ARC: Sunstone (18 page)

III

In the southernmost part of the Embers, the lanterns became further apart, and their journey became a fumbling through black passageways interspersed with patches of weak yellow light.

“I presume everyone is thinking what I am thinking,” Amabil said as she stumbled and almost fell for the third time.

Betune put a hand under her arm and steadied her. “You mean, what are we going to do without Turstan to light our way?”

The thought had played on Sarra’s mind too. Once they left the Embers, the caves would be unlit. So far she had trusted her instincts that they would find a way to guide themselves, but the worry that her blind faith was a mistake grew more in her mind with each step. Still, she knew she had to reassure them. She had led them this far – she had to hope the baby would continue to guide her. “The way will become clear,” Sarra said with more conviction than she felt.

None of the five people with her said anything. Sarra wasn’t surprised. Nele’s face was carefully blank and she knew he wouldn’t question her, although she was sure he was worried. Geve’s expression showed his obvious concern, but again, he wouldn’t question her. Betune and Kytte both looked nervous, and Amabil continued to look belligerent, although she too remained quiet for now.

The news of Turstan’s arrest had shocked them all, and she knew their hearts must be pounding, their mouths dry the same as hers. They wanted to believe her. But doubt loomed like towering shadows in their minds.

“Where are we going?” Geve whispered to her. They travelled in single file through the narrow alleys, and he was behind her, holding her hand.

She shook her head, not sure whether he could see her in the dim light. He wanted her to confide in him, to trust him to support her, but instinct told her to wait until they arrived at the first checkpoint before she revealed their destination. She knew it wouldn’t please him. Since Comminor had taken her to his bed, Geve had been quiet and reserved, hurt shimmering in his eyes.
What choice did I have?
She wanted to yell the words, but knew he wasn’t interested in the truth. His heart would rather she had refused the Chief Select, even if it had meant her arrest and probably her death. She understood, but it made her sad.

The passageway twisted west, and the faint rush of water that had accompanied them the last five minutes grew to a loud chatter. The tunnel opened to reveal the river channel that led from its source in the far north of the Primus District, through the Great Lake and then all the way through the Secundus District to the Magna Cataracta not far from where they were.

As they walked quickly along the riverbank, Sarra wondered what was happening to Turstan. She had no doubt he was being tortured and that Comminor and his Umbra were forcing him to tell them about the conversation they had overheard him have with Nele. Would he have told them anything? Was Comminor hot on their trail now, already making his way through the District towards them?

The thought sent cold filtering through her, and she picked up her pace, crossing the river over the old bridge and leading the rest of the group to the opposite bank. Already the bag she carried grew heavy on her back, the weight pulling on the muscles around her stomach. She rested her hands on the bump that swelled above her pubic bone and stroked it lightly. Was it her imagination, or had it grown since that morning? She wore breeches beneath the tunic, and the waistband stretched tightly around her waist. It had not been that tight when she dressed. Had it?

She pushed the thought to the back of her mind. She had more important things to worry about than the tightness of her breeches. At that moment, it felt as if her whole life hung by a thread. The literal and metaphorical path they were on stretched ahead of her, rocky and dangerous, and she could not yet see how the future would pan out. Her gut clenched with fear, and part of her wished she had stayed, become Comminor’s mistress, lived a life of ease and brought her child up in safety.

But inside her, the baby stirred, a constant reminder of her dreams and the urge she felt to reach the Surface. The baby did not want her to stay. She did not yet know whether their journey would be a success, but she did know that she had to try.

The rush of the river in the channel below them grew to a roar, and she knew they were nearing the Magna Cataracta. Here the riverbanks grew lush with mosses, and the humid air wrapped around them: thick, wet and heavy as a sodden blanket. The water ran deep, shining black like the large crystals they mined in the north of the Primus District, and it thundered past them with frightening speed and strength. If she stepped into the channel, she would be swept off her feet, right down the Cataracta. The thought frightened her, and her heart thundered along with the water.

The edge of the waterfall was marked by large boulders and she climbed them hesitantly, afraid of slipping on the wet rock. The others followed, slowly making their way to the centre, where the river disappeared down into the darkness. One large lantern had been nailed into the rock above their heads many years before, and it cast its yellow light eerily across the scene.

Sarra reached the large boulder on the river’s edge and waited for the others to join her. Their faces were pale in the lamplight, solemn but resolute. The dreams gave them all hope that this journey would ultimately be rewarding.

Nele crouched beside her and raised his voice over the thundering river. “Where now?”

