Whatever he was, whatever he would become, it was not a thief.
“I understand.” He shifted on the stool, feeling suddenly uncomfortable, all too aware of the warmth of Jessa’s hand on his thigh, the smell of her sweat mixed with the fragrance of the flower she wore. She watched him with an unreadable expression.
“I can do this. Really,” he said.
Brusus watched him for a moment, then sighed. “Okay.”
* * *
Rsiran stood in the broken down smithy hidden deep in Lower Town. The few lanterns glowing in the room gave off enough light to see by, especially since his eyesight seemed to have improved from all the time he’d spent in near darkness, and reflected dully off the metal of the anvil. The air mixed with the odors of oil and the foul stench of sewage drifting through the solid door, now safely locked. Other than his heavy breathing, there was silence.
The others left him alone. Rsiran had told Brusus he needed time to work on the forge, but really he had something else in mind.
He Slid back to the door, checking to make sure it was locked. He didn’t want any surprises when he returned. He considered turning down the lanterns, but he would want light when he returned.
He turned to the forge, inspecting it fully for the first time. Stone crumbled on each side, the mortar failing, but the overall structure was intact. He brushed the loose stone off and kicked it away from the anvil so it could not trip him. One misstep, especially with lorcith, and a project was destroyed. Once he managed to get a broom, he could do a better job cleaning, but for now, this would do.
Blackened coals lined the pit, leaving a layer of soot and crust he couldn’t scrape off. He hoped that with enough heat, the layers would soften and loosen. According to his father, care with the forge meant care with the forging. Someone clearly hadn’t been careful with their forge.
Once he was satisfied, he leaned over the pit and looked up the chimney. Darkness greeted him. He would have to inspect that sometime in the daylight to make sure the smithy didn’t fill with smoke.
A crate of coal had been set next to the forge. Had he anything to work on, he would have lit the coals. Instead, he set a layer into the pit, stacking them carefully so it would light easily when he was ready.
Rsiran stood, realizing that he was putting off what needed to be done.
The forge did need to be prepared, but he could do so during the daylight. Now that it was dark, he needed to fulfill his promise to Brusus. There was lorcith to gather.
He sighed. It did nothing to slow the steady pattering of his heart.
Then he Slid.
He appeared in the small clearing in the forest. Moonlight seeped through the branches overhead, and a distant call from a wolf made him jump. The steady rushing of the Lneahr River as it flowed out to sea made its presence known. He remembered days spent wandering the shores of the Lneahr, feet dragging through the sandy shores as Alyse chased him down the river or into the forest, back when she still cared about him.
Shadows shifted around him, and he didn’t want to linger. Not in the Aisl at night. Though their people had once lived within the trees, they no longer had mastery over the forest, and many dangerous things wandered at night. Best to keep this visit brief.
He hurried toward the massive tree where he had hidden the lorcith and kneeled in front of the twisted roots. He looked for the disturbed earth. Finding the spot where he had buried the ore, he quickly dug it out and dusted loose earth from the metal as he had once chipped rock from it. The lorcith gleamed and shimmered in the wan light. Already it called to him.
Another sound interrupted the night, like an angry scream. Whatever made it was nearby. The shrill cry tore at his ears.
Rsiran stood. There was nothing else for him here in the forest, nothing but nightmares.
He Slid back to the smithy.
The lanterns were a welcome sight. Even the foul air from the street outside didn’t bother him. He shivered from the memory of whatever had made the scream, and then tucked the lorcith into a corner, hiding it behind some of the loose rock crumbling from the ceiling.
He again considered simply Sliding into another smithy—it didn’t have to be his father’s—and taking what he needed, but doing so would only draw attention from the guild, which would gain the attention of the Elvraeth and the constables, especially with how the price of lorcith had gone up so drastically over the last year.
Once, his father had been able to acquire huge nuggets of lorcith, large enough to make platters or bowls, all of which the Elvraeth eagerly bought. Over the last year, however, the cost to acquire such deposits from the mining guild had nearly become prohibitive. Now his father only bought when he had commissions lined up, and those were rare. But after working in the mines, the only reason he had as to why lorcith production had diminished, especially with as much of the ore as he felt hidden in the walls, was that someone wanted it that way. But now that he’d abandoned his apprenticeship, that wasn’t his concern.
Rather than risk harming one of the master smiths and gaining the attention of the guild, it was better to Slide to the mines.
Taking a deep breath, he sighed, dreading what he needed to do. There was really no other way to do it, though. No way that would keep the others from harm.
He Slid.
This was the first time he appeared in the healer’s home without an injury, but his neck itched where the stitching pulled his skin together, healing slowly. He would have to return soon to have the stitches removed, but this was not the time for that.
The same small fire crackled in the hearth. The scented air smelled of honey and flowers, reminding him of Jessa. He felt a pang of guilt that he had deceived her by not sharing how he would acquire lorcith. The small cot was folded and pushed against the wall. A plush rug that Rsiran hadn’t noticed before was woven in a circular pattern that drew the eye outward and lay in front of the fire. Small shelves lined either wall.
