The Dark Ability: Books 1-4

by D. K. Holmberg

  His father looked at Jessa with a troubled expression. “They needed a smith. I’m a smith.”

  The way he said it told Rsiran he left something out. “That’s not the only reason.”

  “Do you need to know more? Do you really think it will help you save your friend?”

  It wouldn’t. Precious time was wasted as they stood on the bank of the Thyrass River, but Rsiran suddenly wanted to know. After what happened with Shael, the demand that he’d made of Rsiran, and the exiled Elvraeth… he needed to know why they would want a smith.

  “Why would they need a smith?”

  His father looked up and met his eyes. “You don’t know?” His voice made it clear he didn’t believe what Rsiran said.

  Rsiran shook his head.

  “Then why were you in Asador? Why did you take me away?”

  “I went for Jessa. Someone had taken her, and I wanted her back.”

  His father looked from Jessa to Rsiran. “That’s the only reason?”

  Rsiran had no intention of telling his father about the sword he’d made, the one Josun had stolen from his smithy. And if he didn’t bring it up, maybe it meant his father didn’t know about it.

  “The only one that matters.”

  His father staggered to a nearby rock. The fall still affected him, and he wobbled on his feet, unbalanced. He dropped onto a rock and held his head in his hands, rubbing the first two fingers of his hands along his temples. “You really didn’t know,” he whispered.

  Rsiran looked over to Jessa. “Why did they want a smith?” When his father said nothing, he stepped toward him, not Sliding so as not to use energy he might need, and stood in front of him. “What was this about?”

  His father looked up. “I don’t know whether to believe you’re too stupid to know or whether you’re just lying to me.”

  “That makes two of us,” Rsiran said. “Doesn’t change that you’re going to tell me what you know.”

  His father looked past Rsiran and up at Jessa. “I serve the Elvraeth, no different from you.”

  Rsiran shook his head. “I don’t serve the Elvraeth.”

  “Then you’re more a fool than I realized if you think you can oppose them.”

  “Oppose them? Is that what you think?”

  “Why else would you take me from them?”

  Rsiran hesitated. His father thought he’d been working for the Elvraeth in Asador. Coming from Elaeavn, of course he would. He’d never had any reason to question their judgment. But Rsiran had seen what the Elvraeth were willing to do. Not just Josun Elvraeth, but the warehouse filled with crates sent from around the world, some of which contained riches Rsiran once would have been unable to imagine that were kept from the rest of Elaeavn, told him all he needed to know about the Elvraeth.

  And then there were the Forgotten. Men and women exiled from the city for crimes against the Elvraeth. Families and lives destroyed. What would Brusus have been had his mother not been one of the Forgotten? If the others of the Forgotten were like Josun, Rsiran would have a hard time sympathizing with them.

  “Whatever else you might think, the masters you served in Asador were not Elvraeth.”

  “You’ve proven yourself ignorant about everything else, why should I believe you about this?” His father paused and met Rsiran’s eyes. “What alloy were you working with?”

  Something about the way he asked the question told Rsiran that he already knew. Did it matter if his father knew he worked with heartstone? Rsiran had never seen him working it when he was still apprenticed in the smithy, but that didn’t mean his father didn’t know how. There was enough of the alloy present in the Floating Palace; someone still knew how to mix it.

  “A lorcith alloy,” Rsiran answered. He watched his father carefully as he did, but his face didn’t give anything away. He wouldn’t mention heartstone by name.

  His father frowned. “Lorcith can’t be mixed into an alloy. I thought you learned the basics from me, but perhaps you really are too foolish to—”

  Jessa cut him off by kicking him in the knee. “Watch how you speak to him.”

  His father looked up, a flat expression on his face. He looked past Jessa and over to Rsiran. “Are you just wasting what you’ve stolen then?”

  Rsiran shook his head. He wouldn’t argue with his father about this. Doing so would do nothing to convince him. “I didn’t steal your lorcith.”

  “I saw you come into my shop. Enough of my ore had been taken that I felt the need to watch for it. Who else can pass through doors as if they aren’t there?”

