Fury Fall: The Sun Maker Saga, #2

By Matt Wright and James L. Cook

Their world is unjust…

Is violence the only answer?

Gun wants to change all that.

 

But nothing is ever that easy. And when a childhood friend reappears in his life, it only complicates matters. Aithen isn't the person he used to be. The military is tightening its grip.

Can Gun fight the inequality?

The revolution isn't what it seems…

 

Aithen is pushed to the brink when he clashes with the Wardens. They need him, but does he need them? The time to confront the Dark Star looms ever closer.

Will he learn what needs to be done in time?

What is the Dark Star?

Some, like Erich, will do whatever it takes to learn about it. The Wardens only want its power. Everyone's fate is tied to it. They must prepare or face the consequences. The one thing that's certain: it awaits them all.

 

You'll love this sequel to Ruin Star, a space opera fantasy with authentic relationships, strong female characters, and the epic struggle that launches a series among the stars. Buy it now!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Matt Wright Author
• Release date: Oct 26, 2021
• ISBN: 9781955948050

Matt Wright

Matt Wright is the author of the Sun Maker Saga, a self-published space opera fantasy series, as well as a freelance writer and editor. He co-edited The Southern Quill (2017), a literary journal at Dixie State University, as well as the sci-fi/fantasy anthology, Unmasked: Tales of Risk and Revelation (2021). He also edited and reissued a new edition of From the Earth to the Moon and Round the Moon by Jules Verne (2021). He’s also the author of a few short stories set in the Sun Maker universe: Warriors (2021), The Last Star (2021), and The Astraneaum (2022).   Matt has been writing fantasy and science fiction for over fifteen years and has written full-length novels since he was in high school. He loves writing in the epic genres with echoes of mythological and historical contexts. He currently resides in Albuquerque, NM, with his wife, Elizabeth, and his best bud in the whole world, Joey.

Book preview

Prologue: The Weight of the Sun

AITHEN | SEVEN YEARS OLD

I can’t get the look on his face out of my head. Aithen is a man, yes, but he's young. He’s still learning. Did I do the right thing in choosing him?

From Warden Holter’s Journal

Twenty-second day of Hasina, 600 Post-Ruin

Aithen had often sought out the shadows to stay cool. Not anymore. Shadows were boring.

Too young to work and too old to be carried by his mother, Sumena, he tired from day to day despite the number of toys his mother and father had brought from Brucove—the figurines carved from wood and stone of heroes from legends.

He grew bored with the shadows, the corners of their new home, the windows left open, hoping it would let in a breeze. He even grew bored with pretending a thief had hidden in the foyer or the kitchen, underneath beds and tables. Running from room to room with his figurines bored him more than anything else.

Nothing changed, especially out in the flatlands.

His mother would get visitors from time to time, taking in old blankets, robes, hats, and other things that had been ripped or torn from excessive use. She fixed them all for two cups of water while his father left for work for the Ward Governor. At first, Aithen enjoyed watching her resew torn clothes. Some of them even had colorful designs, and he'd imagine what might have caused the tear or rip in the fabrics.

Even that grew dull over the years.

His father had encouraged him to go outside and play with other children. His mother hadn’t been comfortable, and neither had he. Every time he squinted out a window, the sun always seemed too bright, or a sandstorm raged, dropping sand everywhere. The storms frightened him the most, the wailing voices calling out his name, begging him to come outside.

Once, Aithen had carried a cup of water and wandered near the doorway at the front of their home. Excessive brightness from the sun shined through the sliver of opening, and a searing breeze lifted motes of dust and sand off the ground, creating glints in the air like sparkling stars.

He pushed open the door with his shoulder, which was heavier than it looked, and slipped on the sand. His sensitive skin scratched against the coarse ground, and his water cup fell from his hand.

He shouted in alarm but didn't cry. The water fell from his cup and the sultry, ravenous dirt swallowed it up.

His mother found him and lifted him up from the ground by the arm.

