“What is it?”
She shrugged. “Can’t really tell from here. Shadows are different enough that it looks like the opening to a cave.” She laughed nervously. “Took you almost killing me to prove you were right.”
Rsiran tried to laugh, but the thought of what he’d almost done made his heart flip painfully. He twisted her so that she could lean against the stone and turned to look up the face of the mountain. With the spyglass, he stared up the rock face. High overhead, he saw a wide opening that looked much like the cavern the miners used.
He swallowed. At least that should be easier to reach.
“Hang on,” he told Jessa.
She grabbed his hand as he started to Slide to the cavern.
And failed.
Rsiran met resistance, like a barrier blocking his access. He’d experienced it only once before, when trying to reach the palace. This felt much the same, as if something pushed back against him.
He tried to step out of the Slide, but the footing along the lip of rock was too slick. He started to slip. Jessa gasped, as if sensing what was happening. At the last moment, Rsiran changed the direction of the Slide, praying to the Great Watcher that it worked.
Chapter 12
Rsiran emerged in his smithy, shaking and weak. The effort of Sliding all the way to the smithy from Ilphaesn after all the Sliding he’d done through the day had almost been more than he could manage. Had it not been for anchoring to the sword, the one thing he reached for when he needed to Slide such a great distance, he might not have made it. As it was, he had even come a few steps short of the sword.
Jessa barely held onto his hand. Moisture—either sea spray or sweat—slicked their hands, threatening to pull them apart. Her eyes were wide, and she looked around before falling to the floor in a heap.
What would have happened had he not made it all the way?
Rsiran shook off the question. Too often, he had been risking himself with Slides like this. One of these times, he would fail. And if Jessa were with him, he would be the reason she got injured. He would not let that happen.
“What was that? Why did you bring us back here?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know. I saw the cave through the glass but when I tried to Slide us there, I couldn’t reach it.”
“Like with the palace.”
He nodded.
“That would mean there’s something there intentionally keeping you back.”
At the palace, it had been bars forged with the lorcith alloy. He hadn’t focused on the opening enough to know if there was something similar there. But if lorcith alloy blocked access to the cave, that meant something was there.
But it was more than that. Whatever was there needed to be kept from someone who could Slide. Someone like Rsiran.
Rsiran let out a slow breath and looked around the smithy. The air smelled strongly of lorcith, so different from the fresh sea air that had blown around them while standing aside Ilphaesn. He smelled something else but couldn’t quite place it.
Jessa turned to the mat in the corner. As she made her way across the floor, she glanced to the charm he’d made her. The flower that had been inside had fallen out somewhere along the way. She bit her lip. For a moment, he thought she might simply leave the smithy in search of another flower, but she stumbled to the mat and lay down.
Rsiran considered joining her, but his heart seemed to pound too rapidly to let him settle. After what had nearly happened, he couldn’t slow it down. Normally, he would turn to the forge and begin work on a project, but he wanted to let Jessa sleep. As he watched, her chest began to rise and fall slowly.
So instead, he sat on the floor in front of the strange lantern they’d taken out of the warehouse. He might not be able to work the forge, but there were some things he could do to keep his mind off what had happened. The fact that there had been a barrier present at all told him he was onto something. But not what. And digging deeper risked more dangers like this one.
How many times did he have to put Jessa in danger before he learned better? How many times until he failed? What if the next time, he couldn’t get them back safely? Or if he simply Slid too far and she went tumbling away from him? He couldn’t help her if he couldn’t reach her.
The thoughts nauseated him. Better to hold a hammer in hand, pound at red-hot lorcith, feel the pull and draw of the ore as it guided his shaping. If he closed his eyes, he could almost feel the steady pounding, feel the metal drawing its shape out of the coals, the lorcith guiding him…
A strange thing happened as he visualized it. As he did, he felt himself calm, almost as he did when working. In that state, he felt a connection to the metal. And then… he felt the lantern.
He sensed what had been done to the lorcith. It was unpleasant, something the lorcith had not wanted, but had been willing to do. Whatever had mixed with the lorcith changed it in some distinct way, made it different enough that it became something else. An alloy, though he had no idea what kind, and the metal did not offer any clues.
It seemed strange to think of the metal with a sort of sentience, but how else could he describe what he felt? As long as he had worked with it, it had seemed to guide him. But he’d never really wondered why. Always he’d felt content just taking from the lorcith. First taking the shape out of it that it had wanted and then lessons from it that had forged him into a better smith. Yet… he’d never given anything to it in return.
But that wasn’t quite right. He’d freed the lorcith, given some of the ore the release it demanded when he felt it buried in the walls of Ilphaesn. Had that been a fair bargain? Did the lorcith even have a sense of such things?
Maybe it was simply his tired mind that made him think such thoughts. How could the metal itself have desires? But how could the lorcith demand he form it into a particular shape—and there was no doubt in his mind that it had demanded certain shapes. Yet there were times when he had asked it to take a shape, though not yet with the knives, and the lorcith had complied. Is that the same as what happened when it agreed to become an alloy? Was the request part of the process to form the alloy? Maybe that was why no smith had been able to form an alloy. Before entering the palace, he hadn’t thought it even possible.
