Heartland

by Lucy Hounsom

  He’d seen Kierik fight years before, on the fateful day the Sartyans marched on Solinaris. What he remembered most starkly of all was not the Starborn’s speed or ferocity, but his face, absolutely devoid of emotion. Soldiers came and he’d killed them all, men and women, with blank indifference, as if the blood that soaked him meant nothing.

  When Kyndra had driven her fist into the body of the Sartyan woman, Medavle recognized the same detachment. He had seen her arm, drenched in human gore, and he had seen her face, closed, distant. At that moment, she could have been Kierik – she had his eyes, dark blue and depthless.

  On the night of her second test in Naris, he’d told her that she was his hope. She had proven him right, breaking Kierik’s power, tearing down the walls between Rairam and Acre. But for Medavle to have his wish – for Kierik to die – there was a price to be paid.

  Kyndra had paid it.

  He still had hope for her. He knew she wasn’t like Kierik, who had relished his power. Kyndra didn’t want it, was terrified of using it, knowing what it would cost her. She was different; she had a good heart. After all she’d done for him, Medavle owed her his allegiance.

  She lay very still, not even a twitch, her face terribly young in the fluttering torchlight. She’d only attacked the wraiths – the Yadin – because she’d had to; they’d killed the boy, Shika. If Medavle himself had been stronger, she wouldn’t have needed to turn to the stars.

  He rose and, moving softly, pulled the blanket around her, tucking it in. Was it his doom to be bound to Starborn? Medavle’s smile was humourless. He returned to his own blanket, but couldn’t sleep. Whatever happened, he wouldn’t let history repeat itself. If one day Kyndra chose the same path as Kierik …

  Medavle had created her. He could destroy her too.

  10

  Skar, Acre

  Kyndra

  Ségin, the leader of the Defiant, came to wake them himself, his wife, Magda, at his side. Magda had been the one to lead the rescue and, in the absence of camouflage paint, Kyndra saw an imposing woman in her middle years. She’d swapped her armour for softer leathers and wore her hair in a warrior’s braid. A pitch-soaked torch burned brightly in her hand.

  Nediah had thought it prudent that they remain awake in shifts, so Kyndra had taken the first watch herself, letting the exhausted Wielders sleep. Irilin had fallen into a death-like slumber, her face drawn and pale. Gone was the carefree novice who’d sneaked into Kyndra’s room in Naris. Irilin’s ready smile seemed to have died with Shika; she didn’t look so young for her age any more, not wrapped in this terrible bleakness.

  ‘Are you rested?’ Ségin spoke with a roughened accent that reminded Kyndra a little of her stepfather, Jarand. She felt a pang of homesickness.

  ‘You’ve been very kind,’ Nediah said. ‘We are in your debt.’

  ‘Then I hope you’ll share a meal with us. I’m interested to hear how a group of aberrations attracted the personal attention of General Hagdon.’

  The mention of Hagdon brought back the fight in a horrifying rush. Kyndra swallowed, remembering the wet weight of the soldier’s blood on her clothes, the stickiness that coated her arm. Worst of all, she recalled the moment when she’d plunged her fist into the woman’s body … and felt nothing at all. The death of another human being was meaningless to her, to the stars. The Sartyan had been an obstacle in her path and she’d removed it. What was she becoming? Was it already too late for her?

  ‘We’d be honoured,’ Nediah said, flashing his diplomatic smile; he’d used it to impressive effect several times on Kyndra’s journey to Naris. She tried to pull herself together, to shut the thoughts away. They were deep in the heart of the rebels’ territory and she couldn’t afford to be distracted.

  ‘If you would follow me.’ Magda hoisted her torch. She led them deeper into the cave system and, as they walked, other rebels flanked them, so that their little group was surrounded on all sides. Kyndra darted nervous glances at the figures, but Kait, striding beside her, wore a look of supreme unconcern. The sense of déjà vu was overpowering among the honeycombed passages, and for Kait, who had spent so many years under Naris in the Deep, it must feel like home. Certainly the Wielder wasn’t at all cowed by the labyrinthine trail and the rock hanging over her head.

  ‘What time is it?’ Kyndra asked Nediah out of the corner of her mouth.

  ‘Still afternoon,’ he said softly. ‘About three hours after midday.’