Oh, Aithen, she said with a laden sigh. You must be more careful—especially with our water.

She took the cup from him and didn't give him any more.

Aithen felt miserable the rest of the day until his father returned. For supper, when he asked for more water, his father furrowed his brow.

You must learn that it’s irresponsible to waste water, Aithen, he said. We have little of it as it is. Out in the Desolation, very few can afford it.

Aithen went to bed with a dry mouth and a sour stomach. It took him longer to fall asleep than most nights.

In the morning, as his mother fixed a worker’s sun hat, Aithen took off his shirt and left home through the front of their home out into the Desolation sun. Its oppressive heat weighed down on him like a heavy blanket, stifling him.

Following voices and shouts, Aithen found other children running in the streets of that dusty town. He stayed back from them, watching their frantic game from an intersection. All the adults had gone to work in the fields.

The tan-skinned children were soaked in sweat, their oily-slick hair stuck to their heads and faces. Most were shirtless, like himself, and some wore nothing at all. Their shadowed frowns made it seem like they weren’t having fun at all. They ran and touched each other, calling out rules and violations. To Aithen, it appeared more like hard work than fun.

A tall, older boy caught sight of him and jogged up to him, gasping. He seemed like the leader and had brown, northern hair and wore only a sweaty cloth wrapped around his loins.

You play? he said.

No, Aithen said.

Come here.

Aithen followed him into the street, suddenly surrounded by sweaty, tired children swaying as if they might pass out.

You’ll fight him, the leader said, pointing at another completely naked boy. Touch him dead. Don’t let him touch hand, you’re dead. Don’t let him near me, I’m dead.

Aithen thought he understood the rules: If the other boy touches Aithen, Aithen’s dead. If Aithen touches him, he’s dead. Keep him away from the leader.

All at once, the game began when the leader shouted. Aithen rushed forward, keeping himself between the naked boy and the leader. He was fast—but not fast enough. He kept away from Aithen while trying to find an opening to rush the leader. The game didn’t end until the leader got caught. Aithen prided himself in keeping the boy away from the leader. It hadn’t been his fault the leader got touched dead.

The game restarted two more times until the leader got tired of getting caught.

This time, the leader said in a tone that told Aithen the rules were changing. Catch… He paused, turning in a circle until his eyes laid on Aithen and he pointed an accusing finger at him, …him! Catch him!

Aithen gaped at him and felt his insides sink. Then, he broke into a run as the others swarmed. His lungs heaved as he ran faster than he ever had in his life—but it wasn’t fast enough. Someone caught his shoulder and pushed him to the ground. He slid across the dirt as several bodies fell on top of him and crushed him beneath their weight. Aithen opened his mouth to scream, but couldn’t. Instead, tears squeezed from the corners of his eyes as he became lost in a chorus of shouts.

It seemed like hours before the others could pull themselves out of the tangled mess. When he could, Aithen dug his fingers into the dirt and crawled away to catch his breath. Moments later, the others acted like nothing had happened and Aithen sat on the ground and failed to hide his tears.

The leader tried to start up another game, but Aithen felt dizzy and sick to his stomach. His mouth had dried, and he realized he’d drunk no water yet that day, and it’d been hours since he’d left home.

Bleeding and winded, he left without speaking and stumbled back up the street toward his home. As he drew close, he saw Mother standing outside the door, watching and waiting for him.

She gasped as he approached. "Oh, Aithen!"

The tone in her voice sent a chill down his back.

When he entered the shade of his home, he felt the weight of the sun lift from his bare shoulders, head, and back—like something covered his skin. He glanced down at his arms and belly—he had bloodied scratches from his waist to his shoulder. His skin had reddened, and each time he moved his arms or legs, his skin protested.

Aithen followed Mother into the kitchen. She opened a barrel and scooped a cup of water from its depths, and handed it to Aithen.

Drink this, she said, giving him a concerned frown.

