Starborn Read online

  Lucy Hounsom

  STARBORN

  The Worldmaker Trilogy:

  Book One

  *

  PAN BOOKS

  For my parents, Dee and Terry, and my sister, Laura:

  the best story is the one we’ve written together.

  But in the process of the centuries the mountain is levelled and the river will change its course, empires experience mutation and havoc and the configuration of the stars varies. There is change in the firmament.

  ‘The God’s Script’

  Jorge Luis Borges

  Some say that gleams of a remoter world

  Visit the soul in sleep …

  ‘Mont Blanc’

  Percy Bysshe Shelley

  Contents

  EXCERPTS FROM Acre: Tales of the Lost World

  PART ONE

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  PART TWO

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  PART THREE

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  32

  EPILOGUE

  EXCERPTS FROM

  Acre: Tales of the Lost World

  Solinaris is widely regarded as the most magnificent structure in all Acre. It is home to the Wielders, a people able to harness the energies of sun and moon. Such is the power these magic-users have at their command that the glass of their citadel has stood without crack for seven centuries. Human-like servants called the Yadin walk these halls, clothed in purest white. Created by the powers they serve, they would willingly lay down their lives for their masters. Solinaris stands on the western edge of Rairam, a large, varied continent whose natural beauty and resources make it one of Acre’s richest lands.

  The Wielders of Solinaris term their power ‘cosmosethic energy’, claiming it derives from the cosmos itself. To the minds of Acrean technicians, this assertion is unverifiable. Their own logic pales against the fearsome power employed by those in Solinaris. How may a Wielder channel the sun’s heat? How access the moon’s reflected glory? These things lie beyond rational comprehension, yet none denies their existence, or their might.

  Solinaris is governed by an autonomous group comprising all Wielders who have graduated to full status. This ensures a fair ruling on every issue considered and is widely thought to be among the most advanced political systems in the world.

  The Estreyan Mountains are rumoured to be the home of the dragon people, those who call themselves Lleuyelin. Little is known about this fierce, silent race, from whose wrists and ankles stream the sinuous tendons of their mounts.

  Cymenza and the Raucus Cities are famed for their towers, built to withstand any attack – though nothing sharper than the arrows of peace has rained against their stones in all of a hundred years. Under moonlight, they take on the hue of their moats, so that to an easily fooled human eye, they could be mere reflections trapped in the heart of the water.

  And those feared most are they whose names are twinned with the stars’, for their grave countenances bear only a semblance of humanity, and in their hands lies the undoing of worlds.

  PART ONE

  1

  When Kyndra awoke on the day of the Ceremony, she believed – for one dream-tangled instant – that it was her last.

  She sat up, gasping. Beneath her shift, her heart hurtled through its beats, and she pressed a sweaty palm against her chest. She couldn’t remember the dream now. Only the vaguest sense remained; like a threat, urging her to flee.

  I don’t run.

  Kyndra rubbed the sleep from her eyes. As her blood cooled, so did the sweat on her body, and she pulled the woollen blanket back up. The Ceremony is my Inheritance, she reminded herself. It marked the start of her adult life. She had counted the years until this morning, savoured the ripening sense of anticipation.

  But an hour later, returning home from a walk through Brenwym’s muddy streets, Kyndra realized it wasn’t just the cold that peppered her arms in gooseflesh. Each breath took her closer to the Ceremony, closer to her fate. She glanced up. The sky was a mass of dirty white clouds, and the rain flattened both her hair and spirits. She didn’t want to see her mother’s look of strained pride, the sad inflection in her voice that plainly said she was losing her child. Today Kyndra would become a woman and her town would put her to use.

  As long as we don’t drown first. She grimaced. The spring blossom had brought only clouds and, two wet weeks later, petals fell to settle like snow on a town underwater. Kyndra thought of being dry with a wistful sigh. Her shirt stuck to her skin and her woollen trousers clung horribly. The rest of her clothes hung from a rafter in the attic at home and were only slightly less damp. She’d have to wear a dress for the Ceremony, she realized sourly. Even in this rain.

