Whether it was the effect of the healing or the heat from the fire, he felt his head swimming. “Friends?” He had no friends. His apprenticeship and the demands his father placed on him assured him of that. “I can’t stay. I need to get back. If I don’t return before morning…”
The woman nodded. “I understand. But it will be dangerous for you to Slide tonight after such an injury. The healing will take its toll as well. You will feel tired and weakened for days.” She patted his arm. “Perhaps it is best you do not return.”
Rsiran pushed against her hand but she held fast. “My father will find out if I don’t return. I’ll lose my apprenticeship. I’ll have nothing…”
“Nothing? Did the Great Watcher not give you an ability?”
He shook his head. “Nothing of use.”
Her face darkened, and the green in her eyes deepened. “Nothing of use? You think you know better than the Great Watcher? Did your ability not save you tonight? Without Sliding back to Elaeavn, you would likely have died within Ilphaesn.”
“Without Sliding, I never would have been sent to Ilphaesn.” But it was more than that. Rsiran hadn’t been able to ignore the call of the lorcith, either.
Silence stretched between them for a moment with only the crackling of the fire breaking the quiet. Finally, she smiled sadly at him, releasing his arm. “True enough, young man. Perhaps the day will come when you will no longer think of your gift with such contempt.”
Rsiran pushed himself up from the cot. A wave of dizziness threatened to knock him back down before it passed. “Thank you for healing me. I wish I could pay you—”
“My fees have been paid,” she said, her tone more abrupt. “At least stay until your friend returns. You owe her nearly as much thanks.”
He stood and grabbed his shirt from near the fire before taking a step toward the door, already thinking of where he would Slide into the mines. Probably inside the gated entrance. Since there was no light, it would be dark, and he could wander back to his blanket as if he had never left.
“You know I can’t.” Outside the small window, two figures approached. “Please don’t tell them.”
She studied him before nodding.
As he took a step, Sliding between the planes, he thought he saw a sun-weathered face, hair peppered with black, wearing a finely embroidered cloak. He almost halted but stepped back into the darkness of the mines of Ilphaesn.
Chapter 12
Being back was harder than Rsiran expected.
The first thing he had done was rub his shirt into the loose dust on the floor of the cave, dirtying it so he didn’t look as if he was fresh from the city. The healer had even taken the time to stitch his shirt with such small stitching that it was nearly invisible. Not that in the darkness of the caves anyone would notice the stitches anyway, but Rsiran felt pleased that it was less likely.
He had avoided the boy as much as he could. The boy tried to get him to go to the foreman so they would take him to town and find a healer. Rsiran argued, pulling away from him. “I’m fine, really.”
“I saw your back.”
“And yet I’m still here,” Rsiran argued.
The boy left him alone, skulking off to a darker part of the cavern to eat, a hurt look twisting his face. Rsiran hated that he had to upset the boy, but if others learned he could Slide, his apprenticeship was lost.
He spent much of that first day back thinking about who he had seen outside the healer’s house. Could it really have been Brusus? If that was true, that meant the girl had been Jessa. Lucky for him someone who recognized him had found him. Luckier still that she knew of a healer who could help at that late hour.
But it meant that he was pulled further into whatever they did. It meant that he now owed Brusus more than knives; he owed him his life.
Wrapped up in thinking about what had happened the night before, he did not find any lorcith that day. Sleep deprivation probably contributed to his distraction as well.
The next few days went much the same. The boy began to leave him alone at night, either upset that he had not gotten the help he thought Rsiran needed or for another slight that Rsiran had not recognized. Rsiran worked hard to ignore the sounds of the lorcith buried in the walls, taking only small nuggets of the ore to stave off boredom, nothing more substantial—certainly nothing that would draw the attention of any of the other miners. Each day he pocketed his small quantity. Hopefully his father would learn that he managed to ignore the call of the lorcith.
The other men watched him, especially the thin man, but they never said anything to him. Rsiran wondered who he’d heard near the mine entrance, but chose to hide in the shadows as much as possible rather than risking himself more. He’d done that enough already.
Nearly a week after his return, he awoke suddenly in the night.
Something had startled him, some sound he could not quite place. Was it the steady tapping, the rhythmic sound that never came during the day while they worked, only beginning as the miners were served the soft mush each night? The sound was never consistent, coming and going until late into the night when it became like a steady hammering.
The air held the same strange, humid stillness to it that he had felt the night he Slid back to Elaeavn. Then he had not been certain whether it was related to his injury, but there was no doubting it this night.
He didn’t know how long he’d been sleeping. None of the other miners stirred. The lantern glowed softly, nearly a dozen men lying on blankets at the fringes of its light. Other blankets were staggered in a more organized line, filling the lighted space in the cavern. Some men breathed heavily or snored. A few turned occasionally.
He couldn’t tell what had woken him.
His back felt tight and itched. Each day the pain receded, and now it was little more than a dull ache that seemed to stretch his skin. Since returning from Elaeavn, he’d slept better. He still missed the comfort of his bed, even his home though it had been years since he had felt really welcome there. But the blanket under him kept him off the cold stone of the cavern, and he had learned to sleep differently, ignoring the small aches from the rough ground poking into his sides as he shifted to find a comfortable position.
