The Dark Ability: Books 1-4

by D. K. Holmberg

  He had not heard the front door to the shop open or his father approach. Only when his father looked over his shoulder, his breath hot, the stench of the night’s ale still clinging to his it, did Rsiran realize his father had returned.

  His father said nothing. Instead, grabbing a set of iron tongs, he pulled the blade from Rsiran and threw it into the forge. The flames leapt high, blue and red, sparking and hissing. Then he took a hammer and began reshaping the lorcith with a rage nearly as hot as the coals in the forge.

  Rsiran stood frozen, terrified to even speak. He’d made another weapon, and a sword this time. How could he have let himself lose control like that?

  Thenis glanced at him from where he worked smelting the steel. His face wore a strange look, a mix of apology and disgust, all twisted by his scar. As much as it would help Rsiran, Thenis said nothing.

  “You will not touch anything in this shop unless I instruct you to. Is that understood?” his father asked as he worked. His voice was low and soft, simmering with anger.

  He pointed at him with the still red-hot tongs, and Rsiran jerked back, afraid of getting burned. He nodded. “I didn’t know…” He was unable to finish.

  His father stepped closer, the tongs falling to the ground. “Didn’t know? You think you can use that as an excuse?” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Do you know that lorcith grows so expensive I can almost not afford to stock it? Do you know that the supply from the mines has trickled off? Do you know what you nearly cost me?”

  He punctuated each question with a hard strike of the hammer.

  “You think I hold you back, that you have watched me or one of the journeymen enough times you can simply pick up a hammer and make whatever comes to mind. You have no control. You are barely strong enough to control iron, let alone work with something as seductive as lorcith.”

  Rsiran swallowed. “The lorcith told me what to make.”

  Thenis glanced over, his eyes flaring deeper green for a moment.

  “And you are not yet strong enough to ignore it.” His father sighed, frustration and sadness heavy in the sound. “You think I do not understand, Rsiran, but I do. I know fully how the lorcith can sing, drawing you to make dark and dangerous weapons, tools that were not meant to come from an Elaeavn smith.” He shook his head.

  “How?” Rsiran asked.

  His father snorted and started to turn away. For a moment, Rsiran thought he would not answer. When he did, the answer surprised him.

  “It’s in our blood,” he said, still hammering on the lorcith. Now it was shaped into a flat sheet. His father’s face tensed and contorted as he worked. “There are some that it calls to, demanding a certain shape.” He hammered at the metal a few more times. “Lorcith cannot guide you. Such a thing is nearly as dark as…” He trailed off, glancing at Thenis, then shook his head. “As what I was warned you’d become. And here I see it coming true. And with this, you risk not only yourself, but my smith as well. All of us could suffer because of your lack of control.” His eyes hardened as he looked over at him, the hammer rising and falling as he glared at Rsiran. “A true smith learns to control the lorcith, not the other way around.”

  Rsiran looked over to the forge and remembered the knives he had made, how the lorcith seemed so eager to take the shape, as if the metal told him where to place the hammer. Even when he made simple items, things like bowls or hooks, the metal seemed to tell him what to do. “I didn’t know,” he said again.

  His father leaned into him. Tightly controlled anger still pulled on his cheeks and lips, his pale eyes almost quivering. “You are an apprentice. There has been no reason for you to know.” He grunted as he hammered, forcing the shape with the force of his will. “Not all smiths are pulled by lorcith the same way. Some cannot even hear the call of the ore, never hear how it sings. They are skilled, but rarely match the skill of the greatest smiths.”

  Rsiran glanced over at Thenis. He worked silently over the smelted steel, for all intents focused on his work, but there was a stiffness to his back that told Rsiran that he listened. Rarely had his father spoken so much to him, and never so much about his trade.

