Beyond the Core (The Starborn Series Book 1)

by K. R. Cunningham

  As the sky darkened with more clouds, Owen looked up and spotted Hale coming up the path. He sat up straight in his chair, his heart racing. When his friend stepped up on the porch under the covering, Owen folded the corner of the page to mark his place and closed the book.

  “I’ve been wondering where you were,” Owen said, smiling. “After the statue yesterday, you disappeared on me.”

  Hale crossed his arms and looked down. His blond hair was growing out, and in the gloomy weather, his gray eyes appeared darker. His brown trousers looked warm and his buttoned-up shirt soft.

  “I took Molly on a picnic,” he said, “and we ended up strolling up to Beecher’s Cliff to watch the sunset.”

  “That’s . . . pretty serious.”

  “I know. She’s been hinting at a ring.” Hale paused a moment before he said, “Sorry about yesterday. Things have been pretty busy, what with the harvest and all.”

  “It’s all right. I was tired anyway.”

  “I’ll be going to Glen Briar with Clyde in a few days. He wants to set up shop one more time before it gets cold.” Hale nodded at the book in Owen’s lap. “You still writing?”

  Owen picked up the book and showed him the cover, then smiled.

  Hale laughed. “Still indulging in faerie tales, then?”

  “I can’t help myself.” Owen opened the book and flitted through the pages. “There is one about a giant who walks backwoods roads in the midnight hour, looking for only heads to eat.”

  “Sounds like a mother’s tale to keep her children away from the woods.” Hale furrowed his brows and looked away.

  “Actually, the giant likes to eat the heads of small—”

  “Oh, I see Molly over in the field. Do you mind if I go see her a moment? It looks like Lyra is with her. You know, Molly told me Lyra has an eye for you. Want to come?”

  It was as if an immense icy wave washed over Owen in that moment, drowning his senses. He hesitated, wondering if he should go with Hale, but something pulled him away. Perhaps it was his power that refused to let him go. He had always been able to sense the energy coming off others, and in the case of some people, he attached smells or tastes or colors to their auras. With Milo, he sensed the smell of the sea, and with his longtime family friend Amias, he smelled black tea. With Hale, he associated orange sunsets. There were several others in the village whose presences he’d appointed certain things to; Esther Crowe was the smell of lilies, Clyde Andel was an aura of yellow. Molly Thorne was the taste of a green sour apple.

  He puckered his face at the thought.

  “Be right there!” Hale called out. He turned to Owen. “Come on, it’ll be fun. We can all stroll down the beach and then come back for the bonfire later.”

  Owen stood up and cleared his throat. “Milo asked me to help him with a few things for tonight. Maybe another time.”

  Hale stiffened. “Really? Every time?”

  “Every time what?” Owen looked at him, wide-eyed.

  “You want us to do things together, but only us. You can be upset about last night, but you don’t ever come with me when I ask either.”

  Shame washed over Owen. “I’m sorry,” he said, peeling his eyes hesitantly at Molly and Lyra, who waved at them from the field. “I don’t mean to be that way. I suppose I just miss the old days when we got into shenanigans on our own?”

  “I know. I miss those days too.” Hale shrugged. “We’re older now. Time to move on, have families of our own, and leave behind faerie tales.”

  Owen’s heart sank deeply into his knotted stomach, but he nodded, averting his eyes. “You’re right. I’ll try harder.”

  Hale smiled. “See you later?”

  “I’ll be at the bonfire.”

  “Good.” Hale sauntered off the porch and out to the field.

  Owen swallowed his sadness and walked inside to check the cauldron of red potatoes heating in the fireplace—he would add fish and spices to it later—and built up the fire in his stove, lighting the wood and closing the small hatch. Once the fire roared, he put on a pot of tea. As it brewed, he laid his book on the table, looking over a few pages that displayed some of his favorite creatures. Some words were smudged from water, a few drawings smeared from time, but they were still as charming to him as they were when he was a boy.

  He smiled when he came to a drawing of a man lying on the ground. Small, furry creatures akin to moles stood at the man’s head with bits of flesh in their wolf-like jaws.

