Borne Rising

by Matthew Callahan

  “Aurellaine,” he croaked, steadying himself. He forced himself upright. “Or perhaps you’d prefer that I still call you Ileta?”

  She said nothing. The woman’s face was hidden, but she stared at him through pitch black, furious eyes. Shorter than I remember, Will mused. But, then again, he’d barely had a chance to assess her before she’d betrayed them. He raised his cutlass and leveled the point at her chest. Flaring, hot lightning coursed from his body and sparked along the blade. Aurellaine took a few short steps toward him, raising her noctori.

  “I owe you a death. You killed someone I cared about,” Will hissed.

  Aurellaine knelt and placed the box behind her, then balled the newly freed hand into a fist. Yellow crackling fire spat along its surface. Will’s gaze fell to the fist. So, she can Flare then, control them independently. Shadowborne and Lightborne both. He smiled cruelly. “We’ve got something in common, you and I.”

  A flicker of uncertainty crossed her eyes. Then her Shade struck him hard, a brute force in the gut. Will was flung backward and slammed against the ancient door. He slumped to the ground, gasping for breath, but she was upon him. Her Shade whirling about her, Aurellaine struck, the noctori singing in her left hand. Will barely got Flint up in time to deflect the blow. Aurellaine easily rolled around the broken tip of his blade and lunged forward with her flaming fist, catching Will’s exposed side.

  The force of the blow drove him back again, but he had no time to worry about the damage. She was on him again—a dagger now in her off-hand—lashing out again and again. Will managed to deflect the attacks with his cutlass, the left-handed opponent robbing him of much of his usual strategy. Aurellaine did not let up, stringing her attacks together in lithe, swift movements. It was all Will could do to defend—noctori meeting Flint, dagger meeting cutlass.

  Will’s side roared from where her flaming fist had struck. Get your head together, you know how to fight. He backpedaled, Flaring and sending out a blast of lightning. Aurellaine paused her assault to deftly step out of the way of the strike, but it gave Will seconds of precious time. Removed briefly from the relentless onslaught, he quickly regained his footing and set himself to task. The years of training took over. She was left-handed and he quickly adapted to her movements, a mirror of his own. Hanging guard against downward cut. Inside guard against her outside. Watch her point work.

  And why the hell isn’t she using her Shade? Why the hell is she holding back?

  He’d seen this woman obliterate a mass of fighters in the blink of an eye. Seen her blend Shadow and Radiance together into strange, terrifying destruction. A million questions suddenly leapt into his mind, but he could afford no distraction. Aurellaine pressed him again.

  Holding back because her father wanted us alive, Mad and me. Alive and together. Will groaned inwardly. Jesus, Mad was right. What the hell does he want from us?

  Will certainly didn’t intend to find out. Drawing on the power within Flint, he feinted high with his blade and Flared hard. His key screamed against his chest with the power of the burst, but another bolt of lightning shot forth from the hand that held the Relic and took Aurellaine in the leg. She did not cry out in pain. She hissed in fury.

  The air around them grew hazy, her Shade dissipating and filling the space. The smell of electricity filled the air. Aurellaine cast her noctori aside and the weapon winked out of existence.

  Will held his weapons defensively. She’s too far to lunge at. I’d never make it.

  There was only one thing left. Staring at Aurellaine’s hazy, masked face, he flung the cutlass to the ground between them.

  “You didn’t see Senraks fall, Aurellaine.” He moved Flint to his right hand. “You were off somewhere with your father, I’m sure.” She said nothing, but Will could see the smile in her eyes. He tried to calm his rapidly beating heart as he drew a blood fang in his free hand.

  “If you had seen it, you’d be much, much more concerned right now.”

  Steeling himself, Will drew upon Flint’s power with all the strength he could manage. At the same moment, he plunged the blood fang into his leg, just as he had when facing Senraks. The floodgates of pain and fiery fury burst open and filled his being. His insides became white-hot coals. Blisters popped and cracked on his blackening skin. Not real, not real. He cried out. The agony filled his world, but it did not distract him enough to make him miss seeing the fear take hold of Aurellaine.

