Borne Rising

by Matthew Callahan

  “Yes, sir. That is kind of you to say. Very kind, sir. You and, and your brother, you both. You both were very kind to me. On your last visit. When you stayed here. The last time. Sir.”

  “Of course, Ynarra,” Will said cautiously. “We appreciated you very much.”

  Will hadn’t thought that Ynarra’s flush could deepen any more, and when it did he had to stifle a laugh. I’ve missed this, he realized, positive human interaction. Has it really been so long? Will glanced out of a nearby window they passed in order to give her a moment of privacy. They were still on the main level of the Nordoth. In fact, he realized that they had rounded to the main courtyard and it was just outside the window.

  “Oh, yes. Thank you, sir.” Her voice was quiet and clear. “And please, forgive me again for saying so, sir, and I do not mean to overstep, so please tell me if I do, but what I mean to say, sir, is that I hope you have been well. Sir.”

  That I’ve been well . . . Not quite how I’d put it. “Thank you, Ynarra. I hope that you have been well, too.”

  “And, sir,” she continued as if not having heard him, “I hope that your brother is well as well. I know that it is not my place to say so, sir, and I do apologize for speaking out of turn, but I”—she took a deep breath—“after the Seeker’s report I”—she shook her head—“I apologize, sir. I should not have spoken. Please, this way.” She took an abrupt turn and began to climb a nearby stairwell so well hidden in the darkness of the hall that Will nearly missed it.

  Wait, the Seeker’s report?

  “Ynarra, please,” Will said as he raced up the stairs after her. “What did you mean by that? A Seeker came, you said? Was it Cephora?” His heart leapt into his throat. “Ynarra, was Madigan with her?”

  Ynarra said nothing but continued her quickened pace while the spiral continued its steep rise. Will struggled to keep up. Taking the steps two at a time, a hint of familiarity sparked within him. I’ve been in this stairwell before. He glanced up. The last time, with Cephora and Madigan. Ynarra was leading him to their old room.

  “This way, please, sir,” she said and took an abrupt turn onto a landing. Her voice was wavering, distant. She was retreating back within herself.

  No. Will ran out after her as the girl exited quickly through a side door. “Ynarra, please,” he said again. “Please tell me what you heard. I . . . I need your help.”

  She paused, a ring of keys in her hand. She selected the correct one, unlocked the door, and stepped into the room. Will didn’t move. His heart was hammering in his chest at the thought of his brother. Come on, Mad. Come on.

  “This way, please, sir,” Ynarra called from within. “Please.”

  That final please, there was something in the way she said it that shook Will out of his heartache. He entered the room and was hit by another wave of nostalgia. Like everything else, the room was just as he remembered it.

  “Ynarra,” he said softly. The words caught in his throat. He couldn’t even look at her.

  “It . . . it has been some time, sir,” the girl said. Will’s eyes leapt from the floor and found hers. They were bright and earnest and hopeful. “I . . . I overheard, and I do not mean to say that I was eavesdropping, sir, I only mean that I was in the area and the voices were loud. I apologize, sir.” Her gaze fell away.

  Her eyes flick down to the ground in deference every time she apologizes. What is her story?

  “No.” Will’s voice was both pleading and steady. “No, you have nothing to apologize for, Ynarra. Please, tell me what happened.”

  “Yes.” She nodded again and glanced off to the side. “It . . . it was some time ago, sir. The Seeker, Cephora, she returned to the Nordoth, to the Crow. You were not here, sir, nor was your brother. The Crow had questions for her and he did not like her answers.”

  “Do you recall what she said?”

  Ynarra nodded quickly. “I do, yes. Yes. She . . . There had been a fight, sir. A disagreement, I mean. Between the Seeker and your brother.”

  They made it. Will’s head swam. The relief came with such force that he had to brace himself against a nearby chair, his knees threatening to give way. Mad’s alive.

  “And there was someone else, sir. A Shadowborne.”

  Will’s head snapped back to attention. What? “A Shadowborne?” First the army of Lightborne at Sapholux, now another Shadowborne. Is nothing as dead as this world seems to think?

