Borne Rising

by Matthew Callahan

  “Oh, young burner, there shall be enough blood spilled to last till the heavens burn, before long.” Din’Dael threw back his head and roared with laughter.

  “A bit much sometimes, aren’t you?” Cephora looked with disdain at din’Dael. She turned and whispered something to Shyldd. The burly Seeker nodded and the two departed without further comment. The last of the Lightborne set to work righting their tents and returning to their resting stupor. Will watched as Rienne helped Quennar to his feet. The man gave no hint of noticing, nor did he protest when Rienne led him away. She’s had one hell of a time since we left the Sapholux, sounds like. I should talk to her.

  Din’Dael finally broke from his private revelry. He turned a humorless smile to Will and stroked at a nonexistent beard. Without a word, he turned and strode away from the wreckage of the tent. Will bit back the choice words he wanted to throw after the retreating figure. Bide your time. Keep a level head.

  He grabbed Flint and followed. The Revenant led them away from the camp and up the mountainside a short distance. Despite the steep angle and deep snowpack, din’Dael moved at an impossible pace, nearly gliding across the terrain. Will’s own footsteps were dogged and before long he was puffing with exertion and more than a bit annoyed. Neither of them spoke until they were well out of earshot of the camp.

  “There,” din’Dael said when the lines of the tents were no longer visible. “Privacy, at last.”

  Will sniffed disdainfully. “Oh? Able to detect the movements of the Seekers as well, are you?”

  Din’Dael gave him a rueful, patronizing look. “Shyldd pulled them back before we even made it out of camp, Noctis.” He crossed his bare, scarred arms and gave Will an appraising glance before dropping his eyes down to Flint. “A simple touch of the legends and you return to the demeanor of a petulant youth. I’d thought you past such things, Thorne.”

  “And I’d thought you beyond your own damn ego!” Will shouted back at him. “Jesus, Jero, they’re dead. You got them all killed. And for what? Kenwal? Your goddam pride? To take out a camp of Necrothanians and make a goddam statement?”

  Din’Dael sniffed. “Ah, yes. Petulant.”

  “Damn you, Jero. I should have listened to Morella. You should be rotting in the Shale.”

  The Lightborne laughed, full and loud, before taking a step closer to Will. “Truly, Noctis?” He raised an eyebrow, a wide, stupid grin still plastered to his face. “Tell me then, Burner, what have I done to offend?”

  Will’s stared in incredulity. “You . . . you don’t even get it, do you? All those lives wasted. All those people you preached about saving. Jesus, all the goddam lives you ruined or ended to find even a single goddam Borne, and you just pissed them all away for nothing.”

  “Oh, Noctis,” din’Dael said, shaking his head slowly. “You truly are lost. You have no—”

  “My name is William Davis.” He nearly spat the words. “I am not the weapon you tried to make me. I am not a mindless follower who believes your idiotic lies.” The air between them crackled with static. “You broke something in me once, Jero. That is why I followed you.” He gripped Flint tight, felt the strange, vibrant energy of the blade coursing through him. “That is why you’ve never succeeded with me. I’m not yours.”

  “Not mine? No, William. You are not mine.” He didn’t even pause when he passed over the name Noctis, not one trace of hesitation. “Not now, not ever. That is not my way.”

  “No games, Jero.” Will shook his head. What the hell is he trying to trap me in this time. “I’ve had enough of them.”

  “You still don’t see?” Din’Dael’s temper flared and lightning rippled across his skin. The very snow in the air surrounding him evaporated and steam rose. “You’re his, William. You all are.” His snarl was nearly feral. His eyes were frantic, darting madly as they scanned Will’s face.

  “Valmont has no—”

  “Damn Dorian Valmont,” din’Dael spat contemptuously. “That fool has ever been too blind to know the true threat to these lands.”

  Will paused, sudden confusion overtaking him. If not Valmont then . . .? He stared at din’Dael. The man was agitated, frustrated and angry, but strangely coherent. “What are you talking about?”