He downed the cup, and felt better almost immediately. The cool water healed his dry mouth and throat. She gave him another cup, and it made him feel twice as better than before.

You shouldn’t have gone out, she scolded. "You’re bleeding—and now your skin is burned. It’s purple, Aithen!"

He blinked and glanced down at his arms again. He couldn’t see purple, only a deep red.

Take off your trousers and sit down on your bed, Mother said. I’ll…I’ll find out what to do. Stay there.

Aithen obeyed, his legs refusing to walk in a straight line. Mother left him on his bed, perhaps gone to the Ward Governor’s house to talk to Father for advice. He waited in his room until loud voices drew near outside his home. He ran to the door and opened it, once again letting the weight of the sun rest on his skin.

The children he’d been playing with had gathered outside, talking and laughing, and the leader stood at their head. When he saw Aithen, he let out a laugh and pointed.

Half of him’s purple! Little purple man!

The other children joined in his laughter. Aithen glanced down at his body—a line appeared at his waist where his trousers had been, dividing the burned and pale halves.

He slammed the door and ran to his room. Tears threatened him, but he refused them this time. He waited in the darkness of his room until his mother returned with a stinging poultice for his skin.

Then, he told her he hated the flatlands and promised her he'd never go outside into the sun again.

1

Destroyer

AITHEN | PRESENT DAY

If I’ve learned anything, it’s that we need a contingency for every plan.

From Warden Holter’s Journal

Twenty-second day of Hasina, 600 Post-Ruin

The shackle on Aithen’s right arm chafed him. His left arm-stump hung unshackled. No one was in awe of it anymore, least of all himself. In fact, it repulsed him, the useless thing.

Aithen’s eyes were shut, and his head hung low. The sun glared at him, threatening to redden his skin, or worse. He forced his thoughts to wander to other things—anything but his arm.

The wooden door at the opposite end of the room unlocked with a heavy clink and opened. A female Master in a black robe entered, carrying a bowl of broth in her hands. She was older than most Masters and had a kindly smile on her face every time she visited. Her scrawny body didn't protrude under her black robes, and Aithen thought she lifted her right foot more as she walked. He still hadn’t learned her name.

The bowl of vegetable broth was one that Aithen quite enjoyed. He was confident that he’d tasted it before but couldn’t recall when or where. He kept this to himself on the chance that if he complimented the food, they might feed him something else less savory the next time. Without a word, she approached him and stirred the soup to cool it down. As before, she then held the spoon up to his mouth and he sipped the broth, numbed to the embarrassment of it all.

This time, Aithen watched her as she fed him, though she never met his eyes. After he finished, he asked, What’s your name?

She met his eyes for the first time, then brought a finger to her lips. Apparently, someone didn’t want either of them to speak.

But why?

The aged Master limped back out the door, closing and locking it behind her. He stared at the door for a long moment and, without meaning to, he glanced down at his arm-stump and scowled. Part of the metal from the prosthetic still hung on his shoulder. The guards hadn’t bothered to remove it—or they didn’t know how.

He hissed and bared his teeth at it.

This can’t be happening—!

Across the room, the door opened a second time—mere moments after the nameless Master had left. At first, he thought it might be the same Master again returning. Instead, it was the one person he’d expected to visit him much earlier.

Warden Madin Holter.

Aithen lowered his head, letting his messy hair cover his face. He didn’t want her to see his violent grimace.

I know, she said in almost a whisper. My visit is long overdue. I’m sorry, Aithen. I've no excuse.

He kept his tongue. He didn’t know what it would say to her unchecked.

When he glanced up again, he noted three other guards accompanied her. Did they expect her to attempt to free him? If the Starward suspected that, he didn’t know Madin at all.

You need not speak, she said, peering up at him with an intense gaze. Crisya told me everything that happened. She apologizes and wants you to know she didn’t mean a word she said. She hopes that you’ve enjoyed her broth.

Aithen remembered now. That broth…Crisya had given it to him on the day he’d received his metal arm. The thought of her pained and angered him.

