The Dark Ability: Books 1-4

by D. K. Holmberg

  “After all that you’ve done for them?” Rsiran asked.

  “Why do you think I went after the council? Why do you think I harvested the metal? And I might have succeeded had you not…”

  He looked at his leg, where Rsiran had stabbed Josun with the poisoned blade when still learning to control his ability to push on his forgings.

  Whistle dust. Meant to poison the council, but not enough to kill. It would’ve just made them sick. Rsiran thought that Josun had a darker reason, but could it have simply been to gain favor with the Forgotten?

  “How do you think to find out their secrets, Lareth? You’re nothing more than a smith.” He paused and studied him. “And not even that any longer. Run away. Return to the city and the foolish belief that the Elvraeth protect you.”

  “You might have been more skilled than I was once, but no longer,” Rsiran said. “I will find out what they want with me.”

  Josun looked at him then turned and looked down at his arms, at the chains preventing him from Sliding. “Perhaps I’m not as strong as you,” he said softly. “But I still doubt you’ll find them. And certainly not before they find you. They’ve been in the shadows for too long, they know how to wait. And when they come for you…” He cackled and rattled the chains.

  Rsiran jumped and immediately pushed back the annoyance he felt. “What does that mean?”

  Josun snorted. “It means… it means that you are nothing more than a smith, and not even of the guild. If they want something of you, you would do well to provide it or…”

  “Or what?” Rsiran demanded.

  Josun shrugged. “Or suffer.” He shook his chains again. “And I can see that you’ve suffered already.” He laughed again as he backed against the wall of the caves.

  Worry wrinkled the corners of Jessa’s eyes, different from the concern she’d had about him coming here in the first place. She glanced over at Josun, biting her lip as she frowned.

  They Slid from the mines—leaving Josun leaning against the wall, staring down at his chains—with no more understanding than when they’d arrived.

  Chapter 22

  Rsiran leaned on the table in the smithy. Behind him, the forge heated, coals glowing a deep red and orange. He didn’t know what he’d make, but needed to clear his head again. The scent of lorcith hung more strongly in the air as it always did with a heated forge.

  Jessa was gone, searching for Hearn and checking on Brusus, while he couldn’t shake that he was missing something. The Forgotten had attacked Brusus, and Thom had used that attack to get Rsiran to the Tower of Scholars. From what he could tell, Venass had sent the Forgotten after him because of his abilities. Or maybe it was the other way around. Either way, he was convinced they worked together.

  Then there was what Josun had wanted from him. Why the sword? What about it was important? Would it have somehow helped Josun find the Forgotten? And he still didn’t understand why Josun had been shipping lorcith. That was tied into it all somehow. Could he have been getting the lorcith to Venass? Was that how they had such massive amounts throughout the Tower?

  Rsiran hated the idea that he would always have to fear the next attack, and always have to worry about what would happen next. They’d attacked Brusus, and Josun had already gone after Jessa. What would happen next?

  Could Rsiran use his sword to find them?

  But… not his sword. This wasn’t the sword Josun had wanted. What he had really wanted was a sword made of the heartstone alloy.

  Why?

  The man he’d seen in Venass had been able to use lorcith, and had pierced himself with lorcith. That was important somehow, Rsiran was certain of that. Was it the alloy that Venass wanted? Did they think to control it as they controlled lorcith?

  He didn’t know enough.

  He thought of everything stored in the warehouse. Items of wealth and culture kept from the rest of Elaeavn, but for what reason? The palace Elvraeth wanted the same thing as those exiled. As the scholars in Venass. Everyone wanted power. From what he’d seen, none used it well.

  He picked up the sword, holding it with a loose grip as he swung it from side to side. The lorcith blade practically hummed, pulling on him. Had that sense grown stronger in the time since he’d forged it? More than any of his other creations, he felt attuned to the sword.

  What was it about the sword that Josun wanted? Why would he also want a sword made of the heartstone alloy? Without knowing, he didn’t think he would fully understand what was going on. After what he’d been through, not understanding put those he cared about in danger.

