SunRider: Book 1 (The SunRider Saga)

by Hohmann, Rafael

  “What are you talking about?” Piscus spluttered. Goblin grabbed at Finn’s arm, brow furrowed. Finn didn’t reply. Instead, he hopped down the gazebo steps and ran toward the stream.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN:

  Beyond the Stream

  —Circa 4,900 E.E. (Economic Era-The 17th Era): House Silverskin and House Glover develop a feud over possession of land. The feud lasts three hundred years, affecting the economy of many cities, who are left without coveted Fibermoss-nets and orange wheat.—

  The rushing sound of water grew stronger as Finn drew close to the banks. He ran around a grove of trees and slid down an embankment covered in dew. Ferns and tall grass swept past his face, slapping him as he skidded to the edge of the water. In the distance, he could hear voices calling his name. Finn had a strong feeling he shouldn't answer, but instead stay quiet and cross without being seen. There had been something about the dream that’d spoken to him in a deeper level, as if it had been a secret message. There was a way to accomplish this challenge, a method no one had thought of doing before.

  His new boots carved into dark mud and crushed rotting vegetation as he walked to the water's edge. The smell of wet wood hit his nose and a finite mist tickled his skin. Standing upon the banks, he examined the water once more, still unable to determine which way it flowed. On the other side, tall grass and closely-knit willow trees hid the ground. Anything could be there, watching and waiting.

  What would happen if he did cross? Nothing? Or perhaps his wish to activate his bracer would be immediately granted? Or would he die? No one had ever come back from crossing the stream and no bodies had ever been found. He fought with himself to make up his mind. What if this was his only opportunity to have a wish granted? He had to stop thinking. The voices in the village were still distant, but growing closer. Finn didn't have time to hesitate. He remembered the dream: how the green-eyed girl had turned him around. Not that way. Like this. He rotated backward, preparing to walk into the water while facing away from the opposite bank.

  The bracer and Goblin’s wristband were splashed with water as he took a blind step, putting one foot into the churning waves. Nothing happened. He wasn't swept away. Hands didn’t reach out and drown him. The near-translucent fish wove around his boot, curious to his presence. Still looking away, he put his other foot in the water, now standing in the stream. His heart pounded and he swallowed hard. He might never see Goblin again. Might never see all of Lenova, his biggest goal in life. Instead, he might drown.

  Finn stepped again, the water rising to his calf. He remembered he couldn’t swim—had never been taught to swim. He walked backward and the water moved to his thighs. It was cold... yet warm. Everything about this stream contradicted itself. Its flow, its temperature, and even the way in which one had to cross it. Finn continued to move, the water mounting around him. As it hit his waistline and he walked even deeper, he was buffeted back and forth. The strength of the water grew and he did what he could to not slip on the rocks his feet tread upon. He imagined sliding under the waves and he knew if his head submerged, he wouldn’t resurface.

  A fish splashed near his face and distracted, Finn slipped, chin dipping into the water. He waved his arms in windmills to maintain his direction. Upon finding his balance, he coughed out the water that’d splashed into his mouth. It was sweet. He continued, shedding the stream as he rose from the opposing banks. As he drew near to shore, tall cattails pushed about him. He was soon only treading ankle-deep in water. In the distance, he could see villagers led by Miriam, Piscus, and Goblin. They walked to the edge of the ravine which he'd slipped from. They were trying to find him.

  Weeds pushed about Finn, hiding him as he walked backward until his feet hit dry ground. With his heart pounding, he worked up the courage to spin in place and face the other side. Nothing fatal happened. Surrounded by willows and weeds taller than his head, he tasted the earthy smell of untouched vegetation and was relieved to be alive. Near his foot a fox ran by, stopping to stare at him in curiosity. Perhaps having never seen a human before, it wasn't scared. With a flick of its tail, it was gone.

  Weaving between the green, Finn climbed a small rise, pushing through curtains of foliage. Birds cawed out, gossiping over the strange human that’d intruded upon their territory. Butterflies flew past, not taking the time to disturb him.

  Finn rested a hand on a mossy trunk and looked about. Nothing had approached him. No magic drew itself about him, changing anything. His bracer was dead weight. He knew no wish had been granted. Had the story been just that? A story? Disappointment washed over him and Finn sighed, sitting on the ground. He felt foolish for having walked backward across the stream. What if the wishing magic had faded over time?

