Borne Rising

by Matthew Callahan

  “I understand,” she said dismissively. “Perhaps the promise of an additional one would help.”

  His heart leapt in his chest. Mad? He forced down his emotions and simply raised an eyebrow. “Madigan?”

  The Seeker nodded. “Yes, Madigan.”

  Noctis’s pulse beat rapidly. “I heard there’d been a falling out between the two of you. Was my information incorrect?”

  Cephora’s mouth became a grim line. She paused, meeting Noctis’s eyes. She took a drink from her glass before abandoning it on a nearby table, then relaxed into one of the seats next to it. “Your brother and I had a disagreement, yes.”

  Noctis smiled. “Knowing Mad, that doesn’t surprise me.”

  She cocked her head to decide and gave it a slight shake. “He believes I mishandled the situation regarding”— she waved a hand dismissively—“the events following the fall of the Shale.”

  “I wouldn’t say he’s wrong.”

  Cephora sighed and looked at him with a bored expression. “Will—I’m sorry, Noctis—I made a decision. I saved who I was able to save. If I had not taken your brother and had chosen you instead, your brother would certainly be dead. Jero din’Dael would not have saved a Shadowborne, and Valmont would have struck him down. The two of you have power, yes, but it is a young power. It was especially so, then.”

  “I take it his powers have grown since?”

  She met his eyes and smiled. There was no warmth in it. “Spoken as someone who has noticed their own powers increase, I take it?”

  Noctis was silent. She was baiting him. Long ago he had promised honesty to this woman, he and his brother both, and in all things he had betrayed that promise. Just like she betrayed me, he reminded himself. Did he really owe her anything? Will might have, but I am not Will. I am Noctis. The thought was a comforting one. He was not confined to the same limitations as Will.

  “I’ve seen some changes.” He decided to leave it at that and let her read between the lines.

  Cephora reached for her glass and took another drink. “Of that I have no doubt. The question is, what will you do now?”

  Noctis smiled. “Well, you did say there was the potential for a reunion soon.” He tore off another chunk of bread with his teeth, as if to punctuate the statement. He raised an eyebrow to the Seeker. “What the hell happened between you two, anyway?”

  “I took him to Greygarde,” Cephora said. “The base of operations for the Seekers. They deserved a report on the changing scope of Aerillian happenings and Undermyrian politics.”

  Noctis’s mind raced at the thought of Mad surrounded by so many other Seekers like Cephora, at the wealth of knowledge that must be contained within their halls. Mad ran from that? Madigan had a thirst for knowledge that Noctis could not even begin to match, a mind that could and would soak up every bit of information he could glean from people like the Seekers. And yet he turned away from them? He really must have been in a bad way.

  “I’m guessing Mad wasn’t too keen on that. He tried to convince you to turn back, I presume.”

  “Every day.”

  “I did the same to Jero for quite some time. But then I wised up. The expanse of the Wastes and an army of the undead separated us, I figured.”

  She nodded. “My rift moved us far, but not far enough that we could not still hear the creatures. That, I think, was what was hardest for your brother. He knew that somewhere within those hellish ranks you might be dying.” She cocked her head to the side and swirled the wine in her glass. “Obviously, that was not the case. How did you escape?”

  “Jero. He got us out.”

  “Us? The historian has been with you this whole time?”

  Noctis’s head pounded. “No. Only din’Dael and me.”

  Cephora was silent for a moment, then she rose and walked over to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. “I am sorry. It is never easy to leave anyone behind.”

  Noctis briefly considered telling her that he had seen Morella only minutes before, but he dashed the thought away. He owed nothing to this woman who had left him for dead. She made her choice; she can live with it. “That day was full of the unexpected,” was all the answer he gave. He shrugged his arm away from her grasp and, feeling slightly self-conscious, set the bread and wine on the table. He reached for a glass and poured himself more wine then tore off a small chunk of bread.

  “You return to the civilized world slowly but surely, I see.”