  “Mosgravs are kind of cute.” He half-laughed. “For man-eating rodents, that is.”

  A knock on the door drew him from the book. Thinking it would be Hale, Owen opened the door, willing to go with him this time if he was asked. What he had not expected was to see Amias himself standing in the doorway.

  Owen’s brows rose in surprise and a grin flashed across his face. “Amias!” He lunged forward and hugged the man.

  “Good to see you, too.” Amias laughed, embracing Owen warmly for a moment before holding him out. “My, you’ve grown for sure since I last saw you. Is that fuzz on your chin?” He pinched Owen’s jaw.

  “Fuzz?” Owen swatted at his hand. “Next time you see me I’ll have a fully-grown beard, thank you. What are you doing here? I thought you weren’t planning on coming till spring.”

  “Ah, well, I’ve had a change in my plans.” Amias glanced away and turned around. Behind him stood a tall man clad in dark clothes, from his rugged boots to faded coat. His dirty-blond hair was short and messy, and a scar ran across his lips and down to his chin. He had a longbow strapped to his bag and a quiver of arrows attached at the bottom.

  “I hope you don’t mind another visitor,” Amias said. “Owen, this is my friend, Colt O’Malley.”

  Owen drew back gingerly. “How do you do,” he started, his voice quiet.

  The man cocked his head, staring long enough at him to make Owen feel uncomfortable.

  “Would you . . . like to come in?” Owen asked.

  Colt sized him up and shrugged. “Depends on if you got ale or not. I saw a quaint little pub down in that village there.”

  “Well, I don’t have ale, but I have tea.”

  When Colt looked away and chuckled, Owen narrowed his eyes. Of course, the man was not like him. He sensed the sudden sour lemon of his aura. It was strong enough to make Owen’s tongue water with bitterness. Who was this man that Amias had brought to his home?

  “We’re not here for ale,” Amias said.

  “I don’t think you’re in any position to tell me what I shouldn’t do,” Colt replied. There was an edge in his voice that Owen did not like. He was hesitant to let the man into his house at all.

  “Fine, by all means, go find your drink.” Amias shook his head and walked sluggishly into the house.

  Owen took his bag, his eyes lingering on the newcomer. The man strolled nonchalantly into the house anyway, and Owen noticed a strange-looking leather sheath buckled at his waist.

  “On second thought, suppose I could use something to eat instead.” Colt raised his brows at Owen. “Got somewhere I can put my stuff?”

  With his stomach in knots, Owen showed him to the guest room to change his clothes. The guest room, a cozy little room with a single bed and a writing desk, sat across the hall from his bedroom. On the walls were several wreaths made of twine and bundled sticks, pulled together with colorful strings and leaves for decor.

  When Owen noticed Colt glancing at them, he cleared his throat. “You can put your bag here, if you want, at the end of the bed.”

  Colt poked his finger at a small figurine made of metal screws and cogs on his desk—a creation Owen had made when he worked briefly with Clyde Andel. Forging weapons was not Owen’s strong suit, and as a parting gift from the blacksmith’s shop, Clyde had let him keep the figure.

  “Well, I’ll leave you to it, then,” Owen said.

  He closed the door and let out a breath, his chest tightening as it occurred to him that he had a small leather bag of coins in
the guest room, tucked into the drawer of the desk.

  Surely Amias wouldn’t bring a thief into my home, he thought.

  He shook his head and came into the kitchen, where Amias found his way to the whistling tea kettle. Owen wedged himself in front of the stove.

  “I can get you tea, Amias. No doubt you’ve had a long walk.”

  “If you insist.” Amias plopped down in a chair at the table and rubbed a hand over his stubbly face.

  “Your friend—he’s very forward,” Owen said softly.

  “He can be a bit intimidating at first. We’re not exactly on good terms at the moment, but it was necessary that he be here.” Amias nodded at the drawings on the wall. “You’re getting better at those, I see.”

  “They give me inspiration to write. Here, let me get you some biscuits and butter.”

  “I’d appreciate it.”

