ARC: Sunstone (2 page)

“Did it cross your mind that maybe the Prince is nervous?”

She thought about it. “Honestly? I do not believe that is the case. He is arrogant and thinks he is better than everyone around him because he has been Selected. But he has not won this honour through good deeds, for winning a battle or for being a champion among men.”

“It has been a long time since a Selected was picked in such a manner.”

“I know.” Her brow furrowed. She leaned forward and spoke in a low voice. “Once, those who wished to give their life to the Arbor went to Heartwood to study, and only those who truly understood the nature of their sacrifice were allowed to offer themselves to the tree. Now rich families proffer sons and daughters like produce at a market. Pay the highest price and you can win a place in Animus’s kingdom! It disgusts me.” Her eyes blazed. “How glorious it must have been for a while, at the beginning of the Second Era, when the land was renewed and everyone’s faith was restored. Do you really think Teague and Beata gave their lives so that boys like Tahir would think themselves superior to the rest of us?”

Demitto frowned, still hot and irritated by the strange herb that made his nose itch. “I am no philosopher. I leave the studying to others. As far as I am concerned, these names you mention could just be characters in a story. How do we know the tales are all true? I judge the world based on what is before me – by what I can touch and see. The Arbor needs to consume a living person each year – what does it matter whether the Selected reads scripture or not, whether he or she is holier than you or I? What does that even mean, anyway?”

She stared at him. “You are the ambassador to our holy city. I am aghast that you should speak in such manner.” She looked at him as if he had stated that he ate live babies to break his fast each day.

He studied her, watching the way a droplet of water ran from her hair behind her ear and down her long neck. “Have you ever been to Heartwood?”

She glared. “No.”

“Then you know nothing about that of which you speak. You have never seen the Arbor, or the city that surrounds it. I expect you envisage it as some shining settlement with streets paved with gold, and holy men and women in white robes singing its praises day and night?”

Her cheeks reddened. “Of course not.”

“Perhaps it was that way, in the early days – who is to know? Now it certainly is not. It reeks. Stinks of animal dung and rotting food and sulphur from the smoking mountain behind it. And at night the torches fill the streets with smoke. It is difficult to get near the Arbor itself because of all the pilgrims who stand in line for hours to file past and get one brief touch of its trunk. The King of Heartwood is a fat oaf who is the son of another fat oaf who was no doubt the son of another fat oaf before that, and I doubt they could even spell Oculus or Animus or if any of them would have even heard of the Darkwater Lords. They take money from those who wish to offer their offspring to the tree, and they spend that money on scarlet gowns and golden crowns and venison for their tables. So please do not criticise my faith or my loyalty to that place. It does not deserve it.”

He finished, breathless, fists clenched as he sat upright in the bath, back rigid.

Catena studied him wordlessly. For a moment he thought she might knock him out with a fist to his chin and wondered whether he should find something to hang on to. But then, to his surprise, her lips curved.

“Some ambassador you are,” she said.

His eyes met hers, and they both started laughing.

“Tell me,” she said as they both settled back into the water and stretched out their legs. “Is it true what they say – that Anguis is stirring across the land, not just here?”

Demitto nodded and rubbed his face tiredly, glad she had seen the funny side of it. He really needed to get some sleep before he insulted someone who would really take offence and cause a national incident. “Yes. The weather grows warmer by the day. Throughout my journey I have felt the rumbles beneath the ground. But none as bad as in Heartwood. The mountains behind the city emit smoke and ash on a daily basis.”

They fell silent. Demitto surprised himself by wishing he could tell her what he knew and lighten the load a little. But the secret he carried with him could save the world, and he did not have the luxury of sharing it with others.

Instead, he stretched his arms above his head, glad to feel his muscles finally softening, his bones loosening. “By the Arbor, it has been a long day.”

Catena pushed herself up out of the water, accepted a towel from one of the waiting pages and began to dry herself off. “Come on. Get dressed and I will take you into the town. The
Fat Pig
has twelve different imported ales for sale at a reasonable price. I wager I can drink more than you before you slide under the table.”

