Beyond the Core (The Starborn Series Book 1)

by K. R. Cunningham

  “You’d think he’d never seen a bridge before,” Colt muttered as he passed by.

  Amias lingered beside Owen and smiled. “I rather share your enthusiasm. Nature is beautiful.”

  After another long minute, Owen tore himself away from the bridge and continued down the path. Eventually, they came to a small village, where the houses looked much like those in Emberton, except their roofs were curved slightly outward. Lanterns hung from their porches, as well as small, fat statues of little men that looked like the goblins Owen had read about.

  “Green Springs.” Owen sighed. “Milo and I visited here last year. I helped him pack up a stock of fish and we sold the whole lot over the weekend. We came up the main path, though.”

  “It’s a quiet place,” Amias said.

  Behind and around the houses were small brooks that broke off from the main stream and wound their way through the village. There were several wooden planks and stepping stones that crossed over gurgling streams, and beyond was a line of tall, thin trees. Owen knew if he were to venture out beyond the trees that he would find the cliffside, and then the ocean once again. The air carried the damp feel of sea spray. He could smell it.

  Tall, oval-shaped stones of all sizes sat in between houses, while several painted stones of yellow, blue, pink, and green lay in circles around others. Some had faces, others different designs of spirals, dots, leaves, and flowers.

  There was little hustle among the village folk. A few men were busy repairing a wooden fence for the horse stable, and several women carried woven baskets full of cranberries. One offered them food for coin, and Amias took the basket of fruit graciously. They stopped at a small bread shop, where smoke plumed out from the chimney.

  “That smells good,” Owen said, his mouth watering. “Please tell me we’re going in there.”

  “For bread,” Amias said. “Not sweets.”

  “I have my own coin.”

  “You got a sweet tooth?” Colt nodded. “Your coin won’t last you long, then. Nor your teeth.”

  Owen looked away with a scowl.

  Amias grunted as he stepped up to the shop. “There are huts down the way for travelers. I’m afraid it may rain soon, so it would do us good to stay here for the night.”

  “But it’s sunny out,” Owen said.

  “Don’t question a former Astran and the intuitive feeling in his bones. I’ll get us bread and see what meats they have.”

  “Check to see if they have butter,” Colt said.

  “Oh, will you see if they have honey glaze?” Owen asked. “Only if it’s not too much.”

  Amias nodded and opened the door.

  “Don’t forget the cheese,” Colt added.

  The door slammed, shutting them both out before they could say anything more.

  Colt looked at Owen and shrugged. “Might as well look around. It’s a quaint place.”

  “That must mean you like it.”

  “I said it was quaint.”

  “It’s a beautiful place, and the people are friendly.” Owen smiled at a woman as he passed, and she nodded at them.

  “You’d fit right in, then, wouldn’t you?” Colt muttered.

  Owen was ready to make a remark when he caught Colt’s wink and crooked smile. Rather than say anything, Owen relaxed and continued down the path with him until they reached a weathered statue in the middle of a broken circle of stones.

  “Pfft. What an ugly-looking thing,” Colt said, hands on his hips.

  “It’s a statue of Arcan.” Owen traced the outline of the man’s tall figure with his eyes. Part of its head had broken off, as well as a hand, but by the way the man lowered his head and stretched out his arms, he knew the image to be of the god he prayed to often.

  He bowed his head and clasped his hands together, then whispered quietly, “Arcan, giver of life, please continue to keep us safe on our journey.”

  “What are you doing?” Colt started.

  “Praying.”

  “Right. No one pays attention to these old statues anymore. Look at the thing—it’s falling apart. It’s there for decoration.”

  Looking at Arcan’s feet, Owen spotted a few blueberries and candles. He met Colt’s hesitant eyes. “It seems others believe otherwise. Someone here prays to him.”

  “Prayers do nothing,” Colt said. “They’re mothers’ sweet nothings to keep children from being afraid. Nothing more.” He stalked away.

