The Dark Ability (6 page)

R
siran sat
by his blanket that night, holding the dented metal bowl, the soft light from the lantern leaving everything around him in shadows. Voices around the lantern were occasionally boisterous, and the men sitting near the light seemed to be having far more fun than Rsiran. Was it his imagination, or did they look his way at times? Which of them had taken the lump from him?

And why?

His body ached, arms and legs fatigued from hammering with the pick all day, freeing the large piece of lorcith.

The pain in his back seemed worse. He couldn’t see the injury where the pick had stabbed into him but still felt the effects. His skin felt hot around where the tip had punctured his flesh; he wondered if infection had already set in.

When he’d reached the top of the stairs and rejoined the rest of the miners, he had simply trudged back up the tunnels, ignoring the foreman with the scale documenting the day’s collection. The small lump of lorcith that he found first still tucked into his pocket.

“I warned you.”

Rsiran turned, pain in his back flaring slightly as he did. The boy crouched out of reach. Shadows covered his face.

“A find that size probably paid for someone’s freedom,” he whispered and laughed. He skittered forward a step. “And kept you from yours!”

Rsiran shook his head. He shouldn’t have listened for the lorcith. It didn’t really matter that the lorcith was stolen—not for his freedom at least—but if he managed more finds like the one from today, how long before his father learned? If he couldn’t ignore unshaped lorcith, how could he ever expect to ignore its call while shaping it? Unlike the others, he needed
not
to find lorcith. “Doesn’t matter,” he muttered.

The boy moved another step closer, enough to reveal the scratches on his arm and face. The pain in his back gave new meaning to the boy’s injuries. He pushed back a strand of his lanky hair as he stood on the edge of Rsiran’s blanket.

“You hear it, don’t you?” the boy asked.

Rsiran looked around. Near the lantern, the occasional grating laugh of the thin man overpowered other sounds as he gestured to a few of the others while lording over the lantern. His voice sounded forced, and there was a hard edge to his words. Rsiran made a point of ignoring him, but failed. He couldn’t shake the feeling that the man watched him.

There was a steady tapping sound, faint and distant, that he did not recognize. The soft whisper of a breeze blew through the cavern, playing across his cheeks with its cool touch.

“Hear what?” he finally asked the boy.

The boy’s smile widened. “You hear the song of the ore.”

Rsiran blinked and shook his head, pulling his gaze away from the lantern. “I don’t know what you mean.”

But he did. The sound of the lorcith, like soft voices in his head that had drawn him to the find. The same sound had guided his hammer while working in the forge. It was the sound his father wanted to drive out of him.

The boy narrowed his eyes. In the darkness, they reflected a soft green, almost glowing, so that he looked more like a cat crouched nearby. “There’s few enough of us who can, you know. Not really an ability, not like Sight or what the Seers have, but useful enough here.” The boy shifted, sliding to the side on his hands and feet. “Not sure how useful it is anywhere else but here.”

He looked at Rsiran, waiting for some sort of reaction. When he didn’t give one, the boy continued. “Don’t let others know you can hear it. You’ve seen what happens. Everyone wants to earn their freedom, but there are others who want something else—” He cut himself off with a shake of his head.

“What else?” Rsiran asked.

The boy raised a finger to his lips. “Can’t talk about it, even here.” He glanced to the lantern. “Maybe especially here.” He smiled again and looked at Rsiran. “You’ll learn to ignore the song. Especially if you want to survive. Better to bring it out in small pieces than all at once. Otherwise, the others…” He trailed off, turning to look toward the lantern with eyes that went wide.

Ignore the song. The same thing his father wanted of him. The pain in his back was punishment for not following his father’s instructions.

“Is that why you’ve been here a year?” Rsiran asked.

The boy shrugged, not turning toward him. “Better here than some of the places I’ve been. Here, I get food and a blanket. Same can’t be said on the streets.”

What must this boy have experienced to choose to remain in the mines, harvesting only enough lorcith to keep from drawing attention to himself? Compared to that, was his life so bad? “What did you do to earn this punishment?”

The boy turned. His smile had returned though his eyes looked hollow. “Punishment? I’ve had worse punishments. This is …work.” He laughed to himself then skittered back a step, crawling on hands and feet until the shadows nearly swallowed him. “And I didn’t do anything wrong. Just found in the wrong place.”

“What kind of place?”

There was a flash of teeth as the boy’s smile deepened. “You’re not supposed to sleep in the palace unless you’re one of the Elvraeth,” he said. “But I couldn’t help it. I was cold and that fire looked warm.”

