Quest for the Sun Orb

  Quest for the Sun Orb

  The Orbs of Rathira, Book Two

  by

  Laura Jo Phillips

  Copyright © 2013 by Kathleen Honsinger

  Cover art/design Copyright © 2013 by Kathleen Honsinger

  All rights reserved.

  DEDICATION

  For my family. Thank you for putting up with my long hours, the cancelled family movie nights, shopping trips, get togethers and occasional melt downs.

  For my husband. Thank you for your constant support, your hours of knocking your head against a wall as you struggled to master the website, the blog and the oh so incomprehensible facebook page. Not to mention the frequent brain-storming sessions, research requests, and hefty editing tasks.

  For Mom. My best friend, biggest fan, constant supporter, and the best listener ever, not to mention the best Mom anyone could ever ask for.

  I love all of you, and appreciate each of you every single day.

  And, as always, for Mom, Grandma, and Great-Grandma---Thank you all for the creativity you passed along to me, as well as the heart to do something with it. There is a little bit of each of you in these books, just as there is a little bit of each of you in me

  Look for previews and coming release announcements at:

  Website:

  www.laurajophillips.com

  Blog:

  arimaslove.blogspot.com

  Facebook:

  facebook.com/laurajophillipsauthor

  Other Books by Laura Jo Phillips

  The Dracons’ Woman

  Book One of the Soul-Linked Saga

  The Lobos’ HeartSong

  Book Two of the Soul-Linked Saga

  The Katres’ Summer

  Book Three of the Soul-Linked Saga

  The Bearens’ Hope

  Book Four of the Soul-Linked Saga

  The Gryphon’s Dream

  Book Five of the Soul-Linked Saga

  The Vulpiran’s Honor

  Book Six of the Soul-Linked Saga

  Quest for the Moon Orb

  The Orbs of Rathira, Book One

  Secrets Kept

  Mixed Blood, Book One

  (Available under the name Kathleen Honsinger)

  Books by Harvey Phillips and Paul Honsinger

  To Honor You Call Us

  Man of War, Book One

  For Honor We Stand

  Man of War, Book Two

  Visit the home of the Soul-Linked Saga online at:

  www.laurajophillips.com

  or email Laura Jo at:

  laurajophillips.books@gmail.com

  CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Epilogue

  Chapter One

  Tiari Zora opened her eyes and sat up on the narrow, rough pallet that served as her bed. She was relieved to be alone in the tiny hut that had been her home for almost as long as she could remember. She hated waking up to the sound of Una’s harsh voice, harsh words, and harsh presence. She folded the thin, worn scrap of cloth that was her only blanket, then stood up and made her way across the cold stone floor in the darkness. Una had covered the tiny window that was the hut’s only source of natural light so long ago that Tiari barely remembered that it existed. Darkness had been her nearly constant companion since the day of her birth just over nineteen years earlier, so she didn’t really mind.

  She knelt down before the fireplace, reached for the ironwood poker and stirred the ash covered coals that remained from the previous night’s fire. There was just enough wood left in the pile to get a small fire going. Once that was done, she got up and went to the table which held a bucket half full of water, and the teapot. She filled the teapot, hung it on the tripod over the fire, and fixed herself a meal of dark bread and cheese, moving around the hut with confidence in the utter darkness. The fire provided light, but it was not enough for Tiari to see. For that, she needed the natural light of the sun.

  She settled herself before the fire on a straw mat that she’d woven herself, enjoying the fire’s warmth as she ate her meager meal. When she was finished she refilled her cup and tried to decide what to do with her day. She had some wheat stalks soaking in a basket that should be ready for weaving. She’d been working out a new pattern in her mind that she thought would be interesting to try. But she didn’t really feel like doing that today.

  She wondered when Una would come, and whether she should sweep the floor and scrub the hearth, but decided she didn’t feel like cleaning, either. Una would scream at her, call her names, maybe even strike her, but Tiari had grown used to that just as she’d grown used to being alone. It was simply a part of her life. Besides, she’d long since learned that it didn’t matter if she scrubbed the little one room hut all day and all night, Una would still find some reason to rail at her. Tiari had a natural desire for cleanliness and order, so she cleaned when she felt the need, but never in an effort to please Una.

  She remembered that she’d torn a seam in her other shift, and considered mending it. But that didn’t appeal to her any more than weaving or cleaning had. She sighed, wondering what was wrong with her. There was very little for her to do to occupy herself in the confines of the hut aside from sewing, which she hated, or weaving, which she loved. She felt nervous and unsettled for some reason. What she really wanted, she decided, was to be outside. She wanted to feel the sun on her face, the earth beneath her feet, and breathe fresh air. Maybe Una would come today and let her out long enough to gather fresh grass for her pallet, and some fresh pine needles as well. She could get those while she gathered wood for her fire and fetched water from the creek.

