SunRider: Book 1 (The SunRider Saga)

by Hohmann, Rafael

  Where there be lands of imagination.

  The girl he danced with drew close and disappeared, over and over, teasing Finn with her beauty. With the trace of lilac in his nose, she spun around him once more and was gone, leaving Finn in the middle of the crowd, his heart fluttering.

  Nearby Piscus sat at a table, joking and laughing with the elders of the village. Even the two surly-looking traders from the inn celebrated, eating and dancing, their faces full of wonder like the children around them.

  Finn found himself herded forward with a large crowd as they gathered about a roaring fire. He sat beside Goblin on a soft well-worn log. Around him, others flopped to the grass or curled against a loved one. Piscus came and joined them, sitting to Finn's other side. More feathers dotted his straw hat. An elder stepped in front of the flames, becoming a silhouette. Finn recognized the form as Miriam, the leader of the village.

  “Tonight, we remember.” Miriam began. “Birth and death, love and loss. Whom we are and whom we become. Tonight, we tell the legend of the Stream of Fate.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN:

  The Stream of Fate

  —Circa 5,613 E.E. (Economic Era-The 17th Era): Kind Tipidus the Second, heavily drunk and without control attempts suicide by hanging. He is only saved when the rope unravels, not having been properly tied.—

  Thousands of years before humans walked Lenova, there lived greater races. The Nature-kin, which embodied the spirits of the plants and animals about them, changing form at will. The Seraphs, obsessed with the stars above as if they wanted nothing more than to go there. The Forsaken, whom had been on this earth since before history was remembered. Because of their differences, the races wouldn’t accept each other. In fact, they waged war with such ferocity and strength, the very ground moved.

  The Nature-kin knew the lands, the Seraphs used cunning machinery, and the Forsaken manipulated magic. In all the turmoil and death, something unique happened. The son of a Forsaken and the daughter of a Nature-kin fell in love. Fearing their lives and their people would be lost to the wars ravaging the world, they desperately searched for a way to end the conflict. But sadly, they had no means to control the hatred burning in the hearts of the races.

  In a frantic act, the two met late into the night, praying under the stars for omnipotent help. They knelt and explained their world, described the evil running through it. They wanted it to stop, wanted the war to end. If only they could obtain a means to break the conflict.

  Suddenly, in wonder, water sprang from beneath them: two springs coming from the couple themselves. A terrifying cold voice whispered out as quietly as the shivering of grass in the breeze: “Only by all-encompassing sacrifice can peace be wrought.”

  But there was nothing the Forsaken boy nor the Nature-kin girl could offer. Their lives were small and insignificant. They held no treasures. All they had was their love. And so, the voice took that from them.

  The water pushed the two apart, forming a stream that fought with itself to exist. Farther and farther they were pushed from each other and their wails of sadness could be heard all across the land. When the stream had finished growing, neither of the lovers could be seen, for they’d disappeared into opposite horizons. Never would any living being find where the two ends of the stream came to rest.

  Yet the two still live to this day, fighting the push of the stream by pulling back on it, trying to reach each other. Thus the stream changes its course, in constant chaos.

  The three elder races, seeing the sacrifice made by the two lovers, grew even angrier with each other. Upon the banks of the newly-formed stream they fought their last battle. They said to each other: let fate decide whom shall prevail.

  For eight years the battle waged, day and night without pause. Hills were formed by the uncountable bodies of the fight. When the dust settled, only three forms remained: one from each race. For behold, the true sacrifice to end the conflict was genocide—a cleansing of all hatred.

  Looking around in sorrow at what had become of the world about them, the three dropped their weapons and wept bitterly. For their time had ended upon this world and they knew there was nothing they could do to change it. So side by side they crossed the stream to the banks beyond, to become deities garnished with the responsibility of watching the world be given to the races that would follow: the varying people of Lenova we know today.

  It’s said that the first to cross the stream to meet with the deities will be granted one wish of any choice. It is also said that any who successfully boat from one end of the stream to the other; they would unite the two lovers once more, and be given the knowledge of all time and all space. But none have ever accomplished such feats, for it would take more than what we can give to succeed at such a quest.