  The harsh words stung Owen’s heart. Turning back to the statue, he picked a few yellow autumn flowers and placed them at Arcan’s feet. He took out his journal, quickly sketched the statue, and wrote Green Springs beneath it.

  “He looks after those who humble themselves before him, you know,” came a woman’s voice.

  Owen turned around to see a middle-aged woman with graying hair carrying a basket. “Oh,” he started. “Do you pray to him as well?”

  She nodded and stepped up to him. “Every day. And he has watched over this village in return.” Her blue eyes glanced up at the statue as if she believed Arcan were there at that moment. “Are you traveling from the north?”

  “From Emberton,” Owen said, suddenly biting his lip against his words.

  “I have a cousin up that way. Herschel Shawl. Heard of him?”

  Nodding, Owen said, “I’ve heard of him. He trades in Alacor in the summer.”

  The woman flashed a toothy grin. “When you go back that way, tell him Grace sends her love.”

  “I will. I’m Owen, by the way.”

  “Pleasure to meet you. We enjoy kind travelers. Feel free to use the huts down the way.”

  “Thank you. It’s very kind of the village to do such a thing.”

  Grace straightened and cleared her throat. “Well, I’d best be getting to my husband now. Have a wonderful day, Owen.”

  He waved her off. Then he tucked his journal under his arm and made his way after Colt down the path, where four huts were nestled in the grass, held together by sturdy, shaved tree limbs. Sheepskin covered the outsides, providing warmth and dry air inside.

  “So we just take one?” Colt asked.

  “Yes,” Owen replied. “Milo and I stayed in one last time.”

  “Oh, good. You can take one of the others, then.”

  “They’re big enough for all of us.”

  “Do you see anyone else using the other three?”

  Owen stared at him. “What about other travelers?”

  “They can sleep with you and Amias.”

  “That’s not very considerate.”

  “I don’t care.”

  Despite Colt’s difficulty, they chose a hut to eat in together when Amias arrived. They set out rye bread, thinly-sliced cheese, tomatoes, and smoked ham, along with butter and a small jar of honey.

  “You two will drain my coin quick,” Amias remarked. “Next time I won’t be so generous.”

  “Don’t worry,” Colt muttered, his mouth full of food. “I can play some cards and win us some money at the pub down the way.”

  “None of your gambling,” Amias said sternly. “It’s too much of a risk—”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Colt waved him off and turned his back to them, wandering over to one of the other empty huts.

  Amias sat beside Owen and set down a cup of tea. “Tomorrow we’ll head toward Birchwood. We can cut through and see where we come out, then make plans there.”

  “Birchwood?” Owen raised his brows, his nerves on edge at hearing the name.

  “Yes. What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing, I just didn’t think about having to cut through the forest.”

  “Given my circumstances, I feel it would be best to avoid the main road for now.” Amias folded the map and tucked it away.

  Rather than dwell on it, Owen looked away and took a bite from his sandwich, savoring the taste of the honey glaze he had drizzled on the ham. Such good food as this took his mind off his worries.

  “By the way, I managed to get hold of a few pieces of information I
think you’ll like.” Amias took out a loose paper from his book, which also held the map, and handed it to Owen.

  Chewing the rest of his food, Owen looked at the paper in the dim light of the lantern. A drawing of a giant man carrying heads over his shoulders made Owen’s eyebrows raise. He looked at the name written beneath the drawing: The Horgg.

  “I’ve never heard of him before,” Owen said. “Arcmere lore?”

  “No, Vanhelm.” Amias straightened.

  “Avathonian, then. It’s amazing.” Owen ran his hands over the drawing, then read the description underneath. “‘Residing in Vanhelm’s massive graveyard, the Horgg is slow moving, but fierce and aggressive. If he catches you, he’ll twist your head from your body before draining your . . .’” When he looked up, he caught Amias nodding. “Wow.”

  “Yes, very violent. Want to know the interesting part? The Horgg is said to be real.” Amias tapped the paper. “There have been some, uh, groups of Wielders and Legion soldiers at the gravesite where the Horgg is. No one had seen such creatures until recently. Makes the mind wonder, hm?”