  He was on the verge of leaving when he saw the crevice. Near his position, a rock outcrop grew from the ground. From it, Finn could see a dark line running through its center. Above, small carved symbols arched over the entrance. They were faded—sanded by the elements—and he didn’t recognize their meaning.

  Finn approached the crevice, his body electrified with excitement. It was narrow, barely the width of a child. If he sucked in and squeezed, he knew he’d fit through. Benefit of being a cave-diver: one knew how to maneuver through tight spaces. Wiggling his body and scratching his chest, Finn left the world of light for one he was much more familiar with: a dark place of stone walls and chill air. The crevice opened up, moving downward. Being able to straighten out, Finn used his hands to guide himself in the dark as he inched his feet forward.

  He knew to be careful—one overconfident step and maybe he'd walk over a hole, dropping into the bowels of darkness. He sniffed, catching a whiff of something pungent. It gave him discomfort. He knew of many toxic caves which could poison a man’s lungs.

  Finn remembered the story told by the elders. After the ancient battle between the three races, only one of each remained. Had they carved the tunnel, a final symbol to a time so primeval none could remember it? It was indeed man-made: as Finn slid his palms across the walls he could feel chisel marks. His fingers rubbed against those indents, also finding curves and patterns. There were pictures and words. If only he had a light to see them...or had thought to bring his miner’s goggles. Finn had a feeling many secrets could be learned from the walls.

  The tunnel widened even more, becoming large enough that Finn could stretch out his arms to either side and not touch the edges. At first mistaking it for his imagination, Finn thought he saw the flicker of a far-off glow. He continued to walk, treading carefully until his eyes confirmed the light. There was a sharp bend, the walls lit by something beyond. A shushing sound could be heard. He stepped around the corner, stopping to examine a carving of a scaly giant plucking scores of men with one hand and dumping them into his open crooked mouth. The image was foreboding and eerie in the stillness of the cave. The giant’s left foot crushed the stone wall of a citadel and with his free hand, he reached for more victims. Around him, small humans ran, were brutally crushed by the collapsing structures, or lay prostrate, worshiping the monster. The violence was detailed and highlighted a darker more primitive time in Lenova, an era of brutality, pain, and terror. It made Finn wonder if the depiction was fiction or a historical event. He moved on.

  Around the corner, a rectangular room opened. It took Finn's breath away and he was left gazing in wonder at the sight. With a large ceiling stretching meters above him, the chamber could have housed all the villagers of Pittance. Carved into the far wall were three huge gray faces. Two women on either side of a man. They were so detailed, Finn nearly expected them to move and talk in booming voices. Instead, their eyes remained peacefully shut as if in deep undisturbed sleep. Their defining feature were their opened mouths. Waterfalls poured from them: out into canals running along the length of the floor. Across the ceiling, three upside-down empty trenches mirrored the canals, giving the room an anesthetic balance.

  In the middle awaited the scarred face of an older man with a long beard, scraggly
eyebrows, and an elegant crown. On his crown rested the shape of a star. His mouth was releasing a slow gush of lava: the source of flickering light. The hot liquid fell at a calm pace, pouring into the middle canal and running along the floor. Finn walked to where the canal ended and leaned over to look for where the lava went. Underneath his feet at the edge of the canal was a grate where the glowing liquid disappeared. He gazed to the right, where one of the female faces rested. Finn walked closer to examine.

  The woman was older, but beautiful. Her long hair was carved in such a way, it seemed to sweep around her face with thin wisps trailing on the edge of her lips. Flowers dotted her brow like a natural wreath. She had long lashes and laugh lines, indicating a happy youth. Finn jolted in recognition. The woman... the way she looked—so similar to the girl from his dreams. In fact, she could’ve been the dream girl’s mother.

  In wonder, he took a few steps closer. From her mouth poured out fizzing water letting off a white mist. The shushing sound came from it. Hitting his skin, mist crystalized into frost. He wiped at the cold coating and studied the water more carefully. Ice chunks glazed the top, floating along the canal. Just being near the water sent Finn's teeth chattering. He knew if he were to try and drink it, his mouth would freeze shut. He backed away, rubbing his arms to bring warmth to his body.