  When Owen opened his pantry, the smell of fish fouled the air. He brought up the basket along with the biscuits he had made yesterday and set them on the counter. “Lucky you. You came just in time for the bonfire.” He opened the kitchen windows to air out the smell. “I’m making fish stew for tonight.”

  “Sounds wonderful. I was hoping I’d make it in time.”

  Owen set out several biscuits on a plate with the last of his butter. Amias beamed with delight and groaned when he ate one.

  It had been several months since Owen had seen Amias. As he sat at the table, he noticed the man he had known since his birth looked the same, but the wrinkles around his mouth and light brown eyes looked deeper. His usually closely-cropped hair had grown shaggy, his hairline receding back. His beard was full, speckled with black and white that matched his hair. The man’s brown trousers and green, belted tunic looked more fit for travel than a leisurely stay.

  When Colt strolled into the kitchen, his cream-colored sleeves were rolled up to the elbows, showing a tattoo of a spade on his upper right forearm. He looked rugged, his collar open but tucked into dark, loose trousers.

  Colt turned up his nose as he sat at the table. “Smells a bit odd in here.”

  Amias poured them all tea. “That would be supper for tonight. Owen works with the fisherman in the village. I’m assuming that’s where you got the fish?”

  “We just cleaned them yesterday,” Owen said, peering briefly at Colt as he drank from his cup. The strong scent of jasmine rose from the hot tea, lifting his spirit momentarily.

  “It’s very good.” Amias sighed and nodded. “Yes, very good. Much needed.” He cleared his throat and looked toward the window. “It’s cool today. Not quite as cold as I thought it might be for this time of year. Still, the weather could surprise us. We had an abnormally hot summer.”

  Owen turned his cup in his hand, noticing Amias’s nervous banter. He glanced at Colt, who looked oddly at Amias. “Yes,” Owen said. “Hopefully the snows will delay. So—” He inched his chair closer to the table. “What is your reason for coming? You don’t normally venture out this way so late in the year.”

  Amias hesitated as he stirred a bit of milk into his tea. “Well, uh, I come with some dampening news. I’ve resigned from my work in Alacor. I left under . . . a rather tense situation.”

  “What happened?”

  “Oh, I won’t get into the details, but I’ll be taking my leave of the country.”

  Owen tightened his hand around his cup, but he kept his face calm and straight. “On your own?”

  “Well, Colt will accompany me.” Amias scratched his brow. “I was hoping you would go with me, too.”

  An ache tore across Owen’s chest, bringing with it a deep onset of nausea. “You mean, leave Emberton?” When Amias nodded, he said, “You could stay here.”

  Amias hesitated. Colt looked up as he buttered a biscuit.

  “Oh, yes, I suppose I could.” Amias drummed his fingers on the table. “But I can’t stay in Milarc. I’ve got a price on my head.”

  Owen’s mouth fell open, his chest seizing. “For what?”

  “I may . . . have let out some important information. I had to cover for it, and now the Legion sees me as a traitor.”

  “You didn’t resign, then. You left. And now you’re in trouble.” Owen pressed a hard fist against his head.

  “Yes. And I would like you to go with me.”

  “Why? No one knows about me here. I can keep hiding.” He cast his eyes toward Colt, hoping he had not revealed too much about himself. He did not know how much the man knew about him. They had met on a rather sour note, and Owen did not like the feel of his aura.

  “It’s all right,” Amias reassured him, seeming to read his mind. “You can trust Colt. He already knows you’re Astran.”

  Owen’s shoulders slumped. “You told him?”

  “Yes. He’s a good friend I can trust. If I didn’t trust him, why would he be here with me now, talking about this with you? I’d place my life in his hands.”

  It was easy for Amias to say such a thing, but Owen barely knew the man. He glanced at Colt, who was busy stuffing his mouth with food.

  “Damn, this is good,” Colt said, licking his fingers. “Sure you ain’t got any ale you’re hiding to go with it?”

  “No, I don’t,” Owen said sternly. “But I have some tea here that does one just fine.”

