Eternal Rain: The Sunbringer

Eyes Wide Open

I fled through the downpour, my boots splashing through ankle-deep water. The image of Lucinda's light was burned in my eyes. My breath came in ragged gasps that had nothing to do with exertion and everything to do with what I had witnessed.

The Howling Voice Guild would be waiting for confirmation.

I found myself in a decrepit tavern called the Drowned Rat, a fitting name for an establishment where water perpetually dripped from the ceiling into strategically placed buckets. The patrons inside wore the same defeated expression I'd seen on every undercity dweller's face—the look of people who had forgotten what it meant to be dry.

"The usual," I muttered to the barkeep, a one-eyed woman whose remaining eye held the deadness of someone who had seen too much and felt too little.

She slid a glass of amber liquid toward me. It wasn't good, but it burned, and sometimes the burn was all that reminded you that you were still alive.

As I nursed my drink, the door to the tavern swung open, bringing with it a fresh gust of rain and three figures dressed in the telltale black leather coats of the guild. I recognized them immediately—Vex, Mara, and Thorn. Collectors, they called themselves. I knew them as the clean-up crew.

Vex, a tall man with a face scarred beyond recognition, slid onto the stool beside me.

"Cyrus," he said, my name sounding like a curse on his lips. "Report."

I swirled the liquid in my glass. "She wasn't alone."

Mara leaned in, her eyes narrowed. Unlike most in our line of work, she still possessed a beauty that hadn't been weathered away by the rain and gloom. "The target is still breathing, then?"

"Yes."

Thorn, the smallest of the three but by far the cruelest, slammed his fist on the bar. "You had one job, Aurelius. One. f*****g. Job."

"There were others," I said, keeping my voice steady. "Other assassins. Not ours."

This gave them pause. Vex and Mara exchanged glances.

"Who else would want her dead?" Vex wondered aloud.

I shrugged, feigning indifference. "Don't know, don't care. But they complicated things."

"Did you at least see where she went?" Mara asked, her fingers drumming impatiently on the counter.

I lied. "Lost her in the confusion."

Thorn's hand moved to the blade at his side—a warning. "The Guildmaster won't be pleased."

"When is he ever?" I countered, finishing my drink in one burning gulp.

Vex leaned in closer, his breath hot and sour against my ear. "There's more to this, isn't there, Aurelius? Something you're not telling us."

I met his gaze without flinching. Years of practice had taught me to mask my emotions, to bury them deep beneath layers of indifference. "Nothing worth mentioning."

He studied me for a long moment, then nodded slightly. "We'll find her. With or without your help."

The three of them got up to leave, but Vex paused, his hand heavy on my shoulder. "The Guildmaster wants to see you. Tonight. Don't be late."

The Guildmaster's quarters lay in the deepest part of the undercity, where the water rose to your knees. The entrance was unmarked, hidden behind a rusted iron door that looked like it led nowhere.

I knocked three times, paused, then twice more—the guild's signal.

The Guildmaster sat behind a massive desk carved from a single piece of ancient oak—a relic from a time when trees grew tall and proud under open skies. Unlike the rest of us, he remained dry, his quarters somehow free from the omnipresent damp that plagued every other corner of the undercity.

"Cyrus Aurelius," he said, my name rolling off his tongue with deliberate slowness. "You disappoint me."

His face was hidden beneath a hood, as it always was. In all my years serving the guild, I had never seen the Guildmaster's features. Some said he had none—that he was more shadow than man.

"The target was protected," I said, standing at attention. "There were complications."

"Complications?" he echoed, his voice soft but laced with menace. "Is that what we call failure now?"

I remained silent, knowing better than to offer excuses.

He rose from his chair, a tall figure draped in robes the color of midnight. "Do you know why we want her dead, Cyrus?"

"No," I answered truthfully. "It's not my place to know."

"Indeed." He moved around the desk, circling me like a predator. "But perhaps in this case, understanding might serve you better than ignorance."

I waited, my body tense.

"Lucinda von Astrea is a threat," he continued. "Not just to us, but to the very order of things. Her power—this ability to summon light—it upsets the balance. Can you imagine what would happen if people discovered that the eternal rain could be pushed back?

That there might be something beyond this drowned existence?"

"Hope," I said before I could stop myself.

The Guildmaster laughed, a sound like dry leaves crumbling. "Hope is a dangerous thing, Cyrus. Hope makes people question. Hope makes people rebel. And in our world, rebellion leads only to more suffering."

He returned to his desk and pulled out a small wooden box. Opening it, he removed a vial filled with a liquid that glowed faintly blue.

"This will help you complete your task," he said, holding the vial out to me. "One drop on your blade will be enough to kill a sunbringer, even if you only manage to nick her skin."

I took the vial, its weight disproportionate to its size. "A sunbringer," I repeated. "Is that what she is?"

"One of the last," he confirmed. "Find her, Cyrus. Finish what you started. Or don't bother coming back."

