ARC: Sunstone (33 page)

III

Sarra screamed as Geve plunged his hands into the fiery dome above their heads. She had seen the look in his eyes as he stared at her – he had been saying goodbye. He had known this would lead to his death. But still he had done it, aware that this was what the seedling needed – a sacrifice, a burst of life in this land of dust and death.

Still, she did not want to accept it. She had known him since childhood and loved him like a brother, and the thought of him giving up his life wrenched her heart in two. But she couldn’t do anything about it. Racked with labour pains, she could only lie there and scream and clench her fists and sweat as the dome glowed even brighter, somehow managing to keep the firebird at bay.

Her head was full of noise and light, her ears ringing. Betune and Amabil were yelling instructions to each other; Viel, Josse and Paronel were standing before Comminor, shocked at the power emitting from their sunstones, and Nele had crossed to the seedling, trying to support it as it struggled to keep growing.

Her present contraction faded, and Sarra let her head fall back, now completely exhausted. This baby was never going to be born. Had she known it would be this painful, she would never have lain with Rauf. “It hurts,” she sobbed, only vaguely aware of Betune wiping her brow with a welcome damp cloth, her skin drying the moment the cloth was lifted.

“It will not be long now,” Amabil said from the other side of her.

Sarra couldn’t believe her words. She felt stuck in time, caught in a loop of events that went around and around with no beginning or end. Things would always be like this – hot, intense, her body taut with pain like a fishing line, filled with a hope that things would come to a conclusion, but they never did, they just went on and on and on…

The air shimmered in the heat, and she became aware of ash falling softly around her. When it touched her skin or the ground, however, it vanished. To either side, figures appeared as if out of a mist, only to fade away again. Images flickered, and she couldn’t be sure whether she was delirious or whether they were actually there.

Another contraction began, and she squeezed her eyes shut as it swept over her. All her concentration focussed on her body, and the world faded away. It didn’t matter that beyond the dome, the firebird swooped in a circle, screeching and threatening to incinerate them all in a blink of an eye, or that her favourite person in the whole world was going to die, or that everything else was falling apart. All she could think about at that moment was the pain.

And this time, the pain had changed. She felt an unavoidable urge to push, and when the contraction finally lessened, she told the women what had happened.

“It is time,” Amabil said, gesturing for Paronel to ready the last few blankets. “Your baby will be born soon, Sarra.” She smiled, although Sarra could see the fear and worry deep in her eyes. “Do not think of anything else – let us just get the baby out of you.”

“I cannot do it,” Sarra sobbed. The thought of trying to get a whole person out of her seemed impossible. “Do not make me do it.”

“It is all right.” They soothed her, stroked her brow. “This is normal, Sarra,” Amabil told her. “You are in transition. It means you are nearly there. Think of your baby in your arms!”

Sarra lay back, conscious once again of the figures fading in and out around her. She had been led to this place – why? She had thought her baby was supposed to save the world. But how could that happen now? The dreams she’d had of the Surface – she’d assumed they had meant she would be bringing the child up in a land full of grass and sun, not fire and death. If she’d stayed in the Embers, Comminor would have taken her as his mate and the baby would have been safe. What had she done?

Figures appeared once again through the mist. Through the falling ash, she could see the young woman she remembered from the ceremonial room. Sarra could see the light beams from all the sunstones passing through her, as she realised that this woman was the key to them all connecting. And beside her, the one they called Cinereo stood, fading in and out of each scene, bringing them all together.

Sarra was not a scholar, and she did not fully understand everything Comminor had tried to explain to them about time and the events that had led to this day. But she did realise that this was the Apex he had spoken of. Right now, somehow, all three times had become one, the events simultaneous. What was happening all those hundreds and thousands of years ago was somehow having a direct effect on what was happening here. Time had disappeared.

And suddenly she realised she was not alone. The Arbor had seen its death all those years ago and somehow it had managed to engineer this culmination of events. It wanted them to work together to save it, to save the world. She could see the people in each time period working together, and she was at the end of the line, the last of those on whom the Arbor was relying.

But what would the outcome be? Was that future fixed, or still uncertain?

Behind the young woman standing by the Arbor, Sarra could see a man. Fire erupted from his hands, building, burning, travelling along the timelines into the future. He was the reason the ash was falling; because of him the Arbor’s control on the world had slipped. She could see the lava pouring down the mountainside. It was going to flood Heartwood – it was going to burn the tree.

