Here Shines the Sun Read online

  THE RECORD

  – OF THE –

  SAINTS CALIBER

  BOOK 2: here shines the sun

  Antipodal Books

  www.AntipodalBooks.com

  THE RECORD OF THE SAINTS CALIBER

  BOOK 2: here shines the sun

  Published by Antipodal Books by arrangement with M. David White

  Copyright © 2015 by M. David White and

  Antipodal Books. All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be copied, scanned or

  reproduced. No part of this book may be distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission.

  ISBN: 978-0692585092

  Printed in the United States of America

  123456789

  First Edition | November 2015

  Cover Art: “Rook’s Demon” by Mario Teodosio

  Map by M. David White

  Stellaglyphs by M. David White and Mei-Jean Hsu

  Cover Design by Antipodal Books

  This book is a work of fiction. All characters and events

  portrayed in this book are fictitious or used fictitiously. Any

  resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, locales, etc.

  are entirely coincidental. Neither the author nor the publisher

  assumes any responsibility for third-party websites or their content.

  facebook.com/therecordofthesaintscaliber

  facebook.com/antipodalbooks

  To my family, who have helped shape and grow me.

  And to those who aren’t afraid to look into

  darkness with their eyes wide open.

  — 1 —

  Coming Fires

  It was cold. The dying, winter sun cast the western skies in a tantalizing blaze of oranges and deep reds as it crept beneath the high roofs of the surrounding buildings, but it afforded little Kierza no warmth. She ducked into a dark alley whose brick-paved street was swept with powdery snow. Her cloth shoes managed to find a puddle of urine and old booze but her numb feet hardly felt it, though the sour odor crept beneath the black veil that shrouded her nose and mouth and she suddenly felt sick. Above her, a gaslamp upon a high, bronze post flickered to life. Its yellow-green light gloated over her, its seductive warmth mocking her. All down the street other lamps began to flicker to life. She hugged her slender arms around her ten-year old body, but the chill, dusk breeze tore its way through her wool cloak and dingy, patchwork dress nonetheless. She sniffled and wiped at her nose, causing the silk veil to cling upon her upper lip.

  She looked around at the empty streets and tall homes of brick, timber and plaster. Through the windows she could see the warm glow of firelight, and once in a while she could catch the delightful aroma of something cooking. Her stomach rumbled. She looked up at the darkening sky above and knew it would be getting much colder soon.

  She brushed her honey-brown hair back with her hand and then reached into her dress pocket. She still had four cigars to sell for her brother, Chazod. They were misshapen things, cobbled together of found tobacco remnants and wrapped in stained, brown paper. They stank like her master’s ashtray. She looked around again at the empty streets and a sense of hopelessness washed over her. She wished the nice boy with black hair would come by and buy them like he sometimes did, but it was a stupid hope. It was long past his time and tonight was cold. She wondered if she should just walk up to the nearest building and knock on the door and beg the occupants to buy the moldy things. Or, if it had to come to it, and the occupant was a man…

  Kierza’s empty stomach twisted at that notion. She wiped at her green eyes and shivered. She couldn’t do that, not tonight. She stood there for a while, in the dark alley that only grew darker, and the warm glow of nearby windows became all the more enticing. Her stomach rumbled again. She wanted to go home, back to her master’s smithy, but didn’t dare return until she had made her brother his money. Her hand went to her cheek and she flinched at the pain. It was still bruised from last time.

  But the streets were empty, and the night only grew colder. The warm light of those mocking windows made the falling snow twinkle like golden sparks around her.

  Kierza reached into her pocket and pulled out one of the cigars and a match. Her numb fingers held them limply for a long moment as she contemplated her excuse. She could say she was robbed, but she had used that one before and her cheek still bore the results. She could say a man took one and then left without paying. She supposed that was the same thing as being robbed. Wind swept the alley and the dusty snow swirled around her, ruffling her dress and cutting through her cloak. She licked her lips as she looked at the match.