  Ynarra glanced past Will to the open door and her mouth quavered a bit. Gods, she’s terrified. He stepped aside. “Ynarra, of course, I am so sorry. You may go if you like. I never meant to make you feel trapped.”

  “No, no.” She shook her head and ran for the door then quickly closed and locked it. “No, sir, I do not feel trapped. I . . . I apologize, sir, but you and your brother, sir. I felt safe. When you were here. It was good when you were here, sir.”

  Realization dawned on Will and he took a step toward her. “You’re still safe, Ynarra. Madigan and I would never harm you.”

  “I know, sir.” She nodded quickly and cast another furtive glance at the closed door. “Your brother, sir, Madigan, he followed the Shadowborne. He left Cephora, sir.”

  Will nodded slowly. Jesus, Mad, what the hell are you up to? “Thank you, Ynarra. When was this? You said it was some time, do you recall how long?”

  “It has been a few years, sir.” She turned down her eyes as she spoke. “I am sorry, sir.”

  Dammit. “No, please, no apologies, Ynarra. You’ve given me more hope today than I’ve had in a long time.”

  She looked up, meeting his eyes, and smiled. It was not her usual smile. It was filled with hope and gratitude, not an ounce of fear or deference. “I am glad to hear that, sir.” The smile vanished quickly and she looked at the door. “I am sorry, sir, I must go. I will bring refreshments soon. There are fresh linens on your bed, which is located on the second loft. The curtains may be drawn and the windows will allow fresh air and light, if you wish it. The washroom is between the third and fifth—”

  Will held up a hand and smiled. “I remember well, Ynarra. Thank you for your hospitality.”

  “Sir, I—” She paused and made for the door. “Yes.” She turned back to him, a brief hint of a smile upon her face once more. “Thank you, sir.” She spun and, in one swift motion, unlocked the door and stepped through, closing it quickly behind her.

  She did not lock it.

  Will placed his hands on the table and dropped his head. What a day. What a goddam day. He scanned the room, memories hitting him like a freight train. In a daze, he walked to the library. It was clean and tidy, but the books were just as they’d left them, even down to the ones that lay open upon the table. Will stumbled out of the room and looked up at the rafters, to the hidden cross-section where he had spent so much time. Learning to control my Shade. Had I known then what I know now, I might’ve just burned this whole place to the ground and been done with it.

  Something inside him began to ache. He looked at the table where the wine and food always used to be, but it was empty. It would be some time before Ynarra returned with any kind of refreshments, and he was still thirsty.

  He crossed the large room to the window and threw back the curtains. The cold breath of fresh air swarmed over him and, as he had done so long before, he grabbed a nearby rope and leaned out the window. Far below him lay the courtyard. The air was cool, the breeze fresh and salty.

  Will breathed deeply and stared out at the vast expanse of Undermyre. If he had fallen, before, maybe he would have survived. He’d had his Shade then. Now . . . Shades and the Flares, so different. The Shade guarded Shadowborne. The Flare, though, the Flare’s only purpose was destruction.

  Maybe it’s still there, hidden away inside me somewhere. He climbed onto the windowsill and felt the wave of vertigo wash over him. Maybe it would come back if I really needed it. He stretched farther and leaned out over the courtyard, only his grip on the rope stopping him from plummeting to the stony courtyard. Just a jumpstar
t to wake my Shade back up. The rope began to slide in his hand.

  His key, cold and tingling against his chest, brought him back to his right mind. He tightened his grip and pulled himself back into the room. No, that’s not how this works, Will.

  He wrapped his cloak tight around his body and huddled into himself as he stared at the world below. Madigan was alive, somewhere out there, that’s what mattered. He’s alive.

  Maybe she is too.

  There was no cool embrace of his Shade to comfort him. There was no brotherly banter or warm embrace of a lover. There was no wine from Ynarra to drown the flood of memories. Nothing to stifle the fear that the hope she had given him would be dashed any moment. He was back, trapped within the Nordoth, utterly alone with nothing tangible to connect to the life he’d once had.