  “A spirit?”

  “Possibly. Supposedly that’s why so many factions of the Legion have withdrawn from the area. It’s deemed too haunted, too full of a malicious energy.”

  “The graveyard is where the Gate is, isn’t it?”

  Amias nodded. “Yes, the strange Gate of many wonders.” He brought up his cup and drank the rest of his tea. “That’s yours now. A memento from Alacor. I’m sure they won’t miss it. They have hundreds of other drawings of it.”

  “Thank you.” Owen smiled and folded the paper before carefully placing it in his folklore book.

  After they ate their fill, dark clouds blew in. Owen sat in the door of the hut, watching the village die down from the day. Lanterns lit as people retreated into their homes. Wooden chimes clinked, and frogs croaked in the nearby streams, welcoming the unusual weather.

  Owen let his eyes close lazily as the daylight faded and the dark sky took over. He caught a glimpse of Colt leaving the other hut and making his way to the pub at the end of the path. Owen imagined following him, and wondered how it would be to drink with him. Was Colt a sloppy drunk or was he full of chatter?

  Too tired to figure it out, Owen moved into the hut, wrapped his blanket tightly around himself, and fell asleep instantly.

  Chapter 7

  “You’ve opened the current between realms. I need you to stay in it and talk to me.”

  When Owen woke to the sound of a deep voice, he expected to see someone beside him. But in his jolted state, he saw nothing but darkness, and he heard nothing but the steady calm of the rain upon the roof of the hut.

  He swallowed hard and squinted his eyes, trying to make out the outline of Amias sleeping beside him on the ground. Owen sat this way for a while, his mind fogged with sleep and paranoia.

  A faint light glowed beside him. Owen grabbed his belt from the ground and took out his dagger. The blade held the yellow hue it had before when he destroyed the Outrider, but as he looked at it, the light dimmed, and then went dark.

  Taking in a shaky breath, Owen placed the blade into its sheath and lay back down, but the voice in his dream had disturbed him too much to fall back to sleep.

  When dawn broke, he rose with his companions and left Green Springs. He kept quiet as they delved further inland, the rain now nothing more than drizzle. When they stopped to break for lunch, they ate the rest of the bread and cheese. By this time, he felt better about the dream and waved it off as nothing, but the sudden glow of his dagger in the night had him wondering. Still, Owen kept it to himself for the time being.

  They walked until evening deepened and the sky cleared. As they were building up a shelter, Owen caught something moving out of the corner of his eye. He jumped back, his mind alert.

  Amias glanced at him, then looked around cautiously. “What’s wrong?”

  “I just thought I saw something.”

  “Suppose we should keep walking to the fields?” Colt asked, his hand on his hilt.

  “Yes, but even coyotes will take to the fields for sheep,” Amias said. “Still, it might be better to move out.”

  They trudged along in haste. After half an hour of walking, they emerged from the trees into a wide field basked in blue moonlight. Remnants of rain clouds tapered off in the distance, but the ground was dry.

  “Let’s stop here,” Amias said. “None of us will be any good walking if we become sick. I don’t think any animals will bother us.”

  “‘Cept an Outrider, maybe,” Colt muttered.

  “Which we have the means to kill,” Amias retorted.

  Owen was relieved to be able to break for the night in the open air. As he sat on the ground, he realized he was trembling from all the walking they had done. “Should we worry about Legion guards out here?” he asked, pulling off his boots to massage his feet.

  “There aren’t as many posts or Wielder towers out this way,” Amias answered. “But I know the ones to avoid. So far we’re doing well. Colt, get your rest while you can, and be ready to leave when I wake you.”

  “You should get some rest, Amias,” Owen said. “I can keep watch.”

  “You need your rest just as much as I do.”

  “Yes, but I’m not very tired right now.”

  Amias nodded in agreement and pulled out his blanket. “Tomorrow, we should be able to stay at the inn in Blakely. Think on that if it helps you get through the night.”

