Borne Rising Page 22

  “Damn your apologies.” She turned away from him and hugged her arms around herself.

  “Damn them or don’t, they’re there.” He risked putting a hand on her shoulder. She tensed but did not pull away. “You’re right. I don’t know. Help me understand.”

  She gave a derisive snort of laughter. “You won’t.”

  “Help me try.”

  Morella turned back to him, her eyes dark and distant. She held her dagger and placed the tip at the soft spot just below his sternum. She stared at him hard, unblinking. The blade did not pierce the clothes, did not reach his skin, but he knew she could skewer him faster than he could react if she chose to do so.

  “You’ll understand eventually.” Her voice was just above a whisper.

  Then she dropped the blade to the ground and threw herself into his arms, kissing him hard. He stood in shock, arms frozen, brow furrowed, before kissing her back. What the hell is going on? She stepped away from him and placed a hand over his heart.

  “Do not make me show you the way to Theros, Noctis.” She met his eyes and implored him. “Do not ask that of me.”

  He nodded cautiously. Her face softened into a crooked smile and she drew herself into him again, kissing him once more. When she pulled back, she retrieved her dagger and returned it to its hidden place within the folds of her clothing, then set off down the corridor. Noctis rubbed his scruffy jaw and pinched the bridge of his nose, shook his head, and followed.

  After an hour, signs of Valmont’s blast faded. They had passed multiple twists and turns that could have led to Theros, but Noctis said nothing. Morella walked with confidence, seeming to know the correct path through the Ways, and his own intuition was pointing him in the same direction. It was strange, almost as if, within the Ways, Cascania was the magnetic north to his internal compass.

  Morella eventually slipped her hand back into his, but conversation did not follow. Noctis waited, trying to push away the thoughts of her rage and focus on what he would do once he found Madigan. How would any of them know if it really was Aurellaine Valmont who had taken him under her wing? It wasn’t as if there were wanted posters with her likeness posted around Undermyre. He wanted to ask Morella more about her but was certain that, if he wasn’t careful, he would make things worse by opening his mouth too soon. Fortunately, she broke the uncomfortable silence a short time later.

  “What should I be expecting?”

  Her question pulled Noctis from his train of thought and he gave a slight start. “From Madigan?”

  She rolled her eyes. “From Cascania.”

  “Right, of course.” He searched his scattered memory banks, trying to pick items of importance out of the jumble of information that seemed to exist just below the surface, out of reach. “First, no one calls it Cascania. The city we are going to, it’s called Portland—”

  “Yes, I remember that much,” she interrupted. “What else?”

  “Portland is in Oregon, which is part of the United States. The United States are a part of . . .” He trailed off, realizing how deep that line of geographical context could go, and a hint of his old curiosity brightened. “Morella, when you look at the sky at night, the stars, what do you see?”

  She rolled her eyes again. “Stars.”

  Noctis shook his head. “I mean, what are the stars, to you? All the people in Aeril, what do they think the stars are?”

  “Every culture has their own interpretation of the heavens,” she said. “Some say the Hesperawn placed them in the sky as a marker for all the lives lost during the flood that remade the world. Some say that they are the ever-watching eyes of the Hesperawn themselves, hence why they flicker and flutter as they dart to different parts of the land. Some think that they are just drops of ever-burning fire scattered through the night sky to brighten the night, a gift from the Hesperawn to act as guides.”

  Noctis smiled at that last one, an accurate mythological interpretation of what his world knew to be scientific fact.

  “What else?” Morella pressed. “Tell me more about your home. How dangerous is it? Are the people armed?”

  Noctis considered for a moment. “Anywhere can be dangerous, but it’s different than Aeril. There are more people, more laws to govern them. As for armed, there are many regulations in place. Some people may be armed, but most aren’t.” She snickered and he thought of that hidden dagger. “You’re a historian, Morella, use that as your lens.”

