Flare: The Sunless World Book Two

by Rabia Gale

  Rafe’s mouth twisted. “I fully recognize your disapproval, First Minister. That doesn’t prevent me from doing my duty as I see fit.”

  “Duty?” Leo scoffed. “You abandoned your duty to Oakhaven two years ago.”

  “I no longer carry the hopes and expectations of Oakhaven only. When the entire human race is poised on the brink of extinction, squabbling over diminishing resources only prolongs the inevitable.”

  Leo contemplated him sourly. “So you too have fallen into the trap of thinking you are to be this world’s savior? Like those know-nothing Ironheart sycophants of yours?”

  Despite himself, Rafe’s fists clenched. The jeering tone and the barbed words hit a place already scraped and raw by his own doubts and worries.

  “They are hardly that, sir. We are partners and allies—at times. They assist me of their own free will, and I them. And I have no thought of elevating myself above others. How can I, when I neither asked for nor worked for the abilities I was born with? You yourself could just as easily have what I do.”

  Leo’s nostrils flared at this. A peculiar expression rippled over his face.

  In a flash, Rafe understood it. Suddenly, many things became clear.

  Could it be that Uncle Leo is jealous?

  It made sense, the pieces fitting together to form a picture. Of all his achievements and possessions, Leo had shown the most attachment to kayan artifacts, especially the Renat Keys. He had ventured into the hellhole Blackstone had been during the revolution to find the ones belonging to the Ferhanis, losing the use of his legs in the process. He had cherished them, studied them, prided himself on his superior knowledge of the Keys.

  And what had Rafe done? He’d intuitively reached out to the Keys and they had responded in kind. He’d snatched them away from under Leo’s nose. Leo had attempted to use them to activate Oakhaven’s mage defenses and failed, while Rafe had used them find the Tors Lumena—and succeeded.

  But no, his feckless nephew had not cherished the Keys the way Leo would’ve. When Rafe used them to defend the Tors against Blackstone annexation, they had shattered.

  They were gone.

  Rafe finally understood. For an instant, he stood in Leo’s shoes. He felt the weight of his uncle’s years on his own shoulders and the pain in his uncle’s joints in his own. He saw the things he’d wrapped so much of life into taken by an upstart nephew who could do so much more with them than he’d dreamed of.

  One who had not cared for them as he should’ve.

  One who had destroyed them.

  Uncle and nephew, both rendered speechless by Rafe’s earnest words, stood in tense silence.

  Isabella asked, direct as knife slice, What is it? Why this rush of emotion from you?

  He shook his head at her. Not now.

  Falkor broke the pause, his voice soothing. “And it very well could be so for you, First Minister. Why should we let such abilities manifest themselves at random in the population, instead of releasing them in those worthy to wield such powers?” He smirked as he laid Leo Grenfeld’s secret ambition bare to the room.

  Rafe wanted to punch the oily smile off his face.

  Leo’s face was pinched and grey. He made a motion with his hand, more a twitch than a gesture. “Let us not play these games, Falkor. It is too late for that. I am too old and I lack the Ferhani blood that adds its potency to the Grenfelds’ in my nephew.”

  Falkor inclined his head, accepting the reprimand, though the smile remained.

  Isabella tilted her head, listening. “He’s here.”

  “Who is?” snapped Leo. He arrowed a glare at Rafe, as if to say What have you done now?

  “I hear it,” said Rafe.

  “What is it?” Leo sounded fretful, looking about the room. The other functionaries, political hangers-on that Rafe barely recognized, now elevated to a status they couldn’t have dreamed of before the crisis, shook their heads.

  “Open the doors,” Rafe told Isabella.

  She crossed swiftly to the doors leading to the balcony and tugged away hastily-nailed boards. The doors behind them were thin, with elegant stained-glass panes. She took hold of their handles and pulled them open. They squealed in protest, letting in a wave of chilly air and the muttering of distant voices.

  Leo gestured for a guard to go out and see. The man edged past Isabella and leaned against the railing.

  “It’s… cheering?” said one of the functionaries, the numerous—and probably superfluous—medals on his chest clinking as he strained forward to listen.

