The Dark Ability (23 page)

Rsiran shook his head but caught himself. That wasn’t entirely true. “When were you sentenced?”

Haern’s face clouded, almost as if drawing in the shadows around him. “I was young. Foolish. And I made a claim that I should not have made.” He shrugged. “It is so long ago that I don’t really remember the details. I remember the clothes. I remember the bitter way the mine smelled. I remembered hating the dark.” Haern shivered. “And when you came to the Barth wearing the greys, I recognized them. Why didn’t you change into something else?”

Rsiran glanced down at his attire, different now that Brusus had given him nicer clothes to wear. But the greys from Ilphaesn did not bother him. And they suited him.

“I don’t mind the greys.” The color reminded Rsiran of the lorcith mined within Ilphaesn. Most wouldn’t understand.

Haern cocked his head and looked at him strangely. “Most could not wait to change into something else after earning their release. Myself included. Most I know felt it was too much of a reminder of where they had come from—a place to which none wanted to return.”

“I didn’t think the mines were so bad. Just the miners.”

Haern did smile then, the scar on his face twisting strangely. “Then why did you run?”

“I didn’t run.”

Haern looked at him and the expression on his face changed. If anything, it hardened. “What do you mean?”

Rsiran shook his head. The look on Haern’s face should have warned him, but he was tired of hiding what he was. Too many already knew anyway. “You’re the Seer.”

The green of Haern’s eyes flashed deeper, and his face went slack as he focused on Rsiran. Rsiran felt a soft sense in his mind, like a puff of air, and then it was gone. Haern’s face never changed.

“Why are you here?” Rsiran asked.

“There was something that I Saw.”

Rsiran was thankful that he didn’t have to hear Haern tell him what he thought of Sliding.

“A viewing of something that might be. I knew you would be here, but not more than that.”

“What did you see?”

Haern took a step toward him. “What happened to Brusus?”

Rsiran stiffened. “You don’t know?”

Haern shook his head. “I haven’t seen him for days.”

“He was injured. Badly. He’s at Della’s home.”

Haern stopped moving. He was only an arm’s length away from Rsiran. “How was he injured?”

Rsiran hesitated. Haern was acting strangely, even for him. Usually he was quiet and reserved, something Rsiran expected once he learned that Haern was a Seer, but this was stranger still.

“A Neelish sellsword.”

“Why would the sellsword attack Brusus?” Then he sucked in a quick breath of air. “He wasn’t still foolish enough to take that job from Josun, was he?”

Rsiran’s heart thumped in his chest. With each jolt, nervous energy pounded through him. He nodded. “We were outside the warehouse earlier today.”

Haern took a step back and his eyes fell closed. “That fool!” His eyes opened, and the green Rsiran saw there was intense and deep. “I warned him against taking the job, even before he met with that man. Too much risk involved and very little reward for Brusus.”

“What risk?”

Haern eyed him suspiciously. “You went into the warehouse?”

Rsiran nodded.

“You understand there is a reason the Elvraeth simply store those crates there?”

Rsiran shook his head. “Brusus said that—”

Haern cut him off. “There are items there we are not meant to see. Brusus will try to tell you otherwise—try to convince you the valuables have been neglected—but that is not for us to decide.”

“I met Josun too.” He didn’t tell Haern what Josun demanded of him.

“Josun will say whatever he must to accomplish his goals. And they are
his
goals, no matter what he tells you. Few of the Elvraeth are to be trusted, but that one least of all.”

The heat to his words startled Rsiran. “You know him?”

Haern nodded slowly. “As much as one can know one of the Elvraeth.”

The way that he said it made Rsiran realize that Haern didn’t know Brusus’s secret. Other than him and Della, it seemed no one did.

“An earlier job. A trial, I suspect. I met him. Saw what I could of him, but there is darkness along every path with him, and only darkness. Where there is that much darkness, nothing green can grow. Even then, I warned Brusus, but he wouldn’t listen. And now he has pulled you into it with him.”

“And Jessa,” Rsiran answered softly.

Haern closed his eyes. “Damn that foolish man!”

Haern started down the street, and then paused, motioning for Rsiran to follow. For a moment, he considered simply Sliding away, worried about Haern’s strange behavior, but decided he needed to see what Haern would say.

