Heartland

by Lucy Hounsom

  ‘I know, Nediah,’ she said in a low voice. ‘It won’t happen again.’

  Austri stirred beyond the dark door. It will, if you persist in fighting.

  ‘It’s not as if we’ve seen a lot of people,’ Irilin said in an obvious attempt to smooth things over. Her Lunar aura limned her hair and skin in silver. ‘I guess this place isn’t popular with the locals.’

  Shika shrugged. ‘Would you choose to live out here?’

  ‘Someone shut the children up,’ Kait said. ‘What did you bring them for, Starborn?’

  ‘Don’t call me that.’ Kyndra allowed herself to meet each pair of eyes. Except for Medavle’s. She felt his gaze, inscrutable, judging. ‘I’ll stand watch,’ she said, ignoring the fact that she’d barely had any rest. ‘You can go back to sleep.’

  She turned away before they could argue and, from the corner of her eye, saw them dropping back into their bedrolls. Kait had dragged hers a little closer to Nediah’s.

  Kyndra stuffed her hands in the pockets of her coat. It was to keep them warm, she told herself, aware that it wasn’t really. She didn’t want to look at her palms. She didn’t want to see the terrible patterns that marked her out as someone different … as someone dangerous.

  She remembered the look of fear on her companions’ faces. To them a Starborn was a thing of horror; inhuman, implacable and uncontrollable. Kyndra thought of the frozen core buried in her chest, just beside her heart. Sometimes it felt larger, as if it would push the red muscle aside and take its place. Instead of blood pumping around her body, it would be power.

  Kyndra shuddered. It was worse when she was alone. Then their voices would creep into her mind, echoing from an unimaginable distance. Some stars talked more than others and Austri was the worst. It was strongest at dawn, making it the first thing Kyndra heard upon waking. It called her out of dreams she didn’t want to lose: of her home, Brenwym, before the Breaking, when it seemed her life was full of sunlight and summer.

  They had left the Wielder city of Naris yesterday afternoon and instead of letting night catch them halfway across the red valley, they’d camped on its fringes. The valley’s silence disturbed Kyndra. Even the birds were absent from the trees. No cricket chirped, no flies harried the horses. It was unnatural. Where is everyone? she wondered. A month had passed since Acre had returned. Surely Mariar – or Rairam, to give her land its Acrean name – could not have gone unnoticed this long?

  Something was wrong. She just wished she knew what it was.

  After an hour had dragged past, Kyndra glanced at the huddled forms of Irilin, Shika, Kait and Nediah lying behind her on the flinty ground; none stirred. The western sky was still and dark, but a pale light seeped in from the east. Under that watery glow, Medavle’s open eyes looked all the blacker.

  Kyndra started. The Yadin sat with his back against a scraggy tree and she wondered how long he’d been awake. ‘Bad dream?’ she asked.

  Medavle did not answer. Perhaps this place was reawakening memories he’d rather forget. Choosing not to probe, she said, ‘We’ll reach the valley floor today. How come we haven’t seen anyone?’

  The Yadin regarded her silently for a moment before his eyes flickered beyond her to the valley. In the dim morning, the earth was the colour of old blood. ‘I have not seen this place in five centuries,’ he said softly. ‘Its soil wasn’t always red. So many died here. So many bled.’

  A shiver passed across Kyndra’s skin. ‘You’re saying the soil is red because of their blood?’

  ‘I didn’t say that.’ Medavle paused. ‘But the earth remembers.’

  Kyndra looked into his stony face and decided it was safer to retreat to her previous question. ‘Don’t you think it’s strange that no one from Acre has come to investigate?’

  Medavle slowly shook his head. ‘Perhaps they’re unaware.’

  Kyndra wasn’t sure she believed him. She turned back to the valley. The sun’s first rays spilled rubies across the earth and she found herself transfixed by the sight. Austri’s wordless whispering lessened.

  The others were finally beginning to stir. When Kyndra glanced round, she saw Nediah sitting up, staring down at Kait, cat-curled beside him. The woman slept with one hand on the dagger in her belt, but despite the pose, her face was peaceful. Sleep softened the lines that cynicism had worn around her lips. Nediah watched her a moment longer and then he turned away, his face carefully blank.

