The Dark Ability: Books 1-4

by D. K. Holmberg

  She was lost. And it was his fault.

  Rsiran closed his eyes, focusing on her flower charm, but felt nothing. He tried searching for the knife he’d asked her to carry, but he couldn’t find it, either.

  Lorcith was not shut off for him, just reduced. But how?

  He made his way to the door, but there was no handle and no way to open it. If he was to escape, he’d have to Slide past it. At least Sliding didn’t require access to lorcith. It only helped when he needed an anchor; otherwise, it wasn’t something he required.

  Yet, as he focused on trying to Slide, he found he couldn’t.

  Just like he’d been on Firell’s ship, he was trapped. Only this time, he had no idea who captured him or why. And this time, Brusus would die if he couldn’t escape. All because of him.

  Rsiran sat cross-legged on the cool stone. His eyes were shut, and he simply listened for the lorcith, but terrible thoughts kept creeping in, reminders of his failings. He forced a focus on the lorcith, trying to hear its song. He’d done this before, but only when in the smithy and needing to learn what shape the ore needed to take. This time, he simply tried to connect to his knives.

  He’d spread them across the stone in a semicircle, the tips pointing toward the walls. Lorcith was there, but just at the edge of his senses. Had he not known what he felt, he might not even realize it was lorcith.

  Rsiran focused on his breathing. Each breath moved slowly, in and out of his lungs. His chest hurt from when he’d fallen with his father, and taking deep breaths aggravated it, but he forced thoughts of that away, choosing to ignore them. Once his breathing felt regular, he worked on clearing his head. His mind raced with fears of Jessa and Brusus, worry about what would happen to him, to his friends, with his capture. Those fears mixed with the knowledge that they would suffer because of his failings, because of the darkness that existed within him.

  His father was right. Lorcith had changed him.

  For a moment, he forced those thoughts away, letting his mind go blank.

  Time passed. Rsiran didn’t know how much time. Enough that he got lost in his breathing, in the blankness of his mind. After a while, he became aware of a soft humming, distant, as if through the stone. He could not feel it otherwise.

  The humming became greater. Pressure built in his head, but not like it had outside.

  Though he tried to ignore it, the sound persisted, like a bee buzzing in his ear. If he could, he would have swatted it away. That would do nothing but destroy his sense of calm.

  And then he heard the lorcith.

  He didn’t know how much time had passed before he reached the point where he heard it again. Minutes or hours. Time became meaningless as he focused. Distantly, he knew he needed to feel urgency or Brusus would fade, but even that thought had been pushed away.

  He felt the knives first.

  The awareness was different from what he usually felt. Rather than a comfortable drawing sensation, this felt raw, as if the lorcith scraped against exposed nerves. Rsiran didn’t try pushing it. Something deep within him warned against that. Rather, he listened.

  As he did, he heard other lorcith around him, more than he expected. It filled the walls, as if buried in the mortar. The door sang to him, telling him how it had once been shaped out of a massive nugget of lorcith. Had he wanted to, Rsiran suspected he could get the story of where it came from, how it had been shaped. And he would, but later.

  Beyond his room, lorcith permeated everything.

  That realization almost made him lose focus. Why would there be so much lorcith? Had he been drawn somewhere in the Floating Palace and not into Venass like he thought?

  Rsiran focused on his breathing. Had he not experienced isolation from lorcith before, he might have panicked. But this isolation was different from before. Whereas the chains he’d worn served to cut off his access to lorcith, this time, everything around him seemed to serve as a barrier to it.

  Slowly, he regained his connection to the metal. He traced it in his mind, using it to guide him through the halls as he’d once guided himself through the Ilphaesn mines in the dark. He sensed a void in the lorcith and Rsiran followed it, moving up. Stairs, he decided. The void worked up and up until it stopped. He followed it down the hall, tracing to a point near him, seemingly just above him. There was a door there, similar to the one closing him in the cell.