  Kyndra brushed the wet hair off her forehead and wrinkled her nose. The town smelled of rotten green and people packed into a space too small to contain them. Brenwym provided the only haven within easy reach for families flooded out of their homes in the lower dales. And now of course the rest of the Valleys had arrived for this year’s Inheritance Ceremony.

  Kyndra stopped short. Her chosen route home led through the main square, which had become a lake overnight. Its surface mimicked the bloated sky and around its edges, rubbish piled up against cottages and shops. She allowed herself one unenthusiastic sigh before shrugging and wading in. After a moment, the cold water came creeping across her toes and Kyndra gritted her teeth. Her boots would never dry by this afternoon’s Ceremony and she’d outgrown her mother’s. Maybe a walk to clear her head hadn’t been the best of ideas either. She shivered, catching her reflection in a window. The cheap glass blurred her face into a pale, disgruntled oval.

  Teeth chattering, Kyndra increased her pace. Her mother’s inn would seem welcoming after this, even filled as it was with the stale smell of drink. The wind picked up, so that she heard the shutters of The Nomos before she saw them. Chinks of firelight spilled out into the street and she fought her way around the side of the building to the back door.

  ‘… Wish you’d make more of an effort, Jarand. Sometimes I don’t think you care.’ Kyndra’s mother, Reena, turned to throw out a sack and caught sight of Kyndra dripping on the step. ‘What are you doing?’ she gasped. Jarand winked at Kyndra over her shoulder.

  ‘I went for a walk.’

  ‘I thought you had gone—’ The sack slipped from Reena’s hand. She didn’t seem to notice.

  ‘Mother?’

  Reena stared at her for a few, stunned moments, then swallowed and shook her head. ‘Never mind,’ she said. ‘I … I just thought you were upstairs getting ready.’

  Kyndra frowned. ‘What’s the matter?’

  But Reena stepped back inside and deftly took down a towel. ‘Boots off.’ She thrust the ragged cloth at Kyndra. ‘You’ll have to wear mine.’

  Kyndra shook her head. ‘They don’t fit.’

  ‘I’m not having mud traipsed over everything.’ Reena’s voice hardened and chased some of the blood back into her face. ‘People are paying good money to stay here.’

  Irritated, Kyndra rubbed the towel over her head. ‘Is it always about money? Even today?’

  Reena tucked a curl of hair more red than Kyndra’s back under her kerchief. ‘You want to eat, don’t you?’

  Kyndra didn’t reply, but broke the
awkward silence by kicking her boots onto the mat. A thick swell of heat and smoke welcomed her into the hall, and she battled to close the door against the wind that blew through the backstreet.

  ‘It took the families from Caradan Hill a week to get here,’ Reena said, as she watched Kyndra’s struggle with the door.

  ‘Really,’ Kyndra said without interest. The door latched shut and she leaned against it. Jarand had disappeared. He always did when a foul mood puffed out Reena’s chest. Kyndra didn’t care. Her wet clothes chafed and all she wanted was to escape upstairs. ‘Why are you so worried about impressing visitors?’ she said. ‘They’ll never come back.’

  Her mother’s face darkened. ‘You are about to become a woman of this town, Kyndra. Whatever future you’re shown, you will find it in Brenwym.’ Reena paused. ‘This is your home.’

  She was right. Brenwym was her home. Kyndra had never been outside the Valleys. And I’m not likely to either, she thought despondently.

  ‘Go and clean yourself up,’ Reena sighed. ‘I managed to dry out some of your underclothes. They’re on the bed.’ To Kyndra’s trouser-clad legs, she added, ‘I’ve always thought that blue dress looks nice on you.’

  The blue dress was ready and waiting. Kyndra scowled at it. Moving slowly, she filled a basin, peeled off her sodden clothes and scrubbed her skin clean. The water was cold and quickly turned brown. She shivered. The rain sounded more like hammers up here, a relentless pounding that threatened to split the rafters. She shared the garret with Reena and Jarand, her mother’s husband. A thin partition split the space in two.