  Within the maelstrom, he found the power he sought. Roaring, he grabbed at it and found a fount of unyielding, maddened force. He pulled at the power and it surged through him. The darkness of the cavern evaporated. Aurellaine’s Shade vanished. Channeling the power through Flint, he loosed a blast of blackened fire at the woman. The force of the outward blast, empowered by the Relic, hit Will like a truck and sent him flying backward into the door once more. The blackened, swirling blast went wide, crashing into the wall of the abyss. Sheets of rock and debris showered down into the dark depths.

  What little bit of Aurellaine’s face Will could see paled. She stumbled backward, all thought for killing Will seemingly forgotten. She whirled and lunged for the small chest. Will braced himself and launched another attack.

  The chest, however, was open. And empty.

  Will gasped and barely managed to steer the second eruption of power away from Jero din’Dael. Aurellaine Valmont stood frozen, staring at the Relic held gingerly in din’Dael’s hands. Will, attempting to stem the flow of raw power within Flint, realized the delicacy of the situation. If either his or din’Dael’s blood touched the Relic, it would kill them. But Aurellaine, if she was unbound . . .

  “Kill us, William!” din’Dael cried out. “Take us both!”

  Not another one, Will’s heart pounded. Not another—

  Aurellaine lashed out, noctori winking back into existence and thrusting for din’Dael’s heart. Will bellowed and unleashed the clouded, swirling mass of power. It collided into Aurellaine just before her blade found home, but the cry of agony from din’Dael fueled Will’s rage all the more. Will raced forward, striking out again. Aurellaine whirled, her terrified eyes meeting Will’s. The blast took her full on, sending her tumbling over the path into the abyss. Jero, face bleeding anew from a gaping, empty eye socket, stumbled backward and collapsed. The carefully wrapped bundle fell from his hand toward the chasm.

  Fang still lodged in his leg, Will lunged. He closed blood-covered fingers around the small metal object. An astonishing roar filled his head. He heard a woman scream far below him. Furious laughter, madder than din’Dael’s, drove him to the brink of insanity. His left hand shriveled and cracked around the surge of energy. Flint, a lightning rod in his other hand, set his entire arm aflame. All the while, Will’s key burned into his chest, embedding himself in his sternum in a blaze of agony.

  The world burned away into ash and dust. Distantly, as though from some great height, Will watched his body shrivel and wither.

  This is how I die, were the last words he knew.

  35

  Separate Paths

  “Will.”

  Within the void, the voice was a sinister hiss.

  “Come back, Will. I know you’re alive.”

  Something bright danced just beyond the void. He didn’t want to approach it; he knew it would be painful. Not the light. Not what’s within it. Something rough and wet was scraping against him. A foul stench was upon the air, stale breath and iron.

  “Come back to me, Will. You promised.”

  The darkness . . . I can’t. The promise though, what promise? What was the voice saying? His mind started to work, started to piece together all that had happened. Eyes, Will. Open your eyes.

  Will did as the voice commanded. Hints of memory came back to him. With it came pain. Even in the covered darkness, the light was too bright. He shied away from it.

  Hard fingers dug into his jaw. “No, you don’t get to do that. Come back to me.”

  That voice . . .

  “More
lla?” His voice was a croak of dust and ash. He coughed. “Morella, where—”

  “Shh, my love. You’re alive. I’ve got you.”

  Will faded back into unconsciousness.

  When next the world returned, it was not Morella’s face that he saw. One solitary eye stared back at him. Where the other should have been sat a blood-soaked cloth, tied behind the man’s short hair. Unflinching, the remaining eye held fear and uncertainty and anger. The eye dropped from his face to stare at something Will couldn’t see, then returned to meet his gaze.

  “What the hell are you?” the voice spat.

  That voice, I know that voice. But he couldn’t place it. Every thought brought a burning pain and wracked whatever consciousness remained to him. He broke out into dry, rough coughs. Something grated in his lungs, a cat shredding the tissue within.

  Something tingled against his chest before fading into a warm balm, covering his limbs. Cool, soothing music filled his mind. Just breathe, the music seemed to say.