Sleep would not reclaim him.
Rather than stare at the dark shadowed ceiling, he stood and slowly walked out of the cavern, glancing toward the entrance. He heard nothing tonight, and breathed out carefully. He considered Sliding, leaving the mines and returning to Elaeavn, but what would he do there? Hide somewhere in the city? Find a tavern and drink like his father? Or would he abandon his punishment and stay in the city?
He shook his head. He wasn’t ready to abandon his apprenticeship. He was a Lareth, born to be a smith. He knew nothing else.
The tapping rang distantly, steady, and rhythmic. Rsiran couldn’t shake the curiosity he felt about the source of the sound. The last time he tried to find out what caused the tapping, he had been so scared in the darkness that he had Slid to Elaeavn. At least now he wasn’t injured.
He focused on the flat area before the branching mines and Slid there.
A wave of nausea and weakness washed over him. Darkness enveloped him, swallowing him. That was almost enough to make him return to the sleeping cavern, but he pushed back the fluttering nervousness in his chest and listened. The tapping sounded closer, echoing toward him on the faintest breath of air. Still distant, but he could tell direction and moved toward the same tunnel that he’d heard the sound coming from the last time. Rather than taking the long stone stairs down into the depths of the mine, he decided to try and Slide.
It was risky. He did not know each of the mines nearly well enough to make such a Slide safely, but he had spent days working in each of the various branching tunnels and used that memory of place to guide his path.
He could appear inside the stone of the mountain, trapping him. Such a Slide would be fatal; each Slide required some movement on his part, and if he Slid into the stone itself, he would not be
able to Slide back out.
When the sense of movement stopped, he tried to look around, but there was no light. Utter blackness surrounded him. The air moved here, soft and cold against his face, and he shivered.
The tapping was closer still but muted, as if coming through an unseen wall. He stood in the darkness, listening. The sound was familiar, and it took several moments before he realized why. It sounded like a pick striking the stone, chipping away to reveal lorcith.
Rsiran took a tentative step in the darkness, sliding his foot along the stone, his hands stretched out before him. In spite of the cool breath of air blowing through the mine, sweat coated his back, dripping down his spine and pooling along his waist. His hand reached the damp stone wall, and he used that to guide him down the tunnel, dragging his hand along the rough stone.
When he reached the end of the tunnel, he stopped and listened.
The tapping paused.
When it resumed, he felt the sound as much as he heard it.
Standing staring in the darkness, this close to the wall of the tunnel, the air nearly still, his palm flat against the stone, he heard the lorcith buried in the wall. The sound was like a steady murmuring voice, quick and anxious, almost eager. There was a musical quality to it, a song rising in expectation.
Moments passed before he understood. Expected freedom.
Could someone be mining the lorcith at night?
He remembered the foreman telling him that the mine used to give up large deposits regularly, at least once a week, but they had become uncommon over the last few months. The boy had told him the mines were full of the large deposits. Rsiran knew that to be true as well. Each time he worked, he struggled to avoid the sizeable nuggets, not wanting to draw the attention of any of the miners, unwilling to risk injury. Then there was what he’d overheard the night he was injured.
What if the reason no one managed to find any larger collections was that someone mined them at night? But where would they take them? Who other than the Elvraeth wanted lorcith?
The tapping stopped. Rsiran pulled his hand away. He felt a fluttering of the air, as if something—or someone—disturbed it, and he took a step back.
He waited, thinking the tapping would resume, but it did not.
As he stood in the dark, his imagination began to get the best of him. Was it the change to the air blowing through the tunnels or was there something else? Was he even alone in the tunnel? In the dark, anything could happen to him and no one would know. Likely as not, no one would even care.
There was another fluttering to the air. His heart raced, and fear got the best of him.
In a panicked flurry, he Slid out of the tunnel and out of the mine.
Chapter 13
He stepped onto the cobbled street in Lower Town. Fatigue washed over him as it always did after Sliding, leaving him weakened. Distances seemed to matter; the farther he Slid, the more fatigued he felt.
Again the moon shone too bright, stars blinking brightly overhead, and moments passed as his eyes adjusted. From the angle of the moon, it didn’t seem as late as the last time he Slid to Elaeavn. Pale lantern light lit the street. Waves washed against the shore. A gull circled and cawed in the sky.
Rsiran looked around and realized he had Slid to near the tavern.
Movement up the street made him hurry to hide in shadows along the building. A young couple wandered past, the woman dressed in what would be considered finery in Lower Town and clutching the man’s arm as they strode down the street. The man glanced over at him, deep green eyes flashing with Sight through the shadows to look at Rsiran suspiciously before looking away.
Rsiran stepped back into the street and started away from the couple. His wandering took him to the water. There was something soothing, calm, to the huge expanse of the ocean. It was a feeling that seemed to be otherwise lacking from his life. Near the shore, he turned toward the docks and wandered past the closed booths of the fishmongers and locked doors of massive warehouses that filled much of the space in front of the water.
“Why did you leave?”
