Page 79 of The Sunlit Man

“We’re going to need to be quick,” Rebeke said.

“I wish we could see out there,” Nomad replied, leaning low as a whirlwind shook the ship. “We could dodge the firespouts.”

“Instruments are better,” Rebeke said. “I’m cutting us right into the Cinder King’s corridor—and the line he always makes Union follow. I’ll get us to the proper longitude, then we can use the prospector to search the region until we find something. Hopefully we can do all that before we cook ourselves.”

Nomad nodded, finding the sudden scents of scorched stone and ashen brimstone overpowering. Along with Zeal and the rest of his crew, though, he could only stand there, anxiously watching the dials rise as Rebeke flew them farther and farther into the terrible firestorm.

“Into hell itself,” he whispered.

“Hell is a forest,” Zeal mumbled back. “Full of quiet trees and unquiet dead.”

By the time Rebeke reached the proper location, the chamber was hot enough that even Nomad started to feel uncomfortable. The others must have found it torturous. Still, none of them complained.Rebeke swung low, using radar to judge the landscape and keep them from crashing. She skimmed the newborn ground with the prospecting gear—like a metal detector on the bottom of the ship, designed to find Investiture—hunting for sunhearts hidden in the earth.

At least in this case, she could avoid the worst of the cracked portions of the ground—as manifested on the radar screen. That might let them avoid the worst of the gas emissions. What if those were toxic? Nomad, with an abundance of caution, stopped breathing—but the others wouldn’t have that luxury.

There,Auxiliary said.A ping just came from the prospector controls.

“Go back,” Nomad said, trusting in Auxiliary. Even though he used Nomad’s ears, he used them better. “Rebeke? Turn back. I heard something.”

She glanced at him, face pouring with sweat, then nodded. Nomad glanced at the heat dials. All well into the red. Storms. She’d probably been retreating as fast as she could toward the cooler air of the shadow. Mission, in the sudden suffocating heat, forgotten.

Still, she swerved the ship back.

As they hovered over a certain spot, the faintest of pings came from the dash—nearly inaudible over the sounds of the tempest outside and the groaning of the ship’s hull.

“Shades,” Zeal said. “How did you hear that?”

Nomad ignored him, rushing to the door. “I’m going out. Stay close.” He steeled himself, then opened the door and slipped out, slamming it shut behind him.

The sudden light of the burning sky blinded him. Fortunatelyno spiraling infernos were directly nearby, but his skin—despite his body’s protections—immediately started to burn. And ithurt. Damnation!

Auxiliary forming as a spade in his hand, Nomad leaped free of the deck and toward the ground below. He hit hard, falling to his knees in what appeared to be loamy earth—but his eyes just saw a vague brownness as the heat dried them out. He glanced upward as a gust of flaming wind blew across him. He managed to blink his eyes once, and the ship was gone.

What had happened to the ship? Had it landed? Flown away? Swept farther into the storm? He couldn’t tell, because right then, everything went black—his eyes failing.

Storms, Nomad. This heat is using up your strength with extreme speed. We’re dropping Investiture at a frantic rate. Below five percent Skip capacity already.

Nomad grunted and started digging, pushing through the pain—which proved easier once it started to fade. That was a bad sign. It meant his skin had been burned deeply enough that the nerves were giving out. His body would draw upon its stored Investiture to stay alive—but in the face of the terrible damage being done, it focused on preserving his core systems and had given up on less essential things like nerve endings and sight.

I think, the hero says softly, this was a really, really bad idea.

Still, the ground seemed cooler than the air. Nomad gave up hunting for the sunhearts, deciding he just needed to get down and protect himself. He felt his skin flaking off, his hair burning away again.

He got down as low as he could manage, then formed Auxiliaryas a large shield and positioned it between him and the sky. It was hard to tell without nerves, but he hoped that the damage to his body had been stopped. Hoped that he was no longer being actively burned to death. As long as his core organs and brain were able to keep going…

Under three percent Skip capacity.

Nomad sent a sense of quietude to Auxiliary, an indication to leave it be. He didn’t need reports. Either he would live or he wouldn’t.

The wind grew stronger, and he felt dirt and soil hitting his shield from above. His mind grew fuzzy, his thoughts rambling. The endless fatigue of never sleeping, of running just in front of his problems—which prowled behind him, always on the hunt and smelling blood. Exhaustion threatened to send him into a thoughtless abyss that—in his current state—might be the end.

He fought it by forcing himself to analyze the land around him. He focused, thinking, not letting himself fade away. As always, that questioning brain—that mind that had driven him to always ask, that cursed part of him that had led him to become Hoid’s apprentice in the first place—wondered.

The groundwasdrawing in the heat. He was sure of it, as with the last flutters of his nerves, he could feel…somethingtrying to draw his Investiture away into the depths of the planet. It couldn’t claim his, but it tried.

The core of the planet fed on Investiture like he did. Was that a clue to how all of this worked? It helped explain how the dark side of the planet could exist. The weather patterns he’d expected to consume everything were somehow quieted and stilled by thisrapid cooling, creating a barrier between the dark side and the light…maybe?

But why was the sunlight so hot, and yet he’d been able to step into it on the deck of Beacon?

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