  Struggling to maintain his calm, Rsiran pressed past the door. Walls infused with lorcith surrounded him, but there was something else. Something familiar.

  He’d hoped for the lorcith knife he’d made Jessa or the charm she wore around her neck. He felt neither of those.

  For a moment, he lost hope. He thought by following the lorcith, he could reach Jessa. But what if she weren’t trapped as he was? What if she still stood out on that strange barren land, the hot air burning at her nose and throat, thinking he’d Slid away from her? Worse, what if she didn’t want him to find her, didn’t care what happened to him, simply thanking the Great Watcher he’d finally been taken from her…

  Rsiran realized what was happening. Similar to what happened in the forest, he was being Pushed. This was subtler than before and even that had been an exquisite touch. Had he not been reaching, questing with the lorcith, he might not have realized what was happening.

  How long had he been subjected to the Pushing? From the beginning?

  But he didn’t dare push up his barriers. Doing so might block him from following the lorcith. So he struggled to ignore the dark thoughts working against him, slowly seeping into his mind, mixing with his thoughts, until Rsiran no longer knew which were his and which were being Pushed.

  He returned his attention to the distant room. Lorcith filled the walls, the floor, the door. Everything. But there was more. Inside the room was something else, not just the walls and floor. There he felt slender rods bound close together. Had he not made them himself, he wouldn’t have any idea what he felt. A lock pick made especially for Jessa.

  His breath caught. Could she be there?

  Without her, he wouldn’t go anywhere.

  He listened for other lorcith. The knife she carried. The charm, but found nothing.

  What if she’d been taken somewhere else? What if it wasn’t even her?

  Rsiran wished he shared Brusus’s abilities, especially now. If he were a Reader, would he be able to tell what Jessa was thinking? Could he somehow send her reassurances that he was unharmed?

  He couldn’t let himself think like that. He needed to reach her. But he’d already learned he couldn’t Slide. The lorcith infused into everything blocked him somehow.

  But that had been before he had something to anchor to. Could he anchor to the lock pick or would that not be strong enough?

  Rsiran scooped his knives back into his pockets—he might need them if this worked—and steadied his breathing and held onto the sense of the lock pick in his mind. Always before, when he anchored, he used the anchor more as a way to guide his Slide, but that failed when he tried.

  He didn’t move. The sense of the lock pick filled his mind until that was the only thing he knew. Then he pulled on it, attempting to Slide at the same time.

  Pain split his head and he nearly screamed.

  Had he not been enveloped in the sense of the lorcith, he might not have managed to withstand it. As it was, he nearly lost his concentration and with it, the connection to the lorcith.

  Rsiran steadied his breathing, pulling and Sliding at the same time.

  The pain persisted, a shooting sensation that worked through his mind. Taking shallow breaths, he pulled and Slid.

  It was nothing like any he’d ever done. He moved slowly, dragged by his connection to the lorcith he anchored. No colors flashed past him, and there was no sense of wind or movement. The only sense he had was darkness and the bitter scent of lorcith.

  And then he emerged.

  Rsiran let go of the Slide. Pain receded from his mind but did not leave entirely. The awareness of lorcit
h remained, unchanged and everywhere around him.

  He blinked his eyes open.

  Resting on the stone was the lock-pick set he’d made for Jessa rolled in black leather. But otherwise, the room was empty. His heart hammered, beating in time to the still fading throbbing in his head.

  He pocketed the lock-pick set. He’d traded one cell for another.

  Chapter 15

  Rsiran didn’t move at first. He listened to the lorcith, breathing slow and steady.

  A mixture of emotions built within him. Irritation with Brusus. Had he not involved them in his plots, they would never have been put in the position to need to help him. Anger at his father. Rsiran suspected he kept something from him, but after everything they’d been through together, he no longer blamed him for that. He could not change his father any more than he could change the Great Watcher. Maybe part of his anger was with himself for thinking he needed to reach out to him in the first place. What had his father ever done to deserve compassion from him? He’d certainly never shown it to Rsiran.