  “Fair enough. Big, lots of people, most unarmed. Should be easy enough to manage.”

  “There’s more.” Noctis struggled to come up with words. “There isn’t magic there, not anymore. There are no Borne. Velier’s gift touched only Aeril, not Cascania. People’s lives are short, by Aerillian standards. Shorter still, given the violence they inflict upon each other.” He shook his head and sighed. “Sometimes it seems that violence is the one thing that stretches to all corners of reality.”

  Morella snickered and squeezed his hand. “Why, Noctis, have you been studying history?”

  “Once upon a time, maybe. Now, I need only look at the worlds around me.”

  The passage bent and opened into a wide, high-ceilinged chamber. Many different paths shot off from the one central room. A flicker of memory came—Noctis knew this place. He had been there with his brother when they first found the Ways. They were minutes away from returning. He stopped.

  “No magic.” Morella glossed over his last comment. “No Borne. Violent, short lives. Still manageable.”

  “There is technology, though. Different technology than Aeril. Advanced. Many of the things that come from the Aerillian magics, Cascania has found ways to do through other means.”

  This piqued her interest and she squeezed his hand. “Care to elaborate?”

  “Imagine that this cavern was dark. Pitch black. How would you find your way?”

  She gave him a look that said that was the most ridiculous question she had ever heard. “A torch, most likely. Flint and steel. Fire.” She gestured back the way they had come. “Or I’d bring rocks to light the way, if we’re going over the top.”

  Noctis held up a hand and let the small blue trickles of lightning dance across his fist. “Imagine if you could harness this power. Put it in a small box, if you will. Then use that power to shoot a beam of light outward, using this as a source of power.”

  She cocked her head. “Perpetual energy as a projection?”

  “The more you use the beam, however, the more it drains the current.” Noctis shook his head, feeling like an idiot. “I’m sorry, I’ve never had to explain this before.”

  Morella shrugged. “Your people harness energy and get it to work for you. The energy drains out eventually and, what, needs to be recharged? Sounds similar to those.” She gestured at his blood fangs.

  And those Borne by Radiance. Noctis smiled and nodded. “That’s actually pretty accurate. That’s the basic idea though, harnessing the energy and using it for other purposes. You can use it as a source of fuel to power machines that have been designed to create things on a larger, faster scale than a person could do on their own. The more you create, the more streamlined the process becomes and the more advanced the creations become. You can build massive structures, travel across land and water, even fly through the air.”

  Morella laughed aloud and shook her head. “Your people have become inventors, then? Creators? Fascinating.”

  Encouraged, Noctis went on. “People began to study the world, trying to understand it on a better level. They discovered medicinal properties in some things and figured out how to extract the properties to create more potent healing medicines. Some devote their entire lives to the study of medicine, finding new and better ways to help people live longer, happier lives . . .” He trailed off and there was a moment of pause as Morella smirked at him.

  “So, in your world as well, people spend their entire lives trying to push away their death?”

  He gave a tentative nod. “It’s different though. Peop
le do it to help.”

  Morella shrugged. “That’s what his cultists said about Valmont.”

  “It is different though.” He sighed. “I’m just doing a terrible job of explaining it. You’ll see.”

  “I’m sure I will.”

  Noctis didn’t like the turn of the conversation. Either his explanations felt inadequate or Valmont’s coercive reasoning was rooted in just enough truth to inspire hope. That’s what it is. The best lies always contain a kernel of truth.

  They set off once more. “We’re close, I take it?” Morella said.

  “We are.” Noctis moved with long, determined strides as he saw the bridge approaching. “Madigan and I came through this passage.”

  She gave a start and hugged the wall when the passage narrowed and the wide chasm opened up to the side. “Gods, you could have warned me.”

  “Sorry,” Noctis said as he reached for his canteen. There was a nervous tickle in the back of his throat. “I’d honestly forgotten it.” He took a swig of water and swallowed, forcing himself to ignore the trepidation he felt.