He spun quickly. At the edge of the street, near the corner of a darkened warehouse, a lone figure stood leaning against the wall.
Rsiran edged forward, curiosity making him abandon caution. “Who’s there?”
A slender figure stepped away from the shadows. Close-cropped hair framed an angular face. It took a moment for him to recognize Jessa.
“Why’d you leave?” she asked again. She sounded hurt.
Rsiran looked around the street guiltily. At least she confirmed what he’d suspected—that she was the one that found him when he Slid to Elaeavn, injured and nearly dead from the poisoning of the pick. The healer was probably right that he should have stayed and thanked her for saving him, but that left him open to questions he didn’t want to answer. It was bad enough the healer now knew. Had she told Jessa? Brusus?
“I—” He couldn’t finish. How to explain in a way that didn’t reveal too much? “Thank you,” he said instead.
She stepped up to him. She wore a small pale flower tonight, white petals nearly translucent that smelled dark and bitter. “Thanks?” What she did next was unexpected. She punched him in the arm.
He winced and pulled away, looking at her and trying to decide what to say.
She balled up her fist as if to hit him again. Rsiran tried to prepare for it; she hit hard, especially for someone as slight as she was. “What happened to you?”
“I was attacked.”
She pushed him. “I could see that. Where’ve you been?”
Should he tell her that he had been sent to the mines? Doing so would only open more questions, questions about his ability, about Sliding. Dangerous topics. “I’ve been working for my apprenticeship.” And if he kept leaving the mines, he would likely lose it.
“Brusus brings you to the Wretched Barth, you dice with us for a few nights, then you disappear.”
At least now he knew the name of the tavern. No place on the street had a sign, simply a small stone signaling that it was a tavern. “Brusus only brought me because of the—”
She punched him in the arm again and cut him off. “Is that what you think? Is that why you’ve been hiding?” She pushed him and put her hands on her hips. “You know, Brusus is too welcoming, but even Haern let you join us, and he isn’t as easy to please. I had half a mind to leave you on the street.”
“Why didn’t you?” The anger and hurt in her voice was different than what he expected. She had been the least welcoming of the regulars at the tavern.
“And now you ask me why I didn’t leave you?” she asked. “You don’t know anything about people, do you?”
Rsiran could only stare, unsure how to answer. The group that Brusus had introduced him to at the tavern were not his friends, not really. How could he call someone a friend when he had only met them a few times?
Rsiran didn’t really know what they were. Brusus bought a knife forged out of lorcith—a forbidden forging—with few questions and planned to sell it. Hearn had a scarred face and looked far too at ease in the shadows of the tavern. And Jessa… Rsiran hadn’t decided what to think of her yet.
“So what happened?” Jessa asked.
Rsiran sighed. “It’s a long story.”
“So tell it,” she demanded.
“I’m not sure you want to know.”
“I think I have a right to know.”
He sighed again. “I guess you did get me to the healer.”
Jessa narrowed her eyes at him. “Could also be that we befriended you as well.”
“Is that what we are?”
She flung up her hands, striking Rsiran again in the chest as she did. “The Great Watcher help me! Who else do you dice with?”
When she saw his face, she tilted her head, stepping closer. This close to her, he smelled a mixture of sweat and fish and a hint of something floral, as if she tried to cover up the others.
“You don’t have many frien
ds, do you?” she asked.
At that, Rsiran turned away. The comment hit too close to his heart and his own thoughts. If even his family didn’t want him, how could he expect anyone else to want to be friends with him?
Had that been all there had been? He had thought the only reason Brusus had brought him to the tavern was for the knives, but what if there had been a different reason?
“Hey!” Jessa hissed as he turned. “Damn, I didn’t mean to upset you. You Upper Towners get kind of touchy. Come on, you can still dice with us. No one was too mad that you disappeared. Brusus was mostly worried.”
“Why would he worry?” Rsiran asked. He didn’t think his family even bothered to worry about him, let alone someone who was nearly a stranger.
“Why? I don’t know—maybe it was because I found you lying in the street with a massive wound torn into your back. Maybe because Della said you nearly died. Or maybe it’s because you up and disappeared before any of us could see for ourselves that you were okay. Della wouldn’t say anything about where you went or why you had to go suddenly, only that you had your reasons. She said that in time, you might even share them.” Jessa pushed him, and he spun around to face her again. “Now that I see you’re fine, I can go on living.”
Something about the tone to her voice struck a chord within him and he laughed. It startled her at first, but then she joined in. Rsiran smiled, unsure if she could even see his expression in the darkness. He hadn’t quite figured out what her ability was.
“I’m glad to be of help,” he said.
“Damn!” she said. “Maybe we’ll get you to lighten up eventually. More ale, maybe? Though I seem to remember you didn’t particularly care for ale, only nursing your drink like a babe at the bottle.”
The gentle teasing left him with a sense of belonging that he so rarely felt. He looked out toward the water where the reflection of the moon shone brightly. At some point, he would have to return to the mines, but each day there had begun to feel like every other. At some point, his father would have to take pity on him and relent, letting him return home and to his apprenticeship. But what if he didn’t?
The Dark Ability Page 8