Black Sun Rising (Order Of The Black Sun Book 3)

by P. W. Child

  As exhausted and sore as he was, Sam struggled not to laugh as he saw Julia Rose scowl. He felt a little sorry for her—being on the receiving end of one of Purdue's polite put-downs was not an enjoyable experience—but she had walked straight into it, and it would be a valuable learning experience for an aspiring journalist. She was not yet good enough at this game to come up with a sharp retort, so instead she pulled her boots on and went for breakfast.

  "Sustaining yourself by crushing hopeful spirits?" Sam inquired, "or just not hungry?"

  "Neither," said Purdue. "I'm sure Julia Rose will encounter more difficult people than me in her quest for journalistic glory. Assuming, of course, that she does not decide on a change of career and offer herself as Sara Stromer's latest acolyte."

  "Sara does seem to have made quite an impression on her, doesn't she?" Sam mused. "It's funny. She seemed so hardheaded when I first met her, but there's definitely some hero worship going on there. Still, that doesn't answer my second question. Aren't you going to come and have breakfast?"

  Purdue shook his head. "The diet here is not to my taste. Fortunately, I anticipated this and brought supplies of my own." Reaching into his bag, he produced a couple of cereal bars. "Would you care for one? I realize that they are not what you would choose either, but you might prefer them to what's offered here. I would certainly urge you to have one just now. You'll recover far quicker than if you eat the connection tent fare."

  I never thought I'd meet someone who was even more scathing about all this vegan hippy food than me, Sam thought. He accepted the cereal bar and tore off its wrapper. Through a mouthful of dry, oat mush he said "So you really think there were drugs on the go during the Vision Quest?"

  "It wouldn't surprise me," Purdue shrugged, flicking idly through the headlines on his tablet. "Most of these types of quests appear to get their results either through mood-altering substances or through some kind of mass hysteria. I can't imagine how they could be effective otherwise."

  "I don't know," said Sam. "I would have said the same thing, but I must admit, I've been quite surprised by this thing. I'm still not convinced by their talk of bringing everyone together in some kind of massive, worldwide connection orgy—but they might be onto something when it comes to, I don't know . . . paying attention to the things around us, stuff like that." He felt foolish the moment he stopped talking. "I don't know. It's just not as excruciating as I thought it might be."

  "You might change your mind about that 'worldwide connection orgy,' as you put it." A tiny smile played around the corners of Purdue's mouth. "I think they might surprise you."

  "What do you know?" Sam grinned, despite himself. Purdue's games were infuriating, but he could never quite resist being intrigued. "Is there something you haven't told me about all this?"

  The small smile gave way to Purdue's customary smirk. "Oh, Sam," he said, "so much—as ever."

  They had barely finished their cereal bars when Kai, Purdue's bodyguard, appeared at the tent flap. "Incoming, sir. Cignetti-Dwyer."

  Purdue did not pause to reply but immediately folded the tablet down to its smallest size. He reached forward and snatched up Sam's discarded wrapper, inserted the tablet and folded the plastic so that the whole thing appeared to be nothing but a half-consumed cereal bar. He shoved the little package into a side pocket of Sam's backpack, and then dived back into his previous position as if nothing at all had happened.

  "No, I haven't heard from him in some time," Purdue said, as Cody came into the tent, "but do give him my regards if he contacts you again. How is he? Back in Siberia?"

  For a moment Sam was confused. Who are we talking about? he wondered. Ah, right—Alexandr. Got it.

  "Yeah, for now," he improvised. "He said that's why he hasn't been in touch for a while. He's living on the side of some mountain out there and the nearest net connection is days away. I'll tell him you said hello when I write back."

  "Please, do. Oh!" Purdue reacted with surprise to Cody's presence. "I'm so sorry, I didn't hear you come in. What can we do for you, Mr. Cignetti-Dwyer?"

  "No need to be so formal," Cody's permanent, gentle, understanding smile looked slightly strained. "You can call me Cody. I just wanted to come and check on Sam here. You ok, buddy?"