As he sat there, he thought he understood how the alloy had formed, if not what was used to create it. And from that… he could make the shape of the lantern, if not the blue light.
Sitting and sensing the lorcith soothed him, and in return, his strength began to return. Rsiran stood and looked over to where Jessa slept, curled now into a ball, her knees bent and tucked into her stomach and her chin bent as if to smell the flower that was no longer there. He should stay with her, perhaps lie down and rest along side her, but questions remained that he had no answers for.
If only the mines had offered answers, yet they had not. Only additional questions. If only he could push past the barrier preventing him from reaching the cave on the face of Ilphaesn high above the sea. The last time he’d faced a barrier like that, he’d had one of his forgings he’d managed to use as an anchor. The sword had given him something to latch onto, to pull both him and Jessa forward. Without that, he wouldn’t have been able to reach Josun’s quarters. Even with it, he’d barely made it. And then, barely made it back out again.
Answers. To keep Jessa safe, he would need to find answers. Brusus didn’t have them, or if he did, he didn’t share. Probably thinking to keep them safe, just like he had when faced with Josun. Maybe Della would have answers, but he hated the idea of imposing on her, especially since the last time he’d really seen her, he and the others had nearly died. But at least she had decades of knowledge, the possibility of answers where he otherwise had none.
But before he reached out to her, he had to search that space behind the wall of crates in the warehouse. Now that she slept, he could slip in and out, barely be gone long enough for her to awaken. By the time he returned, he might have more answers.
Or, just as likely, more questi
ons.
She would hate learning that he’d gone without her, but it might be better to ask forgiveness later than to ask permission now.
Rsiran stood and checked to be sure he had a few of his knives still tucked into his pockets. He sensed the knives and knew where they were. The slender blades fit easily into his pockets, but he couldn’t help but think they might be longer than what he needed. If only the lorcith would allow him to forge smaller blades. Then he grabbed the lantern off the floor and Slid.
He emerged in the warehouse, standing near the center of the building. Late afternoon light worked through the dirty windows overhead. Rsiran hesitated, listening for anything that might seem out of order, but didn’t hear anything. Then he listened for lorcith.
Just like the last time he’d come here, the distant sense of lorcith pulled at him. He didn’t know where that sense came from, but began to suspect it was an alloy he sensed, rather than pure ore or something he forged. Otherwise, there was no sign of anything forged from lorcith in the warehouse.
Rsiran let out a breath. Before moving, he lit the lantern.
Under the blue light of the lantern, the crates looked no different from the other times he’d been to the warehouse. He looked for signs that something had changed in the days since he’d last been here, but there was nothing to show that it had. Even the musty odor of the air seemed the same.
He crept slowly away from the center of the warehouse, moving carefully, determined to walk as he’d seen Jessa when sneaking. Somehow, she managed nearly perfect silence.
Reaching the intersection of the crates, he hesitated before turning. Again he listened for lorcith but still heard nothing to indicate anything had changed. That, at least, reassured him.
Then he made his way down the long alley between the towering stacks of crates, skimming over the indecipherable markings on the crates. As the stacks grew taller, pressed almost purposefully together, he paused again.
He’d reached the area where he wanted to step to the other side. Somewhere past these crates would be answers. Rsiran felt certain of that. But reaching them was dangerous. Sliding just far enough to get past the crates put him in danger if two crates were stacked back to back. He could be trapped inside the crate—or worse, caught somehow in between the crate and outside.
There was another option. Rather than attempting a blind Slide with unpredictable results, he Slid to the top of the nearest stack of crates. Standing there, he looked out toward where the crates stacked higher, creating the wall. If he could find an opening, he wouldn’t have to Slide blindly. But he saw nothing.
Holding the lantern out, he looked for some way past. The crates stacked all around. For all he knew, the stacks were solid all the way through. He Slid to the next crate over and then again, each time looking for a way to get past the wall. There didn’t seem to be any clear access.
Rsiran Slid back to the long corridor and walked down until he reached the wall. The crates there didn’t quite reach the ceiling, but he’d come almost all the way around and still hadn’t seen a way past. Either the crates framed a clearing like was found in the center of the warehouse, or the crates were stacked so densely together that there would be no way to get past.
And he had no way of knowing the difference, not without tearing the crates apart. Rsiran didn’t know if he could even manage that, and if he could, there would be no way to hide what had been done.
Rsiran wanted answers, knowing that he needed to if Josun’s rebellion had begun to move, especially if they learned of him. Not only that, but something was happening with lorcith. With his connection to the ore, he needed to understand what that might be. Why did Firell have the crates of lorcith? And why had Rsiran been barricaded from the hidden mine?
Somehow, it started with the warehouse. Lianna had found the crate sitting on the dock. Rsiran and Jessa had been attacked here. And this wall of crates blocked him from a part of the warehouse. What did he risk by not Sliding to the other side?
Not knowing. That was what he risked. And something more happening to his friends. To Jessa.