  “One of your precious Elvraeth,” Rsiran answered. “Someone who nearly killed me. Nearly killed Jessa. All for lorcith. He was the reason I was in Asador.” He leaned closer to his father. “You think I’m the only one with the ability to Slide? With the ability you claim curse by the Great Watcher? The Elvraeth can as well.” He paused, letting the words hit home. His father’s face remained unchanged. “But I still don’t know why they wanted a smith. What did they want you to do?”

  He didn’t know if his father would answer. He sat, staring toward Thyr. Moments passed, time—Rsiran realized—that he should be spending searching for the antidote to save Brusus. Standing and arguing the merits of the Elvraeth would not save him. Each moment he wasted meant less time to search.

  “They wanted me to make weapons.”

  “What kind of weapons?”

  Rsiran thought he already knew the answer. After what Josun had been after, he thought he knew, but he wanted to hear his father say it.

  “Lorcith-forged weapons. Dark weapons.” He looked over, his eyes hot and angry. “I studied knives they brought me. It didn’t take long to recognize the mark.”

  Rsiran stared at him. He’d marked everything he ever made with his distinct mark. He’d done it from the beginning. The lorcith had practically demanded that he do it, and the forgings never felt complete until they had his mark on them. That also made them easier to track.

  “They wanted knives?”

  “Some. But what they really wanted were swords.”

  Rsiran glanced at Jessa. “Why swords?”

  There was a reason he hadn’t discovered. What was it about the lorcith-forged weapons the Forgotten wanted? Steel swords were plentiful, but that wasn’t what Josun had wanted. He’d wanted the sword Rsiran had made of lorcith… but more than that, he wanted a heartstone alloy sword. But why?

  His father shook his head. “I don’t question the Elvraeth.”

  Rsiran didn’t push on that point. Nothing he said would convince his father he hadn’t been taken by the Elvraeth. “Did you make them any swords?”

  His father met his eyes. “You said you’ve listened to the lorcith. That you let it guide your forgings.”

  Rsiran nodded.

  “Then you know lorcith will not easily make swords. Doing so requires the smith to have a dark heart. That is what the lorcith calls to.” He hesitated. “My attempts wasted precious lorcith. I disappointed the Elvraeth because I couldn’t do what they wanted.

  A dark heart. Rsiran considered how he’d been feeling when he forged the sword. He’d been angry, upset with how his father had banished him to Ilphaesn, but grateful for the smithy Brusus had given him. And the sword came into being, the lorcith guiding his hand.

  That hadn’t even been the first time he’d forged a sword. Before his father had exiled him, he’d nearly forged a lorcith sword.

  Was it him? Did he have the darkness inside him his father claimed he needed?

  Jessa touched his arm. It was a subtle gesture, not enough for his father to notice, but Rsiran appreciated the reassurance.

  “That’s all they wanted from you? To make swords?” Jessa asked.

  He shrugged. “I wasn’t the only smith in Asador.”

  “You didn’t wonder why?” Rsiran asked. “Weren’t you the one who always warned me against making weapons out of lorcith?”

  His father sneered. “You would lecture me on this?�
�� He shook his head. “No. I didn’t think to question. When the Elvraeth ask something of you, you do it.”

  “Even when it’s wrong?”

  His father looked away. “I wouldn’t expect you to understand. You have no sense of duty. Of responsibility. Why should you recognize the Elvraeth authority?”

  Rsiran sighed. Arguing simply wasted time. They needed to move on to Venass, to find an antidote, and then return to Brusus if there was still time. “Anyone can abuse authority given to them. The Elvraeth… they don’t see the effect of their rule. They rarely leave the palace. They simply sit looking down from the Floating Palace, passing judgment on others forced to make hard decisions.” He looked at Jessa. “They are no more fit to rule than I am.”

  Chapter 13

  Rsiran held onto Jessa’s hand. The sound of the water spilling over the edge of the rocks swirled loudly behind him. Darkness still covered the sky in a thick blanket, but the night passed quickly. A few stars twinkled overhead, no different from the stars of Elaeavn. Would the Great Watcher look after him even here?

