They had spent an evening in the smithy, much like when Haern had first appeared. Somehow, Rsiran still didn’t manage to get the best of Haern, in spite of his increasing attempts to at least catch him once with the edge of one of his knives. None had connected. Haern rolled each time, either the knife missing or with him managing to bat it out of the air, his ability to See giving him awareness of where Rsiran’s attack would likely come from.
It had grown frustrating.
When Haern suggested they meet at the edge of the Aisl, Rsiran figured he might have some advantage. He had spent his boyhood in the forest and could Slide and appear anywhere while Haern would have to move in the open, but then, Rsiran wondered if he really had any advantage when it came to Haern.
There was one thing that Haern had told him that was true: he needed to master his abilities or he would end up failing Jessa, and he might end up used by those who were after him. For her, he would do what he needed to keep them safe. Even if it meant embracing the darkness of his abilities.
Rsiran Slid from tree to tree, not willing to stand in a single place for too long. He emerged long enough to glance around, knowing that Haern would be there soon, and not wanting to be caught unprepared again.
After a while, when Haern failed to appear, he began working his way deeper into the forest. At one point, he paused near the plain wooden hut where his father had been housed after Rsiran had brought him back from Asador. He still didn’t know why the Forgotten wanted his father, and what they might have been after before Rsiran had brought him back to Elaeavn. Without returning to Asador, he might not learn the answer, though from what he’d discovered, the Forgotten had been targeting smiths. But why? And why had Josun been sending lorcith to Asador?
Questions without answers, much like why the lorcith supply in Elaeavn had dried up. There hadn’t ever been that much lorcith in Ilphaesn, at least as far as the Elvraeth and the Miners Guild knew. Only Rsiran knew the secret of how much lorcith remained hidden in the mountain.
Grass around the hut had grown long. When he had come the last time, it had been trampled down by dozens of different feet, leaving a path that led up to the entrance of the hut. Rsiran didn’t need the path, nor did he need to worry about the lock on the door.
Since Haern hadn’t appeared, Rsiran Slid inside.
A place like this would have been too dark for him even a month ago, but since holding the crystal, his vision had changed, though he still didn’t understand exactly how. Della claimed she had changed after holding the crystal, and she expected that he would as well, though she didn’t know how that change would manifest.
Now, he was able to make out the simple sleep pallet along one wall in this barren space his father had briefly called home. The pair of chairs angled near the hearth, almost as if to leave an opportunity for conversation. The stale scent of burned logs, the residue of the char still hanging in the air, lingered. There was an old odor of sweat, and the stink of the man who had lived here for… What had it been? Weeks? A month? All that time, and Rsiran had only come to him once before needing him to find Thyr.
Rsiran should have taken the opportunity to ask questions, but instead, he had held onto his anger, never able to move past it. How much could he have learned had he only been willing to ask?
His father knew more about what it meant to be a smith than Rsiran had been able to discover on his own. It was more than what the man could teach him about working the forge. It was the teachings of a master smith, those invaluable lessons and insights that come from years of honing one’s craft. Skills that Rsiran still hadn’t mastered despite all the lessons the lorcith had provided. There were techniques that he might begin to discover if he took the time, but would never truly master, not like his father, and not without having a true master to work under.
Rsiran sighed and turned away from the hearth thinking of the journey he’d forced his father to take to Venass, during which he’d learned that his father had spent time in Thyr. He should have asked more questions during that journey, when he had his father in somewhat captured company, but he had not. What else had he missed out on the opportunity to learn? He had never known that his father had spent any time outside of the city, and now might never know why, or the reason he had returned.
Everything about the hut came as gradations of shadow, but as he glanced over near the pallet, a shimmer of color seemed to catch his eye.
Rsiran leaned over the pallet searching for any sense of lorcith, and found none. What had he seen then?
The pallet was little more than straw stuffing, with blankets lying over the top. At first, Rsiran wondered if he had seen nothing more than colors from one of the blankets, regardless of how valuable such linens might be. With what they’d discovered in the warehouse along the docks of Lower Town, there were things that Brusus had taken and used that were incredibly valuable, so Rsiran wouldn’t have been entirely surprised to learn that he had taken something like that and left it here for his father.
But that wasn’t what he had seen.
Along the wall, there was a long mark, as if carved. Rsiran leaned toward this mark and realized that it had been gouged into the wood. He reached toward it, running his fingers along the rough edge of the crack, suspecting that his father must have made it.
It was deeper than he would have expected, and any more light would likely have faded into the shadows, but in the darkness he could see the crack.
Not only the crack, but the way something had been stuffed into the crack.
Rsiran used one of his knives to pry at the wall. Lorcith was hard metal, particularly when forged by someone like himself who understood the way the metal called to him, but it could be brittle as well. He dug at the crack, wiggling the tip of his knife from side to side until the crack in the wood began to widen.
The wood separated enough for him to feel a long sliver of metal.
