Borne Rising

by Matthew Callahan

  Din’Dael’s mouth tightened in a grim line. “That is for drinking out of, William.”

  The man strode away, moving with purpose. Will followed, feeling extremely small and foolish. After the promising start, he had the distinct feeling that he was now continuously disappointing his mentor. Not everything needs to be part of a fairy tale, Will. Get that through your head.

  At the next alcove, din’Dael paused and gestured for Will to approach. Within was another small table with a drinking glass on it. But behind it rested an axe head of such proportions that Will’s jaw dropped. It stood as tall as he, and the metal was unlike any he had ever seen. It appeared to have been blued after its forging, but upon closer inspection Will realized that the coloring was not the finish of the blade but rather a quality of the metal itself. The head seemed to vibrate, pulsing lightly beneath his fingertips when he touched it. It was warm and, when he brought his gaze closer, he could see countless tiny rivets within the metal in a constant state of expansion and contraction.

  “The axe of Polathanion,” din’Dael said reverently. Will’s hand froze and trembled inches above the axe. “The very blade that shattered the Crimson Twilight. When the Thorns of the Rose stood before Polathanion, he struck down many of Velier’s companions and destroyed their way home. Unafraid, they held their ground, accepting the death that was to come. Ellianor alone brought the creature down, striking out again and again while he battered her. Her blade did little against his armor, but, nevertheless, she persisted. By her patience and cunning, the giant eventually fell before her, dying upon its own snapped blade.” Din’Dael smiled. “While Polathanion lay dying, she severed the creature’s tongue, impaling it against its own forehead for the insults it had given her.”

  Will stood transfixed before the ancient weapon. He knew the story, had heard it from his grandfather countless times. But even knowing that so many of his grandfather’s tales had been true, even with Morella’s insistence, he had never really expected The Veleriat to be so rooted in truth. If this truly was Polathanion’s axe, then it was an artifact that predated Aeril itself, predated the unmaking of the world. It existed outside of time.

  But what does that even mean in a realm where time stands still?

  “This metal,” Will said, hearing the tremor in his voice and not bothering to mask it. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  “No, you have not. This is all that remains of it. In the early days following the Sundering, attempts were made to forge weapons that could compare, but all were a pale reflection of what once had been.”

  Will had heard that before. The words echoed Morella’s when they had stopped at the bladesmith’s en route to the Shale. “Aerilite?”

  “Ah, so you can use that brain up there.” Din’Dael began to sway, stretching his arms above his head. “Yes, William, aerilite was this world’s attempt to master”—he broke away from the stretch and gestured to the axe—“whatever that is.”

  “I’d heard that aerilite was the greatest metalworking the mortal races had ever achieved.” The metalwork danced before Will’s eyes. It’s almost like my key.

  “It was,” din’Dael conceded. “But this axe was not the work of the mortal races. Plus, Gren’al was a proud fool and took the secrets of its manufacture to his grave. Had he passed them on, well, who knows what might have unfolded? Come.”

  Din’Dael moved again without waiting. Will whirled and chased after his mentor, his imagination racing with what else the vault may hold. They passed more alcoves, each relatively spartan in decor but obviously highlighting a single piece. Some contained books; some contained armor. One contained something Will immediately recognized: a measure, but one different than the Crow’s. It was larger, more ornate, and the swirling face bore different colors. Yet, somehow, the colors themselves seemed hollow, void of brilliance.

  Will wanted to ask about each piece but forced himself to keep his mouth shut. Din’Dael was moving with intent now, toward the back of the hall where another of the dark stone doors stood. A shiver of excitement coursed through Will. If all this is out here, what would they keep even more secure? Before they reached the passage, however, din’Dael turned abruptly.

  The alcove they entered held nothing of interest, only the same small table with the same drinking cup of all the previous alcoves. Only this time, two cups were upon the table instead of one. Din’Dael picked them both up, admired them, and then handed one to Will. Standing in silence, the man raised a conspiratorial eyebrow and waited.

