high cheekbones was darker and her eyes were belladonna-bright. ‘By the time dawn has broken, my friends,’ she called, ‘Naris will see the world as the Nerian see it!’

  The cries of the crowd welled up to him and the drum thudded in his chest. A wild waltz spun from the fiddle, its strings screeching in the dingy space.

  Janus crouched, body stiff from long inactivity. Through a crack in the stone, he looked down on the chamber below. Although the smoking torches made his eyes water, he didn’t move away, frightened to miss something. However, for the last half-hour, the chamber had descended into raucous carousal. He saw drink passed around and curled his lip in disgust. They really are savages, he thought, wiping his stinging eyes. Torches instead of Lunar light, hard stone bereft of furnishings – no wonder the Council kept them penned here. The Nerian were an embarrassment.

  He’d discovered the crawl space by accident, while searching for a way to observe the chamber surreptitiously. Janus had followed Kyndra and her companions as far as the corridor by which they’d entered, but it was too dangerous to remain crouched there. Anyone could discover him. Better by far was this space, tiny though it was. From here, he could see everything.

  Janus clenched a fist. He could see everything, he reminded himself, except the corridor down which Kyndra had vanished with the man in white. He knew he couldn’t search for them – the danger of becoming lost was too great. He could end up wandering in the dark until he died, or be discovered by one of the Nerian and imprisoned. Janus wouldn’t risk either fate, not when Lord Loricus relied on him.

  Now he stared at Kyndra as she stood beside Nediah. Her eyes roved distractedly and he wondered what thoughts chased each other behind them. Her face was a peculiar mix of relief and burden, as if the solving of one problem had raised another.

  An unwelcome feeling arose in Janus’ chest, which he recognized a moment later as jealousy. If it weren’t for this girl, he might not be wearing the gold. Had Loricus raised him solely because of her? No, he reminded himself, the full Council has to vote on whether to raise a novice to master status. But it was Loricus who’d put his name forward, Loricus who’d suggested he should be paired with Brégenne when – surely – any other Superiate novice would do. Instead of enjoying his first week as a master, he’d spent every day with a talentless girl, a job which he’d been flattered to undertake. Janus swallowed the sour taste in his mouth. What was she to Loricus? And what, now he thought about it, was he?

  The noise levels in the chamber abruptly lowered and the music stopped. Janus watched the man in white beckon Kyndra into the centre of the room. She went reluctantly, the tall woman from earlier at her shoulder and Nediah on her heels.

  ‘The hour is almost at hand,’ the woman announced. Shouts rose in the wake of her words, no longer cries of celebration, but righteous and unafraid. Janus pressed his face closer to the gap. The woman let the clamour subside before she continued. ‘By the time dawn has broken, my friends, Naris will see the world as the Nerian see it! Kierik and his deeds will be recognized. We will rise into the light!’

  A roar greeted these words. People threw their fists in the air and hands reached out to touch Kyndra, who tried to edge away from them. ‘We have all seen …’ The rest of the sentence was lost to Janus, as the woman lowered her voice. Though he grimaced and strained his ears, he couldn’t make out the words. ‘Too many years,’ he heard, and ‘never before’. He beat his fist against the stone in frustration, but he’d already heard enough to feel the first stirrings of fear. The Nerian were planning something, something big.

  And though it all revolved around Kyndra, Janus could tell by her face that it was not of her making. He watched her lips move, but her voice was too quiet to make out. It didn’t matter. He’d seen enough now and his report was too vital to delay. Lord Loricus had to be warned.

  Inch by inch, Janus backed out of the gap, his body clumsy and cold. When he could stand, he held on to the wall for a few moments, rolling his shoulders and flexing his arms and legs, waiting for the blood to return to them.

  Dawn was still a good four hours away and he’d need light to find the way back. Janus pulled a Lunar stone from his pocket and, in the darkness, it burst immediately to life.

  A face flared in front of him and he yelled, but nothing came out. A gloved hand covered his mouth. Janus thrashed and the Lunar stone fell from his hand. Its light flickered and began to wane as he looked through huge eyes at his captor. A white hood hid the man’s face and he wore a high-collared coat over white robes.

  Janus drew frantic breaths through his nose, hearing nothing now but his own muffled sounds of terror. How had the man in white found him and climbed up here so fast? He gathered his strength and aimed a kick at the man’s shins, but his captor turned his body aside.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ came a deep voice.

  Janus saw a fist coil and then it was flying towards his temple, too fast, far too fast. There was an explosion of light, pain, and then darkness.

  28

  He had no real wish to kill the young man, but what else could he do? Rendering him unconscious was an imperfect solution. Janus hung over Medavle’s shoulder, a dead weight, as the Yadin stalked through the darkness of the earth. Medavle adjusted his grip and scowled.