I’ve also come to tell you what I’ve been doing the past few days, Madin continued. "After they took you, I remained in the Starward’s office and tried to convince him not to do this. He refused to be moved, and not once did he entertain my threats. And when the guards returned with your arm, I withdrew all my support from him. He’ll no longer have use of my money or land. That, at least, got a rise out of him. He and I will have to deal with the consequences of that decision. Regardless, he placated the other Wardens by telling them he imprisoned you and put your arm on display as proof.

So, as you can well imagine, Dematrusi is still Starward and has the full support of the Wardens, minus myself. I spoke with Federi about the matter. He can do nothing, of course— Madin stopped and closed her eyes and cursed in a rare moment of frustration. What a starring debacle.

Aithen lifted his gaze to her, the cup of his anger nearly overflowing.

"Why are you here?"

Madin’s nostrils flared. "If it’s all the same to you, I’m here because you should know the important happenings outside these walls. You may have lost hope, Aithen. I haven’t. I believe you can get back into the military—have your status restored to you."

How?

The Warden folded her arms across her chest. I’m open to ideas, she said. The biggest problem, as far as I can see, is that you’re now dead, Aithen.

"What can I do from in here?" he said through gritted teeth.

Well, Madin said with a blank gaze, perhaps you can just hang there and remain useless.

You want me to escape?

No.

He gritted his teeth. "What, then?"

I’m doing all I can out there, she said. I want you to realize you’re not as useless in here as you seem to think.

What in the stars?

He stared at her, feeling even more useless now than before she’d given him his new arm. What could he possibly do regain what he’d lost?

And until you realize that, she continued, you'll remain here in this prison. I cannot be your Warden.

You’re abandoning me!

No. You’re abandoning yourself, Aithen, Madin snapped. You’ve done nothing but hang there these past few days—and I! Ha! Short of breaking the law, I’ve committed political suicide for you.

"What can I do?"

Get the Starward’s attention. Prove your worth. If you can do that, then perhaps you can alter his decision. Her lips drew into a thin line. "As for how, I can’t tell you that. Only you can figure that out, and you have to do it on your own. She turned to leave but stopped by the door. Once you're resurrected, I can be your Warden again."

She left, and one by one the guards left with her and slammed the door. Aithen was left alone again in the upper room of the prison.

He stared at the door in disbelief, coldness filling his chest. On an impulse, Aithen pushed uselessly against the shackles. When he couldn’t break them, he let out a scream that was swallowed by the silent sky.

Stars damn them—!

In an ecstasy of rage, Aithen reached far below toward the merna fields. He could sense them throbbing like heartbeats somewhere below, but they seemed to draw toward him in response. Their fingers almost touched, and Aithen let go to catch his breath, then tried again.

It felt much like stretching one’s arm to grasp something that was just out of reach. Aithen’s anger fueled him, gave him strength like fanning a flame. The second time, he touched the merna. The third, he grasped it. That was when the guards must have realized something was wrong—could sense something wrong with the merna. Distant voices echoed behind the door and he ignored them.

Screaming, he stretched the fourth time and took hold of the streams. Then he pulled on them with all his strength. When someone tried to pull them away from him, he pulled harder. Light emanated from his body and lit the room. Guards rushed into the room too late—Aithen had control of all the merna streams from where he stood out to the street. He’d wrested them from the guards, who thought to overpower him with their combined strength.

Aithen glared up at them, sweat coursing down his face. Then he felt the shackles melt from the heat of his glowing skin. Hunched over, he took a step forward and drew as much merna into his body as he could.

It lifted him into the air.

He didn’t think about the damage it would do to his body, because he felt no pain. All he had to do was focus on controlling and bending the merna to his will. That, and ignore the screaming.

The prison’s foundation trembled, and the guards scrambled to flee the room light frightened insects. The world shook, and Aithen felt he was at the center of the universe. Suspended high above the Brucove by merna, he looked over the city and felt a deep disdain for it.