She waited for Kytte and Amabil to bring up the rear, until they could all hear her. Then she took a deep breath.

“We have to go over,” she said.

They stared at her.

“Over,” Geve said dully.

“Over,” she repeated. “We have rope, and we have to lower ourselves.”

“Down?” Betune said. “How can the way to the Surface be down?”

“Down, then up,” Sarra said. “I promise.”

“It is impossible.” Amabil looked incredulous. “There is no way we could survive that.”

“We can and we will,” Sarra said firmly. “It is the only way out of here.”

“How do you know?” Amabil’s eyes blazed. She turned to the others. “It is crazy to put our lives in her hands!”

Nele’s eyes met Sarra’s. “We have trusted her thus far,” he said, but his words sounded weak to her, his uncertainty ringing through.

Sarra turned to Geve and took his hands. “It is the only way,” she insisted. “Do you believe me?”

He hesitated. “I do… but Sarra, over the Cataracta? It is certain death.”

She began to pull the rope from her bag. “The lantern above is hung from a solid hook that has held for many years. I came here a while ago and tested it – it is firm and will not give. We must tie our ropes to it and lower ourselves down. It will not be easy, but I promise you, it will work.”

Betune caught her hand. “In your condition? You have to think of the baby.”

“I am,” Sarra said simply. “I have dreamed of this every night for weeks. He shows me again and again the river, the Cataracta, the way down.”

“And what happens when we reach the bottom?” Kytte asked.

It was Sarra’s turn to hesitate. “I am unsure of that. I believe he will show me when the first part of this journey is done.”

She turned her attention to the lantern and its hook, embedded in the rock. Her hands shook, but she ignored them and began tying the rope. It was the sturdiest twine she had been able to find, plaited from numerous strands of the thickest moss in the Embers. She had made hundreds of yards of it, stopping only when instinct told her, but still she was not sure she had made enough. While the others talked among themselves, she tied it repeatedly in knots to the hook as her father had taught her, over and over again until it would have needed to be removed with a blade.

She finished and turned to them, brushing her hands down her tunic. “Well?”

“It is a huge risk,” Nele said.

“I know.” She leaned on the rope, tested its weight. “But we have no time to lose. I am sure Comminor tortured Turstan, and he will be here soon, no doubt.” She moved along the rock, peered over the edge. The water tumbled, glistening occasionally in the light of the lantern until it finally vanished into darkness. She swallowed, and then looked back at them. “Well I am going. I cannot stay here. Maybe once I had a choice, but if I stay, Comminor will kill me. I must go.”

Geve stood. “I will come with you. There is nothing here for me anyhow.”

Nele took a deep breath. “We will all go. We have all dreamed of the Surface. We all know it is our only option. We will not let fear rule us.”

The others stood, even Amabil, and Sarra’s heart soared.

“Let us do it.”

As the leader of the group, Nele went first, bracing himself on the boulder at the edge of the river as he climbed over. He had looped the rope over his shoulders and beneath his armpits, and all the others except Sarra began to lower him down slowly. His face betrayed the fear he had been determined not to voice.

The water churned around him, white on the rocks, black where it coated the walls and fell into the darkness. He tried to keep to the edge of the tunnel, but the water still soaked him within seconds.

Sarra watched him descend, her heart in her mouth. All of them were used to physical work and had strong arms and muscular shoulders, but even so she was unsure how she would fare. They had no idea how far they would have to descend or how strong the force of the water would be.

“How goes it?” Geve yelled down once Nele’s head disappeared into the black hole.

“It is difficult with the weight of the water,” Nele yelled back. “But at the edge here the rock is uneven and there are plenty of footholds.”

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, distracted. “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?

The door opened, and he clenched his fists behind his back to stop his hands shaking, refusing to show these people how frightened he was.

Two men came through the door and walked up to him. One looked Laxonian, tall and sturdy with brown hair and beard. Tahir thought the other might be from Komis judging by his night-black hair, but instead of the distinctive golden eyes, both men’s eyes danced with flame, indicating to Tahir they were servants of the Incendi, possessed by fire elementals. They were dressed in sleeveless tunics to the knees and wore no breeches, presumably because it was so warm, and their brown skin shone with sweat.

“What do you want?” he demanded, hoping his voice didn’t portray his fear. But the men acted as if he hadn’t even spoken. One unhooked his chains from the wall, leaving the manacles around his wrists, and then they led him out of the cell and into the corridor beyond.

Tahir looked around him, heart pounding. When they had attacked him and Catena, they had placed a cloth bag over his head and had not removed it until he reached his cell, so he had no idea where they had taken him.