  Din’Dael’s eyes grew distant, looking somewhere into the space beyond Will. “You’ve heard him, William. I know you have. You’ve heard them both. The pull, William . . . the need.”

  “Jero, snap back to me.” Will wove his head back and forth, trying to meet din’Dael’s eye. “Who are you talking about?”

  “It wasn’t me, William. Surely you must know that.” He spun slowly, vacant eyes circling back to face the unseen camp. “I would never, could never hurt them. Sacrifice them. But he could. He did. He knew that I would fight . . . that I would try to stop it.” He grimaced and held up his glowing fist containing the unseen Relic. “Even with this, I couldn’t.” He turned back and met Will’s eyes. Tears were flowing freely down his face, steaming in the cool mountain air. “I failed them, William. He slaughtered them to weaken me. That is why I needed you. Don’t you see?”

  Will eyed the man warily. This was new. Sure, din’Dael had had previous bouts of rapid change, but not like this. Will didn’t like it. “No, Jero. I don’t.”

  The sudden defeated sag of the large man’s shoulders caught Will by complete surprise. His entire face slackened for a moment and the look of despairing hopelessness unnerved Will.

  “You’ve heard him, William.” Din’Dael stepped closer, his movements dreamlike. “He is the speaker of lies, the father of madness.” Lightning-rippled hands reached out and gripped Will’s shoulders painfully. Will struggled, but the grip was iron. “He tears away at your mind until you are broken. Don’t you see?”

  I wish I could, Will thought sadly. It pained him to see the man brought so low by his own madness. “I see the threat, Jero.” It was not a lie, but it still tasted like one. The Necrothanians are the threat. Valmont is the threat. But I cannot find one in the imagined ghosts in a madman’s mind. “And I know that it needs to be countered.”

  Din’Dael’s trembling fingers dug deeper into Will’s shoulders. “Yes, William. Yes.” His grin flashed wide and white, jubilant. The stream of tears never ceased. “More than you know. Together, this”—he removed his hand and balled it into an emerald glowing fist in front of Will’s face—“and that”—he gestured toward Flint—“and you and I together, William. Together! We can change the face of reality itself.”

  He was growing ever more manic. Will finally wrenched himself away and stumbled a few steps back through the drift. He’s completely lost it. I’ve got to steer him back on track.

  Will held up Flint and made a show of inspecting the broken blade. He looked from it to the Lightborne camp and the lands beyond, then lowered the sword and met din’Dael’s eyes. He spoke low and controlled, imploring whatever remained of din’Dael’s right mind to hear his words. “Whatever you think you know, Jero, whatever the threat might be, first we need to stop whatever Valmont’s people are doing here. Alright? First, we stop this. Then”—he studied the large man’s face—“then we’ll talk more. But first we need to save our people.”

  “As it has always been, William Thorne.” His emerald fist looked ghastly against the snow. “We do what we must to save our people.” Din’Dael’s eyes darkened as he gazed at the camp. “Whatever the cost.”

  30

  A World Beyond

  Will’s night existed within a sleepless dream. He returned to the camp not knowing what to expect but finding it in worse shape than he’d dared fear. Morella was sulking somewhere out of sight. Forcing himself not to dwell on her mood, he instead busied himself outfitting the Borne and meeting the Seekers.

  There were few enough of each, but nonetheless he made efforts to encourage those who needed it and present a face of strength. He had no idea if they bought it; he sure didn’t. They’d believed him when he said he had a plan. They trusted him to save them. But h
e kept coming up empty-handed. He spent hours trying to come up with something, anything, that he could give them. Always, he drew a blank.

  What would Mad do? He asked himself the question over and over. His brother was the one who planned, who strategized. More often than not, Will had relied on his Shade and his luck and his damn key to give him a leg up. Everything he’d been focusing on the last few years had been so centered on training himself, not any kind of large group. Everyone in the Sapholux had been trained that way.

  I’ve got a whole group of fighters who only know how to protect themselves.

  What had din’Dael been thinking when he’d trained them? Not for the first time, Will wondered how things might have been different had Madigan been guiding them, rather than Will and a damned madman. He shook his head, chastising himself. What the hell came over me back home? Why the hell did I push him away?

