The Dark Ability: Books 1-4

by D. K. Holmberg

  “Do you know what he wanted with you?” Brusus asked.

  Rsiran shook his head. “He was taking me to Thyr, to a place called Venass.”

  “Venass?” Brusus said.

  Haern sucked in a breath. “He told you of Venass?”

  Brusus turned to Haern. “You know of this place?”

  “You know what I did before.” He said it as a statement rather than a question.

  “Yes, but what does that have to do with this place?”

  Mystery seemed to surround Haern, and his past, so the idea that he might know of Venass shouldn’t come as a surprise to anyone in the group. And though Rsiran hadn’t known it when he first met the man, he later learned of Haern’s previous occupation as an assassin before returning to Elaeavn with Jessa. He’d learned of Haern’s attachment to Jessa one night when Haern thought Rsiran had been putting Jessa in danger. The man had grabbed Rsiran and prevented him from Sliding. It was during that scuffle, a knife had been drawn and Rsiran learned about his other ability: he could push on lorcith. Because of Haern’s “attack,” Rsiran had learned to push and pull on his knives, which was how he got Jessa away from Josun that night in the palace.

  Haern had a dark expression on his face and had yet to answer the question, so Brusus asked again. “Haern, what do you know of this place?”

  “Venass is a dangerous place. Different from what you’ll find in Asador. There, the university is prized, a part of the city.” He shook his head. “Venass stands apart from Thyr. Even I never managed to reach its doors.”

  Rsiran turned to Haern, but Jessa spoke first. “Why would you try to reach the scholars?” she asked.

  A cynical expression slipped across his face. “Scholars? Is that what you think they are?”

  Rsiran shook his head. He had no idea what took place in Venass. The only scholar they’d seen had lorcith piercing through his skin that Rsiran suspected gave him power over the ore. And they nearly trapped him in a room, the lorcith-infused stone all around him nearly too much for him to escape. “The antidote we needed to help Brusus was supposed to be found in Venass. That was why Thom wanted me to go there.” Except, if Thom didn’t really know Brusus, then there had been another reason he wanted Rsiran to take him there.

  He looked over at Brusus, at how weakened he was. Thom had supposedly gone looking for him after the attack. Had he known about the poisoning? If that was the case, maybe he wanted to draw Rsiran away from Brusus and eliminate one threat.

  Haern leaned toward him. “Tell me you didn’t reach Venass.” He studied Rsiran’s face and then turned to look at Jessa. His eyes took on the faraway expression he wore when using his ability. He blinked. “You did, didn’t you?” he whispered.

  Rsiran held out the wooden bottle as an answer. He set it on a small wooden table. After everything they’d been through to get it, having it out of his hands was both a relief and distressing.

  “Did what, Haern?” Brusus asked.

  Haern leaned back and sighed. His eyes drifted closed again. He’d palmed the coin in his hand while asking about Venass, but now brought it back out and made it slip from finger to finger. “Fools. All of you. You’re damn lucky to be alive.”

  “They didn’t want to hurt us,” Rsiran said.

  Haern snorted. “No. You’re no good to them dead.”

  Brusus looked from Haern to Rsiran. “You’re going to have to explain what this Venass is, Haern. Why was it a problem that Rsiran went there?”

  Haern breathed heavily but didn’t answer.

  “Venass. More commonly known as the Tower of Scholars,” Della said.

  Rsiran looked over at the door. The old Healer had slipped silently among them at some point. She stood behind her row of shelves that held medicines and spices, sprouts of her grey hair visible above the top of the shelf. She tottered toward them, leaning on a long cane. Rsiran had never seen her use a cane before. Her usually bright eyes had a rheumy look to them. She sighed softly.

  “And they are scholars, but of an arcane sort,” she continued. “They are men with some power who chase the abilities others were given by the Great Watcher.”

  “You know of this place too?” Brusus asked.

  The scholar had seemed surprised that anyone in Elaeavn would know it by the name Venass, but both Haern and Della knew. What did that mean?