He found himself in a stone passageway, and as he stretched out his arms and brushed them with his fingers, the stone felt warm to the touch.

“Where are you taking me?” he demanded, but again, they refused to reply. He thought about dropping to the ground and refusing to walk, but they would probably just lift him up and carry him. Although his heart felt as if it was going to jump out of his chest, and tears trembled on the edge of his lashes, he tried his best to gather his courage. He couldn’t give in and let Demitto down. He had to do his best to fight.

The two men led him along several corridors and past other cells. Cries and screams filtered occasionally to his ears, presumably from prisoners being held in the cells. Were those unwitting souls about to be filled with elemental forms? Was that going to happen to him?

The corridors grew warm and hazy, and sweat broke out on his forehead and ran down his back beneath his tunic. The air became thick and cloying, almost as if he were breathing underwater. He realised the haziness was due to ash floating in the air. It stung his throat and lungs.

They rounded the corner, and to Tahir’s surprise the corridor opened up into a vast chamber. It had high ceilings, and the upper half of the chamber was filled with ash and steam curling up from a scarlet liquid that moved slowly in a wide channel around the edge of the room.
Magma
, he thought, his skin already pouring with sweat from the heat. He had never seen it, but he had heard the miners speak of its presence in the mountains.

Was that where he was? Deep in the Spina Mountains, miles from Heartwood and his home?

Holy Arbor, protect me.

A bridge crossed the channel, leading to a huge raised rock in the centre of the flowing magma. Atop this rock perched a wide seat with a high back similar to Tahir’s father’s throne.

And sitting on the throne was a man.

Tahir’s knees trembled, but before he could fall, the men holding his chains led him across the bridge and up the roughly hewn steps to the flattened portion at the top.

They brought him before the man and jerked Tahir to his knees before chaining him to a huge iron ring embedded in the rock in front of him.

Then the men withdrew.

Tahir stared at the man’s feet, unable to stop himself shaking with fear. The man wore brown, soft leather slippers and a simple scarlet tunic to his knees that looked as if it could have been made of linen. His light brown skin shone like polished oak.

Gradually, as the man remained silent, Tahir raised his gaze to take in the rest of his appearance. His bare arms bore numerous gold bracelets, and a golden circlet rested on his red hair. His face was handsome but unremarkable – straight nose, heavy brows, square jaw, but his eyes blazed with scarlet flame, and the imperious look on the man’s face made him cower.

The man raised one eyebrow. “
You
are the Arbor’s Selected.” He spoke flatly, unimpressed.

Tahir’s mouth went dry. “Yes.”

The man’s eyes burned into him. Tahir couldn’t look away.

“Who are you?” Tahir whispered.

It seemed as if the eyes were hot brands, boring through his pupils into his brain, as if the man was searching inside his mind to read his thoughts. “I am Pyra. I am King of the Incendi.”

Tahir could only stare. He knelt in front of the King of the fire elementals. “But you are a man…” he stuttered.

Pyra laughed. “I have taken the body of many men over the years. This is but the latest in a long line.” Power radiated from the King, hot and fierce as the magma bubbling in the channel. Sweat poured down Tahir from the heat and the fear.

“You think you are a challenge to me?” mocked the King.

Tahir shook his head. “No, sir.”

Pyra leaned forward, elbows on his knees, to glare at the young prince. “Do you think you are anything to me but an ant crawling on the ground? I could shrivel you to ash with a flick of my fingers.” His voice seemed to make the air rumble like thunder, and Tahir was sure he felt the ground tremble.

He said nothing, bending his head so low it almost touched the rock. However, deep inside him, something struck like a hammer on a bell. If the King was so powerful, if he could remove him from the world with a blink of an eyelid, why hadn’t he killed him?

“Get up,” the King snapped.

Tahir lifted his head and sat back on his heels. Terror made him shake, but still he nurtured the small seed of light within him that repeated the words,
why hasn’t he killed me?

“You were being taken to Heartwood,” Pyra said. “To the Arbor.”

“Yes.” Tahir’s teeth chattered, but he made himself lift his chin and look the King in the face. He was a prince, the son of a king, he reminded himself. He was neither this man’s minion nor his slave.

Pyra studied him, eyes narrowed. “What will happen when I kill you and the Arbor has no sacrifice?” His voice held a hint of scorn, as if he knew the answer and was mocking the Prince.

Tahir’s hands tightened into fists, but still he met the fire king’s gaze. “They will find another. My death will mean nothing to them but an inconvenience.”