  Noctis shot her a glare. “Why are you here, Cephora? Mad’s not with you, and I’m getting the feeling that that’s probably for the best.”

  “Madigan is in trouble.”

  Noctis froze. Dammit, Mad. He watched as Cephora seemed to gauge his reaction. She’s baiting you. She’s here, rather than out looking for him. “If that’s the case, why wait for me? Why not go after him yourself?

  “He is your brother, Noctis, but to us he is more than that. He has the potential to be more than just a Shadowborne.”

  Noctis gnawed at the bread. “My question still stands.”

  “He made it very clear that he wanted neither my involvement nor my help. While I can honor his wishes and have no direct contact with him, I cannot sit aside and do nothing. He will listen to you.”

  Noctis laughed. “When has Mad ever listened to me? I think you put too much stock in our relationship.”

  Cephora eyed him. “This is no laughing matter, Noctis. I believe your brother is in mortal danger.”

  Noctis cursed and clenched his fists. Lightning danced over their surface. Cephora almost seemed to falter for a moment. “Mortal danger?” He shook his head. “Madigan is fine. He can handle whatever comes at him, he always has. Even before he discovered he was Shadowborne. Unless Valmont is the one who took him, my brother is in no danger.”

  “Noctis,” Cephora said in a voice that oozed patronizing patience, “Valmont is dangerous, yes, but there are other forces to consider. I believe that one of them has taken your brother under her influence.”

  “Her?” Noctis forced himself to relax, allow the tension to leave his body. The static in the air faded. And I always thought Madigan was the one with the hot temper. “So, this time you abandoned Mad. Who to, I wonder?” he said flippantly.

  Her eyes narrowed but she did not acknowledge the biting comment. “Another Shadowborne.”

  “So I’ve heard.”

  “A skilled Shadowborne.” Cephora continued. “She found us while we were returning to Undermyre.”

  “And she managed to drag Madigan away from your guidance, is that it?”

  Cephora looked unamused. “Something like that.”

  “A Shadowborne to train a Shadowborne,” Noctis said. “Just as I was trained by a Lightborne. I hardly see the danger in that.”

  “You know the history of the Shadowborne, Noctis, at least enough of it to know they were killed.”

  “By one of their own. Valmont, along with his Necrothanians.”

  “Valmont was dead, Noctis.” Cephora pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed. “Or at least he had us convinced that he was.”

  Noctis hesitated, realizing the implication. “Someone else killed them?”

  Cephora nodded.

  “And that’s who has Mad?”

  “That, Noctis, is what we need to determine.”

  Dammit. He peered at Cephora. “Who was it who betrayed the Shadowborne? Who destroyed Umbriferum?”

  Cephora met Noctis’s eye. “The same Shadowborne who pierced Dorian Valmont’s heart and sent him to his death from the peaks of Umbriferum.”

  The flesh on Noctis’s arms rose in goosebumps. “And that is?”

  “Aurellaine Valmont. His daughter.”

  15

  Fanning the Flame

  Noctis raged after Cephora departed. More Valmonts? More of that damn bloodline? And now, one of them had his brother under her influence. It was a brilliant move on Valmont’s part, absolutely brilliant. Cleave Madigan and this Aurellaine, the bastard’s own d
aughter, together and then corrupt Madigan to his will. Gods, it was something directly out of one of his grandfather’s stories, something that, of course, Valmont would have done. And no one saw fit to ever tell us he had more family. Thanks, Grandda.

  He worried his key between his fingers. Come on, give me something. No response came, none of the strange prescient thought. Fan-freakin-tastic.

  He dropped the key and raised his wine glass instead, draining it before pouring another glass from the fresh decanter. Ynarra had come right as Cephora left and, seeing the state Noctis was in, had been kind enough to supply two decanters of red. Liquid happiness or liquid forgetfulness, he scoffed to himself. Right now I’ll take the latter.

  His years of training with Jero din’Dael had taught him much about the Aerillian people’s expectations. But, still, he could not understand why his grandfather would have omitted something as important as Valmont having a daughter. Where was the logic in that? Nowhere, there was no logic whatsoever. Just one more of his damn secrets.

