Flare: The Sunless World Book Two

by Rabia Gale

  They flickered past his peripheral vision in an extravaganza of glitter and vibrancy. He longed to examine them, but urgency overrode that desire.

  Another time, he thought, knowing that the chance of another time might be years in the coming—if it came at all.

  With ka illuminating his way, he forged ahead of Furin. All his senses—ka, kyra, and the ordinary man’s sense of direction—converged to lead him to Theo’s cell.

  Riding high on the ka all around him, Rafe failed to notice the Blackstonian soldier until he was almost on top of him. They both rounded a corner and sprang back from each other in surprise.

  Damn. Rafe threw out his kyra, got a murky impression of a humanoid figure. He grabbed the ka in his walking stick just as the soldier fumbled for the gun at his belt.

  Furin was faster than them both. “Stay still,” he barked. Rafe stiffened, heard the muffled jolts, felt the bullets scorch the air as they flew over his shoulder. Orange and green ka sparked from them. They caught the soldier in throat and chest. He fell back, mouth open in a soundless O, and sprawled on the ground.

  The coppery tang of blood and the stench of loosened bowels rose to Rafe’s nose.

  Furin crouched over the fallen soldier and heaved him over to a niche.

  “Let me.” Rafe was surprised at how hoarse his voice sounded. But his magical faculties were steady as he drew green ka from the smoky quartz. Green for stasis, to keep the body—and its fluids—in place. There was no time to do a better job. Rafe slapped on a purple patch to numb another’s senses around the body, to blend it into the shadows, cover up the stench, and all that.

  “Let’s go.” Sobered, Rafe led the way more cautiously, Furin dogging him. As they went, Rafe attempted to refill his store of purified ka. But the ka embedded into the bones of this level of Renat’s fortress resisted his efforts to pry it away. After breaking several figurative finger nails over it, he gave up. There were a few loose threads here and there, faintly glimmering, and he had to be satisfied with those.

  A headache pulled at his eyeballs. They were getting closer to the cloaking device—and Theo’s cell.

  Rafe stopped at a corner and peered around it. Furin, pressed behind him, ran a finger down a seam in the wall, packed with a blackish metal. “Wonder what this is?” he mused.

  “Almost there,” whispered Rafe. “There’s the door—but no one on guard.”

  “Let me go ahead first.” Furin didn’t wait for assent, but took the lead. He held Rafe back with a gesture and crept to the cell door. He took a pair of shears from his backpack; their points glinted sharp in the murkiness of Rafe’s kyra-sight. He applied them to the padlock at the door. Two strong snips and it thudded to the floor in pieces.

  Furin eased the door open and entered. Rafe strained all his senses for any signs of approaching guards.

  Or worse, krin and kayan.

  Furin was at the door again. He waved Rafe over.

  The cell was more cramped and reeked worse than Rafe remembered from his out-of-body excursion. He knelt by Theo and slipped the needles from his brother’s too-thin arm. Furin silently handed him bandages. Rafe thought he was calm until he saw how much his hands shook with rage as he wrapped Theo’s arm. Ropey scar tissue and sores covered his brother’s forearm from wrist to elbow.

  Scorch it, Bryony. What did Theo do to you to deserve this? He would’ve given you a home after our father died, but you didn’t want it. At the time, he’d felt mingled frustration and pride at Bryony’s refusal and the independence he’d thought lay behind it. But no, Bryony had desired vengeance more than anything else.

  Deprived of Theo’s blood, the cloaking device could no longer power the smothering veil around Rafe’s ka-senses. The pressure in his skull eased. Rafe willed the ka within to quiescence.

  Chains rattled as Furin examined the now-dormant device. Theo shifted at the noise. His lids fluttered, revealing bloodshot eyes. He peered myopically at his brother’s face. “Rafe?” he croaked.

  Rafe swallowed down his bitter anger. “In the flesh,” he said, forcing cheer into his voice.

  Theo’s eyes widened, taking on a wild look. “—shouldn’t be here!” he managed. “Leave—now.” He struggled against the worn blanket as if seriously attempting to bodily hurl Rafe away.

  “Hold on there, hero.” Rafe gripped his brother’s shoulder. “I’m in favor of leaving, but we’re doing it together. Furin, help me.”

