Starwalker (Starborn 1) (Sci-Fi Fantasy Romance)

by P. Jameson

  ***

  Pain bloomed in Breckken’s chest like a poisoned blossom, burning and threatening to choke him. He vigorously rubbed at it with the heel of his hand, but it didn’t help. Never did.

  By now he should be used to it. But he’d never get used to the way keeping his distance made him ache inside. He deserved to feel it. Needed to, because it kept him connected to her in some twisted way. If he couldn’t have her close and feel her in the way he should be allowed to… he’d rather feel the pain than nothing.

  He watched in secret from his hiding place under the ice bridge. He’d been careful to always observe her from different locations so nobody would notice.

  Canna packed the remnants of her lunch and stood. As she did, he took in what was before his eyes. She’d grown tall, nearly six feet, and she was thin, but under her robe, it was clear she was muscular. Her skin was still ethereal white. Her eyes were still a deep turquoise blue. As she looped the Arcbow over her shoulder, her long white hair danced with her hips, the waist-length dreadlocks swinging loose.

  She. Was. Gorgeous.

  So beautiful she threatened his senses. Made him ache below the belt as much as he did behind his sternum.

  Another sharp pain took his breath and he squeezed his eyes shut, hoping it would pass quickly. Peeking through slitted eyelids, he watched Canna walk away from him.

  Again.

  They’d been doing the same dance for too many years.

  As a child, she was… well, trouble, to put a word to it. Every hour of every day was spent fighting, exacting revenge, or being punished. It seemed as if she never had a good day, never played like the other children—of course none of them would play with her. There was no fun, no laughter.

  When she passed on to teenhood, it was more of the same. Trouble. Although, she didn’t have to seek it out. Trouble came willingly to her, knocking on her door as if it needed a place to lay its ugly head.

  True she was a bag of bother. A fiery, spunky, and mostly angry maiden. But she was his. His bother. His angry maiden. And he’d been excited to start their journey together.

  As she grew older, he came to understand her better. There was more to that tough bravado. There were mysteries underneath that outer shell she used as a shield. And he wanted to crack it, get under her skin, unlock the puzzle that was Cannalise.

  But he couldn’t. He was trapped by fate. Or rather the Fates.

  Why hadn’t they allowed him and Canna to meet yet? Why postpone their mating for so many years? She was miserable. He was miserable. They needed each other. Were the Fates really so cruel?

  When Canna was long gone from the fountain, Breckken made his way to the bench to examine the newest carving.

  The single word made his mouth dry and his vision swirl with a mix of devastation and fury. He dropped to his knees, not able to help himself, overcome with grief.

  He’d stood a mere fifty yards away and watched… while she’d been… sad.

  It would have been nothing, nothing at all, to walk over and introduce himself. He could have said something, done something, to make her feel better.

  He was so fucking sick of this. How long would he have to watch his maiden suffer?

  He stared down at the bench, his teeth grinding at the injustice. Words were written all over it. There was hardly any more space for her to carve.

  Breckken recalled that first day when he’d returned to the city and found her here, whittling away. Later that night he’d come back to see what she’d done, expecting a flower. A heart. A bird. But what he found was a single word sliced into the ice in jagged cuts.

  LONELY

  He’d felt cold to the core when he read it, and he vowed it wouldn’t be long before they were together. Then she would never be lonely again. He’d make sure of it.

  Since then, so many more words had been added.

  Afraid HURT Desperate INJURED Melancholy FEARLESS Tired POWERFUL Envious MISERABLE Jealous NERVOUS Guilty RELIEVED Confused ANNOYED Abandoned HOPEFUL Resentful ANGRY Disturbed SCARED Hateful

  Many of the words were repeated several times over.

  Just once, Breckken wished he would see a word like “happy” or “joyful” or “safe”. But it was not to be. The closest he’d gotten was the day of her sixteenth year, when she’d etched the word “Hopeful” into the ice. But the next morning, when he’d found her at the fountain, the file was fisted in her grip as she angrily hacked at the ice in slashes. “Resentful” was the newest addition to the carving bench.