He scanned for his pick and hammer, wondering if the healer had thrown them out. He hated coming in this way, knowing it would have been better to simply knock rather than sneak in, but justified his decision since he was only reclaiming what was his.
“I’m not sure I can heal you again.”
Rsiran spun. The healer sat on a small wooden chair. The faded stain that made it look worn and comfortable reminded him of the chair his father always preferred. Her dark hair was still twisted in a knot on her head, and the smile on her face deepened the wrinkles around her eyes.
“I’m not injured this time.”
She stood slowly, pushing herself up and stepping carefully around the chair, showing her age. Della looked at him with her deep green eyes, her mouth thinned to a line, and sighed. “No. I believe you are not. But still you place yourself at risk.”
Rsiran wondered how much she knew. Had Brusus shared his plans with her, or was she simply a Reader? If she was, he hadn’t felt her trying to crawl through his mind, nothing like he did when he was around Jessa.
“I can help them.”
She tilted her head and looked at him. “So you have made a choice, then?”
“I tried with my family…”
“So you have chosen another.”
Rsiran shrugged. “They’re friends. I can help them,” he repeated.
“That does not change the fact that you put yourself at risk.”
“I think they would do the same for me.” Rsiran had not been around them long, but Shael made it clear when Rsiran first saw the smithy that Brusus was reaching beyond what was probably safe for him.
“That they would. They’re good people. But still you don’t fully trust them.”
“I don’t know what you mean.” He turned away guiltily. Jessa, at least, deserved to hear the truth. He tried to make it look as if he was simply looking around Della’s room, staring at the small window that ran along the side street. The curtains were pulled slightly, letting a small salty breeze blow in.
She ste
pped up to him and set strong hands on his neck, turning him so she could see his injury. She grunted as she ran her fingers along the wound. “I think you know exactly what I mean. Maybe in time you will learn to trust.”
He felt her pulling on his skin, as if plucking at the wound, and winced. “I trust—”
Rsiran wasn’t sure exactly what he would say. That he trusted the healer enough to keep coming back? That he feared losing his new friends by revealing his dark ability, the ability that he somehow couldn’t keep from using? That he wasn’t sure who he was anymore?
“There,” she said. “Stitching is out. I am surprised you have healed so well, especially as badly as the poisoning had set.”
“Thank you.”
She pushed on his shoulders and turned him around. “Promise that you will be careful. I know what you think you need to do, that you think you must help your friends. And for all that he has done for me, I would never tell you not to help Brusus. But use your ability if you find trouble. Or it finds you.”
She shuffled over to one of her shelves, pulled his pick and hammer off the shelf and handed them to him. “Remember someone there who wanted to harm you.”
He shook his head. “It had nothing to do with me. They wanted the ore.”
Her brow furrowed, wrinkles deepening. “If you are so certain, then why risk injury again by returning?”
“The other option is worse.”
She sniffed. “Are you certain you have considered all other options, including doing nothing? I do not want to see you hurt again. More than that, I do not want to see Brusus suffer.”
Rsiran blinked. “That is why I must do this.”
The healer turned to another shelf and picked something up before handing it to him. It was a long, slender cylinder made of solid metal. A slider bar ran along one side of it.
“What is it?”
“Light for you in the darkness. Were your Sight greater, you would have no need. As it is, use this to keep the shadows at bay. Perhaps it will keep you safe.”
Rsiran tucked it into his pocket. “Thank you.”
“I will pray that the Great Watcher turns his gaze upon you,” she said solemnly.
Rsiran nodded and turned away from Della, not certain he wanted the Great Watcher to notice him. Then he Slid to Ilphaesn.
Chapter 20
The stale air hit Rsiran immediately, the bitterness of lorcith dust seeming to hang in it, biting at his lungs as he took a deep breath. He staggered forward, a wave of weakness washing over him. Would the weakness following a Slide ever disappear? Perhaps if he practiced it like Della suggested he would eventually grow accustomed to its effects.
He targeted this Slide to enter the upper level of the mine. Since he still didn’t have perfect control, sometimes with a Slide he had the potential to overshoot, especially when traveling long distances, like from Elaeavn to Ilphaesn. Shorter distances were easier to pinpoint, but he didn’t dare Slide straight to the deepest part of the mine or else he might end up buried in rock, unable to Slide out.
He wasn’t sure how late it was, but the sleeping cavern was quiet. An orange glow from the lantern spilled over toward where he stood near the entrance. The miners murmured softly, broken every so often by a burst of laughter before quickly dying down. Behind him, the entrance was barred, and a heavy lock kept the miners trapped inside. No one moved along the mining tunnels at this time of night; the only sound was the distant, steady tapping.
He swallowed a mouthful of dry air and steadied himself, readying for another Slide.
As he began, there came a movement of shadows, and he hurried forward, Sliding out of the upper part of the mine and into the deeper, darker heart of Ilphaesn.
Rsiran stood motionless as he waited for his eyes to adjust. Gradually, the darkness faded but not enough for him to see exactly where he stood.
Had the Slide taken him as planned, he should be near the end of the farthest mine. He stretched out his hand and felt along the wall. The rough stone was cool and damp under his hand. Rsiran took a tentative step, sliding his feet along the floor, following the curve.
