The Dark Ability

by Holmberg, D. K.

  Rsiran nodded. “And no foreman until morning.”

  The boy shook his head. “Nope. The mine is locked until morning. At least you won’t have to worry about ignoring the song from the ore tomorrow.”

  Rsiran grunted softly. “There is that.”

  “Try to rest. I’ll watch for you tonight.”

  Rsiran looked at him. The boy was thin, his hair scraggly and long, an outcast as much as he was but in a different way. This was his protection. “Thanks.”

  As he curled up on his blanket, careful to keep pressure off his back, he saw the outline of the boy crouching out of reach. For the first time since he had been in the mines, he fell asleep quickly.

  * * *

  Tossing and turning, Rsiran dreamt he was back in Elaeavn. Rather than dreaming of his home or his father’s shop, he dreamt of the ocean, the waves crashing along the bay, and of sitting in a tavern. Distantly he was aware of pain and darkness. It seemed a strange song sung quietly in the background, but he couldn’t make out the voice.

  When he awoke and saw the dimly lit cavern, the single lantern barely giving enough light to the far reaches, he felt empty. The boy rested nearby, sleeping with his arm nestled under his head and one of the blankets now balled up under one arm. Rsiran always thought he looked young, but lying helpless and snuggled into his blanket, he wondered how old the boy actually was.

  Rsiran pushed himself up, wincing as pain streaked down his back. He felt hot and sweaty. His shirt and thin blanket were soaked. How late was it? Usually he struggled so hard to fall asleep that he awoke to the morning whistle. Now, other than an occasional snore, the cavern was silent. Everyone slept, resting as peacefully as possible on the hard ground.

  The air was still and heavy. He felt none of the usual soft breeze that seemed to blow steadily through the tunnels and wondered what that meant, if anything. The stink of sweat hung over everything, cloying at first, but now Rsiran only noticed it occasionally. Mixed with his sweat was the rotten stink of his drying blood, and he breathed through his mouth to avoid the smell.

  Fatigue that had not left him since he first left Elaeavn made it difficult to know how much sleep he had gotten. In the cavern, every moment looked the same as the last with only meals and work giving meaning to time. For all he knew, it was early morning, before the whistle and breakfast and almost time to return to the caves. Or it could be after midnight, much of the night in front of him.

  He tried lying back down but stared up at the ceiling, longing to see stars. The pain in his back and the steady nocturnal tapping that came each night made it difficult to return to sleep. Finally, he decided to stand and limped around the edge of the cavern, dragging his hand along the stone. He felt deposits of lorcith even here where the mine seemed to have begun.

  There were no other blankets around the periphery of the cavern. Other than he and the boy, most kept closer to the lantern, preferring the light and the comfort of others sleeping nearby. Even those who did not want to sleep next to the light still kept their blankets close together. Rsiran preferred the solitude.

  A voice drifted through the cavern, seemingly coming from the entrance to the mines. Rsiran paused, resting his hand on the wall and listened.

  “Not much found these days,” the voice said. “I think the guild does something to prevent it.”

  There was something familiar about it, but he didn’t know what.

  “You know that they want all they can find.” This was from another voice, deep and harsh.

  “Yeah, well so do I.”

  “Your price will be paid when you—” The voice cut off suddenly.

  Rsiran backed up, afraid that he might have been seen. He pushed against the wall, pain shooting through his back. What had he overheard? There shouldn’t be anyone near the entrance to the mines, not at night after the guards left. What were they talking about?

  He reached the end of the cavern where it led into the main tunnel of the mines. The hushed voices resumed, but Rsiran feared getting too close. He wanted nothing to do with whatever he’d overheard.

  Then there was the strange tapping. It didn’t get louder as he walked. He never heard it during the day. If he wandered far enough, would he eventually reach whatever made the sound?

  He hesitated. Sleep was precious, and his tired body certainly needed more rest, but he couldn’t stand lying awake as he stared at the shadowed roof for the rest of the night, and he didn’t want to risk whoever was at the other end of the cavern. So he started down the tunnel.