The rain hadn't let up by the time I emerged. I needed information, and in my experience, those with nothing left to lose were often the most willing to talk.

I approached an elderly woman huddled beneath a leaking awning in the market, her wares—a pitiful assortment of scavenged trinkets—spread out on a piece of relatively dry cloth.

"Looking for something special, dearie?" she croaked, her rheumy eyes squinting up at me.

"Information," I replied, slipping her a few coins. More than her junk was worth, but information always commanded a premium.

Her gnarled fingers closed around the coins with surprising speed. "What sort of information?"

"A woman. Lucinda von Astrea. She was here yesterday, distributing food."

The old woman's expression shifted, becoming guarded. "What's your interest in the lady?"

"That's my business."

She cackled. "Everything's everybody's business in the undercity, boy. Especially when it concerns someone like her."

I leaned in closer. "Someone like her?"

"A highlander," she whispered, as if the very word might summon unwanted attention. "But not like the others. She comes down here, brings food, medicine. Doesn't look at us like we're rats."

"Do you know where I might find her?"

After a long moment, she sighed. "There's a place, at the edge of the Flooded District. An old temple, half-submerged. They say she goes there sometimes, when the rain is at its heaviest."

"Why?"

The old woman shrugged. "To pray, perhaps. Or maybe to be closer to what she's looking for."

"And what's that?"

"The sky," she said simply. "The real sky, not this endless shroud of clouds and rain. They say she's trying to find a way back to it."

I nodded my thanks and turned to leave, but her bony fingers caught my sleeve.

"Be careful, boy," she warned, her voice barely audible above the rain. "There are forces at work here bigger than you or me. Bigger than the guild you serve."

I pulled away, unsettled by her perception. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"The mark on your wrist," she said, gesturing to the small tattoo partially visible beneath my coat sleeve—the howling wolf that branded me as a member of the guild. "It doesn't define you, you know. Not unless you let it."

The temple rose from the water like the skeleton of some ancient beast. Steps led up to a massive doorway, the water lapping at the third step from the bottom. Inside, what remained of the roof created patches of relative dryness amid pools of standing water.

I moved silently, keeping to the shadows cast by towering columns. At first, I thought the place was empty, but then I saw her—a solitary figure kneeling at what had once been an altar.

Lucinda von Astrea, her head bowed in what appeared to be prayer or meditation. No light emanated from her now; she looked almost ordinary in the gloom.

My hand moved to my sword, fingers brushing against the hilt. The vial pressed against my chest, a small, hard reminder of my purpose. One s***h, that's all it would take. One drop of the blue liquid on my blade, and her light would be extinguished forever.

I drew my weapon silently, the familiar weight of it an extension of my arm. Three steps would bring me within striking distance.

But as I watched her, something held me back. Perhaps it was the memory of her light, so foreign and yet so familiar, like a dream half-remembered upon waking. Or perhaps it was the old woman's words, echoing in my mind: It doesn't define you, not unless you let it.

Lucinda shifted, and I froze. Slowly, she turned her head, as if sensing my presence in the shadows.

"I know you're there," she said, her voice calm and clear. "You might as well come out."

I remained still, calculating my options.

"You were watching me yesterday," she continued. "In the alley. You didn't attack with the others."

I stepped forward, my sword still drawn. "Maybe I was waiting for the right moment."

She stood, facing me fully now. Up close, her features were even more striking—eyes the color of a sky I'd only seen in faded paintings, and hair like burnished gold. "And is this the right moment, assassin?"

The title stung more than it should have.

"That depends on whether you can give me a reason not to kill you."

A smile appeared on her lips. "I could summon the light again. Blind you. Run."

"But you won't," I stated.

"No, I won't."

We studied each other across the temple's water-logged floor, adversaries locked in a strange moment of truth.

"They call you a sunbringer," I said finally.

She nodded. "Among other things."

"Is it true? Can you really part the clouds? Bring back the sun?"

A shadow crossed her face. "Not yet. But I'm trying. That's why they want me dead—those who profit from the darkness, from keeping people trapped in this drowned world."

"The Guild," I murmured.

"And others. Those who rule the Highlands, who control the water pumps and the food supplies. Those who've built their power on the suffering of others."

I lowered my sword slightly, doubt creeping in. "Why should I believe you?"

"You saw what I can do," she countered. "You saw the light. Don't you want to know what else is possible? Don't you want to see the sky, Cyrus Aurelius?"

My name on her lips startled me. "How do you—"

"I make it my business to know who hunts me," she interrupted. "Just as you made it yours to find me."

The rain outside had intensified, a steady roar that almost drowned out her next words.

"You have a choice to make," she said, taking a step toward me. "Right here, right now. You can fulfill your contract and return to your guild with my blood on your hands. Or you can help me find a way to end this eternal rain. To bring back the sun."

In the drowned world outside, the rain continued to fall, relentless and indifferent to the choice that hung between us in the ancient, crumbling temple.