  Once she was dry, Kyndra wriggled reluctantly into the dress. Its tight sleeves stopped her from raising her arms and twice she tripped over the skirt whilst hunting for her mother’s boots. She tugged at it fiercely, but stopped when she remembered that Reena had paid for it. Flushed and ready at last, Kyndra dropped onto the bed and laid the backs of her hands against her cheeks.

  What had her mother seen during her own Inheritance Ceremony? Kyndra assumed something to do with an inn, or Reena wouldn’t be here running The Nomos. Jarand was an outsider, from Dremaryn to the south, so he didn’t count. He had only become an innkeeper when he married Reena.

  Kyndra let her feet carry her to a small mirror set in the corner of the room. ‘It will be fine,’ she told herself. An uncertain face looked back, framed by dark red hair that ended untidily just above her shoulders.

  She picked up a comb and tapped it against her palm. The Inheritance lay at the heart of Valleys life. The first survivors of the Acrean wars to settle here had brought the Relic with them: an artefact that revealed a person’s true name and calling. The Inheritance Ceremony had taken place every year since, five centuries of young people looking into the Relic and seeing their future in its depths.

  Kyndra dragged the comb through her hair and then twisted the damp strands into a knot. She had longed for this day as much as her friends had. Now she dreaded it. The full force of those centuries bore down upon her, thousands of lives lived as the Relic intended. Its power reached into your soul, people said. It showed you the truth of yourself. To stray from the calling it gave you was not only unheard of, but it was also a sin.

  What if it gives me a future I don’t want?

  Kyndra spun away from her reflection, threw open the door and stalked downstairs. Her fear clung as close as her own shadow.

  The common room was packed with people and pipe smoke. Dark varnish coated the walls, obscuring the kind of stains an inn racked up over the years. Patrons crowded between tables, idly keeping an eye out for empty places. The spectre of rain hung over everything and Kyndra couldn’t suppress a smirk when she recalled her mother’s words about the floor. Mud smeared the usually spotless boards.

  A finger jabbed painfully into Kyndra’s ribs. She flinched and looked down. The woman sitting there studied her crookedly, lips stretched in a leer. ‘So, girl, your day has arrived,’ Ashley Gigg said. ‘But bud or blossom, you’ll always be a chit to me.’

  There were stifled guffaws and Kyndra’s face grew hot. Ashley’s rude to everyone, she reminded herself. And you did push that tinker’s weasel through her bedroom window. She probably hasn’t forgotten. Kyndra pressed her lips together. She hadn’t played that trick alone. Her best friend Jhren had been a willing accomplice.

  ‘Don’t you listen, Kyn.’ Hanna leaned over her bench. She was a plump, fair-haired woman with slightly large teeth. ‘We know how much you’ve looked forward to this day. Me an’ Havan have come up specially to see Jhren’s Inheritance.’ Her dimpled cheeks were flushed with the heat.

  Kyndra grinned and muttered thanks. Jhren’s aunt and uncle were traders and Kyndra had sat up many a night, listening to tales of a world beyond Brenwym. Those candlelit evenings seemed far away now. Nodding to Havan, she slipped past, eager to get away.

  She pushed through the crowd to an unshuttered window and cleared a patch of condensation with her sleeve. The rain continued to swell the streets into brown rivers. Idly, she drew a pattern on the glass; a star with only three points.

  ‘Blue suits you.’

  She jumped, hearing him laugh softly. Jhren stood behind her, so close she could feel his breath on the exposed skin of her neck.

  Kyndra spun and punched him lightly on the arm. ‘It doesn’t. And don’t creep up on me.’

  ‘Ow,’ Jhren protested. Then, seeing her frown deepen, he added, ‘All right, I take it back. You look awful in blue.’

  ‘Better.’

  Jhren’s bright smile faded a little. ‘It is a nice dress though, Kyn. You should wear it more often.’

  ‘And what about my dress?’

  Colta appeared beside Jhren, arms folded, lips pursed. She looked as lovely as ever. A red ribbon held back her curls and at the same time somehow sent them tumbling over her shoulder. They were dark, like her eyes.

  Obediently, Jhren turned to look. Kyndra watched his gaze rake across Colta’s neckline and, despite her best efforts, felt a flash of annoyance. Colta’s dress hugged her form and fell in attractive folds to the floor. Pretty woven sandals peeped from beneath its hem.