  “Aye.” Rafe folded his arms. “They’re cheering and chanting. They’re calling for—”

  The guard yelled over his shoulder, “It’s a name, sir! There’s people streaming into the courtyard, holding candles. There’s some kind of vehicle with them… a digger! They’re calling for someone.” His voice dropped to a dramatic whisper-shout. “It’s Bloodoak.”

  “I see,” Leo’s lips thinned. “So you went over my head again.”

  The guard leaned so far out, Rafe thought he might actually fall off the balcony. Nonsense, Isabella told him, showing him her view of the crowd, a mass of dark figures and bobbing lights, with a few light machines trundling slowly through them.

  “They’re saying, Tristan!” An almost-hysterical note was in the guard’s voice. “It’s him. It really is His Highness! Prince Tristan is alive!”

  The guard’s excitement made up for the others’ lack of enthusiasm at the news. Rafe smiled.

  “He’s standing on the digger itself! He’s looking up at the balcony…. up at me. Now, he’s—” With a metallic clang, a grappling hook struck the railing. The guard hastened to secure the rope attached to it and tie it around the railing. Isabella watched to make sure the knot was tight.

  Moments later, the prince swung himself over the railing with a smile and a clap on the shoulder for the guard. He turned and waved at the crowd below. “Never fear! I shall be back out to you shortly!”

  More cheering greeted this. Tristan strode into the room, face bright, eyes brimming with laughter, confidence exuding from every pore.

  Showy, thought Rafe, just as Leo said, “Quite the entrance, Tristan.”

  “It was the fastest way,” said Tristan easily. “Hello, again, Rafe. Cousin Leo. Good to see you both.”

  “I hope you do not expect me to welcome you with open arms,” began Leo.

  “Oh, Sel, of course not!” exclaimed Tristan. “Why would you, considering what a disappointment I’ve been in the past?”

  “I had not given you credit for so much self-awareness. Yet somehow I do not think you created this spectacle just to abdicate your claim to the throne.”

  “No,” said Tristan frankly. “I’ve learned my duty at last. The Bloodoaks have sat on the throne for over four centuries. We’re practically a tradition—and Oakhaven is built on tradition. I mean to ensure that our government goes back to functioning the way it used to, with the monarchy and the Assembly working together—or hindering each other as the case may be. It served us well for centuries. Why should it not still, First Minister?”

  “You’re brasher than I remember,” commented Leo.

  “Better than sullen,” returned Tristan cheerfully. “Come now, Cousin Leo! I may not be tractable, but I am no longer quite so stupid and more willing to be wise. I even submit myself to the task of running the Machine.”

  “I don’t think you will find the task as onerous as you once thought,” Rafe nudged Rex forward with both mind and foot. The canoid approached Tristan cautiously.

  “Well, what’s this fellow?” Tristan bent and rubbed the canoid’s dish-shaped ears. It was evidently the right thing to do because the entire creature was aglow with happy ka-systems.

  “This is Rex. Think of it as your companion from now on,” said Rafe.

  “You will stay?” Tristan asked.

  “No, I must be going.” Rafe shook his head.

  “Tell me,” demanded Leo, harshly, raising himself to his f
ull height. “Just what do you intend to do, Kayan Rafael?”

  Rafe lifted his chin. “Return Salerus to our skies. Bring back our sun—and its light for all peoples and all lands.”

  He heard the hiss of indrawn breaths all throughout the room. Many flinched away from him. Falkor’s smile slipped, his mouth and tiny eyes rounding. Leo looked grim. Tristan stared in exaggerated surprise.

  The he laughed. “You’re a right one, you know,” he said admiringly. “Just return Salerus to the sky as easily as man might hang a picture. Of course you will tame it first?”

  “Foolishness! Utter, reckless, dangerous foolishness!” said Leo. “And to think I was nearly swayed by your reasoning.”

  Leo’s words were almost lost on Rafe. Something dark caught him, drew his attention away from the room and into the world of ka. An ominous thrum filled his skull and shuddered through his bones. All around him, ka writhed with it, stretched and shaken to breaking point.