  The breeze held a cool chill as it swept through the field. Owen welcomed the thought of a warm bed in an actual building rather than the hard ground. When Colt struck up his pipe, silence fell between them. They settled back and relaxed. Owen gazed at the stars for a while, diamonds in a black sea. Itching to start a conversation, he glanced over at his traveling companion until the man looked back, his eyebrows raised.

  “What?” Colt asked, blowing smoke away from them.

  “I just want to ask you something.”

  “Ask away.”

  “Why are you risking your life out here to protect us?”

  Colt took a few puffs from his pipe before he blew the smoke out with a sigh. “I owe Amias. He did something for me once. This is my way of repaying him.”

  “Then it’s not about helping either of us, but rather an obligation to him?”

  “What does it matter? I’m protecting you. You don’t need to know anything else. What I do is my business, as is what I do after all of this is done with.”

  Owen shivered. “Then you don’t care about Astran folk?”

  “I don’t care much about anyone but myself, mate. Amias is a good friend, but I’m not willing to follow him wherever he intends on going after this.”

  “So then he isn’t paying you anything.”

  “No.”

  Owen raised his brows, surprised. He had taken Colt as a man who would demand payment, but then again, Owen did not truly know him. Perhaps he had assumed too much upon their first meeting.

  Colt blew out the last of his smoke before he drew up his blanket and settled his head back against a boulder. “Night.”

  “Goodnight,” Owen said gently. As he settled back, he traced the field with his eyes to keep himself awake. He thought of the voice he had heard that morning and looked down at his dagger, wondering if it would glow again.

  His mind wavered. Though he looked at his surroundings, he was not fully aware of them. He tried to get a feel of the area to stave off the heavy feeling of sleep. As he dug his fingers into the dirt, the vibrations of the earth expelled energy, and the ruffles of grass swayed as the breeze blew against them.

  He shook his head several times to ward off the black spots he thought were shadows in the distance, darting to and from the trees. His heart jumped several times, thinking something was there, and hoping it was not another Outrider. After a while, he chalked it up to being so tired that he could not see clearly, and hoped it was only his mind playing tricks on him.
r />   Eventually his eyes became too heavy and he dozed off and on. He did not sleep well, and the cold woke him often. Even so, he fell asleep sometime in the night while keeping watch. When he awoke with a blanket over him, he apologized, but Amias reassured him that he had awakened in the night to find Owen asleep and kept watch instead.

  “Thanks for lending me your blanket,” Owen said.

  “It’s Colt’s. I gave him mine when I woke.”

  “Oh.” Owen rolled the blanket up slowly and glanced dubiously at Colt in the distance.

  Amias popped his back. “With the wind last night, it’s a wonder that we all made it through the night at all.”

  After they gathered their bags, they met with Colt down the field. When they all joined together, Colt took the lead until they came to a wide path.

  “Ah, I know where we are now,” Amias said, pointing to their right. “The coast is that way, out of sight now, and the road before us should take us to the Weathered Pot Inn. From there we can cut through Birchwood.”

  “Isn’t the inn out of the way?” Owen asked.

  “Only a bit. The forest is more dangerous down this way. The rocks are steep. There’s a path that leads in just past the inn, but we’ll be going off it once we’re there.”

  “How long will it take to get through?”

  “Pity’s sake, don’t you ever stop asking questions?” Colt ruffled Owen’s hair playfully, which earned him a shove.

  “I’m only asking because I’ve heard the tales of Birchwood.” Owen smirked at him.

  Amias threw him a curious glance. “Such as?”

  “Bad things mostly. People going in and never coming out, cannibalistic bandits, and children who have been turned into disfigured monsters. Nymphs who sing you into their lairs, and appetizing fruits that are really little people who will eat you alive.”

  Amias chuckled. “Try to keep your head out of the clouds for a while. Thieves are possible, but I assure you, I’ve never run into a monstrous child. At least not recently.”

  “Nor any little fruity people,” Colt mused. “Not like they’d get much off you anyway.”