  Kyndra busied her hands with breakfast, avoiding the stares she could feel. Her lack of a plan gnawed at her. On the one hand, it was foolish to walk brazenly into the unknown, knowing nothing of Acre’s powers or politics. But staying in Mariar was worse. What if Acre’s idea of a greeting was to invade first and ask questions later? Hundreds of thousands of lives depended on what she did next.

  ‘How are you feeling today?’

  Nediah had come to stand over her, the Solar power glimmering in his eyes. He was dressed for travel, looking much like he had when they’d first met in Brenwym, when all she had to worry about was the coming-of-age ceremony. Kyndra stared at the familiar shape of his face and some of the knots in her stomach loosened. ‘Fine.’ She smiled.

  Nediah did not look convinced. ‘You stayed awake most of the night,’ he said reprovingly.

  She tried to ignore the tired prickle in her eyes. ‘I don’t know what I’m doing, Nediah,’ she confessed, keeping her voice low. ‘Everyone’s looking at me to decide, but I don’t know the first thing about leading a mission, about armies or politics, or any of that.’ She shook her head. ‘I’m an innkeeper’s daughter, not a strategist.’

  Nediah studied her a while before answering. ‘You don’t give yourself enough credit, Kyndra. You worked out how to stop the Madness from killing every Wielder in the citadel. You saved Mariar from the Breaking.’

  ‘The Madness was my fault,’ she reminded him bitterly. ‘If there hadn’t been two Starborn in the world …’

  It was Nediah’s turn to shake his head. ‘Don’t blame yourself for existing. You could just as easily blame Medavle for having meddled in your birth. And the Breaking was getting worse anyway. Brégenne and I saw –’ He faltered, as if her name had stolen his words. After a moment he said quietly, ‘It wasn’t your fault.’

  ‘Heads up, Ned!’

  Nediah stiffened and only just turned in time to catch the bread Kait threw at him. He stared at her unreadably, and the hand holding the bread fell to his side. Kyndra looked at them both, feeling how tense the air had become. Finally, Nediah folded himself up to sit on the ground and Kyndra hastily passed him a tin mug full of tea.

  Irilin was up and staring out at the valley. She shuddered once and turned away. ‘There’s … something down there,’ she said hesitantly. ‘Something doesn’t feel right.’

  Kyndra gazed across the red strip of land. Not wide, but long, it tapered to a forested ridge at its western end. Perhaps they could cover it in half a day. She held herself still, blocked out the others’ conversation and listened.

  Only eerie silence answered.

  Shika came to stand beside them. ‘What do you think Gareth’s doing right now?’

  ‘It’s barely been a day, Shika.’ Irilin raised an eyebrow. ‘You missing him already?’

  Shika flushed. ‘No. Just wondering. I hope Master Brégenne finds a way to remove the gauntlet. Before we left, Gareth said it felt different.’

  ‘I can’t believe you two were stupid enough to steal it from the archives,’ Irilin said. ‘Didn’t you think it was locked away for a reason?’

  ‘So we made a mistake,’ Shika retorted. ‘Gareth shouldn’t have to suffer for it.’

  ‘Kyndra,’ Nediah called and she turned. The others were staring at her expectantly, Kait with her arms crossed, Medavle his dark eyes distant. He seemed changed from the person of a month ago, as if the fire of vengeance that had sustained him for five centuries had died with Kierik. Kyndra didn’t like the way he looked at her now, as if she were a constant reminder that t
he last Starborn had killed the woman Medavle loved – a Yadin like him. I’m only here because of you, Kyndra thought, I’m here because you wanted Kierik dead.

  ‘If we’re to construct a picture of Acre’s infrastructure,’ Nediah said, jerking her back to the present, ‘the first thing we need is maps. We have to get an idea of Acrean geography, its major cities. Medavle says his memory won’t suffice.’

  Maps. It was the sort of thing she’d have mentioned sooner, if she’d been any real kind of leader. Kyndra felt her cheeks warm. ‘Of course,’ she said.

  ‘Many of the cities I remember will no doubt be gone,’ the Yadin said, ‘but the region beyond the valley was called Baior. It’s mostly farmland, no large settlements.’

  ‘We need to know who’s in charge,’ Nediah continued, ‘whether it’s Sartya, or some other power. Do they have use of the technology Medavle remembers? What about Wielders and their role here?’ The Wielder ticked the questions off on his fingers and then spread his hands. ‘We don’t know whether we even speak the same language. If our ultimate goal is to protect Mariar’s interests, we need to know what to bring to a possible alliance.’

