The Sunset Sovereign

By E.M McConnell

There are seven Supplicants destined for the Capital, chosen as children by mysterious Voices, who are known only as the Sovereigns. When they come of age they begin the journey of passing their Trials and training to become a Scion in service to their benefactors. 

Lynn and Willow go to Sunrise, Fabio and Aidan go to Day, Isobel and Hollie go to Sunset, Yvaine goes to Night.

Will the seven Supplicants pass the Trials and achieve their dreams? Or are they entering a nightmare?

• Language: English
• Publisher: E.M.McConnell
• Release date: Mar 24, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215298794

E.M McConnell

Eryn was born and raised in Oxford, UK but nowadays lives in South Germany with their young family. They have a great dream to travel and visit all the great mountains and lakes of the world. They are a qualified History and English teacher, working freelance with international students.  They write both poetry books and fantasy stories. They have a particular passion for mythology and dragons!  They have been writing poetry since they were 16, including Middle-Earth fan poetry that has appeared in the Tolkien Society’s publication, the Amon Hen. They have also appeared in the Music Anthology from the Sweety Cat Press.  In addition to writing poetry they study with the Order of Bards, Ovates and Druids to be a druid, and are working on two fantasy series. One of  which appears to involve steampunk, sky pirates, astral travel and lots of dragons, and the other has a more dystopian bent.  If you want to see more of their writing you can find them on Facebook https://www.facebook.com/ErynMcConnell.Writer/  Instagram www.instagram.com/erynmcconnellwriter  And Twitter too https://www.twitter.com/mcconnelleryn 

Book preview

The Sunset Sovereign

Book One of The Sovereigns

E. M. McConnell

Copyright © 2023 by Eryn McConnell

Cover Design by David Collins

Edited by Black Thoughts Editorial Services

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, mechanical or electronic, including photocopying or recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, or transmitted by email, without permission in writing by the author. Reviewers may quote brief passages in reviews.

Other Works

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PTSD is a 4 Letter Word

Cinquains

Acrostic

This is dedicated to my son and my daughters. You inspire me more than you know.

Contents

1. The Tale Begins

2. Spider Girl

3. It's a Great Honour

4. Fetes and Fears

5. The Choosing

6. Hamish

7. A New World

8. Sovereigns At Dawn

9. Here Be Dragons

10. Finding the Chosen Ones

11. Gifts of Sunrise

12. In the Night Temple

13. Gatherings with Gifts and Laughter

14. The Sunset Temple

15. So you want to be a Scion?

16. Caleb

17. Hollie offers tea, and advice

18. Visiting the Day Scions

19. West

20. The Vigil of the Night Scions

21. The Forest Sings

22. Fabio impresses a little too much

23. Lynn's Sunrise Trials

24. Tea at Chez Day

25. Gifts from Sunset

26. The Trials begin

27. Isobel meets Poll

28. Reflection and a Plan

29. Memories of a kiss

30. Night-walking

31. Saying farewell to Sunrise

32. Isobel's Analyst

33. Hollie

34. A Song and A Troth

35. Isobel Promises

36. Will You, Hollie?

37. What If?

38. Yvaine

39. You're his only hope

40. Finding a Way Out

41. Isobel Made A Promise

42. The Mercy Of The Capital

43. Who Will Sacrifice?

44. You Don't Know Who You Are

45. Caleb Asks

46. Stars and Time

Afterword

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The Tale Begins

If the Voice came, it arrived before the children reached their seventh summer. They would hear a sweet laugh in their ear, perhaps, or a whisper, a rustle of a hello. It was always a pleasant experience, according to the reports written by the Observers during their sessions.. They said that they felt singled out; warm, and special.

Not all children heard a Voice of course, and not all children continued to hear the Voice as they grew older. Some went from delirious play with their Voice – making games of elaborate fancy and endless laughter – to returning to their own world, their friends and their ordinary lives. Their parents would quietly sigh in relief, moving to embrace their spouse and weep silently when nobody could see them. Their child had been returned but they were not supposed to take delight in that. Not in public, anyway.