  Will looked down at the glass. It was empty. He looked back at din’Dael. The man’s face was unchanged. Dammit, he’s testing me. Will waited a moment, just in case din’Dael was going to offer anything more. Nothing came. And that’s all I’m going to get then. Fantastic.

  He looked around for a carafe or bottle or anything that might hold something to drink. He saw none. Din’Dael stood patiently, barely blinking. A test then, but not the one that it seems to be. If din’Dael had expected a drink, he would have said so. So, why this alcove then? What was it about this particular one that made it special?

  He scanned the small room but saw nothing that bore closer inspection. He looked back at the cup. It was beautiful, he had to admit, but there were no hints on its surface. It was different than the one din’Dael held, simpler, with no gems adorning it, but other than that it was unremarkable. The finish was smooth, the polished obsidian unmarred except for a small chip at the base. He thumbed the chip absentmindedly and turned back to the room.

  Ten minutes passed. Din’Dael neither moved nor spoke. The only sound was the distant ruffling of feathers as Dahla flew to a new perch. Finally, Will sighed and shook his head. “Alright, what is it?”

  “You nearly had it, mighty William Davis.” Will rolled his eyes; din’Dael only used the title when he was gloating. “Return to the chip. Begin there.”

  Obviously, the chip was key to whatever puzzle din’Dael had going, but how was it relevant? Will scanned his memory, thinking back to games and stories of hidden puzzles. Anytime something was broken, the stories all said that the object had to be restored, right? Will smiled. Seems straightforward enough.

  He set the glass on the table and began searching the alcove for the tiny shard of obsidian. He checked the table and the vacant sconce. He turned the chair and scanned every inch of its surface. He combed the floor on hands and knees, determined not to miss an inch. All the while, din’Dael stared at him with an expression of bemusement.

  Will found nothing. Finally, he stood and dusted himself off. “I’m sorry, Jero. I can’t seem to find it. It is in this room, right?”

  Din’Dael cocked his head to the side and smirked. “Is what in this room?”

  “The chip. The piece that will repair the chip in the glass.”

  There was a brief moment of silence that was shattered by din’Dael’s roaring, maddened laughter. It burst out of him so suddenly Will was taken aback, startled by the sudden ferocity. Din’Dael put a hand out against the wall to brace himself and doubled over, tears streaming down his face.

  “Oh, William,” he struggled through gasps of air. “How did I ever exist before you entered my life?”

  Will shifted uneasily. “I take it you know something I don’t.”

  The comment only sent din’Dael into more peals of laughter. Will waited, feeling increasingly foolish. With no break in his laughing, din’Dael snatched the glass off the table and placed his thumb against the small chip. His hand glowed white and, from the small chip, the glass exploded into countless tiny pieces, just like the door at the entrance to the Hall.

  Will groaned, which only caused din’Dael to double over in laughter once more. Bent over, he casually flung the floating shards of the glass to the vacant sconce. Retaining their shattered form even in flight, the fragments landed within the sconce. A low rumble came from beneath their feet. Wiping tears from his eyes, din’Dael took a step backward from the alcove. The stone floor seemed to melt awa
y, revealing a wide passage.

  “Oh,” was all Will said.

  “By the Hesperawn,” din’Dael said, recovering himself, “William, sometimes I wonder if I am correct to place so much faith in you.”

  “I just—”

  Din’Dael held up a hand to silence him. His face changed rapidly, growing serious and stern. “No, William. Do not feel the need to defend your actions. You did well. You are exactly what the Lightborne need.”

  Will paused, glancing at the hole in the ground. “What do you mean, ‘what the Lightborne need’?”

  Jero din’Dael smiled. Within that smile Will saw the same maddened fury he had seen on their first night together, the blazing fire of righteous belief. Lightning danced across the Revenant’s eyes as he gestured to the darkened stair within the hole. “Come below and I shall explain everything.”