“What does he want from you?” Haern asked as they walked down the street.

As the street widened, the wind gusted, pulling on Rsiran’s clothing and tossing his hair into his eyes. He shoved it back as waves crashed against the shore loudly, forcing them to walk closer together to be heard. Haern smelled clean with a faint hint of perfume. One of his hands gripped his stomach through his shirt as they walked. Rsiran could not shake the familiar sensation of lorcith.

Rsiran worried about answering but decided to tell Haern what he knew. Brusus obviously trusted many of his secrets to Haern. And Jessa trusted him. More than anything, that swayed him. “Brusus was hired to perform some sort of demonstration.”

“And now that he has been injured?”

Rsiran nodded. “The Elvraeth has asked that we complete the demonstration.”

Haern stopped and placed a hand on Rsiran’s arm. Rsiran felt the soft sensation like a breath of air in his mind again, and then it was gone.

“You know that you cannot do this thing.”

“Why not? Jessa thought that between the two of us…”

“The two of you will be caught.” Haern sighed. “I see Jessa, exiled. Forgotten. You… you are less clear. You have always been difficult for me to See, Rsiran.” He shook his head. “Do not do this thing. Keep Jessa safe. She will not do well if exiled.”

Rsiran did not know how to answer. The Elvraeth had made it clear that the demonstration must be done. With Brusus now injured, it fell on him and Jessa. And if Haern Saw true, Jessa could not be allowed to be a part of it or she would be caught. Exiled and Forgotten.

He would not let that happen to her.

They walked a little farther along the street, and the waves grew louder. As they reached the harbor road, the air felt damp, moist from the salt spray coming from the sea. No one else was out at this time of night, and no one moved along the road. The only movement was the water and the ships moored out in the harbor sliding on dark waves like shifting shadows. Even the gulls were quiet.

As they neared the rocky shores of the bay, Rsiran felt Haern’s hand on his arm again and stiffened.

“I See that my words will not change your mind.”

“You have told me that if we do this thing for Brusus, if we perform this demonstration for the Elvraeth Josun,” he went on, careful not to mention what the demonstration was, “that we will be caught.”

Haern fixed him with hard, unblinking eyes. “Jessa will be caught. I See her future only too well.” He shook his head once. “As I said, I cannot See you clearly.” He looked at Rsiran with an accusation on his face.

“Don’t worry about Jessa. I will make sure she doesn’t get involved. And I have no intention of getting caught.”

Haern shook his head. “Unfortunately, I’m unwilling to simply take your word. I wasn’t certain what to make of you at first. Usually, my ability helps with that. Rare that I find someone that I cannot See.” Haern sighed. “I’m sorry it has come to this.”

His other hand shifted, and Rsiran saw a faint silvery glimmer and suddenly understood the pulling he had been feeling. Haern had a lorcith-forged knife.

The pulling on him was familiar, and now that he saw it, he understood why. It was one of his.

“I’m uncomfortable with my vision failing me. If I can’t See you, I can’t account for you—”

“What are you doing, Haern?” Rsiran jerked his arm, trying to tear it away.

Haern held him in a tight grip, squeezing his arm painfully. He pulled the knife up and slashed it toward Rsiran. Rsiran tried again to pry his arm away, but Haern held him.

He
felt
the movement of the lorcith knife,
felt
it slashing toward him.

There was nothing left to do. Rsiran attempted to Slide.

But failed. He had never failed.

The look on Haern’s face explained all that he needed. Somehow Haern held him in place.

The knife arced toward him.

Rsiran tried to Slide again, even to step away. But the way Haern held him kept him from stepping into the Slide.

If he didn’t do something now, Haern would kill him.

In his panic, the pulling of the lorcith thrummed deeply inside him. All he wanted was to push it away.

And suddenly, the knife flew out of Haern’s hand, spinning wildly into the sky before splashing into the water.

Haern’s eyes widened. In that moment, Rsiran wrenched free.

He took a step and Slid.

Before he disappeared, he swore he saw a satisfied look on Haern’s face.

R
siran emerged in the smithy
. The lanterns flickered, and steady wind gusted through the hole in the ceiling. The scents of lorcith and hot coals were still heavy on the air.

His heart hammered. Haern had attacked him.