  Together, they got Theo to his feet. Theo leaned heavily against Rafe’s shoulder for a moment, then pushed away. “I can—walk—on my own.” He straightened, lifting his chin.

  Rafe used his kyra-sight to focus on Theo’s pale face, the hollow cheeks and stubbled chin, sweat beading from effort on his forehead. He thought that Theo had his own fair share of the Grenfeld pride.

  “Of course you can,” he told Theo. “But I need a guide and minder. I can’t see, remember?” He waved his walking stick.

  Theo looked gravely at it, then at Rafe. He said, “So I’d heard.”

  Rafe wondered what else Theo had heard and what he made of it all. Rafe had tried several times to write a letter explaining himself, but had never gotten far. Instead, he’d opted for three brief missives telling Theo he was still alive in the last two years.

  Explanations had to wait. First, they had to get out of here.

  Furin was at the door. Rafe draped Theo’s arm over his shoulder. “Ready,” he said.

  They shuffled out the door after the Blackstonian, Theo doing his best to keep moving. They encountered no one at all in the corridors, but that only increased Rafe’s anxiety. He stretched his senses as far as they could go. Still nothing.

  A flicker caught his attention, dragged him back to himself, hunched under Theo’s weight. His brother was a big man, having inherited the stolid Grenfeld build. Rafe took after his Goldmoon ancestors, being lean and athletic.

  Rafe considered the conundrum in front of him. His senses conflicted. One set told him he was exactly where he needed to be; the other insisted they’d drifted from their route.

  A muffled expletive from Furin confirmed which set was right.

  The illusion lay across Rafe’s senses like a veil. He ripped it away, and found they were in a narrow straight tunnel.

  Growls came from behind and echoed in the tunnels.

  Furin swore again. “No places to hide here. Keep going.” He took Theo’s other arm and they half-carried, half-dragged him down it.

  The tunnel ended, but the path at their feet kept going into an open space. There was a stone causeway at their feet, lined green with holding magic, stretching to a platform suspended in space. Three other causeways joined the central area.

  Paws clicked on stone behind them. Rafe caught the whiff of animal sweat and damp fur, and a blast of chill at his back.

  What?

  “Take him and get on the platform,” Rafe eased out from under Theo’s arm, turned, and faced the menace heading for them. He felt his companions’ reluctance, knew their refusal would come any minute. “Now.”

  Furin gave a sharp nod and hustled Theo away.

  Five shapes, low and sinuous, flew down the causeway. Their fur rose in bristling manes at the back of their heads. Flecks of spittle covered their muzzles, open to reveal large, sharp teeth. Rafe could see in clear detail the whites of their eyes, the muscles bunch under their skin, their matted fur.

  Too clear for a sightless man.

  He focused his ka-sight deeper within the canines, to their deep blue and purple skeletons. A swift chop to a joint here, a twist there, as the biggest canine leapt for his throat.

  The illusion collapsed. The canines misted and were no more.

  “Ka illusions,” he called. “Be on your—” He started, turned, and sprinted towards Furin and Theo.

  “Down!” he yelled. He shoved them to the floor with one hand, while he grabbed a spell with the other.

  The shield spell. It settled on the trio not a moment too soon. Proje
ctiles rained down on them in a downpour of rocks and metal bits, propelled at speeds faster than Rafe could’ve thought possible, leaving aftertrails of yellow hanging in the air behind them.

  Yellow ka, which imparted movement.

  Holes appeared in his shield. Hurriedly, he patched it up, stretching it thin. Scorch it, he needed more ka. He was surrounded by it here—ka in the structure, ka roiling wildly below, but none of it was in usable form.

  His shield wouldn’t last the next barrage.

  He stepped out of it. Ka tingled against his skin, then slid off and reknitted itself behind him. The shield net tightened around Furin and Theo.

  “Get ready to run,” he told them over his shoulder. “I’ll cover you.”

  “But—” began one, but his words were lost to Rafe as an explosion of red and yellow ka painted the world around him.

