Heartland

by Lucy Hounsom

  HEARTLAND

  BY LUCY HOUNSOM

  The Worldmaker Trilogy

  Starborn

  Heartland

  Lucy Hounsom

  HEARTLAND

  The Worldmaker Trilogy:

  Book Two

  *

  TOR

  First published 2016 by Tor an imprint of Pan Macmillan 20 New Wharf Road, London N1 9RR Associated companies throughout the world www.panmacmillan.com

  ISBN 978-1-4472-6857-4

  Copyright © Lucy Hounsom 2016

  Map artwork © Hemesh Alles

  The right of Lucy Hounsom to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  Pan Macmillan does not have any control over, or any responsibility for, any author or third party websites referred to in or on this book.

  1 3 5 7 9 8 6 4 2

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  Typeset by Ellipsis Digital Limited, Glasgow Printed and bound by CPI Group (UK) Ltd, Croydon, CR0 4YY

  This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

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  For Iris, grandmother and inspiration

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  A huge thank you to my editors, Bella Pagan and Julie Crisp, who helped me hone this rambling collection of ideas into a novel. Your comments have always been spot-on and I’m incredibly grateful for the support and encouragement you’ve shown a new author who is still very much in need of guidance.

  Thanks to my agent, Veronique Baxter, for allaying my fears over many a coffee and looking after the details. You’re endlessly supportive of me and my work and I am very lucky to have you.

  To all of Team Tor and Pan Macmillan: wow. I give you my word document and you turn it into a beautiful book that (hopefully!) people will want to read. From copy-editing and design to PR, sales and marketing, thank you for all your hard work. Seeing my words in print will never cease to amaze me.

  Thank you to all the booksellers who supported Starborn and special thanks to my Waterstones manager, Helen, who has done so much in-store to help promote my book. It’s deeply appreciated.

  I’m fortunate to have a family who fully endorses my decision to live outside reality. Much love always to the parents for being the best and for reading Heartland as it was written, and thanks to my sister for helping me straighten the kinks. In the months since Starborn was published, my aunt and uncle have bought the book, spread the word and helped me whenever I needed a place to stay. Thank you, Cheryl and Dave, for being so generous, for feeding me and letting me camp out in your house.

  And to all the readers who’ve contacted me to say they enjoyed my book, or took the time to seek me out at conventions: thank you. Your encouragement means the world to me.

  My stars shine darkly over me: the malignancy of my fate might perhaps distemper yours.

  Twelfth Night Shakespeare

  A heavy weight of hours has chained and bowed One too like thee: tameless, and swift, and proud.

  ‘Ode to the West Wind’ Percy Bysshe Shelley

  These are the Watchers, Noruri, Soruri, Austri and Vestri: the compass stars of North, South, East and West. As for the countless other stars, it is difficult to assign meaning, at least in human terms. The stars are ancient, everlasting and powerful beyond our comprehension. As their avatar, I can only offer a reader the simplest of labels – language is so unequal to the task.

  Sigel – a ruinous star, its name roughly translates to fire and force.

  Wynn – Sigel’s sibling, the greater wind.

  Lagus – another sibling of Sigel, it has power over all water.

  Tyr – relentless, the warrior.

  Hagal – the demon star, whose name means shadow.

  Isa and Yeras – the bridges over the void.

  Ansu – one that listens.

  Pyrth – the preserver of secrets.

  Thurn – a binding star, it holds, tangles, imprisons.

  Fas – unseen, unheard, invisible.

  Raad – to move swiftly.

  Mannas – the star of finding.

  Etoh – cleansing, ending.

  Page 3 of an incomplete compendium authored

  by Kierik of Maeran, donated to the archives of Solinaris

  and preserved after its fall by the Nerian, the people of the Saviour.