Could he have been wrong to trust Brusus and his friends? Never before had he any reason to doubt them. Haern had always seemed friendly and willing to help, even lending him coin so that he could dice with them.

Why then had he attacked him?

Rsiran knew the answer but didn’t understand. For some reason, Haern couldn’t See him, and this made him nervous. And what he could See made him fear for Jessa.

If they performed the demonstration—the poisoning—for Josun, she would be captured and exiled. Forgotten. Haern could not See what would happen to him, but Rsiran harbored no illusions he would escape the same fate.

Regardless of Haern’s reasoning, he was a Seer. The visions from Seers were always reliable and should be trusted. And in this case, feared. For that reason, Rsiran could almost understand why Haern had attacked. Wouldn’t he do the same thing to protect Jessa if he could? Perhaps Haern had Seen it as the only way to prevent her involvement.

That still did not explain why he had tried to kill him.

Rsiran’s mind raced, and he found that he was working near the forge, layering coals, as a way to calm his thoughts. Since meeting Brusus, he had always felt safe, always felt welcomed, and now that seemed to have been taken from him.

Suddenly he felt as if he had nowhere to go.

He set one of the smaller lumps of lorcith atop the coals and it quickly glowed a soft orange. The heat increased the bitter scent of the ore, and he breathed it in. He felt jittery, as if his entire body quivered with anxiety, and wished very much that Brusus were awake.

For a moment, he considered Sliding to speak to Della again. Her advice always seemed to make sense, but he remembered how tired she appeared. The strain of healing had worn her down, aged her dramatically in only a few weeks. He would not add to that.

Jessa would not be any help. She would chafe at the idea something might happen to her. Possibly she wouldn’t even believe that Haern had attacked him.

And he feared doing nothing. Doing nothing put everyone who had helped him at risk.

Before he realized what he was doing, Rsiran managed to forge three more small blades.

Each was identical and different from any he had made before. Soft curves along the blade seemed almost to melt into the handle. They were weighted nicely and balanced finely on his palm. The metal of each was heavily folded so it created the appearance of movement, as if oozing across the blade. Near the bottom of the blade, barely visible through the deep silver sheen, was his mark. Rsiran would not give these to Brusus to sell.

He felt an overwhelming and unexplainable urge to sharpen them, as if the blades demanded that last bit of finishing before they would be satisfied and let him go.

As he was too anxious and alert to sleep, he decided to comply with their demand. Such a simple request and one he knew he could quickly accomplish, if only he had sharpening stones. And he knew where he could find some.

He Slid to his father’s shop.

Emerging left him only slightly weakened. Either he grew accustomed to the energy drain from Sliding or he grew stronger with his ability.

Even darkened, the shop was as he remembered. The air smelled of steel and iron and copper. Very little scent of lorcith hung in the air. That which did seemed faded and aged, as if his father had not worked with the metal in weeks. Moonlight filtered through the dusty window. The forge was cold and dirtier than he had ever seen it, coals from the day left to sit atop it. A hammer was left leaning against the anvil. Even along the wall, tools simply rested where they should have been hung. Water in the quenching bath smelled stagnant and stained from several days of use. The bins where his father usually stored the rods of iron or steel were nearly empty.

Something had changed.

Once, Rsiran would have cared. Now, he struggled to find the necessary emotion for a man who felt he needed to punish his child for having an ability he didn’t understand.

The grinding wheel should be atop one of the long benches near the back of the shop, but a collection of paper and discarded work cluttered around it. Rsiran shuffled several pieces out of the way, each in various stages of completion. Some were bowls, others simple dinnerware, a few looked to be oblong rods that reminded him of the strange metallic cylinders within the warehouse. None were made of lorcith. It was as if his father had simply abandoned the metal.

When he reached the wheel, it was damaged. One of the partially completed projects had been simply tossed on top of it, cracking the wheel. Rsiran couldn’t help but feel a little curious. Such casual disregard for his tools was unlike his father.

The knives in his pocket pulled on him, as if begging to be sharpened. He would need to find an alternative to the wheel. Along the wall, only slightly buried by the projects on the bench, were a pair of sanding stones. Rsiran grabbed them. They would work better than nothing.

“You look well.”