  Tiari finished her tea and stood up, hesitating for a moment before using some of her remaining water to rinse her cup. If Una didn’t come, she’d need that water for drinking. She shuddered as she remembered the time Una had not come out to the hut for ten days. Tiari had tried everything she could think of to break out of the hut before weakness from lack of food and water had prevented her from doing more than lying on her pallet, waiting to die. She’d been eleven years old at the time, but remembered it as if it had been yesterday. She never took her food and water for granted any more.

  She set her cup down on the table without rinsing it, reminding herself that if worse came to worse, there was water in the soaking basket. It would taste bad after having wheat stalks soaking in it for days to make them soft enough for weaving, but water was water.

  Feeling a little better about the water situation, she made her way to the corner where she kept her baskets and tools for gathering. She selected several sturdy baskets, two lengths of rope that she’d woven from sword grass, and a couple of bags made from heavy, coarse cloth. She would gather wood, fresh grass for her pallet, stalks and some of the tall, wide bladed sword grass for weaving. And pine cones. The season was just right for them to begin falling in the forest but, if she wasn’t fast enough, the animals would get all of them before she got a share. The thought of rich pine nuts made her mouth water.

  She piled her supplies near the door, then went to the shelf beside her pallet for her shoes. Once soft, warm leather, they were now thin and sh
iny from wear, but they still offered some protection from the bare ground. Just as she finished tying the leather thongs around her ankles, she heard the familiar sound of the bar on the door being lifted. As always, she felt an intense mixture of both relief and dread at the sound. Relief that she had not been forgotten. And dread because Una was, quite simply, not a nice person.

  ***

  Sir Bredon of the House of Bauron, sat in a shallow cave he’d stumbled across quite by chance after his headlong flight from the village of the Sirelina. He’d pushed his diplo to the end of its strength, and would have pushed harder except that the poor beast simply could not go on. He’d dismounted and continued on foot, leading the diplo by the reins. He’d considered leaving it behind, but changed his mind. He would need the animal later if he didn’t want to travel on foot.

  Now, as he sat and gazed into the flames of his campfire, he remembered the moment he felt Marene’s tainted soul blast its way into his body, and he recoiled with disgust. He’d known three things at once as he stood there on the beach, frozen in shock.

  The first was that Marene had, somehow, become wholly evil. The second, she was exhausted, unable to do more than curl up in the back of his mind, a dark, icy presence that he felt as clearly as he felt his own hands. The third, he was not cin-sahib.

  The last fact allowed his heart to resume beating, and his mind to begin thinking. Though Marene was weak and tired now, there was no telling what she would be able to do with his body once she regained her strength. Perhaps nothing. Perhaps anything. Which meant that the first thing he had to do was get as far from his own people, most especially Kapia, and the Sirelina, as he could before she awoke.

  He’d raced away from the beach, his heart aching at the thought of Kapia’s reaction when she returned to find him gone. But he had no choice. Above all things, at all costs, she must be kept safe. He’d ordered his diplo saddled and spent precious minutes preparing a pack for himself with a bedroll, Hunter’s rations and other necessities.

  He was relieved that none of the other Hunters had noticed his preparations, and none of the servants had the rank to question him. He’d considered pulling Sir Garundel aside and telling him what had happened, but decided against it. It was possible that Garundel would decide that the quickest solution to the problem would be to kill him, and Bredon was not ready to die. Not when he had a future that included Kapia. He’d also considered leaving a written message for Kapia, but decided against that as well. He didn’t know how Marene had managed to invade his body and mind, but he was beginning to have his suspicions, and they were not things he was prepared to admit to Kapia.

  Bredon fed the fire from the pile of dried wood he had gathered, then got up to check on his diplo. The shallow cave he’d found was barely large enough for himself and a small fire, but the diplo was resting happily on its picket among the nearby trees. It had grass and leaves to eat, a collapsible water bucket to drink from, and it was close enough for Bredon to reach it quickly should it be threatened. Not that many animals would attack a healthy diplo in its prime. As gentle as they were with most people, they could be formidable when threatened.

  He returned to his fire and dug into his pack for some kinsaki, a mixture of shredded meat, nuts, berries, and fat that was shaped into small cakes and dried quickly in the desert sun of Isiben. High in protein, fat and other nutrients, a Hunter could live for weeks on a diet of kinsaki and water if necessary. Bredon pulled out a cake and considered crumbling it into some water for a hot broth, but decided against it. For tonight, cold kinsaki and hot tea would serve.

  As he chewed slowly on the tough kinsaki he tried to imagine what had prompted Marene to do what she’d done. Had she died, he wondered, and sought him out as a means to extend her own life? That made a sort of sense, given what he knew of Marene. But how had she become so evil? And why? He’d never liked Marene. Few did. She was cold, calculating, and completely self-centered. But not evil.

  That Marene dabbled in magic was an open secret that most believed, but no one knew for certain. Her invasion of his body had to be magic of the darkest sort. As far as he knew only demons could do such things. Or, he remembered suddenly, those who practiced demon arts. Had Marene gone that far? If so, why? She was wealthy, beautiful, and even though she had little rank, she had power.

