by David Estes
THE SUN DWELLERS
Book Three of
The Dwellers Saga
David Estes
Copyright 2012 David Estes
Kindle Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Discover other exciting titles by David Estes available through the author’s official website:
http://davidestesbooks.blogspot.com
or through select online retailers.
Young-Adult Books by David Estes
The Dwellers Saga:
Book One—The Moon Dwellers
Book Two—The Star Dwellers
Book Three—The Sun Dwellers
The Country Saga by David Estes (A sister series to The Dwellers Saga):
Book One—Fire Country (coming March 1, 2013!)
The Evolution Trilogy:
Book One—Angel Evolution
Book Two—Demon Evolution
Book Three—Archangel Evolution
Children’s Books by David Estes
The Nikki Powergloves Adventures:
Nikki Powergloves- A Hero is Born
Nikki Powergloves and the Power Council
Nikki Powergloves and the Power Trappers
Nikki Powergloves and the Great Adventure
Nikki Powergloves vs. the Power Outlaws (Coming in 2013!)
This book is dedicated to my parents,
David and Nancy Estes,
for being my biggest fans.
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Acknowledgments
Connect with David Estes Online
About the Author
ANNA’S STORY: A DWELLERS SHORT STORY
A SNEAK PEEK: FIRE COUNTRY
Prologue
Subchapter 14 of the Moon Realm
Two years ago
Despite her nondescript gray tunic, the woman sticks out like a sparkling diamond in a coal mine, her shiny blond hair peeking out from beneath her dark hood. But it’s not her hair, or her face—which is remarkably beautiful beneath the dark shadows—that identifies her as a foreigner in the Moon Realm. Instead, it’s her gait, the way she carries herself: straight-backed and graceful and regal. Next to her the passing moon dwellers look hunched, their backs question marks and their faces turned to the dust.
She knows it’s the middle of the day—thus ensuring the girl will be at school—but the amount of light afforded by the overhead cavern lights is appallingly minimal, the near-equivalent of a Sun Realm dawn, or perhaps twilight.
Although she clearly doesn’t belong amongst the rundown and crumbling gray stone shacks, she doesn’t hesitate as she strides down the street, ignoring the stares she attracts. Unable to hold back her nerves any longer, she pauses—just a barely noticeable stutter step—as she nears her target: a tiny stone box, no larger than a medium-sized shed. She wonders how the two most powerful Resistance leaders could possibly be tucked in such an unremarkable corner of the Moon Realm. The front yard is barren rock, full of crisscrossing cracks and stone chips that roll and slide underfoot as she approaches the thin doorframe.
Before she knocks, her eyes are drawn to her feet, where she stands on the only unmarred stone square. Within the block is a single word—friend—elegantly cut with the skill of a professional stone worker. A hint of a smile crosses the woman’s face before she looks up. Despite all her doubts and fears and indecisiveness while making the decision that’s led her to this place, that one word chiseled at the entrance gives her hope that there’s a better life out there for her eldest son—that maybe things can improve for him and for the Tri-Realms as a whole.
Her life is forfeit—stomped out by a loveless sham of a marriage, to the President no less—but her son’s…well, her son’s life could change everything.
After a single deep breath, she gathers her courage in a raised fist. When her knuckles collide with the door, the sound is final and hollow in her ears, but in reality is only a thud. Tilting an ear, she listens for footsteps, but is rewarded with only cluttered silence. The clutter: her mind, which trips and stumbles over a thousand questions. Is anyone home? Will the door be slammed in my face? Have I made a grievous mistake? Have I failed him? Have I failed my son? Have I failed myself?
Unexpectedly and without fanfare, the door swings open; a dark-haired woman wearing a plain brown, knee-length tunic fills the gap, her eyebrows raised in surprise. If not for the foreigner’s information, which she received from a very reliable source, she wouldn’t believe this woman to be a revolutionary. Except for her eyes, that is. There’s a fire in her pupils that she’s only seen once or twice in her life. It’s the same fire she sees in her eldest son.
When the woman with the jet-black hair doesn’t speak, the intruder realizes her eyebrows are an unspoken question: Yes? Why have you wandered onto my doorstep?
Before answering the silent question, she pulls back her hood, releasing her golden locks and forcing away the identity-protecting shadows on her face. A spark of recognition flashes on the woman’s face, but fades just as quickly. Finally she speaks. “First Lady Nailin—why are you here?”
“Mrs. Rose—I have a proposition for you. May I come in?”
Chapter OneAdele
Present day
The light gleams off the barrel of the gun with a brightness that blinds me if I look directly at it. My hands are sweaty as I clutch the weapon that once upon a time was so foreign, but now seems so familiar. The gun’s every detail is burned into my memory, from the temperature of the cold steel against my palm, to its weight tugging on my wrist, to the strong yet delicate scent of burning gunpowder.