  PART ONE

  I

  New Sartya, Acre

  Hagdon

  The emperor’s bedchamber was as lavish as the rest of the palace. Rare black ken – the little stones used as Acrean currency – gleamed from the walls where they had been used as common mosaic tiles. Most people preferred to keep their money in their purses, but the current Davaratch tended towards ostentation. Davaratch was the emperor who’d led Sartya to ascendancy centuries before; now every subsequent ruler took his name as royal title. This Davaratch was the twenty-first in his line and Hagdon found him reclining on top of the vast bed, surrounded by young men – all scions of noble houses. Their painted faces were careful, cautious.

  General Hagdon of the Sartyan Fist looked away with a barely concealed grimace. The scene reminded him uncomfortably of his nephew; he couldn’t help but picture the circumstances in which Tristan had died. When he made his report, however, his voice sounded flat and emotionless.

  ‘Land to the east?’ the emperor asked, sitting up.

  ‘Uncharted,’ Hagdon said. ‘Our maps are useless.’

  The Davaratch grunted and rose, shrugging into a robe. Standing, he towered well over six feet. An irritated flicker of fingers from his single hand sent the semi-clothed boys scurrying out of the door.

  ‘Have them disposed of, Hagdon.’ The emperor’s dark eyes were chill. ‘You ought to speak more carefully. I deplore the waste of young life.’

  Cold gripped Hagdon’s belly. ‘Sire, nothing of import was said—’

  ‘Was it not?’ Those black eyes seemed to sink deeper into their sockets. ‘I will not permit such news to reach Khronosta.’

  ‘Our scouts report the land is in eastern Baior, sire,’ Hagdon informed him quietly, ‘on the other side of the hoarlands.’

  ‘There is nothing on the other side of the hoarlands.’

  Hagdon hesitated. ‘You are of course right, sire, but—’

  The Davaratch stopped him with a glare. ‘Get Shune. We’ll ask him.’

  ‘At once.’ Hagdon moved to the double doors, grasped a gilded handle. ‘His Imperial Majesty wishes to see the Relator,’ he barked at one of the red-mailed men standing guard outside. ‘Inform him.’

  The soldier smacked his fist to his shoulder and hurried away.

  For such a large man, the Davaratch moved softly. He was already poring over the detailed relief of Acre set in a corner of the room. Hagdon joined him, following the curve of the Ak-Taj Desert further east to Baior. It was a poor region of rocky earth where crops regularly failed. Peasants’ country. The hoarlands opened on to Baior’s eastern frontier and H
agdon suppressed a shiver – people tended to vanish there. He’d lost an entire regiment several years ago.

  The Davaratch wet the tip of his finger and brushed it lightly across the map. With a fitful flicker, the relief came to life. The grain of the wooden rivers seemed to flow, winds stirring the skeletal leaves of the Deadwood. Sartyan banners flew above cities, marking their allegiance. Hagdon blinked, surprised the map still functioned. The energy that powered it – ambertrix, the lifeblood of Sartya – was nearly spent. Even the palace was subject to rationing.

  The eastern end of the hoarlands began to smoke, grey wood dissipating to reveal a rich red hue beneath. Hagdon stared at it, his skin prickling.

  ‘Impossible,’ the Davaratch breathed, fixing his eyes upon the glittering sands. ‘No one’s seen the Sundered Valley in five hundred years. Why should it appear now?’

  ‘A question whose answer even you should learn to fear,’ a voice said.

  Belying his size, the Sartyan emperor spun round, a black-bladed knife flicking into his hand. Its point arced to rest against the neck of the old man suddenly standing there, scrawny with the years. ‘Do not try your tricks on me, Shune,’ the Davaratch growled. ‘I wouldn’t hesitate to cut the life from you.’

  As soon as the knife retreated from Relator Shune’s throat, the old man rubbed at the drop of blood it had drawn and frowned at the smudge on his fingers. ‘Such reflexes stand you in good stead, Majesty, but alone they will not save you.’ His pale, luminous eyes strayed to the map. ‘You are unprepared.’

  ‘For what?’ the Davaratch asked, irritation tightening the muscles of his face.