  “Know of it? Yes, I know of Venass,” she said slowly. “But I hadn’t suspected them being behind the attack at the Barth, and by the time I learned, Rsiran was already gone.” She looked at Rsiran, her weary eyes briefly regaining a hint of their previous vigor. “Had you only asked… had you only said something about where it was you planned on going, what you planned to do.” Her voice held sadness. And disappointment. It was the disappointment that hurt Rsiran the most.

  “I had to do something,” he said softly. “Brusus was dying.”

  Della nodded. Both hands cupped over the top of the silvery cane. “Then it is my fault as much as yours.”

  He shook his head. “It was my choice.”

  Della smiled sadly. “As it was mine not to share with you what you needed to know. And for that, I’m sorry.”

  Brusus tried to stand and failed. “What is this, Della? What are you and Haern not sharing about this place?”

  Della watched Rsiran as she answered Brusus. “Venass is a place of study, but unlike the people of Asador, they care little for histories or the stars or philosophy.” She sighed. “They are men and women once of Elaeavn who study power. They use what they learn to twist the abilities the Great Watcher granted us. And Rsiran, I suspect, interested them greatly.”

  With Thom and what he’d seen of his ability, Rsiran should have known they had a connection to Elaeavn. Which meant they must be Forgotten as well. “That was the price of the antidote.” He pointed toward the wooden bottle on the table.

  Della looked at it, frowning, and picked it up. She pulled the stopper from it and raised it to her nose, inhaling slowly. “An antidote,” she repeated.

  Rsiran nodded. “Thom told me I could find an antidote in Venass. Isn’t that what it is?” If they hadn’t given him a real antidote, would he really feel obligated to return for them to study him?

  But Della nodded. “It is. And it would have worked, I suspect.” She paused, looking to Brusus. “Strange they would know which antidote to provide for Brusus.”

  Brusus’s eyes narrowed, and then he flashed a look at Haern who only nodded. Brusus sighed. “Damn,” he whispered.

  “What?” Rsiran asked.

  “This wasn’t about me.”

  “How could it not be about you? You were poisoned!” And, he suspected, the one that Thom wanted in the end.

  Brusus laughed until it turned into a cough. When it cleared, he shook his head. “I remember. And I thought this was about what Rsiran did in Asador, revealing his ability to Slide as he chased Josun looking for Jessa.” He looked at Della. “It’s about that, but it’s more than that, isn’t it?”

  “It seems that way.”

  Jessa squeezed Rsiran’s shoulder. “Brusus…”

  “This was never about me. The poisoning, the attack in the Barth. None of it.” He leaned forward, and a pained look came to his face as he looked at Rsiran. “This was about you.”

  Della rested a hand on Rsiran as she moved past him. A wave of relaxation swept through him, and some of the fatigue faded. Then she tottered toward the cot, clearing the bloody sheets away so they piled on the floor before she sat.

  No one said anything until she was settled.

  “Why would they want me?” Rsiran asked. But even as he did, he understood. They wanted to learn how he could Slide. Possibly more than that now. He’d shown them he could escape their cells.

  Did they know he could use the heartstone alloy to Slide?

  “I don’t think they know the full extent of your secrets, Rsiran,” Della said.

  She’d Read him. There was no other explanation for her knowing what he’d
been thinking.

  He pushed up his barriers, testing to ensure they were fortified with the alloy. Satisfied they were, he let himself relax.

  “What secrets?” Haern asked.

  “Those are for Rsiran to share,” Della said. “We all have things we prefer to keep quiet.”

  “Not if it places the others in danger,” Brusus said.

  “Like how you shared with Rsiran the story behind the Forgotten?” Jessa said. She stood facing Haern, anger flashing across her face. “Or how you made clear to Rsiran what you planned when you threatened him outside the Barth?”

  Rsiran touched her arm, wanting her to relax. Getting angry didn’t help any of them. And she was tired. They both were. They needed sleep—him especially so he could Slide again if needed—but now wasn’t the time for that.

  “No, Rsiran. If Haern’s going to spout off about secrets, then he should share too.”

  “Like you have?” Haern whispered.