But for a few the Voices continued. As the years passed they became more enchanted with their other, inner life. Of the new horizons of which the Voice whispered.

To be marked by the Voice was a blessing – and gratitude was required and encouraged by the Capital. For these fortunate children had the opportunity to go on to become something much greater, leaving their families held in high regard and rewarded appropriately.

Those Chosen to serve the Sovereigns, the great and mysterious benefactors of the land, were honoured above all others.

But the parents of the Chosen still cried at night, knowing that their children would be taken from them when they reached their majority. And would not be seen again.

There are limited potential subjects in the town of Kirkham due to it being mainly an agricultural centre. Of 100 children there are only ten who can hear the Sovereigns, which is statistically low. The ten potential subjects are named below for future observation.

Observer 102

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Spider Girl

The girl crouched still in the shadows of the barn, watching the spiders intently. There were two this time, weaving the most glorious web. It was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. It gleamed in the sun, shining silver. The bigger spider, Pots, had a new companion, slightly smaller, with delicate legs and a gleaming blue spot on its back. She was pondering what to call it when she heard a flutter and a whisper deep within her mind. The hairs on her arm lifted up and she felt a shiver on the back of her neck.

Hello Spider Girl, it said. What are you doing?

Isobel shrugged, not wanting to disturb the spiders at their work.

Watching, she thought into her mind. What are you doing?

The voice replied right away. I’m watching the spiders, too. Can we be friends?

Sure, she replied. What’s your name?

There was a pause, long enough that Isobel wondered if the voice had gone away.

Then it said, quietly, What do you want to call me, Spider Girl?

Isobel shrugged again.

I don’t know. What would you call this spider? This one with the blue spot."

Oh, that’s a good question, responded the voice. It is very beautiful. What about… what about Sky, or Turquoise?

Isobel laughed, and the spiders scrambled to the top of the spiderweb, the strands swinging in the dim light.

That’s a terrible name for a spider, she said out loud. What about Blue?

The voice laughed. Let’s have Blue, then, it agreed.

Isobel nodded. It’s a good name for a spider. She stood, then, brushing the dust from her trousers and turned, looking at the door.

I’m going to call you Rusty. Because your voice sounds all rusty and creaky.

The voice laughed again. That’s a great name. I like it. I’m Rusty, then. What’s your name?

Isobel smiled. I’m Isobel, she said. I live with my parents on the horse farm in Flint. And I am six! The last sentence was said proudly, as loud as she could.

A sigh passed through her mind as if a wind had opened doors in her brain. She could hear music of a kind she had never heard before, wholly unlike the music that her mother listened to sometimes.

And then the voice spoke again. Hello Isobel. It’s nice to meet you. We’ll speak again, very soon.

Excerpt from Capital Administration files

Reports have been received about the weather patterns in Kirkland in the farming areas. There has been a blight recently of the wheat crop which has caused shortages. A memo has been sent to the Day Quarter to ask if they can provide assistance with solving the blight, and to Stores to requisition extra grain for the winter.

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It's a Great Honour

Sunlight slanted in the windows of a rather large, neat, farmhouse nestled in green fields with horses grazing next to well-kept fences. The roof was thatched and the front door was painted a smart green. It was exactly the kind of house that you would expect to see in Kirkham, as the town residents prided themselves on good order and presentation.

Amie was washing dishes in the bright kitchen, her hands efficiently passing crockery and pans from one side to the other. She was dressed simply, her cotton dress covered by an apron tied at the back and her long red hair wrapped in a colourful scarf. Her kitchen was gleaming, the oak table scrubbed, the copper pans sparkling and everything put away. The smell of baking bread wafted from the hot oven.

She looked out of the window often, her frown making a crease in her forehead. But the garden outside was empty, bar one or two of the resident chickens wandering aimlessly.