  With shaking fingers he reached out and traced the letters that spelled out SAD. He could relate.

  If he had his own carving bench it would include words like, Impatient, Confused, Wanting, Ashamed, Eager, Anxious, Worried, Defensive. But there would also be words like Thrilled, Excited, Enthralled, Happy, Glad, Thankful. Those were for the times when he’d observed her beauty or her strength or the quiet times when she thought no one was watching and her neon eyes were like an open book. Or on the very rare occasion, when he’d observed her smile.

  Breckken sighed, bowing his head over the ice.

  And now it was time for him to do a little carving of his own. Slowly he rolled up the sleeve of his tunic. His left arm was full, as was his left leg. And his right arm was nearly full but there was room for a few more lines on his biceps. He unlatched his dagger from its thigh holster and quickly, before any passersby noticed, sliced a thin, shallow line into his arm near his shoulder. He let the little stream of purple-red blood drip onto the frozen stone ground as he soaked up the sting of pain that lit into his arm.

  This pain he almost relished. It was penance for what his Canna went through every day. There was a mark for every word carved into the bench, for every time Canna had visited the fountain. Fair was fucking fair. If she hurt, he hurt.

  “You have to stop doing that.” Gilleth’s voice drifted over his shoulder.

  Breckken pulled his sleeve over the fresh cut. “You know I won’t, so why do you even suggest it?”

  He turned to see his friend shrug. “Wishful thinking, I guess.” Gill stared grimly at the bench.

  Gilleth knew that Cannalise belonged to Breckken. He was only gone from the lands a week before his friend joined him in the frozen city, claiming he’d felt drawn to the place, like it was a beacon calling him home. He’d given up his job harvesting snow and now made a living as an ice carver. He was quite good at it and had made a name for himself in the thousand years they’d lived among the Ice Dwellers.

  Gill shook his head sadly, his eyes never leaving the carving bench. “My friend…”

  “I’m fine,” Breck grumbled. “I need no pity.”

  “It is not pity I feel. Only sadness. I could never watch my maiden struggle as you do. You’re stronger than I. It’s blasphemous to say it but…” He paused, running his palm over his stubbled jaw. “I’m grateful I haven’t yet found mine. What if my future holds the same pain? What a wretched game the Fates have played with you.”

  Breckken could only shrug. “It was you who once told me not to tempt them. Heed your own words, friend. Bad Ju.”

  A smile came to his lips but it was dead quickly.

  “Come Breckken, let us go to Ula’s.”

  Gill always wanted to go to Ula’s, but Breckken didn’t see why. As soon as they got there he would stare into his mug and completely ignore Emmalyn. Which, in turn, would hurt her feelings. She never said anything but Breck could see the sadness in her eyes. Ironically, Gill could ignore it well… ignored her well. And Breck knew why: Gill was attracted to her but felt guilty because she was not his. There was nothing to be done for it, but when he found his Heartbeat, his attraction to Emmalyn would cease.

  At the kafé it was business as usual: smiling Emma took their order, Gilleth’s eyes shifted to her once, a less-smiling Emma brought their food, and then they ate in silence while she watched Gill from the corner of her eyes.

  As usual, Gilleth ate as slow as moving tar. If Breckken did
n’t know any better, he’d think he was stalling.

  While Gill finished his meal, Breckken let his eyes roam the kafé. A thousand years he and Gill had come here, and not one time had he crossed paths with Cannalise. He was aware she came here often—twice a day, in fact. At first, he’d actually tried to make sure that they were never at Ula’s at the same time, to give her the time she needed. But eventually he’d realized it wasn’t necessary. And for the last, oh… seven hundred and forty years, he’d left caution to the wind, hoping their paths would cross.

  They hadn’t.