  Will breathed.

  “I think it is safe to assume that Valmont is not, in fact, as trapped in Cascania as the young Borne would have had us believe.”

  Will cracked open crust-laden eyes. The light from nearby torches was glaring and painful. He clamped his eyes shut once more. His face felt tight and thin. Just breathe, he repeated the mantra to himself for the umpteenth time. Who was it who told him that? He couldn’t remember.

  Remember . . .

  Remember what? What was going on?

  “Aye, well. I’d say that he was a tad bit limited in his understanding of the Ways, Cephora. Do not fault him for it.”

  Shyldd. He’s a Seeker. He—

  Memory came crashing back to Will like air pouring from a vacuum. The battle by the Waygate. The countless dead. The uncontrollable power. The fall of Aurellaine Valmont. Jero din’Dael losing the Relic that she had been protecting.

  The Relic . . .

  He forced his eyes open again, mentally prepared for the torchlight this time. “The Relic,” was what he tried to say, but his voice had been stolen away, replaced by a wheeze.

  “Quiet, Shyldd! He’s waking.” There was a rustle of movement. “Send for the girl, she’ll be wanting to know he survived.”

  Will could see snow falling from where he lay. As if an afterthought, his body began shivering and he gave a sharp inhale at the pain that accompanied it. Every movement felt like he was rolling on crushed glass. But he had to move. He had to know.

  “Ever the astute Earth Warder,” came a voice filled with spite.

  Jero. Will’s mind connected. He turned his head to the source and saw the battered, one-eyed man. Will nearly flinched at the look of rage that poured from him. Jero din’Dael was still covered in blood, but it had dried and cracked against his skin. His face was only inches away from Will’s and the smell of the ravaged wounds on it turned Will’s already shaky stomach. Jero stared at Will like he was a wild animal, ready to snap at any moment.

  “How . . .” This time the word formed correctly. The rest of the thought was lost in another fit of wheezing and coughing. Reflexively, he brought up his left hand to cover his face and winced at the pain. Then he froze. Clutched within fingers stained with blood was a rectangular object with rounded corners. He could sense nothing from it, however. It seemed completely innocuous. Nonetheless, his fingers didn’t respond when he tried to open them. Will’s heart began to race.

  “Calm yourself, Will. Here.” Cephora laid a small bundle on the makeshift cot. “Your blood fangs. The stones have been replenished, to an extent. Use them.”

  “Carefully,” snarled din’Dael. His eyes had still not left Will.

  At the mention of the fangs, Will was suddenly and acutely aware of a raging pain in his leg. Triggered by the sudden return of that pain, dizziness washed over him. But within the spell he could still feel the faint flows of the bloodstones swirling nearby. He drew on them and collapsed back while the restoration took place. The pain in the leg eased. The overwhelming fatigue lessened. Gradually, the cracked, ashen dryness in his lungs dissipated. But his fingers still wouldn’t open.

  Will forced himself to sit up, suppressing the thought of the foreign object he held in a death grip. Absently, his fingers went to the key at his chest—but it was nowhere to be found. Panic gripped him. He scrabbled at his chest but could find no trace of it. Burned away, he remembered. Burned away at the end. And yet . . . yet it was there. He could feel the biting tingle of it reverberating against his breast.

  Glancing down, he saw Flint lying against his side. He dropped his free hand from the absent key and closed his fingers around the hilt, taking a deep breath and allowing its power to course through him. Din’Dael leapt to his feet, prepared to strike at any moment. Within the small tent were Shyldd and Cephora as well, but no sign of anyone else. Will dreaded the question, but he had to ask.

  “How many?”

  “Many.” Cephora was watching him almost as intently as din’Dael. “Two-thirds of the Seekers. Three-quarters of the Lightborne.”

  Gods, so many. The losses hung on the air. Will saw the weight of them on the faces of those near him. But it wasn’t their plan that led us into that deathtrap. It was mine. Will closed his eyes and fought back the wave of despair. “Morella?”

  “She made it.”

  “Aye, she’s barely left your side.”