  A little smile curled Colta’s lips. She laughed. ‘I didn’t sleep a bit last night,’ she told them. ‘I’m just too excited.’

  If that were true, Colta showed no sign of it. Her face had none of a sleepless night’s shadows, but was fresh and bright. A scent clung to her. Rose, Kyndra thought.

  ‘How do you like my outfit, Kyndra?’ Colta asked her. ‘Gerda made it especially for today. The shoes too.’ She eyed Kyndra’s dress with just a hint of disparagement. ‘You should have asked her to make yours.’

  ‘I know what Gerda charges,’ Kyndra said. ‘Why pay so much for something I’ll only wear once?’

  ‘She’s the best dressmaker in town.’ Colta stroked her skirt defensively. ‘She can charge whatever she wants.’ Giving up on Kyndra, she said to Jhren, ‘I really wanted the bodice cut lower. But you know Gerda.’ She rolled her eyes and smiled a dimpled smile. ‘She has such old-fashioned ideas.’

  ‘Shouldn’t you put some boots on?’ Kyndra said a touch more harshly than she’d intended. ‘It’s raining. You’ll spoil those shoes.’

  ‘I know it’s raining, Kyndra,’ Colta snapped. ‘But we all become adults today and I intend to look the part.’

  ‘There’s more to growing up than looking the part,’ Kyndra said before she could stop herself. She tried to stuff her hands in her pockets and then realized that she didn’t have any.

  Colta gave her a pitying look that made Kyndra grind her teeth. ‘If you’d had some made yourself, you wouldn’t have to be jealous,’ the other girl said sweetly. She turned to Jhren. ‘See you later. I’ve still got lots to do.’ With a bat of her lashes, Colta swept off.

  ‘Don’t mind her,’ Jhren said. ‘She’s probably nervous.’

  ‘She really looked it.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  Kyndra waved a hand. ‘For
get it. I’m not in the mood to argue.’

  ‘Me neither.’ Jhren grinned at her and Kyndra felt her frown disappear.

  They stood side by side at the window. Frequent gusts of cold air announced each new patron and lifted Jhren’s blond fringe. ‘Busy,’ Kyndra remarked.

  Jhren glanced at her. ‘How many do you think are in town?’

  ‘I don’t know. Not everyone has come for the Ceremony.’

  ‘You mean the flood in the lower dales.’

  Kyndra nodded. ‘There isn’t enough room here. They’ll have to go home eventually.’

  ‘It’s weird,’ Jhren said. ‘Aunt Hanna told us the weather’s only bad in the area around Brenwym.’

  ‘What do you think’s causing it?’ Kyndra watched the points of her star leak, tear-like, down the glass. ‘I can’t remember there ever being a spring this wet.’

  Somewhere in the inn, a low bell chimed. ‘Is that the time?’ Jhren gasped, leaping away from the window. ‘I’m supposed to be home for lunch. Mother’s roasted a pig in my honour.’ He grinned. ‘See you on the green, I guess.’ Then his face grew serious. ‘I can’t believe it, Kyn. This is it.’

  Kyndra tried to ignore the butterflies in her stomach. ‘I know.’ She watched her friend open the door, coat held over his head as a pathetic shield against the rain. Jhren winked once and then he was gone.

  Wondering how Jhren could face lunch, Kyndra headed unobtrusively for her window seat. Hidden by the curtain, she settled herself on a long cushion that ran the length of the casement. It was here that she sat through dark, winter afternoons when Jarand was too preoccupied to find chores for her. She’d read for hours. Her favourite stories were about Acre, a lost world of Wielders and magic, dragon-riders, soaring cities full of people beyond counting.

  Acre: Tales of the Lost World were really just that: tales. But, sandwiched between two pages, Kyndra had found a scrap of parchment, badly preserved and almost illegible. On it was an alphabet. And under each letter someone had faithfully transcribed its equivalent in Mariar’s common tongue. The find restored Kyndra’s hope: that once upon a time, Acre had existed.