Next to her, Geve cried out, the dome above their heads flickering. Pain etched his face, but still he stood there as if holding the dome up, and she knew he would not move until his strength gave out.

Their world teetered on a knife edge, and she could not see the way clear. It helped to know she was not alone, but the firebird’s breath repeatedly blasted the dome that was keeping them safe, and she could not envisage a future that did not involve fire and flame. How could they all make it out of this alive?

Another contraction claimed her, this one more powerful than the last, and again she felt the unavoidable urge to push.

Gritting her teeth and holding on to Amabil’s hand, she let the world fade away and bore down as hard as she could.

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

I

Orsin had never felt so exultant, so wonderfully alive. Fire poured through his veins and lit up the world in a blaze of gold, and he could hear the roar of the Incendi echoing through the Arbor’s roots, across land, across time. For the first time in his life, he felt powerful and strong. No one could say he was insignificant, that he did not have a part to play in the world. Nobody could ignore him now.

Around him, he was vaguely aware of figures trying to get him to stop – he could see his brother, Dolosus and Gravis all trying to approach him, but the flames pushed them back, and even though they threw water on him, it evaporated before it even touched his skin. Hate billowed through him like the flame – hate and resentment over everything they had said or done to him in the past to make him feel insignificant and small. Now they would pay for what they had done. No longer could they pretend as though he didn’t exist.

Through the mists of time, he saw the people running across the wide, grassy space heading for the darkness of a cave entrance, but he could see they were not going to make it. The liquid rock ran down the mountainside like water, and the ash that fell on hair and shoulders made the men and women scream in pain.

Hidden in the depths of his heart like a jewel amidst the darkness of his pain and hate, something glittered.

Orsin jerked and opened his eyes. Julen, Dolosus and all the others had moved away to leave a single person standing before him. Dressed in a cloak of grey, the hood covering his head, the man they called Cinereo stood silently, and waited.

Orsin let the fire rage through him. “Nobody can stop me!” he yelled. He watched as his sister trembled in the distance from the effort of keeping the Apex together. She looked very young and small. How could she possibly think she could be strong enough to keep it up?

In front of him, Cinereo raised his head, and for the first time pushed the hood from his face.

Orsin stared, shocked. It was his father.

Chonrad studied his son, and his strong, handsome features portrayed his hurt and disappointment. “My son,” he said, his voice ringing clear about the noise of the fire and the screams of the people echoing through time. “What are you doing?”

“Get away from me,” Orsin snarled, bringing his hands before his face to channel flame in the man’s direction. Fire billowed from him, but although it swept right over his father, when the flames finally died down, he remained untouched.

“You cannot hurt me,” Chonrad said calmly.

“Because you are not really here,” Orsin said through gritted teeth.

“I am here. I just do not have physical form.”

Orsin closed his eyes. They were trying to force him to stop by appealing to his past, to his grief and love for the man who had died, but he would not let them.

“They have not brought me here,” Chonrad said as if reading his mind. “I am here of my own free will.”

“You cannot be,” Orsin snapped. “You are a figment of my imagination. How can you possibly be here?”

“When we die, we do not just disappear. Our bodies are returned to the earth, but our souls live on, Orsin.”

Orsin stared at him. “What do you mean?”

“The Arbor absorbs our energy. It is all a cycle, Orsin, life and death. Like the trees in the forests that lose their leaves in The Falling; they do not die. They just rest in the darkness and wait for The Stirring to come. And when it arrives, they begin their growth again. And when eventually they fall, they lend their energy to the next tree that takes its place.”

He moved closer to his son, and although Orsin went to take a step back, he found he could not move his feet. Fire still raged through him and his form leapt with flame, but his father seemed oblivious to it. His eyes fixed on his son’s face, he walked forward until he stood only a couple of feet away.

“I live within you,” he said, his voice so soft that Orsin could not understand how the words rang in his ears like a bell. “I will always be with you, my son.”

“You left me,” Orsin yelled. “First you sent me away, and then when I finally came back, you left me!”

Chonrad’s forehead creased. “The Arbor needed me, and I could not refuse. I tried to help it, but the Incendi were waiting and they destroyed my link with the tree before I could stop them. I did not mean to leave you, Orsin. I love you.”

“Say no more!” Orsin’s chest hurt, so full of grief and sorrow it felt as if his heart would burst.

“You must stop this,” Chonrad said gently.

“I cannot. I will not! Pyra is the only one who has treated me with respect – who believes I am worthwhile.”

Chonrad’s expression hardened. “You think he has welcomed you into his arms because he loves you? He sees you as a doorway through which he can bring his army into the world – nothing more.”

