Borne Rising

by Matthew Callahan

“There was just the one,” he said definitively. “Grandda, he even stayed close to keep an eye on it.”

  “Ah, so the others haven’t been found yet.”

  He opened his mouth to protest again that there was only the one, but stopped. He had no idea if that was true or not. Plus, Rienne was actually speaking to him again and he wasn’t about to shut that down. “I suppose that must be it.”

  He rose to his feet and brushed himself off. Rienne glanced at him again and snickered. “You’re looking spry. It’s making me feel bad about myself.”

  “I had a bit of help.” From the quick confusion and subsequent darkness that passed over her eyes, he knew that she understood.

  “Ah. I see.” She rose to her feet and stretched. When she spoke again, her voice was a cautious neutral. “We should go.”

  Will’s spirits dampened. “You’re right. We should.”

  There was another incline beyond where they had rested, but this one, at least, was more of a hike than another climb. Will was glad of that. Blood fangs or no, he was tired. There were strange spires off in the distance, thin and scraggly. When he drew nearer, Will realized they were the petrified remnants of white trees. The path leveled out and he and Rienne found themselves in an almost perfectly conserved forest of ancient wood where even the thinnest branches remained intact.

  “It’s beautiful,” Will said, caressing the white wood.

  “Yes.” Rienne’s voice was quiet. “This is a sacred place, Noctis. Do not harm it.”

  “I wouldn’t ever—” he began to argue, but then paused when he met her eye. “Of course, Rienne. I’ll tread carefully.”

  She led and Will followed, stepping cautiously and avoiding the low branches. Even in the absence of any foliage, the thin, dense covering of branches blocked much of the remaining warmth from the lowering sun. Will tugged his cloak a bit closer and drew his hood, regretting his shorn hair.

  The trees stretched taller and taller the deeper they went. Soon, the sun was almost completely hidden. A low, creeping darkness overtook the ancient forest and Will felt himself recoiling. He had grown so used to a world of luminescent stone that the absence of it was abrasive. On and on the forest stretched in shadow. When they had first seen the stones, it had been impossible to gauge their magnitude. But now? The scope of it all boggled Will’s mind. The final pieces of the Isle of Eternity. Velier walked this very forest.

  “Noctis.”

  Will snapped his focus to Rienne. Her Flare was up; he could see the trickle of lightning along her arms, but she had not drawn her weapon. In a second, he matched her and approached, the crackling warmth of the Flare sending a shiver down his spine. Ahead, the forest thinned and opened into a small clearing. Rienne stood at its edge. Within the clearing slept a massive beast. At first, Will thought it was a bear, a grizzly perhaps, given its size. But that wasn’t it; it had the tusks of a boar and its shoulders were too square.

  “What the hell is that?” he whispered, his hand reaching for his sword. Why the hell didn’t I pick a longer weapon?

  “A bristen,” she replied. “I don’t know how, but it has to be.”

  Will had no idea what the hell a bristen was, but he had no doubts that if the creature got close enough to him, there was little he could do to stop it. Something about the thing looked like it would just brush off an attack, be it blade or flame. “I vote we find a path around the bristen.”

  Rienne said nothing. Instead, she stepped forward, into the clearing.

  “Rienne!” Will hissed. “Dammit, Rienne, don’t!”

  She ignored him and approached the creature slowly. Terror flowed into Will. He cursed and threw back his cloak, drawing his cutlass and a blood fang. I don’t care what kind of pain she feels from its power, if that damn thing mauls her, I’m not letting her die. He ran for her, bursting into the clearing and blazing his Flare to a crackling roar.

  Neither Rienne nor the bristen reacted in the slightest. Will raised his sword defensively and approached slowly, drawing back his Flare. He got within ten feet of them before he let it fade altogether and sheathed his weapons. His eyes fell from the creature to Rienne’s frozen form.

  She sat immobile, brimming eyes fixed on the beast. Her hand rested on the dead animal. No decay had come to it, although it surely had to have been as old as the woods through which they had just come. Instead, it, too, had somehow petrified, immune to the ravages of time.