  Trapped within the Nordoth . . . Will turned back to the room’s entrance. Ynarra hadn’t locked the door. And the Crow, what had he said? You have been on the road for some time, Thorne. You shall remain within Undermyre and recover until you are prepared to venture to Cascania.

  Undermyre. Not the Nordoth.

  Will smiled. He closed the window curtains and raced to the door. Nostalgia, then. There was one place where he could still find some connection to it.

  The Bottled Embers called him.

  13

  Breathing Ashes

  With a wide grin on his face, Will left the Nordoth uncontested. The guards in the courtyard eyed him warily as he passed but did not interfere. He felt no need to ask permission, no need to seek approval. Before, the Crow put a gag order around my very existence. Well, not this time. Freedom within Undermyre. Freedom to explore. The notion put some pep in his step.

  The streets passed in a blur. There would be plenty of time to explore in the coming days, should he wish it. At the moment, the only thing on his mind was returning to the Street of Ash. A part of him knew he was being foolish, that at the very least he should have bathed in the Nordoth’s luxurious washroom first and removed most of the grime from the road. Ynarra would return with refreshments. There would be wine, perhaps even Fita’Verxae. He didn’t even have any coin to pay for food or drink at the Street.

  Still, something compelled him forward. Like a marionette, he was drawn through the doors, through the vibrant curtains and into the Street. The same intoxicating revelry of his earlier visit bombarded him. The music was more a physical force than anything else, the drums clamoring inside his skull along with the roar of the crowd and cheering hoots from the many dancers. Above all was the rowdy laughter of life echoing to the rafters. He felt no rush of anxiety this time, no fear. All that remained were the fumes of forgetfulness upon the air—the promise of Bottled Embers.

  Will’s gaze drifted to the dance floor, packed with forgettable faces lost in their enjoyment. He scanned every face he could see, watching for those he might have missed while the crowd parted and spun to the music. His buoyant spirits faded somewhat. There were many dancers, yes, but there was no her. No Morella.

  Of course not, you idiot. He knew she wouldn’t be there. Couldn’t be. Morella was dead, he had to accept that. But in the brief time he knew her—gods, it feels like a lifetime ago—she was captivating, alive in so many ways. To him, she had been . . . more.

  He shook his head to clear it. Nostalgia, Will. That’s all you’re here for.

  Scanning the room again, he spotted an empty seat at the end of the bar. Dropping his hood, he maneuvered through the throng of people toward it. There were people standing all around the lone stool and yet no one sat. As if the gods themselves were saving it for me. He eased his way in, silent as a shadow, and turned his back to the dancers.

  The bartender gave him a wry grin that did not fully meet her eyes and gestured to him, acknowledging that she’d seen him. He peered at her a moment and then realized that he knew her: it was the same woman as before, the one who served him the night he’d first seen Morella. Her hair was now a vibrant, shining violet and far shorter than it had been, but there was no mistaking her. Gods, what was her name? Something familiar . . .

  The woman made her way across the bar, sliding drinks to patrons and deftly depositing their payments into a hidden trough. Will leaned over the bar and saw the trough was angled so the coins slid down to the end. Just like a pool table. He smiled. Not a bad system.

  The bartender sidled up to him and brushed more coins into the trough, flashing a brilliant smile as she did so.

  “Clever, that,” Will said with a wink while nodding to the trough. “Reminds me of a game I used to play a long time ago.”

  The woman’s face fell, growing sickly pale. For a split second, she stared at Will with a truly alarming expression of both sadness and horror. Then, in a heartbeat, it was gone and the bright, professional smile had returned. The eyes, however, remained wary.

  “I’m sorry,” Will said quickly. What the hell did I say? “I didn’t mean to offend you. I just meant that it seems like a good system, is all.”

  The woman laughed and shook her head, her eyes relaxing. “No, no worries, friend. For a moment you reminded me of someone else who used to come in.” She winked and passed a steaming mug to the person at Will’s right. “Used to sit in that exact same seat of yours, most nights. And with how different you look since your last visit, well, I had to do a double take.” She grinned and laughed, then shook her head. “Ah, memories.”