“Done,” he said wryly, rising to join her. He needed sleep, but the opportunity to drink himself senseless was too much of a draw, and besides, after what he had had to put up with that day, he felt as if he had earned it.

III

It was difficult to walk, stumbling in the darkness with a cloth sack over her head.

Sarra kept her complaints to herself, however, determined not to make a fuss. In spite of her irritation at being treated as if she were untrustworthy, she understood how imperative it was that their destination remain a secret, and that the members of the group remain anonymous. Their lives depended on it, and if she discovered who they were and where they were going before she had established their trust, she had no doubt what that would mean. She would be found floating in the Great Lake with the turtles, and nobody would come forward to claim her. Her body would be taken to the depths of the Secundus District and burned, and nobody would mourn one less mouth to feed. So she remained silent, even though she occasionally stumbled and twisted her ankle or stubbed her toe on a rock, thinking instead of the future, clinging to the hope of better things to come.

Presumably, they thought she had no idea where she was. From their starting point in Pisspot Lane in the Primus District, their course had twisted and turned through the streets until eventually she had lost all sense of direction. But she was able to follow their route by the smells that penetrated the cloth.

The acrid stench of urine and leather from the tanners was gradually replaced by the smell of peat as they skirted the river banks and the weavers’ houses, distinguishable by the aroma of dried mosses and pungent dyes. When the tang of fish assailed her nostrils, she knew they were crossing the quay around the Great Lake. Here they moved slowly, keeping to the shadows of the houses – after all, if the Select caught two people escorting another in such a manner, with her head covered, there would be questions to answer and her chance would be over. So she trod carefully over the fishermen’s nets and tried not to rattle the turtle shells as the men escorted her along the western edge of the quay.

Their path twisted and turned some more and she lost her sense of direction again. They paused frequently, her guards pushing her into alleyways as voices came towards them. The bustle of people and the stink of perfume oil announced the presence of the whorehouses, which meant they were travelling into the Secundus District. Her heart rate increased even more. She rarely entered the area, preferring to keep to the trade regions and the relative security of the family caverns in Primus. Everyone knew the Select had less control over the inhabitants in Secundus. Overcrowding, poverty, starvation and murder were all commonplace. She clutched hold of Geve’s hand, and his tightened on hers in response, comforting her.

The aroma of berry pie told her when they had reached the playhouse. At this late hour, the shows had concluded, but the aroma of baked pastry and cooked fruit still pervaded the air and made her mouth water. The smell made her smile, in spite of her nerves. Rauf had loved pie. He had introduced her to all kinds, brought into the palace from across the sectors, flavoured with fruits and herbs she had never even heard of, let alone tasted before. He had even given her some of the legendary whiskey brewed in the Tertius Sector, although she had not liked it much. He had laughed heartily at the faces she pulled before he took her in his arms and stifled her complaints with kisses.

She pushed the thoughts of him away from her mind. Rauf was gone. The tears she had cried over him could have filled the Great Lake three times over, but she was done mourning. She had to fend for herself now.

They were entering deeper into the Secundus District now. It was late, the alehouses would be full, and she could hear men fighting, the bellow of voices and the crunch of fist meeting bone. In the distance, a woman screamed, abruptly cut off. The air smelled sour and fetid, of unwashed bodies, vomit and other bodily fluids. The men with her moved more quickly, apparently as keen as she was to pass through the troublesome area.

They must be nearing the southern edge now, she calculated, shivering at the thought that one day her body might be disposed of here, the ash washed away over the Magna Cataracta to who-knew-where. But even as she wondered if that was their destination, her feet hit cool water, the shock making her inhale and clutch Geve’s hand. They were crossing the river, which meant their destination was away from the waterfall, to the south-western limits of the city. Geve steadied her, guiding her across to the other side, the splash of their feet ringing in her ears. They were heading for the forgotten caves. She had never been this far south. Here the air smelled stale, and sound echoed without people and belongings to soak it up. Most of these caves had been deserted since the White Sickness. The palace insisted the disease had long since died out, but even the poorest in the city refused to cross the banks, in spite of the overcrowding in many areas.

