Sunstone Page 24

  Geve – his arms taut and veins popping on his forehead – glanced at Sarra and moved close to murmur in her ear. “Do you really think you can do this? Do you have the strength?”

  She nodded, although her mouth had gone dry. “I will do it. I must.”

  “You will go next,” he said. “I am strongest – I will go last. I will have to climb down the rope.”

  She turned her head and met his gaze. His eyes were firm, brooking no argument. Her mouth curved. “Thank you for caring about me.”

  His expression softened. “Always.” A flush touched his cheekbones, and he turned away and looked over the edge. “Well, of course, it depends on whether Nele makes it to the bottom or not.”

  His attempt at humour didn’t lighten their mood. From time to time he yelled up a report, but eventually the crash of the water drowned him out.

  The rope gradually unfurled. More and more of it snaked over the edge. Sarra watched it disappear, heart pounding. What if he ran out?

  “How will we know if he reaches the bottom?” Betune wondered.

  Geve, his hand still holding the rope, turned worried eyes to them. “I suppose he will try to signal us somehow.”

  “Is the rope still taut?” Sarra asked.

  “Yes.”

  So clearly Nele was still hanging onto the other end.

  Whether he was still alive was anyone’s guess.

  Minutes passed, and the waiting four women and Geve grew restless. The rope continued to disappear as they lowered it gradually over the edge.

  Eventually, Geve released the last piece, and it hung straining from the hook, going directly down into the darkness.

  “He has reached the end of it,” Amabil said, biting her lip to stop it trembling. “He could be miles from the bottom.”

  “And he could already be there.” Geve spoke firmly, but his eyes continued to look fearful. “We should–”

  “What?”

  He pulled on the rope. “It has gone slack.”

  They waited, turning worried eyes to each other. Silently, Geve began to pull in the rope. It took a long time before he reached the loop that Nele had placed around his shoulders. The loop was still intact. But they had no way of knowing what had happened to Nele.

  “Maybe he is at the bottom,” Betune suggested.

  “Or maybe he has fallen,” Kytte whispered.

  “It matters not,” Sarra said. She took the rope from Geve and pulled the loop over her head and under her arms. “We have to go. We have no choice.”

  Geve took up the slack, and the others grabbed a hold of it too, their faces white in the lamplight.

  Sarra met his eyes and wondered what to say to him. Her heart pounded, nausea rose inside her, and she felt frightened for the baby. What if the dreams were just that – dreams? What if she were about to kill the child when she had been given the perfect opportunity to give it a long and happy life?

  Too late, she thought. The decisions had been made, the journey begun; like the ingredients of a pie placed in an oven, there could only be one result. The only way was forward.

  She could think of nothing to say. In the end, Geve leaned forward and kissed her, his mouth soft and warm on hers.

  He lifted his head and nodded, then began to lower her over the edge of the Cataracta. The sensation of going over was terrifying. The water pounded around her, loud in her ears, soaking her within seconds. She gasped at the coolness of it, at the force of it on her shoulders. She gripped hold of the rope, planting her feet on the rockface behind the water. She was not going to fall! She was going to get to the bottom and find Nele, and then she was going to help the others descend and lead them all to the Surface. It was the adventure of a lifetime, and one day the baby in her belly would tell tales of this to her grandchildren.

  The water filled her mouth, tumbled into her eyes. She tossed her head and shook the droplets away. She was over the edge, and now it was just a matter of finding the bottom.

  Geve lowered her down. And the darkness swallowed her up.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  I

  Horada opened her eyes, slowly rising to awareness like a piece of wood in the depths of a river.

  The room was dark, lit only by the glow of torches in sconces on the stone walls. She lay on a stone floor, iron chains binding her wrists to the wall behind her.

  Her memory came back in a rush. She had been fleeing the Incendi elementals, racing through the forest with Julen, the trees and undergrowth bursting into flames all around her. It had overtaken her before she could urge Mara to the forest edge. She had lost consciousness, and could remember nothing of what had happened from that point until she opened her eyes.

