Page 47 of The Sunlit Man

The others fell silent.

“We need a miracle,” Zeal whispered, standing up from his chair. “And I live for those, Greater Good. Even without the mountains…even if we had sunhearts…our path would be one of death without a dream. Without a dream, he will wear us down eventually and destroy us, no matter what we do. So yes, I’d prefer to trust a myth, Confidence. Instead of just stopping and embracing the sun.”

Others nodded, and Nomad’s stomach twisted. He looked down. Earlier, he’d been bolstered by their confidence, but now he found it strangely condemning. Of him, and the false opportunity his presence offered.

Try to believe,he thought to himself,like they do. Try to pretend, at least, there is a hope for them. Who knows? You’ve been wrong before.

“We’re going to do it,” he promised them, looking up. “We’re going to cross those mountains and fly all the way around this cursed planet. We’re going to loop back to where we started. And this time, we’re going toopenthat doorway. It’s better than lying down and dying.”

“It is,” Contemplation agreed. “Is that why you keep running?”

“So far,” he said.

Confidence sat and nodded to herself. And he realized that perhaps she’d been playing a role. Expressing her true feelings, yes, but also offering the argument that needed to be made—so it could be refuted. Pushing them to a solution by vocalizing the fears they all felt, giving them shape, and letting them be neutralized.

“We’ll do it,” Compassion whispered. “For our children. For our families. For ourselves.”

Great. Now he just had to reengineer the basis of their aviation technology—retrofitting the engines of an entire city to work in a near-vacuum environment—in just a few hours.

He’d rather get beaten up again, because this would require the old him. The one who had failed so many times.

They gave hima little room near the center of the city. He found it…comfortably small. Like a workshop, with a wall for pinning notes above a utilitarian desk and a pull-out cot in the corner. Though hardly grand, there was a pleasant lived-in quality to the space that he liked.

They soon brought him a small engine, taken from one of the hovercycles, and placed it on the workbench. It was only the size of a large melon. After that, they brought Elegy, dragging her by her arms, which were chained together at the wrists.

He hadn’t seen the Charred since helping “rescue” her during that initial escape. A group of six men worked to chain her to the wall as she struggled. He studied her in more detail, seated at his desk. She appeared to be in her late thirties. There was one ember mark glowing on her left cheek, and her silvery black hair was cut short. Like her sister, she had light green eyes, and shegave him plenty of opportunities to see them as she raged against her captors.

The men finally left, several nursing wounds from being kneed or elbowed. Even in chains, this woman was dangerous. Her ember—glowing from the ashen cavity of her chest, where her heart should have been—flared dramatically as she fought against the chains. If she hadn’t been so Invested—the power reinforcing her very skin and muscles—she would have injured herself in her furious attempts to rip free.

“This was her room, once,” Contemplation said from the doorway. “I had hoped it might spark some kind of memory…”

From the way Elegy resisted, he doubted it was doing anything. Still, the fact that it had been her place indicated he’d have liked this woman, had she not been burned until only the ashes of her soul remained.

“Why do you want her?” Contemplation asked.

“I need to understand your power sources,” Nomad said. “These sunhearts…they aren’t quite like anything I’ve seen on any other planet.” He nodded to Elegy. “She has one right in her core. I want to run a few tests.”

“Will they hurt her?”

“I can’t promise either way,” he said. “But I don’t expect them to.”

Contemplation nodded thoughtfully, her dark hair smoothed into a beehive, making her seem taller than she was. “There are those among us,” she finally said, “who will be mightily upset with you if anything unfortunate happens to Elegy.”

He nodded. “You’re not one of those, though?”

“I knew Elegy well,” Contemplation said. “I spoke for her many times during the months she encouraged our rebellion. Once I wasnamed to the Greater Good, I voted to name her to the position of Lodestar. An appointed position, the one who navigates a city along its route. For us, it was more than just that—it was a person to offer plans. We are the city’s leaders, but she was its heart. We followed her vision.” She nodded toward the woman chained to the wall. “That thing isn’t Elegy. You can’t hurt her, Sunlit. She’s already dead.”

Then Contemplation stepped toward him, removed the glove from her hand, and held it up, palm forward. She seemed to expect something from him. Hesitant, he put his hand up before hers—but did not touch.

“You draw nothing?” she said.

“I’m led to believe,” he said, “that it’s not good etiquette to take heat from others.”

“Unless it’s offered,” Contemplation said, nodding to her hand. “This is an act of thanks for us, Sunlit. A display of vulnerability and willingness to trust. You saved my life, through great pain and risk. Thank you.”

So with that explanation, he pressed his palm to hers. “Your Breath become mine,” he whispered, trying a Command to see if he could draw out her heat. It didn’t work, of course. But it had been worth a shot, and besides, the ceremony meant something to her.

She grew teary-eyed. “When you burst through that window,” she said, “I knew you were him. A Sunlit Man of the stories. I knew it again when you offered us hope to continue our eternal pilgrimage.”

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