  She lifted her veil and put the cigar in her mouth. She struck the match against the brick wall and it flared to brilliant life. She held it to the cigar, its warmth washing over her brow and radiating through the veil that still concealed her nose and cheeks. She puffed frantically to get the cigar lit before the match died in her hand. Putrid, yellow smoke came from it in plumes; the tip blazed with fire for a moment, and the cigar began to smolder just as the match went out. Kierza puffed and puffed until the glowing, orange embers of tobacco radiated through the ash. She held her hands to it, taking what little warmth she could get from it.

  “Smoking my profits, are you?”

  Kierza jumped at the sneering voice of her brother and the cigar fell from her little fingers. It plopped into the puddle of urine and alcohol, the ember snuffing out like the hiss of a viper.

  “I knew she ain’t ever got robbed.” said Chazod as he strode up to her and pushed her on her shoulder, leaving a greasy, black print on her cloak. Behind him, coming from the shadows like snakes from the reeds, crept a few other boys from the smithy. They laughed at her.

  Kierza trembled as her brother bent over and picked up the wet cigar. He inspected it, rolling it between his fingers in front of her.

  Chazod turned his eyes down at her, the slave brand on his neck bunching up in a mound of discolored skin. His eyes were much darker than Kierza’s own, almost a hunter-green, and his hair was a deeper shade of brown. He was sixteen and much larger than she. He was lean and muscular and his ramshackle, leather armor was streaked with soot and grime. He stank of sweat and Kierza thought that he and the other boys had probably just finished their combat training for the night. Upon his hip hung an old, leather scabbard from which the handle of one of his poorly made swords stuck out.

  “I’m… I’m sorry,” said Kierza. “I’m cold and I want to come home.”

  “I’m cold and I want to come home,” mocked Chazod, and the other boys laughed. “You ain’t earned me my money yet.” Chazod used the end of the cigar to raise Kierza’s veil, revealing her trembling lips and missing nose. “And now that I see you’re smoking my profits away, you’re going to have to earn me my money another way.” He circled her lips with the cigar.

  Kierza flinched away, her eyes darting to the other boys. They all wore their beat-up leather armor, all of them had cheap swords or daggers upon their belts. Their eyes were hungry, raking over her. Chazod pressed in on her, and Kierza backed further into the alley where only darkness reigned. “I’ll… I’ll tell Grandon.” she whimpered. “I’ll tell him you’ve been stealing the tobacco from his ashtrays and making me sell it.”

  “I’ll tell Grandon.” he mocked. “Hey Nyal, how much copper you got?”

  “Couple pennies.” said the boy from behind, his deep voice rattling the night air. Nyal was originally from the southern reaches of Escalapius where their skin was deep brown, like rich chocolate. Upon the right side of his neck a slave brand stood out in grot
esque, pink ridges. His eyes were also deeply colored and his hair was short and as black as the coal soot that stained his outfit. Nyal was almost as old as Chazod and the two were master Grandon’s prized workers. Grandon had just recently started training them and the other boys to fight in the arena for money.

  “I… I don’t want to. Not right now.” pleaded Kierza. “Come on, Chazod. It’s late and it’s cold.”

  Chazod pushed her so hard on the shoulder that she stumbled backward and her butt smacked hard upon the frozen stone of the alley. He took the coins from Nyal and the boy moved past him and closed in on Kierza.

  “Who’s gonna be next?” Kierza heard her brother ask as Nyal began unfastening his pants.

  “Get on your knees.” demanded Nyal.

  Kierza sniffed and wiped at her eyes as she struggled up to her knees. She bunched her dress beneath her as best she could to keep her legs off the cold bricks. Nyal grabbed her veil and tore it from her face, exposing the pink, ruined flesh that stretched across the thin nasal cavities of her skull. His big, calloused hand wrapped around the right side of her neck, concealing her slave brand. It was the same one Nyal, Chazod and all the other boys had. It was the brand of Grandon Faust.

  “Now come on, like you did before,” he said, bringing her face to his crotch.