The comment finally pulled his attention fully away from the lantern and Rsiran laughed. A few by the lantern looked over. He hoped the shadows were deep enough they couldn’t see him, but anyone with Sight would have no difficulty with the darkness. “You snuck into the
palace
?” he asked. “How?” Only the Elvraeth entered the palace. Barriers were in place to keep everyone else out.

The boy slid another step closer, his smile unchanged, obviously pleased to tell the story. “The windows. Most of the time, they leave them open. Something about the sea breeze. If you ask me, the air in Elaeavn smells more like fish than salt, and I’d as soon shut that out.”

Rsiran bit back another laugh.

“Of course, up in the palace, they might be too far from the sea to appreciate the difference. Only when you get down near the docks do you notice the stink.”

“Why did you choose the palace?” Rsiran asked. There were plenty of other places to find warmth in the city.

The boy shrugged. “It was one of those rains that didn’t stop. None of the taverns would let me in. Too young, they said.” He shook his head. A strand of his hair came loose and he flicked it back. “More likely they knew I didn’t have any coin. By the time I reached Upper Town, I needed a place to dry off and the metal drew me to it. You know how much they have there. Saw the fire and the open window. Only learned later that it was part of the palace. Seems to me the family wouldn’t take such offense to me sleeping in front of the fire, but here I am.” He flicked his gaze around the cavern. “Can’t say this is too bad, either. Blanket keeps me warm. Food keeps me full. Work isn’t so bad, as long as you’re careful.”

The boy crept a little closer. “Take out the small pieces, like the one in your pocket. Ignore the music from the bigger ones. Let them be found by accident.”

Rsiran looked down toward his pocket, patting the small lump of lorcith still there. When he looked up again, the boy was gone, having disappeared once more into the shadows.

Rsiran did not sleep well again that night.

T
he next few
days were much the same. Each day he awoke to the whistle, having lain awake so late into the night that when sleep finally found him, he did not want to get up. Each meal consisted of the same mush and slice of crusty bread. Other than the work, he had little way of knowing day from night.

Following the boy’s advice, he made a point of avoiding the larger veins of lorcith, as well as the thin man who seemed to watch him. He knew where the lorcith veins were, could
feel
them hidden and buried within the rock, almost clamoring for him to free them. But he resisted, choosing instead only the smaller nuggets that fit within his pocket. Of these, he kept a few.

Every day he wondered how long he would be left mining. How long before his father learned he ignored the lorcith and allowed him to return to his apprenticeship? How long before the thin man came to him with questions?

Rsiran had decided the man
had
to know Brusus. There was a similarity to their gaze, and the intense way he stared, and the almost knowing look he wore on his face. And if he knew Brusus, Rsiran wanted to stay as far from him as possible. When he did finally get free of the mines, he didn’t want to end up drawn into Brusus’s plans. He wanted to return to the smithy, and complete his apprenticeship.

He heard no more talk about why the flow of lorcith had slowed. Mostly because Rsiran simply didn’t listen. If he stayed in the shadows, the others would ignore him. He needed to bide his time until his father summoned him back, and do nothing more.

But the days went by painfully slow. Rsiran had been amazed at how quickly the first day had gone, but in hindsight, that was likely because of his focus on freeing the lorcith. Once it was taken from him, he found his time spent more on clearing the loose debris from the floor of the tunnel than actual mining.

He had been working the mines, day sliding to night with nothing other than the steady hammering of the pick upon the stone, for over a week when he lost himself again.

He didn’t know how it happened. One moment he worked on a smallish nugget of the ore of the size he could drop and leave behind. Never anything larger. Those he made a point of avoiding, of straining to ignore the music like the boy suggested. Rsiran started working in a remote part of the tunnel, away from the others as much as he could manage. The pick started falling almost on its own. Before he knew it, he had freed a sizeable chunk of lorcith. This was almost as large as the one he had found the first day. Both were much larger than what he normally saw in his father’s shop.

Today, the boy was not in the same tunnel as he was. So often they managed to work in the same mines that Rsiran began to find his presence reassuring. He moved to block the lorcith as it sat near the tunnel wall and quickly moved to another part of the wall, chipping away at the stone as if he had not found anything.

When the whistle sounded signaling the end of the day, Rsiran quickly grabbed the lump of lorcith and shoved it under his arm, hurrying forward so he would not be trapped in the back of the line. He could leave it near the foreman or let someone else take credit for the find. Somehow, as the men nearest the stairs leading out of this section of the mine jostled forward, he still managed to end up near the rear.

Pressing forward as he held onto the metal, he had gone nearly a dozen more steps when he felt something stab into his back, almost in the same spot as the last time. He froze, recognizing it as the sharp point of a pick.

“Set it down and keep climbing.”