  He answered it with magic of his own. The walking stick whirled and whistled in his hands as he fended off missile after missile, deflecting them with small amounts of well-placed yellow ka into the walls and the pit below

  Sweat trickled down Rafe’s back. His shirt clung damply to his skin. His arms and legs grew leaden; he grew slower by the minute. His muscles screamed for mercy, but he forced them on, dragging every bit of ka he could to withstand the attack.

  His unseen adversary was slowing, too.

  Not enough.

  Rafe saw the projectile, a nasty spiked metal ball, fiery with kinetic energy in his ka-sight. Even as he lifted his arms, even as he spun a small spell to nudge it away from him, he knew it was too late.

  And then there was someone in front of him, a figure all silver and shadows. His kyra-sense sharpened instantly. The real world was in color again, sounds were clearer, smells more intense.

  Isabella.

  She swept the projectile out of the way, as easily as a cat batting a toy. Rafe saw the imbalance in her kyra for just a moment, as if her left arm was suddenly very dense, then it righted to normal.

  “About time,” he commented.

  She glanced over her shoulder, eyebrows raised.

  “You got turned around, too?” Rafe smiled, showing teeth.

  “Not me.” She pointed to Mirados, just gaining the platform. “I was just following the leader.”

  Mirados scowled ferociously at them both. Theo and Furin climbed to their feet. Rafe’s much-abused shield fell in tatters around them, the remaining green ka floating away in pale wisps.

  “Don’t let your guard down,” said Rafe, as dust and debris settled around them all.

  “Yes,” agreed Isabella. “I see them.”

  A figure stood on each of the four causeways leading to the central platform, blazing bright to Rafe’s ka-sight.

  The child kayan were here.

  Chapter Ten

  Rafe

  FURIN THRUST HIMSELF TO the edge of their group, jostling Rafe’s shoulder. He felt the other man’s tension, then heard his exhalation.

  Furin’s son was not here.

  Good, thought Rafe, his own kyra-sight strengthened by Isabella’s proximity. They may be children, but they were powerful opponents.

  He stood facing two of them. Isabella, at his back, divided her attention between the other two.

  To his left was the energetic missile-launcher. A large boy with plenty of growing years still ahead of him, he still sparked with yellow ka. Pebbles lay scattered around him. When he saw he had Rafe’s attention, he grinned like a mischievous schoolboy and twitched his fingers. Rocks flew in speedy orbits around him.

  “Fitz,” warned the boy to Rafe’s right.

  “Let me, Justus,” begged Fitz. “Let me at ’em.” He shifted from foot to foot, strained forward. His frame could barely contain his nervous energy; his tousled russet hair stood straight up in spikes. His legs trembled, his hands jittered, and a small whirlwind of dust and rubble rose around him in response.

  Fire burned in his dark eyes.

  Rafe’s hands tightened on his walking stick. Fitz was obviously a kinetic specialist. Face him directly with stasis, the opposite of his preferred ka? Wrest control of the moving rocks from him? Or come in with something else entirely?

  “Hush, Fitz,” said the boy named Justus. “You’ve had your turn. Be patient.”

  Fitz gave a gusty sigh, but he slashed his arms down and rocks pattered to the ground. He kicked a pebble, sending it tumbling into the void below.

  Unlike Fitz, Justus had no trouble staying still. Pale and thin, with smooth black hair falling over his forehead, the boy was surrounded by purple and blue ka. It gave his black hair bluish highlights, turned his eyes a startling violet, and cast bruise-colored shadows on his dead-white skin. A chill wrapped around Justus, like that of frost on the highest peaks of the Black Mountains.

  It matched the cool core Rafe had found within the illusory canines. Justus’ work. The boy was a mentalist. Another one to be wary of.

  He touched the back of Isabella’s hand. She nodded, and a moment later he saw the other two kayan just as she did. They were a boy and girl, identical in their scrawny forms, with stick-like arms and legs. Their hair was dull, their eyes dark pits. The ka around them was so tarnished, Rafe couldn’t make out more than a glimmer of color here and there. It enveloped both of them in a thick cloud; they seemed to be drawing it together.

  Twin kayan, used to working in unison.

  More trouble.

  Isabella blinked and Fitz’s expressive face, still set in sulky lines, and Justus’ impassive one came into view.