  Will paced a short distance away from the camp. Mad always found a way. He would have used every tool to his advantage. He would have seen the invisible threads holding everything together and then pulled them like strings on a marionette. When Will was in the Sapholux, he’d hoped to discover how to lead. But he still had no idea.

  More the puppet than the damn puppeteer. He frowned. Maybe if the puppet was stationary, held in a firm grip, and I had a damn magnifying glass, I could find the strings. But normally? Not a damn chance.

  Will’s breath caught in his throat.

  That’s it.

  It was a bad plan. Reckless, really. Foolish, terrible. But it was all he had . . . and it could work. Maybe.

  He rushed back to the camp and began his search. When he saw the reaction of every person he sought out, he felt his momentary confidence slipping. Every single person stared at him like he was insane when he outlined their part to play. Morella barely looked at him, but when she did, her opinion of the plan, of him, was clear. Only Jero din’Dael approved, which did nothing for Will’s confidence. In the end, though, everyone agreed. Will could feel himself trembling as the assembled parties moved to prepare.

  Cephora took his arm. “You know that very few will walk away from this, don’t you?” she said quietly.

  Will’s stomach twisted. “But some might.”

  “Hmph.” She assessed him. “Some. I will gather what you require.”

  She let him go. He busied himself by helping any who needed it. Well before dawn, he prepared his empty fangs, took Flint, and walked a short distance. The air was calming and cool. He traced the snow with each step until he found a more solid snowpack still within sight of the tents. Won’t be long now.

  “You promised,” an angry voice called out to him. Will turned to see Morella following him a short distance away. “You promised, Will.”

  “We’ll see each other before long.” He took a tentative step toward her and took her hand when she reached him. “I just need someone I trust watching din’Dael.”

  Her eyes searched his face. “Meaning?”

  “Meaning if this goes sideways and he snaps again, I want you to get everyone out. Jero won’t. He’ll sacrifice them all for nothing.”

  She relaxed visibly and shook her head. “What makes you think that I won’t just abandon them too? Save my own skin.”

  “No,” Will said, drawing her hands up to his lips. He kissed her fingers and looked into her eyes. “You’re good, Morella. I’m sorry about before. You’re a good person.”

  Her mouth quivered slightly. Her expression was strange, almost sad. She tilted her face up and kissed him. The wave of electricity that coursed through his body had nothing to do with his key or his Flare.

  “I’ll see you at the end, lover.”

  Her words were barely a whisper. She turned and left without another word and never looked back. Will was alone. He stretched, knowing that even brief sleep would not come. He held Flint and familiarized himself with the blade. If only it was complete. Still, the broken edge and guard were enough that he could use it as a weapon.

  He drew his cutlass and moved through various cuts and guards and progressions, calming his mind with the peace of practice. It took a few minor adjustments to get used to having Flint in his left hand, but he found his stride soon enough. Still, he was unnerved by it. What little he knew about Relics of Antiquity was that they were never as they seemed and always far more than one expected. But with two of them, Flint and the Emerald Eye, surely he and his people stood a chance against the Necrothanians. Hell, if even half the things I’ve heard are true, then a single Relic should have been enough.

  Should have been. It hadn’t.

  Will returned his cutlass to the baldric and maneuvered Flint into a loop at his belt. It felt awkward at first, imbalanced against the blood fang on his left hip, but after some brief fiddling he made it work. That the fangs themselves were empty gave him pause. But that will change before long, he thought wryly. He exhaled deeply and tried to push the dark thoughts of the coming slaughter from his head. His key hummed mildly at his chest, having calmed immensely since the ordeal of the binding. He had everything he needed. All that was left to do was act.

  Will left the camp’s sightline. He considered going back one last time to make sure everything was progressing correctly. To make sure din’Dael was following through. To see Morella one last time. But instead, he slipped away into the final breath of night to meet his guides. No one saw him leave, but he had to trust them to do what they had to. Trust them to believe they had a chance.