A man walked in, broad-shouldered and tall, wearing dark overalls. He dropped his bag heavily onto the table, walking over to his wife and dropping a light kiss on her shoulder. She looked up and smiled.

I’ll not touch you as I have suds on my hands, love. How was today?

It was fine, as usual. The lads were busy with getting prepared for the festival tomorrow but we got everything done, I think. I have some meetings next week with the Governor so I need to go into town after dinner for a couple of hours to prepare. But I won’t be late home, I promise.

He paused, following Amie’s gaze out of the window. Has Isobel not been back in yet?

She sighed. No, she hasn’t. She was up late with that Voice of hers, learning about the stars, she said. But she was up and out early this morning. She seems in good spirits, she’s very excited about the Choosing. I tried to talk to her about it but she kept humming and listening to the Voice instead.

She went back to the washing up for a moment, clattering plates in the sink. Then she turned, her face hopeful.

Can you speak to her, Hamish? Perhaps she’ll listen to you. If only she could understand -

Hamish lifted his hand to stop her speaking.

I will speak to her, but you know the rules, Wife. I cannot dissuade her from the Choosing Ceremony. It is a great honour. We must celebrate her success.

His wife heard the warning tone in his voice and visibly slumped, her head down slightly. He waited for her to regain composure. She looked up again, her expression resigned.

Of course, Husband, she said. I understand. It is a great honour.

She turned back to the sink, one soapy hand wiping away a tear that had landed on her cheek. Hamish turned away, his face in a frown. But his own mouth trembled slightly as he retrieved his bag, stepping towards the stairs at the back of the room.

I will just wash, he said, and then I will go and find Isobel. What’s for dinner?

Not much, she responded, her voice a little thick with emotion. You know we have to keep all the good stuff for after the Ceremony. I can do some leftovers and a bit of the ham for you with some fresh bread. Will that work?

He smiled, resigned. Aye, love, that’ll work, he said. He climbed the stairs, avoiding the stair that always creaked. His frame soon disappeared into the upper floor of the house and Amie carried on washing up, looking wistfully out of the window for a child that did not appear.

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Isobel was in the barn again when he found her, crouched over a beam of sunlight that shimmered across the packed earth floor like sparkling stars. She was holding something in her hand, concentrating hard, moving her palm to and fro. The sunbeam moved over the barn floor, as if it were dancing. The stars were swirling in a way that was captivating.

He watched her, amazed. She was so beautiful captured in that moment, her red hair gleaming, her face screwed up in concentration. The little crinkle on her nose that he’d adored her whole life showed her focus. Then the whole room lit up as she looked at him and grinned.

Papa! she said. Look what Rusty showed me! It’s just moving sunlight around but isn’t it beautiful?

As ever his heart plummeted, twisting uncomfortably at the mention of the Voice. Was it too much to ask that the Sovereigns would tire of his daughter after all these years of claiming her time, leaving her free to live a normal life from now on? The bitterness rose in his throat again.

But he showed none of it in his tone as he answered cheerfully,

Well, Rusty is clever, isn’t he! I love it. Now, it’s time for dinner soon, and your ma is awaiting you. Will you come in with me?

Isobel’s head cocked slightly and she looked into the distance with a faraway expression. Hamish waited.

She smiled again. Of course! she said. It’s important to have dinner with the family tonight as the Ceremony is so soon. I would be honoured. She adopted a very polite tone and made a gesture as if she was at worship, rather than eating with her family.

Hamish swallowed down the lump in his throat and nodded. Well, alright then, he said simply.

He waited for her to get up, watching her carefully straightening and brushing her dress off. The light caught her dark red hair as she straightened and he found his hand rising as if to caress it. He halted himself. He was not in a position to pet and caress his daughter as if she were tiny. She was one of the Chosen now, soon to be one of the Elite. The moment passed and he returned her smile a little wanly.

Are you excited, then? he asked, knowing the answer already.

Oh I am, Isobel replied.