  I was until you called me buddy. Sam bit his tongue and swallowed that response. "Yeah, I'm fine. Again. Thanks."

  "It sounded like you had quite the vision," said Cody. "When we brought you back here you were kind of out of it, but you were talking a little bit about chasing something—hunters and leaders and searching for something. I guess you saw the hunt?"

  For a moment Sam's brain thrust him back into that strange, intense experience. He saw the sweat-soaked bodies crowded around him and the ominous shine of knives being held aloft in the moonlight. Could that really have been nothing more than a dream? It had felt so incredibly real, yet Sam knew that it was something he would never have taken part in. " . . . Yes," he said uncertainly, "I did. But I don't know, maybe I wouldn't have dreamed about that if Sara hadn't mentioned it beforehand."

  "Hey, it's possible," Cody spread his hands in a noncommittal, vaguely agreeable gesture. "If you don't think it means anything for you, just let it go. If you do, maybe you should see where it leads. That's the other reason I'm here. There's a separate ceremony tonight for the people who saw the hunt. Wanna come?"

  Sam got the impression that this was not really a request so much as a mandatory event. He nodded, feeling his hot eyeballs protest at the movement in his head.

  "Great!" Cody clapped his hands together in a gesture that was a little too loud for Sam's liking at that moment. "I guess I'll see you there, then. Oh, and there was one other thing, while I'm here. We're just making sure that everybody is getting the full experience of cutting off from the outside world, so if either of you has anything you forgot to hand in, any phones or laptops or whatnot, you can give them to me now and I promise, there'll be no judgment. It's easily done—especially for a guy with as many gadgets as you, Dave! God, I'd be more surprised if you didn't forget to hand something in!"

  Purdue arched a single eyebrow. "I seldom forget anything," he said. "But rest assured, Mr. Cignetti-Dwyer, so far I am not aware that I have forgotten to give to you any devices of mine. If I find that there is anything that slipped my mind, you can be certain that I will pass it on."

  Judging by the look Cody was trying to wipe off his face, Sam came to the conclusion that he knew about the tablet. Why can't he just ask for it outright? Sam wondered. I don't think he'd have a problem doing that for any of the rest of us. And it can't be just a money thing—there must be people here who are as insanely rich as Purdue, and I don't see Cody pestering them for their stuff. Something is preventing him from pushing too hard. I wonder what it is . . .

  Cody did not say another word, but smiled and bowed out of the tent. Kai held out his hand to Sam for the tablet, which he took charge of.

  "Good thinking, Kai," said Purdue when he was sure Cody was safely out of earshot. "Keep it in your possession for the rest of the day—I will reclaim it tonight, otherwise insomnia will be even less bearable than usual." Kai nodded, turned on his heel and left.

  "I knew there was someone who didn't end up in our tent," said Sam, kicking himself for missing the detail earlier. "Where's he sleeping?"

  "The tent opposite," said Purdue. "It gives him a broader field of fire, should his talents as bodyguard be required. Besides, I prefer to keep my distance where I can. The constant companionship does grow rather tedious, and presumably that works both ways. He is also a more useful spy if he can see who is approaching the tent and let me know with a little warning. In fact, it can be—" He broke off as Nina entered, looking somewhat subdued.

  "I was just down at the river," she said, barely pausing to greet the two men, "when it struck me—has anyone seen that Hunter guy since last night?"

  ☼

  Chapter Eighteen

  "Anyone else who saw the hunt? Over her
e if you saw the hunt! Don't worry, ladies and gentlemen, this is not a test! Just go to whichever event matches the dream you had. If you saw the hunt, you're with Sara over here. Anyone who saw the condor, head over there and speak to Jefferson. Anyone who saw blackness, come talk to me. If you're confused, just stand in the center, and we'll help you in a moment."

  Sam followed the direction of Cody's waving arms and walked toward the connection tent. Sara was waiting for them in the entrance, motionless and regal as usual. Quickly, he performed a head count of the others and checked where they were going.