  More than anything, he had a building sense of failure. He wouldn’t find Jessa. Whatever else happened, he had failed her.

  He stretched out with his sense of lorcith again and moved past the walls surrounding him, past the floor infused with lorcith, and reached the door. There, he hesitated, listening. Like the last door, this door was made entirely of lorcith. A massive nugget must have been used to forge the door, a size he’d never seen before. Where had it come from?

  So he listened. The door told him of its forging. A master smith ages ago listened to the lorcith but guided it as well. Different from how Rsiran usually worked with lorcith, letting it guide him. But Rsiran sensed from the door how the master smith and the lorcith had worked together.

  He traced the lorcith farther, deeper into its past. The lorcith was willing to share with him its story. Pulled from the rocks by dozens of miners, there was rejoicing when the ore was found.

  How was it that he could get so much from the lorcith? Was if from his connection or the way he listened? Or did it simply have to do with the massive amount used? He’d never seen a find that size. What would happen in Ilphaesn if the miners came across a find like that? Would there be rejoicing and celebration like he sensed happened when this nugget had been found, or would the miners argue over who found it, using it as their way to purchase freedom?

  Reluctantly, he pushed past the door. Had he more time, he would be interested in listening to the lorcith. No longer did it seem strange to him that he understood the ore had a story. Maybe everything did if only there was someone attuned to listen.

  Outside in the hall, he followed the walls again. He came to an opening, but it led down, back toward where he’d been jailed before. He moved his questing away, sensing for other places to follow. But there were none. Just this hall and the one below him. Both were completely infused with lorcith in a way that he couldn’t move past.

  Rsiran blinked open his eyes, letting go of his probing of the lorcith. He was truly trapped.

  More time passed. Time Brusus didn’t have.

  Rsiran did nothing but focus on his breathing and listen to lorcith. At first, it was just the lorcith in the walls and floor, the knives he’d brought with him, and Jessa’s lock pick.

  He hesitated. Why had her lock pick been here? If it was here, then so was she.

  Rsiran tried again to listen for the knife she carried with her, the one he’d suggested she bring. If he could find that, he might be able to use it to reach her. He steadied his breathing, thinking of the knife, letting the memory of its forging fill his mind. For a moment, he thought he felt it, but it slipped away. The lorcith in the walls overpowered it.

  If he couldn’t sense the knife, he wouldn’t be able to sense the charm he’d made her. Much smaller than the knife, he hadn’t been able to sense it when Josun had trapped her in the Ilphaesn mines.

  But could he sense the heartstone alloy chain?

  He’d never tried before, but after his time on Firell’s ship, he knew he could sense heartstone. Rsiran worked to steady his breathing again. Thinking about reaching Jessa had sent his heart fluttering, and he had to suppress it before he could listen for the heartstone alloy.

  When finally ready, he sent out his awareness.

  The awareness was different than with lorcith, but could he anchor to it as well? Rsiran didn’t really understand how he did it. If he survived, it would be another question for Della. By now, she’d grown used to them. He ignored the lorcith, ignored what he sensed in the walls and the floor. He ignored the sudden flare of lorcith he felt trying to suppress him. It took every ounce of focus he could muster, and even, then it almost wasn’t enough.

  And then he heard it.

  The alloy sounded different than the lorcith did. Lorcith was always eager for him to hear it. Once, he’d heard it described as a song. Rsiran suspected that was true; there was a certain musicality to the way it called to him. The alloy felt harder. More distant.

  He didn’t know what he sensed. But the fact that he felt anything gave him reason to believe he could anchor to it.

  As before, he held onto the sense of the alloy, pulling rather than stepping into the Slide. Pain again split his head, but softer. He had the sense of slow movement, a hint of colors, and the bittersweet scent of the alloy.