I have been told all about the Ceremony and I know I just need to go out there and be my own perfect self. It’s going to be such fun, Papa!

He smiled, well, grimaced really. But she didn’t notice. She never did, nowadays. Isobel was captive in her own world of wonder and opportunity. The Sovereign’s world, he amended silently. She had left their world long ago. But he nodded and smiled again, and offered his arm to his daughter as they left the barn, her chatting gaily about light and shadows and how the stars looked at night. His throat closed as he thought about the next day and the Ceremony.

Don’t think about it, he told himself. Tomorrow will look after itself. But he knew that later, when he was in bed and all were asleep, he would weep again in mourning for his long lost daughter.

Isobel is potentially a good fit for the Sunset Sovereigns. Her family are practical and upright citizens, running a horse farm in Kirkham. Isobel seems to be happy with the communication with her Sovereign who she calls Rusty. She appears to understand the significance of the Choosing Ceremony and is excited for it.

Observer 59

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Fetes and Fears

She awoke early, even before the sun started to slant in through the window. She reached out to her Voice, her best friend. Rusty? she asked. Is it really today?

There was a short delay before her voice answered in her mind. It is, Rusty answered finally. Are you excited? Do you think you are prepared?

Isobel sat up, hugging her knees together and smiling slightly.

Oh I hope so. I mean, I don't know what they will ask me, of course, and I am worried about that, but I am ready to face it. Face it, isn't really the right word. I'm excited, I don't want to let anyone down. She paused, chewing on her fingernail as she thought. Rusty? she asked.

Isobel?

Why did you become a Sovereign for Sunset? Did you choose that, or did someone choose for you? Did you ever think you should have been something else? Did you always want to be this, a Guide for someone like me?

Rusty paused again. She could feel the connection between them, almost as if they were in the same room, breathing the same air, but he did not reply. Isobel tried to imagine what Rusty looked like, if he looked like his voice sounded. Would he be gigantic, or small? Perhaps he would look like a great firebird, like the pictures she saw in the fairy tale books in the library. She knew the Sovereigns were not human, but beyond that her family and her village did not discuss it. They always said that it was not their business to talk about the Sovereigns, that they had no knowledge about them anyway. No matter how much she wheedled and pried, nobody responded. It was a mystery.

She felt the breath rush down the bond before Rusty answered.

That is a big question, child. I do not know if I was chosen for Sunset or if I chose it, or if both of those things happened at the same time. I am meant for Sunset as that is where my personality and talents lie, just as you are most suited to Sunset. Are we who we are because of where our journey ends, or are we who we are because of how we begin it? I do not know the answer to that question. I think it is that we each fit best in a certain part of the day. The Sunrise are about beginnings and giving names, purpose, to things. Day are focused on healing and growth. Night are interested in dreams and Time. Sunset is about the changes and endings, about helping people shift from one ending to another. This is what you as a Scion would help us with, and those in the Capital. Does that make any sense?

Isobel mused for a moment, not seeing the connection. What could they need help for? Endings were a part of life just like anything else was. But Rusty had explained and she did not want to appear ignorant or too innocent.

I think so, she agreed.

She rested her head on her knees, thinking again. Thoughts flitted over her expressive face like clouds as she considered. Then she sat up straight suddenly.

Rusty?

His voice came back immediately, ever patiently. Isobel?

Isobel laughed to herself. She wished her teachers could exercise an ounce of that patience sometimes.

Do you really have to go if I am Chosen? Why can you not visit with me in the Capital? This is your city. What if I need your advice?

Yes, I really have to go, he sighed. I will find it strange too, as we have been inseparable since you were so tiny. I can hardly believe that we are at this point, that you have reached your majority so quickly. But the Trials that you stand, are about you, and you alone. I am not allowed to interfere. And I would, of course. I would want you to succeed. This is your time to show who you are, and to develop your talents, before you take on the role of Scion.