  He touched the wall as he walked, dragging his hand along the stone to guide his way. The slope dropped off as it carried him deeper into the caves. A fearful thought threatened to overwhelm him, that of being lost, wandering the caves in the dark, before he remembered he could simply Slide out if needed. He almost laughed to himself; perhaps his father would get his wish and he would simply abandon that ability, forgotten by his time in the mines.

  He reached the flat area where the foremen weighed and logged the collection each day, his feet rather than his eyes telling him where he was. The tunnel breeze blew across his face, rising up from each tunnel. His back throbbed from the effort of walking down the slope.

  How badly was he hurt? The boy had dropped his shirt awfully quickly when he saw the wound. With a mirror, Rsiran could at least see the injury himself, not that he could do anything about it, trapped as he was in the mine. Had he been in Elaeavn, he could seek out a healer, even at night.

  Why couldn’t he simply Slide to Elaeavn? He could find a healer and return before morning. The boy would have questions, but Rsiran could fend those off.

  But if he were discovered—if his father discovered—Rsiran would never be able to return to his apprenticeship. He’d never be able to work in front of the forge. And then what would he do?

  He wandered. The steady tapping seemed to be coming down one of the darkened tunnels.

  Rsiran usually went into whatever tunnel seemed to have the fewest miners. Less people trying to talk to him that way. Now that he had been mining for over a week, few even bothered to try. He had never mined in the tunnel where the sound seemed to emanate.

  Curiosity spurred him on.

  He moved toward the tunnel, drifting into deeper darkness. When he found the first step, he nearly fell. His back sent out a jolt of pain as he caught himself.

  Rsiran should not be here. Not at night, not in the dark, and certainly not injured, but something about the strange tapping drew him forward.

  He continued down the steps. The farther he went, the darker everything seemed to become, soon leaving him immersed in pure black. Only his hand along the wall and his boots on the steps connected him to the world, anchoring him. His heart fluttered, and he considered turning around, returning to the sleeping cavern, but the draw of the tapping proved too much to overcome.

  He had gone only another dozen or so steps when he felt something on the steps with him. He couldn’t be certain, and in the darkness he saw nothing, but he froze and listened.

  There was only the tapping.

  Rsiran took another step, cautiously now.

  Air blew against his face. He could not be sure that it was only the usual breeze. Something about the air felt different. Warmer perhaps. Wetter.

  He panicked.

  Trying to turn, his back spasmed, and he could barely move. The feeling of something near him, overpowering him in the dark, made his mind race. He did the only thing he could think of.

  He Slid.

  One moment, he stood frozen in fear on the stairs deep within Ilphaesn Mountain. The next, he stood along the waterfront in Elaeavn, waves crashing along the shore and the salt breeze blowing in his face.

  Stars shone brightly in the sky. The moon was a thick curl in the sky overhead, almost too bright.

  He staggered forward and fell.

  He couldn’t push himself back up. He hurt all over. His heart hammered, fear and the jolt from Sliding causing it to race. Waves of
nausea coursed through him, and he heaved once, leaving whatever was left of the soft mush from the evening’s meal lying on the stones near the shore.

  A gull cawed overhead, circling slowly. If he rested too long, the gulls near Elaeavn would become aggressive and peck at his flesh. More questions he’d have to answer.

  Somehow, he crawled along the shore. Back aflame, his brow dripping with sweat, he didn’t know how far he could walk. Sliding still took focus and a fair amount of energy—energy he just expended reaching Elaeavn. He needed healing. That meant moving into the city, risking questions, but if he didn’t try, he wouldn’t be able to make it back to the mines.

  Ambling along the street, he was startled to realize where he was. Awareness slowly sifted into him, like a film pulled away. Waves splashed along the docks farther to the north, a few ships moored for the night along the docks themselves with more anchored farther in the bay. A wide street led toward the main of Lower Town, toward the massive market that provided the only reason for most in Upper Town to make their way to the water’s edge.