  Relieved, she smiled at him and Nediah returned it. She didn’t think the rebels meant them harm – they’d had every opportunity to strike while Kyndra’s group slept – but she felt better knowing the Solar Wielders would be able to fight if they had to.

  Finally, the twisting passage expanded into a bulb-shaped chamber. An underground stream bubbled on her right and the back wall was taken up with a stone oven, coals roasting in a shimmer of heat. ‘Is there a chimney?’ she asked in some surprise.

  ‘Yes.’ Ségin pointed. ‘A shaft runs up behind the rock face. These caves were inhabited many hundreds of years ago by the ancestors of those who now live on the Baioran flats. We discovered them by chance and they’ve served as our eastern base ever since.’

  The rest of the open space was taken up with rugs, crates and skins of water. ‘This is where we gather to eat,’ Ségin added, ‘and to drink to the goddess of death when she takes a round of Sartyan lives.’ His words drew appreciative grins from his followers, who arranged themselves about the chamber. Kyndra kept an eye on them.

  ‘Sit please,’ Magda said, gesturing to the rugs. While plates were fetched, Ségin passed around a carafe of wine. Kyndra looked gingerly into her full cup and noticed the others doing the same.

  ‘Forgive our wariness,’ Nediah said when Ségin raised an eyebrow at their reticence. ‘We were foolish and accepted a villager’s hospitality.’ Kyndra shared a meaningful glance with Medavle, who seemed content to let Nediah do the talking. The Yadin’s demeanour didn’t seem so cold today and she wondered at it.

  ‘All of us were drugged except Medavle here and we’d still be prisoners if he hadn’t freed us. Not forgetting your timely intervention too, of course.’

  Ségin studied them. ‘Any enemy of Sartya is a friend of ours,’ he said finally and raised his cup and drank. ‘To prove the wine is safe.’

  His wife drank too and Kyndra and the others tentatively followed suit. She was glad for the water mixed with the bitter wine – she needed to keep her wits about her.

  A dark stew was brought and ladled onto plates. Kyndra wasn’t sure what kind of meat it was, but she ate it ravenously. After only a few mouthfuls, she started to feel better; when was the last time she’d eaten anything at all?

  ‘So,’ the rebel leader said once the plates were clean, ‘your companion tells me you’re aberrations.’ He nodded at Medavle. ‘It seems he tracked you, while we tracked the Sartyans. The Defiant don’t take kindly to patrols camped on our doorstep.’

  Kyndra eyed Medavle suspiciously. ‘What’s an aberration?’ she asked.

  ‘A person who can channel Solar or Lunar energy,’ the Yadin said.

  When Nediah looked aghast, Ségin held up reassuring hands. ‘Do not fear. It is Sartya which persecutes aberrations. The Defiant are pledged to help them. No doubt you’d have been shipped to Parakat.’

  Kyndra looked from Medavle to Nediah, uncertain what to say. She sensed that Ségin was a dangerous man to lie to and she simply didn’t know enough about Acre to make a lie convincing. Perhaps the truth would serve her better.

  ‘You asked why General Hagdon was interested in us,’ she said. Beside her, Nediah opened his mouth to speak, a warning perhaps, but Kyndra couldn’t let him make her decisions for her. This was an opportunity, she told herself. The rebels could give her the information she needed, that Mariar needed.

  ‘It’s because he believes we came from Mariar – from Rairam,’ she amended quickly, meeting Ségin’s eyes. ‘We did.’

  Silence. Kyndra fe
lt hot under the rebels’ stares. Her companions were looking at her too – maybe they thought she was mad for telling the truth, especially after the way the villagers in Asha had reacted. She glanced at Irilin and was surprised to see the young woman give her a slight nod.

  Ségin broke the tension with a laugh. ‘So it’s true,’ he said and Kyndra felt a knot loosen inside her. ‘There were whispers that the Sundered Valley could be seen again. And I wondered at your accents – your speech is a little old-fashioned.’ He studied them more closely. ‘How did you get through the hoarlands unscathed?’

  ‘Why are aberrations persecuted?’ Kyndra countered. She didn’t want to talk about the wraiths, not when the merest thought of them brought Shika’s death vividly to mind.

  Ségin frowned at her evasion. ‘The Sartyans are frightened of their power. Lucky aberrations are killed. Those less fortunate go to Parakat, the prison built to hold them. There, they are kept weak, and tortured into serving the empire.’