  Rsiran set the sword back atop the table and made his way to the bin of lorcith. He stood in front of it, eyes closed, as he listened.

  At first, he felt it as nothing more than the distant sound he always heard with lorcith. Each piece called out to him in its own way, as if begging for attention. When he felt a strong enough connection, he sent out his request, framing it as an image in his mind.

  Rsiran had never done anything like this before and wasn’t completely certain it would work, but he listened.

  As he did, one of the lumps of lorcith called back to him, responding to his request. Rsiran kept his eyes closed and reached for it within the bin.

  When he pulled it out, the lump of lorcith was larger than many. And heavy. He held it, debating whether he was making the right decision, before setting it on the hot coals of the forge.

  The lorcith slowly began to warm, building to a hot glow. As it did, he turned to the smaller bin nearer his table. There, kept in a covered box, he had the last of the heartstone he’d managed to collect from where it had been hidden within the warehouse. Rsiran popped open the lid and looked inside. Only a few small squares remained. After they were gone, Rsiran didn’t know where to find more. Heartstone was not mined in Ilphaesn like lorcith was. He wondered if he could use his ability to find more, but worried he would not be able to.

  In the middle of the box was a larger square. For what he planned to forge, he needed a larger piece. But did he dare use it?

  Without thinking on it more, Rsiran grabbed the square and took it to the forge. Learning to work with heartstone had been difficult. Already soft, it didn’t take much heat to melt. And melting wasn’t really what he needed anyway.

  Mixing lorcith with heartstone was more a melding of the two. When both glowed steadily, he moved them to his anvil and set the heartstone atop the lorcith. Then he began folding them together.

  He worked slowly, heating it as needed, until he felt the alloy form. It changed something of the lorcith, taking away its quiet call, the soft music he’d once heard throughout the mines of Ilphaesn, and made it harder and harsher.

  Then the real work began.

  As the alloy, Rsiran no longer could allow the metal to guide his forging. Not as he could with lorcith. The alloy did not sing, but it did have a call. He could use that, and listen to it, but focusing required losing himself in the forging. In that way, it was no different from forging lorcith, only he’d begun to learn to control the connection to lorcith, to no longer lose himself quite as completely.

  He hammered, focusing on the image of the shape he wanted the metal to take. Each blow of the hammer took extra effort, as if requiring a part of himself, more than what lorcith required when he worked with it.

  Rsiran lost himself in the forging. Heat. Hammer. Fold. Over and over until the shape of his forging began to emerge from the metal.

  After a while, Rsiran switched to a small hammer, making delicate adjustments. Whatever his father thought about letting lorcith guide him, had Rsiran not listened to the lorcith as he worked with it, he never would have learned some of these more subtle lessons. Each time he worked with lorcith, he learned something new. Even the half bowl he’d made, he’d learned how to hammer the metal perfectly flat before curving it again. This forging required everything he’d ever learned.

  And then it was done.

  Rsiran set the hammer down and looked at the forgi
ng lying on his anvil.

  A long blade, shaped into a sword, nearly the twin of the one lying on his table. Only this sword was made from the heartstone alloy.

  As it cooled, Rsiran lifted it and brought it to the table to rest next to the other sword. Unlike the lorcith sword, the metal from the alloy was muted and dull. Still, the small work with the hammer had led to the metal seeming to flow from the tip to where it would attach to the hilt.

  And, strangely, just like with the lorcith sword, he felt an affinity to this forging.

  Rsiran frowned. The sense was different from what he felt from the bars he’d made to protect the smithy. Those he felt if he focused on them, but they didn’t call to him like the new sword did.

  All it needed was an edge and a hilt, and the sword would be complete.

  He turned at the sound of the door opening, expecting Jessa. How would he explain what he’d made? Would she understand?

  Rather than Jessa, Brusus came through the door alone.

  He looked weak though still stronger than when Rsiran had left him. His eyes shone with a pale green, and he walked with a slight limp. The deep indigo shirt he wore had heavy embroidery around the collar and strips of black running along the sides that matched simple black pants.

