The Dark Ability: Books 1-4

by D. K. Holmberg

  Since escaping from the Floating Palace, Rsiran had spent all of his time in Lower Town. Since most of the guild shops were on the fringes of Upper Town, he hadn’t even been near his father’s shop. Standing in front of it felt strange after all this time away. It had once been a place of comfort. Even though his father had never let him do anything more than clean, occasionally act as striker, Rsiran had spent so many days here that it had been home. Now it felt like someone else’s home.

  The sign hanging in front of the shop, Neran Lareth, Master Smith, seemed faded. Had the lettering always seemed so small, or had his time away given him a different view? Rsiran tried peering through the windows, but couldn’t see anything. He stepped up to the door and twisted the handle. Of course it would be locked.

  He should return to Lower Town. That was his home now. But he couldn’t. Now that he was here, he felt compelled to see the inside of the shop. The last time he had been here, his father had promised to report him to the constables. Rsiran wondered if he had ever done what he promised. Not that he would ever learn. So long as order was maintained, the constables didn’t care what happened in Lower Town.

  Closing his eyes, he Slid inside.

  The smell of the smithy welcomed him, that of lorcith and hot metal and work, but the scents were faded and subdued, like a memory. As he opened his eyes, he realized that nothing looked as it should. Sunlight streamed through the windows, allowing him to easily see the interior. Walls once cluttered with tools and forgings now were empty. The long bench where his father had done much of his finer work had fallen away from the wall, two legs bent and broken. Bins that should have been full of iron and steel and lorcith stood empty. Even the forge looked as if it hadn’t been used in weeks or longer.

  Deserted.

  Rsiran’s heart thudded. What would make his father abandon the shop that had been in their family practically since the founding of Elaeavn? In his youth, Rsiran had assumed he would inherit the smithy, take over for his father as had been done for generations. That was before. But even after everything that had happened, seeing this made him ache deep inside.

  He walked toward the back room where his father’s office had been. It had always been locked, off limits to Rsiran, and as he passed through the doorway, he still felt a pang of guilt that he shouldn’t be here.

  The office was small, a dozen paces wide, perhaps as many long. An empty desk butted against the wall. A few sheets of paper rested on the desk, but nothing else. Where had the wall of journeymen projects gone? Where were the stacks of orders? The bottles of ale his father kept hidden?

  Nothing remained. It was almost like the smithy Shael had found for him.

  Rsiran looked at the papers on the desk, shuffling them together, and then tucked them into his pocket. His father might have banished him, but somehow, it was his father who ended up getting banished.

  He stepped out of the office and looked around. When he had come the last time, taking grinding stones to use on the knives he made, he had not expected to ever come here again. But he never thought his father would no longer be here for him to find. That he wasn’t here left him feeling emptier than it should. After everything his father put him through, sending him to the mines, demanding that he ignore the gift the Great Watcher gave him, Rsiran still struggled to hate him.

  But questions still remained. What happened to the lorcith? Did his father’s shop closing have anything to do with the dwindling supply? Or was it something simpler—just the matter of the ale finally catching up to the quality of his work. Even when Rsiran had still been with him, the quality had begun to suffer. The last time he’d seen his father, he’d been drunk.

  He should find Jessa before he did anything foolish. What he’d done already—coming back to his father’s shop—would anger her. But he didn’t want to risk her. Not after what he’d experienced in the warehouse. Had he not been with her, one of those knives would surely have struck home, would surely have ended her.

  And he needed answers. First, the strangeness with the warehouse, and then Firell’s ship. And Shael? Where did he fit in? He wanted some device forged, but Rsiran didn’t even know what he was making. Now, he learned his father’s shop had been abandoned. Too much happened all at once. It could be nothing more than a coincidence, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that everything was somehow connected, if only he could learn how.

  There was one place he had avoided since the attack on the palace. One place where he feared going, until now. But answers were needed, and at least some of what was happening around him was connected to lorcith. Especially with what he’d found on Firell’s ship.