  The woman on the far left had short, chin-length hair, strange slanted eyes, pronounced cheekbones, and a narrow face. For a crown, she bore a thick crude circlet. Spikes came from it and covered her closed eyes. From her mouth poured out a viscous dark liquid. It shimmered and wove not like fluid, but like black snakes made of smoke. As he approached her, the pungent smell he’d detected earlier grew stronger. Nearing the canal, Finn's nose crinkled. It was heavy; like the odors released from chemicals used to clean gems from beneath the Crust. Acidic. He didn't dare step closer. Who knew what sort of demise would come for whomever fell into that liquid.

  He stood at a distance from all three and examined the room as a whole. Suddenly, it clicked into his mind. The three faces: they were the faces of the last survivors in the tale, one from each race. The man must have been the Seraph, the woman with the flowers Nature-kin, and the female with the narrow face a Forsaken. The chamber was some form of temple or shrine dedicated to them. Was this the place Finn would receive a wish?

  “Hello?” he called out, his voice echoing in the room. He immediately regretted saying the word. In the many uncounted millenniums the room had rested undisturbed, he'd finally broken the spell of silence. The room began to shake.

  Finn's eyes grew wide. Cave-in? He crouched, splaying his hands out. Instincts and years of practice in the mines took over. He spun in place, bringing his shirt over his mouth and nose as filter in case of dust. He sprinted for the exit but was too late. With a boom, a partition that’d camouflaged into the wall slammed over the tunnel, closing it off. It was a trap. Finn was stuck in the room!

  The rumble grew louder and Finn spun, trying to find an indent to hide beneath. There was nothing. He looked up, expecting the ceiling to collapse. Instead, it lowered in a controlled movement. He stopped, looking about in confusion. Where were the falling rocks? The dust? The collapsing of the room? He was answered with a patterned grating, the noise similar to the turning of pulleys. Mechanical. The roof of the chamber was going to crush him. The story had lied. It’d tricked him into coming here and dying. Were the people of Pittance sacrificing him? Was he to be made a ritual for three ancient dead entities? No, that couldn't be it. There was no way Miriam and Piscus would do such a thing. Or would they? How well did Finn know them?

  It was a test—like the stream.

  Finn gritted his teeth, trying to comprehend what the room wanted from him. He studied the faces once more, the canals, the liquids, the open mouths. Open! He had to swim one of the canals and through one of the stone mouths. But which one?

  He looked at each face. Ice-water, lava, or acid. He would die with all three. The ceiling moved closer and closer, the meters dropping. The trenches carved into the roof would clamp against the canals on the floor, forming closed tunnels. He had to choose one before they shut. Already the stone carvings were covered past their eyes, their features crushed flat by the block ceiling. Their noses were soon to follow. Then the rest.

  Finn paced and huffed, his heart bouncing against his chest. He then remembered the Star-Child bracer. He was immune to heat! He wanted to hit himself. Finn ran forward, reaching the edge of the middle canal. He stared at the molten liquid. What if the lava had an enchantment to it? Or a curse? There was no time to question. Already the ceiling was pushing against his head, forcing him to crouch. He sucked in his breath. It was insane, absolutely insane. He was about to dive headfirst into lava. And he did.

  Keeping his arms and legs together, he fell, smashing into the thick liquid, remembering with regret that he’d just bought his new clothes. Unlike water, he didn't sink right away. Instead, he hovered halfway above the surface and slightly beneath it. It was as if the liquid was trying to decide whether to accept him or not. Like in the Slaglands, there was no horrible burning sensation, but a stagnant cool touch. Stream water evaporated off him in one large hiss. His clothing erupted into flames, burning into ash and exposing him. Blackened fiber flew in spirals around him, trapped in the hot air, slowly disappearing into nothing from the heat. Finn thanked the heavens at least he'd left his satchel and gems back at the inn.

  Finn sank into the lava. Fearing he wouldn't burn but simply drown, he splashed about, trying to right himself into a standing position. His feet carved downward into the liquid and he squinted as to not blind himself in the glow. The heat cooked the air, thickening it to a point where he could hardly breathe. If only he had Miner’s Pumice with him. His toes found bottom and he stopped sinking, the lava coming to his chest. Above, the ceiling let out a massive boom as it shut, closing him inside the tiny tunnel created by the conjoining canals.