Not lorcith, or it would have tugged on his senses. And not heartstone, though he wouldn’t have expected his father to have anything of heartstone here. This appeared to be a mixture of metals, but one of iron and grindl, a rare enough metal that could be formed into fairly beautiful patterns if made by the right smith. The mixture of iron and grindl was not one of the alchemists’ sanctioned alloys, though nor was it forbidden, not like using lorcith in the way that Rsiran did. Streaks of green melded into the black of the iron, giving it the shimmering color that he had seen, but how had he managed to see it from the other side of the room?
Rsiran studied the piece of metal. It was a flat sheet, seemingly plain, but as he tipped it from side to side, he realized that there was a pattern to the streaks of grindl that ran through the iron, almost as if intentional. Why would his father have hidden this?
Or had he?
Thom had been here, and had known about Rsiran’s ability. It was possible that Thom had left it, hoping that Rsiran or one of them would find it. For all he knew, he had been Compelled to find it, some strange plan of Thom’s.
But why these metals?
Grindl might be rare, but it wasn’t particularly expensive, not like lorcith. And iron was common. No, this wouldn’t have been Thom. This seemed more likely to have come from his father.
Then what was it? Why would his father have placed something here? Unless he had known that he would be dragged away.
Rsiran didn’t think that likely. If his father thought that he might be dragged away, and that something else was going to happen to him, he wouldn’t have stored something here. He would have kept it on him.
Then what?
Maybe he had it wrong. Maybe this was nothing of his father’s at all. He would have to ask Brusus.
Rsiran tucked the piece of metal into his pocket and scanned the rest of the hut. There was nothing else here that he could see. His father had been held here in the months following his capture, and Rsiran thought he should feel something, some emotional reaction. But he struggled to come up with any sort of sympathy for his fath
er after what he’d put Rsiran through. In spite of that, he still wanted to find out why the scholars had taken him when they arrived at the Tower of Scholars. What did they intend for him?
He shook away those unanswered questions, realizing he’d spent enough time here. He needed to find Haern and continue the training that he intended. Rsiran Slid from the hut, emerging just outside the door.
As soon as he did, he sensed lorcith.
Without waiting, he Slid forward two steps. Something struck the door behind where he’d been standing. He spun to see a lorcith knife protruding from the door. Rsiran Slid again, this time a dozen steps to the right, pulling on the knife intended for him at the same time and sending it whistling back in the direction that he’d sensed it. It streaked into the trees and fell to the ground.
Damn Haern for testing him like this.
In the smithy, Haern stopped using lorcith blades, knowing that Rsiran could detect them easily enough, even with knives that he had not made. Haern had thought to test him in the Aisl, and probably knew that Rsiran wasn’t ready for anything not made of lorcith.
Rsiran sensed no other lorcith, but doubted that Haern had departed. If it was Haern, then this was all a part of his training. If it was not… Rsiran didn’t want to think of what might happen if it wasn’t Haern. He had to find out who was hiding in the trees. If it wasn’t Haern, he needed to know.
He didn’t want to move until he knew what he might be dealing with. Any movement might give him away. Even Sliding could do that. Jessa told him what she saw when he Slid, the flash of colors that came with it, so he wanted to avoid giving himself away.
How would he be able to determine who might be out there, especially if they didn’t carry lorcith—or heartstone—on them?
Maybe he couldn’t, and maybe that was the point Haern wanted to make. Rsiran might have certain abilities that protected him and kept him safe, but unless his attackers carried lorcith, his ability was neutralized.
That didn’t mean he was in danger, necessarily. Especially when traveling alone.
When Jessa Slid with him, he had to worry about something happening to her. He had to ensure they kept in contact so that if something did happen and they needed to escape, they could.
Alone, he could Slide quickly. Even the ripples formed by his Sliding should be minimal.
What he needed was a better way to see. A better vantage. That would be his best option, but there was nothing but trees all around him. He might be able to Slide onto a high branch, but he could just as easily fall attempting that. Sliding someplace like that was no different from Sliding to a narrow ledge.
But he could pull himself, couldn’t he? He had another way to Slide, one that didn’t require him to step into the Slide. There was a different type of control when he did that.
Looking up, he surveyed the trees and considered which one to start with. The sjihn trees here were all massive. The hut was situated deeper into the forest where more mature trees grew. They were not quite as tall as some that grew deeper in the forest, those that lived even beyond where Lianna was buried, but should be enough for him to get a better look at what might be moving around him. One thick branch seemed to stretch between trees, something like a walkway.
Rsiran focused on it, and rather than stepping into the Slide—a movement that might be visible to someone with Sight—he pulled himself toward it. The difference was subtle, but it changed the way that he traveled. With Sliding, there was the sense of movement, and of flashes of color, and even the bitter scent of lorcith. Sliding this way had no real sense of movement, none of the wind that whistled through his ears. Muted white light surrounded him and the air smelled almost fragrant.
When he emerged, he stood balanced on the branch and looking down at the forest floor below. From this vantage, he could see some of the city through the trees, but the buildings were little more than gradations of color. From outside, especially from the sea, the city had been designed to flow into to the rock. Above it all rose Krali Rock, towering over the city.