  “Leave her alone.” stated a voice from beyond the confines of the alley. The voice gave Nyal pause and Kierza took the opportunity to scoot away from him.

  Nyal looked back at Kierza. “It’s just some kid. Get back over here.”

  “I don’t want to,” whimpered Kierza. She could hear her brother and the other boys taunting somebody from beyond the alley. “It’s cold.”

  Nyal stormed forward. He pulled her up by the hair and smacked her across the face so hard that she saw stars flash. He pushed her hard against the back wall of the alley and her head impacted the stone before she crumpled to the ground, dizzy.

  “I said, leave her alone!” roared Rook.

  Nyal’s face scrunched into an ugly scowl and he pulled his pants up and turned around.

  “You okay, little girl?” asked Rook, peering around the boys who stood before him. He had a slave brand upon the right side of his neck as well, but his was not Grandon Faust’s brand. It was just the generic slave brand of Narbereth. For a slave, however, the boy was dressed in a nice outfit of blue and black homespun and had a gray, wool cloak over his shoulders.

  “Little girl?” squawked Chazod. He huffed, his breath smoking in the cold, night air. “You hear this guy? He can’t be more than thirteen and he’s calling her a little girl?” Chazod turned his hunter-green eyes down to Rook. “Now get out of here, little boy, or you’ll be going back to your master as damaged goods.”

  “You’re going to leave her alone.” said Rook, looking up at Chazod.

  Chazod stepped forward. Despite only being three-years apart in age, there was a disproportionate advantage in height and strength for Chazod. “We ain’t leaving her alone until she’s earned me my money.”

  Rook’s black-blue eyes never wavered. “Well, I guess it’s a lucky chance for us all that I’m here. I’ve come to buy her cigars.”

  “Oh, so you’re the brat who’s been buying ‘em from her.” said Chazod. “She said there was a brat who came by once in a while.”

  “How’s he buy them?” said one of the boys next to Chazod. He was a blonde-haired teen about the same age as Chazod.

  “Yeah, brat,” said Chazod. He flicked Rook’s slave brand with his finger. “You’re a slave like us. You can’t have any money. You can’t earn anything.”

  “What matter does it make?” said Rook. “A sale’s a sale. I’ll buy them all. Let her go home.”

  Kierza slowly emerged from the alley. Rook had seen her many times before, but this was the first time he had ever seen her face unshrouded. He didn’t even know her name. Her eyes were a brilliant green, too brilliant for a slave-girl. They were eyes from a soul who refused to be beaten down by this world; eyes that held strength and hope for a better day. Her honey-brown locks, all the richer against her pale skin, curled and spiraled in the most subtle of ways and hung down upon her dingy cloak. The scar tissue of her missing nose curled slightly as she gave Rook a faint, fleeting smile.

  “Oh, I see!” yawped Chazod. “You got the hots for my sister Kierza!” Chazod turned around and his eyes fixed on Kierza. “You been sucking him off for free?”

  Kierza shook her head frantically. “No.” She looked at Rook briefly. “No.”

  “You’ve been sucking him off for free, haven’t you?” accused Chazod. “That means you owe me even more money.” The other boys, four in all, laughed.

  Nyal moved in on Rook. “Maybe if he’s got money for cigars, he’s got money to pay for her time as well.” He jabbed a finger into Rook’s shoulder.

  Chazod eyed Rook, the light of the gaslamp overhead making them flash wickedly. “Yeah, I bet you do. You’re that brat of Callad Venzi’s, aren’t you. You’re the one they all talk about. The one who can make that strange metal.”

  “How much for the cigars?” asked Rook with a steady voice, his eyes never diverting from Chazod’s.

  Chazod’s brow furled and he stepped into Rook’s space. “Oh, it’s gone beyond cigars now, little boy.” His neck craned down, his eyes as cold and dark as the winter night. “You’ve been having her suck you off for free. You owe me for her time.”

  “That’s never happened,” said Rook, standing his ground, his own neck craned up to gaze steadily into his challenger’s eyes. “But that’s a good idea. I will buy her time. All of it.”