  “How could you forget something like that?”

  He cleared his throat again. “The Sapholux played with my brain. It’s still a mess.”

  Morella watched him. “Played with your brain, did it? Well, that’s not a surprise. The longer you spend in the Sapholux with Jero din’Dael the more time there is to screw up someone’s brain.”

  Noctis didn’t answer. The longer you spend in the Sapholux . . .

  There was an entire army of Lightborne within the Sapholux, just charging their batteries, and who knows how long they’d been inside? Long enough to not want to risk everything. Long enough to fear the end.

  He considered the implications of unleashing a horde of Lightborne upon the world. Would they all be as powerful as din’Dael had been when he was freed? Besides the Revenant, Noctis had only seen his own power beyond the Sapholux. And I’m the new guy, despite din’Dael’s fancy words.

  Yet the passivity of those who dwelt within the Sapholux made Noctis believe that din’Dael’s radiant wave would not sweep across Aeril. Their people wanted to live, had no interest in risking death by fighting the Necrothanians. They had lived too long in a place too isolated. There was no more raging fire, not unless din’Dael managed to stoke it. And he’s attempting that with threats of death. That wasn’t the way to inspire people. That was the path to turning them away from you, the path to driving them to seek new guidance. One who wants the same thing they do.

  A chill coursed down Noctis’s spine. If he was right and din’Dael really did drive the Lightborne away, what if they found a new leader who believed the same thing they did? What if they chose to fight in the name of life and the promise of it never ending? What if the army raised by din’Dael to destroy Valmont joined his Necrothanians instead?

  It was a terrifying prospect, one that Noctis didn’t want to think about. Unfortunately, it lingered. They wouldn’t . . . would they? He couldn’t discount it entirely.

  “Cascania is through there?” Morella interrupted his thoughts. The heavy door was ahead, closed and secure.

  Maybe we stopped the Necrothanians before they were able to enter.

  Noctis nodded. “That, at least, is the path that takes you to Cascania. We’ll come out underground in a cavern with a large pool. Following the path above will put us in the network of tunnels that runs underneath the city.”

  “How many days travel to reach your brother, then?”

  Noctis shook his head. “Not days. Hours. Assuming that he is, in fact, where I think he is.”

  “There’s only one way to find out.”

  Whatever protective binding his grandfather had placed upon the door was gone. Morella grasped the handle and the large, heavy door opened easily at her touch. Unceremoniously, Morella ducked her head and pulled herself through into the darkness beyond. Noctis adjusted his pack, took one last glance back through the Ways, and approached the door.

  The silence of the passage was shattered as Morella’s scream ripped through the air. Lightning rippling across his body, Noctis burst through the door.

  21

  Pulling Shadow

  “You’re slowing down,” Ileta said, crossing her arms. “This shouldn’t be taking so long.”

  Not the least bit like a broken record. Madigan doubled down and refocused his efforts. They were in his grandfather’s old cellar. The musty, damp earth smell wafted into Mad’s nostrils but offered no familiar comfort. Nothing could be comfortable, right now. Nothing ever would be again.

  “I’m”—he suppressed a wince and dropped his voice to a whisper—“I’m working on it.”

  “Work faster.”

  The cellar was pitch black. Ileta had locked the trapdoors behind them and had used an old black tarp and some duct tape to block any light coming through the entrance. Once she was certain that no stray bits of daylight were peeking through any cracks, she took a small stool and stood on it just underneath the hanging incandescent bulb. Wordlessly, she unscrewed the bulb, freeing it from its socket, and the room was plunged into darkness.

  Madigan had long since learned the value of silence under Ileta’s tutelage. He waited, not speaking, in the center of the room while she moved off to the side of the cellar. After a moment, the unmistakable sound of soft, thin glass crunching against the stone floor broke the silence.

  “It is dark,” she said simply. “Change that.”

  Change it? He fumbled in his pockets to see if he had any keys or anything that could make a spark but Ileta halted him.