  Something inside him hardened, a piece of him he couldn’t quite place. Not my grandfather. Will’s grandfather. Noctis has no grandfather.

  Which meant Noctis had no brother. Madigan Davis had no place in din’Dael’s plans, other than as a potential adversary. The world would be better off with him hidden away. He is Will’s brother, not mine.

  Noctis shook his head, part of him still clinging to the idea that he could be both. Those words, those sentiments, they were din’Dael’s. Madigan. Cephora. The Crow. Morella. He’d hardly returned to Undermyre and already his plans were in disarray. Whatever excuse for plans they’d actually been. One conversation with Cephora and, suddenly, din’Dael’s mission of righteousness seemed less dire. The look of disappointment on her face when he’d spoken of the purging of Will and forging of Noctis had made his transformation feel hollow.

  He stumbled up to the loft and slumped onto the bed. Because it is hollow, idiot. Even having only just decided to embrace being Noctis, to embrace the path that din’Dael set out for him, he was already feeling torn. He was who he was, wasn’t he? Morella’s touch, her voice, her warmth, that was as real to him as it had ever been, and that was Will. She’d called him Will and he hadn’t fought it. Because he was both, both Noctis and Will.

  So, I should be able to do both.

  A lopsided smile crept to his face. He could do both. He could find his brother, could rescue him from Aurellaine Valmont. They’d be reunited and then they could return to Undermyre together and treat with the Crow in din’Dael’s name. A Shadowborne and a Lightborne together could surely convince the man to join forces with the armies of Sapholux. They shared a common enemy, a common goal. They shared the belief that this world could be better.

  Noctis drained the glass and set it on the bedside table then fell back onto the soft bed. He would do both. If he was to figure out where Mad went, he needed more information from Cephora. But he needed more than to just find his brother; he needed to know what he was going to be up against. That meant Aurellaine Valmont. He needed to research the hell out of her, needed everything he could get on who she was and how she worked.

  He sat up, his eyes drifting to the small library tucked in the alcove below. He and Madigan had pored through those books the last time they’d been here and had found no mention of Valmont having a daughter. Sure, they might have missed something, but he doubted it. That meant he needed different information. More books. More records. More history.

  He needed Morella.

  The thought of her brought back the all-too-recent pain of their earlier encounter. Her palm’s sting against his face still felt fresh, although he knew that it was just the shadow of a memory. Find Morella, the harsh voice had hammered in his head. Was this why? Was she the key piece to defeating Aurellaine Valmont? And if so, what was compelling him toward her? What are these goddam voices in my head?

  He rose again and steadied himself with the handrail while he made his way back to the lower level. Moving to the window, he drew back the curtains to reveal the whole of Undermyre in its perpetual dusky state. Somewhere out there was Morella, alone and without her life’s work, lost thanks to Will’s decision to bring her into his world. Now he needed to find her again and bring her back into the fold. To save my brother. To save the world.

  Could he do that to her again? Ask her to follow him once more in a venture that had nothing to do with her? I have to.

  Find Morella, the voice says. Very well, I’ll do just that.

  When he woke, nursing a cruel hangover, Noctis set about finding the historian. He didn’t know the city, didn’t know the surrounding area, but he knew Morella. All he had was instinct, but he trusted it. He bathed then grabbed his cloak and fresh clothes. He scribbled a quick note to Ynarra, wrote For your eyes only on the cover of the folded paper, and set it between the empty decanters. He left his cutlass but took his blood fangs, just in case. Then Noctis departed the Nordoth via the hidden stair.

  Convincing himself that it was the best course of action, he made his way to the Street of Ash. Short of finding a murdered caravan and trail of bodies on the road, every time he had encountered Morella had been in the proximity of that tavern. Clarice had mentioned lodgings, had offered him a place to stay. That meant the Street of Ash had rooms available, and he intended to buy one for as long as needed.