Now, you are all beneath me.

Just then, something strange occurred. A bright light appeared on his left. He squinted his eyes just as hot, sun-like stream of light burst forth from his arm-stump. It formed the vague shape of an arm and hand. The remnant of the metal arm that Madin had given him melted away and hit the wooden floor below with a burst of flame. He gazed in awe at the arm-shape that has replaced his metal arm. His thinking could move the merna like any other arm.

He grinned, thrilled that it was his own—that no one could take it from him. It would take some practice, and he was sure he could focus the shape so that it didn’t look like a wild, fiery blaze.

Far below, an angry crack shook the prison and Aithen slowly began to let the merna go. The light left his body, including the arm, and lowered him back down. Madin stood again in the doorway, gaping at him in both horror and amazement. Aithen met her gaze, gasped for breath, refusing to show any emotion.

At last Madin shook herself and said, That’s a bit more than I expected, but it’ll do.

The morning of the next day came.

It seemed like an entire battalion of guards surrounded him as they escorted him back to the Enclave. Warden Madin walked at his side, though the circle of guards kept her back.

He’d meditated that morning as he always had, but instead of praying to the Merna-Gods, he whispered to himself, repeating words his mother used to say to him when he was little. They brought a calming peace into his soul that his daily worshiping never had.

Many commoners watched him from the sides of the street, casting confused glances, ignorant of what happened. Aithen tried to ignore them, but couldn’t help ridiculing them in his mind.

You’ll never know because you don’t care to know.

Warden Gottlin stood at the top of the stairs, standing between their procession and the Enclave doors. He didn't look pleased—and rarely ever did. Aithen was glad for his presence. Gottlin, for all his faults, had become an anchor in Aithen’s life. It felt like his life was returning to normal.

And if all went well, it would.

The procession, now led by Gottlin, entered the foyer and ascended the winding stairs to the platform above. The Starward’s bureau was closed. One guard from his entourage hurried forward and knocked on the door. Aithen closed his eyes and waited patiently for Dematrusi to invite him in.

Then the guard emerged. Admit the prisoner only, he said. The rest remain outside.

The Enclave guards parted and all eyes fell on Aithen. After a moment, he strode inside the bureau without missing a step. The door remained open behind him.

Dematrusi wasn’t sitting at his desk. Instead, he stood at the window that overlooked the city, his hands clasped behind his back. For a long moment, the man said nothing, leaving Aithen waiting just inside the door.

I’ve been Starward for almost twenty years, he finally said. Twenty years, and I’ve always tried to do my best for our people…I know I'm weak when I should be strong—especially during these times. I’ve made mistakes, yes. The Wardens do hold sway over me—all true. He slowly turned and faced Aithen. However, I want you to know I’ve made none of these decisions lightly. I refuse to be thoughtless of my people’s safety.

Aithen thought he saw beaded sweat on the man’s brow. There were dark circles under his eyes, and his skin seemed paler than usual.

I’m told you broke the foundation of the prison, he said, and that you lifted yourself into the air and almost broke the foundation of the Enclave. It’ll only take weeks to repair, thanks to merna. Meanwhile, I have no place to put my prisoners without endangering their lives in a building that may collapse at any moment.

Aithen remained silent. None of this concerned him—the man was rambling.

The Starward drew a deep breath. Federi, Madin—can you both hear my voice?

Yes, Starward. Federi’s voice came from outside the bureau.

Good. I’ve done the only thing that makes sense. I’ve gambled with the Enclave Wardens—and Madin, you’ve pushed me to the brink, and I couldn't hold back anymore. I’ve told them of our plan to gain the throne of Vidikas.

A startled pause.

And what was their response, Starward? Madin asked.

Dematrusi gave a faded smile. "It seems my gamble paid off. The fear of Vidikas no longer holds them like their predecessors. Most of the Wardens are in favor. How we’ll use that power once it's in our possession is a different matter, and we'll discuss it at a later time.