Pyra’s eyes gleamed, dancing with fire. “That is not what I have been led to believe. The Selected are not just individuals chosen at random. They are distinct and unique. They are written in the fabric of time, their names are fixed points we cannot change. You lie by pretending they are meaningless. You think you can fool me?” Again the ground trembled beneath Tahir’s feet.

Still the Prince remained upright, drawing his courage around him like a cloak. “That is what I believed. My father paid the most money. He bought my place as a Selected.”

Pyra’s lips curled. “You are the most foolish child I have met since I became flesh. You think because it appears the sacrifice is a game of chance, the tree has not chosen you?”

Tahir stared, speechless. The King’s words echoed Demitto’s,
The Arbor knows your worth. And to it, you are more precious than gold.
Could it be true that the Arbor had in fact chosen him? His heart swelled.

And then he blinked, his brief euphoria dying. It could not be true. He was not special, or brave, or clever, or anything exceptional.

But maybe once a person was Selected, the Arbor saw them as belonging to it. Maybe being Selected had made him special, and now the Arbor knew of him, it did not want to let him go.

The King of the Incendi had brought him and Horada here, somewhere in the mountains, because he wanted to control the convergence of the timelines. Maybe the third line – the young girl he had seen in the darkness with the man with the silver hair – was on her way there too. The easiest thing would be to destroy them, to change history, to make it impossible for the Apex to take place.

But although his eyes flamed and his temper shook the room, the King had not killed him.

Maybe he couldn’t.

Tahir’s heart pounded and for a moment he thought he might faint from fear. He couldn’t believe he was about to do what he was about to do. He expected his life would end here, in this pit of molten rock. His life back in Harlton was over – he could never return there. If the King raised his hand and turned him to cinders, he probably wouldn’t feel a thing. He had nothing to lose, and for the first time in his life, he felt a flutter of faith that maybe he
was
special, perhaps he
did
have something to give to the world.

He pushed himself to his knees, then his feet, and stood before the King.

“If you truly believe I belong to the Arbor, then kill me now,” he shouted.

The King’s eyes widened, and he stood to face the young prince. He was tall – taller than any man Tahir had ever met – and he towered over him, his power and anger as imposing as his physical build. His eyes spat sparks and around them the magma bubbled and smoke filled the air.

“I can fell whole forests with one breath!” boomed the King. “I can melt glaciers and turn gold and rock to rivers. I can change the very fabric of this world!”

Tahir shook so hard his manacles rattled, but still he stood his ground. “But you cannot kill me,” he guessed. “The Arbor will not let you take me.”

Pyra struck him across the face. Tahir had never been hit before, and he collapsed with a cry, his cheek throbbing with pain.

“I can kill you,” the King snarled. “Do not mistake me. I let you live because crushing you now would not be as powerful as waiting for the right moment. Let me elaborate.” He reached down, put a hand under Tahir’s arm and hauled him up. Half-leading, half-dragging him, Pyra led him across the bridge, through the doorway and along the maze of corridors. Tahir stumbled beside him, tearful and frightened. The King could not kill him, but he could hurt him, and he feared pain beyond almost anything else, even beyond death.

They walked for what seemed like miles, and then they turned a corner and passed through a large doorway. Tahir blinked, confused by the sudden change in atmosphere. He stood in a large open space, and although still obviously underground, the ceiling was much higher, what seemed like miles above his head. He stood on a small platform overlooking the huge cavern. On one side, blacksmiths forged iron into weapons, the water used to cool their metal adding more steam to the fog-filled air. On the other, soldiers marched or practised swordplay, the immense army stretching as far as the eye could see.

Tahir looked over his shoulder, only then realising what sort of building he had been in. He stood about halfway up a huge pyramid formed from solid blocks of stone. The base seemed miles wide, and the three walls narrowed to a point that almost reached the ceiling, which was filled with carvings, inlaid with gold, jewels and coloured paints. Many had faded, the carvings worn almost smooth, and Tahir gained the impression that the pyramid was ancient. The Incendi had been there for millennia, he thought, gradually growing in power and size. Horada had mentioned that the elementals hadn’t been able to take human form in her time. Over the last five hundred years, Pyra had developed a way for his followers to possess men so he could enter the earth elementals’ realm, and now he was building an army to take over the world.

“I
will
crush you,” the King snarled, thrusting him forward to the balcony and holding him there. “And then the element of fire will be in the ascendancy once again. I swear on the souls of every Incendi under my rule.”

And Tahir believed him.