  Nina was shuffling reluctantly toward Cody. Sam could tell that she too was suffering the effects of nicotine withdrawal. Her shoulders were sloped, and she wore dark glasses in a vain attempt to counter the effects of the glaring sun on her aching head. She had told Sam and Purdue that she did not really believe that she had dreamed of darkness, but simply that she had fallen into the kind of dreamless sleep that accompanied exhaustion. Nevertheless, since that did not seem to be an option that was available and she was happy to admit that she was not ready to "connect" in the way that the FireStorm officials wanted her to, she went dutifully toward the appropriate meeting.

  It had been impossible to ease her mind regarding Hunter. Sam had suggested that maybe Hunter had got up early and gone to help with breakfast or have a particularly long wash in the river. I hope that's the answer, Sam thought. He's a sweaty bastard, so he could do with it. Purdue had questioned whether he might have changed tents, or whether he might have been taken ill. "They must have some facility for caring for anyone who is taken sick," Purdue had said, and Sam had bitten his lip to avoid confirming that he was right.

  Despite the rational explanations on offer, and certainly despite her dislike for Hunter, Nina remained concerned. She planned to keep an eye out for him during the day's events, and then ask Cody about him if she could not find him. Maybe he's had a sudden pang of remorse and gone to steal our cigarettes back, Sam thought, as he lost sight of Nina.

  With him in the connection tent were Julia Rose and Henley Daniels. Quite by chance they were standing together, Julia Rose watching Sara intently, and Henley picking idly at her fingernails. Suddenly Sam was hit by a flashback, as violent and unexpected as a kick in the head. He saw a moment from his dream, a vision of Julia Rose standing over the beast. She was trembling, her breathing shallow and her eyes wide. Her knife was loose in her grip, until the black-masked figure that Sam knew to be Sara approached and wrapped her hand around Julia Rose's, guiding her as she plunged the knife into the beast's mutilated carcass. Sam shook his head, trying to expel the image from his mind.

  Henley glanced up, noticing the sudden movement, and accidentally made eye contact with Sam. He gave her a smile and a friendly nod. She flushed pink and immediately dropped her head. That's weird, Sam thought. I wonder what's wrong.

  Before he could give it too much thought, Sara clapped her hands together, commanding everyone's attention. "Initiates!" she cried. "Yes, I can call you initiates now. Anyone who has seen the hunt is and will forever be a part of FireStorm. Your own divinity within has called out to be a part of this exciting, exhilarating new movement, a more effective way of attracting the right people to us than any conscious initiation would have been. You are now ready to join us on a deeper level, to learn more about our ultimate goals. For this we must welcome you into the depths of our organization, deep in the heart of the fire giant's home."

  With a flourish, she swept aside the reed mat that covered the floor beside her, revealing the outline of a trapdoor in the floor. She uncovered a button beside it and stepped on it, pushing down with all her weight. The trap slid open to reveal a dark hole in the group, a gaping invitation into the heart of the mysterious group.

  The dark hole led down to a door, beyond which lay a corridor. The delegates—or initiates, as Sara insisted they must now be called—were instructed to walk along it one by one, because each of them must face three challenges in order to enter the inner sanctum.

  This must be where the medical facility was, Sam thought, as he emerged from the darkness to stand before the door. Though there must be more than one door down here. This one looked as though it had been there for centuries. Certainly it had been designed for smaller people than Sam to fit through with ease. Knotted, sandy wood twisted together with gnarled vines and roots. He could see the remains of a tiny barred window, but it was reduced to little more than a small slit now that the wood had expanded in the heat and shifted over the years. Sam peered through the remaining sliver. He saw no sign of the last initiate to go through, which meant that it was his turn. Taking a deep breath, he turned the wrought iron handle and stepped through.

  Why am I so nervous? Sam asked himself, feeling his heart pounding in his chest. It's nothing. This is nothing to be scared of. It's just daft. I know it's daft. A few mind games in the dark, like asking someone to put on a blindfold and stick their hand in a shoebox full of jelly worms or something.