  Right away his lungs overworked themselves as he gasped in the limited air. It didn't burn his lungs, but instead left him feeling as if he was breathing soup. He had no time to lose. Sloshing forward in the lava, he struggled to make for the distant light marking the exit. Now instead of looking like a mouth, it resembled a hole at the end of the canal, spewing liquid. Lava hit his face and splashed into his eyes. He rubbed them, feeling grit beneath his eyelids. In what had to have been the most dangerous situation he'd ever been in, Finn laughed. He felt dizzy. The ridiculousness of rubbing lava out of one's eye—as if it were nothing more than a casual act—seemed so preposterous he couldn't help but snigger. He stopped, scolding himself on disobeying the cardinal rule that’d been drilled into him since a small boy: when running out of air, don't do anything stupid to use it up faster.

  Approaching the end of the canal, lungs heaving, he stopped. All that was left was to cross beneath the flow of lava, submerge beneath the liquid, and crawl through the stone mouth. Knowing if he wasted even a second longer he'd suffocate, he dove in.

  It was heavy and the weight of the flow smashed into his back, forcing him to his knees. His arms wove about, churning in the thick lava. He couldn't open his eyes, he couldn't resurface, and he couldn't breathe. He was going to die!

  Pushing with all the remaining strength in his body, he forced his legs to propel him forward. His pulse beat in his head, vibrating in his veins. His lungs compressed, causing a ring to sound in his ears and forcing his throat to swallow at nothing. His arms felt at the smooth walls within the mouth of the face and he guided himself forward. There was an incline to his step. He was moving upwards.

  With a whoosh, his head broke through the surface. Spiraling arcs of lava flew about. Yellow rivulets trickled down his face and he opened his mouth wide, gulping air. He coughed, choking on liquid. His arms broke free and he grasped about him, feeling for an edge to the pool he was in. Touching dry stone, he gripped it and pulled himself from the sludge. The lava hissed and crackled, dripping off him and onto the stone. Wipin
g his eyes clean, Finn retched, spewing out his breakfast of bread and milk.

  Shivering, he crawled forward to a clean patch of ground and collapsed. He lay there, waiting for his heart to settle down. Once calm, he wiped the remaining lava off himself. Already most of it had dried, forming a rock crust on his skin. He examined the room.

  The new chamber was much smaller, possibly the size of a house. Lit by the lava he'd escaped from Finn was able to see about him. Three pools rested side by side against one wall, each containing a liquid from one of the three stone faces. Finn stared at both the ice and acid-filled tubs. He knew he’d made the correct choice. If he had dived into either of the other canals, he would’ve died.

  Opposite to the pools was a tunnel continuing forward, but apart from that, the room was barren and inanimate. No walls moved, no noise echoed out, and all was still. Finn walked along the tunnel with trepidation, worried a new trap would spring, catching him unaware.

  Ahead, a more natural light flashed out. He drew closer to it, wondering how sunlight could reach so deep into the earth. Abruptly, the passage came to an end, facing a flat stone wall. The light came from a small circular hole in the center. Puzzled, Finn drew near and peeked through. His naked body shivered in the cold cave.

  Beyond, was what Finn could only describe as a magical garden. Sun beat upon a grass lawn leading to sinewy trees interwoven with ivy and moss. Dark bush leaves stretching as wide as a man grew through the patches of thick jungle vegetation, forming walls of green. Finn couldn’t recognize a single plant; each as exotic as one could imagine. Yellow sand formed winding paths between the trees, none seeming to lead to anywhere in particular. Large narrow rectangular stones carved with circles seemed to grow from the soft grass in sagging angles. Birds fluttered about and Finn adjusted his gaze through the small peep-hole to try and follow their movements. They held all the colors of the rainbow and some seemed to have human faces. Far back between the brush, Finn could see the silhouette of something tall and with a long neck. The creature wiggled and spikes protruded from its head, then retracted. With loud crunching footsteps, it disappeared, not giving Finn a chance to make out detail.