  Where was Mara? What had happened to Julen?

  And where in Anguis was she?

  She sat up and looked around. Her first thought was a castle dungeon. Orsin had taken her down into Vichton’s dungeons once. Barely used, they had been clean but damp and cold, smelling of moss and earth and guttering candles.

  This place was different – the dry air smelled faintly of sulphur. Her teeth ached from the taste of metal. And the walls and floor, although made of stone, were warm to the touch. The room was bare, although on the walls she could see marks in brightly coloured paint, red and orange and blue, but in the semi-darkness she couldn’t make out the patterns.

  She stood, wincing as the iron manacles chafed the delicate skin of her wrists. Tears pricked her eyes and her bottom lip trembled, but she bit it hard and took a few deep breaths to gather her courage.

  She was alive! After the events in the forest, she had to be thankful for that. Chafed wrists were a small price to pay when the alternative was being roasted like a duck. Clearly, it had been no ordinary fire that had swept over her, and therefore she was not certain that Julen and Mara had perished. Maybe once the Incendi had got what they wanted, they had let her brother and the horse go free.

  She leaned against the wall. The Incendi. Where had they taken her? Did they have a base somewhere in Anguis? Or had they taken over a castle belonging to one of the Laxonian lords?

  A noise like the crackle of burning twigs filled the quiet room, and she turned with alarm to see a small square of the wall flame with light. The light died down after a few moments to a dull glow illuminating a grille in a doorway she hadn’t realised was there.

  Moving to the extent of her chains, she raised herself on tiptoes and peered through the grille.

  Outside, two figures stood in a long corridor stretching out of sight to the left and right. Although they vaguely looked like men, the figures were formed from fire, their shape constantly moving as the scarlet flames jumped and danced the same as any on a burning log.

  Horada gasped and pressed fingers to her mouth. As one, the two figures turned and looked at her. Their faces blurred and shimmered, but their eyes burned into her like brands, and she stepped back in shock, heart pounding.

  She pressed her back against the wall again and slid down it to the ground. Incendi. Fire elementals in their pure form. And they had kidnapped her and spirited her away. What did they intend to do with her?

  She closed her eyes as panic threatened to overwhelm her. Where was Julen? Had he followed her to this place, wherever it was? Would he come and rescue her? She wanted to believe so, but found it difficult to summon any hope.

  Her mother had been right – she should never have left Vichton. Shame and resentment burned inside her. Along with an irresistible urge to get to the Arbor, she had also wanted to prove to her mother that she knew best – that she was old enough to make her own decisions and could cope on her own. How stupid she had been. Clearly, she was unable to defend herself. For years she had scorned the swordplay her mother had tried to force her to practise, insisting she would never need those skills. But then she had never foreseen that something like this would happen.

  She could imagine the look that would appear on Procella’s face should she find out what had happened to her daughter.
An unappealing mixture of frustration, irritation and regret. Horada cringed to think of it. She was a disappointment to her mother – Procella had never bothered to hide that fact. Orsin, too, fell short of the ex-Dux’s incredibly high standards. Only Julen conjured any sense of approval within her, and that always seemed begrudging.

  How could her father have loved her mother so? Horada saw Procella as permanently irritable and bad-tempered, superior and forceful, not at all a suitable mate for her mild-mannered father. Her half-sister, Rosamunda, had once told Horada about her own mother, describing her as meek, mild and gentle. She would have been a far more suitable wife, Horada thought, although by all accounts it had not been a love match, whereas her own parents’ marriage appeared to have been, even though she couldn’t understand it. Who could possibly love Procella, with her sharp tongue and high ideals? And she had only got worse since Chonrad’s death.