"And if I fail the Trials, I will stay in the Capital, and not return here. And you will not be able to talk to me if I fail. Isobel's face twisted a little, thinking about the possibility. Of a life without her Voice. This could actually be goodbye, Rusty. After all these years. Do you not think it's unfair? Will it not hurt you too?"

He was silent for a long time. When at last he answered, his voice was quiet, troubled, perhaps.

I do not know why it is so, Spider Girl. It is just our way. Would it not be cruel to impose ourselves on you, to keep influencing you, when you have chosen to, or are more suited to, living a different life? We are not here to rule. We are here to teach. But yes I think it would hurt me. Yet I do not think you should worry about that. I will have our memories, just as you will. And it may not even happen. We just have to wait, and hope.

Your mother will be coming soon to help you dress and prepare for the Ceremony. It is important to have that time with her. Is there anything you want to see with me before I have to leave?

Isobel smiled, remembering their last flight, when Rusty had taken them up to see the stars. Show me something magical today, as it’s an important occasion. Show me something of what the world used to be like, before I was alive.

She paused for a moment, uncertain. Can you do that?

Rusty laughed, a rumble that warmed her from her toes right up her body.

Yes, I can. It isn’t actually taking us back to the past, it is more showing you what was. Are you ready?

She was. She nodded, shutting her eyes and clenching her fists into her sheets. It always felt disorientating first when she was swept away, as if someone else had taken over the controls in her mind. It came with a rush, as if she had been knocked off her feet, and landed in a swift current. Colours flashed past in her mind, bright, swirls of colour that did not belong behind her eyelids, such bright hues that she had not seen before. She hung on grimly, barely aware of her fists, staying as still as she could. Rusty would not let her fall. It slowed, and she blinked, feeling herself separate from her body back in her bedroom. She was in a desert, brick red sand at her feet and as far as she could see. What was this place? She looked around, to see if she could see or sense Rusty. He spoke then, his voice a comforting murmur at her back.

You could say that this is before even we were here, right at the beginning of Time itself, but we are not staying here, there is little to see. I’m going to show you some sights of the Ages that we recall and celebrate, if you will. It’s something we remember in song form, but it would be difficult to sing it to you here. Perhaps when you join us, you will be able to hear it then.

The song? She asked. Do you create with song? Do you communicate in it?

Not quite, he replied. We do communicate at times in song, but it is a powerful force. We do not enter into it lightly. It has a deep effect on us all.

She wondered at that for a moment but then was distracted by the scenery changing around her, so quickly. It was as if the very land was churning up, changing before her eyes. Mountains grew, and forests sprouted up, moved and grew thick and dark. And then the scene slowed and she could see details, figures moving around and strange animal shapes in the distance. She gaped, looking up, but she could see no birds. It was still silent.

When is this? Is it very long ago?

It is before your recorded history, Rusty replied. This is before we made contact with your people, while we were still watching them. They were fascinating, so intelligent and quick to grasp ideas. We were so excited to introduce ourselves and to offer help, but we knew we had to wait a little longer.

You knew? How long did you have to wait?

We did. Some of our kind are far-seeing, they understand events, and what will happen in the world one day. We are caretakers, if you will. We wished to look after the people and help them build something beautiful. But I digress. Look, he said.

The scene rippled and she could see more clearly, as if they had moved closer, despite not changing their position. She could see the people so clearly, dancing in formation, smiling at each other.

This is what we loved, Rusty said. That sense of kinship. It is something we value so strongly.

She smiled, watching them dance. She wished she could hear them singing, or hear some music that they danced to, but the scene was silent.

It rippled again and the people disappeared as the mountains moved forward once more. A river widened and started to make its way, snake-like, around the base of the hills, a clear, sparkling river that cut through the land. The ground changed, becoming more green, more cultivated with crops and plants. She saw bigger communities coming together, building villages.

Is this when you joined with us? She asked, looking out with wide eyes.

It was, Rusty replied. We deemed it to be time, and we built a friendship with you. It was wonderful.

Isobel heard the emotion in