  He held up his hand before Kyndra could respond. ‘Now it’s my turn. Tell me of Rairam and how it has returned.’

  ‘You call Rairam the lost continent,’ Nediah said, ‘but we call Acre the lost world. Many people believe it a myth.’

  ‘Here, Rairam has never been a myth,’ Magda said. ‘To the oppressed, it is both proof and hope that Sartya can be defeated.’

  Ségin gave each of them a searching look before settling on Medavle. ‘We know our history,’ he said with a new respect in his voice. ‘We know who defeated Sartya, who took Rairam away. You must be he – the Starborn.’

  In the shocked silence, Kyndra swallowed a hysterical laugh. Kait snorted and Medavle’s face went absolutely cold. No one spoke.

  ‘Am I mistaken?’ Ségin asked. ‘It’s clear you know of him.’

  ‘Kierik is dead,’ Kyndra said, more harshly than she’d intended. She was glad of the low light. The marks on her face were still pale; she knew they’d be hard to pick out in the flickering glow of the fire. The tattoos only started to darken when she drew on the stars they were linked to.

  ‘That is bad news,’ Ségin said. ‘I had hoped he would still be alive to lend us his aid.’

  ‘What makes you think he’d have helped you?’ Kyndra asked curiously.

  Ségin considered her. ‘He was ever an ally of the Rebellion,’ he said, referring to the faction that had opposed Sartya’s rise five centuries earlier. ‘I had hoped that if the rumours were true and Rairam had indeed returned, he would have offered us the same terms.’

  Kait sat strung like an over-taut harp string, almost vibrating with whatever emotion thrummed through her. Nediah touched her arm, a casual gesture but one that carried an obvious warning. Magda eyed the pair speculatively.

  ‘If Kierik is no longer alive, how did Rairam return?’ Ségin asked. ‘The Davaratch will assume the Starborn is involved.’

  ‘When Kierik died, the power that kept Acre and Rairam apart died too.’ Kyndra felt the eyes of her companions upon her and strove to sound convincing. Ségin didn’t need the whole truth, just enough to persuade him to help her. ‘The six of us were tasked to come to Acre, to discover what we could.’ She paused. ‘We don’t want Rairam or its people to be seen as a threat.’

  ‘Some of you look rather young to be undertaking such an important expedition.’ Ségin’s smile was cold. ‘And in so small a number.’

  Kyndra bit her lip, unused to bartering with the truth. Instinctively, she looked at Nediah. The Wielder was eyeing the room, taking note of the rebels, their hard faces, the stockpiled foodstuffs and bundles of newly fletched arrows. ‘You’ve heard of Solinaris,’ he said slowly.

  Ségin and Magda and their people gazed back at him; for a moment the hollow chamber was silent with the union of shared memory. Their worlds might be as different as night and day, Kyndra thought, but everyone knew of Solinaris.

  ‘The fortress of the sun.’

  The voice was not Ségin’s or Magda’s. It came from a rough arch of stone that served as a doorway. A curtain hung there and a child stood hidden in its folds, the heavy material half concealing her from the room.

  ‘Mura!’ Magda shot to her feet. ‘You were told to stay away.’ The little girl ignored her. Still wrapped in the curtain, she said, ‘Solinaris was made of glass and the people who lived there were Wielders.’ The little girl’s eyes were round and Kyndra was forcibly reminded of her younger self, caught in the wonder of old stories. ‘But the emperor sent his army to destroy it.’

  ‘Mura, I said—’ but Ségin laid a hand on Magda’s arm.

  ‘Come here,’ he told the girl.

  ‘Yes, Father.’ Mura untangled herself from the curtain and crossed to stand beside him. She could be no more than eight with a thin face and skin the colour of burned syrup. Her eyes were serious as they looked from Ségin to Nediah.

  ‘You’re right,’ Nediah said. ‘Solinaris was destroyed … but the Wielders were not.’

  The leader of the Defiant closed a protective hand around his daughter’s arm and pulled her back a step. ‘You … you’re Wielders?’ The look he directed at Medavle was distinctly hostile. ‘I thought you said they were aberrations.’

  ‘There’s a difference?’ the Yadin asked a little too innocently.