  Chazod’s hard features softened into a contemptuous smirk. He huffed, his breath smoking in the cold night. “What do you mean—”

  A viper could not have struck faster than Rook had his dagger out and to the boy’s throat. It was an old dagger. Ancient even. He did not know exactly how old it was, but he knew that it had once been his great-grandfather’s great-grandfather’s. The demon, Bulifer, had told him as much. It was a simple thing, plain of design, yet perfect and graceful in every aspect. The long, triangular blade tapered to a menacing point that now dimpled the soft flesh of Chazod’s throat. The metal it was made from was silvery, but had waves of lighter and darker colors, like the grain of a fine wood. And it was no heavier than if it had been made of wood. But it was not. It was made of a strange metal that only his great-grandfather’s great-grandfather could make; a metal that he too had now unlocked the secrets of. Rook had possessed the dagger for the last three years, since that fateful night he met the demon. He had killed a man with it; cut his neck wide open. He had freed his townspeople with it when he used it to kill Saint Ovid, stabbing him repeatedly. He had carried it with him in secret when he was sold into slavery. This dagger, and the Golothic hidden in his pocket, had been his constant companions. And he hated what he was about to do.

  The other boys moved in cautiously on Rook. “You mean to fight us all?” taunted Nyal, taking out his sword.

  “You kill me and my master will come for you and all your family.” said Chazod, Rook’s blade still pressing against his neck.

  Rook’s hand deftly flipped the dagger around, presenting the subtly curved hilt and the black, leather-wound handle to Chazod’s neck. “I mean to buy her from you for all time. I offer you a trade. Your sister for this dagger. Take it. It’s yours.”

  Chazod eyed Rook skeptically and then snatched the dagger from his hand. He seemed to marvel at it as he twisted it, the metal sparkling oddly in the light of the winter moon. “This… this is that metal you make, isn’t it.” Nyal tried to grab it but Chazod pushed him away.

  “I call it Everlight.” said Rook. “And I haven’t been able to make much of it, yet. That dagger is worth ten-times what your master paid for her. And you.”

  Chazod’s green eyes fixed on him. He tucked the dagger in his
belt. “How do you know how much he paid for me? Who the fuck do you think you are?” he sneered. “You think you’re some little prince?” He pushed Rook hard on the shoulder, nearly spinning him. “You think you’re something?” he pushed him again. “You think you’re something because your master’s been letting you earn money?”

  “Trade me.” said Rook, catching Chazod’s hand as he went to push him again. Rook tossed his hand away. “Keep the dagger. Keep it hidden. And when you turn twenty-one, use it to buy your freedom and all of your friends’. Let it be your hope for a better day.”

  Chazod’s face twisted in anger. “My hope?” he spat. He brushed his hands down his beat-up armor. “There’s no hope for those who have to fight in the arenas.” He grabbed Rook around the collar and drew his fist back. “I’m gonna beat you senseless, you fucking little prince!”

  “Enough.” came a gruff voice.

  Chazod looked up and his face went pale. He released Rook and stood up straight. The other boys all fell into order as well. Kierza pressed herself against the wall and shrunk back into the alley.

  Grandon Faust was a short, stocky man dressed in all black. He stood in the road, his arms akimbo, as he assessed his boys with his sharp, gray eyes. Upon his back he wore four swords, two handles protruding from behind each shoulder. His short, black hair was as dark as the night around him and his beard was plaited with silver beads. He puffed out a long breath that smoked in the chill air. Then he strode forward and stopped before them all. He regarded Rook for a moment, then turned his eyes to Chazod and the others before he took notice of Kierza. “Girl, what are you doing out here with my boys? You get out of those shadows.”

  Kierza slunk her way from the shadows of the alley, holding her broken veil over her face. “I…” she began, her eyes cast down. “I was just…”

  “She’s been out here whoring herself to this brat.” spat Chazod. He pushed Rook on the shoulder. “This brat thinks he’s a prince or something. Thinks he—”