  Kyndra blinked at him, feeling more stupid by the second. She should be the one asking these questions. It was obvious Nediah would make a better leader; she could see it in the others’ faces. Anger flared in her. Why had they dumped this role on her shoulders?

  When it became apparent that they were waiting for her to speak, Kyndra swallowed her feelings and said, ‘Then that’s what we need to do. As long as we can understand each other, the first people we find should be able to answer a lot of our questions.’

  ‘What will we say when they ask us who we are?’ Irilin said from behind her. ‘If it turns out we don’t speak the same language, they’ll never believe we’re from Acre.’

  Kyndra saw Nediah open his mouth and quickly forestalled him. She had to contribute something. ‘Let’s tackle that hurdle when we get to it. Any town or village near here can’t have failed to notice Mariar.’ As she said it, she felt another flutter of disquiet. It was odd that nobody had come to investigate. She wished she knew why.

  ‘Let’s get started, then,’ Kait said decisively and went to ready her horse.

  Before she saw to her own, Kyndra moved to speak with Nediah. ‘Thanks,’ she said, too softly for the others to hear. She stared at Uncle’s flank instead of the Wielder. ‘I’m not very good at this.’

  Nediah didn’t ask her what she meant. ‘You’re doing fine,’ he said and Kyndra looked up at him. The morning sun brought out the gold flecks in his eyes and a memory came to her of sitting beside him and Brégenne as he used the Solar power to cook them breakfast. Brégenne, she recalled, had strongly disapproved.

  ‘I’m sorry for taking you away from Brégenne,’ she said impulsively and then regretted it when Nediah’s expression hardened.

  ‘Leaving Naris was my decision,’ he said.

  There was a lump in Kyndra’s throat. ‘Thank you for coming with me.’

  Nediah patted her shoulder, but his answering smile seemed in danger of slipping. ‘You certainly keep life interesting.’

  Kait was watching them. She watched Nediah a lot and Kyndra felt a wave of protectiveness. She hadn’t forgotten her promise to Brégenne, the promise she’d made the night she and Nediah had accompanied Kait into the Deep. I will look out for him. And she would, Kyndra vowed, darting an inimical look at Kait before going to her horse.

  It took her two attempts to mount, and not for the first time she wondered why Medavle had chosen such a tall horse. The black stallion danced restlessly beneath her. He ought to have a name, Kyndra thought. Perhaps something out of the old stories.

  As she led the way down into the valley, talk struck up behind her, lightening the mood. Her companions seemed to have forgotten their near-roasting last night. Kyndra wasn’t sure whether to be grateful or annoyed. What if it happened again, without warning? What if she burned everyone while they slept?

  Better you do.

  Sigel was a sudden furnace in her head. Kyndra tried to mute the star, but she couldn’t block it out altogether. Shut up, she snapped at it, clenching her fists. Leave me alone.

  The trail was wide enough for two to ride abreast and she found herself next to Irilin. The novice’s dappled mare was much better suited to her size. This morning, Irilin’s long blond hair spilled over a leather jerkin and shirt with its sleeves rolled up to her elbows. The glow coming off the earth rouged her pale cheeks.

  I should stop thinking of her as a novice. By choosing to leave Naris, both Irilin and Shika had sacrificed the opportunity to complete their training as Wielders. They would never be masters in the eyes of the citadel. Choose carefully, Alandred had said to them upon hearing of their wish to accompany Kyndra into Acre.

  Kyndra looked sidelong at her friend. She wasn’t at all sure the novices had chosen carefully, but she couldn’t deny that she was glad of their company.

  The sun was fully up by the time they reached the valley floor. Kyndra stared at the forbidding place, Irilin beside her. ‘I don’t like it,’ the young woman said, tugging her sleeves down as if she were cold.

  ‘Makes my skin crawl,’ Shika agreed and Kyndra tried not to voice her own misgiving. She wondered what Medavle had meant about the earth remembering. From here, the valley’s many small mounds looked like blood-drenched cairns. Kyndra shook her head, trying to dislodge the image.