When I turn the corner and enter the room, it’s all happening again. My dad is bound and lying prostrate on the rough stone floor, the executioner’s gun to his head. A half dozen other sun dwellers bar my way forward. There’s more than the last time, but it doesn’t matter. A million of them couldn’t stop me. Not this time.
I raise the gun and start shooting. Six booms later my foes are all dead, red and warm and blank-eyed. In the heat of the moment, I continue shooting, this time at the executioner, but the click click click announces that I’m out of bullets.
I toss the gun aside and charge forward, kicking his bland face with my heel. He slumps to the side, his own weapon discarded by his weakened fingers. I’ve done it this time. Saved him—saved my father. But I know something’s not right as I realize my sister isn’t by his side like she should be. The glitter of light reflecting off something hanging from my neck distracts me. I reach up,
close my hands around an emerald necklace, the one my mother gave me after my father died. The necklace my father gave my mother. This isn’t right—none of this is right.
As I lean over the face of the man who I immediately know is not my father, the Devil’s eyes flash open, the gateway to a black and soulless human shell.
“Didn’t you know?” the President says. “Your father’s already dead. And you’re next.”
My heart is in my throat as the demon lifts his hand, which is now holding a long glinting sword with a diamond-encrusted hilt, which I either didn’t notice before or which has magically appeared.
As his white-knuckled hand darts forward, I scream. Although I don’t close my eyes, blackness surrounds.
* * *
I’m still screaming and seeing darkness when a pair of strong arms cradles my head. “Shh,” a voice says.
I quiet but I’m still breathing hard, panting like I’ve just run a long way, my chest heaving. An instant later there’s a soft glow as a lantern is lit, casting dancing shadows on the rough, brown tunnel walls. Tristan’s arm is still behind my head, and when he sees me looking at him, he retracts it quickly, his face flush with embarrassment. “You were dreaming,” he says. “I heard you cry out.”
I close my eyes, try to will the frantic pace of my heart to slow, as I remember where I am. In a tunnel on the way to the Sun Realm. On a mission for my mother, General Rose. As Tristan’s father pointed out in my nightmare, my father’s still dead—nothing can change that. No amount of fresh killing or revenge or trigger pulls will make one bit of difference. And yet the furnace of revenge burns hotly in the pit of my stomach. Kill his father. Kill the President. That is our mission.
I open my eyes and, despite my vengeful thoughts, say, “I’m tired of all the death.” I realize my hand is clutching my necklace, just like in my dream. Slowly, I release the emerald, watch it swing gently back and forth, wishing I’d never had to leave my mother.
Tristan’s face worries its way to a tight smile. “Only one more person has to die, right?” The ever-present buzz whenever Tristan is near me hums along my scalp and down my spine. The urge to get as close to him as possible tugs at my arms, but I hide it well, not even flinching.
Even after the disturbing nightmare, I can’t help but grin when I’m talking to him. “Yeah, just your dad—hope you don’t mind.”
He laughs. “He’s no one’s father.”
“Not even Killen’s?”
“Especially not Killen’s,” he says. “We were only ever puppets to him, used to do his dirty work, nothing more.”
It saddens me to hear Tristan talk like that, but I know it’s true. I’d rather have a dead father than a living one like his. I sigh, wishing I had the same boldness now as when I kissed him back in the Moon Realm.
“What was your dream about?” he asks.
I tell him, watching as his hands tighten into fists, curling and uncurling with each sentence. When I finish, I say, “I don’t know if I’ll be able to do it when the time comes.”
“You’re strong, Adele. I’ve seen it time and time again,” he says, his dark blue eyes never leaving mine.
“Does it take strength to kill?” I ask, almost to myself. “Is that what makes your father strong?”
His hands relax and he folds them in his lap. “It takes strength to defeat evil,” he says wisely. “In any case, I won’t mind being the one to do it when the time comes.”
Despite his more relaxed posture, there’s a thirst for blood in his eyes that I’ve never seen before, which both scares and comforts me. Changing the subject, I say, “So what’s with you and Ram?” I’ve been itching to ask Tristan about his strange relationship with the dark-skinned gargantuan who’s part of our merry little death squad.
“What do you mean?” Tristan says, his eyes giving away his hidden laugh.
“Umm, I don’t know…maybe the fact that he threatened to kill you at the council meeting, and you seemed to find it funny. Does that ring a bell?”
Tristan’s laugh finally presents itself, lighting up his face. I bask in it for a moment as I wait for him to respond. “Let’s just say our friendship has had its ups and downs. Right now we’re on an up.”
“C’mon, tell me,” I push. “What were the downs?”
“He hated me,” Tristan says bluntly. “He didn’t trust me, tried to beat me up a few times, tried to block me from trying to help.”
I guess it makes sense that he’d have opposition—even within the Resistance. Still, a smile plays on my lips. “He tried to beat you up? The guy’s a behemoth.”