  And so, the sacrifice made by the two lovers was fulfilled: peace had come to the land, but at a steep price.

  Thus is the story of the Stream of Fate.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN:

  A Call to Water

  —Circa 32 E.E. (Economic Era-The 17th Era): Dalimenarus the Mace leads 10,000 men to war against Viz of the White Nothing. Their battle awakens the Spider-Queen Xhicuxhizzum and her million children. Humanoids from across Lenova unite to save the land. Eight years later, the first King, Lionel the Beloved is throned.—

  Finn opened his eyes as the story ended. Around him, others stirred as well, muttering and discussing what they'd heard. Goblin looked off to the dark horizon, staring past the flames of the many campfires lit in the central field. He too looked to be contemplating the story.

  Piscus nudged Finn and gave him a smile. “What do you think? The people of Pittance live upon the banks of the stream. They near worship it.”

  Finn mulled over the story. Promises of wishes and knowledge earned echoed in his mind. “Do they believe it to be true?” he asked, “Did those events take place and can one cross the stream to have a wish granted?”

  Piscus stood and stretched, the movement causing Goblin to come out of his trance. Around them, many villagers were leaving. It was a clear sign the celebration had ended. Finn could see Miriam and the other elders thanking the crowds like polite hosts. Cooks took away what food remained from the wooden tables. Sleeping children were picked up and carted off to bed.

  “They certainly believe it.” Piscus answered. “Look at the water and tell me which way it flows. You can't. Makes it pretty easy to assume it to be true.”

  “Has anyone crossed the water?” Finn asked.

  Piscus laughed. “It's as if you fancy attempting it yourself Finn!” Piscus helped Goblin to his feet. “Aye. A long time ago one tried crossing it. The village allows any who wish to do so.”

  “Well?” Finn egged.

  Piscus shrugged his shoulders. “No one knows for sure if the man made it. He tried it late in the night as we slept and we never saw him again. Gone like the many who’ve tried sailing the stream. There are no bodies that wash ashore. No debris. No sign they’ve ever been in the water. No one ever could locate the ends of the stream. There truly is some form of magic to it all.”

  Finn looked to where the stream lay. He couldn’t see it in the dark, but he knew it was there. Something rolled inside of him, like a hungry dog searching for food. What if he crossed the stream and wished for knowledge of his bracer? What if he could be given power over it? What if he wished all Star-Children gone?

  Piscus nudged him. “Hey boy, don't be getting any crazy ideas. I'm starting to like you.”

  But Finn didn’t respond. His mind was like a fish stuck on a line. The more he tried to tug away at the story, the more it reeled him in. The culture. The history. He'd never experienced anything like it before.

  “Come on, back to the inn for the lot of us.” Piscus stated. “In my opinion, you've more than paid for an extended stay as long as you'd like. Let's get some rest. It’s late.”

  Piscus walked away and Goblin followed before turning to wait for Finn. The younger boy gave Finn a questioning look that Finn u
nderstood. What’s gotten a hold of you? The hairs on Finn's arms stood straight out. He didn't know.

  In bed, Finn couldn't sleep. He tossed and turned, visions of the stream plaguing him. It’s said that the first to cross the stream to meet with the deities will be granted one wish of any choice. His fingers clenched against his pillow and he furrowed his brow. He could feel the Star-Child bracer on his wrist—like a metal graft on his skin. Part of him.

  He threw the blanket off the mattress and lay spread-eagle, staring at the ceiling made blue by moonlight. He could hear Goblin's soft snores from the other side of the small room. The boy hadn't been as perturbed by the story as Finn had. Maybe curious, but not driven into a frenzy.

  The bracers. Powers running rampant across Lenova. Finn. The lone figure in the Slaglands. The stream. One wish promised.