Satisfied he was where he had intended to emerge, he stood and listened.
As usual for night, the steady tapping echoed through the mines, but sounded distant. He didn’t want to be near whatever it was making the sound, uncertain as to its source.
The lorcith called to him, like a song sung under water. Leaving his hand on the wall, he moved it until he felt a reverberation, almost a thrumming, like that of a hammer against steel, on his palm. The sensation went up his arm into his head.
Rsiran positioned the pick over the wall and began to chip at the stone, using his awareness of the lorcith to guide each blow. He decided to keep time with the tapping, hoping that his picking would be lost in the sound of the other. He worked carefully, always watching for signs of light to know if any of the foremen came to investigate. As far as he knew, they went back to the village at the end of the day, locking the miners within Ilphaesn until morning.
Every so often, he hesitated, listening for the tapping. The steady sound continued, like a distant hammering, only never coming any closer. Rsiran did not dare investigate.
Unlike when he had mined during the day, the foreman distracted and barely paying attention, only the orange light of the strange lanterns lighting the tunnels, he worked entirely by feel. This made him more attuned to the lorcith as he focused on where he chipped away at the stone. All around him he felt other large deposits of lorcith, some buried deeply, while others like the one he freed with the blunted pick, sat near the surface.
With as many as he felt, it seemed strange that large finds were rare. Even working blindly, the others should have been found, freed by luck and time by the workers sentenced to serve in Ilphaesn.
He had nearly freed the large collection when he realized the tapping had stopped.
It was during one of his pauses, and it took his mind several moments to register what was missing. He waited, expecting the sound to resume, but it did not.
What did its absence mean? Rather than resuming work, he dusted around the stone with his hand, feeling the size of the lorcith he had freed. The lump was massive, far larger than any other he had taken, and sat loosely in the wall. Another few strikes with the pick, and it would be free.
The sudden silence disconcerted him. He worked to steady his breathing, but memories of the last time he was in the mine kept pushing to the front of his mind. That attack had nearly killed him, the poison on the pick acting quickly enough that he had been lucky to Slide from the mine when he did.
Instead of using the pick, he took the hammer and scratched at the rock, scraping it as quietly as he could over the lump of lorcith, pulling on it to try and free it from the stone.
As it began moving, the tapping began again.
This time it was close and almost loud enough it could be in the same tunnel as he was. Rsiran froze, hands wrapped around the lump of lorcith, the pick and hammer trapped between his knees.
The tapping continued, steadily, breaking occasionally. Rsiran suddenly understood what he was hearing. It paused like he did, as if to wipe dust away.
His mouth went dry. Reaching to grab the device Della had given him, he found it had fallen out of his pocket somewhere in the darkness.
There was around him but more blackness. And now he was certain he wasn’t the only one mining the lorcith at night.
Barely breathing, he felt the lorcith stone begin to shift. It screamed as it came free of the wall.
The tapping stopped.
Rsiran didn’t wait to hear if it would resume. He Slid.
* * *
The air in the smithy felt cold compared to the mine. The light from the lanterns nearly blinded him. Rsiran’s arms shook as he clung to the lorcith, and his heart pounded, blood rushing through his ears. Nausea rolled through his stomach.
He staggered toward the forge, dropped the lorcith next to the other nugg
et, and leaned against the crumbling stone to steady himself, his mind racing with what he encountered.
Someone else mined at night.
That meant Sighted or someone who could sense the lorcith within the walls.
How many nights had he stayed awake, lying and listening to the steady tapping? Even when he went down into the mines on his own, walking through the darkness at night, he hadn’t been certain what it was that he had been hearing.
There was no doubt now.
Rsiran looked at the two nuggets he had. Enough to get started. More than enough to forge a knife or longer blade. But he would need more if he was going to make Brusus’s goal worthwhile, much more if he was going to actually help Brusus pay off his debt.
How could he return to the mines now? Whoever was there had to have noticed him; had stopped hammering when he pulled the lorcith from the stone. What if it was the same person who had attacked him?
To settle his mind, he set to working. The coals had already been aligned, and he used the flint and steel that Brusus had provided to build the flames. His hands shook as he started, the trembling making his work difficult, but he somehow managed to strike a fire, only injuring his hands a few times in the process.
Stoking the flames helped calm him. This was familiar. Even though the smithy was different, the forge and bellows not the same as he knew, the work was the same. Once the coals were glowing comfortably, he briefly Slid outside to ensure it vented. Only after he was convinced that smoke rose freely from the chimney did he set to work.
He had a hammer; though it was not ideal, the small mining hammer could be used to shape the lorcith. Setting the smaller lorcith nugget atop the coals—the one reclaimed from the forest—he let the heat consume it. He stared at the glowing coals, letting his mind wander as the lorcith heated. When it began glowing red, he reached for tongs… but realized he didn’t have any.
In his need for familiarity, the need for something to calm him, he had forgotten he didn’t have any other tools. Now that the lorcith was already glowing, he had no choice but to shape it, otherwise it would cool and become useless, no more changeable than the bowl Brusus had in the tavern.
The Dark Ability Page 14