  Will nodded and let out a slow breath of relief. Not a fever dream, then. “Aurellaine? The Necrothanians?”

  “Routed.” Shyldd took a step closer. “Their surviving numbers are even fewer than our own, thanks to the actions of that Borne creature. She herself took a nasty tumble into the abyss.”

  “Not into the Waygate? You’re sure?”

  “We are certain, William,” din’Dael said. He looked like a cat about to pounce. “I was there.”

  “I know, Jero. Thank you. I—”

  “Should be dead.” The air crackled with static. “Should be worse than dead. Why aren’t you dead, William Davis? Explain yourself.”

  “Leave him alone,” came a frantic shout. Will turned to look but was immediately buffeted by Morella’s arms encircling him and pulling him close. “Oh, Will, thank the gods.”

  She began peppering him with kisses and squeezing him tighter and tighter. Will recoiled at the sudden, overt display of affection. What the hell? This isn’t like her at all. “I’m fine, Morella,” he managed to say above her smothering. “Just—stop, really—I’m okay.”

  “It was me, Will. This was all my fault.” She interlaced her fingers into Will’s free hand and rested her head on his shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”

  Will tensed. “What was—”

  “The Necrothanians.” Cephora was visibly annoyed by Morella’s display. “She thinks they knew about this place because of her.”

  “My research,” Morella said quietly. She huddled into Will even closer. Her strange, frantic affection waning, it felt good to have her there—a small kindness against the weight of the dead. “When I was . . . taken. It has to be. They—that woman—must have pieced something together that I missed or . . . I don’t know. But why else would they have moved now and never before?”

  “Why indeed,” din’Dael said. He spat on the ground and turned his feral gaze to Morella. “Blast your damn research, girl.”

  “None of us could have known, Jero,” Will croaked defensively. “None of us could have done a damn thing.”

  Jero din’Dael snapped his attention back to Will. “Nothing indeed, is it? Interesting to hear from”—he waved a hand in the air—“what? What shall I call you now? What you did in there was not borne of Radiance.”

  “No, it wasn’t.” The words came from Shyldd, who had been silent for some time. “It was something different. Something unique.”

  Morella bristled and squeezed Will’s hand. He met her eye and she shook her head. “It’s nothing,” she whispered softly. “I just don’t like them talking about you as if you�
��re not you, is all.” He squeezed her hand back.

  “Different, yes.” There was a twitch in the corner of din’Dael’s eye. “But unique? Hardly. The rest of you saw, same as I. The boy’s power was matched by one other in that cavern.” He spun to Shyldd, rage pouring from him like a physical force. “You know something of this, Seeker?” He rose to his feet, opening his arms wide and speaking sarcastically. “Please, then. Won’t you educate the poor masses?”

  “Jero, come on,” Will said gently. “We all lost today.”

  “Bah.” Din’Dael waved a hand dismissively. “But we gained so much more, young . . . halfbreed? Is that what I ought to call you?”

  “Jero—”

  “We recovered a Relic of Antiquity, William. The cost is nothing compared to the gain.” The words were direct and harsh, but not cruel. “Had Dorian acquired it, the war would be all but lost. We have the advantage. And yet”—he cocked his head to the side—“and yet there is you, William Thorne. Are you ours? Are you theirs? Or are you something else entirely? What other tricks are you hiding up your sleeves, I wonder?”

  Will held up the object in his hand and stared at it. A Relic of Antiquity. We were right. Some feeling was beginning to return to his frozen fingers, a biting tingle. A warm pulse, like a heated blanket, emanated from the Relic. His fingers twitched. Again, he tried to open them and failed, but he saw the pinky twitch. Just a matter of time, then.

  “Enough, din’Dael,” Cephora snapped. “None of us know what he is or how he’s still alive. But he is.” She looked over at Will and narrowed her eyes. “There are answers within the holds of Greygarde. I do not know if they are the answers to this particular query, but we shall take the boy there.”

  “Don’t you think it would be better to investigate further here?” Will said. “At the very least, we need to know how Valmont broke into the Ways. What if he’s doing it elsewhere?”