  ‘Change.’

  A swift backhand sent Shune crashing to the floor. The Davaratch stood over him, stormy-eyed. ‘I won’t suffer your riddling. You will tell me what you know of this –’ he gestured at the Sundered Valley – ‘or I will find another use for you.’

  Hagdon saw a fleeting hatred contort Shune’s face. The man had been Relator longer than he could remember. He’d served the current Davaratch and the one before him – and possibly even the one before that. Hagdon watched as the old man climbed unsteadily to his feet. Ignoring the trickle of blood that ran from his split lip, he said, ‘It’s Rairam.’

  The room plunged into darkness. Hagdon’s heart leapt until he realized it was only the ambertrix lights failing once more. The Davaratch let out a grunt of displeasure and Hagdon swiftly searched his pocket for the matches and taper he had taken to carrying around. Once he’d lit the candelabrum on the dresser, he picked it up, spilling its glow across the map. The Sundered Valley caught the flames, held them covetously like red-glass beads.

  ‘Rairam,’ the Davaratch said finally, his voice hushed.

  Shune nodded and looked at the map. ‘So, Kierik,’ he whispered. ‘You could not keep us out forever.’

  The door crashed open and Hagdon whirled, a furious reprimand on his tongue, but it died when he saw who stood there, her red gauntleted fist on the handle.

  ‘Majesty,’ the woman spoke directly to the emperor, ‘we’ve found them.’

  Sparks leapt in the Davaratch’s eyes. ‘Have the unit keep a distance,’ he said. ‘Are they aware of you?’

  ‘No, sire,’ the woman answered. She was clad in the same mail as the guards outside, except that her pauldrons were black and embossed with three hooded greathawks. Stealth Captain Iresonté. Her presence here could mean only one thing: Khronosta was found.

  ‘The whole damn temple appeared near one of the outposts on the Baioran frontier,’ Iresonté said. ‘It’s been two weeks and they’re still sitting there plain as day.’

  ‘Hagdon,’ the Davaratch snapped and Hagdon stood up straighter. ‘Choose your best men and accompany the captain into the field. I won’t take any chances.’ His lips thinned. ‘The Baioran frontier. This is not coincidence.’

  ‘The Defiant also have a base—’

  ‘The Defiant are a ragtag band of outlaws and the captain here already has a man inside. I doubt they’re foolish enough to meddle but if they do, take care of them.’ The emperor swept them both with his black eyes and Hagdon saw Iresonté flinch. ‘This could well be the day we have waited for. You have your orders.’

  James, the Relator whispered in his head and Hagdon had to turn his startled jerk into a salute; he hated when Shune spoke to him this way without warning, the emperor’s obsession with Khronosta is blinding him to the real threat.

  And what is the real threat? he answered, uneasy at the mental intrusion.

  Rairam, the old man replied. We do not know the truth behind its return. It must be investigated.

  I don’t take my orders from you.

  No, Shune agreed in his hissing voice, you take them from the man who murdered your kin.

  Get out of my head, Hagdon snarled silently, moving to join Iresonté at the door. He could feel the emperor’s eyes like twin blades pressing into his back.

  ‘General.’

  He turned.

  ‘This is our chance to end Khronosta. I want the floors of that temple to run red. They will know what it is to stand against me.’

  General James Hagdon had commanded the Sartyan Fist for half a decade. His men called him the Hand of Sartya. His enemies – and he’d made many over the years – dubbed him the emperor’s rabid dog. Today, he thought, as he trotted faithfully from the chamber, out to murder a people, the name given him by his enemies was the truer.

  2

  The Hoarlands, Acre

  Kyndra

  She stood on the black road that ran to the stars and watched him craft a world.

  His skin was starlight, his dark blue eyes – so like hers – blazed with the power he bent to his will. He wasn’t the madman here, weighed down with lost centuries, but young, handsome even, and filled with righteousness. She watched him tear at time, twist the dimensions of the earth to his liking, and she screamed at him to stop.