  “Rafe?” That was Isabella, standing next to him, supporting him. His knees had given way without him realizing it. A dark tide of pressure rose up inside him. His heart labored to pump blood, his lungs wheezed for air. His hold on the kyra bond slipped, murkiness filled his vision.

  The last thing he saw before shadows overtook it was Leo’s expression, a mixture of self-righteousness, triumph, and, yes, guilt.

  “Uncle Leo,” he whispered through aching teeth and stiff lips, “what have you done?”

  And then the dam broke, with a screech of tortured ka. It filled him up, like a balloon. He heard someone shriek, high and faint, and realized the sound came from him. He heard also a confused babble of noises and Uncle Leo saying over and over again, “It was the right thing to do. They could never have held it against Blackstone. And now this mad plan of returning Salerus. It was the right thing to do.”

  You’re wrong. The words were locked behind Rafe’s bruised lips, crushed on his tongue. Anguished ka beat inside him, lashing and kicking, seeking relief, seeking escape. It was all he could to protect himself. His ears rang, his head pounded, his heart raced as if he’d been sprinting. He could barely feel Isabella’s presence or her arm still around him.

  “What in Sel’s name is going on?” Tristan’s voice, angry and afraid and too loud, echoed inside his skull. Rafe flinched, tried to cover his ears, but he had no hands, they’d been shredded away, as would the rest of him be soon…

  Then Isabella was there, shielding him with her ice and silver. His overheated blood was almost boiling, her voice cooled him like ice water.

  “It’s the Tors Lumena. It’s been destroyed. It’s gone.”

  It’s even worse than that, Rafe wanted to say. The shockwave’s coming.

  But he had no breath to spare. He had to gather every scrap of strength to stand in its way, to deflect the ka.

  Before it destroyed everything.

  Chapter Twenty Four

  Rafe

  IT WAS HIS FIRST flight in a powered airborne vehicle and Rafe had to spend it half out of his mind, slumped in a leather-covered seat, strapped in by belts. Next to him, Isabella kept her hand on his arm the whole trip. Her tension was the only thing that intruded into his struggle with the ka.

  The first surge from the shattered Tors had taken out all of Oakhaven’s magical artifacts. Enraged ka bulled over everything in its path. It sizzled through quartz-powered devices, burning all their components. It leapt for the Machine, both Primary and appendages. Rafe shielded them as best he could, focused on protecting the city’s infrastructure. Gas lines, steam turbines, water pipes, blast furnaces—it’d be catastrophic if any of them blew.

  Ka pounded the city. It buffeted buildings like a child having a tantrum.

  Now then, calm down, Rafe soothed, diverting ka into more acceptable outlets. He imagined Oakhaven as a hub, sent the ka into spokes, out to the rim.

  He couldn’t hold everything in place. Some vacant houses on the hillside collapsed, including the Brightmoons’. Regretfully, Rafe let the ka have its way with roof tiles and water fountains and elegant statuary. River water churned and flooded warehouses along its bank. In one theater, sheltering a group of frightened passersby, the dialog of past performances and the applause of yesteryears echoed in the dark auditorium. In the sewers, several unfortunate rats sprouted horns, grew to an unusual size, and turned on each other.

  And those were only the things that Rafe was able to catch. Ka was everywhere, painting the world in luminous lines, tugging here, pulling there, always moving, always doing, sending him a thousand inputs, each so fast that he barely caught one in a hundred.

  It’d be worse in New Hope. The thought was like lead in his stomach.

  Once the surge was over, Isabella had hauled him into the aircraft Zacharias had prepared. Tristan, his voice hollow in Rafe’s ears, had practically pushed the kayan in himself. “Selene protect us,” he said, in tones bleached grey by horror. “Go to them! Help them. And… plead with them to forgive us.”

  Poor Tristan, was Rafe’s bleak, bitter thought. To come to power at such a time, with such a mess falling upon his shoulders.

  But worse was the knowledge that Leo had tasked Wil to lead the mission to destroy the Tors.

  Then he had a confused impression of noise and whirring, of being lifted into the air while his stomach dropped to his feet. He’d retched, then, in dry heaves that threatened to turn his intestines inside out. Isabella had extended her kyra to strengthen his own. When the spasms stopped she’d put a flask of cool water to his lips and let him drink in slow sips.