  At night, the market was still and silent. Wind flapped the canvas covering a few of the stalls. A bright-eyed cat prowled near the shadows, watching him as he struggled along the street. Dim lanterns glowed with a warm orange light along street corners, different than those within the mines. With the bright stars and the glowing moon, such light was not truly necessary tonight. Most nights Rsiran felt as he did in the caves, wishing for Sight. Tonight he was thankful he could Slide.

  He stood, staring into the market. For a moment, he forgot what he needed to do.

  Wind blew up from the sea, caressing his face. If he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine he was back in the mines.

  With another jolt, he started forward. Now he had no doubt—the injury was severe. Likely infected. Pain throbbed, gripping his back angrily. If he didn’t get attention from a healer, he wouldn’t survive.

  He recognized the street meeting the market but could not recall why. Rsiran shook his head, hoping to clear the fog that had fallen over his mind for a moment.

  Something grabbed his ankle, and he stumbled. The cobbles of the street tore at his face, his arms and hands. He struggled to push himself back up, but pain and weakness pinned him to the street.

  A voice called nearby. He thought he heard his name but couldn’t be certain. Hands scooped under his arms and lifted him. He tried to look, to turn his head and see who had picked him up, but the night was too dark and what he saw was blurred.

  Chapter 11

  Rsiran awoke to the warmth of a fire crackling somewhere nearby, tendrils of pale smoke reaching his nostrils. Other smells drifted toward him, all pleasant. There was a savory spice to the air, like that of cinnamon and thyme. Distantly he smelled bread baking. An oil lantern flickered nearby. Hushed voices murmured.

  The pain in his back was better.

  Not gone, but the raging heat, the angry agony he had been feeling had receded. Some of his strength had returned as well, though the heavy wash of fatigue still rolled over him.

  He looked around, not recognizing the room. He lay upon a low cot near the fire. Somehow, he had lost his shirt. A small chair rested alongside the cot. Shelves on one of the walls were lined with books. He could not see the source of the voices.

  He started to push himself up, but a hand grabbed him and held him down.

  “You need to rest. That was quite the injury. Much longer, and the infection would have taken you.”

  Rsiran turned to look at an older woman. One hand gripped his shoulder and the other anchored to the cot, braced to hold him down. She had dark hair pulled into a tight knot on her head and deep green eyes. Wrinkles lined her face.

  “Where am I?” he asked.

  The woman laughed, touching his forehead with a long bent finger. The green in her eyes deepened momentarily, so fleeting he might have missed it, and she pulled her finger away, nodding as if satisfied. “My questions first,” she said. “How did you get that injury?” She pointed to his back.

  Rsiran turned and looked around the room but saw no one else. Turning back to the woman, he met her eyes. Something told him that she wasn’t someone he could lie to. “A pick,” he answered softly.

  She touched his side, murmuring to herself inaudibly for a moment. “A pick, you say? Strange choice.”

  Rsiran closed his eyes, remembering the way the pick bit into his flesh, tearing as he turned. “Not really. The only choice.”

  She shuffled backward and opened his eyes to look. “Great Watcher! You were working in Ilphaesn,” she whispered, glancing at something lying near the fire.

  Rsiran looked away and saw his damaged grey shirt lying next to the fire, now cleaned and drying.

  “What was your crime?”

  He laughed weakly. “No crime.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Men do not get sent to Ilphaesn unless they have committed a serious offense.”

  He thought of the men he had seen in the mines, particularly the thin man who had traveled with him from Elaeavn. “I’m guilty only of angering my father.” When he saw the look of confusion, he followed with, “He’s a master smith. I was sentenced to serve not by the Elvraeth, but by him.”