The avenues changed to streets, the streets to lanes, and then they were in alleyways so narrow she could stretch out her hands and brush her fingers against the stone walls on either side. Were there still bodies here? Rumours abounded that the Select had left the sick here to die and just chained off the area. She sniffed cautiously. The air smelled clean with no sign of the sickly sweet smell of rotting flesh. Perhaps it had been too long, and the flesh had turned to dust, and only bones remained. No wonder the group met here – who would ever think to look for them in the forgotten caves?

She shivered, although whether from having wet feet, from the thought of the dead lying abandoned, or from the knowledge that nobody knew she was there, she wasn’t sure.

Finally, the men in front of her slowed, and her fingers brushed against a woven door that had been pulled back to let her through. Her shoes scrunched on matting. Whispers and the occasional scuff of feet told her there were other people in the room. Judging by the acoustics, the room was small, but she couldn’t make out anything more than that.

Someone led her to a chair and pushed her gently into it, and she sat. She was thankful the journey was over, but her heart continued to pound at the thought of the interrogation she was now going to have to endure.

“Sarra?” It was a voice she recognised. Geve, her friend from the Primus Caverns, the man she had approached in the first place.

She cleared her throat. “Yes?”

“Are you all right? Are you comfortable?”

“Yes, thank you.”

“I am sorry that I cannot yet remove the hood, but you understand that secrecy is imperative here.”

“I do. I am hot and my nose itches, but I am not distressed by it – please do not worry.”

There was a light ripple of laughter. Her chest rose and fell with her rapid breaths, but she forced herself to keep calm. The next few minutes would possibly be the most important of her life. Comfort was the last thing on her mind.

“Tell us why you are here,” Geve said. His low voice was gentle and encouraging. He liked her, she reminded herself – he was on her side.

“I wish to know about the Veris,” she said.

“Who are the Veris?” he asked.

“A secret society.”

“What sort of secret society?”

“You worship the Arbor. You believe in the Surface – a world above the Embers.”

There, she had said it. The words were out – there was no going back now. She was either leaving this cave a member of the society or wrapped up in a death blanket.

The room had grown silent, and she had visions of the men and women exchanging worried glances.

“How do you know about the Veris?” a woman asked.

She nibbled her bottom lip. She had thought long and hard about how to answer this question and had decided truth was the best option, although it would not make it easier for them to trust her. “Rauf told me.”

Hushed whispers travelled around the room. She waited, letting them process that information.

Eventually, Geve spoke again. “What did Rauf tell you?”

“He heard talk at the palace. The Select know about you.”

More hushed whispers. “What do they know?” the woman asked.

“Rauf told me they had heard of a secret group of people who studied the forbidden histories and who believed another world exists on the Surface. He seemed to think it was just a rumour.”

“He told you of the Arbor?” Geve asked.

“No.” Sarra hesitated. “I… I saw that.”

“Saw?” said a man.

“I… see things sometimes. Flashes, like dreams.” She took a deep breath. Time to play her trump card. “Of a land, the ground covered in grass. A blue sky and a bright sun. And a tree – a huge tree, arching above me, its leaves fluttering in a warm breeze.”

Silence fell. Sarra swallowed. Voices whispered and fell quiet again.

“Search her,” a woman commanded.

She waited to feel hands on her clothing, although what they were searching for, she had no idea. But instead someone moved to her side and crouched next to her. “I am going to take your hand,” murmured a male voice she didn’t recognise. He clasped his hands around hers.

Puzzled, she waited. His hands grew warm, then fiery hot. The heat flooded her veins and sped around her body, and within seconds she broke out in a sweat, burning as if she had a violent temperature. She gasped, but just as she was about to exclaim that she couldn’t bear the heat any longer, he stood and released her.

“She is clean,” he said. His hands touched her head, and then he lifted off her hood.