Tristan looks away, cringing slightly, but then turns back, his lips turned up once more. “Okay, okay, he did beat me up, but it’s not like I tried to fight back—I didn’t want to upset anyone by getting into fights while trying to convince people to trust me.”
“Sure, tough guy,” I say.
We’re both quiet for a few minutes, but it’s not awkward, which is one of the things I like about Tristan. Just being near him feels right. It’s been that way since I met him. It’s like all the nerves and nodes and synapses in our bodies thrive on our nearness. At least that’s how it is for me, and how I hope it is for Tristan.
He must be thinking the same thing because he says, “Isn’t it weird that we’re here together?” He laughs and I’m silent, but I know exactly what he means. We saw each other across barren rock, through a barbed-wire, electrified fence, past hordes of his screaming, undergarment-throwing, adoring fans—me in freaking prison and him the prized attraction in a parade—and yet here we are, together; like together together. Weird is the perfect word for it.
“Have you ever thought that maybe it’s more than just coincidence?” he says, his eyebrows question marks.
“Like fate?” I say, trying to hide my surprise at his question. I haven’t told him what my mom said to me before we left the Moon Realm:
It’s no accident that you and Tristan met.
“Maybe. I dunno. Something like that.”
My thoughts come fast, careening around in my head like fish in a cave pond. In my world, the only fate is illness or death. We don’t have much else. However, from the time I laid eyes on Tristan in the flesh, I have felt an indescribable pull toward him, like someone wants us to be together. But despite my mom’s declaration that it wasn’t an accident that we met, there’s no logical explanation for any of it, which doesn’t work for my pragmatic mind. I shake my head. “I don’t think so. It’s just plain random chance.”
It’s no accident that you and Tristan met.
Tristan frowns. “There’s something I have to tell you.”
I stop breathing. Here it comes. For a while now I’ve felt there was something he was holding back, something big—maybe life-changing.
“Did I ever tell you that I fainted once thinking about you?”
Huh? I’m guessing that’s not what he’s been keeping from me. What does that even mean? I sigh. “Umm…” Well. Hmm. No?
“I did. Roc and I were training, fighting with wooden swords. This was shortly after I saw you for the first time, mind you. The fight was over and your face popped into my head…” He ducks his head sheepishly and sort of cringes, like he’s wondering why he decided to tell me this, but knows he can’t go back now. “And, well, I passed out right then. In the time between fainting and Roc waking me up, I dreamt that my father murdered you right in front of me. It was creepy.”
My head spins. Why is he telling me this? So I made him faint? I don’t know what to say, but he’s not done yet.
“Then I nearly passed out again when I saw you the second time, when you were trying to break out of the Pen.”
I can’t help but laugh now. “Are you sure it wasn’t the fumes from the bombs blowing up all over the place?”
His face is dead serious. “No, it was you. I had a physical reaction to seeing you, almost like my body couldn’t handle it.”
This is definitely not the direction
I thought the conversation was going. “I didn’t take many baths while in the Pen so normally I would guess it was my body odor that caused it, but I had just showered that day, so that can’t be it,” I joke.
“Perhaps it was your remarkable beauty,” Tristan says, sending warmth into my cheeks.
“Knock it off, charmer, I thought you were being serious.”
“I was being serious,” he says, which doesn’t help stem my flush.
“Look, you probably just hadn’t eaten in a while, or were dehydrated,” I say, trying to steer the conversation away from what he thinks of my looks.
He tilts his head to the side, his eyes wandering to the tunnel ceiling. “That’s possible…” he says, but I know he doesn’t really think so.
When he looks back at me, there’s resolution in his eyes. Although we’re already sitting close to each other, he slides closer, right next to me. The normal strength of my pull toward him is super-charged, and the only desire I have is to hold him, to be held by him. He must feel the same way, because his arm curls around the back of my neck, drags my head to his chest. His warm breath caresses the back of my neck, electricity shooting off his skin as he gently presses his arm against mine.
“This is the good part of life,” he says, and I sigh, although I shouldn’t. Not when my dad is dead, my sister maimed. Cole. No, I don’t deserve this, I think. Not now. Not until the President is dead. Maybe never.
Going against every instinct, I unwind my body from Tristan’s grasp, stand up, and walk away with the lantern in tow, wishing I didn’t have to.
“I’ve got to get rid of this gun,” I say over my shoulder, plucking the gun my mom gave me—the gun I failed to save my father with—out from beneath my tunic.
Chapter TwoTristan
“Wait!” I say, wishing I hadn’t been so bold. I seem to have scared her away.
Jumping to my feet, I jog after the bouncing glow of the light. By the time I catch up to her, she’s marched past the sleeping lumps that are Trevor and Ram, and is approaching Roc and Tawni, who agreed to share tonight’s first watch. Backlit by another lantern, their silhouettes are sitting cross-legged, facing each other, their knees nearly touching. The slap of cards on rock gives away their method of passing the time.