  That meant the mines.

  Was he really ready to return? Could he dare not return?

  But not without Jessa. Rsiran didn’t want to risk her anger. More than that, she could help. Her Sight would make anything he needed to do that much easier.

  Without thinking about it any longer, Rsiran Slid away from his father’s shop.

  He found her waiting for him in the smithy. She sat quietly hunkered near the table, slowly twisting something on the blue lantern. The light flickered on and off.

  She looked up as he returned. “Where have you been?”

  “Waiting.”

  Her mouth tightened, the frown that formed so familiar. “You need to be careful at night, Rsiran. After what happened…”

  “I seem to remember that I saved you this time. And the last.”

  Had she been closer, she would have punched him. Instead, she tossed a small steel spoon he’d made at him. Rsiran ducked. Too bad his power over the lorcith didn’t extend to other metals; then he could have simply slowed it enough to catch.

  “So?” She flicked the lantern again, plunging the smithy into darkness.

  Rsiran felt the pull of the lorcith on her. The knives. The charm. And was reassured. “I… I visited my father’s shop.” The sense of lorcith told him that she moved.

  The light flicked on. She stood two paces from him. “Why would you do that? Didn’t he say he planned to report you to the constables?”

  “That’s what he said. But he hasn’t.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  Rsiran shook his head. “No. I don’t know that. But wouldn’t Brusus or Haern have heard something if the constabulary sought someone who could Slide?”

  “Not if the Elvraeth want to keep that secret. How many even know of your ability? Della did. But I’d never heard of it before meeting you.”

  Rsiran hadn’t really pieced that together before. How had his father known about Sliding if it was so uncommon? “It was empty.”

  Jessa shrugged. “Well. It’s late. Did you expect him to keep your hours?”

  “Not like that. He’s gone. All of his tools were gone. The forge looked like it hadn’t been used in weeks. Only a few papers on his desk remained.” Rsiran pulled the papers from his pocket and looked down at them. Numbers ran across the page. He’d seen notations like that before; his father’s bookkeeping records. But with everything else gone, why had these been left behind?

  “Do you care?” The light flickered out.

  From the lorcith, he knew she slipped closer to him. But he didn’t need to feel the lorcith to know that. He smelled the flower tucked into the charm that mixed with the clean scent of her sweat.

  When he didn’t answer quickly enough, the light flickered back on. She pressed against him.

  “He’s my father.”

  “After everything he did to you?”

  How to explain to Jessa what he felt? “Without him, would I have met the others? Would I have met you?”

  Her eyes darkened. “Without him, would you have nearly died twice?”

  Rsiran swallowed. They were hazy memories, either blocked or remembered through the fog of his injuries. “You’re right. I… I just wanted to see the shop, to see what happened to him…”

  “And now that you do?”

  Something in her tone made him pause. “Yo
u knew,” he realized.

  She watched him and then nodded slowly. “I knew. After what happened in the palace, and what you told me, I’ve been keeping watch. I didn’t want any sort of surprise.”

  “Then what happened?”

  She shook her head. “I didn’t see. One week he and his journeyman were working as usual, the next the smithy had been cleared out.” When Rsiran frowned, she continued. “I didn’t watch every day, Rsiran. Just enough to keep tabs for you. I wasn’t sure you were going to go back, but I was afraid that you might.”

  “Why were you afraid?”

  Jessa set the lantern on the floor next to him. “After what he did to you? After how he hurt you?” She shook her head. “You’re still not healed from that. Not really. Your injuries might have healed, but inside?” She took his hand and hugged his arm. “I didn’t want him to do anything else that might hurt you. You saved me from the palace, and I’m not going to let them hurt you again.”

  The passion in her voice made him smile. Rsiran tucked the pages of numbers back into his pocket, remembering why he’d come back to the smithy. Not just for Jessa, though that was part of it, but because he needed her.