  When he turned his head and saw her, she shuddered but didn’t back away. Sigel was in his hands, a torrent of energy. Before she knew it, she reached for the star herself, tried to wrest its power from him. He snarled and fought her and she fought back, the world threatening to split apart under their struggle. She wouldn’t let him win, not when the Breaking would destroy all of Mariar and its people, not when she knew the future.

  He faltered and she seized her chance, tearing the power away from him. He cried out, clutched his head, and she used Sigel to incinerate the walls he’d raised between worlds. Acre had to be whole. When he fell to his knees, screaming, she didn’t pause, but tore viciously into his bindings until they snapped and the world sprang back into shape.

  The moment she relaxed her will, the power rushing through her began to burn. She tried to hurl it away, but the stars crowded into her head, eroding everything she was. Constellations scored her palms and she gasped as the scars flamed up her arms, over her chest and neck and into her mouth so that it filled with their names. She choked them back, desperate to hide from them. But they were her. She could not fight herself.

  Kierik crouched before her, hands fisted against his head, howling like the madman he was. The fire consumed her, rolled out of her, broke like a wave over the lands of Acre and Rairam, burning everything in its path until there was nothing left but ashes and death and darkness.

  Kyndra opened her eyes … and the fire was real, hot, stellar white. She became aware of her cramped limbs, curled into a ball on the ground. She was the fire; it surged in sheets down her back, rippling out to either side. Voices called her name. Between each wall of flame, she caught sight of familiar faces, lit with fear, alarm, horror.

  No.

  Kyndra closed her eyes, concentrating, until she could pull herself back from the brink. In her mind, she slammed the dark doorway that led to the stars and their whispers quietened. The fire died, shrinking back into her skin as if it had never been. When she opened her eyes again, it took her a few seconds to remember where she was. Tentative, the faces
crept closer. Kait’s was suspicious; she watched Kyndra without blinking.

  Medavle, the Yadin, was first to reach her side and then Nediah, who – after the briefest hesitation – dropped down beside her. Worry vied with wariness in the shadows beneath his eyes.

  There was a faint chime and Kyndra turned her head to see Irilin, her skin alight with Lunar energy. Filaments clung to the novice’s hands; like cobwebs, they floated gently out to brighten the area. ‘Shielded,’ she said.

  ‘Kyndra?’ Nediah asked softly.

  She sat as if sheathed in stone, staring at a patch of blackness beyond Irilin’s light. ‘Fine,’ she said, hearing her voice break over the lie. ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘This is the second time,’ Kait said. ‘Irilin can’t shield us all night.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Irilin looked shamefaced. ‘If I’d learned how to tie it off—’

  Kait rounded on Medavle. ‘Can’t you help her?’

  ‘Kyndra has to help herself,’ the Yadin said coldly. ‘She has to stop fighting them.’

  ‘Never,’ Kyndra growled from between clenched teeth. A headache was pounding behind her eyes. ‘I don’t want them. I didn’t choose this.’

  ‘Your stubbornness will kill us all,’ Kait said and Nediah laid a reproving hand on her shoulder. She glanced at him irritably, but did not shake it off. ‘We have no idea what we’re walking into.’

  ‘You’re not in the Deep any more,’ Shika spoke from the shadows. ‘We’re capable of handling trouble.’

  Kait glared at the novice. ‘What would you know of it, as well-fed and coddled as you are? Have you failed to notice that only one of us –’ she nodded at Irilin – ‘is a Lunar? And she can’t even tie off a shield.’ Irilin looked hurt. ‘We’re all but defenceless at night,’ Kait continued. She jerked her head at Kyndra. ‘And what help is a Starborn who refuses to use her power?’

  ‘You don’t understand,’ Kyndra said quietly.

  ‘Arguing will get us nowhere,’ Nediah headed off Kait’s retort. ‘She does have a point though,’ he said to Kyndra. ‘You’re making it difficult to keep our presence hidden.’