  Jessa glared at him. “Rsiran knows about my past.”

  Haern snorted. “I’m sure he does.”

  Della tapped her cane on the ground. It snapped loudly, cutting off conversation. Everyone turned to look at her. “Do you think this makes us stronger or weaker? Rsiran needs our support, and arguing about what we hide—often from ourselves—does nothing. Already, he has many powerful enemies. Should he have new ones from among us?”

  Rsiran looked at Jessa. Her eyes scrunched as they did when she was worried. One hand slipped to his leg, holding him. Rsiran looked at Della and saw the weariness on her face. How much longer could she hold out as she was? Like the rest of them, she needed sleep. And Brusus—injured and poisoned, barely able to sit in the chair—he seemed more concerned for Rsiran than himself. How had Rsiran ever doubted him?

  Last, he turned to Haern. Always difficult to know what went on behind his eyes. He watched Rsiran, the dronr flipping from finger to finger.

  Rsiran needed to explain to his friends. If he didn’t, how were his actions any different the way Brusus had hidden things from them?

  “There is a lorcith alloy. Mixed with heartstone,” Rsiran began. He stared at Haern as he said it. Why shouldn’t he share with them? Besides, everyone other than Haern knew already.

  “You told me of this alloy,” Haern said.

  “And how it can prevent Sliding?” Rsiran asked.

  Haern nodded. “I’ve learned much about the alloy since you told me of it.”

  Rsiran frowned. “What does that mean?”

  Haern shrugged. “That parchment you took from the alchemists?” Rsiran nodded. “I managed to have it translated.”

  Brusus looked at Haern. “You didn’t tell me this.”

  Haern watched Rsiran and shrugged.

  “What did you learn?” Rsiran asked.

  “Blocking one from Sliding is not its only purpose. But an important one. There are other uses, ones that Venass would be most interested in learning.”

  “It doesn’t block me.”

  Haern blinked slowly. “At the palace. You said you couldn’t reach Josun at first. That you had to use the sword he’d stolen from you.”

  Rsiran nodded.

  “Now you no longer have to have something you’ve made?”

  “I think of them as anchors. And no, I don’t.”

  “What of your other ability?” Brusus asked.

  In answer, Rsiran focused on the chain hanging around Jessa’s neck. As he did, he felt the hard presence of the alloy, so different from pure lorcith. He pulled on it, lifting it gently, careful to leave the lorcith charm alone.

  Haern watched Rsiran, but when he saw what he did with the necklace, he shook his head. “That shouldn’t be possible.”

  “Now you see why they would think Rsiran dangerous,” Della said.

  “With Venass involved, this has become about more than just the Forgotten,” Haern said to Della. “I had not thought that Josun was with them, but what if that was wrong?”

  She tapped her cane softly. “I’m beginning to think this has always been about more than the exiled Elvraeth.”

  Chapter 20

  Rsiran stood before his forge dressed again in the grey clothing from the mines, letting the flames lick the coals, the hot fire slowly building. Sweat slicked his brow and dripped into his eyes. He wiped it away and stood there for another moment. This close to the forge, the air smelled hot and bitter, like the lorcith itself.

  The fires of the forge welcomed him. He’d always found it relaxing to stand in front of the coals as they heated the metal, but real peace was only found when hammering the heated metal into shape. What he needed now was that peace.

  He felt rested, even though he’d only slept for a few hours. Fitful dreams called to him, threatening to pull him back into the cell in the Tower of Scholars. Each time he settled into sleep, he thought he sensed lorcith growing around him, drawing him toward it. And this time, he didn’t think he’d be able to escape.

  Part of him suspected that if he returned to the Tower, there would be no getting out. At least, not easily. The last time it had taken him sensing his lock pick and then Jessa to escape. He no longer even felt safe Sliding. What would happen if the scholars somehow pulled him as he Slid? Della had demonstrated how Sliding could be influenced. And if they could influence his Sliding—as evidenced by how they’d drawn him into the Tower in the first place, and pushed him out when he left—would he be in danger every time he tried Sliding? Would he simply appear in the Tower unintentionally?