  “No need to get all miffed, mate.” Colt sniffed and leaned back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other. “I can get an ale elsewhere later.”

  “I’m not . . . miffed,” Owen said defensively. “But I am concerned as to why Amias told you about me.”

  Colt cleared his throat. “Look, I don’t give a shit whether you’re Astran or some dolt who murders patriarchs for money. I agreed to take you both out of Milarc. You should be grateful.”

  The space between them thickened. Owen stared at Colt for a long moment before he said, “How much is he paying you to come along with him?”

  “Owen—” Amias started.

  Colt chuckled, a lazy smirk lingering on his face as he chewed his food.

  “Listen, the Legion is looking for me.” Amias stared intently at Owen. “As much as I didn’t want to lead a trail here, they may already know of your whereabouts from the information I leaked in the citadel. I couldn’t leave you behind. I’ve done too much to keep you hidden. I want to keep it that way. But you’re not safe here anymore.”

  Owen put his face in his hands, trying to absorb the seriousness of the situation. “I could hide elsewhere,” he muttered through his fingers.

  Amias shook his head. “The Legion has been at work on an invention, a new Core that glows when it nears Astrans. The Wielders have taken to it well. If they come here, they’ll find you.”

  Core Wielders.

  Owen’s heart sank like an anchor into his stomach. He had seen a few Wielders in his lifetime. He imagined one holding a mechanical brass Core that harnessed the power of Astrans like himself.

  “But I’m not marked,” he said.

  Amias shook his head, his face weary. “It doesn’t matter if you’re not marked. If they come here and their Core glows, they’ll find you.”

  “Impossible.”

  “Would I lie to you?” Amias looked at him seriously. “Do you think that I am?”

  “No, I just don’t understand.”

  “Amias, give the kid a break.” Colt nodded and rolled his shoulders loose. “If he wants to hide, let him hide.”

  “I’m not a kid,” Owen retaliated, glaring at Colt. “I’m twenty.”

  Colt’s eyebrows perked up. “Apologies, mate. You just have the height of a small child, is all.”

  They all went quiet at that. Owen’s face burned so hot he was sure they could feel the heat radiating. From across the table, Amias rolled his eyes.

  Owen wanted to say something in response. He stood from the table and thought of all the clever things he could say back, but he could think of none. Choking down his pride, he looked at Amias.

  “Yes, I can hide,” he said, staying on topic. “
I could always spend a few months elsewhere, or even go with Hale and Clyde to Glen Briar. They’ll be leaving soon.”

  Amias glared at him. “And then what would you do if a Wielder arrived at your village unannounced? During the night? Or in a place like Glen Briar? It’s closer to Alacor, too, and there are marked Astrans in every region. Some Wielders are going to villages like this to test out their new Cores and see if they can find those who’ve evaded the marking system.”

  Owen shrank back, at a loss for words. He was much at home on the cliff. The warm smiles and lively chatter of the villagers had grown on him, and he had made good friends with Hale and Milo. The soil in his garden had just produced his first successful round of tomatoes over the summer. The thought of leaving it all behind crushed his spirit, but the thought of advanced Cores gripped his heart.

  “Used to be, Wielders couldn’t use their Cores to visibly track Astrans.” Amias sipped his tea quietly. “But centuries worth of research and hard work with their Cores have paid off for them. The Legion has big plans.”

  “Got to watch for Outriders, too,” Colt cut in.

  Owen’s eyes furrowed. “Is that another new invention or something?”

  “Yes, a wasteful product of Alacor.” Amias held up his cup as if saluting before he downed the rest of its contents. “It’s a . . . sort of resurrected animal, like a wild dog, wolf. Maybe even a wild cat. They’re mainly used for intimidation. They hunt their victims, injure them even, but they’re not designed to kill their targets. They’re trained to catch the energy of your power and track you down.”

  “How does it do that?”

  “The same way a Wielder does. It runs on the same manner of work, with Cores. Except they’re inside the animal, keeping it alive.”

  Owen winced. “That sounds frightening.”

  “Right, sounds like we should rest up, then,” Colt intervened. “If we’re going to leave tonight and all.”