  “You have proven time and again that you cannot master yourself, let alone have the strength of will to master lorcith.” His father took a step back, the heavy tongs dragging across the ground. “I think it is time I stop coddling you or else you will never learn enough to join the guild.” He inhaled deeply, and he shook his head. “Next week you will report to the mines in Ilphaesn. Working there might provide a different perspective. Maybe there you can gain the necessary strength of will. At the least, it will keep the rest of us safe from your…” He shook his head, unable to even finish as his jaw clenched, as if biting back his anger.

  Rsiran felt as if an icy hot hand squeezed his heart. The Ilphaesn Mountain mines were a dark place, a place where men were sent to serve out their penance when punished by the ruling Elvraeth council. And his father intended to send him to work alongside them. He opened his mouth to say something—anything—that might sway his father, but nothing came out.

  “I can see from your expression that I finally have your attention,” his father said. “Finish your work today, and then you are dismissed. We will talk later about getting you to Ilphaesn.” His father turned, walked into the back room, and closed the door, saying nothing more.

  Thenis looked at him and started to open his mouth but bit back whatever he had intended to say, turning his attention back to his project.

  Rsiran stared at the fire burning in the forge. He didn’t blame Thenis for turning away from him. Angering Rsiran’s father only risked his journeyman status. Better to pretend not to have heard.

  Long moments passed before Rsiran finally managed to get himself moving.

  Chapter 5

  Rsiran ran from the smithy and spent much of the day wandering. He had walked aimlessly, letting his feet and the sounds of the city pull him. Somehow, he ended up making his way into Lower Town, toward the tavern from the night before. It was a mistake coming this far, especially as it risked him running into Brusus or Haern again. He couldn’t get caught up in what they were doing.

  Maybe it was best he was sent to Ilphaesn. At least he wouldn’t be able to make any more of the knives that could get his father into trouble, and risk whatever Brusus might have in mind for him now that he knew Rsiran made knives of lorcith.

  He had no one he could go to. Not his mother—she would side with his father, never speaking against him even when Rsiran saw in her eyes that she knew his father was being unreasonable. Not his sister either—she had made it quite clear she would be happier were he to live elsewhere. His time spent as an apprentice had separated him from any of the friends he had as a child, but even those were few. He had always struggled with opening himself to others, always fearing they might turn on him as his father had.

  He thought of leaving Elaeavn, leaving the comfort—such as it was—of his home, to live and work in the mines of the Ilphaesn Mountain. There were stories of what it was like from those who had been sent to work and returned to Elaeavn. Most were surprisingly tight-lipped, probably fearing to do anything that might get them banished to the mines again.

  He paused at the tavern and glanced in the window. A few people sat at the tables but none he recognized. One of the servers spotted him and motioned him in, but he shook his head and started down the street. The buildings in this part of town were smaller, more compact. Most appeared somewhat run down. Large cracks ran up the sides of many, and the once-white stone now appeared grey and dirty. A few had vines creeping along the face of the building, the leaves at this time of year brown and falling off.

  Other people began filling the street. A stream of wet and dirty men smelling of fish went past, likely returned from one of the fishing vessels. Women wearing high-necked dresses more tattered and worn than those found in the upper city wandered past. Children ran by screaming as they raced toward the shore. Others, obviously fini
shed with their labor for the day, wandered the street with a bit more direction than he had.

  It wasn’t until Rsiran reached the edge of the Lower Town that he stopped. The road he followed took him to the southern edge of the city where it abutted the bay. The Lhear Sea stretched out before him and huge rock cliffs towered on either side, framing the bay. Water splashed steadily along the rocky shore. Tall-masted ships moored out in the bay, and smaller boats slid through the water, ferrying people to and from the ships. To the north, the docks were busy with workers helping with the day’s catch or moving crates off a few of the shallower-keeled boats. Past the docks, beyond the sheer cliff wall rising above the water, Rsiran saw the snow-white peak of Ilphaesn Mountain.