  This woman’s good. Will raised an eyebrow. “The last time I was here—you remember me?”

  “Why, of course I remember you. I make it a point to know my patrons,” she said while she waved to someone else farther down the bar. “Every single one that walks in this door.”

  “Impressive,” Will said. “Especially given the size of the crowds. Seems like business has increased since I was last here.”

  She shrugged and set to work making a drink. “Business always booms when people need a distraction. These days? Well, there’s plenty to be distracted from.” A moment later she set the drink on the bar between them. “Bottled Embers, right?”

  Will eyed the glowing beverage and smiled, shaking his head slightly. “I can’t believe you remember.”

  “A good memory is a useful thing in my line of work.”

  Will reached for the glass but stopped, remembering his empty pockets. “I’m sorry, thank you, but I can’t. I don’t have any—”

  She held up a hand. “You’ve the look of a man who needs a drink. This one’s on the house.” Her gaze flickered again and the words died in her mouth. “Funny thing, that,” she said quietly. She momentarily looked very different than the bright and smiling bartender, like she was a completely different person. Then, someone called to her from a few seats away and the expression was gone. She pushed the drink toward Will and smiled conspiratorially. “Excuse me a moment, no rest for the wicked.” She winked again and moved away, her casual laugh easily returning as she moved down the bar.

  Will wrapped his hands around the warm mug and inhaled the fumes. The sweet, tangy, spicy aroma set his mouth watering. His head spun. The liquid touched his lips delicately, the echo of an absent lover’s kiss. He drank in the memories.

  The liquor hit him hard and fast. He swirled the glass and found the music calling his body. It built and intensified, growing to a crescendo. He drank again.

  How much life had changed. How his world had grown and evolved, twisted and untwisted. What of before is even left? Madigan was gone, Will’s anchor to another life, another world. A world before Flares and Jero din’Dael. A world before the Shale. A world of family and games and dreams and the promise of magic. A world of daring adventures and beautiful dancing girls. Will’s world. How it had fallen in such a short time.

  Will’s world, he mused to himself. I even think of it separately. Maybe there was more to the rituals of the Sapholux than he’d thought. Maybe din’Dael was right. Maybe William Davis did die in the flames. After all, Will had been Shadowborne. Noctis Thorne, though, Noctis was Li
ghtborne. Noctis was a Blade of Light. Noctis was a warrior. He chuckled to himself and raised his glass in a toast. Before and after . . . change. Fine, then. I can do that. He drank. Noctis Thorne it is.

  The bartender returned and eyed him. “You alright there, stranger? Your head looks like it’s barely screwed on.”

  “I’m fine, thanks,” Noctis said. “Better than I’ve been in a while, I think.”

  “Glad to hear it,” she said with a nod while skillfully mixing another drink.

  Noctis watched her for a moment and then sighed. “I’m sorry, especially given your excellent recollective abilities, but I seem to have forgotten your name.”

  The woman laughed and shook her head. “You’re hardly the first. Call me Clarice.”

  “Clarice!” Noctis clapped his hands. “That’s right. Can’t believe I missed that one.”

  “Well, as we said, friend, it has been a while.” She slid the drink down the bar to a waiting hand and swept more coins away before setting to work on a new drink.

  “It has. It has, indeed.” Noctis traced a finger along the rim of his glass. “Alrighty, exam time: The last time I was in, do you remember who I was with?”

  Clarice nodded. “Of course. Anytime Cephora brings someone in, I take special notice.”

  So, she knows Cephora by name, that’s good to know.

  Clarice skirted away and made a rapid succession of drinks, distributing them with equal speed. A customer to Noctis’s left called out and she returned to his side of the bar, mixing and pouring again.

  “That night, I danced with a young woman. Short dark hair. Tattooed wrists.”

  “I remember her,” Clarice said without looking up. She slid the drink across, swept away the coins, and waved to another patron. “Haven’t seen her in a bit of time. Quite a bit, actually.”

  “No.” Noctis shook his head. “I imagine you wouldn’t have seen any of them.” In his mind’s eye he again saw the earth swallowing his brother, heard Morella’s cries of terror.