  Kait snorted at their apprehension, urging her mare on. The horse whinnied as its hooves kicked up the red dirt. Kyndra studied the woman’s back, wondering at her reasons for coming. Was it to forge a new purpose after her master’s death? She’d been Kierik’s protector for fifteen years, ever since she’d sworn an oath to the rebel Wielders, to the Nerian. Now that an uncomfortable peace existed between the two factions, perhaps Kait felt she needed another purpose. Kyndra glanced at Nediah. He was looking at Kait too, his brow deeply furrowed.

  They moved further into the valley and conversation gradually died. Something about the place discouraged talk. Like not speaking at burial rites, Kyndra thought with a slight shudder. No wind blew, no animal called. Preceded by the creak and jingle of harness, their little group was the only thing that moved. Clouds seemed nailed to the sky and the sun hung over their heads with a dim, ponderous weight.

  Despite their unease, they encountered nothing but the sick, stunted bushes that grew between the mounds. Two hours later, just short of the valley’s lip, Kyndra let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Irilin seemed relieved too and gave Kyndra a weak smile.

  Then, up ahead, Kait burst into flame.

  Nediah yelled and pushed his horse after her, but when he reached her side, the air around him ignited too. Kait’s mare reared and, as she made a desperate grab for the reins, the animal bucked and threw her. Still burning, Kait rolled away from the dancing hooves, lurched to her feet and snatched at her mount’s bridle before she could bolt.

  Shika was the third to become a human torch. He almost fell off his horse in his hurry to dismount and Kyndra saw in his panicked face the same confusion that troubled Kait and Nediah. ‘What’s going on?’ he cried.

  If someone were to see them now – three figures wreathed in fire – they could be forgiven for believing that they’d walked into a nightmare, but Kyndra was used to the golden glare of Solar energy. The question was – ‘Why are you drawing power?’ she called.

  ‘Can’t help it,’ Kait grunted, her face creased. ‘It … won’t … shut … off.’

  Nediah’s look changed from confusion to horror. ‘Something’s taking it,’ he said, his green eyes sweeping the empty landscape. ‘I can feel it using me. Like a conduit.’

  Irilin sat tensed on her mare, but nothing happened to the slight girl as far as Kyndra could see. ‘I feel something,’ Irilin said. ‘Like hands in my head.’ She shuddered, her eyes widening. ‘I think it knows I can channel the Lunar, but it can’t reach it, not w
hile the sun’s up.’

  It was then that Kyndra saw the skull, half hidden by the thorny branches that pushed through eye sockets worn smooth by time. She stared, her gaze raking the ground. After that, it was impossible not to see the others.

  They were in the middle of a charnel yard. Half buried and bleached, the flesh long stripped, there were fingers reaching through the sand, tibias, femurs and scapulas strewn about with no sense or order. Kyndra followed the arch of a human spine as it surfaced, curved and dived back into the earth like a sand snake. Cold sweat trickled down her neck.

  ‘There are bones,’ she said grimly, but Medavle had already seen them.

  ‘Get out of here,’ he said. ‘Move.’ Kyndra couldn’t miss the warning in his voice. Kait and Shika tried desperately to calm their horses, but the brighter the Wielders burned, the more terrified their mounts became.

  ‘We’ll have to lead them,’ Kait said from between clenched teeth, as she struggled to hold her horse in check. ‘Perhaps it will stop once we get out of the valley.’

  Kyndra’s stallion seemed unfazed by the three burning figures. She patted him gratefully and he broke into a walk without prompting. They managed another half-hour, but their pace was slow and the terrain difficult. They were on the slopes now, pathless and steep. Shika’s breathing grew strained and Kyndra heard him drawing great gulps of the thick air, his face visibly paling. Kait and Nediah were holding up better, but both looked haggard.

  ‘I can’t take much more of this,’ Nediah rasped after another ten minutes. ‘I’ve never drawn this much power for so long.’

  ‘Master … Master Rush told us we could burn ourselves out by … drawing too much,’ Shika panted. ‘That’s not true, is it?’ For the first time, he looked genuinely frightened.

  Nediah shook his head. ‘I don’t know.’

  Kyndra felt helpless. She glanced at Irilin and saw that her friend’s knuckles were white on her reins. Medavle’s gaze raked the landscape, searching for their invisible assailant.

  Then, as if snuffed by a vast hand, the flames died and the three Wielders drooped like cut puppets.