Rsiran turned slowly, his heart suddenly hammering loudly. By now, he should be accustomed to people creeping up on him as he snuck around in the dark, but he still startled. The reassurance that he could simply Slide away eased his fear somewhat.

His father leaned against the door to his private office in the back. Rsiran had not heard him open it, but had probably missed it while moving around discarded projects. A trace of short whiskers dotted his normally clean-shaven face. Lines pulled along the corners of his eyes, as if he hadn’t been sleeping. His clothes were wrinkled and stained. Even where Rsiran stood, he smelled the stink of ale on his breath.

“Father.”

“Come to steal from me again?” He heaved himself away from the wall with a grunt.

Rsiran tensed. Always he had intended to return the borrowed tongs and the hammer. Once he had forgotten, it had simply been easier to keep using them. “I borrowed from you. I intended to return what I borrowed before now.”

A sneer spread across his father’s face. “Borrow, you say? Can you simply borrow lump metal and think to return it?”

Rsiran shook his head. “I did not…”

“You think to lie to me now, Rsiran? After I know what you have become? What I told you that
ability
would turn you into?”

Seeing the anger in his father’s eyes, Rsiran prepared to Slide. He would not risk getting trapped again. He was lucky to have escaped from Haern as it was and still did not fully understand what had happened.

“You think my ability has turned me into a thief? It was my ability that saved my life when I was nearly killed in the mines. Where you sent me!”

His father’s eyes narrowed. “I assigned you to learn. As an apprentice. You needed to learn to master the call of the lorcith. As I had to learn. You know so little, but think yourself worldly. And now… now you will never learn what you need.”

“You sentenced me like a criminal!” Rsiran practically shouted the last. “A criminal who had done nothing more than discover that I finally possessed an ability of my own. Finally, I had my own gift from the Great Watcher. Only you saw it as a reason for shame.” It felt freeing to finally tell his father how he felt. “You
made
me
feel it is a reason for shame.”

“It
is
a dark ability!” his father roared. “Look what it has made of you! A thief, sneaking here in the night, stealing from your family!”

“Family? Does family punish each other like you punished me? Shouldn’t family care if someone nearly dies?” He took a deep breath to calm himself. “I have found a different family. One that accepts who I am. One that cares what happens to me.”

His father took a step toward him, and Rsiran pulled one of the unsharpened knives from his pocket. He held it in front of him. As with Haern, he was aware of the lorcith. It seemed to hum in his hand, pulling on him.

“Don’t,” he whispered.

His father stopped and shook his head. “You make my point rather well.” He tipped his head toward the bins of metal. “Take what you want and go. Return to your new
family
. You will see there is not much more lorcith for you to steal.”

Rsiran shook his head. “I didn’t come for lorcith.”

“Taken enough, then?” his father accused. Rsiran still held out the knife and his father hadn’t moved.

Rsiran struggled with what his father was saying. He thought Rsiran stole lorcith from him, which meant that
someone
was stealing from him. “Why would I need to steal lorcith from you, Father? I have access to much more than the small nuggets you purchase. You made certain of that.”

Rsiran felt a small sense of satisfaction in the way his father’s eyes widened, if only slightly.

“Then why have you come?”

The sanding stones weighed heavily in his pocket, pulling at him with a renewed sense of guilt. “I… I wanted to see the shop.” With everything that had been happening to him, even a small amount of familiarity was welcome. Only, the shop had changed much since he last stopped.

His father snorted. “This? Kept it up well, haven’t I?”

“What happened?” Part of him knew the answer already. Smelled the answer as it wafted off his father.

His father’s face contorted. “Do not pretend you care about what happens to your family. You made that clear when you ran from your commitment, using that vile ability of yours to run away.” He shook his head. “Now you’re another Lower Town thief, sneaking into my shop in the middle of the night.” He turned his back on Rsiran. “Go. Run back to your thieving friends.”

He started toward his office, staggering slightly as he walked. As he reached the door, he paused. “I have been lenient in the past, not knowing for sure if it was you. Now that I know, I will report you to the constables.”

Rsiran watched as he disappeared behind the door. He should feel angry, should be upset by his father’s reaction, but he could not muster the necessary emotion. All he felt was empty.

Taking one last look around, he Slid back to the hidden smithy.