“That is not true!”

“Orsin. It is time you stopped demanding respect from everyone else, and expecting them to bring your world to rights.” Concern lit Chonrad’s eyes. “You are so full of hurt and hatred that you cannot see the way clearly. You need to take your fate in both hands and do what is
right.
”

“Who is to say what is right? I do not care anymore. You all abandoned me, but Pyra accepted me – he is the only one who has ever made me feel I
matter.
”

In spite of his words, however, once again Orsin felt the glitter of something deep within him. The fire flickering around his hands faltered, and he cursed and urged it through him.

“You matter to me,” Chonrad said softly.

“You sent me away.”

“To keep you safe.” Chonrad hesitated. “I have always known that my children would play an instrumental role in the Arbor’s future. It told me, the day of the Last Stand when I opened the fifth and final Node. And I could not bear to think that you might suffer.”

“You did not send Julen or Horada away,” Orsin said, aware as he spoke that he sounded like a petulant child.

“That is because you are my eldest son and heir,” Chonrad said. And he smiled. “You will always be special to me because of that. And nobody can take that relationship away from us.”

To Orsin’s shock, Chonrad walked forward into the flames leaping around him. “Keep away!” he said in alarm, but his father put his arms around him and drew him close.

“My son,” said Chonrad. “I am so sorry.”

Deep inside, Orsin felt something give, like a tree branch that has been bearing the weight of too many leaves for too long. “Do not,” he said hoarsely as the guilt and remorse that had nestled within him finally broke free and flooded through him. “I cannot bear it.”

But his father refused to let him go. The flames licked over them both, but all Orsin could feel were his father’s strong arms holding him tightly, his presence unlocking the chains that had held everything in.

Orsin looked around at the distraught faces of his family and friends, at the pain and suffering of those in other times as the ash came down and covered their world, at those who had emerged from the darkness hoping to find freedom.

“What have I done?” he whispered.

“All life is a cycle,” Chonrad said. “Life leads to death, and from death springs life.”

Behind him, Orsin saw the woman lying on the ground, struggling to bring forth a child, and next to her the slim green shoots of a new tree.

“Let us end this,” Chonrad murmured in his ear.

“I do not know how,” Orsin whispered.

“I will help you.” Chonrad tightened his arms.

Behind him, the Arbor shook in the wind, and Orsin finally understood. Tears coursed down his cheeks, and he closed his eyes and finally let go.

The small part of Tahir’s consciousness that still remained saw Orsin finally give in to his father and submit himself to the light. At the precise moment that he joined with Cinereo, there was a rush of fire like a backdraft and the volcano behind the Arbor completely exploded, scattering the remnants of its top across the city. Ash came down like snow, a hot, thick carpet that covered the world in grey and white.

But for the first time, Tahir could see what he needed to do.

Cinereo turned and spread out his arms. Every man and woman who had lived and who had loved the Arbor came together as one in a glorious explosion of blinding light. Orsin, Tahir and Geve joined hands, and as they touched, their physical forms crumbled and became the ash blowing across the arena. They gave up their lives to the tree, and the energy flooded through the sunstones to Horada, and through Horada to the tree’s roots and thence to all corners of the world.

Tahir’s mind joined with the others, with Chonrad, Valens, Gavius and everyone else who had gone before him, and with the soul of the tree itself, to become Cinereo, the guide who had worked so hard to bring the three sides of the Apex together, and to try to ensure the fire elementals did not destroy the world forever.

Cinereo saw Demitto, Catena and Manifred backing away into the depths of the cave, driven there by the fire and ash that threatened to choke the entrance. At the same time, he could see that all across Anguis, Incendi soldiers were emerging from caves and tunnels into the sun. Battles broke out across the land – battles that could only be resolved in one way, as the heat built and the elementals turned the bodies of those they inhabited to ash and covered the world in flame.

Drawing the power from the lives that had been sacrificed, Cinereo reached out and curled the Arbor’s roots around the foot of the mountain. The roots tore at the mountainside, bringing rocks crashing down, covering the mouth of the cave and burying the people inside the mountain for the next few thousand years. But he did not worry. He had watched the Nox Aves prepare the old Cavum beneath the Arbor for years, hoarding supplies and preparing the Night Birds for a lifetime below ground, so that one day they would be ready – like the Arbor – to rise again.

