Page 88 of The Sunlit Man

Light exploded around them, the force of it beating against the shield, driving him backward—but Auxiliary, using the power of that sunheart, had grown truly large. Big as a building, big enough to shelter the entire ship.

The blazing fire of an angry sun washed over the shield. It set the air ablaze at the sides, as if Nomad were standing with shield braced not against mere light—but against the flaming breath spat by some fearsome beast of lore. The shield remained secure, and Nomad held it in place, grunting at the force of the solar fury. Sweating, he put his shoulder against it, and looked back to see the wide-eyed people. Surprised to be surviving their very first dawn.

A second later, the ship passed into the shadows and the heat vanished. Nomad dismissed the shield and slumped against the railing, dumbfounded by a sudden flood of exhaustion. He felt numb, he felt cold, he felt…

Normal.

Storms. This was what it was like to be without even a single drop of Investiture. It had been a very, very long time.

I can’t believe that worked, the knight whispers with boundless shock and enthusiasm.

Nomad shook his head, lying back on the deck, feeling weak. Unaware of his surroundings. Tired. The weight of years and years pressing against him.

I felt something from that light,Auxiliary said.Something very unusual. Did you sense the force of it? Light shouldn’t push like that, Nomad.

“It was being pulled into the ground,” Nomad whispered. “Like…an electric current. Like lightning, forming a current between cloud and ground—only this time, between sunlight and the core of the planet.”

Storms. That was it. That’s why he could stand on the deck up high and not be aflame. Because he hadn’t been between the sun and the planet. That was why sunhearts were charged so much as they were made. That was why the ground melted.

Everything between the sun and the core…it acted like the filament of an incandescent light bulb. Superheated by the transfer of energy.

Something roused him from his stupor. Were those…

Cheers?

He numbly picked himself up off the deck, standing straighter as he looked along the column of ships. The cheers came from those ahead, who rejoiced in having made it into the shadows.

The Beaconites on this last ship didn’t shout. They stared at Nomad, trembling, overwhelmed. They knew. Though they’d only been in the sunlight for a moment, that would have been enough to vaporize their ship. Being that close to death rattled a person.

Someone familiar stood at the front of the group. He hadn’t realized that Contemplation was on this ship. She knelt, holding a young girl, and looked at Nomad.

He braced himself for further adulation. Instead she just bowed her head, hugged the girl to her breast, and whispered, “Thank you.”

Nomad nodded, then slumped by the railing—barely aware—as they flew. Eventually they landed a safe distance into the dark side, beneath the specular light of the rings. The ships set downin a circle. There, amid plants growing with uncanny speed, they offered prayer.

He’d remained on the ship as each of them left and knelt. He’d never seen it done this way, with everyone kneeling together. They let Confidence lead, but each seemed to be saying their own version, quietly. To Nomad’s people, religion, the monarchy, and certain levels of bureaucracy were all intertwined. He’d been modestly religious himself, and still accepted the idea of a God Beyond.

But he’d never seen something like this prayer, so raw, so tearful, sogenuine. He climbed to his feet and couldn’t help but watch, couldn’t help but feel the energy.

The people began to rise, and the Greater Good gathered at the heart of the circle they’d formed. There, they waved him forward.

Perhaps he should just have walked away, but the cynical part of him…well, it seemed to have been put to sleep by the fatigue of being completely without Investiture. He stumbled down off the ship, then walked through the undulating, growing grass to stand before the Greater Good.

Each of the three women removed a glove and held a hand toward him, taking his hand in their gnarled ones.

“It won’t work,” he told them. “Offering me your heat.”

“It didn’t before,” Compassion whispered, seated as always. “But you weren’t one of us then.”

“I’ve been told by Rebeke,” Contemplation said, “that you prefer not to be called Sunlit.”

He nodded, feeling strangely self-conscious with everyone watching him. “I’d rather be known for what I’ve done, not for some prophecy.”

“You go by the name Nomad. Why?” Confidence asked, squeezing his hand.

“It is the name I deserve. And it sounds a little like my birth name, in my own language.”

“Which is?”

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