  4

  The Fires of Sapholux

  Vertigo overwhelmed Will’s senses the moment he stepped into the passage. The darkness was such a contrast to the illuminated stone of the Sapholux that Will fell heavily against the wall to brace himself. A momentary fit of panic constricted his throat—when was the last time he’d been in such absolute darkness? Years.

  Will steadied himself and focused on his breathing. After a moment, feeling a bit more at ease, he inched forward and found the edge of the stair. Taking a cautious step, he made his way down the steep steps. The air felt heavy, cold. He cursed when his forehead met slick rock. He could hear nothing of din’Dael ahead of him, nor the cries of Dahla from the rear. Where are we going?

  The passage abruptly brightened, sending Will slamming against the low ceiling again. He cursed and clenched his eyes shut against the flash of discomfort.

  “What the hell, Jero?” Will rubbed his forehead and blinked his eyes rapidly, trying to get them to adjust. “Give me at least some warning here.”

  “Didn’t I?” din’Dael quipped. “Ah, well. You must be prepared for anything, William.”

  Yeah, right. Will blinked again, his eyes finally adjusting. His breath caught in his chest. Holy shit.

  Before him was a large, brilliantly lit chamber. Everywhere Will looked were heaps of arms and armor. Filled near to bursting, every spare surface was covered. Stacks of crates covered the floor, filled with what Will could only imagine to be more arms. Axes, swords, maces, daggers, spears, weapons of every shape and size surrounded him. The armors were much the same, sized from some that could nearly match Polathanion’s axe to others that would fit a toddler.

  “Wow.” Will walked over to a sword mounted nearby on the wall and held it aloft. It was light and nimble, perfectly balanced with just the right amount of blade mass. Holding the blade before his eyes, Will discovered metalwork he had never seen before. No, not entirely. It’s almost like Polathanion’s axe. In fact, the only difference he could see was the axe had been dark blue, whereas this metal was streaked with a bright, almost electric blue that was brilliant to behold.

  He returned the blade and lifted an armored bracer from the table next to it. The metal was the same. Will spun around, quickly taking in every bit of armor that he could see. Every piece he saw bore the same characteristics.

  “Aerilite,” he said softly.

  “Very good, William.”

  The brilliant blue streaks caught the light and almost seemed to glow. Will was entranced. “There are so many pieces . . . I thought they had all been lost or destroyed.”

  Din’Dael smiled. “You said much the same of the Lightborne when you first arrived here.”

  Will reached for the nearest piece, a cutlass, and inspected the edge while his mind stretched back to his arrival at the Sapholux. He had been haggard, thin, and delirious. When he’d seen the monolith of the Sapholux, when they’d passed beneath its killing gates, he’d never felt so small and alone. And then, when the great doors had opened, he had been shocked to find nearly an entire city, hidden from the world.

  “Your people did a good job of secreting themselves away, Jero. I’d always thought them wiped out after the Wars of Dawning.”

  His mentor’s mouth tightened. “Our people, William. Our people.” He sighed and eyed the cutlass Will held. “A good weapon. Keep it.” Before Will could reply, din’Dael turned away. “Still, you are not wrong. The remnants of our people that I was able to save”—he shook his head—“they were a fraction of what we had been. A broken force facing annihilation.”

  Will knew the story well. The Guardian of Radiance, Shigei O’Saq, had been driven to madness long before his death during the Wars of Dawning. The Blades of Shadow, emboldened by their victory, had set out on a mission to cull the tainted Lightborne from Aeril. The Lightborne themselves, lost without their Guardian, scrambled to survive. Will had heard both sides of the story, but one thing remained constant: It had been a slaughter. There had been no mercy for the Lightborne. As far as the rest of the world knew, only Jero din’Dael had survived.

  “I fought for years to find what survivors I could.” Din’Dael’s voice held a quiet pain Will had never heard from him before. “There were not many, not compared to what there had been. I was a fugitive in my own lands. All because my people had been led astray by the madness of O’Saq.” He clenched his fists. “The madness that touches us all when we leave these walls. It is said that all are driven to it, eventually. Do you understand, William?”