Sarra blinked, dazzled for a moment by the bright flame of a single candle that Geve held nearby. Gradually, her vision cleared. The room was small, maybe ten feet square, and there were seven people in it, including herself and Geve with his dark, curly hair, all watching her intently.

The man who had held her hand spoke. “Greetings, Sarra. My name is Turstan.” He was slim and dark-skinned with intense eyes but a friendly smile.

She returned it as she said, “You can control fire. You are a member of the Select.”

He nodded and lifted the sunstone hanging around his neck on a leather thong from his tunic. It absorbed the light from the candle, glowing a deep orange. Rauf had been a Select too, so she had been aware of the way the palace guardians used the sunstones to channel fire to light the darkness of the caves they lived in.

“And you are a bard,” Turstan said.

And this was the bit she had dreaded most. She lifted her chin and shook her head. “No.”

He blinked. “I thought you had the dreams?”

“I have not always had them,” she said. “Only recently.”

They look confused, suddenly wary, even Geve. She had not told him everything, and in his eyes she saw his distrust, his fear that he had brought a traitor into the group. “What do you mean?” he demanded.

She rested a hand on her abdomen. “I am pregnant.”

Their faces registered shock and pity. Now they understood why she wanted to escape. And by making such an admission, they would also know she was placing her complete trust in them.

Turstan frowned. “You think the child is why you have the ability to see the Surface?”

“Yes. I think the baby is a bard.” She splayed her hands on her stomach. It had just started to swell, although her clothes hid it for now. But it would not be long before the pregnancy became obvious. “He… speaks to me. He shows me scenes of another life on the Surface, of a land rich with growth, where everyone is free.”

They nodded, unsurprised. All of the people here, she knew, would have had similar dreams. That was what had brought them all together, except perhaps for Turstan, whose position as a Select would have earned him his place in the society. Could he be trusted? She was surprised he had been allowed in the group. How could they be sure he wasn’t reporting everything back to Comminor, the hated Chief Select?

Turstan dropped to his haunches in front of her again. She studied his fine clothing, the silver clasps studded with tiny gems in his braided hair. His sleeveless tunic fit snugly across his broad shoulders and, like Rauf, his arms and thighs were impressively muscled. His bright eyes and strong teeth reflected his better diet, and he smelled of herbs, which meant he had bathed that morning in the clean, fresh waters near the palace.

She shifted in the chair, conscious – as she had used to be with Rauf in the early days – of her shapeless tunic, her unwashed body, her tangled hair. She never wore the silver clasp he had given her; too afraid someone would steal it. And here was this man, reminding her of everything she had once had, and then lost.

Why did Turstan want to escape so badly? He could have whatever woman he wanted, and if one of them got pregnant, he would likely be granted the right for the child to be born. Resentment surged through her, and she let it show in her eyes.

Turstan nodded. “I know,” he murmured. “And I understand. I am sure you are wondering why I am here – why I want to leave so badly.”

She nodded curtly.

“Two years ago, I fell in love with a girl from Secundus. She was a bard, although I did not know it at the time. She used to tell me stories, late at night when the palace was dark and we were curled in our bed, stories about a green land, about the sun and the way it made the plants grow. About rain that fell from the sky, and wind that blew across the fields. About a tree – a tree so wonderful it made everything else pale in comparison.”

Turstan’s eyes were far away, seeing not the dim light of the cave and the people around him, but the pictures this girl had painted in his mind of a better life.

“For a long time I thought these were just stories, but as time went by and she began to trust me more, I realised she was not making these tales up in her mind – she was describing another world, where people live on the Surface, in the sun and wind and rain. Where they are not confined to caves and told whether they can and cannot have children, but where they are free to love and marry and have babies with whomever they chose.”

He turned his dark eyes back to Sarra, and she swallowed as she saw tears in them. She had suspected the truth from the visions the baby had shown her, but it moved her to have another confirm what she had wondered in her mind.

“And I want that freedom,” Turstan said fiercely. “I may have privileges here in the Embers but it is not the same as being free.”

“I understand,” she whispered. It was what they all wanted. To be free. To live their lives the way they chose.