  Father, Horada thought, a sudden burst of grief leaving her empty and hollow. She missed him so much at that moment it felt as if she’d lost a physical part of herself. She understood why he had answered the Arbor’s call as she herself had felt the same draw, but still, it was difficult to think of it as anything other than abandonment. He had left his family to answer the tree, and she couldn’t help the feelings of hurt and betrayal that caused in her.

  Drawing up her legs, pressing her forehead to her knees, she conjured up an image of him in her mind. Help me, she whispered. Don’t leave me here alone. Send me a sign you are still with me.

  For a moment, nothing happened. She could still hear the crackling noise that she presumed was the Incendi outside her door. The unpleasant smell of sulphur continued to fill her nostrils. Her heart felt heavy and empty at the same time.

  And then the hairs stood up on her arms and the back of her neck. And she got the unmistakeable sensation she was not alone.

  She raised her head and inhaled sharply. A figure stood before her, tall and straight, wrapped in a dark grey cloak, head bowed beneath the hood.

  “Cinereo!”

  His figure looked vague and insubstantial, and as she watched, it faded from sight briefly before reappearing, as faint as before. He didn’t say anything, just raised a hand and passed it before him from left to right. A glittering dust emanated from his fingers, sparkling in the light that bloomed in a sphere around the torch. The air shimmered, and Cinereo vanished.

  Horada blinked. Sitting next to her on the stone floor was a young man, maybe a few years younger than herself. He had long black hair braided back, but untidy wisps had escaped to hang around his pale face. When he turned his head to look at her, his eyes were the colour of beaten gold.

  They stared at each other for a moment, too shocked to speak.

  Eventually, Horada found her voice. “I have seen you before. By the stream. I thought I saw a young man for a moment, and then you were gone.”

  The young man’s eyes widened, and then he nodded. “I saw you too. I was asleep and dreaming. A man came to me in the dream, dressed in a grey cloak.” He spoke in Laxonian and she could just understand his words, but he had a strange accent, and his words had an odd intonation.

  “Cinereo!” Horada’s heart thumped. “He was just here. Before you appeared.”

  “Who is he?”

  “I do not know. I have never seen his face. But I think he is a friend.”

  Tahir agreed. “Last time he took me by the hand and led me to you, and also to another girl, in the darkness, with a man with silver hair…” He shook his head and looked around the room. “Where are we?”

  “I am not sure. I was captured by the Incendi. Do you know of them?”

  He studied her warily. Then he gave a cautious nod. “I have been told of them. We were attacked by brigands in the forest. They had fire in their eyes. I think Incendi had possessed them.”

  Horada frowned. “I thought they did not have the ability to possess people.”

  “We were also attacked on the way to Realberg. Demitto told me those who attacked us were also possessed by the elementals.”

  “Demitto?”

  “The ambassador to Heartwood.” The young man looked at his hands. “He was escorting me there. I am the Selected.”

  Startled, Horada ran her gaze over him. He did not look like the Selected she had heard Julen describe – devoted and wise scholars who dedicated their lives to study of the Arbor. Neither had she heard of this Demitto. Gravis was the only ambassador she knew of.

  The air around the young man shimmered. Horada blinked, her attention distracted. The room darkened, and the glittering dust seemed to gravitate together to form a shape in the middle of the room. It was an hourglass, the sand trickling from the top bulb into the bottom, and as she watched, it tipped to start transferring the grains back.

  You are the Timekeeper. Cinereo’s words rang in her ears.

  And suddenly she understood.

  “You are from the future,” she whispered as the hourglass faded. “What is your name?”

  He frowned. “Tahir. But what do you mean, the future?”

  “Something is happening,” she said, heart pounding as pushed herself up to sit on her heels. “I do not understand it perfectly. My brother Julen told me that the timelines are converging – that the past and the future are becoming one.”

  “The Apex,” Tahir murmured.

  “You know of it?”

  “Demitto told me about it. He said an event in the past, one in my present and one in the future will unite.”

  “I have been told the same.”