  He found Rienne exactly where expected. That was good. When he’d told her his plan and her part in it, he hadn’t been sure that he’d broken through her near-catatonic fear. Now, though, some life seemed to have returned to the Lightborne. She looked far more like the friend he’d trained with and sparred against for so long. She rose from her crouch and hefted the small bundle that had lain hidden in her lap. She tossed it to Will who snatched it out of the air, then crossed her arms at his approach.

  “With regards from Cephora.” A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “You know this is a bad plan.”

  “Yes,” Will said with as much nonchalance as he could muster. “But it’s better than no plan.”

  “I’m not so sure that I agree with you there.”

  Will paused and caught Rienne’s shoulder with a touch as she moved past him. “What do you mean?”

  She half turned back to him. “Do we really need a plan?” The corner of her mouth twitched a bit, though whether from sadness or humor, Will couldn’t tell.

  “It’s better than running in without a second thought.”

  “We could always just go home.” She raised her eyes to the sky and held them there. “There or somewhere else.”

  The comment hung in the air. “Rienne, Valmont is evil. He needs to be stopped.”

  “Someone will always need to be stopped. There’s always a fight somewhere.”

  “Are you saying we should just stop?”

  “I liked home.”

  “Rienne . . .”

  “And now that I’ve seen a bit of the world, I think I’d like to see more of it.” She turned and looked at him with a calm face. “I want to live, Noctis. Everyone that died . . . I don’t want that. I want life.”

  She turned away again and kept walking. Will was at a loss for words. Of course we want to live. But Valmont wants to destroy that, to take that away from us . . . But she knew that as well as he did. Sheep, din’Dael called them. They’d only known peace. They wanted to keep that.

  And is that so wrong?

  For the next hour, they spoke little as they walked. A thick fog settled over the landscape, meeting the snow and giving the surreal impression that they were walking within a dark storm cloud. Whatever her personal misgivings, Rienne pressed on, guiding him to their destination despite the absence of clear sight. Just like when we first left the Sapholux. She’s good. She does what’s needed when it needs to be done.

  Rienne’s steps slowed. She dropped to a crouch then took measure
d, cautious steps for another five minutes before halting. “This is it.”

  Will couldn’t see any change, but he nodded nonetheless. “You’re good to get back?”

  “I am.”

  “Right, then.” Will adjusted Flint and loosened his fangs. He focused on his key and felt the comforting vibration humming against his skin. “Thank you, Rienne. For everything.”

  She watched him prepare, her eyes never leaving his face. “Noctis, don’t throw your life away in there.”

  Will gave her a hollow smile. “I don’t plan to. I want to live too.”

  She reached out and gave his arm a light squeeze. “I’ll see you on the other side.”

  Then she was gone, retreating into the cloud of snow and fog. Will watched it swirl, lost in thought while the world descended into a blank grey canvas. What if she’s right? What if we did just leave, let the world continue their fight without us?

  It was tempting. What did he know of Aeril beyond the small piece he’d seen? Beyond the Sapholux and Undermyre and the lands between? There was so much he didn’t know, had never had the opportunity to discover. They could go, leave din’Dael to his crazy schemes. Go and explore the world, two sets of virgin eyes beholding unimaginable sights.

  But he knew he wouldn’t. To abandon everyone like that would be . . . Would be what? Not me. Not what Grandda made us.

  Pushing the thought from his mind, Will crept forward in a low crouch, moving as silently as possible atop the light crunch of snow. A short time later, the grey haze of night began to lift. He glanced up, gauging the light against the time since he’d left camp. Everyone should be well on the move. Time to do my part.

  He heard the sounds of the encampment well before he saw it, the sounds of labor and industry not fully muffled by the snow. The air smelled of woodsmoke and iron, and above it all lingered the earthen smell of dredged rock. Will quickened his pace. As the noise grew louder, an amorphous form appeared in the fog. Will froze. The figure shifted slightly. A man wrapped in a cloak and blankets. A sentry standing idle. Will withdrew the blood fangs. A dagger in the dark. He swallowed hard.