The voice was soft but menacing. Was it the thin man? One of his friends? The voice sounded the same as before, but that didn’t help him know who.

Rsiran knew he should listen, but felt a strange fluttering in his chest when he considered it. He shook his head. “No,” he whispered.

The person in front of him turned and looked at him. Dust from the rock stained his face and sweat dripped down his brow. Seeing the mass under Rsiran’s arm, his eyes widened, and a dark smile crept across his face. Rsiran considered handing the lorcith to him, but he flickered his gaze past Rsiran and turned away suddenly.

The pressure on Rsiran’s back intensified.

He took a step forward. The pain from the pick went with him.

“Set it down or you won’t make it through the night.”

Rsiran suppressed a shiver at the callous tone. What did he care if someone else took the lorcith? He was
supposed
to ignore it. As he started to set it down, he felt an urgency to the soft murmuring that came from the metal itself, demanding that he not.

“No,” he said again. Then he scooped the lump of lorcith into his hands and spun. The pick scratched deeply across his back, tearing his shirt and flesh with the same blunt ease. Thrusting the lorcith out like a weapon, he halted in the middle of his swing. There was no one behind him.

He tucked the lorcith back under his arm. His back throbbed, and blood ran from between his shoulder blades toward his waist. The pain almost caused him to drop the lorcith, and he struggled to steady his breathing. He had to lean against the rough wall of the stairs as he turned to climb, hurrying as much as he was able to catch up with the remaining miners.

When he finally reached the top of the stairs, he hugged the wall as he waited for his turn to meet with the foreman, staggering forward so that he almost fell. Most of the miners had already disappeared, but a few lingered. Rsiran hesitantly pulled the lorcith out from under his arm. He could have left it, but that would open him to more questions.

The foreman’s pale green eyes widened as he showed him the lorcith. He smiled, flashing yellowed teeth, scratching his beard. “Quite the find,” he said. “Miners haven’t seen one like this in months.”

The words seemed a little too loud, and Rsiran looked around, worried others might hear. The few remaining miners seemed to be ignoring him, but that didn’t change the itching in his back. How deeply had he been cut?

“Months?” he asked. The one he found the first day had been even larger. Hadn’t the person who stole it from him turned it in for credit?

The foreman nodded, knuckling his forehead. “Time was when this was common. At least once a week, usually more. Now?” he shrugged. “Some think the mines are dry. Others think the Elvraeth need to send more miners. Or maybe the guild just doesn’t want more lorcith.” He shrugged again, as if that answered the question.

Rsiran shifted on his feet, feeling weak and trying to keep from falling. He laughed nervously.

The foreman hefted the lump of lorcith. “Well, maybe the mines aren’t as dry as some think. And you’ll be pleased with the credit for this. Name?” the foreman asked.

Rsiran coughed. “R-Rsiran Lareth,” he whispered.

The foreman eyed him a moment before taking the lump of lorcith and turning it in his hands. “Nice nugget too. Not much stone to clean off it. Smiths like it that way, you know,” he added. “Curious what this will weigh.” He hefted it again and set it on his scale, flicking the weights until he was satisfied. He looked up at Rsiran. “Depending on your sentence, this might be enough to get you back to Elaeavn.” He turned to search through the names on the paper in front of him.

“Weight doesn’t matter,” Rsiran said, wanting to get away now. He felt weak and a little dizzy. Rest and water should help, but more than anything, he needed to get out of the tunnels.

The foreman looked up. “Weight
always
matters. How else you going to earn your freedom?” When he finally came across Rsiran, he chuckled. “Ahh. Lareth.” He shook his head. “Too bad, I guess. Guess you’re right—weight doesn’t matter. Maybe a couple more like this might impress your father, though. How long did he say you would be here?”

Rsiran shook his head. “He didn’t.”

“Shame.” He tapped the stone. “These used to be called the gift of freedom, as if the Great Watcher himself decided your sentence had been served. Not many gifts recently. Maybe the Great Watcher is displeased, keeping men here longer and longer, only releasing his gift to someone who can’t use it.” He looked at Rsiran and his mouth twisted into a dark smile. He shook his head. “A proper shame.”

Rsiran swallowed, unable to say anything. Maybe the Great Watcher, like his father and family, had abandoned him. Letting him hear the lorcith and pull the massive deposits from the stone seemed a cruel gift. Of course, gifting him with the ability to Slide felt as cruel.

“Maybe your luck will turn. Enough finds like this, and your father might let you return.”

Rsiran shrugged. He wasn’t supposed to find lumps of ore like that, but how to explain to the man that he wasn’t meant to find lorcith?

Pain shot through his back, and he winced as he started out of the tunnel.