  ‘Aberrations aren’t Wielders,’ Magda said. ‘They have power, yes, but the old ways have been forgotten.’ There was a tremor in her voice that spoke of awe … and fear.

  ‘Prove it,’ Ségin said, rising to his feet. He pushed his daughter behind him. ‘I want the truth.’ Small sounds reached Kyndra from around the chamber, the rustle of fists closing on scabbards, the movement of leather-shod feet into better position. She realized her heart was pounding.

  Nediah remained seated, radiating calm. ‘I’m a healer,’ he said. ‘Was anyone injured last night?’

  Silence.

  ‘Owen,’ a woman spoke up near the fire. ‘My son. His arm is … very bad. He won’t draw a bow again.’

  ‘I will try my best,’ Nediah said modestly.

  ‘Send someone for him.’ Ségin gestured at a man standing at the chamber entrance. ‘If Owen agrees to it, we will see your healing.’

  The waiting seemed interminable. Kyndra wished she felt as calm as Nediah looked. ‘Are you sure about this?’ Kait whispered. ‘What if you can’t help … or make it worse? They’ll kill us.’

  ‘I can help,’ Nediah said firmly, as if the healing were already done.

  When Owen arrived, Kyndra saw that his right arm was swathed in bandages. He was being supported by the man who’d fetched him, his face pale and sweating. When he looked at Nediah, it was with little hope.

  ‘Sit him here,’ Nediah said, suddenly business-like. He rolled up his sleeves, gaze already travelling over the man’s pallid skin and dull blue eyes clouded with pain. ‘Can I take off these bandages?’ Nediah asked him and Owen nodded listlessly. The rebels drew closer, the better to see.

  Owen’s mother hadn’t exaggerated – the wound was bad. Kyndra felt a bit queasy looking at it. A sword slash had opened the man’s arm from shoulder to wrist and torn a good deal of the flesh away. Nediah sighed when he saw it. He spent a few moments studying it before raising his hands. When they began to glow golden, there were sharp intakes of breath.

  Kyndra leaned in. Although Nediah had healed her more than once, it was different watching him work on someone else. He laid his palms on the injured man, who grimaced, and then the Wielder closed his eyes.

  Solar energy rippled out from Nediah, spreading up and down the man’s arm, until a corona surrounded them both. Flesh grew seemingly out of the light, muscle knitting, skin smoothing, until the bloody lump began to resemble an arm again.

  ‘A miracle,’ someone whispered.

  Kait wore a peculiar expression; one hand gripped her shoulder, as if it pained her, and there was a distance in her face like memory.

  Slowly, the Solar light faded and Nediah opened his eyes to inspect his work. ‘Bend your e
lbow,’ he instructed the man, who could only gape at his arm. The pallor had left his face; with colour in his cheeks, he looked a different person. Slowly, as if frightened the wound would reopen, he bent and flexed his arm. Only the faintest of scars remained.

  Tears stood beside the disbelief in Owen’s eyes. ‘I … don’t know your name to thank you, stranger.’

  Nediah held out his hand. ‘Nediah, and no thanks are necessary.’

  ‘I have nothing to give you in payment that could ever come close to matching the service you have done me, Master Nediah.’

  Nediah looked a bit flustered. ‘Please don’t trouble yourself. This is what I do.’

  The reverent hush that held the whole chamber in thrall broke like a summer storm. Everyone began talking at once and jostled to get a better look at Owen’s arm. Nediah sat in the middle of it, still looking faintly embarrassed. Wondering what Ségin thought of the healing, Kyndra glanced at him. The rebel leader’s expression was speculative and not a little bit calculating. It unnerved her.

  Mura peered from behind Magda’s waist, her face full of a child’s fearless wonder. ‘That was real magic,’ she declared.

  Nediah smiled at her. ‘We call it Solar energy rather than magic. It’s a way of life for Wielders.’ He paused, seeing her face fall slightly. ‘But I suppose it is a sort of magic, yes.’

  ‘You have rendered us a great service,’ Ségin said, ‘and though you ask for no payment, you will have whatever is in my power to give.’

  ‘Information on Sartya,’ Kyndra said before Nediah could wave the offer away. ‘Maps of Acre, if you have them. And if you’d be willing to answer some questions … ?’

  ‘Agreed,’ Ségin said. Looking again at Nediah, he shook his head. ‘If Hagdon had only known what he had in his grasp.’