Heartland

by Lucy Hounsom

  37

  Samaya, Acre

  Kyndra

  She couldn’t concentrate, couldn’t find the door in her mind. It was there, she sensed it, but so was her fear and the fear was stronger. She saw the emperor looming behind Char, saw Nediah’s mouth shape a warning, but he was too late. She was too late. The terrible weapon tore through Char’s flesh, blue light arcing over his skin.

  The sight wrenched a scream from her. Grief and rage – at the battle, at the emperor, at her own weakness. She thought of Shika’s little cairn, she saw Kait unconscious in Nediah’s arms. Irilin had a bloody gash down one cheek; Hagdon fought to keep the stealth force away from her. Medavle was lost among the dualakat. He should be here fighting at her side.

  The soldiers of the Republic weren’t as skilled as the Sartyans. Too many feathered mantles lay among the dead. They were her people now and she couldn’t allow them to die here. She wouldn’t. The woman who called herself Ma held off the dualakat almost singlehandedly – they evaded her blows, but none raised a hand against her. She was working her way closer to the steps of the temple.

  The emperor pulled his sword free. Even from this distance, Kyndra could see his consternation at the lack of ambertrix flames coating the blade. He looked up and their eyes met. She saw cruelty in his face, a cold lack of emotion that she recognized. Had it always been there? she wondered. Was it the burden of leadership that had made the emperor who he was? We become who we must, she thought … or maybe Kierik did, thinking through her. The possibility no longer made her shiver.

  I can’t lead them. Not like this. Not as I am. If she’d embraced her heritage sooner, none of these lives would have been lost. Kyndra looked at the temple. Khronosta couldn’t be allowed to use Medavle. If they changed the past, what would happen to Rairam – to her world and its people? There were ways to deal with an invading army, but the terrifying possibilities that could result if history were reversed … everyone she knew, her family, her friends, might cease to exist. And she owed her own existence to Kierik’s downfall, to Medavle’s plan. If he chose to undo that, she would never have been born at all.

  She steeled herself. Yeras, she commanded and the star hearkened to her call. Isa. Others listened too, as if they sensed her resolve strengthening. Rairam was part of Acre now, Kyndra thought, and she was the only Starborn to watch over it. She gazed at her friends, at Char kneeling on the ground, black blood staining the front of his shirt. There was no choice to be made. Not really. Just an inevitability to accept, as the stars had always known. They banished the last of her fear, as she took hold of Yeras and Isa, the bridges over the void.

  Their exultation found its way onto her lips, curving in a euphoric smile. She had a fleeting mental glimpse of the dark door before it blew apart, black shards dissolving in light. The last barrier vanished, taking the fabric of all that was Kyndra with it.

  She, it, they – all were one now. The force of the stars was catastrophic. The joining could have destroyed everything in a league’s radius, but she drew it back. Controlled it. There were people here whose lives must be preserved, people on whom the future of Acre relied. She knew that much: she’d given up her humanity for their sake.

  Now that meant so little. In a moment past, she’d considered it a sacrifice, but how was this a sacrifice? She was a being of light and void. The sheer power in her veins made her laugh aloud. She was one with the sky, with the stars – their names were hers now. She could speak with the tongue of Austri, or strike with the fist of Sigel. It wasn’t like the time she let the star take her over. Now she was in control, avatar of them all, separate and together, bound into one form.

  See, they told her triumphantly, see.

  The joining had burned away her clothes. When she looked down at herself, she saw a figure of darkness and stars, a cutout of the night sky. White suns blazed in her eyes and through that blinding light, everything looked different. Irilin’s slim form shone silver, Nediah’s bright gold, Kait’s a little dimmer. Another blaze of Solar gold surrounded the old man, Realdon Shune, and there were other glows too, even among the Sartyans, although she could tell their abilities were unrealized. It was Char, however, who held her attention. A gale appeared to whip around him, shot through with the blue of ambertrix.

  The emperor and his guards were backing away from Char’s hunched figure. So were the soldiers of the Republic. The change he’d resisted for so long had finally caught up with him, seemingly kindled by the emperor’s ambertrix blade. A hot wind rose, sweeping the rain aside. It tossed cloaks, tangled hair; it came with a roar like fire, dragging Char to his feet. His dark face was twisted in pain. He grew taller as he stood there, his limbs lengthening, a pattern of diamonds appearing on his skin, as if scored by an invisible blade. There came a shocking crack and Char screamed, ridges springing up along the length of his spine. Cloth ripped as the same sharp ridges sprouted from his calves and the backs of his arms. His ash-coloured hair grew longer and wilder, his cheekbones and jaw more pointed.