  Finn stood and walked over to the round window at the end of the room. He peered through the glass and stared down. Below, the edge of the stream ran, flickering reflections of starlight greeting his gaze. He blinked and tried to focus his vision. The water was moving in another direction. He stared as intently as he could until his sight blurred. His eyes slid to the side and when he refocused, the stream moved the other way. He gauged its width. Thirty meters across was his estimate. He remembered that it had looked shallow. How was it possible no one had successfully trudged across the body of water? Any man or woman with balance and strong legs should be able to do it, yet Piscus said none had returned from the journey. There had to be something more to the water—something that drowned a man and pulled him under, without a chance for resurfacing. Or maybe the stream washed the crossers to its ends, a place no one’d ever found. Maybe it was there where all bodies and boats piled up, like a mass graveyard. Finn shuddered.

  He walked back to his bed and lay down, trying to relax. His desire to know and see all Lenova was hammering at him again, just as it had in the Crust. Instead of the question, what lies beyond the crags, he now was haunted by another: what lies beyond the stream?

  His eyes closed and he fell into a restless dream. In it, a green-eyed maiden danced about him. Maypole ribbons were tied around her wrists and an elk skull was worn like a crown. She drew him to the banks of the water and Finn watched on, mesmerized. She walked backwards, beckoning him to follow with a finger. Her eyes twinkled and her lips curved at the edges. Her face was beautiful.

  Finn tried to warn her, to tell her she’d drown, that the many bodies of ancient dead soldiers would pull her beneath the water. Slowly she waded deeper and deeper, her eyes calling to him. Her mouth didn’t move but he could hear her voice, like a silk sheet against his cheek. Come and see. Come and see what lies beyond. Come and seek your destiny. Her head submerged. Finn couldn’t move and his legs worked in place, not drawing him forward. He couldn’t save her.

  Not that way, Finn.

  He turned around against his will, facing away from the water. Like this.

  Finn was shaken awake by Goblin, sleep still in his eyes. Finn sat up, nearly knocking heads with the boy. Goblin put his hands to his hips, as if chiding him. Finn rubbed his face and waved an apology.

  “Is it morning already?” he mumbled.

  Goblin responded by throwing Finn a shirt. The cloth hit Finn across the chest and fell to his lap. Goblin motioned for Finn to dress. He rubbed his belly, indicating he wanted breakfast.

  “What is with you?” Finn asked with a laugh, donning his clothes. “Did you not eat enough last night? I swear I saw cooks in tears trying to keep up with you! How are you not full?” Goblin rubbed his belly again and winked.

  “Fine.” Finn chuckled, making his way to the door. “Let's go see if we can find Piscus, shall we?”

  The two went downstairs, finding the bar empty except for the plump barmaid. Upon questioning, she informed them Piscus had left to eat breakfast with the elders. Piscus had instructed her to tell them they were more than welcome to join. Goblin led the way out of the inn and Finn was forced in a half-jog to keep up.

  They spotted the gazebo which they'd been instructed to find and made their way to the forms which rested under the shaded white platform. Decorating the grass around the structure were poles topped with animal skulls, staring off into the dawn. Upon seeing Finn and Goblin, Miriam and Piscus nodded a greeting.

  “Behold, our guests!” Piscus shouted in cheer. The group was eating a light breakfast of bread and butter. In their cups they held a curious white liquid.

  Piscus had them sit on one of the benches beneath the gazebo roof. He served them their meal. When given a full cup of the white liquid, Finn stared at it in hesitation.

  “Have you never drunk cow's milk before?” Piscus asked him, eyebrows knit together.

  Finn shook his head. “No. What is it?”

  “By grace and grass, Finn!” Piscus shouted, “Have you done anything in your life at all? You seem to be in wonder at everything about you! Perchance this is the first time you’ve seen the sky as well? Surely you jest?”

  Finn again shook his head. Even Goblin looked shocked.

  “There wasn’t much variety in food and drink where I came from.”

  “Variety!” Piscus spluttered. “Milk, water, wine. It's not complex! You should return to your home, find whomever raised you, and shove your foot so far up their—”

  Miriam put a hand on Piscus' arm, chuckling in mirth. “Just try it, Finn. I'm sure you'll like it.”

  Piscus rolled his eyes good-naturedly and ceased his rant. Finn drank from the cup and his eyes grew wide. “It's creamy and soft!”