It also seems that we have no other soldier willing to retrieve the throne for us. At least, no soldier able enough to do so.

The Starward locked eyes with him. Are you able, Aithen? Can you make the merna lift you high enough to reach the throne?

Of course, Aithen replied in a monotone.

I’m afraid I can't give your arm back to you, the Starward said, but something tells me you may not need it anymore.

I won’t.

Very well, Dematrusi said with a nod, you’re dismissed. I believe you should be training right now.

Aithen saluted with his right arm and left the bureau. He lurched to a stop in front of Warden Madin and didn’t meet her gaze.

Tell Crisya I can’t see her anymore, he said. Whatever it takes, just keep her far away from me.

The crowd of soldiers and Wardens parted for him, and he ignored their stares, making his way with purpose out of the Enclave. Aithen could feel the pounding of his heart pressing for him to march faster, but he restrained himself as he strode past the barracks and the ildan gardens and into the training field.

He could see the faces of those he passed by in the Enclave, the guards, the Masters, the soldiers in the Svetnarion army as he trudged down the path to the field and found a large group of recruits already preparing for the day. Warden Vol hadn’t appeared yet, and may have been among those who’d been gaping dumbly at him like children.

A group of recruits were standing on the outer borders of the field, whispering among themselves. Some of them had bruises on their arms and legs. They were among those who attacked him that night.

Aithen fell into a sprint.

They weren’t prepared for him. He took a fistful of hair from a boy not much older than Aithen himself and shoved him into the recruit he’d been speaking with. Heads knocked, and they cried out as they sprawled to the ground. The merna from a hundred meters in all directions filled his body, creating a fiery arm where his old one used to be—it looked better than before, but could use some more refinement.

He then took hold of a third recruit’s neck with his right arm, making him gasp for air. The other recruits backed away and stared in horror at his merna-arm.

Tell everyone and make it known, Aithen said in a guttural rasp. "If you attack me one more time—if someone so much as thinks about touching me—I'll destroy all of you."

Aithen let the moment breathe for the space of five heartbeats, holding their gazes.

He then shoved the gasping soldier to the ground and let his merna retreat into the earth. The recruits fled from him and he watched them go.

Vol had been watching but did nothing as he rallied the recruits to begin the day’s lectures and practice.

2

The Messenger

GUN

I pity and admire the those who lived in the aftermath of the Ruin. What they suffered should not have been. There has been no greater courage in all the history of our kind.

From Starward Dematrusi’s Journal

Twenty-second day of Hasina, 573 Post-Ruin

At another dinner with the revolutionaries, Nov announced the gathering of the largest public assembly the revolution had ever known. It would begin in two days.

Gun’s heart leapt within his chest. The revolution had begun, and he promised he'd spread the word among the people.

At the end of the dinner, Nov approached Gun and laid a heavy hand on his shoulder. Gun, I want you to do something for me, he said. I’m putting you in a select group of revolutionaries with an important task. Before I tell you what it is, can I count on you? I need your strength right now.

Gun felt a surge of pride fill his breast. Of course, he said. Anything.

Nov gave him a confident smile. Excellent. This will be a dangerous task. Don’t worry, though. You’ll have armor—and you know how to wield merna, right?

Gun’s mind floundered. Ah—well, a little. I’ve experienced the Embrace…

Nov’s face lit up. You have! That’s incredible! He patted Gun on the back with a heavy hand. I’m so glad you’re with us because we might need to use your ability.

You said it was dangerous? Gun asked, folding his arms.

Don’t worry, he said. I need you to help deliver a message, okay? The armor is only just in case the violent sympathizers of the Starward try to intercept the message.

A message? Gun asked, remembering the last time they’d asked him to deliver a message.

Nov’s expression darkened. "Yes—and if I could send this message any other way, I would have, and…in a way, I have you to thank for this. Remember our conversation about the trees? And how the people need to see to believe? This’ll force them to join our side. I swear to you they