  “There’s someplace I think we need to go.”

  “The Barth? I already know Brusus will be late. He had another engagement.”

  Rsiran frowned. “What kind of engagement?”

  With one hand, she touched his cheek. “The kind he wouldn’t want me talking about.”

  Rsiran didn’t push. When Jessa became coy like that, he knew it wouldn’t help anyway. “Not the Barth. I started thinking about what happened in the warehouse and what we found on Firell’s ship. It reminded me of how lorcith seemed to be missing from the mines, lorcith I know still lives within the walls. It’s just that miners don’t take it. And now, with the supply of lorcith so low in the city, Firell suddenly has a massive collection?”

  Jessa stepped away from him. Her eyes flashed a deep green as they narrowed. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

  “What?”

  “Don’t think I don’t know what you intend, Rsiran Lareth. You want to Slide to the mountain. After what we’ve already seen…”

  “That’s just the problem. You’ve seen. I’ve only felt. And I can’t get past the idea that the mines are part of whatever is happening.”

  “Rsiran…” She didn’t finish. Jessa just studied his face, her eyes Seeing enough to practically Read him. Then she sighed. “Not without me. And not without your knives.”

  Rsiran patted his pocket. “I have three. And you have two.”

  “How did you…? You can feel it that well?”

  He nodded. “If I made it, I can. Otherwise, it’s less sensitive. But I can still feel it. It’s stronger the more I focus on it.” All around him, he felt the sense of his lorcith forgings pulling on him, the sword most strongly. For whatever reason, that always pulled on him. He could only guess that either his forging of the sword or the fact that he’d used it as an anchor when he infiltrated the palace and rescued it from Josun had connected him to it more strongly than to anything else he’d made.

  Jessa squeezed his hand. “So… maybe not a complete babe in the dark.”

  Rsiran laughed and then stepped into the Slide.

  Chapter 10

  Rsiran and Jessa emerged on the rocky bluff outside Ilphaesn Mountain. Wind blew around them, cooler and with a hint of damp rain, so different from Elaeavn, even though they were only a few days’ ride from the city. The moon hovered behind a few clouds, but enough light filtered through to let him see. Nothing like the utter blackness he’d experience in the mines. At least he’d have Jessa with him.

  And the lorcith. Always the lorcith.

  Dark bars blocked the entrance to the mines. There had been a time he’d let those bars keep him barricaded inside. But there’s also been a time he’d feared using his ability. Now… now he believed that he had a gift. If only he knew more about it.

  Even more than in his smithy, the bitter scent of lorcith filled his nose, his entire body aware of it. Were he to focus, he could sense his forgings all the way down the mountain in Elaeavn. From here, the city seemed dotted with them.

  Rsiran frowned. Most of the lorcith-made items were sent from the city, shipped with Firell or Shael. But here, he sensed them all throughout the city. And… some even within the palace.

  “What is it?” Jessa whispered.

  He shook his head. As a skilled sneak, she knew better than to speak too loudly. Here, outside the mines atop Ilphaesn, there was little chance they’d get caught by the Towners. But the men still in the mines might hear.

  “You feel something?”

  “Later,” he whispered.

  Jessa didn’t let go of his hand. Her eyes narrowed as she looked around, searching with her Sight for what might have drawn his attention. “What now?”

  Rsiran didn’t know what he intended to do now that they were here. In the tunnels, all he had was the ability to sense the ore. At least with Jessa, they could see throughout the mines. They would have to work together, but that wasn’t new to either of them.

  “Are you ready?” he whispered.

  She squeezed his hand, and he Slid into the mines.

  Had he not been in the mines before, he would never have dared. A Slide, especially blind like he did, could be dangerous. But years of mining had turned Ilphaesn into a series of tunnels. The weeks Rsiran spent mining had given him a familiarity with those tunnels.