  “Well of course it is! It's milk! What did you drink as a child, boy? Mud?” Piscus forced a pitcher onto Finn. “You'll drink this all to compensate for the years you've missed!” Finn nearly dropped the ceramic jug, laughing.

  “I didn’t take you for such a milk enthusiast Piscus.” Miriam chided.

  “Milk, milk, milk! It goes with all meals!” Piscus preached. “I drink it for breakfast, lunch, and dinner! I'd have milk tattooed on my arm if I could! That, or your name, Miriam!”

  The elder rolled her eyes and threw a chunk of bread at the innkeeper. Piscus dodged and tipped his wide hat. Miriam acted offended but Finn could see the small smile she tried to hide. Finn was sure Piscus could see it too.

  As they ate, Piscus and Goblin debated over food. It was humorous to watch Piscus argue with the mute boy.

  “Of course carrots go in stew, Goblin! It's traditional!

  “What are you doing with your arms? You wave them about as if you've lost control of your body. Quit that, it confuses me!

  “Cabbage? Cabbage? You're as insane as Finn! Cabbage works with nothing! Maybe as compost! What in all Lenova are you getting at? Your arms are bouncing around the gazebo! I have no idea what you're trying to tell me.”

  “Finn,” one of the elders called out. Finn turned to the bearded man. “What do you carry there on your wrist?”

  Finn jolted and he stared at the bracer.

  “He dons the mark of a Star-Child, elder.” Piscus answered for him, face calm.

  Finn worried at the reaction the elders would have. Would they be as scared as Piscus had been when first meeting him? Would they kick him out of town?

  “Ah, merely a noble from far away then? How quaint. 'Tis good to have you, lad.” The elder turned and continued his meal.

  Confusion welled within Finn. Did they not care he was a Star-Child among their midst? Piscus leaned over and spoke into Finn’s ear. “It's alright Finn. They don’t care much for events that don't affect their village. Pittance is a peaceful place of self-reliance. Whatever happens beyond the borders is of no concern to them.”

  Finn looked to the now-solemn-faced innkeeper. “Don’t they hear the stories of Star-Children destroying and killing?” he whispered back.

  “They do, but they brush it off as mere political battles between lords and nobles. It doesn’t concern them.”

  Finn found the words disturbing. How could the people of Pitta
nce not care about the rest of Lenova? Were they blind to danger? Piscus nudged Finn. “Don’t take their judgement harshly, Finn. Look about you. There is but peace and tranquility here. They know nothing of the evils beyond as we who have traveled there do. Let them enjoy their bliss. It's such a rarity.”

  Piscus spoke truth, yet it was hard for Finn to accept it. The village of Pittance was free from the darkness and death sweeping Lenova. Free from corrupted politicians, swindlers, robbers, and killers. But, if someday the village was to be attacked, how would they defend it? The people had their innocence, but would innocence be their demise?

  He wiggled in discomfort, mind preoccupied with the village and with thoughts of Star-Children marching toward them. He overheard Miriam talking with another elder.

  “Never will I eat sausage links before bed again, Stephan! The dreams I had, I tell you. Quite disturbing! Poor Miller was being chased by a goat down that ravine near Quo'tul Pass...”

  Dreams.

  An image of a green-eyed maiden beguiling Finn to water came to mind. Finn shot up from his seat, dropping his cup to the gazebo floor. The dream. The girl. The stream. Everyone jumped, staring at him in confusion.

  “Finn! What happened?” Miriam asked. “Were you stung by a wasp? They do tend to linger about the place.”

  Finn shook his head in a no. “I—I'm sorry.”

  “What goes through your head, Finn?” Piscus asked, eyes narrowed.

  Finn licked his lips and stared toward the distant stream. One wish to those who could cross it. Something was calling to him. Destiny.

  “I'm going to cross the stream.”

  He stated the words with confidence, his voice flat. Throughout the white gazebo, no one spoke. Eyes widened and mouths dropped open. “Finn,” Piscus whispered, “don’t you remember my words? Not one’s ever crossed successfully!”

  The dream rushed in repetition from beginning to end through Finn's mind. Not that way, Finn. Like this. “They haven't succeeded because they didn't know the secret.”