  Char stood panting. Seven feet tall, his clothes barely covered him now, shredded by his new flesh. He flexed a clawed hand, turned to the nearest Sartyan and seized him by the neck, lifting him high until his feet dangled. The claws pierced the soldier’s armour and the man screamed. Char smashed him into the ground and turned to find another victim.

  There was no shortage. The dualakat were advancing on him, determination in their readied weapons. They spread out to surround Char, who lifted bloodstained claws. His feet were clawed too, sharp spurs having burst through the leather of his ruined boots. The first dualakat darted in, landing a blow on Char’s shoulder. He roared and spun around, but the warrior was long gone. The blows became a flurry as the Khronostians called on their power. They were too many and too swift for Char to keep up; even scaled as it was, blood began to appear on his new skin.

  Kyndra seized Raad and in the next moment she was there beside him. She held up a hand and a shield shimmered into being. Those dualakat caught outside spread out to surround it, searching for any weaknesses. While she still had the element of surprise, Kyndra grabbed one of the three warriors inside the shield and Sigel boiled the blood in his veins.

  After one shocked glance at her, Char seized another warrior and used his claws to tear out his throat. The third warrior gazed at the remains of his companions and threw down his weapons. Kyndra bound him with Thurn. There had been enough killing.

  ‘Kyndra?’ Char asked and she realized she still appeared as a star-studded shadow. She exerted her will and resumed the form he would recognize. She glanced down at herself, a little rueful. The stars could do many things, but creating clothes out of nothing was not one of them. She wrapped herself in a shifting robe of smoke and starlight.

  ‘I thought you looked fine as you were,’ Char said, grinning despite the blood that streaked him.

  ‘I came to tell you your name.’

  He sobered. ‘It will change me again, won’t it?’

  ‘Yes.’ Kyndra studied him, seeing the wind and the blue as a vortex that tumbled inside him. ‘Will you hear it?’

  Char glanced at the invisible shield, which muted all sound except their voices. ‘You found yours,’ he commented.

  ‘Mine was there all along. Your name is buried.’ She tilted her head. ‘We can leave it that way.’

  Char swallowed. The black slits of his eyes were far more pronounced now. He stared out at the chaotic world beyond her shield. ‘It seems it’s a day for names.’

  Kyndra followed his gaze and saw Khronos – Ma, as she called herself – stalking towards them across the field of the dead. Her kali sticks dripped blood and her eyes were fixed on Char and on those dualakat who surrounded him. The emperor was shouting soundlessly.

  ‘So?’ Kyndra asked. ‘Will you hear it?’

  Char studied her face. Whatever he saw there made him close his eyes. ‘Tell me,’ he whispered.

  ‘Your true name,’ she said, ‘is Orkaan.’
r />   He opened his mouth to reply, but whatever he wanted to say was swallowed in a scream. Kyndra dissolved the barrier and herself, reappearing some distance away. A great sheet of blue light blasted out of Char, knocking the dualakat off their feet. She watched impassively as he began to writhe, his agony a palpable thing. His new skin burst, the ridges on his back grew larger and sharper, his shoulders swelling as the bones beneath them cracked and expanded once more. Char’s scream grew hoarse, deepening into a roar. His arms lengthened and his spine curved until he fell forward onto his hands. The claws became talons, the same wicked hooks sprouting on his feet. His neck grew sinuous and great wings unfolded on his back. Only his colour remained the same, a dusky black.

  He was beautiful, Kyndra thought. The Lleu-yelin had always been beautiful.

  Orkaan reared onto his hind legs and roared. The force that emerged from his throat was blue and Kyndra had the answer she’d long sought – the secret power of the Lleu-yelin and of the empire’s might: ambertrix. So simple, she thought, chastened. Even Kierik had not guessed at the link between the two.