  Bredon shook his head. What difference did it make why she’d done it? The important question was, what would she, or better, what could she do when she woke up? Would she have the power to control his body? If so, to what extent? What would she do, or make him do? Would he be aware of her then as he was now? Would he be able to fight her?

  He had so many questions, and no answers. Who could he turn to? Who could possibly understand what had happened to him, and help him to fix it without attempting to kill him?

  He finished his kinsaki and banked the fire before lying down on his bedroll. He stared at the dying flames for a long time, the same questions chasing each other around and around in his mind. Just as his eyes began to close, he realized there was someone he could go to. Someone who might be able to help him. Worrow. If there was anyone who might have answers for him, it was Worrow, Zamon of the Sirelina, their physical and spiritual healer. He would have to wait until the Orb Quest left the Sirelina’s village before he dared approach Worrow, though. He could not risk going near Kapia with Marene coiled inside of him like a snake waiting to strike. But, he could go back toward the village so that the moment they left, he could go straight to Worrow. Once Worrow rid him of Marene, he could easily catch up to the Orb Quest. Satisfied with his plan, Bredon closed his eyes and relaxed, allowing himself to drift off to sleep.

  The fire crackled and snapped, a bit of resin on a small branch flared up brightly until it broke in half and fell into the coals below it. The diplo snorted a few yards away, and a night bird called out in triumph after a successful hunt. Suddenly, Bredon’s eyes, once green as spring grass, now a dark, muddy brown, flew open, and Marene looked around warily.

  When she was satisfied that she was alone, she sat up, moving slowly and awkwardly. She raised Bredon’s hands up and gazed at them by the faint light of the glowing coals and smiled. Bredon’s large, calloused hands were neither the slender, delicate hands she’d once had, nor the powerful hands of a dark witch that she’d earned for herself these past weeks, but they were strong and tough. They would do, for now. She lowered the hands to her lap and stared into the darkness for long minutes as she considered her options, and worked out her next step.

  The fire cooled further while she sat there, the coals now dull with ash. Finally, she nodded slowly to herself, lips stretching into a smile that had never before been seen on Bredon’s face. She reached out and picked up a few sticks of the wood remaining in the pile Bredon had gathered and placed them on the coals, stirring the fire back to life with slow, clumsy movements. Spotting Bredon’s pack nearby, she pulled it closer and began rummaging through it, dropping the contents haphazardly on the ground. Finding nothing of use, she shoved everything back in, and pushed it away. Then she reached down to the belt wrapped around Bredon’s waist, and found what she was looking for. A knife.

  She slid the knife from its sheath and tested the edge with a thumb, smiling with satisfaction when the thick, calloused flesh parted easily and several drops of blood welled up. She set the knife down and added more wood to the fire, building it up so that it would burn for a while without her having to feed it. When she was satisfied, she sat up straight, took a deep breath, stared into the fire, and began chanting.

  ***

  Tahzel made his way through the long burning tunnels carved into the mighty mountain of Nariq-Qu, home of ShaiTyan, King of the Fire Djinn of Skiatos. Tahzel was familiar with ShaiTyan, though none could be said to know him. The Fire-King preferred to keep his own counsel, and had no need, or want, of confidants, counselors, or friends.

  It was a long walk from the entrance of Nariq-Qu to ShaiTyan’s private sanctuary, but it gave Tahzel
time to think. His news could be taken either well or ill, depending on his delivery of it. He hoped that he was able to assist ShaiTyan in seeing the benefit of this latest development across the Gate, but one never knew how ShaiTyan would react to anything. He’d been in a foul mood for a thousand years now, ever since the last High King of the Djinn had taken the Zatroa across the Gate and foolishly gotten himself, and the Zatroa, stranded there. Without the Zatroa, the sacred scepter of the four clans, the coveted title of High King of the Djinn could not be claimed.

  At last Tahzel reached the rokkeli, two creatures of fire and stone created by ShaiTyan himself to guard the entrance to his personal chamber. As the creatures glared at him with glowing eyes, their fiery nostrils flaring, Tahzel wondered, not for the first time, what it was they looked for. It wasn’t as though any other than Fire Djinn could enter Nariq-Qu without being burned to a cinder. And what Fire Djinn would ever consider attacking ShaiTyan?

  The rokkeli finished their inspection of Tahzel and moved aside, allowing him entrance into ShaiTyan’s chamber. Tahzel spent one last moment ordering his thoughts, and then took a single step inside before going to his knees and placing his forehead against the stone floor. He heard the rokkeli move back into place, blocking the entrance behind him, and he shivered with the knowledge that he would leave this place only by ShaiTyan’s order.

  “Stand and tell me your news, Tahzel of the Fire Djinn,” the Fire-King commanded, his booming voice echoing around the gigantic cave.

  Tahzel rose, his eyes flicking around in search of ShaiTyan. The chamber glowed a dull red from the heat of the rock it was carved out of, but ShaiTyan was not to be seen. Tahzel shivered again. If ShaiTyan could not be seen, that meant he was burning as red as the cave around him, which was not a good sign.