  She stepped closer. “Unusual. Such a thing is rarely done and only for special circumstances. Once it was common for many to work the mines. Some even considered it an honor, but no longer. Now it is punishment, forced labor.” She frowned. “You are young to have been sent to work in Ilphaesn, but if any were to send a child to the mines, it would be one of the smith guild.”

  She thought him a child, and he didn’t have the strength to tell her that he was nearly seventeen, and already three years into his apprenticeship. Still, there was another in the mines younger than him. “Not just the smiths send children to the mines.”

  “The Elvraeth do not send children to serve in the mines. The punished must be apprentice age or older.”

  Rsiran shook his head but did not argue. The boy was nowhere near apprentice age.

  “Why did he sentence you to the mines?”

  “Because I am not what he expects of a son. Or an apprentice.”

  “How did you…” She trailed off, looking from the tattered shirt near the fire toward her door, eyes slowly going wide. “I should have known.”

  “Known?”

  She nodded. “You can travel. Slide. Not common, not like it once was.” She paused. “That is why he sent you?”

  Rsiran didn’t answer. He did not need to; the guilty expression on his face was answer enough. He knew of no other who could Slide. From what he had learned, few even knew such an ability existed. When his ability manifested, Rsiran had gone to his father. His father didn’t understand and had gone to the smith guild, asking about strange abilities. He returned thinking Rsiran a criminal, forsaken by the Great Watcher. Rsiran’s apprenticeship had changed since then.

  The woman pulled her chair over toward him and sank into it. She sighed in a gust of mint-scented breath. “Shameful, it is.”

  He nodded, looking away. She knew of Sliding. Few did, and those who did recognized it as a twisted ability.

  She grabbed his face and turned it back toward her own. Only when he finally reopened his eyes did she continue.

  “Once, such ability was considered a great gift. And when we lived among the trees in the Aisl, such an ability was almost the only way to connect our people to the outside. Over time, we migrated, moving away from the trees, building along the shores of the Lhear Sea where food and fresh water were plentiful. Eventually, one of the Great Watcher’s greatest gifts became viewed as dirty, unsavory. A dark ability. Even the Elvraeth tried to eliminate it.” She shook her head.

  Her eyes had taken on a faraway expression as she stared at the fire, flaring green. She blinked, and the deep hue faded, leaving her with little more than a pale green film. Rsiran had never seen such a change before.

  Could Sliding have ever been viewed as a great abilit
y? Sliding gave him nothing like the ability of the Seers who guided their people through the years. Even the Sighted and Readers were well respected, with gifts that while common, were nonetheless useful. From what his father learned, Sliding would only be used for dark and dangerous purposes, except Rsiran had never used it that way.

  Rsiran sighed. “How did I get here?”

  The woman looked over at him and narrowed her eyes. She touched his forehead again, shaking her head as she did. “Do you not remember Sliding back to Elaeavn? Such a thing is dangerous. Some are rumored to have died Sliding where they did not intend.”

  “I remember Sliding.” The memory of the presence on the stairs in the darkness as he chased the steady tapping deep in the caverns of Ilphaesn would not be easily forgotten. “But not getting here. Where am I?”

  The woman laughed then. “I suppose you would not remember, would you. You were quite sick when you came to me. Lucky it is that she found you. Most get left on the streets, especially in Lower Town. Much longer, and the Great Watcher knows you would have died.”

  Part of Rsiran wondered if that would have been such a bad thing. “Who found me?”

  The woman tilted her head, watching his face. “Thought you knew her. She said she knew you. Of course, perhaps you don’t even remember that?”

  He had a vague memory of a voice calling his name but even that seemed improbable. Few enough women knew him. Mostly his sister and mother. Other than them, old school friends who he had not seen in years would likely not recognize him.

  “She brought you to me for healing. A good thing too. Not many healers could have helped with that infection. Something tainted the wound, something I have not seen in years.” She frowned and shook her head. The firelight flickered, casting her wrinkled face in deeper shadows, leaving Rsiran wondering how old she was. “Don’t worry, though. She will be back. Said she would return soon with your friends.”