Rsiran thought about the distance. Just far enough to get past the stack of crates, but not too far that he risked colliding with another stack. If another stack was pushed up against the first, he had to coordinate the Slide to ensure he ended up inside a crate if possible. At least, if something went wrong, he had the possibility of Sliding free.
Crouching just in case, he Slid.
When he emerged, he held his breath, body tensed for what might happen.
But he was unharmed.
A narrow gap opened around him, crates stretching to the ceiling, blocking off all natural light that would otherwise come through the overhead windows. Without the lantern, he would have had no way to see anything. The gap was barely wide enough for another row of the crates, almost as if crates that had been here were pulled out for this purpose. The air tasted stale and bitter, with a hint of dust filling his nose from the hard-packed ground, but another odor lingered, one of sweat and the tang of blood.
Someone had been here.
That either meant some hidden access existed or someone reached it the same way he had.
Not wanting to linger any longer than needed, he looked for anything that might explain what was happening. They could return later with Brusus and Jessa. Now that he’d been here, Sliding back would be easier.
Near one end of the space, a collection of metallic items rested on what appeared to be a side panel from a nearby crate, lying on the ground. Rsiran Slid there, not wanting to make anymore prints in the ground than needed. Not until he knew who had been here.
Close up, the objects each had a strange sheen to them. Made of some grey metal, they almost shimmered in the blue light of the lantern. It took him a moment to realize they were lorcith made.
But that wasn’t quite right. Not lorcith—at least, not the same type of lorcith he worked with—but an alloy. Like the lantern.
One of the objects looked like a simple wide-bottomed pan. This was not lorcith, but something else. A deep black metal that he didn’t recognize. Resting up against the side of a crate were a set of small tongs, the same as he’d use to pick up glowing metal heated at the forge.
Rsiran frowned, considering what else he saw.
A small, simple rectangle made of iron sat near the tongs. Other than the black pan, it was the cleanest shape. The other shapes scattered on the wooden side panel looked like crude forgings. Something that wanted to be a loop of chain. A too-thick length of metal that seemed to be a knife. And a deformed hunk of silvery metal that he couldn’t identify.
With a growing curiosity, he lifted the panel, careful not to let any of the pieces fall. Again, he wanted minimal evidence that he’d been there. The ground underneath was scorched and covered in ash. His frown deepened.
What was this place?
He would have to come back. Brusus needed to see it. He always seemed to have answers. Grabbing the strange lump of metal, he turned it in his hands. Not silver, but something else he didn’t recognize.
Rsiran set the panel back down. As he did, he felt the pull of lorcith suddenly strong on his senses. Without waiting, he Slid away from the warehouse.
Chapter 13
Rsiran returned to the smithy. Only after he’d returned did he realize that he still held the strange lump of metal. Cursing himself, he slipped it into his pocket. If he had more time, he would learn what it was. Maybe then he would understand why it had been hidden between the crates.
He looked around the smithy, but Jessa was gone.
Rsiran needed to find Brusus to fill him in on what they’d learned, and learn if he’d found anything from his sources in the palace. Too much had happened since they’d seen him, but it was growing clearer to Rsiran that it all tied together somehow. If only he could make the connection.
His mind still hadn’t slowed since returning from Ilphaesn. Studying the lantern helped, but didn’t put him at ease like worki
ng with the hammer would.
Deciding to take some time, he moved to the coals and began heating them to a red-hot glow. Once satisfied, he sorted through the remaining lumps of lorcith until he found one that called to him. He set it in the coals, letting it gradually heat to an orange glow. Lorcith could take more heat than most metals and had to be much hotter than even steel to work easily.
Then he set to work.
Rsiran began hammering the metal, flattening it. As he worked, he considered trying to influence the shape the lorcith took. So often when working with lorcith—and lorcith only—he listened to it and let the metal dictate what direction the forging took. This led to Brusus’s frustration that Rsiran did not make nearly enough of the knives that fetched so many coins. Now Rsiran wanted to make knives, but for a different reason. He needed something small enough to easily pocket.
The lorcith responded. As he worked, he split the metal, turning the single lump of lorcith into three separate pieces. He hammered each of them, slowly turning them into small knives that he flattened, slowly shaping. Before finishing, he worked his mark onto the end.
When they were finished and cooled, quenched in the bucket of stale water resting near the anvil, he lifted them. Compact and balanced, but unlike the other knives he’d made. They barely fit in his hand. These would not be marketable, but they suited his purposes, fitting nicely into his pocket.
With a push on the lorcith, he sent one of the knives flying across the room. It sank into the wooden wall plank with a loud thunk.
Rsiran pulled it back and felt some resistance as he did. When the knife came flying back to him, he slowed it and caught it out of the air. These knives would be useful.
After sharpening them on his grinding wheel, he pulled the other knives he had in his pocket and set them on his table, replacing them with the small knives he’d just forged. They did not weigh so heavily in his pocket. The others could be hidden throughout the city as anchors. If there was someone out there for him to fear, he needed to be prepared.
The Dark Ability: Books 1-4 Page 37