  Detail and color came to his kyra-sight so much more easily when Isabella was there to bolster his own inexpert attempts.

  Isabella spoke through their bond. We don’t need to win. Just get past them.

  Rafe nodded. Fitz is the one we should rush. He’s already expended a great deal of energy, and he lacks self-control. We can use that to our advantage.

  I’ll go first, thought Isabella. Take him by surprise. You distract the others.

  Rafe ran through his repertoire, searching for a quick spell to occupy the other three kayan. Take a page from Justus’ book, perhaps, and try an illusion. His blindness made illusions tricky, though. It was hard for him to get the visual details right.

  But it was Mirados who made the first move. Holding his scepter aloft, he swept to the edge of the platform. “You children.” His voice boomed. (Nice little amplification spell, thought Rafe. Good use of red ka.) “This is no time and place for younglings. I don’t want to hurt you, so hurry on out of here.”

  Rafe looked for the kayan’s reactions. Isabella showed him the twins, staring back with unnerving focus, silent and unblinking. Justus’ mouth curved slightly but he didn’t even roll his eyes. Rafe was impressed by his self-control.

  Fitz burst into uproarious laughter. His mirth echoed against the vaulted ceiling and walls, growing louder than even Mirados’ voice. Rafe winced and Isabella tensed. The Preceptor’s mouth hardened.

  “Oh, very good,” said Fitz at last, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. “That was a neat trick.”

  One which the young kayan had picked up depressingly swiftly.

  “Can I hurt him, Justus? Please?” wheedled Fitz. “He’s such an ass.”

  Mirados’ expression was priceless. Rafe bit his lip to keep from laughing.

  “Now, see here.” Mirados’ chest swelled. “Don’t make me use this.” He waved the scepter threateningly.

  A new voice broke in from above. “Oh, but my dear Preceptor. We want you to.”

  It was Karzov.

  The krin slayer of Blackstone stood on a stone gallery a level above them. Beside him was a boy about ten or eleven, ordinary in every respect save for the cold empty look in his eyes.

  And the rainbow of ka cocooning him.

  “Aliki!” Furin shouted. Isabella lunged for the Blackstonian, but he slapped her hand away, plummeted down the nearest causeway, pushed past the male twin. Rafe took an alarmed step, but the boy only took up his posi
tion again. He didn’t attempt to interfere with Furin, just stayed on standby.

  His gaze was trained on Rafe.

  Me. They’re here for me. Rafe didn’t know whether to feel flattered or amused.

  “Aliki.” Furin stood beneath the galley, his face lifted up. “Aliki. I’ve spent the last two years searching for you. Look at me. Your Papa is here.”

  The boy said nothing. He didn’t even look at Furin, but his gaze scorched the air between him and Rafe.

  They want me, Rafe thought to Isabella. You get Theo and the rest out of here. I’ll handle them.

  Be handled by them, more likely, but he didn’t add that.

  Isabella’s response was swift and not surprising. You know I can’t do that.

  Karzov put a hand on Aliki’s shoulder. “Someone is talking to you,” he said reprovingly. “How many times have I told you that it is a courtesy to acknowledge them?”

  “Sorry, sir.” Aliki looked down at Furin. No expression flickered in his eyes, his face remained impassive. “You were saying?” he said with civil disinterest.

  “Burn you, Karzov,” said Furin, hoarse and white-faced. “What have you done to my son?”

  Aliki said nothing. Karzov nudged him again. “Answer, Aliki.”

  Furin’s fists balled. “Don’t,” he choked out. “Don’t call my son that.”

  Karzov ignored him. “This man says he’s your Papa. Well? Aren’t you going to answer him?”

  “Blackstone is father,” said Aliki flatly, as if reciting a mantra. “Blackstone is mother. There is no one else above Blackstone.”

  “Damn you, Karzov,” howled Furin. He drew his handgun from his belt, aimed, and shot at Karzov.

  Tentacles of ka shot out from around Aliki. They created a barrier that absorbed the velocity of the bullet before it could hit the Shadow. More tendrils sprouted from the ka around the boy, and slapped the gun out of Furin’s hand, sending it spinning into the depths below. Loops of scarlet and green ka tightened around Furin’s neck.