  Will shifted slightly. “I’ve seen . . . hints of it, before.”

  “Another of the fallen god’s gifts for us.” Voice grim, Jero din’Dael turned and walked through the great armory. “I found them, William. I found every survivor I could and I brought them home, where they would be safe. I killed everyone who discovered our secret. I guaranteed that my people would live, that no word of their existence would pass into the lands. Once they were home”—he paused and picked up a large round shield—“I set about ensuring their survival.”

  “You collected this?” Will’s stared incredulously at the vast hoard. “You brought all this back here?”

  “The finest weapons and armor that anyone living has ever seen. Yes, William. I brought it home to them.”

  “To rebuild,” Will said quietly.

  “To rebuild our people’s strength, yes.” Din’Dael picked up a long sword that matched the shield. “To regain our power within Aeril and guarantee our survival. I brought them everything they would need.”

  Everything . . . Will’s eyes darted over the equipment in the armory. It was enough to outfit the entire population of the Sapholux five times over. There’s not even close to enough Lightborne here. A sudden sense of unease gripped him.

  “Jero, you said that there were hardly any survivors, relative to what had once been. But I’ve seen the Sapholux. I’ve been here for years and I still see faces I’ve never seen, let alone met before.”

  He saw din’Dael’s neck tighten and shoulders tense. His mentor’s eyes were fixed on the blade he held, his expression blank and detached. “Our people needed to survive, William. I saw to it that they had every opportunity to do so.”

  Will peered at din’Dael, his pulse quickening. There were parts of the Sapholux he had still never visited; these very halls were proof enough of that. Were there children within the walls? Were there infants?

  “Jero, if a child is born and both parents are Lightborne, does it guarantee that the child will be Lightborne as well?”

  “History has proven so, yes.”

  The tone of his words turned Will’s unease into cold dread. Will swallowed. His grip tightened upon the cutlass. “And enough Lightborne survived to repopulate the Sapholux that way, right?”

  “No.”

  A great lump settled in Will’s stomach. “So, people who were not Lightborne were needed.” He let the words hang in the air. Don’t do this, Jero.

  “As I said, William, I brought our people everything they would need to survive.”

  Will stared at din’Dael, knowing in his bones the answers to the terrible que
stions he had. “You brought people here, to the Sapholux. You bred them, searching for Lightborne, didn’t you?” His voice shook but he forced the words out. When din’Dael did not reply, he pushed on. “Okay, okay. After, then? What did you do with the people after, Jero? You allowed them to return to their homes, right?”

  “None came that did not wish to be a part of something greater than themselves, William. All were willing.”

  Will braced himself against a wall. He couldn’t meet the man’s eye. Gods, please let me be wrong. “You … you killed them all? After they had served their purpose?”

  “Our people needed to be kept safe, William. No one could know of our presence here.”

  “Jesus, din’Dael,” Will burst out incredulously. “You killed your own allies? The parents of your own people?”

  Din’Dael raised his eyes to meet Will’s. He seemed to deflate before Will’s eyes. A horrific realization dawned on Will. “The children, were they all Lightborne at birth?”

  Din’Dael was silent.

  Will stared, forcing himself to voice the words. “No, of course they weren’t. The power, it doesn’t manifest for years, right? You . . . you waited, right? Tell me you waited. I mean, and even if not, you trained them, right? My grandfather always said that people could learn. You taught them all?” Will’s mind raced as he desperately sought to convince himself. “Wait, why didn’t you train the parents then? Why not . . .”

  Will trailed off as he took in the haunted visage of Jero din’Dael. The man looked old, tired. “You didn’t wait. What did you . . . oh gods.” He knew the answer just looking at din’Dael’s face. “All of them? Children who had spent their entire lives beneath your roof? People born and raised within your protective walls? Oh gods.”

  “The gift does not come to all, William.”

  Will staggered against the wall, the oppressive weight of so many dead dragging him down. He’d seen din’Dael slaughter the Shale like they were nothing, but this? He shook his head. “You’re a monster.”