Rsiran turned his attention away from the city and looked to the forest below him. The hut occupied much of a small clearing. The grasses that he hadn’t thought trampled appeared more compacted now than when he’d been down on the ground. Not only could he see his boot marks, but those of others, though he couldn’t be sure how many others without getting much closer. Small scrub plants cropped up near the edge of the trees, but otherwise, nothing but the sjihn trees grew here.
He moved slowly along the branch, looking for any sign of whoever had thrown the knife, staring at the ground. Probably Haern, but a nagging worry made him wonder if he was wrong. Nothing moved that would explain what might be here.
Rsiran reached the trunk of the tree and leaned back against it. Somehow, he was missing something. He shouldn’t remain here, not by himself, but what if it was only Haern? How would he explain that he’d Slid away at the first sign of an attack, especially after what Haern had been trying to demonstrate to him?
No, he needed to find him.
He looked deeper into the forest, and away from the clearing, toward another large tree with a similarly large branch. Focusing on it, he pulled himself in the Slide, again choosing this technique rather than stepping into the Slide. When he emerged this time, the darkness of the canopy hung overhead, filtering out more of the light and making it harder to see anything.
Rsiran studied the ground. Movement should be easier to find. He scanned from tree to tree, but saw nothing that indicated anything—or anyone—moving.
Maybe he’d been mistaken.
Had Haern climbed into the branches to hide? He wouldn’t put it past him, but if Haern had climbed into the trees, Rsiran would be better equipped to chase after him. He didn’t have to crawl along the rough sjihn bark, or try to scale the massive trunks.
With his attention turned to the trees, he almost missed the sudden flare of lorcith again.
Rsiran frowned. The sense was back near the hut.
He fixed his attention on the tree that he’d just come from, and pulled himself back to the branch.
When he emerged, he saw movement below him. The door to the hut hung open—likely forced open, from the way that it hung half-splintered on the frame. A solitary figure stalked around the edge of the hut.
At first, Rsiran thought that it was Haern and nearly Slid down to surprise him, but he hesitated. There was something different about the posture and the way the person flickered as he moved that made him hesitate.
Flicker.
Not Haern.
Rsiran’s heart started pounding so loud that he feared someone who might be a Listener could hear. He slammed heartstone-infused barriers into place in his mind, suddenly concerned. And he understood why he hadn’t detected lorcith before now: Whoever was down in the clearing below could Slide.
Chapter 4
Rsiran should return to the safety of the smithy, or at least to the outskirts of the forest and find Haern, but first, he wanted to find out who had come to the hut, and why.
Whoever it was must have detected him Sliding and known he was here. The attack as soon as he Slid outside the hut had told him that. But why kick down the door if whoever this was could Slide as well?
Another figure emerged from the hut. A tall woman with dark eyes and deep black hair slipped out from the door. She held a short sword in hand and walked in a casual way that reminded him of the Neelish sellsword who had nearly killed Brusus. Her lips were pressed into a thin line as she surveyed the clearing, pausing to turn to the remains of the door where the lorcith knife had pierced the wood.
She traced her fingers along the wood for a moment before craning her neck so that she could see behind her. Rsiran clung to the tree, ready to Slide if needed, as she surveyed the forest.
“What is it?” The other figure appeared from the side of the hut and pushed a hood back revealing a youthful face with short brown hair and a thin beard to match.
“Your
knife,” the woman said.
Their voices carried to him, but barely. Rsiran strained to hear, wanting to know if these were Forgotten or Venass or some new enemy. He wasn’t sure that he was prepared to have one more group that might be after him.
“What about it? I threw it blunt end so it wouldn’t kill, and he Slid before it hit him.”
“Yes,” the woman said, “then where is it?”
The man stalked past her and leaned into the door. He touched it much like the woman had, and his fingers traced a pattern across the wood. “Why would he linger long enough to take the knife?”
“Did you see him do that?” she asked.
The man flickered and appeared at the edge of the trees. There seemed to be a slight swirl of colors as he did, and then he emerged nearly directly below Rsiran. “Didn’t see him, but only a fool would have taken the time to fetch a knife…”
“Unless he didn’t know we were here.”
The man grunted. “You certain that he didn’t? Seemed to pause long enough, and you said he Slid as soon as the knife started toward him.”
The woman tilted her head in agreement. “That’s what I said.”
“Then where did he go?”
Her eyes scanned the trees. “It doesn’t work like that,” she said.
The man Slid back to her, emerging near the hut. Rsiran noted how quickly he moved, blinking from one place to the next, almost as if sprinting. The Forgotten that he’d met had similar speed with Sliding, not to mention Josun’s control. Was there a benefit to Sliding quickly? He hadn’t found one, but that didn’t mean that one didn’t exist. Rsiran didn’t have the same advantage as others with his ability; there was no one to ask about technique, and ways to use Sliding, not like those with different abilities had.
“Then tell me, Sarah, how does it work?”
The woman flipped her sword toward the man, but he simply Slid a step to the side. As he emerged, essentially flickering back into view, he swung his sword up and knocked hers down.
That was what Haern wanted Rsiran to learn.
The Dark Ability: Books 1-4 Page 85