  “Even in myth, they were a myth,” she whispered with a quivering voice. “Protectors of the Gardens of the Moon. They’re not”—she closed her eyes as she searched for the words—“they’re not supposed to be here, Noctis. The Hesperawn themselves may as well appear.”

  Will said nothing, having no idea what words could offer any comfort. Sometimes, silence is all the comfort one can offer.

  He knelt next to Rienne and admired the beast, beautiful in its own way. Its eyes were closed, massive head resting upon clawed feet the size of Will’s chest, like a sleeping dog. A being from the bedtime stories of my bedtime stories. How far does it all go? He remembered what Cephora had said of the bogeyman, about Casc legends being truer than he’d thought. Aeril, The Veleriat, now this? Will we find that all stories are rooted in some truth?

  Rienne rose to her feet a short time later, eyes now dry. “We should keep moving. Dahla is still nearby, somewhere.”

  Wordlessly, Will rose and followed. He felt out of place, a trespasser witnessing things he should not have seen, things that did not belong to him. This place isn’t mine. And yet, even that felt wrong. It wasn’t his, but neither was it Rienne’s. Nor was it din’Dael’s nor Cephora’s nor the Crow’s. This was a place for those who came before them, for those who transcended written history. Morella would have loved it here.

  They exited the clearing and passed through another small grove of trees. On the far side they found Dahla in the branches of a tree that stretched above a shallow, dried pool. This tree still bore all its leaves. There was no single color but countless, more colors than Will had dreamed possible. Time had frozen them all into glass. With the final hints of sunlight pouring through the branches, the entire area was alight in brilliant, dancing colors.

  Dahla ruffled her feathers and spread her wings at the sight of them before cocking her head and tracking their approach. In a reverent silence, Rienne and Will crossed the narrow stone walk that spanned the dry pool. Empty or not, it did not feel right to walk through its stony bed. There was a small hollow at the base of the tree. It looked empty, but as they knelt to peer inside, something caught Will’s eye. Carved into the tree’s trunk just next to the hollow were the letters V, L, and R.

  “Gods,” he gasped. “Rienne . . . are you seeing this?”

  She nodded. “I see it.” Her voice was a whisper.

  Will traced the carved letters with his fingers, his face streaked by tears he could barely feel. He tore his eyes from the letters and looked up at Dahla. The bird met his stare, and for the first time, Will felt something there, a connection. Then she was gone, flying into the fading light.

  Rienne laid one hand on the tree, her eyes fixed on the hollow. She reached out with her other hand and clasped Will’s fingers. Will said nothing, not needing to ask why. He knew it just as well as she did. Dahla had guided them to the former home of the Heart of Eternity.

  They camped beneath the tree of glass, careful not to disturb their surroundings. The morning held a still silence, but not one of malice. Whatever tension had existed between the two had, while not completely faded, at least dimmed. They broke camp, mechanically going through the motions, each of them breathing in the memory of the place. Will wrestled with his thoughts, glancing at Rienne periodically to try and gauge her. He still didn’t know how to say what he wanted to, or even if he should.

  Before leaving the small pool, they stood once more by the tree with glass leaves. Rienne knelt and whispered a faint “Thank you” that Will barely heard, before kissing her forefingers and pressing
them against the carved letters. She rose and the pair looked through the glass canopy, marveling at the beauty.

  “I’m sorry, Rienne. I never meant to hurt you.”

  She stiffened at his side but said nothing.

  Will did not look at her. “I followed Jero din’Dael to the Sapholux because I needed his help. My brother, Madigan, and I, we rescued din’Dael from the Shale. I . . . we killed them. All of them. Before that, though, din’Dael did something to me to make me this way.” He paused and turned to her. “I was never meant to be this, Rienne. Jero din’Dael twisted what I was, somehow. I don’t know what he did. Lightborne . . . I never . . .” He trailed off, searching for the words.

  “What, Noctis? Just say it.”

  “I’m Shadowborne.”

  He expected her to laugh or to snicker, to disregard it entirely. She did none of them. “Show me.”