  And then he emerged from the Slide an open room. Blue light bloomed around him, coming from sconces set into walls, so similar to the Elvraeth lantern he had in his smithy but had never managed to replicate. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust, but when they did, he saw Jessa sitting on a plush, dark leather chair.

  One hand twisted a finger through her hair. The other fingered the charm around her neck. Rsiran realized he sensed the lorcith in the charm again, as if passing through the lorcith-infused stone walls freed him from the barrier that had been in place.

  Worry twisted her face, but she looked otherwise well. She didn’t seem to notice him at first.

  Rsiran stepped toward her. The movement startled her and she blinked, lunging from the chair and grabbing him in an embrace. Somehow, she still smelled sweet, a mixture of whatever flower she’d been wearing earlier in the day and her spiced soap.

  “Are you hurt? Did they…” She didn’t finish. Her hands ran along his face, touching his cheeks, his lips, his neck, before working down his arms.

  Having her touch him again filled him with relief.

  “I’m fine, I think. Are you okay?”

  Jessa hugged him in answer, gripping his shirt and clinging to it as if not wanting to let go.

  He looked around. Walls made of a chalky white stone were bare, only the sconces marring them. Other than the chair, nothing else cluttered the room. Smooth, black marble tiles set along the floor, the color contrasting with the walls.

  “Where are we?”

  She took a slow breath and finally let go, stepping away from him. She looked around, eyes flickering to the sconces and then the floor. “The Tower of Scholars.”

  “How did we get here?” He thought he knew but wanted to know for sure. The strange pulsing of lorcith had pulled him, forcing him to Slide. But if Jessa was here, had they pulled her into a Slide the same way they had with him, or had she come here in a more traditional way?

  “You don’t know?”

  Rsiran shook his head.

  Worry lined Jessa’s face. “You… you couldn’t stand. Something happened and you screamed. And then we all were here.”

  “All?” Had he done that? Was it his fault Jessa had been captured this time? If he couldn’t even protect her when he was with her, how could he hope to keep her safe when they were apart?

  And where was his father?

  She nodded. “But they said you wouldn’t be able to escape. That they had… done something… that kept you from using your abilities. That you would die if you couldn’t get free.” Her wide eyes told him that she’d learned more than that, but she didn’t say anything mo
re.

  Rsiran swallowed. “Lorcith infused the walls. The floor. Everything where I was.”

  “I don’t understand. Then how were you able to reach me?”

  “I found your lock pick.”

  Jessa frowned and shook her head. One hand slipped to her pocket. “Lock pick?”

  Before he could answer, Rsiran felt a flash of lorcith and spun, putting Jessa behind him.

  A man in a flowing tunic of white, embroidery running down the collar, and inky black trousers stood in front of him. He had dark skin, nearly black, with patches of white on the surface of each hand. His head was shaved completely, including his eyebrows. Metal pierced his ears, his brow, and his lips. His mouth parted in a smile.

  “He should not have been able to. Interesting. Perhaps you don’t have to die, Mr. Lareth.”

  Chapter 16

  With Jessa pushed behind him, Rsiran prepared to Slide. Now that he could sense lorcith again, he felt the distant awareness of the lorcith sword in his smithy burning like a star in the night in his mind. If he anchored to it, he could have them back to Elaeavn.

  But he still wouldn’t have what they came for. If this was one of the scholars, Rsiran could ask for an antidote. That was why they had come, wasn’t it?

  More than that, he suspected the scholars weren’t trying to harm him. Had they wanted to do so, they would have killed him while he was incapacitated. Leaving the lock pick in the other room had not been an accident. That meant…

  “A test?” he whispered.

  The scholar’s mouth tightened.

  “You pulled me here for a test?” Rsiran grabbed Jessa’s hand in case they needed to Slide away. At the same time, he made certain his connection to the lorcith-forged knives he carried would let him push them were that needed. He wouldn’t be caught unprepared again.

  “You brought yourself here, Mr. Lareth. You chose to come.” A strange accent lilted his words, making them harsh and difficult to understand.