  And then what would happen to Jessa?

  Rsiran sighed. What would happen to Jessa if he reneged on his agreement with the scholar and never returned? Would they manage to get to her, take her to their tower? Getting her out of there would be harder than saving her from Josun. At least with Josun, he thought he understood his abilities. Rsiran had no idea how the scholars manipulated lorcith as he did.

  He reached into the bin and took out a small lump of lorcith, not bothering to look as he selected it. As he pulled it out, he saw that it was a perfect size for one of his knives. With what he planned, he might need them. Rsiran regarded the lorcith and debated whether he would ask it to accept the alloy, then decided against it. Nothing could be gained by mixing heartstone into the lorcith.

  He looked around the smithy. In spite of all the heartstone alloy around him, all the effort he’d gone to in order to keep himself and Jessa safe, it seemed that he would be unable to do so. Would they ever be able to stop running? Would he and Jessa ever find peace?

  Once the lorcith reached a soft orange glow, he lifted it from the coals and set it on his anvil. Then he took the hammer he’d long ago borrowed from his father’s shop and began working the metal.

  With each swing of the hammer, he felt his mind clearing. He hammered, flattening one side and then lifting with the tongs and twisting the lump. Another swing of the hammer. It rang out loudly in the confined space, but he’d given up fearing the constables would discover his unauthorized forge. They never came through this part of Lower Town. The only people living along this street were squatters like him, men and women with no right to the buildings they occupied. They would no more go to the constables to complain than he would.

  The hammer swung again. His mind had emptied. There was nothing but the pull of the lorcith, and he let it draw him, guiding his hand. Each time, twisting and turning, slowly folding the hot metal into shape. When the lorcith cooled, he brought it back to the forge, heating it until it was workable again. If he waited too long, the metal would no longer take on the heat, instead becoming brittle, but Rsiran was a skilled smith, especially with lorcith, and knew just when to bring it back to the coals.

  He switched to a smaller hammer, this one a remnant of his time in the Ilphaesn mines. Of all the tools he used forging lorcith, for some reason, this one always helped the most. He made smaller swings now, and no longer did the hammer ring out loudly in the smithy. Now it sounded muted. Each stroke became more deliberate n
ow.

  Rsiran glanced at what he was making. Not a knife as he expected. Instead, the lorcith folded out flat, becoming a rounded sheet. Had he wanted a knife from it, the lorcith would have agreed. Somehow, he knew that much. But he hadn’t insisted. Because of that, the lorcith pulled itself into its own shape.

  He almost hesitated, wondering what he might be making. Then he swung the hammer again, pushing away any questions. He’d already given himself to what the lorcith wanted from him.

  Rsiran kept hammering. A shape continued to emerge from the metal as the lorcith changed from a flat sheet of metal into a curving shape, like one half of a ball. Again, Rsiran nearly hesitated, but pushed forward.

  And then it was done.

  He set the hammer down and wiped the sweat from his forehead. As the metal cooled, he studied what he had made. It was unlike anything he’d ever done before. In spite of that, it was no less exquisite. From the way the metal appeared to run, he could tell he’d folded it several times. Distantly, he remembered doing it, but the memory came as if through a fog. The metal had been folded back on itself several times and then flattened again. Each time, he’d folded it at a slightly different angle. This created a strange dimpling to the finish that had nothing to do with how he’d hammered it.

  As he looked at it, he realized it was incomplete. The half he looked at was just that—half. He would need to make the other half. One of the lumps of lorcith in the bin next to the forge called to him, like a twin of the one he’d just worked. Without touching it, he knew it would make a similar shape. But then what? What was this for?

  Rsiran carried it to his bench and set it next to the other shapings he’d made. He could study it later and try to learn why the lorcith had wanted to make this shape.

  “Something troubles you?”

  Rsiran turned. Jessa stood at the other end of the bench, watching him. He hadn’t heard her come in. He sighed. “It’s just that…” He shook his head. “If Della is right about me, you’re not safe. Not here and not with me.”