  Brusus closed the door and clicked the lock before turning back to Rsiran. He swept his eyes over the smithy, lingering on the forge. “You’ve been working.”

  Rsiran nodded. Did he tell Brusus about the sword? “I needed to think.”

  Brusus nodded. He looked at Rsiran, something about his expression hesitant. “I wanted to thank you for what you did. Without you there…”

  Rsiran shook his head. “You don’t need to thank me, Brusus. You needed help. I was there.”

  “But I do. I don’t like getting into the habit of owing others. Now with you, I feel I’m so deeply indebted that I’ll never repay what you’ve given me.”

  “There’s no debt to repay. You’d do the same for me.”

  A wide smile split his face, bringing back some of the joy Rsiran was accustomed to seeing. Since Lianna had died, Brusus hadn’t been the same. Not that Rsiran could blame him. He didn’t want to think of what would happen were the same to happen to Jessa.

  “That I would. Probably not as well. That’s not my gift.” Brusus stayed near the door, as if unwilling to come too close. “Jessa told me what you did to get us out of the Barth. I’m not sure I fully understand what happened.”

  “They wanted me, Brusus,” Rsiran reminded.

  Brusus sighed. “Perhaps. There’s more that I don’t know,” he said softly. “I wish that I could understand… but it’s beyond me.” He cast his gaze around the smithy before settling on Rsiran. “I wanted to talk to you about what you’ve planned.”

  “To find the rest of the Forgotten? So far, I haven’t come up with a plan. Before I decide anything—including whether I return to Venass to repay my debt—I need to know what they all want of me. I know the scholar spoke of learning how I can Slide past heartstone. And I’ve learned that there are Forgotten who can Slide…” Rsiran sighed in frustration.

  “And I know you think I’ve kept things from you.” He raised his hands, stopping Rsiran from saying anything. “You don’t have to deny it. I have kept things from you. Dangerous things. But I didn’t do it to keep you from knowing, I did it because I thought you knowing would be more dangerous.” He inhaled deeply. “I wanted to protect you. All of you.” He turned and looked around the smithy again. “Damn great job I did of that, it seems.”

  Rsiran laughed. “You could have done better.”

  “I thought being Elvraeth born would let me protect the people I cared about. Even that isn’t always enough.”

  “You’ve done what you could,” Rsiran said. And it was true. Since he’d met Brusus, everything he’d done had really been to position them better. Had it not been for Josun, they would still be sitting in the Barth, sipping at ale and dicing. Safe.

  Brusus sighed again. “He’s always played me well. Too well. I think he knew that my mother was one of the Forgotten—and Elvraeth—long before we learned enough about him to know he sided with the exiles.”

  Rsiran didn’t know how to phrase the question that had bothered him since learning of the exiled Elvraeth. But he needed to know.

  Brusus smiled, but it seemed a sad smile. “Ask it, Rsiran.”

  “And your mother? Is she a part of them?”

  The corners of Brusus’s eyes tensed. In that moment, Rsiran wondered if Brusus would answer him honestly.

  “I don’t know. You know as much about me as nearly anyone. More than I’m comfortable sharing.” He looked up, and deep green flashed in his eyes. “I know you’d never do anything with that knowledge, but having it out there in the world…” He shook his head. “It’s not easy for me.”

  “I understand,” Rsiran said quietly.

  Brusus nodded. “That’s why I trust you’ll do what’s right. Why I’ve always trusted you to do what’s right. More than anyone I trust—including Haern—you understand.”

  “Della knows. She understands,” Rsiran said.

  He tipped his head in agreement. “She knows. There’s not much she doesn’t know about me.” He took a few steps into the room and turned. “My mother brought me to Della after I was born. I… I don’t know much about her other than what Della told me. She left me in Elaeavn, thinking I would have a better life than I would had I grown up in exile.”

  “Why?”