  Darkness engulfed him. For a moment, he had the same anxious sense he’d felt the first time he’d been in the mine. The sense of the mountain pressing down all around him mixing with the sense of the lorcith pulling on him. Only then, he hadn’t known exactly what it was that he felt. Now, standing in the darkness with Jessa clinging to his hand, a sense of reassurance worked through him. As long as he had her with him, he didn’t need to fear the darkness.

  “Where are we?” Jessa spoke in a soft whisper. She pulled on his hand, leading him down the tunnel.

  “Deep inside Ilphaesn and near the mines.”

  Had he Slid where he intended, they should be standing where the foreman guided them to the tunnels. Rsiran remembered the last time he’d been here, after the pick pierced his neck and he began bleeding heavily. Had he not risked Sliding, even as wounded as he was, he wouldn’t have survived.

  “It’s so… bleak.”

  To him, it was little more than shades of blackness. What must Jessa see? “The council feels this is a fitting punishment for some.” He didn’t remind her how his father felt it was an appropriate punishment for him as well.

  “How long were you forced to mine each day?”

  Rsiran shrugged. “Most of the day. I usually lost track.” His days had been spent trying to ignore the call of the lorcith. Worse were the days when he didn’t. Then he became caught up in the flurry of mining, pulling the lorcith free from the rock.

  “And you feel it?”

  He nodded. “All around.” Even here in this cavern came the sense of lorcith. The ore pulled at him, drawing him. After months spent working with lorcith, he felt even more attuned to it than he had ever been before. Each nugget had a distinct feel, and he suspected that he could search based on size.

  “How is it that supplies have dwindled?” Jessa asked.

  “That’s just it. The supplies haven’t. The ore is everywhere. After I told Brusus I would make knives for him, I never feared finding an adequate supply. As long as I avoided the mining guild and took the lorcith from the mountain itself, I would always find enough.” Thinking of Brusus gave Rsiran a strange thought. “But to keep from finding lorcith in the walls, the miners would have to almost avoid it.”

  Could someone be Pushing the miners to avoid the lorcith?

  The idea seemed too impossible to believe. Miners were split into groups, usually three separate groups, and led to where they worked. If there were someone like Brusus Pushing on them to avoid the lorcith, i
t would have to be more than one person.

  But what about the man he’d overheard in the mines, and the way the thin man had reappeared in the Floating Palace when they infiltrated it? Rsiran knew there was more going on than he’d learned, but what exactly?

  Jessa interrupted his thoughts. “Maybe the guild.”

  Rsiran thought that unlikely. The guild would want lorcith to flow so they could sell it to the alchemists or to the smiths. “Not the guild. Either way, Firell is carrying more lorcith than he should.”

  “That’s what we’re doing here?”

  Instead of answering, he moved toward one of the caverns. The soft breeze of the mines blew on his cheeks, its touch familiar. The breathing of the mines had saved his life once, alerting him that someone was there in the darkness. At least now, he had a different advantage. Jessa could keep him safe.

  He listened. Always before, there had been the steady tapping at night. Only later did he learn where it came from. Either the boy or another, a mystery person that he had never discovered, worked the mines, peeling lorcith from the tunnels. At first, no sound came. Just the soft sense of the wind blowing across his face.

  Then he heard it. A soft tapping, steady and distant.

  “Do you hear that?” Jessa whispered.

  “I noticed it when I first came here. Happened every night. Only when the boy attacked me did I fully understand I wasn’t the only person mining at night.”

  “Still can’t believe you let some boy attack you.”

  Rsiran pulled on her hand. “Still can’t believe you made me save you.”

  She squeezed back. “Me either.”

  He started toward the tunnel where the tapping seemed to come from.

  Jessa pulled against him. “Not that way. Down here.”

  “Where?”

  She chuckled. “To your right.”

  Rsiran went with her, but thought she had it wrong. The tapping didn’t seem to come from the tunnel on the right. He sensed the opening—it felt like a space where lorcith should be—and listened again. Now the tapping seemed to come from here.