  “Who are you?” Tahir asked curiously.

  “I am Horada.” She licked her lips. “Cinereo called me the Timekeeper. My father was Chonrad of Barle.”

  Tahir’s eyes widened. “I know this name. Surely not the Chonrad who saved the Arbor during the Darkwater Invasion?”

  She smiled, her heart lifting. “The one and the same.”

  “But that was at the beginning of the Second Era.”

  “Twenty-two years ago for me,” she said.

  “Nearly five hundred for me,” Tahir stated.

  They stared at each other, stunned into silence again. Horada found it difficult to process her thoughts. This young man was from five hundred years in the future. How could that be? What made that possible?

  The Arbor, she thought. Somehow the great tree had enabled them to connect. But why?

  “Have you been kidnapped too?” Tahir asked.

  She nodded. “I think in my time the Incendi exist only in elemental form. Julen told me they are able to travel along the Arbor’s roots through time. I think maybe they are aware of those who will play a part in the Apex. I wonder if they are trying to destroy us before we can complete our destiny.”

  Tahir paled. “If that is the case, how can we hope to stop them?”

  “I do not know. Cinereo and the Nox Aves are trying.”

  He nodded. “Demitto has told me about them.”

  “Is he a member of theirs?”

  “I am not sure. He is mysterious – he says he is just doing a job, but then when he speaks about the Arbor, he lights up inside.”

  Horada remembered the way her father used to light up whenever he thought about the tree. He used to shiver whenever he spoke about what had happened the day of the invasion and sometimes spoke harshly of its hold on him, but she knew the love he bore for the Arbor was far greater than his dislike.

  “But I still do not understand why we have been brought together,” she said.

  “Perhaps to know the other is there,” Tahir said. “To know we are not alone.”

  “Maybe.” A frisson of unease ran down her spine.

  He looked over his shoulder and frowned as if he had heard a sound outside. “The other girl I saw in my dream… I think maybe she is from our future.”

  “The third part of the Apex,” Horada murmured. “I wonder if she is here, in this place in her own timeline.”

  He looked over his shoulder again, distracte
d. “This does not feel right. Why did they not just kill us?” He turned back to her, his golden eyes unnerving. “I have to get to Heartwood. Demitto was very clear about that.”

  The unease turned to ice in her stomach as realisation dawned. “They are trying to move the Apex.”

  Tahir stared at her. “How?”

  “By forcing the three timelines to converge earlier than they should.” Her heart pounded. “We must stop them.”

  “But how?” He looked over his shoulder for a third time, and fear lit his face. “They are coming for me.”

  At the same time, her doorway lit once again with flame. “And for me. She reached out for him, but her hand met only glittering dust, his image as insubstantial as mist. “Stay strong, Tahir. We will meet again,” she said with more determination than she felt.

  He opened his mouth to reply, and then vanished.

  The lock on Horada’s door clicked and the door swung open.

  She pushed herself to her feet. She could not allow them to move the Apex. They were all supposed to meet at Heartwood, at the Arbor, at a particular time. What would happen if they met too early? Horada didn’t want to find out.

  But as a flaming form filled the doorway, she realised she didn’t really have a choice.

  II

  Tahir blinked as the young woman before him faded away, her glowing form disappearing like the setting sun, leaving him in semi-darkness. His chest rose and fell with rapid breaths as he struggled with the knowledge that not only was he alone again, but someone was about to come through the door to his cell, and almost certainly that would not end well.

  He missed Catena and Demitto, and he missed Atavus more than anything.

  He struggled to his feet, leaning against the stone wall as his knees trembled and failed to support him. Have courage, he thought, remembering how brave Horada had seemed, her blue eyes flashing with fervour as they spoke about the Incendi. Was she truly the daughter of the hero, Chonrad, stepping through the fabric of time to talk to him? It was difficult to believe, and yet how else could he explain her appearance, and the way she had mysteriously faded from sight?