  The dragon’s roar cut through the storm. In the silence on the other side, Kyndra heard chanting. Beyond the open gates of Khronosta, the courtyard was full of people: adults and children alike, some with shaven heads, each dressed in grey robes. An elderly woman stood in the centre and Kyndra realized that none of the positioning was random. The Khronostians’ bodies formed a complex mandala, a web of light stretching between them.

  ‘Dualakat!’ the eldest cried. His wizened hand was clamped tightly around Medavle’s wrist and his deep-set eyes were on Kyndra. The warriors disengaged in a blur, retreating to the steps of the temple, taking up positions in the courtyard.

  ‘Leave the Yadin,’ Ma said. She raised her fists, showing the serpents in her palms. ‘Eldest, do not do this.’

  ‘If you have the power to stop us, use it.’

  Ma turned her gaze on the temple, on the human mandala. She spread her hands. The light linking each person pulsed and dimmed. Cries of distress reached them, though none of the Khronostians broke from their positions. Sweat stood out on Ma’s forehead and although Kyndra could not see how she was doing it, she guessed she was holding the temple fast in this place and time. The eldest’s face paled. He let go of Medavle and raised his right hand. The glow in the courtyard grew brighter and a metallic scent filled the air.

  Kyndra seized Raad again, appearing on the steps of the temple, which were fast becoming insubstantial. Before she could strike the eldest, a staff swung, knocking her arm aside. ‘I am glad they returned my flute to me,’ Medavle said as they faced each other. ‘It helped me against the last Starborn I fought.’

  ‘Barely fought,’ Kyndra corrected. ‘You laid a trap and Kierik was foolish enough to walk into it.’ She girded herself in Tyr, raised a hand to push the staff aside, but Medavle swung it and sent her stumbling back with a blast of energy.

  ‘You are not so experienced as he,’ the Yadin said, ‘and I have lived far longer.’

  ‘If you opposed him, why choose the same path?’ Kyndra gritted her teeth, privately shocked at Medavle’s strength. ‘He created Mariar to start afresh instead of trying to mend the damage the empire had done. Changing the past, starting over – you’re just like him.’

  ‘I am nothing like him,’ Medavle hissed. He spun the staff and Kyndra had to use a shield to block it. ‘The last five hundred years were a mistake. They should never have been.’

  ‘You don’t care about the world. You’re doing this for the woman you loved. For Isla.’

  Medavle’s face contorted at the name. ‘What would a Starborn know of love?’

  ‘More than you suspect,’ Kyndra said quietly, ‘and less than I should.’ She grabbed hold of the staff and Sigel; the star’s white heat melted the metal and Medavle yelled as it ran over his hand.

  She became aware of a tugging, as if two forces were pulling her opposite ways. She could see the earth through the stone steps beneath her feet before everything faded to grey. In the next instant, arms were around her and she was somewhere else, being squeezed through a space that seemed both infinitesimal and utterly vast. Then the wooded clearing reappeared around her and Ma let her go. ‘Caught you,’ she panted and fell exhausted to her knees. ‘They have become so strong.’

  The temple was gone, Medavle and the eldest with it. The twisted remnants of a flute lay behind on the earth. Kyndra looked around. Although only fifty or so remained to fight, the Republic had rallied behind the dragon, pressing the Sartyans back into the trees. Orkaan tumbled soldiers with every blue-veined breath, swinging his horned head to catch those trying to flank him. The Davaratch was staring at him with greedy eyes. ‘Stop!’

  The emperor’s voice had a power of its own. Orkaan came to a halt, claws restlessly gouging chunks out of the earth. ‘Hagdon,’ the Davaratch shouted, ‘call off your dragon. There’s no need for this.’

  ‘I am not his.’

  Orkaan’s voice arrived like thunder, seeming to echo both inside and outside Kyndra’s head. Hagdon stepped out from behind the dragon, the dark feathers of his cloak rippling in the wind. As he passed by him, Amon Taske hissed something, perhaps a warning. Blood covered the ex-general; Kyndra couldn’t guess how much of it was his own.

  ‘I misjudged you, Hagdon,’ the Davaratch said calmly. ‘I won’t ask you to reconsider – you’re too proud. But circumstances have changed. We both came here to fight Khronosta.’ His eyes flickered to Kyndra. ‘We both failed.’

  Hagdon was silent.