The screech of the firebird cut across the Apex and made them all cower for a moment. For even as the mighty Pyra emerged from the mountainside to swoop exultantly across the land, so it saw its doom thousands of years in the future, a fixed point in time that it could not change, no matter how hard it tried.

Cinereo could feel himself beginning to suffer from the weight of the ash falling across Heartwood. His leaves had crumbled, the branches and twigs burning and disintegrating, and now all that remained was the great trunk, holding the Pectoris containing the loving hearts of every man and woman who had died in its name.

Drawing on that love, Cinereo gathered his strength and sent the remainder of his power through Horada to the sunstones. Energy poured into the golden gems and radiated out, blinding everyone who stood nearby. Horada screamed, her voice ringing out across the arena, and as the final moments of the Apex approached and the timelines converged, her scream turned into the cry of a newborn baby, the sound travelling through the sunstones to echo through space, through time.

That high-pitched cry bounced between the sunstones, gathering speed and strength, and then burst through from the pendant in Comminor’s hand until it brightened a hundredfold, making him hold up an arm to shield his eyes. The light engulfed the shoot at his feet, and with a tearing crack, the shoot exploded into life.

Roots sunk down into the ground, deeper and deeper, spreading at an incredible speed through the land, breaking up the burnt ground and crumbling the scorched earth. And still they spread, racing beneath the surface across miles and miles of ash and blackened ground.

Above the surface, the shoot began to grow. It surged upwards, and as it grew taller, so it began to sprout tiny, thin branches and small, waving leaves. The shoot broadened, thickened, grew strong and supple, developed a thick skin to protect its vulnerable heart. The shoot turned into a narrow stalk, the narrow stalk into a slender stem, the slender stem to a slim trunk. The trunk expanded, branches lengthening. Twigs grew from the branches, stiffened and sprouted thick, glossy leaves, which unfurled as if stretching their arms after a long sleep.

Nele backed away, pulling the others with him, and Amabil and Betune covered Sarra and the newborn baby as the tree reared above their heads.

The new branches penetrated the dome that had protected them, and beyond it Pyra surged forward eagerly as if certain this indicated his chance to attack, but the new tree had other ideas. Its growth quickened, and those watching gasped as it doubled in size, almost exultantly, as if overjoyed at finally being able to grow after so long in the darkness.

Pyra swooped and breathed fire over it and the flames scoured the earth. Without the dome, he had clearly hoped to incinerate those who remained, but the tree arched its branches over them as they huddled beneath it, keeping them safe. And although its leaves curled and died and fell as ash to the floor, new ones immediately grew to replace them, growing quicker than before, and Pyra circled and hesitated in the air.

The tree’s roots reached the coast on all four sides of Anguis, and Cinereo waited as its power built within its new, huge heart. Then it erupted forth in a burst through its roots.

Across the land, the crumbling, broken earth cracked, and new shoots appeared. At first they were barely noticeable, only tiny green specks on the black and brown, but the shoots lengthened into blades of grass that rapidly spread in a carpet of green.

Pyra bellowed and turned a broad swathe to ash, but they merely grew again, grass and flowers and trees, burgeoning and blooming in a riot of colour that dazzled those who watched the explosion of growth.

Cinereo concentrated on the sunstone in Comminor’s hand and drew his consciousness along the rays of light that still connected them, away from the old disintegrating tree and into the flourishing new one.

The old one crumbled and died, buried beneath a blanket of ash and molten rock, and lava coated the city and killed everyone it touched: the King and Queen, the shopkeepers and guards, rich and poor alike. Across the land, fire flourished. Forests burned, houses collapsed, animals and people died amidst the fire and flame. The world turned black, and the Incendi spread joyously into their new domain, ready to begin their reign.

Pyra saw it happen through the mists of time, even as his own death loomed. He rose higher in the air with a mighty flap of his wings, hoping to escape the new tree’s rising power, but he was too late.

The tree’s loving life-force expanded from it in a widening ring, clearing the air of the fog and ash and smoke, and letting the full, clean heat of the sun break through. As one, every blade of grass, every petal on every flower, turned towards it, and Pyra cried out as the green energy engulfed him. The firebird expired in a billow of flame, falling to the ground in a shower of ash that sank quickly into the earth.

The new Arbor arched above the land. Its new heart beat deep within its trunk, safe and secure, the love of its followers contained in its beating form. It reached out its roots, spread its branches, turned its leaves up to the sun, and let out a shivering sigh. And as Cinereo broke into song, his voice splintered and became a thousand, thousand voices, echoing through time to the ears of those who would carry its memory through the dark years until it could rise again.