Sun Eater — Penprints Flash Fiction Dash 2018
↓ Story begins below photo ↓
This is the second year Penprints has hosted the Flash Fiction Dash, and the second year I have participated!
The rules:
- Choose your style of prompt, photo or text.
- Receive your individual prompt and write a story in under 1,000 words.
- Post the story on your blog.
I chose to receive an image as a prompt. I was given a photo of a man standing at the bottom of a cavern at night with a large, dull yellow orb floating in front of him. I won’t post it here for copyright reasons. :)
My flash fiction tends to sit around 650-750 words long. This one ran longer. It is EXACTLY 1,000 words. Don’t ask how that happened. It took a lot of finagling.
Without further ado, here is my “entry” for the Penprints Flash Fiction Dash 2018!
“Sun Eater” is now in a story podcast format. You can listen to it here or continue reading below:
Sun Eater
3
Sereton watched the Giver die. They bore his body away on a litter of glass. The priestess raised her arms to the sky, and the All Sun was restored.
6
“How much is he worth to you?”
Sereton’s father gripped his shoulder, forcing him to stand under the Selector’s gaze. The man sat with legs crossed behind a marble table. A coin purse, a ledger, and a leather and iron box lay on its surface. They stood in the temple’s courtyard, at the foot of the stage where the Givers died.
The Selector looked up from his book, The Birth of the All Sun, but didn’t close it. “He looks too young, and the choosing doesn’t start for another half an hour. Come back then.”
“He’s six, and he’s more suitable than any of the sevens that’ll come. I’ve heard this year’s crop doesn’t look promising.”
Sereton tried to back up, but Father held him in place.
The Selector slid his book onto the table. “I could write him in as seven.” Sereton felt Father’s grip relax. “If he matches the color of last year’s sevens, no one will know if you and I scrape one from the sixes.”
Father smiled, and the Selector opened his leather and iron box. Sereton peered in.
They stuck a thin disc on his forehead. It was pale as ice, but when the Selector showed him a mirror, it was red, and it had stretched. It curled above his brow and down the side of his face, stopping at his cheekbone.
The Selector scraped his fingernail along Sereton’s skin. “It melded perfectly.”
“You can’t undo it now,” Father said. “So how much?”
“He has bright color.” The Selector pushed the coin purse forward. “Ten silvers a year until his Giving. It’s enough to support you and get the boy enough food to cover his bones.”
Sereton fidgeted with the edge of his dirty shirt, aware of the sharp corners on the Selector’s jacket and how the marble around them was so clean it reflected the sky.
“Fifteen,” Father said.
The Selector’s mouth flattened, but he pulled a second purse from inside his jacket and counted out five more coins.
Father took hold of Sereton’s collar and tore open the front of his shirt. The Selector lifted a small ball from the leather and iron box. It was as golden as the sun.
Sereton leaned away. Father pushed him back. They placed it over his heart. It pricked into his skin like a tooth, absorbing into his chest.
Sereton had always felt his heart beat. Now he saw it. With each pulse its glow marked a circle on his chest.
He was a Giver.
“Bring him back each year for measuring and payment.” The Selector closed the leather and iron chest. “Good luck with your newfound fortune, Sir. Take better care of the boy. And don’t spend all the coin. Save some for after he’s gone.”
12
Sereton stood at the front of the crowd. His fingernails were clean and his new jacket had pointed tails. He was closer to the stage than anyone should be. Acolytes moved toward him, glares in place.
This year’s Giver was draped in a white cloth from head to heel. Whispers said she had tried to run. The priestess raised her arms. The glow of a dampened sun leached from the Giver’s chest. Acolytes beat drums, but Sereton heard the rattle of a chain when she collapsed.
He looked away, over the temple walls. Toward the palace. The heart of the All Sun, their eternal queen, was restored.
And the Giver died.
He had nine years left.
21
Sereton threw a rope into the chasm and climbed down, losing skin off his hands. The priestess and her acolytes wouldn’t expect him to make for the chasms during flooding season.
He splashed through standing water. The sun set. It grew cold. He lost himself in dead ends and branching paths. Moonlight tried to guide his way, but it wasn’t enough.
His chest began to burn.
He could outrun the priestess, but he couldn’t outrun the sun in his chest. The glow leaked through the threads of his clothes. He trembled. It must not need the priestess to extract it. He had run, but he was still going to die.
It pushed out of his chest.
The orb was larger than it had been fifteen years ago. It filled the chasm in front of him.
Yet he was still alive.
Sereton took a step forward, slowly lifting his hand. It was silken to touch. It surged forward, engulfing him.
Hello, brother, it said. Will you become the next king?
“I’m not a king,” Sereton said. “I’m a Giver. I was made to restore the All Sun, our kingdom’s eternal queen.”
The Sun Eater. The queen who evaded her death and captured us, keeping us from establishing a new monarch.
“The All Sun was a mortal queen?”
The Sun Eater was a Giver, once, when Givers were as rare as kings.
“I…”
She was like you.
The All Sun was not eternal. The kingdom would not crumble without her light.
Her priestesses had been wasting lives for over a century.
Sereton felt his jaw clench. They would have killed him, and the fifteen young Givers currently awaiting their deaths. Not for the kingdom, but for herself.
The piece of sun surrounding Sereton morphed, changing into sharp points fit for a noble, a clasp, and a collar. It rested on his shoulders, one side falling to his elbow, the other to his knee.
He didn’t consume his piece of the sun. He wore it, and would pass it on to the next generation. A generation free of the Sun Eater and her priestess.
22
Civil War erupted. The temple fell.
24
Sereton became the first Sun King of his age. At his side were fifteen young officials. They wore small pieces of sun that only dimmed in the presence of their king.
What did you think of the story? Let me know!
Just B. Jordan is an award-winning author of fantasy and sci-fi. She graduated high school a year early and received her first publishing contract at the age of 18. To Ashes We Run is her most recent novel. Find it here.
Rosalie
GAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH. IT’S AMAZING. I LOVE IT! It’s SO intense, and I adore Sereton and his drive to get away and then bring the Sun Eater down! <3
Just B. Jordan
Thank you!! I’ve become quite attached to Sereton myself. <3
A. K. R. Scott
Now, that really is a WHOLE STORY in 1000 words! Loved the visuals and the little details that built a really unique world in so few words. I thoroughly enjoyed it!
Just B. Jordan
Thank you! I’m not the best at making flash pieces into whole stories, so that’s what I was trying to do with this one. I’m really glad you thought it felt complete!! :D
Alina
*Definitely* this was a complete story, and such an interesting one at that! I was drawn in immediately–well done.