  Brusus shook his head. “The other cities tolerate our kind, Rsiran, but they do not love us. We are gifted by the Great Watcher and they are not.” He made a motion around him, sweeping his hands. “You have your own gifts, valuable ones, clearly. And think of how you feel about the Elvraeth, about the abilities they possess. Now think of how a person with no gifts would feel about even the weakest person in Elaeavn.”

  Rsiran had never thought of it like that before, but it made sense after hearing Brusus say it. Hadn’t he always wished he had the abilities of the Elvraeth? Sliding was useful—now that he no longer feared what he could do and had embraced his ability—but hadn’t he often wished for the ability of Sight or even to Read? What must those living in Asador or Cort or Eban feel about the people of Elvraeth, knowing what they could do?

  Was that the reason the scholars wanted to study him? Della had said they are men and women once of Elaeavn who study power. They seem to be working with the Forgotten already. But ability with the heartstone alloy is something they would all want to learn about.

  “I hadn’t considered it like that before.”

  Brusus chuckled. “Most don’t. Unless they leave Elaeavn, few think about it. That’s why my mother didn’t want me growing up in a city where my ability was rare and misunderstood, where what we could do was viewed as dangerous. Something to be feared rather than appreciated.”

  “Like Sliding?”

  Brusus nodded. “Like Sliding. You know what it’s like growing up like that. How hard it was for you when you discovered your ability, only to learn that your father considered it dangerous.”

  “He thinks it’s more than that.”

  “Does that matter?” Brusus asked. “Has it ever mattered? The Great Watcher doesn’t give us abilities we aren’t meant to use. It’s how we use the gifts we’ve been given that defines us.” He fixed Rsiran with eyes that were suddenly deep green. “You’ve never shaken your concern for what your father thinks of what you can do, but what do you think? How many people have you been able to help because of your ability? How many times have you saved those you care about?”

  Rsiran laughed. “You don’t have to convince me, Brusus. I’m not ashamed of my ability anymore.”

  Brusus’s brow furrowed as he frowned. “I hope not.”

  He said it in a way that sounded unconvinced. So much like Jessa in that. And hadn’t Rsiran gone to see his father in the hut in the Aisl? Maybe Jessa was right—maybe he still sought his father’s appro
val.

  Rsiran realized the reason Brusus would want to reach out to the exiled Elvraeth. “Is that what this has been about for you? Trying to find your mother?”

  Brusus sighed again and swallowed. The tension around his eyes returned. There was more to his story than he shared, Rsiran realized.

  “Partly,” he admitted. “That’s why I needed your knives. Oh, they helped get information in the city, but I’ve never really needed lorcith blades to get that. What I needed was a way in. Once exiled, the Forgotten disappear. For years, I thought they might be hidden in one of the great cities. Asador or Cort or—”

  “Or Thyr?” Could the exiled Elvraeth be there as well? Were they with the scholars?

  Brusus nodded. “Or Thyr. But Haern says there are no exiled Elvraeth among Venass. Only others of the Forgotten. I searched each city, looking for any sign of them. It’s as if they never existed.”

  “You didn’t believe that.”

  “No. And Della suspects they gathered somewhere, only even she doesn’t know where they might hide. After trying for years and failing, when I met you and saw those knives…” He shook his head. “No one had made weapons like that in over a century. At first, I thought maybe the exiles had made them.” He smiled. “Better I found you, I think. Only later did I think that the Forgotten would want them. Since the Ilphaesn mines are completely controlled by the guild, the Forgotten have no access to lorcith on their own.” He blinked. “At least, I hadn’t thought they had.” His face darkened. “Josun proved otherwise.”

  “So you just wanted to reach the exiled Elvraeth?”

  Brusus crossed the distance between them and rested his hand on Rsiran’s arm. “That’s not why I wanted to help, Rsiran. I saw in you much of myself. The uncertainty. The anger at having to hide who—and what—you are.”

  Rsiran swallowed. If all Brusus wanted were knives, he wouldn’t have pulled Rsiran in as a friend, introducing him to the others. To Jessa. And wouldn’t he have done anything to help Brusus had he known what he needed?