  Something inside him ached. He sighed. “I can’t.” He saw doubt creep into her eyes so he hurried on. “That’s what I meant about following din’Dael. Before I freed him, Madigan and I, both of us were Shadowborne. My Shade . . . I was twelve when I first found out about it, but my grandfather, he already knew. I trained for years to hide it. That was all he could teach me about it, and we came to Aeril to learn more. Everything that happened after that has just been one big stream of cause and effect, and din’Dael, whatever he did, I needed him to undo it. I wanted to go back to what I was.”

  She considered him a moment then dropped her eyes to his belt. “The blood fangs, they cause you no pain?” He shook his head. “Never?”

  “No. Well, not unless we’re talking about the blade’s toxin. That hurts like a bitch.”

  Rienne nearly cracked a smile. “And Jero din’Dael, he knows?” Will shook his head. “No one knows?”

  “Only my brother. And the Crow. He and the people in his court knew, but they kept quiet. As far as I know, they think I still am, if they think of me at all.”

  Rienne studied his face. “I want to believe you, Noctis. But no creature is both. Maybe something in forgotten legend, perhaps, but you are human and not something from the ancient world.”

  “I know,” Will said with a sigh. “I know that’s the way things are supposed to be, but, Rienne, I’m telling you the truth.”

  “How?”

  Will raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”

  “If it is true, how did din’Dael change you?”

  “I don’t know. I broke him out of his containment, he killed a bunch of Shale, and then I made some glib remark.”

  This time, she did smile. “Of course you did.”

  “Then he put his palm on my forehead and gripped my hair in his other hand and just . . . I don’t know what he did but goddam it hurt. It felt like he was carving me from the inside out with a blade of pure fire.”

  She chuckled. “Oh, yes, not in the least bit dramatic, are you?”

  “I’m serious.” Will felt suddenly embarrassed. He met her eyes, imploring her, but had to turn away. “I mean, I don’t know, Rienne. Look around us. What about this is normal? What about any of this is expected? This carving, that—what did you call it—that bristen? Maybe that damn bird brought us here so we could believe in the impossible for one damn day.”

  “You think Dahla brought us here so you could convince me you’re actually Shadowborne?” Rienne was still smiling. “She’s a smart creature, Noctis, but I doubt that was her intention.”

  Will felt defeated. He’d finally told someone about being Shadowborne and she’d brushed it aside. He’d never even told Morella. I could have shown her. She saw me after the change. Dammit, Mad, why didn’t I tell her? “We should go.”

  “The blood fangs truly don’t harm you? Not at all?”

  “Not at all,” Will said solemnly.

  “Well, maybe there is something to what you’re saying,” Rienne replied with a shrug. There was no levity in her voice, nothing to suggest she was anything but genuine. “I’m not saying I believe you, Noctis, but I suppose I’m not saying I don’t believe you either. Either way, apology accepted.”

  Will’s spirits lifted considerably. He smiled at her and stuck out his hand. “Friends, then?”

  Rienne returned the smile and grasped his outstretched arm. “Friends.”

  10

  Ancient Arts

  Madigan was finally healing. The past few weeks had been the worst he could remember, worse than anything growing up with Will and Grandda had ever been, by far. Hell, they’d been worse than the final hours of the Shale. Then, at least, he’d had Will nearby with his blood fangs. Every bit of his battered, broken body was able to be put back together just like that, no problem. He never imagined that simple training could be worse than the Shale.

  He managed to sit up, shivering despite the pile of blankets Ileta had supplied. Much as it pained him to admit it, the shaking had nothing to do with the cold. He hated to acknowledge that simply sitting up was such a struggle. Just need to hold it a few seconds. Just a few. He grit his teeth.

  A noise sounded just outside the tent and his eyes snapped to the entrance. He held his breath. The flaps didn’t move. Just the wind. Good.

  Ileta would give him hell if she came in and found him like this. For all his trainer’s severe demeanor, she was actually a remarkably gentle caretaker. That being said, if she caught Mad doing anything beyond lying prone, well . . . I don’t exactly feel like being strapped down.