  Janus was a loose thread in the tapestry of his plan. He did not care to let him go. After all, he had been instrumental in giving Kyndra access to the white akan. But if Medavle was to take advantage of this opportunity, he couldn’t bring Janus with him.

  He ground his teeth. If only the captain had kept his end of the deal. Medavle had paid the man well: three gold pieces for a small favour. Perhaps that generosity had been his undoing, he mused. Three gold pieces to ensure the pouch of earth reached Kyndra, but the rat had kept it, no doubt thinking it valuable.

  It’s worthless in your hands. But in Kyndra’s, it was priceless. And now it would no doubt be attached to the madman, guarded by his howls.

  Janus started to slip again, but Medavle couldn’t afford to stop. He needed to be out of the Nerian’s range. I ought to leave him here to die, he thought.

  When he spied a likely pillar, he dumped Janus beside it and then pulled the young man into a sitting position. He slipped the silver flute from its bag and blew two notes, stark and cold. They writhed like snakes in the gloom before forming a shining chain that bound Janus to the pillar.

  Medavle smiled and lowered the flute. The young Solar Wielder would not be escaping from a Lunar binding for some time. A Yadin’s energy was finite, but could be used at any time of day. The flute wasn’t necessary, but it augmented his power. Medavle had crafted it long ago, based on plans he’d filched from Solinaris’s archives.

  He turned away. The madman’s guards would be few, he thought, mentally mapping out his next moves. If the Nerian intended to force their way into Naris, they would need the bulk of their forces. He could lie low until they were well out of the way, steal into the complex, take out the guards and help himself to the earth. Kyndra needed it. Perhaps he might even slit the madman’s throat while he was at it, just to see that polluted blood pool uselessly on the stone. Medavle let himself savour the prospect before letting it go with a sigh. He should probably reserve that act for another.

  Kyndra returned to the citadel – much to her horror – at the head of a small army.

  Anohin marched on her right, Kait on her left and Nediah was behind her. The Nerian were going to war. Only a few remained in the Deep to watch over Kierik while the rest moved inexorably up through the rock, mouthing their talismanic chant. Although they planned to reach Naris well before dawn, every Lunar clutched a dark-hued akan to aid them once the sun had risen. Others carried staffs, scrolls and bits of mismatched armour that glowed softly in the gloom.

  Anohin did not seem concerned about their diminutive force. Nediah had pointed out that Naris’s Wielders outnumbered them at least three to one, but the Yadi
n had shrugged off his argument, pale face alight with anticipation. Kyndra’s heart kept up an anxious beat. Why would the Nerian, who had lived peaceably in the Deep for years, choose this night to throw off their oppression?

  The answer became dreadfully clear as they approached the citadel’s lower floors. When the screams reached their ears, Nediah stiffened and both Kait and Anohin smiled and increased the pace. The torturous cries roused the Nerian like a tonic. Their voices grew louder and this time, Kierik’s name could be heard in the fabric of their chant.

  The chaos that greeted them when they emerged from the Deep seemed only to surprise Kyndra and Nediah. The Nerian whooped and grinned at each other, as if everything were going to plan. Kyndra watched a Wielder come staggering down the passage towards them, his mouth gaping soundlessly. Bloodshot eyes looked at them without comprehension. Caendred took the opportunity to shoot a couple of Lunar darts into his unprotected neck and he toppled, blood running from his punctured throat.

  Nediah gave a horrified yell and launched himself at Caendred, but the Nerian man shoved him scornfully aside. ‘No.’ Kait caught Nediah’s uplifted arm. Her voice was wintry. ‘You are one of us now. Your loyalty is to the Nerian.’

  Nediah stared at her, as if seeing her clearly for the first time. ‘These people are helpless,’ he said. ‘You can’t just murder them – they’re victims of the Madness.’

  ‘Defenceless victims,’ Caendred said, as he coolly stepped over the dead Wielder.

  Aghast, Nediah shook his head and then Kyndra saw a light dawn slowly in his eyes. ‘You knew this would happen,’ he said to Kait. ‘Somehow this is your doing.’

  ‘Hers, actually.’

  Anohin was staring at Kyndra and – once again – she was the focus of all eyes.

  ‘What?’ Nediah said.

  ‘She knows the truth.’ The Yadin’s smile hardened. ‘She’s suspected it herself.’

  Kyndra’s breath came fast and shallow. All she could see was the fallen Wielder with his blood spilled out around him. That vacant look in his eyes before Caendred killed him – the same look that Mardon had and the female Wielder after the test – that look was the Madness and it was her fault. She’d known it, but tried to bury it under a deluge of questions that now seemed meaningless. She was as much of a murderer as Caendred and Kierik.