  Ranged along the dimly lit corridor were three alcoves, one for each of the three challenges. Sara's instructions had been to approach each one in turn and not to move on until he was certain that the challenge had been completed. He stepped into the first alcove. He could not be certain, but he thought that the corridor grew dark behind him.

  "When you face the first challenge, do not turn around," Sara had warned him. "Do not turn back or look away, not even for a moment. What you will see during the challenge, I do not know. But no matter what, you must keep looking into the pool. Do not flinch, and do not close your eyes."

  The pool resembled a font, but hewn from stone, perhaps carved out of the volcanic rock. Hot water bubbled from a natural spring below the ground, filling the pool and spilling over onto the floor. The air in the alcove was hot and sulfurous, and Sam felt giddy as he held his head over the steaming water.

  Gazing into the pool, Sam felt his mind beginning to wander. Amid the smells of brimstone and wet earth, he could have sworn that he smelled the herbs that had been thrown onto their campfires. He laid his hands on the stone wall in front of him for balance, leaning over the top of the pool, staring down. Slowly images began to form, somewhere between his eyes and his mind. He saw the hunt again, saw his own hands smeared with hot, dark blood, flaking off his skin as it dried. He saw the look on Nina's face as she had seen him again for the first time in that hotel corridor. He saw her as she had been in the submarine, tear-stained and desperate, ready to offer their surrender to the approaching destroyer, seconds before she had kissed him—like just before Björn pulled the trigger of the gun he had pressed against her forehead.

  He saw Nina's face blending and changing into another, her hair lightening and face lengthening, flesh melting away and bone breaking through until she became Trish, who stared out of the water at him with disappointment in her one remaining eye. Sam felt his own eyes pricked by tears before the face changed again, darkening a little, and the flesh repairing itself until it was Sara who gazed at him from the water.

  A high, sweet note sounded from elsewhere in the corridor. Instinctively Sam followed the sound, which led him into the second alcove. There he saw another rough-hewn pillar, but this time there was no pool. Resting on top of it was a large ball of polished stone, dark green in hue. "The stone is moldavite," Sara had said. "It is a powerful, transformative crystal that came to this world on a star that fell to earth. Borne here by a meteorite, now it serves to open a connection between anyone who touches it and the universe."

  He followed her instruction to rest his fingertips on it. As with the previous challenge, he was to stay where he was and not let go of the stone, no matter what. He wondered what kind of challenge this could possibly prove, because the stone was inert, but he quickly found out. He gasped as the stone began to cool beneath his touch, rapidly draining the heat from his fingers until it became as cold as ice. Am I imagining this? Sam stared at the moldavite ball, trying to figure out how it could be manipulated.
But before he could reach any kind of conclusion, he was distracted by the swift rise in temperature under his hands. The moldavite was growing warmer with every passing second, becoming hot—too hot. It was glowing beneath his fingers, but Sam refused to let go. Just as he began to find the sensation unbearable, it subsided. He left his hands resting on the ball until the high tone sounded again, beckoning him to the third alcove.

  "Close your eyes for the third challenge," Sara had said. "Do not open them, no matter what. It is a test of endurance, much like the first two—but many people find it more difficult to endure. It will ask more of you, probe more deeply. Your task is simply to withstand it.

  This time it was not just the corridor behind him that was plunged into darkness. As Sam stepped into the alcove, the dim light faded and died. As per Sara's instructions, he shut his eyes tight and waited to find out what would happen.

  The first thing he felt was a light brushing sensation against his cheek, like a feather, or perhaps a spider's web. It tickled slightly, but it was not unpleasant. What followed was a gradual buildup, the brushing becoming a slightly scratchy feeling, which developed into the sensation of thin, bony digits pressing against his face. Evert instinct he had screamed at him to run, that he was having his face pawed by a skeleton hand, but he knew that he had to wait it out. The hand moved over his eyelids, down his nose, traced the shape of his lips—then without warning, two long, stick-like things pushed inside his mouth.