  Breckken jolted as the square-shaped medallion that hung around his neck buzzed once and glowed a deep orange. He frowned. Orange? The color was reserved for meetings concerning a moderate threat. He hadn’t gotten an orange summons in… well, more than a hundred years? There was mostly green summons, which meant no threat, just a tactical meeting. Occasionally there was yellow, a low-level threat. He’d never gotten a red one—extreme threat. The Nova Guard of An`gel was exceptionally proficient at protecting the city from the Helix.

  “Orange?” Gill hissed.

  Breckken quickly hid the medallion in his tunic before anyone else noticed.

  “I have to go.”

  “I’m coming with you.” Gilleth stood, forgetting all about his food.

  “You know you can’t come.” Only guardsmen could attend meetings.

  Gill’s eyes jetted to Emmalyn. She was busy refilling a mug of brew. “What if…” He looked back at Breckken. “What if there is danger? I don’t want to be sitting on my haunch doing nothing.”

  Breck shook his head. “Let me see what it is first. Maybe it’s nothing. A drill, perhaps. You wait here and I’ll be back in a while.”

  Gilleth’s gaze shifted to Emmalyn again as she disappeared behind the kitchen door. His eyes stayed on the slab of ice as it swung to a stop.

  “Gill listen, are you… sure?” Breckken lowered his voice. “Are you sure the maiden Emmalyn is not yours?”

  Gill sighed. And unlike all the other times Breckken had asked him, he didn’t get angry or shut down. “My heart does not beat, Breckken. How can one argue with that?” His stare moved to the floor. “No matter how much I want her to be, she is not.” He pegged Breckken with his cobalt eyes. “But that doesn’t mean I want her to be hurt. If the Helix is making a threat to An`gel, I want her safe. She is… the kindest creature I have ever met. I need her safe.”

  Breckken nodded even as he wondered if Gill was aware she was already hurting from his inattention.

  He clapped his friend on the shoulder. “Remain here then. I will come when the meeting has ended.”

  Gill nodded reluctantly and eased back into the bench seat.

  As Breckken left the kafé, he wondered if Starwren often felt a deep connection to maidens who weren’t their Heartbeats. He wasn’t sure what was going on with Gilleth but… well, he acted as Breck would—as he was—knowing that Canna might be in danger. The instinct to protect was rising up in Gilleth. But why?

  Chapter Four

  Breckken went quickly to the gates of the city, hating the fact that he couldn’t find Canna once more just to make sure she was safe. As he passed through the glistening bars of ice that formed the massive gate, the familiar ache settled in his gut. It happened every time he left the city. It mattered not that the Nova outpost was just beyond the gates, the ache still hit him.

  He took the short stone path to the outpost and scanned his medallion at the checkpoints. There were three of them: one just outside the gates of An`gel, one halfway up the path, and one inside the outpost.

  Once inside the fifteen foot stone fence that surrounded the compound, he went directly to the assembly room. The commander stood at the front, his body stiff and still, hands clasped behind his back, silently watching as guardsmen filed in and took their seats.

  The Nova Guard of An`gel was approximately two-hundred soldiers strong. Of those, a hundred or so—including Breckken—took their residence inside the city. The rest were housed at the outpost. It was strategic to have soldiers both inside and outside of the city.

  He sat next to Trellan, who had entered the guard the same year as him and also lived in the city. He nodded at the man, and within minutes, the whole of the guard was joined in the room.

  No one spoke. All faces registered serious. They were calm, collected. No nervous ticks. No shuffling of feet. No clearing of throats. They were well trained. First lesson of a guardsmen: to remain in control and be thinking at all times.

  “A threat has been leveled on An`gel,” the commander said in a steel tone. “At noon today, we received this recording from Davian, leader of The Helix.” The commander pointed to his second, Sir Harmon, and he clicked the button to play the recording.

  “Let it be known that we, The Helix, seek to take An`gel within the month. We have long avoided the city out of respect for the fallen king, but we can no longer wait. It is irresponsible for all liquid resources to belong to the cities. We are reaching out one last time to the Nova. Surrender water rights unto the Helix before sundown tomorrow or we will consider the city as hostile. This is your last chance.” There was a drawn out sigh. “It is with deep regret that we have found ourselves in this position, but we’ve been left with no other recourse. I await your swift response.”