  “The Oakhaven agri-caves are finally gone,” she told him, her voice neutral but her eyes darkened to obsidian. “And the Assembly building is once more a ruin.”

  “I couldn’t hold it. Either of them.” Rafe rested his head back. Vibrations shuddered through his body and jittered his legs. Zacharias hadn’t considered—or had entirely forgotten—the comfort of his human passengers.

  “Leo Grenfeld is a fool. All the good he did will be forever overshadowed by this act.” She took a deep breath. “Oakhaven will have no choice but to make an example of him.”

  There was no argument or response to this. Besides, he had to save his energy for the smaller surges that followed. The ka came at them at waves, and the craft jostled and bounced every time. Rafe felt like he was at the epicenter, all the hurt and angry ka from the Tower sought him out, wrapping around him in an acidic embrace.

  “Scorch it all to Salerus’ fires,” said Isabella, each word viciously distinct. He’d never heard her swear and he noted that her silver kyra was misshapen and blobby, as if being melted from the inside.

  Even Isabella was shaken. Even she had a hard time keeping her composure.

  The aircraft fought ka-created turbulence the closer it got to New Hope. No longer was the Tors Lumena a sea of acid ka, but a punctured, dying thing, spilling out its lifeblood in a hundred trails and trickles.

  They flew over the Ironheart outposts and settlements. Yellow ka lashed the brick facades of one, crumbling them to dust. Sullen blue pooled in the foundations of yet another, spawning an army of ants bent on creating pentagonal colonies. Yet each settlement had its own untouched area, a rectangular block bounded by ropes of ka, its insides hidden from him. Coop’s grounding system had worked. Rafe hoped that the inhabitants had all found shelter in those areas.

  “There’s thick dust in the air,” Isabella reported as the aircraft’s engines took on a wheeze and a whine. “The mountains that surrounded New Haven are… gone.”

  He could not see, but he could imagine. Imagine all that rock blasted to dust, casting a long shadow of debris over the land. Ka worried and chivvied the material, and he was able to exert enough mastery over it to get it to land the material into empty hollows. Clear the air, so people could breathe.

  There was a rattle and splutter in the engine. The craft dipped down, alarmingly. Rafe buoyed it up with yellow and green ka. It stung him to use it, in a distant kind of way. He
had gotten used to working with tainted magic.

  Or that he no longer noticed the pain, as if his magical abilities had developed calluses.

  Isabella hissed.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “Hurry and land this thing,” she said. “I see Blackstone’s airships.”

  New Hope still stood, though it was a town that had been stripped down to its skeleton. Its anti-aircraft canon were empty steel shells now, all the quartz machinery within them turned to powder and ashes. All other devices that had hummed with filaments of ka, from trains to hot plates, were dead to his senses. Strands of ka, stiff and dead, drifted in the dust.

  All was silent save for the noise of the aircraft’s rotors as Rafe landed it in the innermost ring of New Haven. Thanks to Ironheart’s reinforcements, most of the hill covering the Tors Lumena had survived. On one side, a monstrous root, pocked and bubbled, had broken through. Red ka boiled through it, changing its colors and consistency. It was well on its way to turning to mush. Rafe ejected most of the red ka and replaced it with the nearby green that had fused all the moving parts of a number of diggers.

  There was nothing he could do about the huddled corpses that littered the streets. He sensed the ka sparking in them, and his stomach clenched at the thought of what it had done to those people as they died.

  He was glad of his diminished sight so he wouldn’t have to look.

  They exited the aircraft into chilly air choked with dust. Rafe nudged the ka to clear it away from them. He looked for Newvale’s lab; the structure was a crumpled mass of rainbow-colored ka. Deep lavender and icy blue clung in blobs to what he suspected where Newvale’s instruments.

  “It’s like a ghost town,” said Isabella. She offered to share her vision with him, but he shook his head and took her hand instead. The feel of her roughened, slightly callused hand and strong, slender fingers steadied him in a world of psychedelic colors in abstract patterns and explosive movement. Overlaying sight over all that was beyond his mental capacity at the moment. “It’s hard to believe Oakhaven had the capability to destroy the Tors so thoroughly.”