  He climbed down onto the rocks and crept carefully toward the water. There, he sat close to the edge of the bay as salty spray splashed against him. Sunlight glittered off the water, sweeps of color stranding across the sky as the sun faded behind the horizon. He could leave Elaeavn, simply disappear like one of the Forgotten, and start anew in one of the lesser cities. With his abilities, there were other things he could do, skills he could learn. Maybe he could even continue working as a smith. No lorcith was found outside the city, so the temptation would be lessened.

  Except, Rsiran was not sure he could leave Elaeavn. Only the Forgotten, those banished by the Elvraeth, ever really left the city. He might not be blessed by the Great Watcher, but he was still of Elaeavn. More than that, though. He was a smith. His father was right—the lorcith called to him, demanding that he shape it. And when he stood before the forge…everything felt peaceful. For him to learn what he needed left him with one option—doing as his father demanded, working in the mines alongside criminals, and returning to Elaeavn to prove that he could be trusted again as an apprentice. Only then would he be able to become the smith he wanted so badly to be.

  He shuddered to think of what the mines would be like. His father spoke about learning to control the lorcith, but from what Rsiran had seen, he was barely aware of what he was doing when forging something with lorcith. The knives and the blade simply came into being. How did he know how much was him and what was from the metal? And did he care?

  Rsiran sat staring at the water until the sky had darkened completely. Flickers of light sprang up behind him from candles and lanterns set into windows. A few lanterns flickered out on the ships, though most remained dark. Stars twinkled into being, bedazzling the sky like the sea spray reflecting the sunlight. A pale sliver of moon appeared in the west, high and distant.

  He finally stood and made his way back toward town. Perhaps in returning home and facing his punishment he would find his father had changed his mind, though he did not have great optimism.

  In the darkness, he considered Sliding home rather than walking all the way back up the sloping streets, but decided against it. The cool air cleared his mind, and he would need a clear and calm mind when he returned home. Besides, if he was going to do as his father commanded, as hard as it was, he had better start by ignoring that particular ability as well. He would show that he had control of himself.

  So it was that the street again led him past the tavern where he had diced with Brusus and Haern the night before. A dark shadow separated from the street as if it had been watching him, and approached. “Do you normally make it down to Lower Town daily?”

  Rsiran stared through the darkness, shadows shifting and lightening enough for him to see that Brusus stood in front of him. He wore a heavy brown cloak of fine quality, almost too warm for the weather, and his hair was wet and slicked back atop his head like the first night he met him, only then it had been raining. Moonlight bounced off the stone on his ring.

  Had Brusus been watching him? Worse, had he followed him? “Not usually,” he said carefully.

  Brusus smiled and nodded toward the tavern. “You don’t have to have permission to enter. Besides, there are other things we need to talk about.”

  Rsiran’s heart fluttered. Brusus would want more knives, but now that he’d been exiled to Ilphaesn, that was one thing he couldn’t do. “I shouldn’t be out late again.”

  “Trouble?” Brusus watched him with pale eyes. “We can’t all be blessed like those who live in the palace, Rsiran. The rest of us have to make our own way.”

  The comment made it even more likely that Brusus was a part of the rebellion. He needed to be careful about what he said to Brusus. “Some of us aren’t blessed at all,” Rsiran muttered.

  Brusus looked at him strangely, and Rsiran realized his mistake. With his pale eyes, Brusus would not have much strength in whatever ability he possessed. Discussing strength in one’s ability was considered taboo. He should not have said anything.

  “I’m sorry,” he began. “I didn’t mean—”

  Brusus shook his head. “No offense taken. I have lived within Elaeavn my entire life as one of the palest-eyed people here. There is more to a person than their ability, more to me than my weak Sight.” He shook his head and smiled. “Besides, I like to think I have other unconventional abilities.”

  Rsiran nodded carefully. Though Brusus said he did not take offense, he should step lightly. Now that Brusus had admitted to his Sight, would he expect Rsiran to share his ability? With as angry and suspicious as his father was of Sliding, he dared not say anything about it to a virtual stranger.