  The sound machine clicked off and the silence that followed was like a slice through skin. Sharp. And promising pain.

  Davian was the cruelest of wrens. His “Helix”, as they were called, was comprised of Land Dwellers who thought it unfair that water abounded in the cities but had to be harvested in the lands. Their purpose was to take control of the liquid assets in the frozen cities. At whatever cost. Including the innocent lives of wrens and maidens. Even children. And their cause was not noble as they tried to make it sound. They desired revenge upon the cities for withholding water resources.

  But the liquid belonged to the cities. It wasn’t for the lands. End of story. Land Dwellers were never entitled to the flowing abundance that pooled in the ice. And even though the water belonged to the Ice Dwellers, they’d never banned Land Dwellers from taking residence in the cities and therefore gaining access to water. They did draw the line however, at piping water outside of the city bounds.

  Besides, there was plenty of water to be had in the lands. But it must be worked for. Harvested. And this was what the Helix resented. Ironically, what they fought so hard for was laziness.

  Entitled bastards.

  Their total disregard for innocent life made them the number one enemy of the Nova Guard.

  The commander turned to the lightboard behind him.

  “Helix armies were last reported here and here.” He pointed to two spots on a map. Both were close enough to An`gel for Breckken to worry. “We believe they will congregate here, possibly with extra forces.” He pointed to another spot, this one even closer to the city before turning back to the guard. “As you are aware, we will not, under any circumstance, meet their request for water rights.” His words snapped out of his mouth like they were poison on his tongue.

  Beside Breckken, Trellan grunted and crossed his arms over his chest. He was an Ice Dweller, so hatred for the Helix ran deep with him. Word was, his sister, a former member of the Nova Guard, had been killed by the rogue group.

  “We’re getting more intel by the hour but I want each of you armed around the clock. From this point on, we are on full alert. Patrol the streets but try not to worry citizens. Those of you who dwell in the city, keep your eyes open for Helix spies. If they plan on attacking within the month, they’ll be sending them in soon. Might already have some in place.” The commander continued, his hands-behind-the-back stance never changing. “Also, your medallions have been reprogrammed with several new summons.”

  He held his own up for everyone to see and then nodded at Sir Harmon. It began flashing red.

  “Flashes mean we are under attack. In which case you should immediately report to your stations. If
you’re in a crowd of civilians, you are to first see to their safety.”

  He nodded again and his medallion glowed purple.

  “Purple means spies have been spotted and confirmed within the city gates. You are to report them immediately. And you can do that by placing your thumb directly on the indention on the back of your medallion. This will send out a purple summons to all guardsmen.”

  The commander’s eyes leveled on the guards. “We will not stand for innocent lives to be lost over greed. And we will never surrender our city.”

  There was a collected roar, “Aye.”

  “Now go. Keep safe the citizens of An`gel and keep safe yourselves.” The phrase was ever his departing words to the guardsmen and women.

  Soldiers began leaving silently and Breckken turned to go.

  “Sir Breckken, a word please.”

  “Of course.” He followed the commander to a far corner of the room.

  His commander’s voice was quiet. “Is there anything new… with your… situation?”

  “No, sir. My Heartbeat remains the same.”

  Commander looked over his shoulder and spoke even softer. “I would advise you to stay close to her. You are aware that Cannalise is the only daughter of the fallen king?”

  “Yes, sir. I am.”

  “What I’m about to tell you, I tell you because of what she is to you. But you must remain on the level.”

  Breck nodded and the commander continued.

  “We have reason to believe Davian will try to use her in gaining control of the city.”

  Breckken frowned, surprised. “In what way could he use her? Royals are no longer regarded as rulers.”

  The commander was silent for several beats. “We aren’t sure, exactly.”

  Breckken knew there was more to be told. If the commander had his suspicions, they weren’t to be ignored. Breckken wanted to shake the wren until he gave him the information he needed to keep Canna safe.