  Sweat trickled down his brow. He inhaled sharply at the flare of pain in his back. That only set his cracked ribs off even more and he winced, letting the pain wash over him. No point fighting it. It’ll run its course and be done with you long before you’re done with it.

  He flexed the fingers of his left hand. At least they’re responding. They still looked foreign, wrapped so tightly in his quivering Shade. Despite the weeks in this quasi-cocooned state, he still hadn’t gotten used to seeing his body through the thin fog of darkness.

  Regardless of his fevered thoughts on the matter of its necessity, he appreciated the technique. Ileta had shown him how to manipulate his Shade in such a matter well before the fall, but only for more minor injuries. That the ability seemed to be working at all like this was, well . . . A goddam miracle. Hell, the fact that he was even alive spoke to its credit. She may be a harsh teacher, but her lessons certainly serve their purpose.

  It had been his fault, really. He’d been angry and overzealous, like he was a goddam kid again and Will had gotten the best of him. At least then he’d been able to use his size and strength to his advantage, overpowering his little brother. Now? With a Shade handy? Hell, he’d never thought Ileta would stand a chance against him.

  Obviously, he hadn’t been thinking rationally.

  He wiggled his toes and, thankfully, found them responsive too. That hadn’t been the case a week ago. After he’d first regained consciousness he’d been terrified that he might never walk again. Ileta hadn’t commented one way or the other, but the look on her face put a panic in his bones he was unlikely to ever forget.

  For the first three weeks, it hadn’t looked good. Mad still didn’t know which part of his spine had broken, and damned if he had any experience with magically assisted healing (beyond Will’s damn knives, of course). He’d never been that jealous of the kid’s knives before; he always preferred the noctori, by far. But after the fall? Never around when I need you, kid. Though you’d probably never let me live it down.

  Mad eased back so the pillows again supported all his weight and stared at the ceiling of the tent. Damn but he wished he could have seen the fight. A video camera, man, what that could do for his training. The bout had been a good one, he was sure of that. Ileta was a fantastic swordsman and her skill with her Shade far surpassed his own, but the Master of Blades had not trained her. He had trained Mad, though, and that day? Damn, he’d felt it in every fiber of his body.

  Ileta, though, she’d been patient.

  He glanced around at the blank w
alls of his tent and tried to make sense of the time of day. Ileta’d done an amazing job of sealing the place so no cool breezes drafted in, but it also made figuring out the time nearly impossible. A watch. A watch and a video camera. His stomach growled. She’d be back soon enough, he was sure of it. With food. Bone broth, more than likely. His stomach growled again. A watch and a video camera and some goddam tacos.

  His noctori had been a whirlwind against her own. Earning it back, finally, had been fantastic. Mad had felt the thrill of the win and he wanted more. With his noctori in his hands, Ileta had been failing to put up any successful offense. Their Shades collided and darted this way and that, his unconscious mind probing at her defenses, striking at her legs, her eyes, anything he could while maintaining his own defense. The two were at a near stalemate in that regard, but when it came to the noctori, damn, Madigan had the advantage.

  He felt the win. He felt it. He had seen every possible defense she could throw, every possible maneuver she could make, and he’d known that he was going to take her down. And Ileta, she was pressed so hard, was so focused on her defenses that she’d lost track of her surroundings. She hadn’t realized that the edge of the cliff was right behind her until it was too late. And when her situation dawned on her, Madigan saw the briefest flicker of an opening while she gauged her counterattack. He seized the moment and struck.

  Which, of course, was what Ileta had been planning the whole time.

  Madigan raised a shaky hand to the bandage around his head. Shade or no Shade, Ileta insisted that he keep his head wrapped. Apparently, the sight of his split skull was bad enough that she didn’t trust only magical properties to fix it. The bandage was still tight, which was good. It meant that he still wasn’t moving around in his sleep. The worst of the headaches had faded a few days before he realized he could move his toes, but he was reluctant to mess with the wrap. There was a latent throbbing that stuck around. Head injuries are nothing to rush, she’d told him. There are some important bits of you up there—if you’d ever care to use them.