  “We need to go,” he said. The time spent speaking with his father had given him a chance to recover some of his strength. Sliding from here would still tax him, but not as much as it would have if he’d gone immediately.

  His father stood. Rsiran was thankful for that. Dragging him through the Slide required more energy than if he’d stepped lightly. He wouldn’t tell his father that; likely, he’d drop to his knees so as to avoid aiding him.

  Without another word, he focused on the Tower. Atop the rocks, standing above the waterfall, the Tower had appeared to stretch high into the sky. Down here, close to the Thyrass River, it reached impossibly high.

  They Slid, emerging still outside of Thyr, but near enough that the air changed. The stink of the city assaulted his nose, a mixture of dung and sweat and filth so different from Elaeavn. No breeze moved through, and the still air tasted thick and sticky. The wall he’d seen surrounding the city blocked most of his view; only the highest buildings were now visible. And still the Tower.

  This close, he saw how the Tower was separate from the city. Near enough that it overlooked Thyr, but outside the walls, as if to keep separate. How had he not seen that from the higher vantage?

  “The Tower?” he asked.

  His father nodded once.

  Rsiran prepared to Slide again, trying to pick a place. He needed to get closer to the Tower, and then he could figure out how he was going to get in.

  “You might find it more difficult to reach than others. The scholars are almost as protective of their secrets as the alchemists.”

  Rsiran wondered what his father would say if he learned how Rsiran had Slid into the alchemist guild house. “I don’t want their secrets. Only an antidote.”

  They Slid.

  This time, it was different. Something about the Slide reminded him of pushing through the heartstone alloy barrier. There was the sense of slow movement, almost an oozing, and terrible effort. Rsiran pressed forward. The resistance built and built, different than he experienced with the alloy, until he didn’t think he’d be able to pass through. For a moment, he felt the same as when he’d first tried Sliding into the palace, before he’d learned he could overcome the alloy. But this was different in a way he couldn’t completely explain.

  Then they were through.

  They emerged from the Slide standing in a wide field in the shadows of the Tower. The ground around them was barren dirt. Nothing grew. The air smelled hot and bitter, different from the lorcith he’d grown familiar with from his time in the mines and in the smithy. This scent burned his nose, and he held his breath, afraid to take in air. A faint sense tingled along his spine, leaving the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end.

  “What is this?” Jessa whispered. She coughed softly, covering her mouth to keep from making noise.

  His father looked at her. “I told you.”

  Jessa looked to Rsiran. “There’s something wrong here.”

  Something about this place felt wrong in a way he couldn’t completely explain. He stared at the landscape around the Tower, looking for anything. He saw no signs of plants—nothing at all seemed to grow in the area around the Tower of Scholars.

  “Do you see anything?” he whispered.

  Jessa did the same as he’d done and twisted around. “Nothing. There’s nothing. No plants. Nothing moves. Just that Tower, and I feel…” She shook her head. “I feel like something’s crawling in my head.”

  Since the forest where they’d lost Thom, Rsiran had tried to keep his heartstone-infused barriers in place. Because of that, he felt nothing. Jessa would have powerful barriers of her own; she’d lived in Elaeavn long enough, working through the underworld of Lower Town in most of it, that she’d have needed to barrier her mind from Readers.

  He looked at his father. He showed no sign of discomfort. His father was Sighted. Not as powerful as Jessa, but a useful skill for a smith. But he also heard the call of lorcith. Could he reinforce his barriers the way Rsiran had learned to do, using lorcith to fortify them?

  “This isn’t what we needed,” Rsiran said, turning to his father.

  He looked back at him and shrugged. His once broad shoulders looked frail and weak as he did. “It has been a great many years since I was in Thyr. And I’ve never been to Venass, only heard it spoken of.”

  “You said you knew of it.”

  “And I did. I do. Venass is the Tower.” He nodded toward it. “If a cure is what you seek, then the scholars will have one but there will be a price. There is always a price.”