  Besides, what did he really know about Brusus? He wanted the knife Rsiran forged and knew how to sell it. Did that make him some sort of smuggler, the sort of criminal the ability to Slide would lead him to become? But the conversation he’d overhead made him wonder what else Brusus and his friends were. How would his father react if he knew Rsiran had somehow gotten caught up in something more?

  “And one of my abilities is the capacity to hold my ale. Come in, Rsiran, and see if you have an unconventional ability.” Brusus smiled again, draping an arm around his shoulders and steering him toward the tavern.

  As much as he didn’t want to get tangled in whatever Brusus planned, Brusus knew too much of him. What choice did he have but to be guided into the tavern?

  The following morning, he awoke early, nearly shaking with nerves. In spite of knowing that he should not, he had Slid home from the tavern, smelling strongly of ale, with pockets slightly heavier after winning his share at dice. Haern had welcomed him to the table as if he were an old friend. Even Jessa seemed nonplussed that he had returned, this time wearing a blood red flower, the color practically dripping from the petals. Two others joined, Tagus and Nesin, both fresh off their ship, and both treated him warmly. Brusus might have watched him carefully, his gaze every so often drifting to Rsiran’s pockets, but he’d always smiled at him, and made him feel welcome. Strangely, for the first time in as long as he could remember, he felt welcome in Elaeavn as he was about to be sent from the city. If they were criminals—or something worse—they were at least friendly criminals.

  He arrived home after his father, and by Sliding into his room, he bypassed any possibility for encountering his sister. Too often she slept by the door, as if hoping to catch him to report to their parents and raise herself even higher in their eyes. In spite of that, he could not bring himself to hate her.

  Dressing quickly, he decided to stuff the lorcith knife and his growing coin purse into a small hidden section of his trunk. He looked around the room, considering what he would bring with him to the Ilphaesn mines. Other than the trunk, his room consisted of his bed and a small shelf. A few books were stacked on shelves from his earliest school days, a time before he disgusted his father. He realized he probably would not even take his trunk with him. That meant that he would have to hide the knife and coins somewhere else while he was gone.

  He left his room and went into the kitchen, feeling the growing fluttering of nerves in his stomach, fearing what his mother and father would say to him this morning. Would they even acknowledge that he had returned home late again last night? Would that even matter?

  In the small kitchen, there
was only his sister. She stood beside a counter, rolling bread, a strand of her dark hair hanging in her face. The aromas of flour and yeast brought back pleasant memories of when he had helped his mother as a child. The oven radiated a warm heat in the corner. A tub of water sat along one of the counters.

  Alyse looked up as he entered but did not say anything. He stepped up to the counter and helped her knead the dough, pressing on it and rolling it as his mother had once taught him. His sister watched a moment before stepping away and turning toward the oven. They worked silently together as they prepared breakfast, and soon the kitchen was full of the sweet aromas of baking bread and the spice of cooked sausages.

  “Father told me that he plans to send you to the mines. I am sorry, Rsiran,” Alyse said. She stood in front of the oven before a pan simmering with the sausages, her back to him.

  He leaned against one wall, watching her. “The fault is my own.”

  She nodded. “Still.”

  He sniffed. The response was typical of Alyse.

  “Perhaps you can use the opportunity he has given you to—”

  “Opportunity?” Rsiran stepped away from the wall.

  Alyse turned to face him, her eyes flaring green. Rsiran strengthened his barriers to keep her from Reading him.

  “Yes, opportunity.” She stood with her back straight as she chastised him, looking so much like their mother that it nearly unnerved him. “Without him, you would not even have your apprenticeship. Then what would you do? Work in Lower Town on the docks? Learn to fish? Use your ability to become some sort of thief?” she finished, lowering her voice.

  With each question, his irritation with her faded. As usual, she was right. There was nothing else for him to do, nothing that he could do. Soon he would travel to the mines, repress his ability to Slide, and focus on whatever his father wanted to earn back his apprenticeship. Alyse only reinforced that decision.