  “Do not use a tool.”

  Madigan nodded, though she couldn’t see it. He scanned his memory for anything in the cellar that might help. Grandda had to keep spare lightbulbs down here somewhere. Closing his eyes, trying to remember the space, he made to move. He was halted once more.

  “Do not move. Do not leave the center of the room.”

  No tools and no movement, great.

  He allowed his Shade to flow forth into the darkness, thinking that it would be best to—

  “Do not use your Shade.”

  Madigan’s eyes shot open out of sheer habit and he scowled. “You have got to be joking.”

  Ileta was silent.

  “I can’t move and I can’t use my Shade? What the hell am I supposed to do?”

  “Be Shadowborne.”

  Helpful, very helpful.

  That had been two hours ago. Ileta had offered no more help other than one hour ago when she said, “Pull,” and that was it. Madigan was going stir crazy. His mind was playing tricks on him in the pitch black. Being underground and so far from the city meant there was almost utter silence. Were it not for the chill in the room and the occasional sound of Ileta’s breathing, he would have sworn he was in a deprivation chamber. Except those are supposed to be relaxing.

  There was nothing relaxing about this. He was cold. He was stiff. He was frustrated. He was “pulling,” whatever the hell that meant. The closest he had come was to think of how he pushed outward with his Shade, so he was trying to do the opposite. Nothing. He kept trying and the only fluctuation he felt was a pinching between his eyes like he had been crossing them too hard for too long.

  He wasn’t going to give up though. Nor was he going to give Ileta the satisfaction of asking for help. She may be a maddeningly difficult teacher, but she was an effective one. She knew when to help, and if she hadn’t offered any yet, then she wouldn’t supply any if he asked. Madigan fought back his frustration and pulled.

  Another hour passed. The headache worsened. Madigan’s left leg was going numb, for some reason. You’ve been locking it, idiot. Loosen up.

  There was an audible sigh from Ileta. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m pulling.” Their voices sounded absurdly loud after so much time in the silent darkness.

  “No, you’re not.”

  “Well I’m trying, dammit.”

  “Stop. Relax a moment.”
<
br />   Madigan did. He dropped to the floor and put his head between his knees as he rubbed at his leg. He was seeing stars. Funny how you can still see light in the dark.

  “What do you know of light?”

  Madigan chuckled at the symmetry of their thoughts. “Radiance? Nothing much, really. I heard a few stories as a kid but—”

  “Forget Radiance for a moment. Just light in general.”

  “It’s . . .” Madigan paused. Science had never been his strongest subject, but he remembered one key thing. “Alright, so, light is a thing. An actual thing, not just a nonentity, right? There’s this whole joke about how if you are ever having a bad day, think about the sun. It’s this huge, roaring ball of fire and power, right? And it projects all of this amazing light in rays and stuff. And these rays, they’re racing across the solar system. They’re heading for the planet, they’re passing through clouds and planes and buildings and trees, everything in their pursuit of just getting a chance to touch the Earth. And you, whoever you are, stop them at the last second and block them, and that’s what your shadow is: proof of your power over the sun.”

  There was silence, then.

  “That’s absurd.”

  “Well, I mean yeah, it’s not meant to be anything other than fun.”

  “I can work with it though,” she said abruptly. Madigan was surprised at the levity in her voice. She went on without waiting for comment from him. “In your absolutely pointless theory, you do what? Block the light. Your shadow is the absence of light, correct?”

  Madigan mulled it over. “Yeah, pretty much.”

  “And to let the light return?”

  “You move.”

  “Correct. You move the darkness away and allow the light to fill the space.”

  Her tone said that this, apparently, was the big secret. He still didn’t get it. “So, I should move my Shade elsewhere?”

  Ileta gave an exasperated sigh. “Madigan, I already told you this has nothing to do with your Shade. You are Shadowborne. Just move the darkness and light will fill the void.”