  The sensation Rsiran felt when he’d first emerged pulsed stronger. He knew then what it was. Lorcith. Nothing else pulled at him like that.

  It seemed to come from all around, but different from anything he’d ever experienced. Not a steady pulling at him, like unshaped lorcith ore, and not the strong connection he felt after he’d forged it. This was a pulsing, erratic and irregular.

  Dizziness swept over him and he staggered, falling to his knees.

  “Rsiran?”

  Jessa’s voice came from far away, softer than it should have been.

  Pain shot through his head, mixing with the dizziness.

  Above everything came the irregular pulsing.

  He grabbed his head, pushing on his temples, trying to force up his barriers. Nothing changed. Heartstone already infused his barriers.

  “Rsiran?”

  He sensed her kneeling next to him from the lorcith knife tucked into her waist. Then her hands touched his arms, his face, his head, smoothing through his hair.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  He swallowed against the agonizing pain in his head as he tried to answer. “My… head. Lorcith.”

  “But your father…” Her hand fell away from his forehead as she trailed off.

  “What about my… father?” he asked.

  He tried sitting up, but the dizziness kept him from managing it. Instead, he preferred to remain motionless. They needed to get away. Whatever was happening made it impossible. The pain shooting through his skull seemed to move him, as if sliding him across the ground. He had a sense of being drawn forward. With dawning horror, he realized he was pulled toward the Tower.

  “Jessa!” he said.

  Rsiran tried opening his eyes but couldn’t. He was left in the dark, the only sense that of movement and the pulsing lorcith. It felt too much like when he’d been stuck in the mines.

  Jessa didn’t answer. Rsiran tried calling out for her again but didn’t know if his mouth worked.

  Then he felt a drawing sense. If Jessa grabbed at him, he didn’t feel it. Everything spun around him, colors swirling violently.

  Understanding swept over him, breaking through the nausea and dizziness long enough for him to cry out in fear. He was Sliding, but he wasn’t in control of it.

  Chapter 14

  The movement stopped.

  After a while, Rsiran dared open his eye
s. Pale light came from somewhere overhead. He was in a small room resting on smooth, cool stone. Markings were etched into the stone of the room, writing he didn’t recognize. The air smelled different. Sharp, almost spicy, but foul as well. When he looked down at himself, he understood why. Vomit covered his legs, pooling on the floor next to him.

  At least his head no longer hurt as it had.

  It still throbbed, but it had faded, softened somewhat. Memories of the nausea and dizziness almost made him retch again.

  How much time had passed? By his measure, too much of the night had already passed when they’d Slid to Thyr. Spending time trapped… he looked around, seeing nothing but stone walls stretching to a ceiling high overhead… somewhere did nothing to help Brusus.

  All this effort to save him would be wasted. He should have stayed in Elaeavn. At least then, Jessa would have been safe.

  But for how much longer? If Josun worked with the Forgotten, would they come searching for him? Would he be drawn into that battle?

  Rsiran considered lying back down and resting his head but decided against it. Instead, he studied the room.

  A narrow door split one wall. Made of a dull grey metal, it looked much like lorcith, only he hadn’t thought lorcith existed is such quantities outside of Ilphaesn. Nothing else was in the room with him.

  How had he gotten here?

  The last time he’d been captured, he’d Slid onto Firell’s ship. Shael possessed some sort of Elvraeth chains that blocked him from Sliding and also prevented him from sensing lorcith. Tentatively, he reached for the sense of lorcith knives in his pockets. The sense was there, but distant, different than it should be. Almost as if shielded.

  He tried pushing on the knives but felt no movement.

  A moment of panic worked through him, but he pushed it away.

  He suspected he had been drawn into the Tower of Scholars, but how? The pulsing sense of lorcith? He’d felt as if he’d Slid… but nothing like he normally felt. He’d had no control and his head had pounded.

  What then?

  Rsiran pushed himself to his feet. Sitting here would get him nowhere. If he could Slide out of the Tower, he could return… where? To Thyr? The Thyrass River? Where would he go to look for Jessa?