  ‘With the Lleu-yelin, we have a chance to strike back. Come to Thabarat, Hagdon. We will resupply the military, recharge our weapons.’ The Davaratch lifted and dropped the once-glowing sword in its scabbard. ‘When Khronosta strikes again, we will be ready.’

  ‘You fool,’ Ma said. She pushed herself to her feet. ‘They do not need to strike again. They know I will not aid them.’ She looked at Kyndra. ‘The eldest will burn up as many of my people as he needs to gather the power to travel back in time. And we have no anchor to follow him.’

  ‘You have me,’ said a cracked voice.

  It was a miracle the old man had survived the fighting. But then, Kyndra thought, he couldn’t be without his tricks. Realdon Shune shuffled up to stand just behind the emperor. He had changed almost beyond recognition since his last meeting with Kierik in Solinaris. Then he had been young and self-satisfied, arrogant enough to stand up to a Starborn. Now the years rounded his shoulders and his skin was brown with liver spots. Only his eyes were the same; they still smouldered, still challenged.

  ‘How did you come to be here?’ she asked him.

  ‘The Solar,’ Shune said, ‘though the ability to wield it has almost left me. I pour it all into extending my years.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Why not?’ he croaked. ‘I have no wish to die.’

  Kyndra shook her head. ‘But why spend your life serving the empire?’

  ‘Sartya was Acre’s future,’ he said. ‘At the time, I saw good in it.’ His sharp eyes flickered to the Davaratch and Kyndra could not read the expression in them. When her only reply was a nod, Shune’s brow creased. ‘You are not like your predecessor. He was a slave to his ambition. Nothing else – no one else – mattered to him.’

  ‘Don’t judge Kierik too harshly,’ Kyndra found herself saying. She looked beyond Orkaan’s folded wing and saw Kait, conscious again, leaning against Nediah. She met the other woman’s eyes. ‘His choices cost him everything.’

  ‘So,’ the Davaratch said, ‘it seems we have something to bargain with after all. I offer you the services of my relator. You offer me the services of your dragon. We have a common enemy.’ ‘We do,’ Hagdon said and he drew his sword.

  The glow around Shune was weak with evening approaching, but it was there. He met Hagdon’s eyes over the emperor’s shoulder and something passed between them.

  The Davaratch’s face paled when he reached for his weapon and
found he couldn’t move. ‘Guards!’ he screamed, but no help came. Abruptly, Kyndra realized that all of the soldiers surrounding him wore the black masks of the stealth force. They looked to their left, to a woman who stood in the shadows beneath the trees. Then they slowly backed away.

  The Davaratch watched them wide-eyed before returning his gaze to Hagdon. ‘I will give—’

  The sentence ended in a gasp as Hagdon plunged his sword into the emperor’s chest. The large man slumped, held up like a grotesque puppet by Shune’s power. Cries rang out from the Republic and their Sartyan captives both, a mingling of shock, of triumph.

  ‘Nothing you can give will bring them back,’ Hagdon said and pulled his sword free.

  The glow about Shune faded, dropping the emperor to earth. ‘Paasa,’ Kyndra heard Hagdon whisper, ‘Tristan.’

  She could have stopped it. She had seen Hagdon’s intent in his face. But despite the chaos this would sow, she thought of everything she’d learned about Sartya; she thought of the trials laid out before them all, and was glad she hadn’t.

  Hagdon calmly wiped his blade on the emperor’s mantle and sheathed it. He glanced again at Realdon Shune and the old man nodded.

  ‘I should thank you, Hagdon.’

  The voice came from the treeline. Iresonté stood there, a blue-limned cloak over one arm. The woman’s chill eyes gazed at the corpse of the Sartyan emperor and she smiled. Shadows resolved into figures, masked and in black. Those stealth force who had abandoned the emperor went to join them.

  ‘You let him die,’ Hagdon said tonelessly. ‘Why?’

  ‘It was time,’ Iresonté replied, dismissive, as if they weren’t speaking of the ruler of all Sartya. Her eyes flickered towards Kyndra. ‘Everything is changing.’

  ‘You think the Fist will follow you?’ Hagdon looked at his own clenched hand. ‘You may have the loyalty of the stealth force, but the army supported your insurrection only because they believed it the will of the emperor.’

  Iresonté gestured. Along the line, the stealth force donned their cloaks and vanished one by one. How had she come by these resources, Kyndra wondered, when ambertrix was so scarce?