  On the dime of the Crow, of course. He chuckled at the thought. Such a gracious host.

  His key trembled and stuttered when he first saw the floating lanterns dancing above the entrance to the Street. Noctis smiled. That’s gotta mean something, right? He pushed his way through the curtains and into the empty bar, realizing that it must not be open for business yet, although he found Clarice arranging chairs and wiping down tables. The easy, fluid movement that came with mastery of one’s craft showed even in these simple acts, and Noctis stood watching, impressed. People like this are who Grandda wanted to save.

  “And he returns,” she called in her usual chipper voice. She didn’t even glance up from her tasks as she bustled about. “Welcome back.” She finished the table she was working on before turning to appraise him. “My, my, but don’t you look the worse for wear this morning? Cleaner round the edges, sure, but a bit puffier around the eyes.” She grinned and made her way over to him. “Haven’t finished setting up shop yet, but what do you say? Need to nip back what nipped you last?”

  He hadn’t known many bartenders—any, really—but had always heard that the best could make you feel right at home. Clarice, then, deserved a place right at the top with the very best.

  “Thank you, but—” He paused and considered. “Actually, that would be lovely. Thank you.”

  She winked. “Coming right up.” She moved behind the bar and Noctis followed, leaning against the counter. “I’ve gotta say, though, you haven’t got the look of a fella who came in strictly for drinking purposes.” She raised an eyebrow at him as she set to work gathering bottles and pouring. “What can I do for you?”

  “You offered a room. I’d like to take you up on that.”

  “Sure.” She nodded without looking up. “Sure. A beat with Cephora is collateral enough for me. Room’s on the house.”

  “No, I insist,” Noctis said. “Whatever the cost of the room, and for food and drink, forward them on to the Nordoth.”

  Clarice whistled but did not pause in her work. “Is that so?”

  “It is.”

  She poured the drink into two glasses. “A room of your choosing, then. Any particular requests?” She placed the glasses on the counter, one in front of each of them.

  “One that overlooks the dance floor.”

  She smiled and raised her glass to him. “Very well. Got a name on you?”

  Noctis raised his own glass in return and tapped it against her own. “Noctis Thorne.”

  Clarice smiled. “Thorne, is it? Very well, then. Welcome to the Street of Ash, Master Thorne.”

  They drank.

&n
bsp; Time faded, as it does when one remains in a single spot for long enough. Noctis settled into a routine of battling between self-doubt and conviction as the days slipped away in the flowing river of alcohol and revelry of the Street. He existed in a foggy haze of smoke and vapor and booze, the cacophony of the Street pushing all thought and concern from his mind. Somewhere, distantly, he knew that din’Dael had probably continued his march with the Lightborne, ignoring the Crow’s dispatch. They would be arriving soon. But those were afterthoughts, vanishing into the fog of the present as quickly as they came.

  He rarely descended from the balcony of his room where it overlooked the dance floor. He had a direct line of sight to Clarice behind the bar who, despite being the sole employee and forever rushing amidst the bustling business, somehow managed to make him feel like he had her full attention. He knew she must seem like that to every one of her patrons; that was what made this place so vibrant. Not the music, not the seemingly endless flow from the taps, no, the Street was the embodiment of Clarice’s spirit. A place worth saving.

  For hours each day, Noctis leaned against the railing of his perch and followed the movements of the bar’s patrons. Some days were busier than others, some days the bar was nearly empty, but the energy within its walls remained lively regardless. With every passing day he found himself slowly fading into the woodwork of the place, a lost soul feeding off the joy and happiness of those who surrounded him. Time truly stands still here, he mused as he swirled the liquid in his glass. The Street exists outside of time and thought.

  He’d had two Bottled Embers and was well into his third on the day Morella returned. Somehow, he missed seeing her enter the bar, but it was impossible not to recognize her once his eyes caught sight. His body tensed, but he stayed where he was. Morella looked at no one, spoke to no one, made no move for the bar but instead fixed her eyes on the empty dance floor. While Noctis looked on, Morella began to dance.